The Guild

NINE

Alonnen felt his heart thump a little stronger. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unexplained. Between her blush and the way she returned his touch, he wondered if she had unspoken feelings for him. The strings he had pulled during the Consulate meeting had been necessary in his view, because he believed she really was going to be a force to be reckoned with in relation to the coming demonic plague. He didn’t know how, but he wanted to give her what advantages and recognitions he could in preparation for it.

This, however, was much more personal. He knew he tended to reach out physically to a lot of people; it no doubt sprang from growing up in a very loving, protected family. Because of his position, a lot of people did not reach back in equal measure. Those that did, he treasured. But this, the willingness of her hand entwined with his, touched him deeply. Instinct said that showing it, however, would do more to scare her away than keeping silent. So he diffused the moment by focusing on something a bit more trivial, yet still important.

“Nonsense,” he dismissed, waving his free hand. “You’ve never really been in my guild. At least, not very deeply into it. And look at you,” he added, gently squeezing her fingers. “You’re a Guild Master yourself! You’re now my equal, and I’ll have nothing less than that out of you. Call me Alonnen, as my equal. Or call me ‘Tall’ outside of sheltered zones.”

She looked up and around at the sybaritic brothel room. “This isn’t exactly a sheltered zone.”

“Actually, it is,” Alonnen said. He tapped the table. “My predecessors had the wisdom to invest in land in the Lessors Guild, and to involve themselves in the Architects and Masons Guilds, and with the Woodwrights. As a result, there are certain buildings—this being one of them—that are very carefully warded to hide all traces of magic taking place within. Moreover, this building—which has been a brothel for hundreds of years and has from time to time been the seat of the Guild Master for the Whores Guild—has had each of its rooms spell-warded for sound as well as magic.

“We’re almost as safe here as we would be back at the dam, save that there aren’t several layers of sentries on guard. Still, in exchange for keeping up the spells and the wards, this particular establishment lets us use these rooms as a temporary bolt-hole. Not often, and only for a few days or in a few rooms at a time, but that’s the deal,” he told her.

Rexei could see how that would be a good deal. Before she could say anything, however, her stomach gurgled. Alonnen smiled wryly.

“We don’t get more than one meal a day for free, but the food’s worth paying for. Let’s order a Nutty Chicken and a Creamed Salmon,” he proposed, squeezing and releasing her hand. “That way, if you don’t like the one, you can try the other. They serve a really good barley soup, too, and there’s a greenhouse on the roof so they have fresh greens to go with it. Big Momma swears by fresh greens for reinvigorating the libido in winter.”

Rexei narrowed her eyes, watching him rise and head for what she realized was a small, wire-connected talker-box by the front door. Just like that, he had gone from being labeled nearly sexless to being very male once again in her mind. “And just how would you know what Grandmaster Bertha claims about . . . you know?”

Swinging around to face her, Alonnen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. The movement ruffled the curls tied into a short tail at his nape. “You know, Longshanks, I’ve seen this in other female mages, and I can understand why so many think this way, but I was hoping you were smart enough to think past the fear. Rexei . . . there is a whole spectrum between gelded asexual male on the violet side of the rainbow, and bestial, brutal rapist on the red side.

“Most men are somewhere between yellow and blue. I’m about as green as they come—I have a libido, I have an interest in sex, and I find many women to be attractive. My brother happens to find both women and men attractive, but he’s green in hue, too,” Alonnen explained. “Neither of us are going to grab and violate any partner, but neither are we going to castrate ourselves, literally or otherwise, just to pretend our need to be touched, held, and pleasured doesn’t exist. It does.

“Your needs exist, too,” he said, pointing at her, wanting her to understand that, and that they weren’t anything worth fearing. “They might be smothered by the many problems you have seen so far, but you have every right to know what it feels like to be hugged and held, to be kissed and . . . and so forth.”

This time, he blushed, trailing off for a moment. Rexei didn’t look very feminine, but then again, a lot of women around the Heias Dam tended to downplay their femininity, simply because it meant less hassle for them in the public areas whenever the priests came by to collect mandatory tithes and such. But there was something about her that . . . Sighing, he dragged his mind firmly back into safe territory.

