Calling On Fire (Book 1) (52 page)

“I’m not convinced,” was Erizen’s steely reply.

“What would be my motivation to remove your Greymaker from the equation?” Moloch asked reasonably. “One would presume I would be making a move to attack you, but such a measure would be unnecessary on my part. Why would I give you warning of an imminent attack, if that were my desire? You are a clever man, Lord Erizen, consider that.”

Erizen narrowed his eyes at the other mage, as if doing just that. He’d always been careful not to show the true extent of his genius to the other mages. As a result, the Lords all knew he wasn’t stupid, but none of them thought him particularly clever, either. Most assumed he’d stolen the Greymaker spell from someone else. They all thought him a fool, wasting his time on women and other pleasures. Not even Moloch was onto him, Erizen was sure.

“If not you, then who?” Erizen asked suspiciously.

“I am afraid I do not know.”

Erizen made as if to object, but Moloch raised a hand to silence him, and the mage wisely obeyed.

“I don’t know, but I have been looking into it. I made note of your difficulties as soon as they occurred, and I have been gathering intelligence on the matter. I do not know for certain who has sabotaged your Greymaker, but I have my suspicions,” Moloch explained. “I will aid you with your search—it is the least I can do.” Erizen knew that Moloch liked him—or rather, he saw him as a useful source to cultivate—as Erizen had been sure to make himself a useful pawn to the more powerful mage. That was why Erizen wasn’t surprised by this reaction, or Moloch’s offer to help. Erizen’s act told a different story, however.

“Seeking the best way to lay the blame elsewhere, eh?” Erizen challenged him, pretending to be impressed with his own astuteness.

“As I said before, such subterfuge would be unnecessary on my part, if you were correct and I were working against you,” Moloch pointed out.

Erizen narrowed his eyes at him again before visibly concluding that Moloch was probably not guilty. “Very well, I accept your help. What have you found, Lord Moloch?” Erizen asked, adding the title to his name to signify that he now accepted Moloch’s explanation.

“I have been tracking the movements of an old enemy of mine who has been wandering around our territories for nearly a month,” Moloch explained. “He calls himself the animator—a hereditary position, incidentally. His predecessor inconvenienced me greatly before I killed him, and it appears that his whelp has come to growl at me as well. It seems the foolish boy thinks that he can threaten me by going after the rest of the council members. You are aware of the assault on Lord Atli’s castle, I am sure.”

Erizen nodded. It would have been strange had he not been, even in the persona that he was playing for the mage council.

“I believe that was his first attack, ineffective though it was. Lord Atli lost a few possessions, but nothing of great import, according to our peer. No, I’m thinking it will be a simple matter to exterminate this whelp and move on. I already have a lead on his whereabouts.” Moloch appeared quite confident in his assessment.

Erizen had to wonder if he knew about the immunity amulets—that could change things if he did, although the plan was to go ahead regardless. “Then what are we waiting for?” Erizen asked impatiently.

“All in good time, my friend. I will confirm the lead, and then the whelp will be dealt with. Remember, vengeance is best served cold. When one has absolute control, after all, one can exact the most pain.” Moloch’s grin wasn’t pleasant; then again, neither was the one Erizen gave him in response.

“You are correct, as usual, Lord Moloch,” Erizen deferred. Moloch inclined his head to acknowledge the compliment.

“In the meantime, why don’t you accept a guest room here in my castle? I am hoping for confirmation within the day,” Moloch suggested.

“Yes, I think that would be most amenable,” Erizen agreed.

A long time ago, Erizen had discovered that if one subtly cast a spell while in the presence of a person, without showing any sign of spell-casting, it simply didn’t occur to that person that he could possibly be the caster. Mages, of course, could sense when a spell was being cast, but there were ways around that, and Erizen had learned to use that to his advantage.

