Christine shivered numbly in fear, barely conscious as Maeve began to glow - and then spray light at the impossible creature Maeve and Eric claimed was a Demon.  She could hear its screams, even now.   Then when it was about to strike, she saw Eric leap forward to try and shield them both - and then reality snapped - and the World was gone!   She looked about, but there was nothing to see... not the ‘nothing’ people say when they mean ‘nothing interesting’, but actually ‘Nothing’.  All she could see was herself, Eric and Maeve, and a dim glow of light that seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once.   This time she shivered more from the cold than from fear.  It was cold, she realized - colder than any winter storm she had ever been in.  Eric wasn’t crazy - this was all really happening.  The Demons were real.

 

      “Eric!”  She screamed, her voice full of new, unknown fears.  “Where are we?”  

 

      Christine’s panicked shout seemed to revive Maeve to a degree, who also looked utterly terrified.  She said something - it sounded like a question, but whatever magic that had allowed Eric and Christine to understand her had faded.  She looked more than a little panicked, and barely conscious.

 

      Eric looked about.  “I don’t know - maybe the Void that Maeve was talking about...”   He paused as he began to realize just what he had done.  “Christine!  I... I moved us to a... a different dimension!  I don’t know how I did it, but I did!”

 

      Christine was way past denial at this point.  “So now what, Eric?  If we don’t get out of here soon, we’ll freeze to death!”   It was then she heard the whisper of voices all around her, and realized that freezing to death would be the least of her worries.   They whispered grief and anger, shameful secrets and hidden pain.  They whispered hunger, hate, betrayal and darkness.  She had always believed in good and evil - but as abstract moral concepts.  She never until today believed she would see and hear what could only be described as Evil incarnate.

 

      “We have to run!”  She cried.

 

      “Where to?” Eric yelled back, wobbling on his feet.  He felt dizzy, and weak, and the only warmth he had was the blood in his mouth, from where he had bitten himself doing whatever he had done to get them here.

 

      Maeve had picked herself up, and tried to stand, but nearly fell down - and Eric wasn’t doing much better.  He was weaving on his feet, hurt and exhausted and god knew what else, but he staggered over to Maeve, and tried to help her stay standing.  It was almost comical, in a way, thought Christine.  If it weren’t for our injuries, and these whispering, evil voices getting closer and closer, it would look for all the world like a scene from a vaudeville act, where the performers can’t stand up without each other.  Now they just looked like the walking wounded.

 

*          *          *

 

 

      It is time, Eric.  The Voices said.  Time for us to feed.  Eric felt the Voices encroach on his mind again, although like before it was all the worse, because he heard them with his ears as well as his mind.  Somehow actually hearing the voices he had suffered with for years with his ears and not his head made them seem more real, and more dangerous.  Like his imminent death.   Eric felt his control crumble, as the Voices began their mantra of lies, guilt, self hate, loathing and fear.  He shook; he trembled - and he knew it was all for nothing.   The years of running from his guilt, his pain, himself.  All for nothing.   He knelt, regardless of the numbing frost that crept up his legs, and readied himself to die.

     

*          *          *

 

      Christine had been trying to shut out the voices - the thought that they could even exist was too terrifying to consider - but she realized they were closing in on them.  She could see the toll the Voices were having on Eric...  He was beginning to lose control; his veneer of reason was beginning to crack, and she knew she had to act.  If Eric passed out, or couldn’t concentrate enough to get them out of here, and back home... well she didn’t really want to think about that too hard.

 

      “Eric!”  She screamed.  “Eric!  Snap out of it!”   Not only didn’t he listen or snap out of it, he fell on his knees, and looked like he was surrendering.   She ran to him, and slapped him, shook him - anything to wake him up and show him how selfish he was being.  Even as she flailed at Eric, she saw things moving in the darkness, with tiny pinpricks of light, like eyes in a dark cave.  She felt cold, and hate.  They had come.

 

      Eric was oblivious to her beating, and was rapidly going catatonic...  If I don’t reach him now, I’ll never get another chance, Christine thought.  She knew only one thing that would get his attention - it was a dirty move, and she felt bad doing it, but she knew if the things attached to those eyes glittering in the darkness reached them, she’d feel a whole lot worse.  “Eric!   These are the voices that killed your Mother, and unless you grow some balls and get us out of here, we’re going to die - just like she did!”  

 

      Eric started from his shock - Christine’s taunt hit him like a verbal slap to the face, and he came to, if just for a moment.  The creatures that were his voices were close - closer than they had ever been before - he could almost see them, their dim shadowy outlines, and the cold malice of their hate.  Christine had fallen to her knees, tears rolling down her face.  Maeve was screaming, and clutching Eric like he was a crutch.  He felt detached from himself - like an observer in his own body - and then the shadows parted.  He saw the creatures - the Demons, their voices loud in his mind, like a whirlwind.

 

      He watched them assemble, watch the creatures drink in his fear, until one in particular stepped forward...  It was a creature out of Nightmares like the others, and yet to Eric it looked all too familiar - cascading brown hair over his Mothers twisted, mottled face, her neck broken from where she had hung herself.  He could feel a rising horror as he somehow knew what was going to happen - it had happened too many times in his dreams and nightmares.

 

      The creature that was his Mother looked at him, her skin dotted with sores that were hatching insects, her mouth splitting wide in too many ways to be human.  And as spiders crawled out of her mouth, ears and the hundreds of sores on her flesh, he heard her soft voice, a voice he always remembered as being peaceful, and safe - now safe no longer, echoing with a voice inside his mind.   Eric...  You’re here at last.  Welcome Home...

