Calling On Fire (Book 1)

by Stephanie Beavers

  The summoner followed it out with one wolf beside him and another behind him, each restlessly doing his bidding. They both automatically lunged to the left, and it was all Esset could do to hold them back, knowing that their target could just as easily be his friends as the last vampire. When Esset saw torchlight up ahead, and that which it illuminated, he went ahead and banished the wolves. Toman and the sergeant looked over at him as he approached.

  “You know, occasionally, the things I animate surprise me,” the animator remarked calmly. They’d caught it.

  The last vampire had managed to sneak out, but it had run afoul of Toman’s statues. Likely by luck alone, one of the statues of a spear-wielding soldier had surprised it and had managed to ram into the creature with its weapon. The spear was impaled at least a foot deep into the wall, but not before it had passed through the vampire’s shoulder, effectively pinning it in place. The only way the creature could have escaped would have been to tear off its own arm. But that was no longer an option. A second soldier, a pair to the first, had rammed its spear through the vampire’s abdomen while it was pinned to the wall. That was when Toman had arrived.

  The creature wasn’t dead. In fact, it probably wouldn’t die for a long while, if left there: a day or two, possibly longer. But nor would it be able to survive.

  “Well then,” Esset replied neutrally, surveying the vampire. Toman stared at it with steely determination. Sergeant Warthog kept an eye on the vampire, but she was as interested in Esset and Toman’s behavior as their prisoner’s.

  Toman spoke to the vampire dispassionately. “You’re going to die. Answer my questions, and I’ll make sure you don’t suffer in agony for days before your end comes about.” The vampire hissed in defiance, baring its considerable fangs.

  “How many of you were there?” Toman asked, ignoring the hiss. The creature spat at him. Toman ignored that gesture too. Calling the creature’s bluff, he looked at the statue next to him and it leaned, shifting its spear slightly to the side. The creature screeched its unholy, chilling screech. Esset hid a wince and glanced away.

  “Why should I tell you anything? You took everything from me. The power…gone now.” Its glare was absolutely venomous in the flickering torchlight.

  “I told you why,” Toman answered. “How many?” He reached out one hand and leaned briefly on the stone spear again. Esset twitched twice, once at the vampire’s screech, and once again when he caught Sergeant Warthog’s measuring look.

  “No!” the vampire screamed. Toman was unimpressed. The vampire gave another shriek of fury, this time truncated when Toman pulled back and crossed his arms, waiting.

  “Fine!” the vampire spat. “You win. There is no victory in silence anyways.” Only pride had held its tongue; pain had subdued that pride.

  “There were ten of us, including our creator. You killed the patriarch first—we felt him die. Now kill me,” the vampire demanded. Its teeth were still bared, but it seemed to have deflated, hanging limply against its brutal restraints.

  “Not yet. How were there so many of you?” Toman asked. One or two was common, and even three wasn’t unusual. Ten was rare and a dangerously high number of vampires in one group.

  The vampire stared at Toman almost petulantly for a moment, but he spoke immediately when Toman feinted towards the spear.

  “The patriarch—he had a plan. A small force first, he said. He plotted with us when we were still human—we agreed, all of us, to let him change us. And the power…” The vampire’s tongue slipped out between its fangs to lick its lips. “It was worth it. A small, elite force first, and we’d take the town a bit at a time. Conversion or death. Enough would turn that he’d have fodder to build an army. Next, a civilization! But you…” There was a flash of defiance, and then it slipped away again. “You destroyed everything. A few more days and we would have been ready, but you stopped us. Are you satisfied?”

  Unable to keep his silence, Esset blurted, “You sacrificed your humanity to become…this?” The vampire glared at him.

  “I am better now. Or I was. I am faster and stronger. I have no remorse or conscience to slow me down.” The vampire stared at Esset in contempt before looking at Toman again.