For example, in mid-sentence, Erizen had triggered the spell he’d prepared the night before, utilizing the “back door” he’d built into Moloch’s Greymaker. Moloch would sense the spell, but it would seem to have originated somewhere in the mountains, where Toman and Esset waited for Moloch to come to them. Erizen doubted anyone else would even be able to sense it. Certainly no one would suspect Erizen, standing right in front of Moloch in that moment, for Erizen gave no sign of having done anything but accept Moloch’s invitation to stay. Moloch only batted an eyelid very briefly, but it was enough to let Erizen know that Moloch felt his Greymaker go down. Not that Erizen gave any indication that he knew that.

“Excellent, I will have rooms prepared for you immediately. Would you like to entertain one of the girls?” Moloch asked.

“That would be delightful,” Erizen replied, licking his lips. My, what a difficult job he had here. This was all even part of his cover!

“I will have one sent to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some business to attend to. You understand.”

“Of course, Lord Moloch. I thank you for your understanding. I was not rational when I first came to you, but all is clear now.” Moloch just smiled without showing his teeth as he gestured for a servant to lead Erizen away.

Erizen went willingly. His part here was all but done. Now all he had to do was keep sharp in case things went sideways.

The brothers waited. They read books. They exercised. They played cards. They sparred.

Esset chafed.

They had the amulets. They had magical immunity. They had thousands of Toman’s animations lying in wait. They had Esset’s summons ready to go. They had home ground and high ground. They had every advantage they could get.

So why did it feel like something was wrong? Why did it feel like they were facing their doom? Esset was on edge from seeing the phoenix's summon scrawl across his vision every time he opened his summoner's tome—it had not relented. Had they missed something? Did they even have a chance?

Erizen had sent them no messages, but that was according to plan. They began to wonder if Moloch really was coming, although they kept sharp anyways.

“I wish we’d been able to practice more with the magic-sensing amulets. Or been able to test-run the immunity amulets,” Esset said, picking a card from his hand and laying it down on the table between him and Toman. They sat in the ground floor of the tower, near the door.

“We did get the immunity amulets tested, and they’re legitimate,” Toman said. Esset wished he felt as calm as Toman sounded, even though he knew Toman probably didn’t feel that calm either. “And we simply don’t know enough mages to test the amulets around different magics. Plus we don’t want to use them up.”

“I know. I just wish… Well, I guess this isn’t something we could ever feel one hundred percent confident about,” Esset said. Toman shrugged, but when he briefly met Esset’s eyes, Esset saw a burning fervor smoldering there. No, Toman wasn’t calm either.

Almost intimidated—and a little ashamed by his own lack of conviction—Esset changed the subject. “So what do you want to do after this? I mean, after we beat Moloch, what’s the first thing you want to do?” Esset asked, speaking confidently to try to boost his own morale.

“Make doubly sure that Moloch is dead,” Toman replied.

“Yeah, but after
that
,” Esset said. Toman blinked slowly at him.

“Nevermi—” Esset jumped mid-word as the magic-sensing alarm warned them like an electric shock.

Moloch’s incoming transportation spell had tripped the alarms. Toman and Esset jumped to their feet and took a second to pinpoint where Moloch had landed using the feel of the spells. Then they snapped their immunity amulets and exited the tower to stand on the cold, rocky mountainside. Spotting Moloch was easy.

They’d expected Moloch to try invisibility or some such, but instead he walked calmly towards the tower, as if out for a pleasure stroll. He was totally unafraid of them. Esset glanced over at Toman—they were supposed to launch their attack the moment they set eyes on Moloch, but the animations were still.

Moloch stepped around a boulder and kept closing the distance between them, stopping only once he was within easy earshot. Toman simply stared at Moloch, hatred in his eyes.

“I just wanted to say, this is a lovely location up here,” Moloch remarked casually. “It’s not often I have the occasion to leave the kingdoms anymore. I really must thank you. But you know, you never should have come after me. There was really never any way you could have won.” He spoke as if the battle were already over.

