Berys
The problem of Vilkas has come to a head at last. I have alerted the other Magistri. Finally, the chance to get him and that wretched girl out of my way! Now it has come to the point, it has been so very, very easy. And Erthik and Caillin at a stroke—ah, life is sweet.
Vilkas has been a student here at the College for two years. He tested nearly as high on his entrance as I did all those years ago, a once-in-a-generation power—but I would have wagered a day of my life that he was not working to his capacity for the test. I suspected at the time that he was a powerful wastrel who could not be bothered to exert himself and would come to nothing, for I have seen others of that kind, if never any so strong. Still; his capacity was high enough for me to keep a watch on him. I made certain that my occasional observations of him were well hidden from the other Magistri, and went out of my way to befriend him. He was not interested in my friendship. Given the power available to him, that made him my enemy.
Not long after he arrived, the girl Aral appeared. She also tested very high, not in the same class as Vilkas but with more real ability than even her test results would indicate. She is not a threat, however, and may even be an asset, for she is his weakness. They are both far too powerful for their good or mine, but they are young and ignorant enough to be outmatched without overmuch effort.
I timed it well. When Magister Rikard unlocked the door this morning and swiftly threw it open we caught them in the very act. Vilkas was surrounded by a brilliant corona, the Healers’ Power without a doubt, and he was using it to hold an unconcerned Aral some three feet off the floor.
“Vilkas!” cried Rikard, appalled.
Every member of the Council, assembled for this very purpose, saw the tall young man turn his head, acknowledge us with a nod, and gently lower the girl to the ground. The moment her feet touched the floor she would have started forward, but Vilkas raised a hand and she stopped where she was, bristling with righteous indignation. I suppressed my laughter with difficulty.
Vilkas bowed to the Council, calm and faintly amused. Aral stood unmoving, with a defiant flush on her cheeks. “Very well, gentlemen, you have found us out,” said Vilkas with a smile. “I hope you will allow us to explain our actions.”
“Vilkas, how could you!” cried Rikard. “When Magister Berys told me I would not believe it. How can you act against all we have tried to teach you?”
Vilkas only lifted an eyebrow. “I have acted against nothing you have taught me, Magister Rikard. We have invoked the Lady with every breath. All is well. And Aral is unhurt, as you see.”
“We’ve done nothing wrong,” said Aral. She was bristling now, all five feet of her, in defence of her friend. So, he was her weakness too. I had not known that for certain. “What is it that you object to?”
I turned to Magistra Erthik. “Do I understand that you have not warned these two against using the Power for purposes other than healing?”
Erthik was the least concerned among us, with the possible exception of Vilkas, and spoke lightly. “Berys, really! You know perfectly well that if you desperately want an entire class of students to do a thing, all you need do is say, just once, ‘Don’t even think about doing this, it’s dangerous and unpredictable.’ We don’t even mention such possibilities one way or the other until the third year, and it never occurs to one in a hundred that our power might have other applications before then. Only one in ten of those ever try it.” She looked at the pair before us and smiled crookedly. “Well—two in ten. Though I must say that’s the most impressive result I’ve ever seen:” She had the insolence to sound impressed.
“Then there is a prohibition against the use of the Power for anything other than healing?” said Vilkas, unperturbed.
“Of course there is,” said Rikard sternly. “And despite Magistra Erthik’s indulgence you should know it is a most serious offence.”
“So I gather. However, given that we were both ignorant of such a prohibition, you can hardly condemn us for attempting to discover the limits of our gifts.”
“On the contrary, Master Vilkas,” I said, “condemnation is precisely the word. There is a harsh penalty for what you have done.”
“A penalty for ignorance? Then the whole world owes a debt,” said Aral sharply. “We have acted in the name of the Lady at every turn.”
“Why?” I asked her, and when Vilkas attempted to speak I silenced him. “No, I would hear Mistress Aral.” I turned to her. “Why did you feel it necessary to be so assiduous in your devotions, Mistress? Surely a simple prayer of invocation to begin would be enough.”