“Unfortunately, this conversation is heading in a direction I don’t believe you’re ready to discuss in a calm state of mind,” Alonnen said. “I do think you are cute as a button and as smart as a piston engine, but unless and until you should feel the same, whether it’s with me or with anyone else, that’s as far as it should go. I will repeat that you’re as safe in my company as if . . . as if one of us were a pet dog, worthy of a few pats and a cuddle-hug and some positive attention, but that’s it. And if you fear anything more than that, just say so. As it is, as soon as Gabria gets free of the Consulate and comes over, she’ll swap places with me, and I’ll share a room with one of the other lads.”

Turning back to the door, he moved up to the talker-box and began turning the crank-handle to charge it.

Rexei watched him place their dinner order, face warm and mind racing over his words. She could not remember the last time she had been complimented by someone who knew she was female. A couple of times her gender had been uncovered, but the comments made during those moments of discovery had been insults, not compliments. Multiple times someone had complimented her as a male . . . but some of those had been just as awful in their own way. The rest of the time, she had ignored the good ones, since underneath her attitude and her disguises, she was still very much a female at the end of each day.

And here I am in a brothel with . . . with the first man I’ve been interested in, as a man, woman to man, since . . .

A knock on the door startled both of them. Caught in the act of hanging up the cone-shaped earpiece that allowed a talker-box operator to hear what the person on the other end was saying, Alonnen fumbled it onto its hook, then glanced at her. He opened his mouth to say something, then the rhythmic rapping was repeated. Relaxing, he nodded.

“I didn’t catch the pattern the first time. That’ll be Gabria.” A step to the right allowed him to grasp the doorknob and pull the solid panel open. The blonde woman smiled at him, opened her mouth to speak . . . and her gaze drifted to Rexei beyond his shoulder. She froze, eyes widening in fear.

It was the first time anyone had looked at Rexei in fear, and Rexei didn’t know what to make of it.

“Is something wrong?” Alonnen asked his assistant. He glanced over his shoulder at Rexei and the rest of the room, but he couldn’t find anything alarming in it. Looking back, he watched as Gabria shrunk in on herself, huddling in her knit tunic. “What’s wrong?”

Swallowing, Gabria looked down the hall, as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

He stepped back from the door, giving her room to enter, guessing that she didn’t want to talk about it in public. “Come inside.”

That only made her eyes widen further. She shook her head and moved back. “Uh . . . I’ll . . . just go find another room . . .”

Frowning, Alonnen stepped into the hall, letting the door almost close behind him. Mindful of the potential for eavesdroppers, he spoke under his breath. “Gabria, what’s wrong? You’re acting like you’re afraid of Longshanks. You’re supposed to be sharing this room with her tonight.”

“She . . . she’s with one of them,” Gabria hissed, eyes still wide and wary.

On the other side of the door, inside the room, Rexei ghosted up to the panel as quietly as she could. She had seen the other woman’s fearful stare and wanted to know why she was upset.

“What do you mean, one of them?” Alonnen asked.

“A God,” Gabria hissed, shuddering inside her coat. “I can’t even think about . . . about Him, and you want me to . . . to spend the night in a room with her?”

“Gabria . . .”

“No! I’m going to Marta’s,” his part-time assistant asserted. “I’ll spend the night with her. Where I’ll be safe!”

Movement by the stairwell resolved itself into the faces of two familiar men. Alonnen lifted his chin in brief greeting, but he kept most of his attention on the woman in front of him. “Gabria, Guildra isn’t the same as Mekha.”

“You don’t know that. And frankly, I don’t want to know. I’m going to Marta’s, and that’s that.”

“Then at least let me and Ohso walk you there,” Alonnen compromised, meaning one of the other men who had accompanied them to town. Hearing his name, the fellow raised his brows and headed their way.

“I don’t need a keeper,” Gabria retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “It’s not that far to her tenement on the west side of town, and once I get there, her building is . . . you know. I’m not a sheep, needing to be shepherded every step of the way.”

“I know you’re not, but if you slip and fall in the snow, you could lie there all night with a broken leg, and nobody would know,” he countered. “I’ll not have you die of exposure. And he and I can keep an eye on each other on the way back.”

“Actually, Mark and I can go with her,” Ohso offered, coming close enough to hear Alonnen’s words and to guess the rest. “There’s a gaming house between here and the westside we were thinking of visiting anyway, so we might as well just walk her to her friend’s place and hit it on the way back.”

Alonnen suppressed a sigh. “Set aside money for your suppers and breakfasts, and don’t bet anything more than what you actually carry. And don’t get caught cheating if you use . . .” He wiggled his fingers to indicate magic. “Try not to cheat at all.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Ohso joked. “How else am I going to retire into a castle of my very own? Join the flippin’ priesthood? That won’t work anymore, you know.”

