Demon Scroll

by Tim Niederriter

  Aryal laughed.

  “You should be so lucky, and I think Governor Lokoth would wish the same.”

  Melissa frowned.

  “Is the governor that desperate for mages to help against the magister’s guild?”

  “Perhaps she is,” said Aryal, “but I don’t know.”

  “For certain, we should not gossip about this any further,” said Elaine.

  “As you wish, Lady Tanlos,” said Aryal.

  Hilos bowed his head.

  “Very wise, my lady.”

  Elaine’s cheeks flushed pink at the compliment. She coughed into her fist.

  “Now then, Melissa, may I ask you something?”

  “I can hardly refuse, given your status.”

  “I thought it best to be polite.”

  Melissa nodded to Elaine.

  “Ask your question.”

  “Of course. Melissa, I heard you encountered the magister’s guild master, Kadatz. Is it true he threatened to take your magic from you?”

  “I was a little drunk, but I remember clearly. That was his threat.”

  Elaine’s expression darkened in a scowl.

  “I informed her this time, but you must tell my aunt if any guild mage threatens you again. They are all of you aspirants’ rivals, at least in the city.”

  Melissa thought of her cowardly brother. Giles hadn’t been her rival when they were young. Now, however, she saw the truth in Elaine’s words.

  “I take it you’re concerned for our safety. I appreciate that, Lady Tanlos.”

  Elaine sighed.

  “Not just your safety, but my own and my aunt’s as well. I fear the tactics the guild may use if they sense opposition to their dominance in the city. At one time—”

  “—No magic was done in Soucot without them,” said Melissa, “I know the saying. I grew up here, remember.”

  Niu scowled.

  “I’d like to see those fools try to threaten me or my brother.” She hefted an imaginary throwing lance. “They wouldn’t have long to regret that mistake.”

  Tal nodded. Elaine frowned, looking like she wanted to speak against the threat of violence, as a good witch should. Melissa put her hands on her hips.

  “Hopefully we’ll have better ways than weapons to handle them if that happens.”

  Aryal smiled, hand on the hilt of her sword.

  “Don’t belittle the use of weapons, but I see your point.” She noticed motion on the far side of the yard, then snapped into a formal stance.

  Lady Nasibron approached from the far side of the yard, accompanied by the black-clad form of Governor Lokoth. Suya Nattan walked at the governor’s other side, carrying both her’s and her master’s swords in sheathes at opposite sides of her belt. She quickened her pace and then pivoted to face the two noblewomen.

  The other aspirants gathered around Suya to meet the governor and the witch. Melissa waited at the back of the crowd with Niu, Tal, and Hilos. Aryal and Elaine went to join the governor and Lady Nasibron in front. The governor held up her hands to silence the murmurs passing among some of the aspirants. Melissa waited, breath frozen in the quiet that followed.

  “Your forty-four aspirants arrived here yesterday, and I see you’ve all returned,” said the governor. “Lady Nasibron and Lady Tanlos have informed me they tested each of your spirits.” She smiled. “I wish to welcome each of you to my service today.”

  Niu and Tal exchanged glances with Melissa between them.

  Hilos’ eyebrows rose.

  Melissa stared at the governor, unsure of what to make of the announcement. On the one hand, it boded well for her chance at training if they were all accepted. On the other, Lady Nasibron surely could not mean to train nearly ten times as many as the governor initially suggested.

  “Lady Nasibron,” the governor motioned to the witch. “Please inform them.”

  Lady Nasibron bowed toward the governor for a long moment. She raised her head. Her gaze turned to the aspirants.

  “Training as a witch is among the most difficult paths to the craft of magic,” she said. “Each of you has the potential to achieve that kind of ability, but the component is time. In the next four months, five of you will study directly under me, but the rest will be tutored by Lady Hekatze and Lady Tanlos. Neither of them is as studied as I, but trust them. They can teach you everything they need to act as henge mages, learning abilities to enhance your skills in combat.”

