The Familiar (part 1)

Caleb Thorne, The Redstaff, Archmage of the Consortium, Elf-Friend, and Defender of the Realm sat at a long table surrounded by the most powerful and influential mages in the world as they argued with one another. Cal wasn’t sure what the argument was about. He hadn’t been paying attention.

Something about the next contract to take, maybe? Highmage Vasek was complaining about lack of funding for the Alchemy department while Counselor Braunson made snide comments about the department’s 7% drop in productivity over the last quarter.

Cal didn’t have anything to add. He never did. But as Archmage, he was required to sit at all council meetings held by the High Consortium. Part of the job. Everyone seemed to think his advice was invaluable, but the truth was that the Farseers handled most of the actual work. Sure, Cal was Archmage because he was the most powerful mage in the room, and the runner-up wasn’t particularly close. But he wasn’t a planner or a deep thinker, a politician or a beaurocrat. Cal was a war-mage. A heavy hitter, the best in the business. When there was a mercenary contract, sure, send him in and let him loose. But if you wanted to optimize rain-calling patterns for the Tasakami Plains over the next two years? He was the last person you wanted advice from.

The Archmage stared around the room, idly examining the faces of the different members. Some were angry, others irritated. A few were concerned. Most were impassive. It was business as usual for the council, finding ways to optimize the Consortium’s own interests in research, development, and expansion while continuing to support (or at least seeming to support) the various city-states in their endless, petty squabbling over tiny (but historically significant) scraps of land.

The mage’s mind wandered to other things as he settled back into his chair, trying to maintain a pensive expression. He was nervous about tonight. Dark magic was forbidden by the Accords of Magic, but he’d been given special permission to study certain texts in his ongoing research to combat necromancy, daemonology, blood magic, and other forbidden teachings. The ritual was simple for someone of Cal’s talents, but finding the right candidate would be tough. That’s where the middleman came in. Someone discrete, morally flexible, and – most importantly – who owed Cal a substantial favor. Demons couldn’t get out of that sort of thing. Once you’d made a deal, you had to pay up.

No one would find out, of course. And his plan was innocent enough. On his rise through the ranks, no one had ever told Cal how lonely it was being the Archmage. Dating anyone of a lower rank was forbidden by the Consortium, lest you exert power over someone unable to say no. But everyone was lower ranked than Cal, and he wasn’t likely to meet a willing partner outside the guild. You have a reputation to maintain, he’d been lectured after a brief romance with a nobleman’s daughter. Find someone worthy of your station. They’d never said who that was, though. He wasn’t about to date royalty. Even ignoring the ungodly complications inherent in romancing a princess, they were all married off to forge political alliances. Cal was important, sure, but he had no bloodline. No future beyond what he could offer here and now.

After several failed or sabotaged attempts at finding a girlfriend, tired and frustrated, Cal had quietly decided that if the Consortium’s rules forbid everything, then he might as well try something forbidden. Safe within the confines of his chambers, the mage could do whatever he wanted. Arcane power had always been his strength anyway, not flirtation. Why not turn that to his own benefit for once?

After a passionate speech by Vasek on behalf of alchemists everywhere, Cal decided it was time to wrap things up. “Hear hear!” he said, standing up and nodding respectfully toward Vasek. “I think the Highmage speaks for all of us, are we not agreed?”

There were some murmurs around the table, but the rest fell into line quickly enough. They always did. Vaske shot Cal a look of gratitude that meant a future favor was owed, and the Archmage took mental note. The meeting was concluded with its usual pomp and ceremony, each member announcing their rank and their agreement to conclude, and after another thirty minutes of pointless gladhanding Cal was free.

Once out of the meeting chamber his stride lengthened, moving past the tapestries that lined the Hall of Countenance and up the tight spiral staircase to his private chambers. If there was one perk that made it all worthwhile, this was it: vast, comfortable, with all the creature comforts he could wish. A separate room for testing and experimentation, a private bath warmed by the fire elementals that worked the boiler room, and a dumbwaiter that delivered three meals a day. After three years, Cal had finally enchanted the place to his liking. Doors swung open as he approached, the carpets cleaned themselves, all so he could spend his time focusing on just one thing: magic.

Dinner was waiting when he arrived – roast duck, golden potatoes, and a smattering of other treats, but it would have to wait. Cal slammed the dumbwaiter closed with a wave of his hand lest the smell distract him.

He’d had the summoning circle installed just a year ago, seven thin rings of silver inscribed with the most potent wards he could manage. At the time, he’d needed it to commune with the angelic hosts in their war against the Alterkin, demons that had overtaken hell and driven the fiendish hosts to the surface in a frenzy of darkness and blood. That same adventure had introduced him to Kazarius, the demon who had sold out his own side by supplying Cal with information. Ostensibly it was to secure the Throne of Shadows to its rightful king, but Kazarius had also profited handsomely by knowing in advance how the balance of power would tilt. If the Shadow King knew who had spilled information to the Consortium, there would have been literal hell to pay. But Cal had kept his mouth shut. Now, it was time to apply that leverage.