Gabria’s mouth twitched into a smile, but it was a weak one. Sighing out loud, Alonnen flipped his hand at the trio. “Off with you, then—when dawn comes or when the storm stops, ascertain if the streets are passable, and be here within an hour of that. Report in by talker-box if it takes more than a day. Other than that, have a good night.”

Nodding in farewell, the pair departed to pick up Mark on their way out of the brothel. With a sigh, Alonnen closed the door. “Bloody hell . . .” He put his back to the door and leaned against it, eyeing Rexei. “How much did you hear?”

“Why is she afraid of me?” Rexei asked. Then winced, realizing it was a stupid question, given their whole culture.

Seeing her wince, Alonnen nodded. “Exactly. Gods. She doesn’t trust any of ’em. She won’t be the only one, either. I’d said a good sixty, seventy percent of most mages will look sideways at you, and a good chunk of the rest of the population will, too.”

“Yes, but I am a . . . one of them,” Rexei hedged, not quite willing to call herself a mage openly yet. “Anything I could believe into existence would by logic have to avoid all that holy manure we’ve been forced to swallow all these years. Guildra is not like that, because I, too, couldn’t stand the thought of it being like that.”

He reached up and rested his hand on her shoulder, giving it a supportive little squeeze. “I believe that, and you believe that . . . but some people, like Springreaver, just won’t believe it until it’s sunk into their very bones. And that can only take time to accomplish, Longshanks. Give ’er time. Spread the word of what Guildra stands for and what She stands against, and give it time.”

“Well . . . sorry to chase away your girl,” Rexei offered awkwardly.

Alonnen blinked at her. “My what?”

“You . . . and her aren’t . . . ?” she asked tentatively.

“What? Oh no,” he quickly denied. “Not in the least. I’m not her type, she’s not mine, and I haven’t dated anyone in a while. It’s not a good idea for the Guild Master to court anyone within his or her own guild anyway. At most, it’d be someone on the periphery, and Gabria’s been one of my close assistants for a few years now—inner-circle close, not intimate close,” he clarified.

“Oh.” She felt strangely relieved to hear that. Her face felt hot. Moving away from the door, she shrugged. “Well, I’m glad. I mean, that I didn’t interrupt any plans the two of you may have had. Third wheel on a motorhorse, and all that.”

She’s blushing? Alonnen thought. Why would she blush after I said it was alri—Oh. Grateful her back was to him, he felt his own face heat a little. Carefully not clearing his throat, for he didn’t want to sound awkward himself, he did his best to explain smoothly and simply his own reasons. “Well, as the Guild Master, it’s important not to take advantage and important not to seem to be taking advantage. There are rules and all that. But . . . when I was still a journeyman, apprenticed to the previous Guild Master . . .

“Well, what I thought was my first serious romance turned out to be a case of social climbing,” he stated wryly, wrinkling his nose. Rexei turned to look at him in inquiry. Alonnen nodded. “Yeah. Her name was Daralei, and she knew—everyone knew by then—that I was going to be the next Guardian of the Vortex, being the strongest in the Guild next to Millanei. Before that was settled, she was flirtin’ with one of the other two candidates. Storshei. He’s second-in-command of the dam works now. But back then, she glomped onto me, had my head spinning . . .”

“And?” Rexei asked, curious in spite of herself.

“He tried to convince me of what she was up to, then he went to Millanei, who contrived my ‘fall from grace,’” Alonnen said, giving her a lopsided smile. “Dara tried getting me reinstated. A little too hard. So, suspicious, I told her I was happy to let Storshei be the next Guardian . . . and so she started flirting with him on the sly. I caught her at it so it wasn’t just his word against hers, and Millanei kicked her outta the guild. Put her in Pistons far to the north.”

“I’m sorry you had to suffer that,” Rexei told him. She moved over to the couch and settled into the corner of it.

Following her, Alonnen claimed the other side. He pulled off his boots, then put a wool-covered foot on the cushions between them. “Better to find out before she leeched any real status, power, or wealth outta me. The next one . . . wasn’t a mage.”

“Next one?” Rexei raised her brows. “Uh . . . how old are you?”

“Thirty.”

Her brows rose. That was a bit older than she had expected. “Thirty? Well . . . I suppose you act it, but you look more like you’re twenty-five.”