 

      Eric screamed... his ultimate horror had come true, and he couldn’t face it.  He had to flee - and he couldn’t leave Maeve or Christine here to that... that thing that looked like his mother.   He tried to move them again, like he did before - and nothing happened.  Why isn’t it working?   What am I doing wrong?  He screamed to himself.   He couldn’t tell which way was which - if direction even had any meaning here...  As the creatures closed in, he cast about for something - anything - that would give him an indication of where to go... and then he had it.

 

 

      Eric’s mother Laura van Helstrome - or what remained of her - reached to embrace her son.  The others waited till she claimed him - for prior claim was one of their Rules - then the others would fall on Christine and Maeve like starving dogs on scraps of meat.   She reached her son, and folded him into her embrace as he screamed.  Screamed out his madness, his rage, his sense of betrayal, his fear and self-loathing, and his endless pain.

 

      The Demons closed in to claim their prizes - but as Eric’s scream crested, reached its crescendo, he reached into the darkness of the Void - not with his arms, but with magic - and then he and the women were gone.

 

*          *          *

 

      Maeve saw the Demon’s close in on them, and screamed.  “Goddess and God!  Save us, your humble servants, in your holy names!”   She didn’t expect an answer to the prayer - but old habits die hard, and it seemed better to die praying than to die wailing in fear.   Then, before they were claimed and consumed, Eric somehow repeated his earlier efforts that had brought the three of them to the Void.  She could See he was being Kissed by the Void - the term for the horrible burning she had suffered earlier.  He was too inexperienced - too uneducated in the ways of the Art to perform such spells.  Yet he didn’t know that - and really, what choice did they have at the time?

 

      Reality snapped - or popped, like a soap bubble - and the three of them appeared in a wooded field outside a small town.  It was winter or early spring, and very cold - the ground was covered in a thin blanket of snow.  A bitter wind blew from the north-west, driving blowing snow before it.   Maeve gasped in shock - she was back in Mercia, her World, and it was still the middle of Wintersend - very late in the winter, or very early in the spring, depending on whom you asked.   She didn’t know how she first knew she was home - it was just the taste of the air, the greyish indigo of the approaching evening.  She had heard that some powerful sorcerers claimed each World had its own ‘flavor’ - if such was the case, she recognized the taste of ‘home’.

 

      Maeve scanned the area, barely able to keep her eyes focussed...  She could see the outlines of houses, and the walls of the town, and smell the scent of wood smoke in the air.   I recognize this place, she thought. We’re near Ogden-town - maybe a mile west of it, and maybe 15 or so miles south of The House of Broken Dreams.  For once Maeve thanked her good fortune... She knew the area - not well, but well enough to have a few contacts that might be able to help her out.

 

      Maeve looked at her erstwhile companions; both were unconscious, although only Eric and herself were seriously injured - Christine looked like she had either passed out or fainted.  Great - a hysterical fainting flower.  That’s all I’ll need, if I have to do what I suspect needs to be done.   Once again she contemplated simply killing Christine, but decided against it.  Eric needed to be taken back to her employers, and keeping Christine around might keep him more amiable. 

 

      Eric on the other hand was lucky to be alive.  He had channelled a great deal of Void Magic to do what he had done - not once, but twice!  Maeve still didn’t know how he could have even found Mercia from all the Worlds said to rest in the Void.  She checked him for new wounds and burns, and opened herself to the Sight, only a little.  Even with what little she saw, she knew Eric was gravely hurt.  Eric needs care right now.   How he survived, and how he found his way here are questions that must wait for later.

 

 

      Maeve didn’t dare draw on the Power to summon help - she had drawn more Power in the last day and half than she would have liked to draw in a year, and she felt the Call of Hrask nibbling at her soul.   She often wondered what it would be like, to be able to use magic without suffering the Call of Hrask, and the limitations it placed on sorcerers like herself.  Pfah!  She thought.  Idle musings - Hrask is not one to willingly give away his power.   She steeled herself for the moment, and shook Christine awake.

     

*          *          *

 

      Christine woke to see Maeve leaning over her, tapping her face, trying to wake her with melting snow... Snow?!  Christine jumped upright, afraid that for one moment they were still in the Void, and then was relieved to discover she was in a snowy field.   She didn’t know where they were - it was the dead of summer in Toronto!   However, Maeve seemed to know where they were - she was pointing through the wind and blowing snow towards a small town.  Oh my God!  She thought, as she saw it a bit more clearly.  It looks like something out of a historical play...  The penny dropped, and she realized that instead of taking them back to Earth, to Toronto, Eric had somehow brought them to Maeve’s home - and that Maeve’s home was a different world or time, she wasn’t really sure which.

 

      She stared mutely in shock for a moment - she was past disbelief in magic and mythical creatures - but suddenly discovering she might be on another world stunned her badly, and she was suffering from a drastic paradigm shift.  Magic is possible.  I might be on another world.  Eric could do Magic, for God’s sake!  And they were still alive - all three of them.  That was a big one to take in, given the events of the last three days.

