E04 - Ch 18: Curses

When she tried to open her mouth to cast an incantation, dirt filled it and she coughed out the last of the air in her lungs.

Her mind felt as if she'd just taken a Haze spell. She was in considerable pain and she was short on time because she couldn't breathe. She had been attacked, but she didn't know by whom. She had been hit from behind. Was the attacker still there? No, that's not right. It was Brint. Of course it was Brint. Who else would have used a shaping spell on the earth floor?

But at the same time it couldn't have been Brint. He had been casting a conjuration spell. There was no way he could have already learned to cast two spells at once. And even more impossible, no way he could have cast a spell without an incantation. But some gut instinct told her that it had been him.

Maybe he really is the Dawnmere.

Sylvara would have laughed at that thought if she had any breath left. But even if he really was the Dawnmere of this generation, she had nothing to fear as long as she didn't underestimate the boy again. And in any case, he should be well spent by now. Her mind had cleared a little, but she was still trapped under gods-knew how many layers of forest soil.

Shadow this, Sylvara thought and she pushed raw arcana straight out of the back of her torso, launching herself upward. It was an inefficient maneuver to use arcana directly without a spell to focus and channel it, but Sylvara had plenty to spare.

However the moment she moved, she felt her left arm flashing with sharp pain and she let out a scream just as she broke through the top layer of the earth.

She dropped to one knee as she landed and clutched at her arm while coughing dirt and blood. Her forearm was loose and dangled from the socket.

The boy had taken her by complete surprise. She should have sensed it, but she had just used a demon tongue then. No wonder her kingstone had given her a pulse just before his spell had been cast.

She had ignored it because using a demon spell often made her kingstone erratic, especially when she called Rile.

It was not that demon spells always caused misfortune for the conjurer, but it greatly increased the chances of bad luck.

There is always a price to be paid when dealing with demons, her teacher's old words ran through her mind.

And yet we still do it, she replied back.

But that cursed Dawnbrat had gotten lucky. He had made his surprise attacks within moments of her using the demon spell. And he'd not left anything on the tab this time. He'd given his all. She would have been dead if not for the thin layer of condensed arcana that she carried over his body at all times. Her veil. If she'd been any less of an arcanist, if she had only been an acolyte, a broken arm would have been the least of her injuries.

The boy was certainly intent on killing her. And if had the guts to kill, why hadn't he directed his attacks at the one who had done far greater harm to his life and future?

She had even cast Rile on him. In the past, she'd influenced men to kill with far less true motives just with a touch of the Argha in their minds.

Why hadn't the demon tongue worked? Now that she thought of it, the Argha had difficulty putting Aelric to sleep as well.

She cursed her rotten luck. If only the coveters of kingstones across Caelonia could see her now. Damned useless it was. Can't even help manage a couple of farm boys.

Sylvara spat out another wad of dirt and blood. Then she checked herself for injuries. She had a few cuts on her face, shoulder, and thigh. It was nothing serious, but she felt disgusted being covered in dirt and grime.

The broken arm was serious. As serious as it got for an arcanist. That was one less hand she could cast spells from. And not every hand was an equal master of the spells in her arsenal. Not to mention the issues of mobility it presented her. It would not be the first time she wished she belonged to the Conclave of Heleric instead of the Chandra.

She had been given only three tasks to complete. Find the boy. Sever the bonds. Bring him to us. An easy mission by any account. One that was important but had little risks. Perfect for winning favor with The Mother.

But now she was on the verge of failing it. A cold apprehension took over her as the thought of failure seeped into her thoughts. The Mother's disapproving face flashed through her mind, and then came the images of the dungeons and their summoning circles. Terror gripped her heart.

"No," she hissed to herself. "I can still rectify this."

She just needed to think. She could not rush into this without a careful plan this time. Too much had been changed by the unforeseen variables.

She eased down onto the ground and pulled her loose limb into her lap. Then she began to carefully wind arcana around the limp arm so that it would be held in place and not susceptible to further injury.

As she wound her wound, she began to consider her options.

She had already completed the first task. Find the boy. That was theoretically the most difficult anyway. But she knew it would not be enough for The Mother.

Especially if she left things as they were.

Brint and Aelric were likely to become closer, allies even, after this. And that would bind him to the village and to Feyna.

That would not do. She needed to cut Brint off from the village completely, even if she couldn't bring him to The Mother herself.

But how would she accomplish it?

Before the festival she had thought it an easy thing. She intended to watch him for a time before taking him to Elduros, but her first impression was that Brint did not seem particularly close with his own father nor anyone else in the village. Time spent away from his home would have been enough. She would plant a few seeds of disagreement between him and anyone he was close with before he left. And if he ever did long to return, The Mother could always send an acolyte to poison any lingering attachments.

But the village had long made plans to make him their next chief. Keen, or so he was titled, had explained to her that Bint's father had been pulling strings to make the advancement happen since the boy was born. And since the boy turned out capable enough and his arcumen more than sufficient, it had been agreed upon by the village elders. This was not particularly a problem, but Brint himself actually wished to take on this role. She could tell he felt a duty and a desire to serve his village.

That was a problem.

And that problem was further compounded by his marriage proposal to Feyna.