He grinned at the compliment and doffed his cap to her. Literally, pulled it off with a bow of his upper body. “Thank you, thank you . . . my dad could get mistaken for a twenty-five-year-old at the age of forty-one. Good bones, and all that. I take after him in all but . . . well, in all but the nose. More like my granddaddy in that.”

The way he flicked up the tip of his longish nose with the side of one finger, teasing himself, made her chuckle and smile. “I’m not sure, since it’s been so long, but . . . I think I have my father’s chin. And his forehead. Everything in between was mum’s.”

Her gaze dipped down.

Not wanting her to grow sad, Alonnen changed the subject. “My mum calls me ‘Al,’ and some of the others, but I rather prefer my full name. A bit opposite—most children would rather their parents didn’t call them by their full name. That, and there are three other Alonnens in the Precinct. I know of at least seven people named Rexei between here and Gren Precinct to the west, two of them girls here in Heiastowne. But one of them likes to be called ‘Lani’ for some reason. She’s in the Bakers Guild. Do you have a nickname? Or did you?”

“No,” she admitted, after giving it a few moments of thought. “Not unless you count things like ‘sweetie’ and ‘kitten’ when I was very little.”

“I got saddled with ‘dumpling,’” Alonnen found himself confessing—and grinned as she burst out laughing, then quickly covered her mouth, blushing. “No, it’s okay. At least I’m not as round as one.” He looped his arm around his knee, staring off past her shoulder. “If Millanei hadn’t warned me, I wouldn’t have realized that working magic burns the body’s reserves as surely as working muscles. You won’t see many plump mages in and around the dam, unless they’re compulsive eaters.

“But, if you’re ever tasked with setting warding amulets, you’ll be set a diet of vegetables and greens to eat, not just things like potatoes, breads, and meat. We don’t do as much of that in the winter, though,” he said. “It’s hard to get fresh greens. The few books on magic we have all agree that fresh plant-based food is good for a mage, since that’s where magic comes from.”

“It does?” Rexei asked, blinking. “I don’t remember that. Mum said it comes from within people and is something I should never, ever let the priesthood find out about, because they’ll steal it all away.”

“Oh yes, it has a whole cycle, like rainwater,” he told her. “Rain evaporates from the land and the lakes, goes up into the sky, condenses into clouds, falls as rain, evaporates again . . . Magic comes from plants and is absorbed by animals when we eat the plants—we humans are animals as surely as any donkey or cat, just a whole lot smarter. And we in turn shed magic, or rather, life-energy, which in turn the plants drink up and grow strong, feeding us again. The only exception is the Vortex, and similar fountains of energy.”

“There are other places like the Vortex?” she asked.

“Yes—those Guardians you spoke with, they guard other, similar resources. Some are formal points in the world where magic spills in from the . . . well, it’s not the Afterlife, but it’s on the way to the Afterlife. The Darkhanans call it the Dark, and they base their religion around it. I think,” he added, frowning slightly. “Priestess Saleria of the far-off Empire of Katan was explaining some of it to me, because she’s being visited by a Darkhanan Witch—not Witch-Knight Orana Niel, but someone else. I’ve met her, you know. Our secret champion.”

Rexei smiled at his lofty look. She held out her thumb sideways, the other fingers curled into her palm. “I’ve pricked this thing thirty times—thirty-and-one, if you count your guild—signing the petition books. I even met her once, in the Glassworks Guild. Though at the time, I had no clue who she was or what her significance was. I just knew everyone in that guild trusted her completely and that we were signing special books to get Mekha removed from the world. No one believed it’d happen in our lifetime, but . . . we clung to the hope.”

“And here we are, with Him actually removed.” He relaxed into the corner of the divan, then sighed. “Well, we won’t know any details of how it all happened until after the Convocation ends and we can speak with everyone in Nightfall, but I’m confident Sir Orana carried through on all her promises. I hope she—they—weren’t harmed doing it, but when I met her, she swore on a Truth Stone she’d brought that she’d lay down her life to get the job done.”

“If she could . . . Is she really immortal?” Rexei asked. “That’s what everyone was whispering.”

Alonnen shrugged. “Millanei said the Witch-Knight hadn’t aged one bit from when she was a young apprentice, so she very well could be. But nobody knows how she did it.”

Thinking about it, Rexei finally shrugged. “Maybe it’s because she slew Mekha? Slay a God, gain immortality?”

A tip of his head acknowledged her point. “Yeah, but the buggering bastard didn’t stay dead.”

