13 – Enough talking, demon

  JAREZKAAN – Lethanas

  The insidious signs of a summoning surprised Jarezkaan Nar’Rake, Knight-Rank demon of the Fifteenth Tier, appearing as a slight headache and an irritating feeling, like an invisible bug buzzing around his head. It had been many centuries since he’d been tormented and burdened by a summons—and when he realized what the sensation portended, his stomach clenched and a growl rose in his throat. Part of his mind wanted to escape, and another readied for battle.

  Jagged hooks, unseen and burning, entered his body and his mind. With only an instant, he partitioned his mind to fight the pain. But however hard he struggled, barbs sliced and tore, undoing his efforts. Nausea threatened to overwhelm Jarezkaan. Disorientation clouded his mind, and his nerves burned with pain.

  His form was ripped apart in a final, agonizing wave, reverting to its core essence. He felt himself stretched thin as a wire, and was sucked through a rent in the barrier between his prison on the Infernal Seventh Plane and another world.

  The sensation diminished, and he started to think clearly as his demonic essence coalesced inside a physical form. He lay on cold flagstones, in the center of a summoning circle bound by chalk runes around a poured salt circumference. He rested within the circle, trapped by a dome of shimmering lines of magic buzzing with power. A wave of burning heat washed over him, causing a stinging pain. Resisting a summons brought agony, and although he’d never been one to acquiesce quietly, he quickly backed off. Choosing your battles was key to survival.

  As his mind settled, he took in the rest of the room—in one corner sat a pile of dirt-crusted clothes, in another a rickety wooden desk upon which lay open books, sheafs of paper, and a dull steel dagger. Standing near a wooden door was a thin young man with bronze-rimmed spectacles framing dull gray eyes above pimply cheeks and a pained expression. The air was thick and humid, a far cry from the dry heat of his prison on the Seventh Plane.

  There was a barred opening at eye height in the door, and it bore a heavy lock secured to its thick planks. A cell door, then. Out of one prison and into another. Just his luck. Still… this was a curious place for a summons.

  No summoning room in a mage’s tower or the like. And an inexperienced summoner, who looks about to shit himself. Either stupid or desperate, and definitely overconfident. So much can go wrong…

  Jarezkaan noticed a rapidly evaporating thin layer of frost on the floor outside the summoning circle, which also covered the stone walls and door. A stench of sulfur and rotting flesh filled the air—a result of the ripping of the ethereal plane, a brief merging of dimensions as the barrier between them shattered.

  Jarezkaan’s essence and mind prickled as molten needles of pain pierced his body and mind—his summoner reminding him of their roles; master and slave. No weakling, he clenched his jaw and balled his hands into fists, and ignored the discomfort. He was a Knight-Rank demon and had fought monstrous creatures inhabiting the infernal planes that would have this fledgling mage cowering in fear. He’d endured battles against the Corrupted Scourge invaders where only a few had lived to tell the tale. He’d been first through the breach of the ancient walls of Kwul’pasok and been honored for his fearlessness, then climbed the Tower of Vulor to help kill a Death-knight. He’d tormented and killed his masters before, and nothing would stop him from doing it again. He wasn't timid, or he wouldn't have survived so long nor risen so high in the hierarchy of demons.

  He turned his gaze to the callow mage who’d summoned him. The boy’s chest heaved as if he’d climbed too many flights of stairs, and sweat dripped down his face. His hair was lank and black, and his eyes were wide with fear and elation. He stood outside the summoning circle of salt and chalk runes, which also served as an anchor for the protective barrier.

  The young mage must have a considerable amount of power and expertise to reach through the veil between worlds and summon a demon of his rank. Jarezkaan hadn’t been summoned for centuries, and he thought—hoped—his name had been lost long ago.

  Burning spikes hammered his mind, and he writhed on the stone floor. The needle-sharp pressure in his psyche intensified, on the verge of debilitating torment. A whimpering moan escaped his lips, and he clamped them tight, ashamed at the pitiful noise he’d made.

  The spikes pulled back a little, giving his mind and body time to recover. Anger grew from a simmering resentment within him. Once again, someone was trying to make him a slave.

  “Submit to me, demon!” the mage shouted, his voice cracking on the last word.

  Jarezkaan willed himself to sit up, and then clambered to his feet. His body felt strange and unwieldy, as if his muscles weren’t sure how to respond, and there was a thin layer of translucent slime on his skin.

  “Scrape it off and put it in the jar!” the mage commanded.

