Calling On Fire (Book 1)

by Stephanie Beavers

  What if we did live to middle age, or even old age? He realized that Esset was different—he hadn’t assumed they’d die young. Toman wasn’t relishing the thought of death any more than Esset did, but Toman realized that he accepted its eventuality—even immediacy—and Esset did not. Not to the same degree, anyways. Esset probably had thoughts of what would happen after, later. Even if they didn’t die, there would come a day where they wouldn’t go out and actively help people like they had been doing. Esset probably had plans—dreams, even—for that possibility. Toman didn’t, so he stopped to reflect on it.

  A wife? Kids? A job? That all seemed incredibly foreign. He liked women well enough, but he’d never actively chased them. There’d always been too much else to do. Having kids just seemed weird. Having a job seemed weird too, but slightly less so. What would he do though? Sculpting? Maybe. He could create something with his magic in great detail, so why not? He could probably make really good money off it, and it took him far less time to do it his way than an artisan with tools and no magic.

  Could I live with myself if Moloch were still alive? Now there was a good question. He wasn’t sure he could answer it, but given how much trouble he was having right now just resting when he needed to get better…that spoke volumes. Toman sighed aloud and rested his head back, closing his eyes.

  My decision will determine Esset’s future too. That was the hardest part. He couldn’t do this without him, and they both knew it, but Esset was the best kind of brother anyone could ask for. Esset would never use his own plans for the future against Toman, and Toman wondered if knowing that and letting it affect his own decision was wrong. But it wasn’t an easy decision, so maybe not.

  I’m willing to sacrifice my own life for some things, but what about Esset’s? he wondered. If I could right now exchange my life for Moloch’s death, straight across, then I’d do it. But what about Esset’s?

  Esset’s words echoed in his head: “Don’t say that. If we came face to face with Moloch right now, would you trade my life for his death? I will tell you my answer: no. I fight, Toman. We fight. If we die, we die, but it’s not because we give up.” Esset, at least, knew his answer.

  And Toman supposed that was his answer too then. It wasn’t a satisfying one, not by any stretch, but it was the answer. Toman didn’t want to die, and he wanted Esset to stay alive even more. He hoped they’d make it, that they’d do all the good they could in this world and worry about the next when they got there.

  They were going to stop Moloch.

  New resolve and a newly crafted arm brought Toman and Esset back to the Staggering Tankard a month later. It was getting late in the day when they arrived, but the sergeant was still there.

  “I was beginning to wonder if you boys had changed your minds about coming back,” Sergeant Warthog said to Toman and Esset by way of greeting. “I know you said in your letter that you were going to, but you sure took your time.”

  “Nope, we’re committed,” Esset assured her with a smile. “We just had a few things to take care of.”

  “Well it’s good to clap eyes on you again… intact,” the sergeant commented. Toman raised both gloved hands and wiggled his fingers at her.

  “Impressive,” the sergeant said wryly at the finger-waggling. “Considering Esset told me you’d lost the arm.”

  Toman removed his glove to show off. Silvery metal moved like warm, living flesh, as naturally as his other hand. Sergeant Warthog could only shake her head in wonder. Toman slipped his glove back on, keeping the supernatural arm discreetly hidden under his clothing.

  “Do you have anything for us?” Esset asked.

  “Well, I’m getting close. I don’t want to say anything ’til I’m sure though. I should know within a couple days. I’m just waiting for word back,” the sergeant said.

  “You were a little vague in your letter about what exactly you’re doing for us,” Esset said, taking a seat across from her. Toman took the chair beside him. The sergeant, as usual, always sat on the side of the table facing the door, and in the outside chair, so she couldn’t be blocked in.

  “There are some things I’m looking for. You’re both mages, yes, but not in the conventional sense, so there are a few areas where you would be at a disadvantage. I want to minimize those disadvantages for you. Most of what I’m looking for can be gotten in the form of enchanted objects—amulets are usually the most common and convenient. A few general protective enchantments, I’m thinking, and some to allow you to detect magic in various forms. There’s one other kind of item that will be very tricky to obtain, but I’ve got enough strings to pull to get my hands on a pair of them. I’ve also been digging up some intel on Moloch, but I don’t want to say anything on that front until I have a full picture.”