Her eyes widened at the epithet. She hadn’t ever heard anyone apply it so casually, so jokingly, to the God that so many had feared for so long, mages and non-mages alike. “You don’t fear Mekha, do you?”

“I did,” Alonnen told her. “But after living here most of my life, seeing His magics fail to find the mages who fled to the dam even while being tracked by His dog-priests . . . no, I’m not afraid anymore. And even if He somehow did return, even some of His own priests won’t worship him anymore.” At her puzzled look, he reminded her, “. . . They let the mages go?”

“They let them go so that we wouldn’t attack,” Rexei reminded him cynically. “I sincerely doubt they’ll let any scrap of power go, if they can help it. Being told by the Consulate that the priesthood is no longer an officially recognized guild is going to enrage them. Particularly the lot here in Heiastowne.”

“Well, without Mekha to back them up with His God-power, they’ll get a good shock if they try to go up against us. We may be half trained compared to mages elsewhere in the world, but we know how to counter the priest-mages,” he asserted.

That assertion made Rexei frown. “Alonnen . . . if you can contact powerful mages via that mirror—mages outside Mekhana’s borders—then why do you say you’re half trained? Why can’t you just get the training you need from them?”

Her words caught him off-guard. It was an honest question, though. Sighing, Alonnen swept his hand over his head . . . then picked the knot out of the ribbon binding his hair at the nape of his neck. The golden strands fluffed forward, spiral curls released like snapped springs, and he caught her amused smile. He returned it, then dragged his attention back to her question.

“It has to do with the oaths of the Guardian, and the fact that, just up until a few months ago, we didn’t even have that particular scrying mirror. Just two precious ones that could only view things within the kingdom’s boundaries, and only with great effort could I peer at anything beyond. Mekha kept a shield over the entire border,” he explained. “Unless they were extremely powerful—maybe even shielded by another God—mages could not slip into the kingdom without being seen and tagged . . . and most mages on either side of that border could not scry past it. If I hadn’t had the power of the Vortex backing me, I wouldn’t have been able to try. So almost nobody could come to us to teach us without getting caught, and even Witch Orana couldn’t stay.”

“Then how did you get the mirror?” she asked. “You all acted like it had been working for some time.”

“The Vortex is connected to the Fountainways, and the Fountainways aren’t included in Mekha’s spell. Or weren’t,” he clarified. “I only got that mirror a few months ago. As it is, the Fountainways before that were voice only . . . and rules of Guardianship state most firmly that I could not explain to anyone that my Guardianship was within Mekhana’s borders. You took the oath; you know the spell.”

Rexei nodded and recited the rules of the oathbinding she had taken. “I know. Anyone who tries to say to the priesthood of Mekha, either of their own free will or via coercive spells, where the Mages Guild is located—or its members or speaks of the Vortex and its powers—automatically and completely forgets the answers before they’re revealed.”

“Exactly. As the Guild Master, my oathbinding is a bit different because I need to be able to talk about magic and mages and such . . . but as the Guardian, I am still bound by my oaths to keep the powers of the Vortex out of the hands of those who would abuse that power. And the one thing the priesthood of Mekha never learned—and never will—is that there is a Fountain, the Vortex, here in Heias Precinct. With the power of the Vortex at His fingertips, Mekha could’ve challenged a fellow God to His or Her face, even without needing the Convocation to meet them here in the mortal world.”

“War in Heaven?” She shivered. “Is it really that powerful?”

He leveled her a look. “Rexei, the Vortex has kept a God from finding out about the home of the Mages Guild. Perhaps not the strongest of Gods out there, since hardly anyone wanted to worship Him beyond His priests, but still, a God—and a God who drained magic from mages, at that, adding to His power. Not that it makes me the equivalent of a God or anything,” Alonnen added quickly. “But from what the other Guardians have said about such things, two or three of the Fountains combined might make a mage close to being a God, if that mage could handle the power. I can just handle the Vortex, but adding another would fry me alive. Giving it to a God? That’s just a bad idea all around. I don’t have to test the theory to know that much.”

A knock interrupted them. Rising, Alonnen crossed to the door and cracked it open. The last clutch of the fellows he had brought along for their protection had arrived. Murmuring where Ohso, Gabria, and Mark had gone, he directed them to pick one of the other two rooms. Once the door was shut, Alonnen realized what that meant. Sighing, he turned back to Rexei.