  “Kill me, human. Keep your word,” the vampire said. Toman glanced at his brother, who looked away. Next Toman looked to the sergeant, who gave an indifferent shrug. Toman regarded the helpless vampire for a moment, then nodded. He stepped back and another of the armed statues stepped into his place.

  “Bright Hyrishal save you if you’ve any soul left,” Esset murmured. Both Toman and Esset turned away as the statue beheaded the vampire, ensuring it would never rise again. Sergeant Warthog observed the execution without emotion.

  “That seemed like it should fall on the unethical side for you guys,” she remarked. Esset looked uncomfortably at Toman, then away again.

  “I don’t like it, but sometimes torture is necessary,” Toman said. The sergeant looked back to Esset.

  “Esset disagrees,” she remarked.

  “Yes,” Esset replied, but silence followed the brief response. Behind them, the statues began to clean up on Toman’s silent order. The decapitated vampire was carried back into the mausoleum to be laid neatly on the floor, its detached head propped against its neck.

  Toman finally spoke.

  “Vampires aren’t human anymore. When a good person is bitten, they die. Bad people turn. A human being can be redeemed. When a vampire turns, anything good in them is destroyed. They’re empty, acting on instinct and greed. They can control themselves when they want to, but only to protect or further their own interests. They’re monsters. Even Esset doesn’t have qualms about killing them. It’s just the torture that upsets him.”

  “Torture is always wrong,” Esset said quietly. “At the very least, it damages the soul of the one who is doing the torturing.” This was old territory for Toman and Esset. Each of them knew the other’s stance. They’d fought in a war together, and there was nothing like a war to bring out those kinds of ethical differences in people.

  The sergeant looked between them again, but neither spoke again, so she changed the subject. “What about the vampire’s story. Do we buy it?” she asked.

  “Sure, but we verify there aren’t any more,” Toman said with a shrug.

  “There’s a chance the vampire was lying,” Esset acknowledged. “But I doubt it. Its defiance was out of spite only. It caved too easily to have been protecting anything, even if a vampire could ever be inclined to protect anything but itself. It wanted to die. Telling the truth would bring death. Why would it lie when the truth would serve it better?”

  “True,” Sergeant Warthog said.

  “I should scout the area now,” Esset said, obviously disinclined to talk much more. His soul felt heavy with the night’s events. Dawn couldn’t come soon enough.

  “To our heroes!” One man’s toast turned into many men’s cheers.

  “To think, last night we were unaware of the threat. This morning, we were presented with proof of its elimination. Tonight, we celebrate! The women and old folk had their fun, now we get ours!” Another cheer rose up. The sun was hardly down, but it didn’t take long for the village men to get their celebrations well underway.

  Toman leaned over to Esset.

  “I’m not sure a small, brief gathering to thank us and give us our payment qualifies as ‘celebration,’ but okay,” he said with a grin.

  “They’re men. What do you expect?” Sergeant Warthog said, but she was smiling wryly. Toman and Esset both gave her strange looks but were saved from having to reply by the arrival of the barmaid.

  The cute one.

  “Drinks on the house for our heroes tonight,” she said, smiling as she leaned forward and placed three mugs of ale on the table. Her ample breasts threatened to pop out of her blouse as she leaned forward, a deliberate technique, since the top button was undone. Esset saw and looked away, somehow managing to keep his blush down to a faint pink instead
of deep scarlet. Toman’s grin only widened.

  “Thank you so much, Miss…?” he prompted.

  “Roberta,” she replied before tossing her blonde curls over her shoulder and turning with an exaggerated swing of her hips. Toman enjoyed watching her departure, too.

  “See, Esset? It’s easy. Instead of blushing and looking away, just ask her name,” Toman said.

  “I’m not blushing,” Esset said, but his blush deepened closer to red as he protested. Toman snorted.

  “If you say so. You just don’t know what to do with a woman who’s not in her holy day-dress—”

  “Nothing wrong with modesty,” Esset said.