  “As much as I’d like to have every scrap of information as soon as I can get it, I suppose that makes sense.” Toman respected her enough to not press the issue.

  “What is that other kind of amulet you were trying to get?” Esset was curious to know.

  “Amulets of immunity,” the sergeant replied. “That’s what they’re most commonly called, anyways. They’re quite powerful, and as such, they are exceedingly difficult to come by.”

  “Immunity from what?” Toman asked.

  “Magic.” She forestalled any response by raising her fingers slightly from their resting position. “They work in a particular way. Typically there is a spell locked in a breakable amulet; in breaking the amulet, the spell is released. Its effects work upon the breaker, making it impossible for any new magic to affect the user for a set amount of time. How powerful an individual amulet is determines how long the effects last.”

  “So we can still use our magic…” Esset prompted.

  “Yes. Since you’re not conventional mages, it’ll work even better for you than for most. You can’t cast spells on yourselves anyways, after all. You’ll just want to make sure that any other beneficial magical enchantments are in place before you activate the immunity. They’ll continue to work—only new magics and spells will be unable to touch you.”

  Esset was surprised that something so powerful even existed. Then again, there was probably a catch. Or two.

  “Keep in mind, this won’t make Moloch helpless against you,” the sergeant warned. “It’ll still kill you if he uses magic to pick up a mountain and drop it on you.” Toman and Esset exchanged a look—catches indeed.

  “How long will the immunity last for, typically?” Esset had to ask.

  “Like I said, they vary, but I’m after one that will last longer than ten minutes—at the least,” the sergeant said. Toman and Esset’s eyebrows collectively rose. “Moloch won’t go down without an extensive fight.”

  “Rare…and expensive. We’ll owe you for this,” Toman said.

  “Big time,” the sergeant agreed. “Especially since I’ve been calling in favors of my own just to try and find a pair. But we’ll worry about that later. After all, you will have already gone a long way towards clearing that debt if you manage to get rid of Moloch.”

  “Get rid of Moloch, eh? Well nah, there’s a lofty goal indeed,” a familiar male voice drawled from behind Toman and Esset. Sergeant Warthog gave no hint of surprise, but Toman and Esset both stiffened and Esset ground his teeth. He was getting tired of being ambushed at the Tankard.

  “Erizen.” Sergeant Warthog’s tone wasn’t very welcoming. “You have a demon’s luck, as usual, walking in just in time to hear what you shouldn’t.”

  “Oh, it’s hardly news,” Erizen said, inviting himself to sit down at their table. He flicked a hand and a chair slid itself over from the adjacent table so he could sit. His smarmy smile contrasted against the other expressions around the table, ranging from indifference to irritation.

  “I had a spell set so I’d know when your little do-gooders showed up. And if you’re looking for immunity amulets, our interests once again align. I wish to hire you again!” Erizen made a grand gesture that garnered no response whatsoev
er.

  “I can see I have your interest,” Erizen continued. “As you all know, I’m part of a council of dark mages. As one would expect, relations tend to be less than perfectly stable between various individuals, but as long as everything is relatively discreet, no one much cares. At least, we don’t interfere in each other’s business. Normally I stay well out of such politics in favor of my personal entertainments, but my one neighbor, a Mage Lord Atli, has been making a nuisance of himself. As it happens, he is in possession of a few amulets of the variety you are interested in. I am proposing that I give you the intelligence you need to successfully steal those amulets and a few other small items, and we split the prizes.” Erizen sat back and folded his hands in his lap to let them consider his offer. There was silence around the table.

  “Boys, I need a moment with Erizen,” the sergeant said. Esset frowned but stood, remembering the same request from last time. Toman’s expression was perfectly schooled into a neutral mask.

  Sergeant Warthog leaned forward once the pair was out of earshot.

  “You have grown soft,” she accused. A brief sneer of revulsion flashed across Erizen’s lips at the suggestion.

