Book 2 Ch 28: Past

I don’t believe I ever had friends. They were a distraction. Colleagues was the closest I came and had there been a way to avoid them, I would have.

• Victor Morrow’s Journals

Brom pushed himself up and began to cut at the trees in front of them with his blade. The other knights moved forward to do the same. Chunks of bark were torn loose by the hacking of blades, but there didn’t seem to be any way through. He thought he could hear screams on the other side and there were flashes of light bursting through the gaps at the very top of the trees.

“Havarn!” he yelled, his sword driving deep into the bark of the tree.

“We should see if any of the mages have caught up with us, they may be able to bring this down,” said Matthias, his left eye bleeding from where he’d tried to peek through the tops of the trees and been stabbed by a thorn for his efforts.

Brom nodded. “Go!”

Before Matthias had even reached the stairs, the trees suddenly began to wither, their grand brown trunks turning black as they collapsed into dust on the ground in front of them.

Brom pushed forward through the fog of dust they created and saw Havarn. He was kneeling and breathing heavily. His armor was scorched, torn, and shattered in places, and his arm appeared to be broken.

In front of him was the corpse of Magni. His face had been smashed in by Havarn’s hammer. His body seemed mangled and his crown shattered on the ground.

Brom ran to Havarn’s side, kneeling next to him.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” replied the man simply, slowly pulling himself back to his feet using his hammer as support. He turned to the other knights that had rushed forward.

“It’s done. We should regroup with the others. Who knows what traps remain here.”

Brom frowned. Havarn seemed calm, almost relaxed. The rage had left his eyes and his voice was coming out calm and clearly rather than as a familiar roar.

Havarn didn’t give Brom any time for questions, just slung his warhammer back over his shoulder and started walking out of the tower.

Brom cast one more look at the corpse of the last free elf on the continent, and then turned to follow.

…

Solomon inhaled deeply and suddenly as his senses returned to him. Memories of powerful arms and thick armor fading to leave him sitting in his fine suit at a desk in his cabin on the Arabella. He was no longer Brom Morrow, but himself. He looked at the exposed red blade in front of him again and gently sheathed the sword, blinking his eyes slowly as it seemed he hadn’t blinked for the duration of the vision.

He had read histories of the many last stands of the elves that had stood against the empire. They’d been powerful and proud, but his ancestors had been brutal, cunning, and persistent. Brom Morrow would’ve been the family’s patriarch only a generation or two after the thirteen had bowed to one and begun their conquests. There wasn’t much record of the man, aside from the fact that he was a great warrior and negotiator. There had certainly been no mentions he’d seen of him being close with the Dentus family patriarch, though it was likely anything that had indicated such was carefully culled from the family histories.

He looked down at Crimson Command tapping the hilt idly. He guessed that using it in real combat was what had caused it to be more attuned to him, and that had been what caused the vision. He wondered exactly why he’d seen what he'd seen. Was it random? Would he see what the blade considered its greatest triumphs? Or was the sword trying to show him what he would be most interested in? Given his mana’s source and his family's history he certainly was interested. He’d need to do more research into Magni once he was back on the mainland.

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Solomon stood and stretched. Vision aside, needed to do more work with his uncle’s journals. His goal was to be more than halfway through them so that on the way back he could finish deciphering whatever was left. If he continued having visions along with that work it seemed he’d be spending quite a bit of time with his head in the past. At least he’d have the Arcana meetings to break things up.

He went to his trunk and retrieved his uncle’s journal, opening it to where he’d marked his place. Now that Victor had access to mana-rich blood, things had swiftly begun escalating.

While the fairy blood we’d received had been a tremendous boon, many of my fellows seemed unable to properly utilize it. Copper and Platinum both managed to get themselves killed. Copper simply exploded, we knew not how or why, and Platinum was found in his manor sliced from taint to mouth. There was some evidence of a summoning being involved. I recalled that he had a distinct interest in a ritual involving a succubus.

Others had managed to achieve greater results. Simple summonings of lesser fey or demons, basic alchemical concoctions, and simple curses have all been managed. I myself had saved the blood I had stored and watched the others, learning from their mistakes and successes.

The voice that I’d heard the day of the ritual had returned. At first it was only whispers in the darkest parts of the night, but over time they grew more frequent. Eventually what I heard was joined by visual distortions I recognized as runes. It was as if I’d stared at a light in their shape and had them burned into my eyes. They’d last for only a few moments then fade. I began recording them whenever they would appear, slowly filling a leatherbound notebook with them. Eventually it became clear that the runes were part of a ritual, each one that was in my vision was always in a different spot, eventually creating a circle.

I knew it was foolish, but I felt compelled to attempt it. I was young, reckless, and so hungry for magic. The whispers I heard, though I couldn’t understand them, had a feeling to them. A promise that I could be granted what I most desired.

I wrote the runes out in fairy blood mixed with ink, feeling the power of each of them as I wrote them. Every hesitation I felt faded when I tasted that small mote of mana from the ink and the runes and I wrote each rune with more fervor and anticipation than the last. When it was done I muttered words in a language I didn’t recognize.

What appeared before me… it must’ve been a demon, though it was unlike any I’d ever heard described. It looked like a tall thin man wearing a simple black suit. Its face was obscured by shadow, no matter how you tried to look at him. His voice… it had been powerful and alluring as a whisper in the dark, but hearing it speak in front of me… It made my soul shiver and squirm as if it was trying to flee from my body to escape. I can still hear it.

He spoke drakthic at first, offering to grant me his language at no cost. I accepted, and instantly I could understand the runes I had written out and the whispers that had lingered in my ears.

He offered me a simple deal. A ritual that would allow me my own mana. The price was the deaths of every one of the other members of the society I had joined. It was hard to speak against him, but I managed a concession. That I would receive the ritual before the deaths of my colleagues. Several were men at arms in addition to being scholars, and I did not think I could kill them otherwise.

He agreed and with a cut of my hand, a smear of blood, and a bow I had the ritual in my hand.

Solomon paused, squeezing his eyes shut to force some moisture into them. His uncle was seeming more and more like him with every page he read. The reckless pursuit of his goal no matter the cost, the caution lasting only until true power was in sight. At the same time the price seemed almost too low? For the exact ritual his uncle desired the demon had asked for a very minor cost. His uncle didn’t seem fond of any of those he’d collaborated with. Given his own experiences he would’ve expected a much harsher bargain.

He leaned back in his chair and whispered.

“Aristopheles, am I being watched or listened to?”

“No,” answered the demon from the shadows in the corner of the room.

“Do you know of a demon that appears as a tall thin man with his face obscured by darkness?”

There was a long pause. “No.”

Solomon turned his attention fully to the shade, seeing the dim glow of purple eyes in it. The pause had been suspect.

“Do you know of a creature that can be summoned in the same manner as a demon that fits that description?”

The eyes narrowed.

“...Yes.”

“You wouldn’t consider it a demon though?”

“There are places deeper than hell. Do not ask me more of this.”

“Would you bargain for the information?”

“It would be unwise for me and you for us to do so.”

Solomon frowned, but left it alone.

“Thank you.”

The floating purple eyes closed and the demon was gone.