  “We all know Esset thinks he’s in one of the old tales, fighting dragons to rescue princesses. Why, I doubt our scholar would settle for less than True Love.” The way Toman emphasized “true love” made the concept sound exaggerated.

  “Just because I like the old tales doesn’t mean I think I’m in one. Besides, Toman, you said you wanted a woman you could respect.”

  “Aye, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the view in the meantime,” Toman said, still watching the barmaid from across the room. “Sometimes I think you’re too religious for your own good, brother.”

  “We don’t have time to chase girls anyways,” Esset muttered.

  “You might not. You spend all your time with your nose buried in books,” Toman said.

  “If you two keep bickering, I’ll make sure you have so many jobs you won’t even have time to sleep,” Sergeant Warthog growled. Both brothers fell silent.

  “Better,” the sergeant muttered, taking a swig of her ale. “But I think I’m going to step outside anyways. You two enjoy yourselves.”

  “I think we irritated her,” Toman remarked after the sergeant had left the bar.

  “You mean you irritated her,” Esset said with a smirk. “Some ladies’ man you are.”

  Toman frowned.

  “She’s just cranky.” In truth, neither could begin to imagine wooing the sergeant, even if they’d wanted to. Which they didn’t.

  “If you say so.” Esset’s smirk widened into a grin.

  “So do you think she’ll help us with Moloch?” Toman asked, suddenly serious.

  “I don’t know. It’s a huge risk,” Esset replied, letting him change the subject.

  “This felt like a test, and I don’t know if we passed or not.” Toman looked down at his gloves.

  “Hst, Roberta’s coming back,” Esset said, suddenly nervous again, despite his professed disinterest in the busty barmaid.

  “Fresh ale?” she asked, lifting three mugs.

  “I’m afraid we’ve lost our third,” Toman said.

  “Actually, I was hoping I could join you. I’m on break,” Roberta said, ducking her head.

  “Of course.” Toman was already scooting over so she could sit next to him. She pushed the ales towards them before smoothing her skirt and sitting.

  “Now I’m definitely glad we were persuaded to stay the day before heading home,” Toman said.

  “It’s Toman Atrix-Iiren, right?” she asked Toman.

  “Just Toman,” Toman replied with a nod.

  “And Jonathan Esset?”

  “Just Esset,” Esset said.

  “Not Jonathan?” Roberta was surprised.

  “He thinks it’s too ordinary a name. My brother here is in love with the old tales of magic and might. ‘Jon’ or ‘Jonathan’ is far too dull,” Toman said. Esset shot a look at him.

  “I’ve always thought John to be a respectable name,” Roberta said, looking at Esset curiously.

  “I just prefer Esset,” Esset said with a shrug, trying—too late—to play it off.

  “Well, I’m sorry to bother you guys—” she started.

  “Not at all,” Toman interjected. Roberta smiled shyly.

  “But I’m so curious. Everyone says you used magic to beat the vampires. This town is so backward… I’ve never seen real magic before.”

  “Well I’d be glad to show you some,” Toman said. He held out his hand, palm up, as the tiny, slender belt that was wound around his wrist came to life. It unbuckled itself and slithered into his hand before coiling upwards, its “head” up and swaying back and forth, behaving like a snake mesmerized by someone playing a flute.

  “Wow,” Roberta said, her voice breathy. Roberta reached towards the belt-snake, and it nuzzled against her fingers. Esset was torn between feeling jealous and wanting to roll his eyes at his brother’s display.

  “That’s amazing,” Roberta said once Toman had directed the belt to wrap back around his wrist and become a belt once more.

  “It has its limitations,” Toman said, exercising at least some humility. “I can only animate things I touch, and I have to be able to imagine them as some kind of animal or a person. The more complex the item, with more pieces, the harder it is to animate. And I can’t animate living things, obviously.”

  “So that’s how you used the statues then,” Roberta said.

  “Yup. Statues are easiest. No imagination required to imagine it acting like exactly what it looks like.”