She spoke her defiance without hesitation. “It might have been, indeed, but I am a servant of the Lady. We were making sure there was no room for the Rakshasa, Magister.”
“What made you think there might be?”
Vilkas laughed. “Magister, I know you have chosen to keep all of your students in the dark, but after a year and a half of working together we have learned that any extended use of the Power draws those of the Demon-kind like cats to a fishmonger. I do not know, but I would guess that Power is like food and drink to them, or like sunlight, and the more you use it the nigher they come unless you do something about it.”
His gaze lingered on me just that fraction too long.
“Magistri, you may leave us,” I said. “I will deal with this.”
Erthik was loath to go and began to grow angry. “This is not a matter for you alone, Berys,” she said. “This must be dealt with by all of us. You do not know these two, but I do. Let them be disciplined, certainly, but you cannot think either of them Raksha-touched.”
I let slip some of my anger and directed it at her. “Erthik, you do not know what can happen to even the stoutest soul when it perverts the Power. I do. That is all my study, night and morning. You treat this far too lightly! I will bring them before the Assembly this afternoon, but I have a few words to say to them first.”
For a moment I feared she would not go—she is stubborn—but after a last long look at the two of them she nodded and left. Fool. Rikard seemed more hurt than angry, for these two had been in some sense his apprentices. He left with the others, muttering sad phrases. I closed the door swiftly behind them.
“Magister Rikard informs me that you have been experimenting with the Power,” I said coldly. “That you have attempted Farspeech, and moving objects with the Power, and that you have tried to read the future. Do you deny these charges?”
“No.” Vilkas, straightforward as a knife and every bit as malleable.
“For Shia’s sake, we’ve never tried to hide it.” Aral, armoured in justice. Fool.
“Know you the penalty for such a misuse of power?”
“It was not misused. We simply applied it in a different way,” said Vilkas. He was controlled as always: unconcerned, his eyes half-lidded, his voice steady and calm. “We have done all in the name of the Lady, invoked her with every breath. There is no Raksha-trace on either of us.”
“Indeed,” I said sternly. I assumed he had noticed. “Unfortunately I have been doing research on certain of the Demon-kind and am tainted myself at the moment, else I would investigate your claim. However, that is not the issue.”
“Then what is?” demanded Aral. “We’ve done nothing wrong, Magister.”
Vilkas simply stared at me, a challenge which I ignored. Instead I let my voice rise in anger. “On the contrary. By the laws of Verfaren, young woman, you have incurred the harshest possible penalty.”
“Our work has been harmless. How could it possibly be a threat to the Magistri?” asked Vilkas. His stance and his gaze annoyed me, his lazy voice grated, and of a sudden I tired of the game.
“The threat is this,” I replied. I called up my power and sent a bolt of pure force against Aral’s midsection. She reacted swiftly enough to deflect the blow in part—I must admit, that surprised me—but the point was made. She fell to the floor.
I turned again to Vilkas, who without an obviously hasty movement s
tood now between me and his companion, incandescent with Healer blue. “You may dismiss your nimbus, young Vilkas. I have done with my demonstration,” I said, letting contempt show in my voice. “That was but a gesture, a tiny fraction of my power. If I were to focus it at either of you in earnest you would die on the instant. That is what happens when the Lady’s gift is perverted—inflicting pain and death rather than healing, rejoicing in our power for its own sake rather than for the good it can do others. If this were a mere hundred years ago, you would both be tried and executed for your crimes. Deviating from the Healing way leads inexorably to the misuse of Power, and almost always to the summoning of demons.”
“Then what shall we say of your misuse, Magister?” purred Vilkas. His voice was still soft but now it held the edge of menace. Aral had recovered her feet and moved away from him, her corona in place now, her stance defensive. The corona about him, however, shone bright and clear, and I caught a glimpse of just how strong he was. I decided to make a trial of his strength and resolve. If I were fortunate and he failed, it would look like an accident.
