Calling On Fire (Book 1)

by Stephanie Beavers

“So let’s get you better. Once the celebration is over, we can go talk to Sergeant Warthog and tell her we won’t be taking jobs until you’re healed up, and then go see Mom and Dad,” Esset said.

  “They’ll like that,” Toman agreed.

  “She’ll freak out, seeing you like that,” Esset said, suddenly grinning.

  “Bright Hyrishal, she’ll feed me until I explode.” Toman groaned just as Tseka barged in.

  “What are you groaning about?” her sharp voice asked from the doorway, but she didn’t wait for an answer. “You two spend entirely too much time moping in here. Come on. Toman, Kessa’s looking for you. We’re celebrating! No sleeping.” She slithered over and shoved Esset towards the door, nearly knocking him over.

  “Hey!” he protested, but all he got was a poke in the back from her tail.

  Tseka was already hauling Toman unceremoniously out of the bed.

  “Hey! Ow! Stop it, I’m moving!” Toman protested until she let him alone—that was only after he was on his feet.

  “And don’t stop,” Tseka warned Toman as he moved very slowly and carefully towards the doorway.

  “I won’t. Sheesh, you wouldn’t know I’d only been on my feet again for a couple days. I can’t move that fast,” Toman said.

  Tseka ignored him. “The kitchen made some of that nasty sweet food you humans like so much, so you better eat it all. I certainly won’t be touching it.” She looked like she was going to give Toman an “encouraging” prod when Kessa poked her head through the curtain.

  “You’re coming! Good, the kitchen made cake!” she announced. She shot Tseka a wary look but wasn’t deterred from going to Toman’s side.

  “Good, Kessa, you make sure these lazy louts make it to the celebration. No more slacking off,” Tseka ordered. Kessa gave a meek nod before the scarlet Nadra slithered away.

  “Yeesh,” Toman muttered under his breath, and Kessa peered at him.

  “She cares, doesn’t she? She’s scary, but she cares.” Kessa looked a little confused.

  “Yes,” Toman answered simply. Kessa shook her head at the little puzzle of life.

  “Oh, Esset, I just remembered,” Kessa said. “Orisna says there’s a new game for you to try. She seemed sure she’d beat you this time.”

  Esset grinned wolfishly. “Bring it.”

  After three solid days and nights of celebrating, the entire city collapsed into sleep for a full day before normal activity resumed and Toman and Esset prepared to leave. Leaving was more difficult than either could have imagined when they’d first stepped foot in Salithsa.

  “Hey, I promise we’ll try to come back and visit someday,” Toman said, hugging Kessa back after she’d launched herself into his chest. It was obviously a one-armed hug, with his empty coat-sleeve stuffed with cloth and propped in a sling to hide the loss of his limb. He had yet to make a working replacement.

  “Don’t go yet,” Kessa pleaded. “You’re not better yet, you could stay a while longer…” She looked at him, her brilliant blue eyes watering.

  “We’re going to see our family,” Esset said, even though she already knew that. “We’ll be safe, and Toman’ll heal up all right.”

  “I know,” Kessa admitted reluctantly, snuggling into Toman’s chest. Both of the young men had grown used to the Nadra’s tactile inclinations, but even so, it was obvious that Kessa was clinging to him a little longer to delay their departure.

  “Who knows, maybe one day, after everything’s all over and done with, we could take you on an adventure, see some human cities,” Esset suggested cheerfully, trying to brighten the mood in the tunnel. They had stopped to say their last farewells just inside the entrance to the tunnel that led to the city.

  “It will be but an eyeblink to us,” Nassata added to Kessa, reaching out to her cousin to draw her away from Toman and back to her own side.

  “I will miss you both,” Kessa said sadly, looking between the animator and the summoner.

  “We’ll miss you too,” Toman responded.

  “We owe you much,” Nassata said, leaning forward and extending her arm. First Esset, then Toman clasped it in a warrior’s grip.

  “We owe you as much,” Esset professed. “If you ever need us, the sergeant will probably know where to find us.”

