Noble Arcana

Our judgement of demons is lacking. We label forest spirits that bring cool breezes or cleanse streams as gods, but mark much more powerful beings as devils and demons. What true difference is there between a devil and an evil god? Where they come from? When the power they wield is as real here as those native gods, who cares?

The Writings of Mad Bayne

Solomon walked calmly to the door, uncorking vials of blood and making it float in orbs around himself as he moved. Once he judged that he had enough he retrieved the key and sprig of holly from his bag again and aimed it at the cell door. Dukat was sleeping within, curled up on the cold stone floor.

“Tumble click and set, by holly’s sting and the key’s duty met.”

The lock clicked loudly and Solomon pushed the cell open with a creak.

Dukat awoke quickly, turning to look at the source of the sound. His eyes widened and he lunged, brandishing something in his hand that he must’ve been curled around in his sleep.

Solomon sent the orb of blood toward him, hardening them as they hit the assassin’s chest. He hit the far wall with a thud, but before he could fall, Solomon had his blood bind his wrists and ankles, locking him in place.

He opened his mouth to scream, but before he could Solomon gagged him with a hardened clot of his blood. He tried to scream and struggle, but it was to no avail.

Solomon dismissed Cloak of Darkness and crouched to pick up the object the man had been holding. It was a sharpened piece of masonry with cloth wrapped around the handle. He turned it over in his hands a few times before turning his attention to Dukat’s hateful gaze.

“Resourceful,” he said as he tossed the makeshift blade to the side and moved to stand only a few feet from the man.

“I have several questions for you. If you don’t wish to answer them, I will kill you. If you do answer them, I will still kill you. I already believe I know what I need to, I’d just like confirmation. I will, however, grant one request for you if you cooperate. A message you wish sent, or an item you wish to be buried with. On my name I will do what I can to honor whatever the request, as long as it is reasonable.”

He paused for a moment, meeting Dukat’s glare with indifference.

“Please nod if you agree.”

There was hesitation, then a slow deliberate nod.

Solomon removed the blood from his mouth, shaping it into an orb of crimson that he kept at the ready, orbiting him.

“What is your request?” asked Solomon.

“I want you to die.”

“That will happen eventually regardless of your request. Anything else?”

“I have a sister in Ventariss. She married, couple kids. I had some silver in my pocket when I was arrested. I’d like you to give it to her.”

“And would you find it reprehensible if I simply gave her a gold drak instead?”

“No. All the gold you have should belong to the people anyway. You’d just be returning it to where it belongs.”

Solomon nodded. “It may take some time, but I will see it done.”

“Sure you will.”

Solomon ignored the slight, he was sure the defiance was a comfort to the man. It meant nothing.

Stolen novel; please report.

“Why were you here in Moonfallow?” he asked.

“I had been running since I killed some parasites in Brevantiss. This was the last place to run.”

“And you risked attempting to kill me?”

“I was always going to be captured or killed. May as well take one more of you down.”

Solomon nodded. There was certainly logic in what he said.

“The guns. Where did you get them?”

“Etling. I knew a cache was headed back to the Tide soon from another contact. I figured they wouldn’t miss one.”

“The Tide? A group of dissidents?”

“A cowardly one. They say the Tide will rise and drown all of you, but they aren’t willing to get their hands dirty. It’s all targeted attacks and building strength. It only takes one man with a knife to kill another. We don’t need to be organized, we just need to get it done.”

Solomon had not heard of the Tide. He was aware that there were dissident groups, they were reported frequently and often raided. Dalmar the dissident in particular had been a thorn in the side of Drakthiss for more than twenty years. He had a feeling he knew exactly who had provided them with the cache of firearms though.

“How widespread is the Tide?”

“They’re in every city and getting larger every day.”

Solomon scratched his chin. He wasn’t surprised. His peers hadn’t been meeting their obligations, hadn’t comported themselves as they needed to. A correction was necessary one way or another. Still, the Tide would likely be stamped out as other attempts had been. When things got severe enough the Union would get involved and they would ferret out all of them.

“I knew you were a mage.”

Solomon returned his attention to the dissident. “You were right. Luckily, your word has no value here.”

“How many of my attempts struck true, eh?”

“All of them, but the last one. Bullets struck my head and my chest. Unfortunately, your firebottle only struck a young guard who counts himself among my people.”

He scoffed. “Like you give a damn. You’d trade them all for a copper drak. You have your little harem up on the hill. Your little town you can lord over and do whatever the hells you wish. It all means nothing to you.”

“It means everything,” replied Solomon calmly, returning the clotted blood to the man’s mouth to silence him. He was out of questions.

He carefully placed his bag to the side of the cell and drew out the ink he’d had prepared along with two small silver bowls, sulfur, and oil. He used Perfect Recall to bring the image of the summoning circle to the forefront of his mind and he took some of the blood he had floating around himself and mixed it with the ink vial. He then used blood control to move the mix of ink and blood into the shape of the summoning circle, not deviating at all from what was given to him. He didn’t trust The Devil, but he did believe that The World vetted all of the Arcana’s transactions.

He finished drawing the summoning circle and placed the cups of sulfur and oil to the left and right of it. He gave everything a careful final review, then he raised a hand and removed Dukat from the wall, carefully floating him down to the center of the circle. He began to struggle, his eyes wide as he realized what was likely to happen. Solomon used the rest of the blood he’d brought to fully bind and still him.

“Be still,” he said, using Compel to further ensure he would not move. His throat became sore, but he ignored it, and used Perfect Recall to bring the image of the phonetic words in the demonic language that The Devil had prepared for him. He drew the long dagger from his bag last and stood above the assassin.

He took a deep breath, and began speaking. The moment he said the first word, he felt a tremendous release. It was as if from the moment he’d read the first words, he’d been holding back from his desire to speak them, and now that they were flowing out of him all that tension had been released. His throat was scratchy and raw, but as he spoke his voice came out clear and deep, growing deeper with every syllable and intonation.

The cell darkened as the moonlight that was pouring in from the window seemed to fade into nothingness. He could no longer see the cell bars, walls, or even the roof above him. All there was, all that existed, was the ritual circle, Dukat, and the dagger in his hand. It all flowed perfectly.

As he hit the crescendo, his voice deepened further and the room began to shake. He raised the dagger and spoke the final part of the incantation.

“DRAK-SHAL!”

He plunged the dagger into the man’s heart, finding that the blade passed smoothly through the man’s chest, as if there was no resistance at all.

All of the shadow that had surrounded him, that had removed everything from view, suddenly condensed in the center of the circle. It formed into a perfect black sphere that rested above the hilt of the dagger. After it condensed to the size of a pinprick, it started to expand. A body of darkness and shadow formed. It was humanoid in shape, with two large horns, but had no distinguishable features aside from two purple eyes that stared at him, and a mouth of sharp white teeth.

“Agog?” asked Solomon as he stood, refusing to flinch from the demon’s gaze.

The shadow shook his head, his sharp toothed smile widening.

When he opened his mouth, he spoke in a deep and soothing baritone that seemed to crackle like flame at the ends of certain words.

“Oh no. This sacrifice and your talent are far too rich for my lesser brother. I am Aristopheles, lord of shade. Let us bargain.”