“Ah, the last resort of the guilty,” I said with a sigh. “Lay all the blame on another. Of what do you accuse me now, apprentice?” I asked, not releasing my own power but putting my hands behind my back. There I was free to move my fingers in a specific pattern to release a calling-on spell I had prepared for just such an emergency. “Do you say that I—Bright Shia, beware!”
The two Rikti appeared in midair and launched themselves, one at Vilkas and one at me. I cried out in some surprise—quite convincing, I suspect, as they might have gone for any of us—and made great show of attempting to fight off the one that was before me. It had orders not to harm me, of course, but the one on Vilkas was not so hampered.
However, the thing’s talons were mere inches from his eyes when both it and the one facing me were stopped and held motionless. The source surprised me, however. It was the girl. She was chanting some kind of prayer aloud as she approached and held tight to something on a long chain about her neck. The Rikti fought to free themselves, but her cage of power was strong and her will implacable. Indeed, for that moment she shone brighter than Vilkas, until she touched whatever sacred symbol she wore with one hand and the creatures with the other. Each in turn cried out and vanished, leaving only their stench behind. That done, she loosed whatever assistance she had received from her prayers and her corona shrank to its normal dimensions.
“How dare you!” I cried, outraged. I did not have to practice my player’s skills, for I had hoped that at least they would be injured. “Do you still tell me you have never encountered demons? How shall I believe that, with such evidence!”
“We never said we had not encountered them, Magister,” said Vilkas, and his voice was calm and cold as dead midwinter. “As I believe I mentioned, we have found that they are drawn to any use of the Power, and we have had to dispel them on several occasions.”
“Then how do you explain that one’s appearance?” I cried.
“We did not call it,” he said, his gaze locked on mine.
I knew in that moment that he was better than I had thought. Not only did he know who had summoned the Rikti, he had hung back and let his assistant do the work using some kind of amulet, so that I would not know his strength. He sealed his doom thereby. I will not suffer him to live. But slowly, slowly, perhaps he could be of value to me alive. For a short while.
“You will destroy all trace of your work in this room and come to the Great Hall before midday,” I said coldly. “Do not fail to appear or attempt to leave, lest you force us to bring you back in irons.”
“We will be there,” said Vilkas smoothly, moving to open the door for me. I saw in his eyes that he would appear though all the Hells should bar his way, if only to spit in my face. Good. I wanted him angry.
In a way it is a pity—I would have preferred to have Vilkas’s power on my side, but it was clear that neither he nor the girl would ever consent to it. It is just possible that Vilkas and the girl will attend the Assembly and suffer the fate in store for them, but I do not expect it. I will send Erthik and Caillin to guard their room. I will arrange for horses to be saddled and ready in the courtyard, complete with valuable articles from the library and a ring of Erthik’s that I found some months ago.
If they are clever, they will run. If they take the horses they can be charged with theft if it comes to that—but I have a better fate in store for Vilkas, and for Erthik. Both at a stroke. Ah, this is the first, this small matter, but in later times it will be seen as the first moment in my rule. The first act of King Malior, truly, for I shall rule in the name I have taken for myself as a master of demons.
Erthik and Caillin will die soon after I send them to guard the room, for I need their deaths to be unmarked at first and I do not know how long it will take for the prisoners to decide to leave. However, when the bodies are discovered outside the empty room that held Vilkas and Aral—ah, life is sweet.
In the meantime I have sent word to every Mage in Verfaren to prepare to block a great power, in case Vilkas is a fool and decides to face the Assembly. I do not expect it, but one must be prepared. Should the two young idiots submit, I have a delightful fate in store for Master Vilkas. I can make far better use of his death than of his life. Once the block is in place, and they are banished and walking the world—well, it is not chance that Maikel has disappeared. I will not miss his meddling. To challenge me! For his presumption I have prepared him carefully over the last weeks, while we have been “working together.” I have set a Sending in him, planted in his mind a deep need to find—well, whoever I wish him to find, I need only send a Rikti to touch him to engage the spell. He will find and follow whatever quarry I set him on, for weeks if I require it, though I do not intend to wait so long.