“As much as I’d like to give you privacy tonight . . . I’m going to have to stay here. Guild policy, no one sleeps alone outside the Vortex. These rooms are sheltered against magic, both scryings and attacks, but not against nonmagical attacks,” he told her.

She blushed, thinking about sharing the bed with him again. Rexei glanced at it, then managed a casual shrug when she looked back at him. “It’s okay. I trust you.” The way he relaxed at her words, the smile he gave her, warmed her. She returned it, ducking her head a little. “Besides, you didn’t snore last night. I’ve no guarantee about sharing a bed with anyone else.”

“You were out so hard, not even the dam breaking would’ve woken you,” Alonnen retorted. He tapped the tip of his nose and pointed at her. “But you can’t say I didn’t warn you tonight.”

That made her laugh heartily . . . and that made him feel the paradox of a sudden flush of heat coupled with a chilling realization. I like her. A lot. Like I haven’t . . . like I haven’t loved anyone since Bethana . . .

His first romantic interest had tried to use him for power and prestige. His second had been a good woman at heart, but she had died in an explosion at her munitions factory. After that, Alonnen had buried himself in his work, believing that Fate just didn’t have a long-lasting love in mind for him. So either Fate is teasing me a third time, or . . . well, Daralei didn’t count since it wasn’t mutual on her part, so Fate just might be giving me a second chance, not a third, at love . . .

Sleeping chastely beside her might be awkward, now that he was aware of how much he really liked Rexei Longshanks. The couch was a little short for a full-length sprawl, but he’d manage if need be. Pushing away from the door, he lifted his chin. “Right, then. Let’s get out some paper and a couple writing sticks, and start figuring out what, exactly, the role of the new Holy Guild will be. What you’ll do, what you’ll not do . . . You are the Guild Master, the very first one, and that means you’re the one stuck with figuring out how your guild will be run.”

With a groan and a roll of her eyes, she pushed off the divan and headed back to the table, grabbing her satchel on the way. “Which means I’ll have to present a Guild Charter and figure out who to choose for my three apprentices, as soon as possible. Because there was another reason for a Patron Goddess, one I didn’t dare tell the others at the meeting.”

“Oh? And what’s that?” Alonnen asked her.

She gave him a level look. “A Goddess might be the only being strong enough to deal with any demon conjured by the former priesthood of Mekhana. But a Patron’s strength depends heavily upon prayer and worship . . . when They’re not siphoning magic like a bullying thief.”

“Good point. You’ll need those apprentices fast, then. Tomorrow morning, you can use the Consulate talker-box to network with the other Precincts. They’re bound to know Gearmen who’d be willing to volunteer,” he said. Joining her at the table, he helped by taking up one of the graphite sticks she had brought, her previous notes, and a few sheets of paper. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it; their food wouldn’t be brought up for a little while more. “First, though, let’s see what you’ve got so far . . . and let’s see if we can word a message to the other towns about just what sort of apprentices you’ll need. Three guilds, three months each . . .”

“We’ll need wording that won’t scare everyone away from the thought of serving a Goddess,” Rexei agreed, thinking of poor Gabria. She wasn’t afraid, but then she knew . . . obviously . . . exactly what Guildra stood for, and stood against. “Even if it’s for a completely different sort of deity, finding others who are willing to serve is the biggest obstacle I face.”

• • •

If it weren’t for the band wrapped around his brow, sweat would have long since stung Torven’s eyes. He was peripherally aware of the agitated man pacing angrily in the corridor outside this outer cell room, too, but building permanent wards to contain a minor demon took time, patience, and attention to the tiniest detail, including being aware before beginning that his face would sweat from the sheer effort and concentration involved. Crouched over the smooth stone of the cell floor, he placed another painstakingly neat line of binding runes along the curve of the ward-within-a-ward circle that would protect him from what he was summoning.

Crowded into the doorway, three priest apprentices, novices, scribbled notes on everything he was doing. Behind them, the clucking of a chicken could be heard. Demons required food, same as any other being, but their nutritional needs were not the same as mortals. They were more akin to what Mekha had done in a way, save that where Mekha sucked up magic from mages like a man in a desert sucked up water, demons sucked up agony, fear, and other ephemeral energies. And blood, of course.

More blood would be needed for a permanent binding, but Torven wasn’t going to tell these ex-Mekhanans that. For one, he wasn’t going to draw these runes on the floor in spell-bound, metal-dusted blood when simple chalk would do for a temporary, demonstration-based summons. For another, he wasn’t going to tell them just yet that to bind a truly powerful demon required the prolonged sacrifice of something intelligent, a fellow human. That was blood magic.