  “And if you need us, you know where we can be found,” Nassata responded solemnly. Esset nodded, and they smiled at each other.

  “Well, we’d best be going. We’ll be traveling the same way we came, and the sooner we get that over with, the better,” Esset said. That small, bumpy carriage was boring, and spending days in it… he couldn’t wait for it to be over. He was looking forward to seeing his family again, too.

  “Bright Hyrishal keep you,” Esset said by way of goodbye before turning and heading out the tunnel. Toman was a moment longer, meeting Nassata’s and then Kessa’s eyes and giving them each a deliberate nod before following his brother. He’d never been good with words.

  “Peace be with you,” Kessa whispered after them.

  Once they were a few paces away, Nassata tugged her cousin’s arm and pulled her back towards the underground city. “Come Kessa, let’s go back.”

  Toman knew they’d be fine—he’d left his soldiers with the Nadra, and all the Reshkin were dead anyways. That wasn’t why he glanced back to watch them go. Esset looked back too, and not just to see if Toman was coming. They’d both miss the snake-folk. But they had a job to do, and it wasn’t done yet. They could look back, but they couldn’t linger.

  “Blueberries are in season now, aren’t they?” Esset asked when Toman caught up with him.

  “Maybe?” Toman hazarded—he didn’t really keep track.

  “Maybe Mom will have pie.”

  Toman and Esset arrived at the Staggering Tankard early in the morning and ate breakfast while waiting for Sergeant Warthog’s usual midmorning arrival.

  “Sergeant!” Esset called to her, waving her over. Not that she wasn’t heading in their direction anyways—they were both seated at the table always reserved for her.

  “Boys,” she returned their greeting more conservatively. “The Nadra are faring well again then, I take it?”

  “Their problem has been taken care of,” Esset confirmed with a nod. Sergeant Warthog drew even with the table and then noticed Toman’s state for the first time.

  “Had a little trouble, by the looks of it,” she commented blandly.

  “Yeah, we—” Esset was cut off by a sudden puff of black smoke that burst into existence in the center of the room.

  A young man clad in black stepped from the smoke; he didn’t press the element of surprise with an attack, but no one present liked the look of him. Sergeant Warthog whirled around, drawing a knife so quickly that it seemed to just appear in her hand.

  Esset jumped to his feet, an incantation ready to spill off his tongue. Only Toman didn’t move, trapped between Esset and the wall as he was. Not that he wasn’t preparing for battle as well—he had touched almost every piece of furniture in the building at some point or another, and he was giving them instructions so that they would become animated at his whim. If this intruder proved hostile, he would find himself fighting every single object occupying the room.

  The intruder was young, Toman and Esset’s age or younger. He was pale and made paler by the contrast with his black garb. He wore a trim black suit and a sweeping black cape with a high collar. His black hair was pulled tight against his skull by a harsh leather band in a knot at the nape of his neck. Even his eyes were dark; Toman couldn’t tell what color they were exactly, but they seemed to be a very dark shade of grey or brown. His expression suggested that he wasn’t a very pleasant person, nevermind the fact that he looked like the villain out of any children’s tale of heroes versus evil magic. His eyes fell on the sergeant, ignoring the others completely.

  “You are the one known as the sergeant?” he asked her, almost disdainfully.

  “Who wants to know?” she snarled. He ignored the question
in favor of a demand.

  “Meet at the eastern side of town. Half an hour.” The black smoke lingering in the room suddenly condensed into a puff around him and multiplied. A second later, he was gone.

  “Well that was special,” Esset muttered darkly. The sergeant, meanwhile, was sheathing her knife and checking all her weapons.

  “Wait, you’re not going to meet him, are you?” Esset asked, surprised.

  “I am,” Sergeant Warthog replied evenly. “I think I’ll slap him around with the flat of my blade a bit, and then, if he’s properly repentant and not a total darkling, I’ll hear him out.”

  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “His behavior was unacceptable. I can’t have him setting precedent,” the sergeant replied shortly, walking away from them towards the bar.

  “Okay then, I’m coming with you,” Esset said, following her. Toman sighed inwardly and braced himself to get up. There was no way he was being left behind.