  “I’ve never even heard of magic like yours,” Roberta said. “And I love stories about magic. I always get the inn’s bards to tell those kinds of tales.”

  “As far as I know, I’m the only animator in existence. Or rather, the only one to specialize in this kind of magic,” Toman said. He had no intention of elaborating any further. “Esset’s magic is pretty uncommon too. There are other summoners, but they can’t necessarily summon the kinds of things he can.”

  “Can I see, Esset?” Roberta asked.

  “My abilities aren’t, uh, so innocently demonstrable,” Esset said.

  Roberta blinked.

  “If I summon something, I’ll probably burn down the inn,” Esset said.

  “Oh,” Roberta said. Esset wasn’t being strictly truthful—he had one “innocent” summon, the bat, but it wasn’t exactly impressive. Roberta looked disappointed, and Esset shifted in his seat. He glanced at his brother, who looked amused. Esset opened his mouth to speak, but Roberta suddenly made an exasperated sound.

  “I’m sorry, I’m supposed to get a longer break than this, but my boss is waving me over.” She got to her feet and flashed a smile at them—no, at Toman.

  “That’s too bad,” Toman said with genuine regret.

  “Maybe later?” Roberta asked, taking only the tiniest steps away from them. Toman grinned his affirmative, and she scurried back to the bar. Then Toman was smirking at Esset again.

  “Innocently demonstrable?” Toman asked.

  “Shut up.”

  Dawn broke upon three fleeting shapes in the sky, rushing to greet the coming sun. Hills, trees, winding roads, and wildlife blurred beneath the three birds of stone and their riders until they reached a small lake. The massive stone birds slowed and circled to land beside the small body of water, and their riders dismounted stiffly.

  “Ugh, I have to admit, Esset, your birds are a lot warmer to ride, especially at those high altitudes,” Toman said as he stretched.

  “It’s not too bad this time of year,” Esset said. “And besides, I can only summon two of mine at a time, and mine are so much faster that one person would end up being left behind.”

  “I know, I know,” Toman said.

  Sergeant Warthog had dismounted and stretched without comment and was already at the water’s edge, refilling her waterskin. The two brothers joined her, filling their skins and drinking their fill before refilling them again. Toman strode back towards their mounts and stowed his away in one of the bags strapped to the stone birds. Sergeant Warthog had already stowed hers and was mounting up again. Toman was on his own bird’s back before he realized that Esset hadn’t joined them.

  “Oi! Slowpoke!” he yelled. Esset didn’t respond, so Toman had his bird tromp awkwardly over. The animator was about to poke fun at Esset again—or maybe just get the bird to poke him—when Esset spoke, eyes fixed o
n the horizon.

  “Do you see that? At first I thought it was clouds, but now I think that it’s smoke.” Esset pointed into the distance, where sure enough, a faint halo nestled on the far side of the base of a small mountain.

  “Hey, what’s the hold up? I want to get home,” Sergeant Warthog called over. Toman steered his bird back over to her, with Esset trotting close behind.

  “Do you mind a small detour? Esset might’ve spotted something,” Toman replied as Esset mounted up.

  “As loathe as I am to extend this trip…” Sergeant Warthog said, glancing between them.

  “It might be important,” Esset said, and his stone mount burst into flight.

  The closer they got, the more apparent it became that it was smoke. Only the mountain in the way had facilitated that illusion. The wind shifted to blow the air towards them, and it brought the scent of death.

  Devastation stretched out before them. Where once a small village had stood, there was now ashes and destruction. Surveying the scene from above, Toman, Esset, and Sergeant Warthog hovered, clustered together.

  Fire still consumed the village’s structures, slowly spreading from one house to the next across grass and hedges between the homes. Some structures were already ash, some nearly so, and only a few were untouched. But fire was the least of it. The earth was scorched or broken in places. Jagged holes and clean slices had demolished many of the buildings before the fires even reached them. And the people…everyone was dead, and no one had gone quietly or swiftly. Toman closed his eyes against a flood of memories.