  “If you accept those terms,” said the governor, spreading her arms, “I would offer each of you a commission in my service, as henge guards of Lowenrane.”

  Melissa stared at her, hoping Lokoth would not forget her promise or retreat from what that promise meant to Melissa. Henge magic could be powerful, from what Melissa understood, but the true power of magic was her ambition. She would not settle for less than the secrets the magister’s guild tried to deny her.

  “Step forward as one of my new pupils when I call your name,” said Lady Nasibron.

  Melissa locked eyes with the governor. Lokoth’s eyes were impassive, her face stern.

  “Suya Nattan,” said the witch.

  Don’t betray my trust and offer mastery to your champion.

  “Niu No Kaewoo.”

  Niu stepped forward, a smile spreading on her face.

  Maybe I am too strange to teach the greater ways.

  “Sir Hilos of the Ford.”

  If an old knight can be chosen...

  “Kelt Crayta.”

  Only one left. Melissa’s eyes narrowed. This or second place.

  “Melissa Dorian,” said Lady Nasibron.

  Melissa’s knees went weak.

  The governor nodded. Elaine turned fast toward her aunt, shock written on her pretty features. Lady Nasibron’s gaze swept the aspirants.

  “Melissa Dorian, are you here?”

  Melissa stepped forward.

  “I am,” she said.

  By Mother’s mercy, I am.

  Lady Nasibron led the five of them through the palace. Elaine followed a short distance behind them.

  Melissa’s stomach still shook and fluttered with a combination of anxiety and relief.

  The five chosen aspirants met with the governor in the palace library several minutes after being announced. Elaine waited outside.

  The governor wore a black fencing jacket. She carried no sword but sat reading at a desk. Rising when they entered, she smiled.

  “Lady Nasibron, I see you’ve assembled a sturdy group.”

  Despite liking the man, Melissa would have been hard-pressed to describe Hilo as sturdy. She said nothing, though, grateful for her position and not wanting to risk any of the governor’s displeasure. Lady Nasibron nodded.

  “Your people are talented,” said the witch lady. “I doubt most cities could have produced five candidates who could take a sacra form in months, but I estimate all five of these have the ability, as do a few others in your new mage unit.”

  “Impressive work ferreting them all out so fast,” said the governor.

  “Thank you. I believe you know most of the students already, but I should introduce the others.”

  “Of course. Go on.”

  Lady Nasibron motioned to Niu.

  “This is Niu No Kaewoo, of a Kanori immigrant family. She and her brother both applied, and I think both have the potential to take a sacra form quickly, though Niu should learn faster.”

  “Excellent,” said the governor. “Have you any previous magic experience, Niu?”

  Niu flushed.

  “No, your governorship.”

  Governor Lokoth smirked.

  “All the better.”

  “Indeed,” said Lady Nasibron. “Better you know nothing and I have a clean pallet to paint my knowledge upon.” She nodded again, then motioned to the man, Kelt. “I believe you know the other three, but perhaps Kelt of Crayta has escaped your attention. He has been a sailor in the bay for some time, currently a fisherman, and while he’s not yet a mage some of his form
er crew-mates spoke of him as a hero during a past battle with the Kanori raiding fleet a few years ago. He can already hear the song of sprites and banes with consistency.”

  Kelt bowed his head.

  “I am honored to serve, your excellency.”

  The governor’s smirk became a lupine grin.

  “I’m glad you made it, Kelta of Crayta. I think I recall hearing of a sailor holding the deck of his ship alone in the last battle with Kanor. Was that you, perchance?”

  “I know of no other who endured such as situation and lived,” Kelt said.

  “You have my condolences for your fallen comrades, sailor.” Governor Lokoth folded her arms, looking over the five new students. “Each of you is a member of my service now. Suya, Hilos, and Melissa you already joined yourselves to my government. I take it you will do the same, Kelt of Crayta and Niu No Kaewoo?”

  “Just tell me where to swear and what to place my oath on,” said Niu.

  Kelt bowed again, gaze on the floor.

  “Likewise for me.”