     

      Christine tried to calm herself, and took stock of the situation.  She was freezing cold and bruised, but otherwise didn’t hurt too badly, although she could feel some crusted dried blood on her face where the Demon had struck her with its wing.   She was in a field covered with snow, and it was nearing nightfall - she looked up with shock to see two moons; one a silvery white orb, and the other a smaller, dull green one.  She was wearing a her usual blue-jeans, and light T-shirt, white gym socks with her hiking boots - but she had no coat, and what clothes she did have were soaking wet from her lying in the slushy snow.

 

      Eric didn’t look any better - in fact, he looked a lot worse that she felt.  He was bleeding from his ears, his nose, mouth and even his eyes!   She couldn’t see any cuts or wounds on him, other than what the gang of street thugs had inflicted in Toronto, but even so he looked weak, pale, and was not conscious.  His clothes were also soaking wet, like hers - but at least he had a leather jacket to help keep him warm!

 

      When she finished, she looked again at Maeve, who looked as run down and ragged as she felt, and as hurt as Eric looked.  Christine didn’t know how she was even standing, let alone trying to walk.  Maeve said something - it sounded like a foreign language, of course, and made absolutely no sense at all... Whatever spell, or whatever it was that allowed her to speak with Maeve had ended.   Still, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that Maeve meant to find shelter, for her and Eric as well as herself.  She nodded, and tried to pick up Eric in a fireman’s carry, but couldn’t.  God he weighs a ton!  She thought wryly.  Dumpster diving’s been too good to him.  I think the best I’ll be able to manage to do is drag him wherever Maeve is taking us.

 

      The two dragged Eric several hundred yards - the exertion managing to keep Christine from totally freezing up in the cold, but even so she felt the cold bite of the wind, and knew she would pay for this later.   Maeve was aiming them towards a road, heading towards the small town up ahead.   Christine was dead tired, but town meant shelter - and shelter meant rest, and warmth, so she redoubled her efforts and the two of them dragged Eric another several hundred yards.  She dropped Eric’s legs with a whoosh of breath, nearly spent - and Maeve didn’t look much better.

     

     

      A few dozen wooden cabins were nearby, clustered outside the crude wooden walls of the town, their windows lit by lantern lights, forming a small community.  Maeve left Christine and Eric for a moment, and went to one of the doors and knocked once, then again, louder.

 

      Christine nearly dozed as she was allowed to rest, but the knocking brought a sudden unbidden fear to her.  Maeve was helping herself, yes - but was she helping them?   Christine realized that although Eric seemed to trust her, neither he nor she actually knew anything about Maeve, other than her name, and that her clothes were spattered in blood.  For all we know, she could be getting ready to sell us into slavery!  Christine thought, then Stupid!  She must have a reason for keeping Eric with her - she must have some use for him.  No one would face those things without a damn good reason.  The thoughts of the demons sent a shiver of terror through her, and she let it pass her by.  Christine stood there, rubbing her arms against the cold, and trying to stay warm.  If Maeve was betraying them, there was nothing she could do.

 

      The cabin door opened, and Maeve yammered at a short, dark haired man with an olive-like Mediterranean complexion, whose mid-length curly hair was tied back in a severe pony tail.  His beard covered a good half his face, and was cut square on the bottom.  It looked very attractive, in its own way.   The man looked at Maeve, who twiddled her fingers at him and muttered something that was swept away by the winter winds, and he motioned Maeve inside.  Christine didn’t know what to do, so she grabbed Eric’s arms and tried to drag him over by herself...  Bloody little bitch isn’t going to leave us out here to die in the...

 

      Christine’s curses were suddenly silenced when the olive skinned man approached, and hefted Eric into a crude approximation of a fireman(s carry.  He said something to her: “Cav Allas, Serra...” - it sounded like; whatever that meant.  It at least sounded friendly, so she followed him to the door and inside out of the freezing wind.

 

      She didn’t know what to expect when she went inside.  She saw the outside and thought “Cabin” - the image bringing to mind rustic pine-wood floors with gaps in them, furniture made of 2 x 4's, and stuffed deer heads over a fireplace that had a gun-rack, right next to the stack of empty cases of Miller-Lite and Budweiser 24's; a place away from home someone might go to relax, hunt or fish.   She was more than a little surprised.

 

      The ‘Cabin’ was better described as someone’s Home, and as such it was neither rustic nor crude.  The floors were smooth varnished pine, and the walls were panelled with a deep brown wood.  By the door an old-fashioned coat-rack stood, some wool cloaks and a parka hung on its pegs.  A cloth mat nearby had three pairs of fur-trimmed leather boots on it.  Just inside the entry hall was a large room, lit by a pair of lanterns, but mostly by a large wood-fire in a large hearth.  The fire gave off a lot of warmth, and even from the front door felt delicious.  The windows were latticed, and had glazed panes of glass in them that made the near-night outside seem brighter. She noticed a few pieces of artwork - a statue here and there, some dried flowers in a bowl, and the home was impeccably clean.  There must be a woman living here, she thought.  No straight man is this clean.

 

      Inside a woman in her mid-30's, with the same olive complexion and dark hair offered Maeve a heavy animal fur.  Wrapping herself in the fur and crawling closer to the fire, Maeve called to Christine... “Kris..ten”, and waved her over.  Obviously she meant for Christine to join her.  Only too happy to oblige and get warm, she waited only long enough to see Eric wrapped in a similar fur before she crawled next to the fire too.  Before too much longer passed, she dozed off.

 

*          *          *

           

      Maeve woke to the soothing touch of a cool cloth on her forehead, and jerked halfway upright before gentle, but firm hands restrained her and pushed her back down.  Her vision cleared as the disorientation passed, to see her friend Anvi Marcello reach out to calm her.