“Toman, what are you waiting for?” Esset murmured to Toman, unwilling to take his eyes off the mage. Time was ticking—it would take time to wear Moloch down and stop him for good before the amulets wore off. But Moloch kept talking.

“What I do is something like farming. It is so rewarding, after sewing so many seeds, to see one come to fruition. And this one—well, Animator, your seed I sewed a long time ago. No one escapes me, you know. It’s only a matter of time. Those amulets protect you from new magic, but this magic has been waiting inside you, Animator, since before I destroyed your predecessor. On the day I destroyed your village, I made sure no survivor could ever be a threat. I simply waited until the right moment to bring my seed of power to life.” Moloch laughed, and Esset felt himself go cold all over.
What was he saying? No!

“Toman, attack!” Esset urged his brother desperately. “What are you waiting for?” He risked a glance at Toman, who seemed frozen in place.

“Me,” Moloch said. Esset could hear the laughter, the mocking, condescending laughter in Moloch’s voice.

“He’s waiting for me, for my order, for my
permission
. I planted a geas in him a lifetime ago, and now he is under my control.”

The Guardian,
the Guardian
—Toman was helpless, he needed protection, surely he could summon the Guardian! But it was lost to him, and Esset knew that his other summons would be sadly insufficient.

“Come on, Toman,” Moloch mocked, beckoning to the animator. Toman obediently walked to Moloch's side, and the mage snatched the immunity amulet from Toman's neck. Esset could only watch.

“Why don’t you attack? Him.” Moloch pointed at Esset. Sweat broke out on Toman’s forehead, but the boulders began to move—his animations were coming to life, and they were going to kill Esset.

“And since you have no chance of escaping this lovely mob of statues, we’ll be going now.” Moloch’s smile was sickening—Esset couldn’t breathe, but he could feel the weaving of a transportation spell around Moloch and Toman. Moloch was taking Toman—he would use him, torture him, and kill him. And the gloves would be in Moloch’s possession. Esset was powerless to stop him, and that incantation burned in his mind.

We fight,
Esset thought, echoing the sentiment he’d believed for so long. But now, faced with
this
… Bright Hyrishal had sacrificed himself to save the world. In life, sacrifices great and small were necessary. Now,
this
sacrifice was necessary.

That incantation burned in his mind.

As Esset spoke, summoning symbols began to burn in the air around him. Time slowed—literally slowed—and a visceral knowledge of what he was calling and what it would do dawned on everyone present. No foreknowledge was required; the phoenix granted that understanding to everyone involved.

Inside, Toman howled.
No, Esset, no! Don’t do it, Jonathan!
Even Moloch paled and tried to build his spell faster.

Fire bloomed around Esset, forming floating arcane symbols. Wings unfolded behind him, then separated from him as the long, elegant neck of the phoenix stretched up towards the sky. It wasn’t so much summoned as born, brought into life right then and there on their plane of existence. Then it was whole, and it swept its wings forward. Moloch screamed, his voice cracking in agony as a streak of blinding red-orange light pierced his chest. But Moloch’s spell, his escape route, was complete—with a blink, Toman and the mage vanished, suddenly leagues away from the site where the phoenix unfurled and stone giants advanced on it and the summoner.

Toman’s mind had gone berserk, but he was frozen in place, unable to move as he was transported back to Moloch’s kingdom, into what looked like the mage’s inner sanctum. Moloch was on the ground, writhing in agony, but he wasn’t dying; Toman knew because his spell wasn’t loosening its grip. Moloch’s screams pierced the palace, and his minions came running, only to hide in the surrounding shadows, unwilling to risk helping their master. They knew him—he would lash out at anyone near. He wasn’t dying—he would live.

Moloch wasn’t dying
. Esset would die. Moloch would live. And Toman would be Moloch’s prisoner, to live, die, or be tortured for lifetimes upon the dark mage’s whim. Toman raged, knowing the cost of his best friend and brother’s summon.