  Melissa smiled. It was strange, being in a situation where so many were eager to volunteer. Such strangeness, she welcomed. Her eyes moved to Lady Nasibron’s sword servant, Suya. The woman carried the governor’s long blade in a sheath at her side and a personal sword on the other. When she represented the governor in a duel she would be allowed to draw the governor’s sword in Lokoth’s stead.

  Many nobility across Tancuon maintained the service of skilled duelists to carry their family weapons. Though Melissa had not seen Suya fight, she doubted the woman would need magic to defeat most human foes. The Vakari warriors, on the other hand, might be a different matter.

  “Suya,” said the governor. “My sword.”

  Suya unsheathed the governor’s sword, then sank to one knee, presenting the blade to Lokoth, flat across bare palms.

  Governor Lokoth took the weapon gently, carefully laying the single-edged weapon upon her arm.

  “I would have you each swear upon this, the sword given to me by Mother Mercy herself.” She wrapped fingers around the hilt and raised the blade slowly over them. “Swear you will serve me loyally under the eyes of mercy until the day I shall release you of your burden.”

  “I swear,” said Suya, and the others followed her lead. “To serve you loyally, under the eyes of Mercy, until the day you release me of this burden.”

  Their voices formed a small chorus.

  As she spoke the words, Melissa’s unsteady stomach stilled. Her mission began this day. Another thought arose unbidden, today begins a new life.

  She prayed silently as they finished the oath, hoping never to regret her decision in the moment.

  Given the governor’s generosity, the possibility seemed remote. Given her ambitions, she belonged here. Destiny, wrought of mercy’s steel and stone, lingered, almost visible, not far away.

  Saben

  Saben Kadias was a man well accustomed to the night. He approached the library in darkness. His footfalls were as cat’s paws. His breath, both inhaled and exhaled, no more than a rustle of leaves in a gentle breeze. He crept around to the side of the main entrance and neared the magic wing. Behind him, Jaswei followed in equal quiet. Rond lumbered behind them, surprisingly keeping pace without much additional noise.

  The magic wing had no windows, and those on the first level of the main stacks were barred. Saben’s inspection on their previous visit made him certain of the security below. However, the second floor was a different story. He braced the sprites in his legs to jump, priming open his hands to grab the window-frame once he reached the second level.

  Before he could leap, Jaswei held out a hand to stop him.

  “I’m lighter. Let me.”

  He frowned, but then nodded. Rond stared at the window.

  “Don’t forget to take what I want.”

  “That’s Jaswei’s mission,” whispered Saben. “Keep watch.”

  Rond gave him a shadowy wave of a hand.

  “Of course,” he hissed.

  Jaswei leapt to the second floor, her legs boosted by the sprites she’d trained to empower them. Easily grasping the window frame, she drew her bane sword and slashed the lock. Saben caught the outer half of the metal binding before it hit the ground. He stuffed it soundlessly into his pocket while Jaswei pulled the window open. She slipped through into the library.

  Saben flexed his fingers. He double-tested the weight of the sword on his back to make sure the weapon was secured in the baldric and wouldn’t rattle in motion. Then, he forced his sprites and leapt. The power coursing through his lower limbs carried him to the window’s level. He folded his arms and tucked his head and legs to shrink himself and sailed through the opening. He landed on his feet.

  “The way is downstairs,” said Jaswei in the ghostly glow of her bane sword.

  “Stay ready to fight. The demon guard will still be here.”

  “Right you are, captain,” she said.

  They found their way downstairs in the dark. Saben shrugged off his baldric, set it carefully on the floor, then drew his sword before replacing the baldric on his back. His sword cast glimmers of Jaswei’s bane lights on the walls. They prowled through the stacks toward the magic wing, as quietly as they’d been outside.

  Jaswei’s gaze followed the flickering light ahead of her. Saben grimaced as he thought of how loud she’d be the next day, one way or the other. She wouldn’t be able to keep quiet, scroll or no scroll, after this much silence. Insufferable, but useful, he told himself, unable to imagine reaching this far across the world without her help.