  “If you like, but stay out of my way,” the headstrong mercenary agreed.

  “I’m coming too,” Toman said, following more slowly.

  “You sure that’s wise?” Esset asked. Toman glared at him and he subsided. The sergeant ordered a portable meat-pie for her breakfast and ate it quickly before setting off. Late morning found the dusty streets busy with traffic. Carriages, riders, and pedestrians navigated the broad streets easily. Everyone went about their business with a minimum of fuss between the low, simple buildings that made up the town.

  Despite the generous amount of time still remaining, Sergeant Warthog set a good pace, and Toman was pale and sweating by the time they reached their approximate destination. When they stopped, Sergeant Warthog gave Toman another look over, her eye much harsher this time.

  “You’ve got more than just a busted arm,” she said flatly.

  “Yeah,” Toman said, not elaborating. He was also breathing a lot heavier than a quick walk through town should have warranted.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Esset said, his tone slightly sullen. Toman shot him another look, but Esset was pointedly looking away so he “couldn’t see it.”

  “We early?” Esset asked, looking up at the sun. He and Toman had been inside so long that he couldn’t track the time quite so easily. He thought they were probably early though.

  “Not by much,” the sergeant replied. “But he’d better show his skinny little—”

  “There he is,” Toman said. None of them had expected the black-clad young man to walk right up to them in an ordinary fashion, but that was exactly what he was doing. Sergeant Warthog had her hand on the hilt of her sword and an inch of blade cleared by the time he was close enough to speak.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately, his hands raised defensively, placating. The sergeant narrowed her eyes at him.

  “Well, this is unexpected,” she remarked. She didn’t draw the sword any further out, but she didn’t let it slide back into its sheath, either.

  “I’m really sorry,” he apologized again. Esset was still suspicious too, but when he looked the young man up and down, he couldn’t help but notice a few other changes. The stranger’s boots were clearly dusty, and his clothes were rumpled. His body language had changed completely; there were definite lines of humility in his posture, not the smug superiority that they’d seen before. It was almost as if this were an entirely different person, or…

  “I had to approach you like that—people have to think I’m a bad guy. Please hear me out,” the young man continued when no one seemed inclined to say anything one way or the other.

  “Keep talking, kid,” Sergeant Warthog warned, a definite threat in her voice. She kept that inch of steel bared.

  “Um, it’s kind of a long story…” he started hesitantly. The sergeant’s expression made him start talking faster. “My name is Francis Martin, I’m the son of a merchant, but I pretend to be a Dark Sorcerer so I can be with my true love, Princess Arabella, but I’m really a good guy and not very good at magic and please don’t hurt me. Aarabella’s been kidnapped and I need help getting her back.”

  Sergeant Warthog looked the kid up and down before letting go of her sword. There was a little snick as it slid home in the sheath, and the sergeant crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I think you need to start at the beginning,” she said. “The very beginning of all this.” The young man relaxed a little bit when she let go of the sword and took a deep breath. Everyone sensed that this story was going to be an interesting one.

  “Well, like I said, I’m just a merchant’s son, and Arabella is a princess. Unfortunately, while successful, my father was never hugely prosperous, and Arabella is the seventh daughter of a king. With six sisters ahead of her, the king didn’t really want to marry her off, because he didn’t want to pay her dowry on top of the other six. He certainly didn’t want her to marry a merchant’s son… It just isn’t done. But we’re in love, and she didn’t want to be shipped off to a convent, so we came up with a plan. Well, Arabella came up with a plan. Like I said, I have only a little magic, but the little bit I’m good at is illusions. I can only maintain them for about a minute, but it’s good for a short bluff. It was Arabella’s idea to dress me up and get me to pretend to be a dark sorcerer.”

  “Dark Sorcerer Francis?” Esset asked skeptically, smirking. It was hardly an intimidating moniker.

  “Dark Sorcerer Martin is marginally better,” Toman pointed out.

  “Um, Dark Sorcerer Zaren, actually. Again, Arabella came up with it,” Francis replied.