 

      “Rest, Maeve...  You and your odd male friend there almost didn’t make it - and the other one’s been watching us like we’re liable to start breaking out the beating sticks.  She doesn’t seem to understand a word we’re saying.  She’s obviously a foreigner - is she the lad’s sister or some such?”   Anvi’s fingers started massaging Maeve’s neck and shoulders, working out the kinks and soreness - the pain from her wounds was already gone, probably healed by Anvi while she slept; Anvi was an excellent healer.

 

      Anvi had a smooth, relaxed voice that tended to calm those around him, and Maeve relaxed a bit, knowing she was in good hands.  “I don’t know about sister.  Friend, definitely, though.  She’s a bit of a scared rabbit, too.”   Maeve shivered a bit, and let Anvi work her shoulders till they were loose.  Anvi was a little taller than Maeve’s 5 feet, 6 inches, but not by much, and he was well developed from years of manual labour.  His linen shirt had seen cleaner days, but his clothes were otherwise of good make - his wife, Maria was an excellent seamstress.  She noticed Anvi’s hair tied in a ponytail was going a little silver with age...  Damn...  I’m 29 - so I guess that would put Anvi over 40.  How the years pass when you’re almost getting killed.  She thought.

 

      “So.”  Anvi said, finishing up Maeve’s massage.  “Why bring them here?  I thought you were...”  He cleared his throat “...investigating... the House of Broken Dreams.  These aren’t um... escapees, are they?”  Anvi looked at Maeve.  He tried to judge whether Maeve’s bringing them here put his family in danger - but then realized it didn’t matter... Maeve’s being here put his family in danger.

 

      “I was.”  Maeve said, rolling her shoulders and neck, hearing them pop with a satisfying crunch as everything popped back into place.  “And as for bringing them here, I didn’t have much choice.  None actually.  We were so worn down and hurt that I would’ve handed myself over to a slave trader if he’d offer to heal us.”  Maeve’s grim tone and serious look stopped Anvi’s usual humorous retort.   “They’re not escapees - you don’t have to worry about that... But that young man there - someone thought he was important enough to find that he summoned a demon to collect him.”

 

      Anvi shuddered.  Summoning demons, in addition to being forbidden to virtually every known faith in the known world, was extremely difficult and prone to ... accidents, especially ones that happen to the caster.  For someone to summon a Demon to merely find someone spoke of either a confident and powerful sorcerer, or an idiot.  And it probably isn’t the latter, he thought.

 

      “Do I want to know more?”  He said, bluntly.

 

      “Not unless you wish to risk you and your wife’s life, Anvi - not this time.  This is too big.  A rogue Bishop is involved - and I’m not saying a single word more about it until we’re rested and gone from here.  You’ve been too good to me over the years for me to bring this kind of hell down on your family.”  Indeed.  Maeve had been patched up by Anvi more than once while “working” in Madragoor.  His skill at healing - both mundane and magical - could have won him a prestigious job with a noble family, but he didn’t care for the cut-throat politics Madragan nobility required of their servants, and had emigrated to Valris a few years ago...

 

 

      Anvi nodded.  Maeve had only once told him something was this serious.  It had involved a political scandal that had ruined the careers and lives of a good dozen high-ranking civil servants, and sent an equal number of the nobility to the hangman for treason.  He had gotten involved then, and lost his brother, and three of his best friends.  He knew if she was warning him off, it was for good reason.   “This Bishop have any reason to search for you?”

 

      “Not yet, I don’t think - but it won’t be long - a day at most.  Maybe only hours.  The only advantage we might have is that I don’t think he has an idea where we are - for now.”  Maeve moved over to check Eric’s wounds - and as she expected, there were none.  She nodded at Eric.  “Excellent work as always, Anvi.  Is the rabbit there hurt at all?”

 

      “Thank you, my friend - but what did you expect?  Even in the middle of the night I don’t do shoddy work.  You and your friend - you’d both been Kissed pretty bad.  Feeling any after-effects?”   Although Maeve didn’t hear her old friend say it, she knew what he meant... the Call of Hrask.  

 

      Maeve concentrated for a moment - she hadn’t really even taken the time to see how she was, aside from checking that she wasn’t hurt.  She closed her eyes, and looked within...  Slowly, she descended the steps of her mind, deep into the secret spaces - where thoughts ended and base urges began.  It was there, roiling in her mind - the Call.   It was hard to describe; it was both an intense, coveting greed, and a hatred of her human flesh - a desire for warm, dry places, and meaty things to eat.  She knew it well - but it didn’t seem to have grown much in strength, and was well under control.  “I’m fine.”  She said.  “He should be fine too.  If not, I’ll deal with it.”

 

      Anvi looked like he was going to argue, but Maeve’s tone stopped all discussion.  “Well, then if you’re set on resting a bit, then leaving - what CAN I do for you?  Within reason, of course.”

 

      “Of course, old friend.”  Maeve said, grinning.  ‘Within reason’ could mean a lot of things with her, since many of her friends said she was sometimes totally crazy.   Maeve thought that the willingness to take risks - the risks others called crazy - was what made her a good spy in the first place. 

 

      “We need dry clothes, a day or two of food and a pack to carry it in.  I need a weapon - anything will do - and we need a bit of rest... Could we stay until the morning?”  Maeve asked.