  He looked around and saw that near the inside edge of the protective circle sat a glass jar. “What?” he said, thinking he’d misheard, and his voice sounded strange to his ears, slightly deeper.

  “Put it in the jar,” the mage repeated.

  Was the goo a valuable by-product of this form of summoning? Frowning, Jarezkaan scraped the slime from his skin using a cupped hand. It was then he noticed his fingers lacked his usual talon-like nails and his skin was silver hued dusky-blue and not burnt-umber. He snorted in contempt, then. This fledgling mage isn’t powerful enough to translocate my physical form from the infernal realms. Instead, he’s shoved my awareness into another body.

  As he scraped the foul-smelling goo from his naked body and dripped it into the jar, he examined his new and no doubt temporary form. Already, he could see the young mage only came up to his chin, and his sculpted body was roped with sinew—whoever’s body he was inhabiting, the man was tall and formidable. Lank, greasy, straight black hair brushed his shoulders. It was close enough to his natural form that Jarezkaan hoped the minor muscle discombobulation he was feeling wouldn’t last long. After all, demons and humankind were closely related, and the effort to adjust to a new form shouldn’t be exhausting.

  The jar was full, and slime dripped over the lip and down the side.

  Jarezkaan continued anyway, to annoy the pimply mage.

  “Stop!” the young man commanded. He took a deep breath and held both arms out dramatically. Jarezkaan noticed they were trembling, possibly due to exhaustion, fear, or both. Or maybe because they were so skinny.

  “I am your master! You will obey my every command!”

  That was the conceited self-perception of summoners. The master controlled, and the demon slave obeyed. Minor demons took pleasure in summons, since they could often satisfy their desires by killing and corrupting humans. But Jarezkaan Nar’Rake had evolved past such basic urges and was now near the revered status of a demon lord. He had a growing suspicion that this inexperienced mage had bitten off far more than he could chew.

  “You couldn’t bring my physical form through the veil?” Jarezkaan said with an edge of disdain. “Instead, I have to make do with this one? Did you kill someone for this?”

  “Be quiet, slave,” the mage snapped. “I'm not susceptible to your manipulations.”

  "Have you done this before?"

  “I said be silent! You will obey me, slave. You are bound.”

  Jarezkaan raised his hands, showing he meant no harm. Bound within the circle as he was, he couldn’t harm a hair on his summoner’s head, and he had no desire to anger the mage and have himself subjected to punishment. He stepped back away from the jar and the barrier, and sat cross-legged and tried to gather himself. Already he could sense his mind adjusting to the unfamiliar body, and his movements were less disjointed. One slip-up from the mage and he’d die swiftly, then Jarezkaan could find a way back to the Infernal Planes and try to clear his name and find redemption.

  “What is your will?” he said.

  Wait… the standard summoning is designed to contain a demon’s original form… was this boy so stupid that… surely not.

  The young mage met his eyes for a long moment. “I summoned you to prove to my master that I could. So he’d promote me and stop stymieing my progress. The other apprentices are fools and have no courage.” He glanced over his shoulder at the door, as if expecting someone to appear. “The body you inhabit was that of a prisoner. He was almost dead anyway. I had to waste an expensive healing potion on him, otherwise you’d be useless.”

  Jarezkaan shifted his weight and inched closer to the circle. He extended a leg, but stopped his toe from touching the barrier. “What tasks do you have for me?”

  “What cards do you have? My identification skill doesn’t work on you for some reason.”

  Jarezkaan sent his awareness inwards, sensing a… card dashboard. That told him which world he was in—Selis, fourth from the sun, the humans called this realm. He’d been summoned here before, and killed his master then. The card system was unusual, but he was familiar with it. He scanned his dashboard and then froze in shock.

  Card dashboard

  Total cards: 0 of 7

  Class/heart cards: 0

  Skill/ability cards: 0

  He laughed then, long and hard, until the young mage’s face turned red in anger.

  This world’s card system was structured and mostly logical, from what he recalled, but what he wouldn’t give for the less restrictive mana manipulation ability that most demons were born with. Still, perhaps there was a way to merge ability cards to end up with a comparable resulting skill.

  “I don’t have any cards,” Jarezkaan said. “Your identification is working. That’s what you get for only bringing my essence into this world. Body and essence must be in harmony, as any half-decent mage would know. If you were more experienced then—”

  “Stop talking!” shouted the mage.