Torven knew of a couple loopholes, however. Self-sacrifice—preferably one of the novices or priests, not himself—was perfectly acceptable by all. Sacrificing a known murderer was borderline but acceptable as well if the energies were used to recompense for whatever had been destroyed by their actions. Someone who had tortured others could be used, though that might backfire upon this priesthood. And there was at least one case in ancient recorded history of a Goddess—in actuality a demon princess in disguise—“permitting” the ritual sacrifice of Her enemies to feed Her.

Her existence and Her ambitions had been thwarted at the next Convocation of Gods and Man, but only at the cost of another God’s life. If the Convocations had indeed been renewed yesterday, as he suspected they had, and he and these priests could summon and bind a demon-God here and now, then that would give them four years to build up a power base of worship and sacrifices. Based on what he had read in the crumbling records of the Tower’s oldest archives, the previous attempt had failed because the priesthood in question had only been active for a year or so and because the demoness had sought to destroy all the other Gods and Goddesses, rather than focus exclusively upon making herself a true deity.

“Isn’t he done yet?” Torven heard Archbishop Elcarei snap impatiently. The chicken clucked and ruffled its feathers in its cage. Marking the last three runes with slow, exacting patience, Torven finally stood up.

“I am done with the rune-wardings, milord. Such things cannot be rushed and must be done with great care, unless you wish for the demon to break free and claw its way through the bodies of your fellow priests,” he warned the somewhat older, irritated man. “Demons are not easily killed, and their capacity for wielding magic is unusually strong, so do not think your normal shields will spare you from their rage.”

“If it’s that dangerous, I should wish to set it loose on that damned Consulate meeting! And what was that boy doing at the head table?” Elcarei added, his brow furrowed in a scowl when Torven turned to eye him. “He’s no master of any guild, let alone anything higher! Not when the boy can’t even grow his own beard yet. That was a meeting of Guild Masters. It doesn’t make sense!”

Torven had no idea what the man was ranting about, and didn’t particularly care. He was tired from imbuing his considerable reserves into the spells embodied by those chalked runes, he still had the actual summoning and subsequent banishing to get through, and he was hungry.

“Pass me the chicken,” he ordered one of the novices. Careful not to touch the chalk marks, he accepted the cage and placed it at his feet, well within the blank circle enclosing him. It wouldn’t do to have a demon possess the body of a beast intended to be its sacrifice, and it definitely wouldn’t do to give the demon anything before a bargain had been struck.

Like mages, demons could be oathbound by their very own magics. One had to be very, very careful in the wording of binding a demon—the ultimate in law-sayers, in many ways—but once bound, the demon stayed bound until a condition occurred which either set it free or sent it home. Usually the correct phrasing included a way to force the demon back into its own proper Netherhell realm.

Most of the day had been spent in lecturing all the priests and novices who cared to listen in on what demons could be expected to be like and exactly how to word the oaths to bind them into service. In a few more minutes, he would be able to . . .

The archbishop snapped his fingers and pointed at the cage. “That chicken!”

Torven eyed the somewhat older man warily. “What about it?”

“I’ve heard that demons like receiving a sacrifice in exchange for their services,” Elcarei stated. “Does the size or the intelligence of the sacrifice matter?”

“Yes,” the Aian mage allowed, still wary. “The true demon-princes, the greatest of their kind, would demand daily living sacrifices of our fellow humans. They would also be nearly impossible to bind because the strength they would derive from daily blood sacrifice could allow them to weaken and snap their bonds. Not to mention it would turn every hand in this world against us.”

That made the archbishop scowl. He flicked his fingers, dismissing that idea. “No, not that! Not daily sacrifices. What size demon could we bind for draining with a single sacrifice? Because I have a target I would love to see drained and crushed into lifelessness. And if not by Mekha, who is gone, then by something equally sadistic, that I could then drain in turn, cushioning me from directly benefitting by the bastard boy’s death.”

If this man is that easily swayed by a bit of fooling from a lad half his age, then he’ll not last long as the leader of these men. Not without his Patriarch or his ex-God to back him up, Torven thought, eyeing the archbishop. The possibilities were many, but he settled on the long-term plan. I’d easily let him hang himself with his impetuousness . . . but not the rest of us, I think.

“We would be far better served in our ambitions to sacrifice that life to bind a demon as a proto-God than waste it just to eke out a little more magic for our own use,” he stated blandly.