  “Nonsense,” Erizen snapped.

  Sergeant Warthog smirked. “Oh? Then why send them in alone? Once upon a time, you would never have left such a venture to others. The excitement alone would have ensured your participation, nevermind the satisfaction of revenge firsthand.”

  “Well, one must learn some lessons over the years. But you have a reason to bring this up.” Even when his temper was provoked, Erizen was astute.

  The sergeant suddenly grinned wolfishly. “Oh yes. But first, tell me: What is your opinion of Moloch?”

  “I think I would rather not have him as an enemy.” Erizen’s smile vanished for the first time.

  “But he is not an entirely desirable ally either, is he?” the sergeant prodded.

  “He is volatile, unpredictable. He is powerful, and not just in terms of magical strength. He plays his politics well, and he is cunning,” Erizen replied guardedly. This was high praise, coming from Erizen.

  “It would probably be beneficial, or more convenient, if he were not around, yes?” Another gentle prod. Erizen watched her, still guarded and clearly not intending to respond, so she continued.

  “And clearly you don’t feel up to the task yourself, or you would have acted by now,” Sergeant Warthog continued. Erizen’s expression darkened and his pride goaded him into speaking.

  “It is simply a matter of risk-to-gain analysis,” he put in dismissively. “The potential benefit is simply not worth the likely cost.”

  But the sergeant’s suspicions were confirmed. “And if the risks could be all but negated?” the sergeant asked, seeming to turn her attention to her fingernails. One was tearing, and she raised it to her teeth to carefully chew it off.

  “What are you saying, exactly?” Erizen asked—it was close to being a demand.

  “You’ve grown soft, Erizen,” the sergeant accused again, this time scorn dripping from her tone. “You used to revel in any challenge, relish even the thought of a potential one! Now? Feh.”

  Erizen was frustrated, and it showed—he had forgotten how well she had once known him—still knew him, since he had changed so little—but there was still little he could do but rise to her bait. “I do not fear Moloch, if that’s what you’re implying,” he snapped. “But I am wary of him—only a fool would not be.”

  Sergeant Warthog grinned a slow grin. “Yes, I know,” she replied, watching with pleasure as he grit his teeth. In all actuality, he had not changed much over the years since they’d known each other, but she had, and it was giving her the advantage, however slight. And she was playing that advantage with great ferocity. “But I wonder, will the Erizen before me now consider my proposal? Once, the Erizen I knew would have leapt upon it.”

  “You have not changed so much,” Erizen replied, deflecting the indignity of her interrogation. “You are still insufferable. It is only the way you are insufferable that has changed.”

  The sergeant only smiled and waited. She knew he would succumb to her challenge eventually, and she knew he knew she knew it. That was what made this victory so delicious.

  “Very well. I will hear you. No more games,” Erizen conceded.

  The sergeant smiled a moment longer before conceding also. She had what she wanted now, after all. “These boys,” she said, indicating briefly to Toman and Esset, who waited by the bar, covertly watching them but unable to hear anything. “They’re stronger, smarter, than they look—you know that—and they’re bent on taking down Moloch. I’ve thrown in my lot with them. I think they have a chance—just a chance, mind—of actually succeeding.” She could tell from Erizen’s expression that he still had doubts, but that was only to be expected.

  “Your proposal?” Erizen asked. It was obvious that he would require some convincing.

  “They want Moloch gone. You want Moloch gone. Your goals align. There is much you could do to help them indirectly. Intelligence, mostly. You undoubtedly have valuable, current information on Moloch. Your involvement could be minimal, risks even fewer. But the potential benefits…vast. You and I both know it.”

  “Gret—” Erizen began, still not favorably inclined, but Sergeant Warthog cut him short with a slight shake of her head and a lifted hand.

  “That was not the proposal,” she said. “That was simply…something to consider. Later. The proposal is this: Go with them, work with them against this enemy of yours. Do a little more damage than originally planned; be the old Erizen again. Challenge yourself. Then you’ll get a real look at those two, and you can consider what else I have told you.” Now she stopped, and now she awaited his response with folded hands.