 

      Maria, who had been waiting quietly while Anvi and Maeve whispered, spoke up.  “Of course you can stay until morning, Maeve - you and your friends.   As long as you promise to help me get rid of my extra turkey soup I have here on the hearth.  Anvi and I didn’t finish it, and it’ll go to waste unless someone eats it.”

 

      Anvi looked a little uncomfortable at Maria’s chiding, and nodded.  “I think I have some spare clothes of Nissa’s that might fit you and Christine - but I doubt I have anything large enough for Eric to wear and have it fit.  I take it stealth - or at least misdirection - is called for?”

 

      “You might.”  Maeve answered, looking relieved Anvi and Maria weren’t digging for more information. 

 

      “Maybe an old cloak then...  I have just the thing.  Anything else?”

 

      “Do you have any of those old Translator Amulets?  These two don’t speak any language I know, and I can’t be casting spells every few hours to talk to them.”  Anvi wasn’t a skilled battle-mage, but even a healer knew that too much repeated spell use, too quickly was fatiguing - and dangerous - to the caster.

 

      “Um...”  Anvi thought.  “I might - but even so, this is an expensive loan Maeve, even for an old friend.  I trust if you survive this, you’ll pay me back somehow?”

     

     

      “Don’t I always?”  Maeve asked, an innocent expression on her face.

 

      He sighed, giving up.  “Yes, you do, don’t you.”

 

*          *          *

 

      As the Demon flew through the Void, it sensed its new prey growing near... It was returning to Mercia, to the world of the mortal creature who dared summon it.  It had been bound once; now it only wanted revenge - revenge and payment in blood.   It stopped short... The House of Broken Dreams, a temple dedicated to its Mother, both literally and in Spirit, was near and the wearer of the Black Ring as well.  It stalked into the temple, invisible to sight and sound - a wraith, it swept through stone, wood and plaster like smoke blowing through a sieve.  Its prey was close.  It could sense the Wards the false Bishop had raised - they were strong, but it had fed well.  Very well.

 

      The first warning Vargas had was the burning pain of his Wards shattering like a piece of pottery hurled against a wall, and the flaring power in the black ring of iron he wore...  The pain was designed to awaken him whenever he was in danger - and for him to be in danger here meant only two possible things: Betrayal, or... the Demon had failed!  

 

        Vargas rolled from his bed, crying out a spell of protection, even as he gathered his wits.   He reacted quickly - almost instinctively, and he had to admit it was impressive.  One doesn’t survive to become a Ringbearer unless one is wary - and quick.  He thought.

 

      Quick, a voice whispered in his mind. But not quick enough, Ringbearer.  The Demon’s laughter echoed about him as the tendrils of its power sought to pin him, and make him its slave, as he had controlled it.   He felt a burning pain as claws savaged his chest, raked against his arms and torso, cutting bloody runnels in his flesh. 

 

      “NO!”  Vargas cried.  “I bound you!”   His mind worked for time - and he knew how to find it.  “I demand you tell me why you have not succeeded!”  His dark ring gave off a light of its own - a shadow-light that only the Chosen could see.  It illuminated the shadows with itself.  It showed the Demon’s true face.

 

      The Demon halted - it had to answer - the Laws on that were clear... But it did not have to answer what was not asked, nor did it have to volunteer anything.  Its physical voice was like knives on slate.  “I found the person linked to the Girl - it was on a distant world, even for the Void.  The person was marked by my Kin, Ring-bearer - and I had to offer much to follow him.” The Demon slowly coalesced around the Bishop’s body, held tight by the Demon’s will.  The Ring-bearer was fighting him - and might even win, for he was a strong one, and skilled in the Art.   “What will you offer me, human?  What will you give me in exchange for my troubles?”

 

      “Nothing!  Nothing until you tell me why you failed!”  It was a turning point, Vargas knew.  Bargaining with Demons was a fool’s work - but it was better to be a living fool, than a dead one.  Every moment he had to gather his will, the more the odds swung in his favor...  And the damnedest thing is that the Demon knew that - and knew he knew it.  The only explanation is that it wants something.  It never occurred to him that the Demon might want to taunt him.

 

 

      “I failed to return with the person linked to the Girl, because when I arrived to seize him, he... left.”  The Demon groaned in agony as the chains on its soul caused it to answer.  “I was not charged to chase him if he fled his World.  My contract was annulled by his actions!”   The Demon cried out, the pain of the commands ending...  “And now you have no hold over me Sorcerer... So I say to you: What will you offer me for my troubles?  Or will I simply kill you and take you as my payment?”  The Demon’s bloody claws clacked together in anticipation, and it paced about the Bishop, held at bay by the shadowy lights of his Ring’s Wards.

 

      The Bishop felt the cold chill of fear as sweat ran down the small of his back, and beaded on his face.   He had gathered his strength, yes - but summoning and controlling demons was no simple task, and he had yet to rest.   He might be able to win, if they fought - but losing...  If he lost?   He could not simply Bind the creature again - it was against their Laws, set down by the Holy Twins, their Jailers; the only Laws they obeyed.  He shook his head.  “We could fight, you and I.  I might even win - but even if you do kill me, the toll on your body and spirit will be great, Demon.  Too great, I wager, to keep a prize such as myself from your brethren who might have... prior claim on me, shall we say?   What if I were to offer you all the Dreamers in this house - every last one of them, to do with as you will?  Would that suffice?”    