Elcarei frowned in confusion. “Proto-God? You mean for us to worship a demon? I’m not about to go that far.”

“Nor would I, and not quite that far,” Torven soothed. Between his feet, the chicken in the cage clucked a little and tried pecking at the wicker bars. It didn’t get anything, neither freedom nor a bug, so it gave up trying. Torven, on the other hand, was not going to give up that easily. “A proto-God demon is one who makes a pact with humans to actually become a God, according to the rules of the inviting universe.

“Rather than focusing on a manifestation of group consciousness, we put our faith in a powerful being and elevate that being to Godhood. It takes far less energy—a great deal, but far less—to elevate a demon than it does to elevate a mortal,” the mage added dryly.

Elcarei quirked a brow. “Aren’t there laws against that? Laws of God and Man?”

“No outworlder may trick or otherwise falsely convince the mortals of this realm to worship and elevate them to Godhood,” Torven said. He smiled slightly, ignoring the softly clucking chicken. “But there is nothing against the rules if we, as fully informed mortals, agree to worship and elevate an outworlder—which technically includes demons—to a state of Godhood. The trick is to do it slowly, taking our time, and not rushing the process.”

A stern look covered the novices who were listening to his every word. Youth invariably equaled impetuousness, with rare exception, in his experience. A glance up from their crouched, note-scribbling forms showed the archbishop listening as well. “What’s to stop this elevated demon from reneging on its oaths once it’s a God?”

“A proto-God is bound by its oaths, even after attaining Godhood. The true control lies in the hands of the priesthood . . . because we would be draining the proto-God’s energy, same as in the previous plan. The proto-God would not have full access to all that incoming power.”

Elcarei narrowed his dark eyes. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then lifted it at Torven. “First, you have to prove you can bind, control, and siphon energy from a demon. Prove you know of what you speak, and I’ll see about having locator amulets made from any stray hairs on that impertinent boy’s coat and cap.”

Giving the older man a slight bow, Torven complied. “Of course. Students,” he asserted, recapturing their attention, “we now embark on the application of all the theory I gave you. At this point, I will carefully reassess all the runes I have marked onto the cell, double-check my own personal wards, and prepare the ‘offering’ to our incoming visitor.

“This will not be the weakest of demons, however,” he warned them. “No mere, dull-witted hellhound or poorly powered imp, but rather, one of higher intelligence. Preferably high enough to be able to tell me what I want to know.”

“And that is?” Elcarei asked, interrupting Torven’s speech.

Frowning briefly at the archbishop, Torven resumed his visual inspection of the runes. “One intelligent and connected enough to know what sort of greater beings are available in the particular Netherhell I will be breaching. Remember, it isn’t just any Netherhell we’re looking for. There are roughly a thousand of them within range of this universe; we want one where the residents will be amenable to our bargain, lawful and magical enough to be bound by oaths, and several more codicils,” he stated, pulling a rolled-up sheet of paper from his pouch. “All of which I outlined during our earlier lessons.

“Just like randomly catching the arm of a person in a city and asking them if they know of so-and-so, this will be a random summoning of a demon to find out if it knows of the kind of creature we seek to bind. If this first portal attempt will not suffice, then perhaps the next on the list will. And remember, do not use mirror-Gates to reach into any Netherhell,” Torven lectured sternly. “Demonic mages—and there are many—will detect and seize any such mirror. Once they do, they will use it to widen the frame and create a hole in the Veil between worlds that will be large enough for them to invade, which is something none of us want them to do.”

“That would be bad, yes,” Elcarei agreed dryly. “But doesn’t a frameless Portal use most of a mage’s strength?”

“A personally crafted Portal, built upon nothing but the aether itself, takes more than twelve times as much energy, yes, but it has the distinct advantage of collapsing like a popped soap bubble if anyone outside the crafting mage tries to seize control of it, never mind force it wider,” the Aian mage pointed out. “Weak mages cannot summon demons—or disappointed peasants who are of little use beyond crafting ice in the summer months would have long since torn this world to shreds in petty attempts at vengeance for the poor lot they drew in life.

“However, by working together, weak mages, moderate, and strong ones can summon and bind very powerful beings. But we need to know which one we want to make a bargain with. To do that will take time. This project will not be ruined by acting rashly or hastily. Now, keeping in mind everything I have imparted to you, watch carefully while I summon the first demon to be interrogated . . .”