  He paced between the door and the desk, muttering under his breath, stopping occasionally to glare at Jarezkaan, who waited patiently. Eventually, the mage stopped and spoke.

  “The prisoner I used was stripped of his ability cards, of course. But I thought you’d be gifted at least a different class card when I summoned your essence—your soul. It seems I was mistaken. Never mind, it isn’t a problem. I’ll find you some cards soon, otherwise you’re useless.”

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Very well. Break your binding circle and I’ll swear my allegiance to you.” He edged his toe so close to the barrier it was almost touching. If he were wrong, he would be wracked with agony and probably lose consciousness, but some risks were worth taking. And pain was fleeting.

  The mage chuckled, sneering in contempt. “No, I don’t think so. I’m not so easy to trick, demon. I’ll bind you further using your true name, and then you’ll be released when I’ve ensured you won’t harm me.”

  It had been worth a try. There was nothing left but to test the barrier, and if his suspicions were correct… “You want me to kill for you.”

  “Of course.”

  “Hmm. Where are we?”

  “What?”

  “The country? The city? Where am I?”

  “Lethanas. A city in the Korazail Empire. May the Empress live forever.”

  Jarezkaan knew where it was, but he had no idea where this empire had sprung from. The last time he’d been here, the city was one of the City States of Mossail, governed by a Noble Council—composed mostly of wealthy thieves and charlatans.

  Lethanas. An apprentice mage… “So, you’re from the Misk’Imas Institution, then?”

  The mage looked away. “Enough talking, demon.”

  Humans were, on average, stupid, and he could use that to his advantage. This one was obsessed with his own position among his master’s apprentices, to the point that he was obviously breaking quite a few rules. Human mages were beneath contempt. Self-important and entitled, they existed only to use others. Jarezkaan steeled himself, and then poked his toe into the shimmering barrier that separated him from the mage.

  And to his surprise and delight, his flesh penetrated and all he felt was a slight tingle. The dumb human had used a standard summoning barrier, which protected from demon flesh—except he hadn’t brought a demon’s physical form into this world, only his essence.

  As the mage turned his back to leaf through a book on the table, Jarezkaan leaped to his feet. The pressures of being summoned and enslaved again overwhelmed him. He wanted to kill, to scream and flay and murder, to wash away his rage with gore.

  Jarezkaan stepped quietly behind the mage, reached past him to grab the dagger, and cut the little shit’s throat with the blade. A gurgling sound bubbled through the disgustingly red blood, and the mage’s thin fingers clutched feebly at Jarezkaan’s skin.

  One less slaver in this world.

  The demon threw the mage’s body to the side, and it slumped to the ground, the gash in the neck still spurting blood. He spat on the body, and then stood there, panting for a while. Once his rage subsided, he scanned the open books and found the one with his name listed among a few others—demons of lesser ranks. Jarezkaan ripped the page out and tore it into small pieces, which he spread onto the pool of blood. As he watched in satisfaction, the paper soaked up the viscous fluid and the writing became illegible, and unrecoverable.

  He was about to open the door and leave, when he saw a faint white mesh of light surrounding the corpse. He thought for a moment and then gestured over the still useful mage. A wisp of smoke rose from the corpse and gathered in Jarezkaan’s palm. Light flashed, and he found himself holding two cards.

  Grinning, Jarezkaan took a few deep breaths to calm himself and then searched the mage’s clothes. There were some silver and copper coins in a pouch, and a black metal ring on one finger. He yanked the ring off and jammed it onto his own finger, and to his surprise it fit perfectly. The coin pouch was light, but he would have to make do.

  The clothes were too small for him and now soaked with blood, so he’d have to remain naked until he could find something suitable. The books on the desk were tomes of summoning; the papers were the dead mage’s notes. He left them now that his name was destroyed, and then without examining the cards, he willed them into himself.

  [Skill cards activated!]

  [No class card detected. Considering…]

  [Congratulations! You have been selected to receive a Class Card.]

  The air in front of him emitted sparkles of golden light, which then coalesced into another card. He grabbed it and again willed it into himself, assenting to the prompt that appeared asking whether he accepted the card.

  [Infernal Slayer (Unique) F tier added to your class/heart slot.]

  [This process is irreversible.]

  Infernal Slayer? Anyone can identify me as a demon, then. Unless…

  Jarezkaan brought the cards up in his mind’s eye, knowing the skill cards tier would likely be reset. From what he recalled, the system governing this world was sometimes irrational.