 

      The Demon thought... The Dreamers had precious little to offer him.  Torture, blood, death - but nothing else.  They were already Taken.  “No!  It is not enough!  I want more, human!  MORE!”   It drew itself up, and raised its wings as if it were about to strike... It knew it was fearsome - it could taste the fear in the Ringbearers mind.  Rampant fear, controlled by a mind with an iron grip, a vise born of practice and innate talent.  This human will not crumble, it thought.  But it might compromise.  The alternative was its imminent death.   “I will have a sixth of your life, Ringbearer - a sixth of all your days left on this ball of dust.  A sixth of everything you are, and what you might become - only then will I be satisfied!”

 

      Vargas considered.  He knew his imminent death was only a few moments away, unless he was graced by a miracle this evening.  If I give this thing what it wants, I will live... I will be weakened, but I will live.   He knew the power of the Black Ring, along with his training meant he could best the creature, if he had sufficient notice - and maybe even if he didn’t... the problem was the maybe.   He didn’t mind risking himself, but he didn’t dare betray the Order, or their cause.  Tiamat must be found!  He thought.  No matter the cost to me!

 

      “I accept, Demon!”  He cried, his Wards falling.  “Take your due and leave me!”

 

      Vargas Elm felt the creatures body envelop him, its wings folding around him like shrouds.  Its mind soaked into his, like poison into dry bread...  It began to feed.  The screams were loud, and long.  As Vargas lost consciousness, his last thought was of horrible, bloody vengeance for whomever was responsible for this turn of events.

 

*          *          *

     

      Eric woke quickly when Christine shook him.  He felt his heart racing, and he realized he had been having a nightmare - but for the life of him he couldn’t remember any details... except his mother.   Once he cleared his head, he looked at Christine, at the room, Maeve, and the stranger she was talking to.   As usual, her language was just babble - but also like before, Eric felt he was somehow very close to understanding it - at least in part.  And the funny part is, I have no idea why.  He thought, and:  My ribs don’t hurt.

     

      “Where are we, Christine?” he whispered.  “And why aren’t we hurt?  My ribs don’t hurt anymore...”

     

     

      “I dunno Eric... We were about to be killed by those ...things... and then you and Maeve did something.  A spell maybe?  Then I blacked out; when I woke up, you and I were lying in the snow outside, and Maeve was shoving snow at me to wake me up.  We dragged you here - it’s that man’s home - I think his name is On-vee.  I haven’t been able to make out much, since I’ve been awake.   I guess Maeve or On-vee did some sort of healing magic - either that or we’ve been unconscious for days, which I doubt.”

     

      “No - you’re right... It must be something like that - I’d have way more stubble.”  Eric said, rubbing his hand across his chin.  It met some resistance - a day’s growth at best.  He ignored his beard for the moment, and turned his attention to his ribs, and then his hands... There was no pain, no cuts, and no blisters... Not even a hint of a scar.  That is some pretty cool magic, Thought Eric.  If I can do magic, I HAVE to learn some of that!  Eric then went somber for a moment.  If I had this magic when I needed it, could I have saved Norm and Dave?  

     

      Christine watched Eric for a moment, actually glad to have a normal moment, out of immediate danger, but turned away when he pulled off his T-shirt to check his ribs. She didn’t really know why, except maybe that she felt like Eric was a sort of little brother by default, his sister being her best friend - and no sister likes to spy on her little brother while he strips.  When she looked away, she saw the pleasant dark-haired woman which she presumed to be Anvi’s wife or sister approaching with a number of large wooden bowls and tin spoons.   Oh thank God, she thought.  Food!  The last thing I think I ate today was a bowl of salted peanuts at lunch... and a bottle of Bacardi and Cola after work.  Even rat soup would be good after what we just went through!  She paused a moment, thinking about Earth’s middle ages, and what people were said to have eaten in a pinch.  Maybe not, though... still it can’t be rat.  It smells too good!

 

      As the older woman ladled soup into bowl after bowl, Christine’s - and then Eric’s and Maeve’s stomachs grumbled and growled almost as if she had called suppertime in a kennel full of starving animals.  Maeve finished talking with Anvi while Eric and Christine gratefully each took a bowl of soup.  Eric tried to sip some of the broth - but before he could, the woman serving the soup - Anvi’s wife? - lashed out with her spoon, and knocked his knuckles so hard he dropped his spoon.  She muttered something under her breath, and Maeve laughed.  It was a pleasant sound, made all the more pleasant when compared to their recent past.

 

      Maeve took some pendants dangling on leather thongs from Anvi, and brought them over to Eric, and Christine, still chuckling and saying something in response to Anvi’s wife, who looked more stern and reproaching than angry.   She handed one each to Eric and Christine, and motioned for them to put them on.  Eric did so immediately - and Christine a moment later.

 

      Maeve’s singsong babble continued for a moment with Anvi’s wife, when Eric’s hearing sounded garbled for a moment... confused - and then clear.   “Honestly,” Maeve said “You’d think they’ve never seen turkey soup before, Maria.  Or magic, for that fact.”

 

      “What the...”  Eric said.  “I can understand you!  Christine, did you hear what Maeve said - I mean understand what she said?”  Eric looked over at Christine, ignoring Maeve and Anvi’s smirks.            

 

      “Yeah, I did - but how?”  Christine looked surprised as well - but also less confused.  Duh!  She thought.  It has to be these odd amulets they just gave us.