  “Okay then, what next?” the sergeant prompted, shooting Esset a look to warn him to shut up.

  “Well, she had me kidnap her when she only had a guard or two with her outside the city. I made some of my best illusions that day, some scary monsters. The guards took their stories back to the castle, telling of a powerful sorcerer who’d taken the princess, and Arabella and I fled. Her plan had worked really well. The king didn’t send anyone after her, and no one came after us of their own accord, since the king didn’t offer a reward. No one wanted to risk their lives against a sorcerer for a worthless princess—her words, not mine. I don’t think she’s worthless at all.”

  That last bit was said a bit defensively, and although Sergeant Warthog kept up her stern, stony demeanor, she found herself a little charmed. This kid wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t all that clever either, and he was clearly devoted to this Princess Arabella.

  “Anyways, just in case, we traveled through a couple kingdoms before finding a place to settle. There’s an abandoned tower that we took over and made our home—after a few renovations. Arabella went into town to get the few things we needed every so often, but she told people that she was under a spell and had to return to her ‘Dark Master.’ It worked really well for a few years. Then…well, some bandits came across her on her way home yesterday and they kidnapped her, thinking they could ransom her. Please, I need your help getting her back. I don’t have much to pay you, but I’ll give you everything I have,” he pleaded.

  “How did you hear about me?” Sergeant Warthog asked. Having evil mages find her—even pretend evil mages—was a potentially serious liability.

  “Before we settled, Arabella and I did a little information gathering to make sure we’d be safe. That was when we heard about you, before we took up our disguises and settled in,” Francis replied. He seemed a little puzzled by the query.

  The sergeant wondered if Arabella had also been making sure that there was someone in the area that she or Francis could run to if something went wrong. Probably. “Very well,” she replied shortly.

  Francis looked at her hesitantly and a bit hopefully—he wasn’t sure if that was a “very well, I’ll help” or just an acceptance of his last explanation. “You… You will help?” he asked tentatively.

  “We’ll help,” Esset volunteered. Francis looked at him quizzically; he still didn’t know who they were.

  “I’m Summoner Esset, this is Ani
mator Toman. I think a few bandits shouldn’t be much of a problem. We might even be able to snatch your princess out of there before they know what’s happening, and a nice show of force should keep them off your back permanently. Especially if we make it look like you did all of it,” Esset said.

  “We can keep your cover intact,” Toman agreed with a nod. “Some stone monsters and a couple suits of armor should do the trick, hey? You can do the snatching with birds if they’re in the open and save your others in case we need some firepower.” Pun intended.

  “It’ll be trickier if they’re hiding in a building or cave,” Esset remarked to Toman.

  “Any idea where they’ve got her?” Toman asked Francis.

  “I tried scrying, but I’m not very good at it…” he said, head hung low. Esset and Toman didn’t dwell on it.

  “We’re gonna need supplies,” Toman pointed out. “We should go back to the castle.”

  “Castle?” Francis asked, puzzled. “We can’t waste time—”

  “This’ll save time, trust us,” Esset assured him. “It’s close, and there will be resources we need.”

  “Flying?” Toman asked with a wince.

  “Aye,” Esset replied apologetically. More lift-offs and set-downs wouldn’t be good for Toman’s healing wounds, but speed was clearly needed here.

  “Sergeant, are you in, or are you leaving it to us?” Esset asked Sergeant Warthog then.

  There was a pause before she finally caved. “I’m coming,” she said, uncrossing her arms to prop her hands on her hips. Toman and Esset both grinned.

  “Fair enough,” Esset said. He chanted a particular incantation twice. A pair of massive fiery birds burst into existence before them, both mantling fiercely at first before subduing to Esset’s will and standing calmly.

  “Okay, welcome to Summoner Esset’s Aerial Transport Service. Please mind your mount’s beak and pinions; contact with either aspect of the bird could result in nasty burns. Sit in front of the wings with your weight on the bird’s neck.” Esset delivered the monologue in a uniformly cheerful tone as he gave Toman a leg up onto their bird.