like thunder in a winter storm.
Devon kept his aspect calm, showing fear here would be a grave mistake, “You will get your payment when I am king. The Lancasters are but the first of many rewards you will receive.”
“You would do well to leave me undisturbed if you have no gift of blood, I am not some petty demon to be trifled with.” A black maw of twisted teeth appeared in the smoke for a moment before vanishing again.
“Perhaps if your information had been complete I would be more likely to provide such gifts, Mal’goroth.” A bead of sweat ran down Devon’s brow, he was taking a risk here.
“You imply I have violated our pact?” The voice was curious.
“You told me that there were no living wizards,” he replied.
“All the ancient bloodlines have been severed and the knowledge they kept is broken and scattered, there are none left. Do you dispute this?” Mal’goroth’s words were heavy with implicit threat.
“There is a wizard here, in the House of Lancaster, I would not think such a thing would escape your notice,” Devon answered.
Mal’goroth spoke, “The talent arises from time to time, you yourself are proof of this. This mage can be no threat, without knowledge he is helpless, there are no more wizards.”
“His name is Mordecai, how would you explain that? A random mage appearing here among the Lancasters, bearing a name from the line of Illenial?” Devon felt surer of himself now.
“Lies! The line of Illenial is no more, the last of them died sixteen years ago at the hands of the Shaddoth Krys.” Mal’goroth had become still within the circle.
“Then the Shadow-Blades failed, even the Shaddoth Krys can make mistakes it would seem. Your information was flawed, like their mission.” Devon was baiting Mal’goroth now, he hoped to get more from their bargain.
After a long pause Mal’goroth answered, “Yes.”
“Then you must redress that mistake. I will require more assistance.” This was going better than Devon had hoped.
“The Shaddoth Krys are too far, it would be better if you allow me to help you directly.” Mal’goroth sounded eager.
“I am no fool, I will not bridge the gulf for you,” Devon snapped.
“I would not suggest that, merely let me join with you, my power could make your task simple.” The dark god’s voice was almost friendly now. It was suggesting Devon open his mind to it, channeling the evil god’s power. The thought was tempting but Devon shivered at the thought of letting the being into his mind. There was no surety he would ever be able to get it out again.
“That is unacceptable. What of your followers?” he was referring to the cult of Mal’goroth, a secret society worshipping in the shadows, hidden from the eyes of saner men.
“They could not reach here soon enough wizard, unless you open a way for them. Are you capable of such a thing?” Mal’goroth sneered audibly.
“I can manage it, without need for your power,” Devon said. “How soon can they be ready?”
The dark form of Mal’goroth shifted in the circle, “Four nights from now. They will be waiting.”
Devon smiled, creating a path to transport them would be difficult, but the result would be worth it. His original plan had been subtler, but sometimes bold strokes created a masterpiece. The Lancasters would be removed, they and their retainers would feed the dark god and their absence would destabilize the kingdom, a necessary first step. He finished his discussion with Mal’goroth and ended the summoning spell. Once he was sure the creature had gone, he broke the circle and began planning.
First he would remove the blacksmith’s son. He represented a significant threat to the completion of his scheme. After that he would see the House of Lancaster expunged and their retainers brought to ruin. The House of Tremont would not benefit in the short term, but in the years to come, when the royal family suffered a great tragedy there would be no rivals to contend for the throne. Tremont would be the only possible choice.
There was yet more to do, so Devon left his room and went below. He needed a quiet isolated location within the keep, a place where something as conspicuous as a large transportation glyph would go unnoticed. Now would be the best time to find a place for it, while everyone was still watching the pyrotechnics he would be free to roam the cellars and tunnels beneath the keep.
Chapter 11
Return Home
Regarding the differences in power between a mage and a channeler, otherwise known as a ‘saint’. A mage is, in most cases a free agent, given that his power comes from within, while a channeler is beholden to the source of his power. Although both achieve their effects through the use of aythar a mage must rely upon his own control and his own reserves. A channeler is partly controlled by his deity, therefore his control is provided in large degree by his god and his reserves are much less limited. The channeler is largely restricted by two other factors: his credos, for he may not act against the wishes of his god, and his human frailty, a factor scholars refer to as ‘burnout’. If too much power is channeled one may destroy one’s health and possibly the ability to channel as well. A wizard’s own power is rarely great enough for burnout to be a possibility although some exceptions have been known.
~Marcus the Heretic,
On the Nature of Faith and Magic
I rose early for a change and for the first time in days I felt as if my mind and body were in harmony. I have lived according to a dawn to dusk schedule for most of my life, so the late nights had really thrown my body out of whack. I also had a plan, things to be a’doing. The feeling of purpose gave me renewed vigor.
I hadn’t told anyone yet but I had decided the night before to return home today. I had already begun to feel some homesickness. After all I was just the son of a humble blacksmith. The politics and intrigue of court life wore on my nerves. I had no stamina for it. I wasn’t going to spend the night however; I intended to ride back before nightfall. The idea that I had the night before required a lot of wide open space, and I wanted a place where I wouldn’t create a panic with my experiment.
My home suited that purpose perfectly, out in the country we had no close neighbors and if anyone did happen to be in the vicinity, the smithy was often the source of odd noises. I would have to explain matters to my parents beforehand though. Even had I not planned my ‘test’ I needed to do that. My sudden departure had left my parents in the dark.
I borrowed a horse from Dorian’s father, there being fewer questions that way, and began riding home. It took me close to an hour but the weather was nice and the palfrey I was riding had a smooth gait. I was in a fine mood by the time I got there. My only worry was how my parents would react to my new abilities. I’m pretty sure that it's not every day your son comes home to tell you he’s developed a knack for magic. I guessed my mom would have the most trouble, she has difficulty with surprises. Dad would probably ask me if it would help with the metal somehow. He was very practical that way.
I found my father hard at work. He saw me come in and nodded at me, directing me to the bellows with a glance. I got to pumping. Half an hour later he set the piece he was working on aside to cool slowly. Annealing it was called, to take the temper out. “I didn’t think you were supposed to be back for a few more days,” he said.
“A lot has happened, I’m going back this evening, but I need to talk to you and mom,” I replied.
“She’s in the house I think, let me wash up and we’ll go in. She’ll probably want to feed you some of our leftovers.” His face was still but his voice had a smile in it.
A while later, after some bacon and hash-browns; we sat at the table together. Slowly I began to tell them of the things that had happened to me. It took more time than I thought, even with me leaving out the parts about Penny. I didn’t feel it was my place to discuss what had happened to her. Throughout all of it my father sat quietly, his stern face deep in thought. Mother looked as though she might interrupt a few times but he shushed her and she held her peace. When I finished she got up, “I have to hang the wash out. I’ll be back in a bit.” Her tone was tense.
“What’s wrong with mom?” I asked.