 

      Maeve chuckled.  “You can hear me because I assume you’re not deaf... and you can understand me because of the translation amulets you are now wearing.  They are expensive, and hard to come by - so please be careful with them.  I owe my friend - and our hosts, Anvi Marcello and his wife Maria a great deal for those talismans.  While you wear them, you will be able to understand me, and most people around you.”

 

 

      Eric nodded.  “They’re magical, then?  Wow!”  He too was realizing that the situation he and Christine were in was more than unusual - and the idea of a magical necklace didn’t seem too far-fetched after casting spells and being chased by demons.  They did glow to his special vision, so maybe they were magical... he didn’t have any other way to explain what they did.

 

      “What else would they be?”  Asked Maeve

 

      “Well maybe technology.”  Said Christine.  “We don’t have magic - I mean real magic, where we come from.  Not like this.”   She smirked quirkily, thinking about how useless someone like David Copperfield or Criss Angel would have been in the situations they had just gone through. 

 

      “No magic, huh?  What do you call those carriages without horses that travel faster than birds can fly, then Christine?”  Maeve looked at the pair, standing with arms on her hips, as if challenging them on the point.

 

      It looked as if the argument was going to continue on into the night, when Maria stepped up, and forced a bowl of turkey soup into Eric and Christine’s hands, and then another one at Maeve. “Less talk - more eating.  You can talk when you’ve rested and eaten your fill.”  Maria looked at Anvi for support.

 

      Anvi nodded.  “You’re probably still weak from your ordeal, young man, and you as well Maeve.  The soup would do all three of you good, and you’re not likely to find food half as good on the road if you’re leaving at dawn.  Eat up - you can jabber to your heart’s content once you leave.”   He looked at the three of them, and saw the hurt on Eric and Christine’s faces.  “I don’t mean to be cruel, but Maeve tells me that your simply being here, with her puts me and my wife in great danger - and I intend to see you gone, all three of you, by dawn.  So eat up while I pack the things you asked for, Maeve - and then rest.  You’ll be woken - and be leaving in just a handful of hours.”

 

      Maria approached Eric. “Young man, I know your clothes are soaking wet.  If you would crawl out of them, I can dry them by the fire.  I don’t have much you can wear in the meantime, except maybe nightshirt of Anvi’s - but at least you’ll be able to leave in dry clothes, come morning.”

 

      Eric looked a little embarrassed, but nodded - he knew wet clothes were potentially lethal in cold weather, and started to shimmy out of his jeans and shirt under the fur blanket.  “Thank you, Mrs. Marcello.  I appreciate it.”

 

      Maria looked askance at Eric’s comment.  “You’re welcome, young man, but around here it’s Serra Marcello, or Maria.  I’m not sure what Missus means, except that it shows you’re a foreigner - and I think that might be dangerous for you, your friend, and Maeve if that became known.  Serra for ladies, and Ser for gentlemen – remember now!”

 

      “Um...” Eric said.  “I think I understand.  Thank you.”

 

      Anvi left the room, and went upstairs, his footfalls sounding heavy through the wooden boards of the home.  Maria watched the three of them, and said only one word, pointing at their soup bowls: “Eat.”  The three of them had faced demons and lived - but even they knew there was no point in fighting Maria.  They ate - and to all three of them, nothing in the world until that time seemed to taste as good at that moment as that soup did.

 

*          *          *

     

     

      A little while later, full from Maria’s excellent turkey soup, and half-ready to doze off, Christine, Eric and Maeve had some privacy to talk - Maria had gone upstairs to assist Anvi in gathering whatever they were looking for.  Christine decided to not waste the moment.

 

      “What’s going on, Maeve?”  Christine meant to ask about a lot of things: why Eric was so important; why had they come here - and how had Maeve gotten to their world; how much trouble were they really in - but it was too much, and from what she had heard in the interplay between Maeve, Anvi and Maria, getting the answers to those questions while in Anvi’s home would be difficult at best.

 

      Maeve seemed to ignore the subtext of Christine’s question for the moment.  “We’re in deep trouble.  I guess you two don’t even know where we are, so I’ll try and fill you in.  We’re on a world we call Mercia - I don’t know what you call your world - and we are in a country called Valris, my homeland, roughly between the kingdoms of Orovar and Valorin.  These kingdoms are ruled over by the Muireanne and the Fireannor, the High Queen and High King, and they are advised by the Clergy of the Askelinian Faith.  In some towns or cities a Priest or Priestess will be the ruling power, while in others a trusted Lord or Lady may be given rulership.  In Ogden-town, the village we are nearest, Lord Kethan Enserric rules on behalf of the Council of Hierarchs.  The reason we are in great danger is that the man who summoned that... demon... is a rogue cleric - a Bishop who has forsaken his vows to our faith and joined with our mortal enemies.  I can’t tell you more without endangering Maria and Anvi more than I already have - so can you please hold your questions about this until we leave?”

 

      Eric looked at Maeve.  “Then how can there be a ‘rogue priest’ - wouldn’t he eventually be found out?”

 

      “Maybe.” Maeve said.  “The Priest - a Bishop named Vargas was also a worshipper of Hrask - and a bearer of the Black Ring, which won’t mean anything to you.  What it means to me is that He’s obviously had some serious magical training, and might have been able to elude the attentions of other priests of the faith both by his magical skill, and by being posted to a hinterlands post like Ogden-town.  We’re on the edge of the Valdan frontier, the border between our country and Yaskar to the north.  Few really skilled or important clergy ever come here - it’s the perfect post for someone to hide in, really...”