Sylvara sighed. At the end of it all, the answer was obvious. There were only two choices. She either had to kill Feyna, or she had to kill Brint's father. The preferable choice was Feyna, lovers always made things more complicated. But now that Aelric had won the duel, it seemed likely that Brint would give up his hopes on her.

Or would he?

The truth was, Sylvara loathed killing women, especially young women. It was not a weakness she liked admitting to herself, but she knew she'd do it if the act became necessary.

She wondered what her kingstone thought about her conclusions, not that it could speak. But she tried it anyway, touching on the small rock bound to her rib cage. The touch came at a small cost of willpower and she felt a slight fatigue in her mind. But then she felt the tiniest nudge in the direction toward the north west.

In the very far distance, she saw something move between a crossing of trees.

She grinned then. The choice had been made for her. It had been the hood of a cloak. So the boys had gone and told the adults of the village and they'd sent hunters.

"I think I'm starting to like this village," she said to herself. "They've got spirit. What a shame."

She turned and leaped through the trees, using only her raw arcana to power her movements. She did not need to go far. Just enough distance to buy her some time as there were a couple of things she needed to do before her confrontation with the hunters.

The forest floor and trees flew by in a blur until she came upon a clearing that was filled with tree stumps, it was an area that had been cleared by the villagers. Then she chose a spot that was wide and flat on the grass.

First, she extended her arcana, spreading it thin and far in a circle that covered five hundred feet in every direction, well beyond the clearing and bank of threes. This came at no cost to her arcuvoir, but it lowered the arcana that was readily available to her. She knew she had vast reserves compared to the villagers, but she did not want to make the mistake of underestimating them again.

She dreaded the next task that lay before her. But the hunters were nearing and time was running short.

With a wave of her hand, the earth before her flattened against her arcana, compressing downward into a wide circle. Then she touched her open wounds with her good hand and drew the summoning circle from memory, her arcana imprinting itself against the flattened ground with every stroke. The blood was not nearly enough to cover the whole circle, but it was enough for the ritual.

As she drew, she sensed two hunters in the trees beyond the clearing stepping into her arcana cloud. They had caught up to her far faster than she had expected. At least they had not sensed her web as there was no change in the way they moved upon contact.

The circle was nearly complete, an intricate design of interlocking shapes and symbols, all carefully drawn. Then she spoke the incantation that completed their pact.

A searing pain shot through her, but she didn’t flinch. The circle turned black, glowing with what only could be described as dark light, and smoke billowed and grew at its center.

“Please be a coherent one,” she muttered to herself. She would not have time send the demon back and start over.

The ground inside the circle began to tremble. Sylvara stepped back, her good hand poised to channel arcana if things went awry. The air grew heavy with an oppressive force, pressing down on her chest like an invisible weight.

From within the circle, the tendrils of shadowed light continued to grow, coiling and twisting as if they had a life of their own. They reached skyward before slamming back into the ground with a loud clap. A figure stood within the circle. It was tall and gaunt, its skin a sickly shade of dark red that seemed to pulse with inner workings. Its thick muscular arms nearly touched the ground and its eyes were deep black voids that seemed to suck in all surrounding light. Great curling horns protruded from its head. It was almost man sized in height and twice the girth.

The kingstone nudged her without the touch of her will, she ignored it.

"I taste womankind," the demon said excitedly in a rotted voice and licked its lips.

Sylvara rolled her eyes. Just her kind of luck. She had summoned one of those.

"Was it thou pretty thing who summoned me?"

"No, it was one of the squirrels."

The demon began to look around. Sylvara shook her head. One of those who was also an idiot. But it would have to do. At least it could talk.

"It was me, obviously," she said. "Can we get on with it?"

The demon turned his empty eyes back to her and smiled. "Name your three."

"Kill the hunters that shall soon arrive. Destroy the village homes ahead. Hurt no women or children."

"But I like hurting women and children."

And that was exactly why she named that pledge. That and the fact that it protected herself from the demon.

"Do you accept, or shall I find another?"

The demon frowned. "I have not named my fee."

Sylvara laughed. "Fee? You get to be let out into the world, demon. That is your fee."

"You wish to take advantage of me, Anthrian woman."

A long exasperated sigh released from Sylvara's mouth. "Rich coming from a demon. Look here, my time's running short. I still have time to summon another. Agree or disagree, I don't care. But make a decision now."

The demon eyed her, not deciding right away. Sylvara rolled her eyes again and raised her hand, arcana condensing into it, to banish the demon.

"I accept your terms, woman," the demon said just before her hand came down.

"Good." Sylvara lowered her hand. "Then our pact is complete."

The kingstone nudged her again. Hard this time. That was unusual, but it could never be counted on when demons were involved. She felt a breath she'd been holding at the bottom of her lungs and let go of some of the false confidence she'd been wearing. She had negotiated well and the demon had found no weakness in her to bargain with.

"You can start now," she said to the demon as she released the circle with a flick of her hand, the black arcana erupting into smoke and a seal of intricate silver patterns appearing on the demon's forehead. “The hunters are almost here.”

The demon let out a screeching laugh and Sylvara’s heart turned cold.

That’s not good. That’s never good.

"You should have paid me my fee.” The demon said with a wicked grin that revealed sharp yellow teeth. Then it launched into the trees in the direction of the village.

“Curse my shadowed ass,” Sylvara said through gritted teeth.

She had not named the order in which the demon was supposed to accomplish its tasks.

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