  “Oh, mah Gretchen,” Erizen drawled heavily. “Run away with me? I could make you young and beautiful again, and we would be madly in love.”

  Sergeant Warthog laughed harshly. She didn’t actually know if he was serious or not, but it didn’t matter—her answer was the same either way. “Your ego assumes much,” she replied. “But then, it always does. Now, my proposal?”

  “Will you marry me?” Erizen drawled. Now he was definitely joking. She drummed her fingers on the table once, pointedly, making him laugh. It was the only answer that she dignified the “proposal” with.

  “For all the physical youth I have retained, it cannot make me feel so alive as you can. You invigorate me, Gretchen. How could I deny you? Whistle for your puppies, and we can discuss our plans.” Erizen was smiling sardonically, at ease again. Ignoring the condescension, Sergeant Warthog raised a hand to summon Toman and Esset back to the table.

  “Well! It appears we shall be working together,” Erizen drawled at them once they were within earshot. Esset scowled and shot the sergeant a look, which she ignored. Toman didn’t show his emotions. Erizen immediately commandeered the conversation again.

  “Your dear sergeant has persuaded me to come along on our little venture to Atli’s treasury. Now, I can’t have anything connecting us to pull this off, so I will simply have to meet you there. I can give you directions, of course. So, here’s the general plan: meet in the city beside the castle, wait for nightfall, depart for castle, break in, get our prizes, go our separate ways—like I said, I can’t have any known ties to you. We’ll meet back at my castle so I can give you your share of the loot. All the breaking in and planning of the theft, I will leave to you. Pretend I’m not there. Do not count on my skills—plan only around your own. Think of me as a bonus.” He smirked at them. “Agreed? Swell. Now, I shall be on my way—pressing engagements and all that.”

  Erizen held out his hand to shake. Esset automatically reached for it, hesitated, then braced himself and shook it. Like the first time, Erizen used the contact to send the jolt of information to Esset, everything they’d need to know for the mission.

  Erizen rose smoothly as Esset tried to regain his bearings. “Ta!” Erizen bade them as he sailed
out the door, and it was only another two seconds before Esset was scowling again.

  “Okay, this should go without saying,” Sergeant Warthog said. “But stick to the mission. No taking down any more members of Moloch’s council. It could alert him to the threat you pose or goad him or the other lords into hunting you actively. Besides, with the setup they have, odds are any replacement will be as bad or worse than the one you kill.”

  “Of course,” Toman said. Esset nodded his agreement, although he was inwardly wishing he could wipe out the lot of them—Erizen included.

  “I know you’re not happy about this, but his help has become vital to your success,” Sergeant Warthog said, eliciting surprised expressions from both of them.

  “How so?” Esset asked.

  “Moloch has a Greymaker.”

  Hard flying brought Toman and Esset back to the kingdoms governed by the dark mage lords swiftly. Now the sun was beneath the horizon and darkness encroached on the landscape. A couple hours earlier, Toman and Esset had switched from the conspicuous summoned birds to massive stone creatures animated by Toman so they could fly invisibly by night.

  A faint smudge on the horizon marked a town, and Esset signaled Toman to fly closer.

  “Town. We’ll be inside Atli’s kingdom by now, shall we take a look?” Esset shouted. Toman simply nodded.

  The evening was overcast, helping to hide them in the sky. Their stone mounts would be a bit more noticeable if they flew close enough to see ground activity clearly, but seeing one of Atli’s towns would be informative, and it would be worth the risk.

  They soared high above the small huddle of buildings clustered in the middle of sprawling farms. Wisps of smoke trailed from chimneys, but the buildings were small and in poor repair and there was very little activity, even though darkness hadn’t fully fallen yet. Toman spied three uniformed soldiers patrolling even in this small a town.

  Toman pointed at one house, and he and Esset swooped down to take a closer look. Finally, a resident: a woman in a tattered dress pumped water from a well next to a house. Toman and Esset hovered above the building to study her; she looked healthy, if a bit thin.