 

      “Well, if He’s a rogue, can’t we just go to the police, or the Lord or something?”  Eric asked.

 

      Maeve sighed.  “We could - if anyone other than myself knew he was a heretic and a traitor - and trust me, no one is going to take the word of a common citizen above a Bishop of the faith when it comes to each other’s word.   We’d be lucky if we weren’t tossed in jail or worse for slandering a fine upstanding priest of the community.”

 

      It looked as if Maeve was going to say more, but Anvi’s heavy footsteps were heard descending the wooden stairs from his home’s upper floor, and they heard his voice call out “I’ve got the things you asked for.” as he approached, followed by Maria, who carried a bundle of clothing and dark cloaks.

 

      Maeve motioned for their conversation to cease, and rose to greet her friend.  Anvi was carrying two leather rucksacks, and a trio of three bladed weapons on belts.  He handed the rucksacks to Maeve, who hefted them - they felt rather well-filled.  She looked at Anvi, surprised.  “This feels like a bit more than a few days of food, Anvi.”

 

 

      “It is, Maeve.  It’s about a weeks’ worth of food, plus a few skins of water to drink as well, plus a bar of soap, a comb for the three of you, and a razor for Eric, courtesy of Maria and myself, as well as a few other odds and ends.”  Anvi held out his hands apologetically.  “Don’t thank me Maeve.  I’m just trying to make sure you survive long enough to pay me back for those Amulets.”

                                                                  

      Maeve felt her eyes tear over a bit - she had so few true friends that the gesture of friendship, and Anvi’s going the extra mile was more than appreciated.  “Thank you, my friend.”

 

      “Fah!  It’s only a bit of food, and my dull razor to boot!  If you want to thank me, thank me by staying alive, Maeve.”  He said, clasping her shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie.  “You’ll need these too, knowing you.”  He said, motioning to the weapons he carried.  He handed Maeve a sheathed short, straight sword about 30 inches long to Maeve, and tossed to Eric and Christine a sheathed knife each.

 

      Eric drew the knife from its sheath.  It was about 10 inches long, and sharp on two sides, with a small T-shaped cross-hilt and a handle wrapped in black leather.  It looked like a knife used for fighting, rather than for cooking, or as a tool.  “Do... do you think we’ll need to use these, Anvi?”

 

      “Maybe, Ser Eric - and maybe not.  But I’d feel a whole lot better if I sent you three off with at least some means of protecting yourselves than if I did without - and if things are good, maybe you won’t need them after all.”  Even though he tried to keep his tone light, it was obvious Anvi didn’t expect things to go that easily.  

 

      Eric was silent, as was Christine.  Maeve simply nodded in thanks, and checked the sharpness of the shortsword she had been given.  The steel wasn’t the best, but it looked good enough to do the job - and it was sharp as well.  Anvi it would seem, had been taking good care of this.   She didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but Maeve felt a whole lot more comfortable - and in control - when she had a weapon.  She began to relax. 

 

      “And these are for you as well, Maeve.”  Said Maria, handing out clothes to each of the three, except for Eric who only was given a cloak.   The clothes included a heavy white chemise and leather vest, a leather skirt and accompanying hose, leather boots, and a dark cloak with a warm hood that would also serve to hide their faces.  “It’s not the best garb to be wandering out and about in the middle of Wintersend in, but it’s the best I could do on short notice.”

 

      Maeve nodded gratefully “It’s more than great, Maria, Anvi.  You both have done more than I could have ever hoped for, and I can only hope to be able to repay you one day.”

 

      Maria blushed at the gracious compliment.  “You’d best get some rest, Maeve and your friends too.  Morning waits for no woman, nor man either!”

 

      Anvi yawned as if in agreement.  “And we had best leave them to get some rest too, Maria.  Shall we go upstairs and leave them be?”  She nodded, and as the two left the room for the stairs, he turned and said “Let yourself out in the morning Maeve, if you should wake before us.  I’m sure you’d like to be long gone from here before midday.” 

 

      Maeve nodded - Anvi’s statement was also a politely phrased request.  She waited until their two hosts left the main room, and turned to her new charges.  “Do either of you need more sleep, or would you be able to leave now?”

 

      Christine, who hadn’t slept for over thirty hours raised her hand.  “I don’t know about Eric, but I need a few hours or I’ll pass out on my feet.  What about you Eric?”

 

      “I could probably walk for a few hours, but I could use a little bit of sleep too.  Are we going to hurt Anvi and Maria if we stay a few hours Maeve?”  Eric said.

 

      “Maybe, but maybe not.  If we left, they would certainly be safer, but we’re unlikely to find a place as restful as this to rest once we leave.  We need to leave before dawn - preferably earlier, though so we have probably just less than six hours.”

 

      “I guess it’ll have to do.” said Eric.  He fiddled with his digital wristwatch and set an alarm, while Maeve watched him with curiosity.

 

      “What are you doing?”  She asked.  “And why is that bracelet on your wrist making sounds?”

 

      “I’m setting an alarm, so we get up in six hours.”  Eric said.

 

      Maeve rolled her eyes at Eric and Christine.  “And you say you don’t have magic.”  She gathered her fur blanket, and rolled over to get some sleep, and heard Eric and Christine doing the same.  Maeve thought at first they might spend the time talking about what had happened, and why, but for whatever reason, it seemed they fell asleep quickly.  She was beginning to mull things over in her head herself, when sleep overtook her.