  Infernal Slayer

  Unique F– tier

  Class/heart card

  20% reduced necrotic damage taken

  +50% mana

  +50% spell damage

  Summon Demon

  Rare F– tier

  Skill card

  Summons a demon from the Infernal Planes to do your bidding.

  Secondary ability: Creates a protective summoning circle.

  Identify

  Common F-– tier

  Reveals the properties of an object, person, or creature.

  Secondary ability: Perception — once per day gain additional insight.

  Jarezkaan hissed with anger, and with a thought yanked the Summon Demon card from his chest. He wasn’t a filthy slaver. The card would need to be disposed of, and it couldn’t be burned. It would require something hotter than normal flames to do the job, or magic. Selling the card was an intrusive thought he instantly dismissed, though he probably needed the coin that doing so would bring. He wasn’t about to let the card loose where another dumb human mage could use it to enslave more demons.

  Anyhow, he had more pressing concerns at the moment. Namely, how to get out of this prison, and what to do afterwards.

  He glanced down at his filthy, slime covered body and bloody hand where the mage’s internal fluids had spurted over him. A bath would be required, or at least a swim in a lake. Lethanas was a harbor city, so he could wash with sea water, but he doubted he’d make it to the docks in his condition without raising an outcry.

  There was no point delaying. The apprentice mage must have bribed his way into the prison, and to use one of the prisoners in his foul slavery spell. When he didn’t appear, or his corpse was found, Jarezkaan would have to be far away and hopefully have disappeared in the city or left entirely and be traveling along the coast or inland.

  But the Misk’Imas Institution was here, and that gave him an idea. He needed to destroy the card, and find a way back to the Infernal Planes. And there wouldn’t be many better places to do both other than the Institutions. And what better place to hide than among the dumb mages and warriors that had earned a place at the Institution in order to advance their cards. Although climbing the Apexes with the rest of them was expensive, inefficient, and cheating, it would serve until he found something better or his way home.

  Mind made up, Jarezkaan unlocked and opened the door, and made his way into the hallway outside. Luckily, it was deserted, and the filth on the floor and dim lighting from a worn-out alchemical lamp made him think the mage had chosen an out of the way area for his flirt with summoning.

  “First and final flirt,” he chuckled softly.

  The corridor was dotted with doors leading to more cells, all empty, and ended in another sturdy door, this one unlocked. On the other side looked to be an abandoned guard room, faintly lit by another decrepit alchemical lamp. Rotten remains of stools littered the floor, along with rodent droppings along the walls, dust covered forsaken cobwebs, and a rusted brazier. There was a long, drag mark in the dust, from the door he’d entered by to an opening on the other side of the room—presumably from the body he now inhabited.

  Someone had brought the prisoner for the now dead mage, and Jarezkaan was sure to run into them sooner or later. They wouldn’t just leave a mage to their own devices down here in the depths of a prison.

  Well, there wasn’t anything he could do except go forward. The skill cards he’d taken were useless for combat, as was the class card at its current tier. He’d have to do this the hard way and get his hands dirty. Fortunately for him the stupid human had chosen an athletic body for him to inhabit, and he figured with the muscles it had and his dagger he shouldn’t have a problem with a careless guard or two.

  Through the opening of the room was a short hallway and a stone staircase leading up. Jarezkaan ascended as quietly as he could, pausing now and again to listen for any sounds ahead of him. All was quiet, so he crept further ahead and came to a landing brightly lit by a window to the outside. He stuck his head through the opening and saw he was a hundred yards up, over waves crashing onto rocks below. A dim recollection came to him, then, of an isolated prison castle atop a headland at the southern end of Lethanas.

  The window was wide enough to squeeze through, but the sandstone cliffs were treacherous. Still, he was an excellent climber, but that was when he’d had talon-like hand and toe nails. He stood there, breathing in the crisp sea air, dithering as to whether to risk a fall and plunge onto rocks and icy water, or making his way ahead to find an unknown number of guards and their assorted weapons, and possibly cards.

  A scrape of leather on stone out of sight on the stairs above him, and the rattle of an iron key in a lock, spurred him into action. Although the prospect of more bloodshed didn’t bother him, Jarezkaan decided it would be better if everyone involved thought the mage had failed and the demon he’d summoned had killed him and then returned to the infernal plane it had come from. If no-one suspected he existed, then he would have a much easier time hiding and gathering strength.

