The Maelstrom

“If you’re so wise and benevolent, why did the demons turn against you?”

“Because they’re as greedy and shortsighted as the humans. I believed that Prusias and others would be content with what I’d given them. I was mistaken. I shall not make such an error again; Prusias will learn the error of his ways.”

“What are you waiting for?” Max laughed. “His armies are rampaging all over Blys. Go punish him. Or have you grown too weak?”

The Demon’s smile waned. “Let us understand one another. This is not about strength or my capacity to impose my will. I can destroy almost anything upon this planet the moment I choose. Shall I incinerate the earth’s atmosphere? What if I melt down the ice caps or turn every drop of water into dust? The Book of Thoth gives me that power. If my ambition was merely to crush my enemies and rule as a tyrant, I could do so. That is Prusias’s aim, not mine. Any brute can become a tyrant if he stumbles into enough power. That holds little interest for me.”

“So what does interest you?”

The Demon gazed up at the stars. “Creation,” he murmured. “To bring forth something whole and lasting from something diseased and broken. To design and build something that has never existed. I am older than you imagine, Max McDaniels, and I have seen countless worlds. None rival this for its beauty or sheer possibilities. In a few thousand years—a mere heartbeat of the cosmos—this could be paradise.”

“Not if Prusias destroys it,” remarked Max. “Why don’t you stop him?”

“There’s elegance in economy,” replied Astaroth. “Why should I expend the energy to humble Prusias when he will do the job for me? Even if he conquers the other kingdoms and little Rowan, Prusias and the Workshop have broken Nature’s laws and birthed horrors that will inevitably spiral out of control. When that happens, whatever survivors remain will beg for my return. Really, I should be grateful—nothing could illustrate my value more than greedy, savage Prusias. Does the prospect of his invasion frighten you?”

“I’d rather fight Prusias than bow to you.”

“Touche,” replied the Demon. “That’s the very choice man has always faced—the king on the hill or the wolf at the door. A just king will protect you from the wolf, but he demands loyalty and service. You can choose to face the wolf alone, of course, but that is a risky proposition. And we’re not even talking about a wolf, are we? We’re talking about a Great Red Dragon.…” The Demon gave him a sharp look. “When Prusias comes, do you think Elias Bram will save you?”

When Max did not reply, Astaroth laughed soundlessly.

“Your silence speaks volumes. Already you sense what I know. The Archmage cares little for Rowan or its people. His real concern is hunting me and achieving vengeance. He may cite grand causes and ideology, but it’s really just his ego. It always has been. Look no further than how Elias won the hand of the lovely Brigit. Do you know that laughable myth?”

“No.”

“I’m surprised,” replied Astaroth. “It was very popular once upon a time. You see, Brigit and Elias were hardly childhood sweethearts. In fact, her father had already given his blessing to another suitor and did not approve a match to the brazen young sorcerer. But Elias was exceedingly stubborn and far too dangerous to simply dismiss out of hand. When Bram proclaimed that he would meet whatever demands Brigit’s father cared to set, the shrewd patriarch saw his chance. He devised a list of tasks so perilous that few believed Bram would even survive, much less fulfill them. Of course, they were mistaken. The Archmage not only completed the tasks and won his bride, but he also multiplied his fame in the bargain. Who could resist the story of the smitten sorcerer defying death time and again to win the hand of his truelove? The bards ate it up with a spoon and spread the tale to every shore.…” The Demon paused and tapped his chin. “Can you tell me what’s missing from the minstrels’ songs?”

“Brigit’s former suitor,” said Max, frowning.

Astaroth inclined his head. “Like myself, you have an instinct for justice,” he remarked. “What indeed happened to her betrothed? The bards never delved into such details because I daresay it complicates things. It just might make you consider your Archmage in a less flattering light. As you know, Brigit honored her father’s oath and married Elias Bram. But was she happy with this turn of events? Did she ever grow to love the arrogant young Archmage? Only she could say. Some have surmised that she was not pining for Bram when she waded into the sea but rather for this former suitor … the man she was supposed to marry.”

Max cleared his throat. “Well, what happened to him? The other suitor, I mean.”

“Sad stuff,” sighed the Demon. “Ironically, this fellow had been Bram’s closest companion. And despite this man’s many virtues, Elias still dominated and outshone him in every conceivable way. There was nothing the poor boy could have or achieve that Bram could not take or surpass. However, that all changed when this friend found love. Until that day, Bram had no interest or use for such sentiments, but nevertheless it galled him that this associate—this inferior—should possess something that he did not. And thus the spiteful Archmage resolved not only to take a wife, but also to take the very woman with whom his friend was smitten.”

“That’s terrible,” Max said.

“Yes, it is,” concurred Astaroth. “But you must understand that winning was never enough for Elias Bram; others also had to lose. And so you see, the famous tale of Bram’s heroic courtship is actually one of history’s great betrayals. Shall I tell you the name of Brigit’s suitor or can you guess?”

“Marley,” concluded Max stiffly. “It was Marley Augur, wasn’t it?”

“Correct,” Astaroth hissed. “You’ve always thought of Marley as a villain and a traitor, but aren’t those labels better suited for Bram? Be very careful of trusting Rowan’s fate to the Archmage, Hound. One might say that those who know him best, love him least.”

It was an uncomfortable revelation and Max wondered if David knew these allegations about his grandfather. Max did not doubt that they were true. For one, Astaroth never lied. For another, Max had also read some of Bram’s own papers and had to admit that nothing the Demon said ran counter to the tone or tenor in the writings. Elias Bram had been an arrogant young man; he had been consumed with his own achievements and advancement. And then there was Marley Augur … the blacksmith’s loathing of Bram, his desire for revenge, had staved off death itself and turned him into a revenant. The hatred was real and its origins were deep.

Still, Max gave a bitter laugh. “Should we look to you, then?” he wondered. “Will ‘the Great God’ come to Rowan’s aid when Prusias storms our gates?”

The Demon’s smile vanished and he glided almost within arm’s reach, hovering like a phantom.

“You have but to ask,” he whispered solemnly. “You have but to ask and I will come to you. Do you remember how to call me? ‘Noble Astaroth, pray favor thy petitioner with wisdom from under hill, beyond the stars, and beneath the deepest sea.’ Utter these words, Max McDaniels, and you shall have an ally in your hour of need.”

“How generous,” Max observed. “And what would you expect in return?”

“One minor service,” replied the Demon.

“And what would that be?”

“You must slay Elias Bram.”

Max smiled in disbelief before simply shaking his head.

“Don’t assume my motives are purely selfish,” Astaroth cautioned, leaning close. “It may be in your interest to destroy the Archmage.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He does not love you, Max McDaniels. You frighten him. You are a demigod and your lineage is very great. The Archmage’s powers are in full bloom, but yours are in mere infancy. Bram knows there will be a day when he cannot stand against you. Given the man’s past, do you really believe he will let that day come?”

Once he’d posed the question, the Demon stopped and awaited a response. Max gave a rueful smile.

“Your words are always poison.”

The Demon sighed and leaned upon his staff. “Truth is a bitter draught, but the wise man swallows it. Consider what I’ve said, Max. Sleep on it. Should the wolf come scratching at your door, know that you have an ally in waiting. Speak the proper words and we have a contract. Speak the proper words and I will aid you.”

“That will never happen.”

“As you will,” replied Astaroth softly. “But never is a long time and Rowan’s hour draws near.”