“Kazarius, Broker of the Netherdark, I call thee.” Cal poured energy into the binding circle as he intoned. Normally, this kind of summoning would require candles, blood, and a variety of other offerings to draw the demon forth. Cal was strong enough to substitute all of those with raw power. The circles lit up one by one, glowing with molten light as the heat of Cal’s magic filled each one with energy.

“Kazarius, Dabbler and Dealer with Mortals, I summon thee.” Smoke began to form within the circle. “Kazarius, whose true name is Greed and whose true face is hidden, I bind thee.” Cal cut the flow of power, pulling mana back inside himself as the light in each circle winked out. In the center stood a man with cloven hooves, blood-red skin, and ram’s horns curling from his head. He wore a wrinkled gray suit with a black handkerchief tucked into the jacket pocket, a wide brimmed hat that rested neatly atop his horns, and a pair of horn-rimmed classes perched on the tip of his nose.

The demon blinked a few times, coughed, and looked up. “Eyyy, Cal!” His voice was harsh and grating, though his tone was friendly. “How’ve you been, fella? How’s tricks? Haven’t seen you since, well…”

Cal smiled. “Since the war, yeah. Good to see you too, Kazarius.

“Please, call me Kaz. We’re all friends here, right? So listen, I’m guessin’ this ain’t a pleasure call, am I right?” Kazorious laughed, a low rumbling that filled the room with the scent of coal and sulphur.

“Uh, yeah. Business call. In fact, I need a broker for a summoning. Word is you’re the best in the biz, so here I am.”

The demon’s brows went up. “Izzat so? Archmage Thorne, conjuror of dark powers. Never thought I’d see the day…”

“Don’t get your hopes up. I’ve got dispensation from the guild to do a little… off the books research. Learn the enemy, you know. And I figured you wouldn’t balk at a little double-dealing.

“You wound me,” Kaz said, holding his hands over where his heart would be, “But you are absolutely correct. Whaddaya need, then? Warbringer? I got a couple of beefy fella on offer at the moment, rarin’ to go, real bruisers. You wanna test yourself in a scrap, these are some top of the market death-dealin’ types.”

“No no,” Cal said, waving his hands. “This isn’t for me. This is something of a… I guess you’d call it a charity project.”

“I ain’t familiar with the concept, but go on.”

“I won’t bore you with details, but I’m writing a guide for low-level practitioners on how to handle demons. Real first year stuff.

“Uh huh. Right. So… that’s a no to the beefy boys.” Kazalius scratched his chin. “You thinkin’ an imp, then? I got plenty in stock, let me tell you. Not much call for the type, ‘cept as a horde. You thinkin’ Poxbearer? Warbringer? Bladewing? Or maybe one of them more obscure types, eh? Shadefrost? Could scrounge up a Bilefiend if you give me a few days, they tend to eat their young so there ain’t - ”

“I need a succubus,” Cal interrupted. “That’s, uh, the project.”

“You want a soulsucker? You sure, fella? They ain’t easy on the new types, you know?”

“I know. That’s why it’s so important they learn how to defend against demonic charms.” Cal hesitated. Was the demon buying all of this? It had sounded reasonable enough in his head, and he’d practiced the speech so many times at this point, but doubt was starting to creep in.

“But, uh. Just to be safe, I need it to be a weak one. Only mana drain. No soul stealing, no level loss.” Cal offered a tight-lipped smile. “Wouldn’t be much of a project if we ended the training with a pile of dead apprentices.”

“Huh. Yeah, ‘course not.” Kazorious peered over his glasses, scrutinizing Cal’s face. “Right. Well, you talked to the right broker – ain’t many with the reach to pull somethin’ that particular. Tell you what, Cal – give me 24 hours, I’ll see what I can do. You wanna leave the portal open for sendings, I’ll have the paperwork up to you then.”

“Thanks Kaz. Oh, and I’ll need a confidentiality contract – full silence, long-term summon, memory wipe when it goes back.” Cal nodded, trying to look more confident than he felt. “Can’t go spilling guild secrets, you know.”

“You got it, boss.” Kaz tipped his hat, stomped his hoof twice against the stone, and vanished.

Cal exhaled slowly and collapsed into his armchair. Twenty-four hours and he could try… well, something. He shivered in anticipation. Kazorius hadn’t suspected a thing, he felt sure, and his own quarters were more heavily warded against scrying magic than the rest of the Consortium combined. No one would find out. Cal smiled to himself. For the first time in weeks he was in a good mood. This was going to work.