When I require my prey—Vilkas if he is a fool, some other if he is not—I need only summon forth the demon I have planted in Maikel. It is enspelled to establish, in only one hour, two ends of a demonline that starts here in my chambers. Such a task normally requires weeks of preparation.
I am very, very good.
When the demonlines are set I will be able to appear wherever Maikel has gone, capture my prey and return here in little more than the blink of an eye. Poor Maikel will not survive the experience, of course. He should never have challenged me. And should Vilkas prove a righteous fool he will be the subject of my slave Maikel’s hunt; with his power blocked, he will make a fine sacrifice.
All is now set. If they run and do not take the horses, I shall send Rikti to deal with them, enough to ensure their death and defeat. If they submit, Vilkas will live—briefly—despised, disgraced and powerless. Let him face that for a day or so until I have him safe, when he will have just enough time to despair before he becomes demon fodder. It is too good a fate for him, to be the means of rebirthing the Demonlord, but better him than me.
Ah, the Demonlord, the Nameless One! The first to follow my calling, and the best of us. His natural gifts left him discontent, for he was a mere first-level Healer without the ability to go further. He had studied healing all his life. When the Magistri of his day tested his power and found it so paltry, he knew he must do something to change it. He knew the Tale of Beginnings, that the Gedri had the power of choice, but it is said that he was the first for many centuries to have the courage to call upon the Rakshasa for assistance.
His greatness lies in the fact that when he called upon them he knew that he had nothing to lose. He had thought long upon the pact and told them in detail what he required—more power than any alive possessed, the ability to destroy the Kantri, and a way to survive should they live long enough to try to kill him. When the Rakshasa demanded his true name for payment he agreed without hesitation. His name was stripped from the world, from the memories of all who had known him—so much is known to all men. What most do not know is that the spell of the Distant Heart was performed at the same time. Like the great wizards of legend, his heart
was taken from his living body and laid in a distant place for safekeeping. It was a great work that he wrought. In essence he became a demon himself at that moment, with all he had demanded, beginning with more power than any human had ever before possessed.
When the Kantri attacked him, he managed to destroy fully half the great beasts before he was killed. He died valiantly, laughing at his murderers in the knowledge that he would live on as a Raksha and in the certain knowledge that it would be possible for him to live again under the sun when a demon master of sufficient strength and resolve should arise to summon him.
I am that man.
I must go and meet with Erthik and Caillin in a moment, but first I need to renew the players’ paint and powder that conceal my youth. This will be the last time. Sometimes I can barely stand still for the power that is in me now, when I emerge from my hidden chambers trembling with excitement.
I can feel in my bones that all the world is rising to join in battle. I do not intend to be alone.
However, one thing eludes me still. It is simply not possible for two of the Kantri, or even the shadows of them, to remain hidden in Kolmar so long. Perhaps the large number of common dragons in the hills might smell like one of the Kantri to a Rikti, but what is this Akor that lurks in Ilsa? I sent word by demon messenger, at great expense to myself, to the Healer under my control in Marik’s branch House in Illara, the capital city of Ilsa. She is skilled in the dark arts, but even though her powers extend a hundred miles in any direction she could find no trace of the Kantri, nor has she heard any rumour of a dragon. There is something very wrong, something I am missing.
I begin to feel a sense of urgency. All is carefully timed from this moment forward, that my coronation might take place on Midsummer’s Day. I must have Marik’s daughter by then—by preference, long before that day. I am concerned at the words Marik heard—“the Kantri on Kolmar,” it said. All of them, perhaps?