  They reached the door at the far side of the stacks. It wasn’t sealed like in daylight. The passage stood open.

  “Is that ordinary?” Jaswei asked.

  Saben shook his head.

  “I don’t know.”

  They stared into the gloom beyond the arched doorway. Nothing moved in the magic wing, a place haunted by the secrets of mages and demons, and where the two converged. To reach the city, a human needed one of two things. The first option was utter submission to the rulers of that place. Saben would never offer such deference to demons. He grimaced. The other way to enter that distant ring was in disguise.

  The Tancuonese called their demonic transformations sacra forms. Across the world, the name varied, but the essence and purpose of it were the same. To walk the ring in the sky, to learn the knowledge of demons, and in rare cases like Saben’s, to find a way to kill the immortal beings that dwelt above and below.

  He gripped the hilt of his sword in both hands.

  “I’ll go first,” he said, stepping forward.

  “Do that.” Jaswei’s voice sounded steady but the sweat shimmering on her forehead and a glimpse of her brittle expression reflected in his sword’s polished blade told Saben she was nervous.

  He entered the passage with her at his back.

  They reached the end all too quickly. The magic wing’s stacks stretched out before them, much the same as those in the histories behind them except for the presence of racks of scrolls at the end of each shelf. Saben approached the nearest one, reading the label on a metal plaque over the scrolls, its gold inscribed with flowing Tancuonese script.

  He who should read shall learn the ways of the spirit.

  “Spells,” he murmured as he took in the meaning of the poetry. “They’re spells.”

  “I’ll find the one Rond wants,” Jaswei said. “You get your sacra form.”

  “Yes,” he said in a low voice. “Take care.”

  “I always—”

  “I know.”

  She wrinkled her nose, then set off through the shadows. As her light diminished, Saben positioned dark-eater sprites in his eyes. He started to search through the shelves. Perhaps the demon guard was only a myth.

  The Tancuonese loved their false securities, from what Saben had seen. False securities like seals that could command demons and even children could learn to use. He gritted his teeth.

  A central gap
between shelves, Saben found a stand topped by a scroll case enclosed in a box of polished glass. His night vision sprites allowed him to read the plaque on the side of the box. He read it twice to make sure he understood, first in silence, then in a hushed voice.

  “Be wary, magus. Herein lies a scroll of the ascended Azel, scion of Destruction himself.”

  The word for destruction was written in a stylized fashion, quite different from the rest of the text. The first letter was in high case, and that likely meant it served as a motif name in the local language. Some demons spawned children with mortals or each other, only adding to their numbers and corruption. Destruction himself must refer to an older being than the subject of the scroll. Far more importantly the motif name meant this roll of ancient parchment contained a sacra form.

  The place of prominence told Saben that whatever, whomever the scroll pertained to, it was strong, perhaps strong enough to wage war in the ring. He’d not expected to recognize the name of the demon he could disguise himself as when he reached this place, but the concept of a son of destruction as his to control made his lips curve into a smile.

  Jaswei approached him as he examined the glass box, searching for a way to remove it without creating undue sound. She carried a scroll of her own in a case of black wood under one arm.

  “This is what Rond wanted,” she said.

  He grinned, then motioned to the box.

  “That scroll is what I want.”

  Jaswei wrinkled her nose.

  “I can’t read the script, but if you say so. Take it, and we’ll go.”

  Saben nodded. He turned from Jaswei, reaching for the box containing the Azel scroll. His fingers brushed the glass, then moved to the side. The box was padlocked. He gripped the metal tightly and tugged, but his strength alone was insufficient to break it. He grunted and stepped back. Jaswei drew her bane sword in a flicker of light. The lock broke. Saben caught it before it hit the floor. He tucked the broken pieces of metal into his pocket.

  With both hands, he raised the lid of the box.

  He grinned. Light poured across him from behind. Jaswei turned on the spot, bane sword in hand. Saben lifted the scroll and pivoted. The demon guardian of the library stood before them, his pallid greenish skin pulsing with inner illumination.