  So, he gripped the coin pouch and the Summon Demon card in his teeth, and squeezed through the window. Wind whipped at his skin, sending chills through him as goose-bumps rose. He clenched his jaw and banished his discomfort as best he could. The sandstone was hard to grip with the dagger in one hand, but at some point he might have to dig out a hold or jam the blade into a crack to prevent himself falling. He found he could grip the weapon with two fingers and thumb, leaving himself two fingers for holds, though it was extremely awkward.

  As he descended a few yards below the window, he heard voices growing louder until they came from directly above, and then fade as they moved away. He was certain that soon they’d be shouting and rushing back up the stairs when they found the dead mage.

  Surprisingly, his descent went swiftly and with no close calls, until he was barely a score of yards above the crashing waves. The body he inhabited was strong and limber, and the hard climb hadn’t tired out the hands, arms and legs much at all. He gave thanks that he wasn’t in the body of a weakling—far from it. And the healing potion the mage said he’d given the prisoner probably had something to do with it.

  “All right,” Jarezkaan mumbled around the coin pouch. “Enough messing around, best to get away from here in case they start searching for a possible rogue demon.” And he pushed himself away from the cliff face and used his muscled legs to launch himself out over the waves. Down he plummeted, and twisted into the semblance of a controlled dive, before hitting the water.

  Cold and darkness surrounded him as the current rocked him back and forth. He briefly opened his eyes to see which way was up, and then closed them again and swam towards the light. His head broke the surface and he sputtered and coughed, losing the pouch and card only just grabbing them before they both sank below the waves. And with long, powerful strokes, Jarezkaan swam to the right along the cliff face, which should be north and towards the harbor of Lethanas.

  * * *

  A while later, exhausted but relatively clean and badly in need of clothes, Jarezkaan clambered out of the water and up a timber pylon holding up a wharf, into which notches has been cut into a crude ladder. He dropped the coin pouch and Summon Demon card into a hand, massaged his aching jaw, and held the dagger between his forearm and body to conceal the weapon.

  A dozen middle-aged women sitting around a mound of fish gaped at him. All of them held thin knives and their hands were splattered with fish guts and scales. A few open barrels and baskets of coarse salt showed they were salting fillets—though he couldn’t imagine why anyone would prefer preserved fish over fresh, or fish at all for that matter.

  “Good ladies,” he said with an air of confidence he didn’t feel, and offered a shallow bow. His wet hair hung forward, dripping onto the timber wharf. “I seem to have lost my clothes somewhere. Could one of you point me in the direction of a—” what’s the name? “—a clothing shop? Anything will do until I can make my way back home.”

  All of the women burst out laughing as they eyed him up and down. Some of them stood up in shock, while others just grinned. Jarezkaan found that his new face could blush vigorously. He raised his eyebrows and gave them a lopsided grin, hoping they were enjoying the view.

  “Nice calves!”

  “You’re looking at his calves of all places?!”

  “Are you married?”

  “Cover yourself, man!” one of the women cackled. “For decency’s sake.”

  “I’m trying to!” Jarezkaan said. “Now, where’s the nearest clothing shop?”

  A few arms waved in the direction of a cluster of red brick buildings on the other side of a paved road at the end of the wharves. One woman pushed a younger one forward, but her target jumped back and covered her face with both hands.

  “Can get some decent clothes over there, if they have any in your size. You’re a big ’un.”

  Jarezkaan stepped around the women. “I’m glad I could bring some amusement to your day, ladies, but I must be going!” He left them to their laughter and chatter and disgusting fish, and after ignoring more stares and the glares of a few weedy sailors and sticking his head through a few doorways, he soon found himself in a store which sold used clothes.

  Fishing a coin from his pouch, he placed it on the counter, behind which sat a skinny youth with tousled hair, wearing a black suede vest held closed with bone buttons.

  “What can I get for one of these silver coins?”

  “A silver talent?”

  “Yes, I suppose it is.”

  “Er… trousers and a shirt, maybe a jacket if you’re not picky. No boots though.”

  “That’s fine.”

  “I…er… the extra-large rack is over there.”

  “Thank you.” Jarezkaan rummaged through the offerings and within moments had selected what he needed—rough-spun trousers and shirt, along with a threadbare long-sleeved jacket with a torn seam at the shoulder. He wasn’t picky, so it was a quick process. He tugged on his not-new clothes, shoved the Summon Demon card into a pocket, and slipped the dagger up his jacket sleeve.

  “One more thing,” Jarezkaan said. “Could you tell me how to get to the Misk’Imas Institution from here?”

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