had been with Amirantha for most of his life and had heard many stories from the Warlock. He could easily anticipate what was coming next. Softly, Brandos asked, ‘Belasco?’
Amirantha nodded. ‘Belasco.’
‘Bloody hell,’ the old fighter swore quietly. His face was a map of sun-brown leather, showing years of privation and struggle. His hair, once golden blond, had been grey for more than two decades, but his startling blue eyes were still youthful. Shaking his head, he said, ‘The one thing about travelling with you, Amirantha, is that things are always interesting.’
‘You find the oddest things interesting,’ said Amirantha.
‘Comes from the company I keep,’ said Brandos.
Amirantha could only nod. They had been together for a long time. He had found Brandos as a street urchin in the city of Khaipur, nearly forty-two years ago. Now, despite being years older than his companion, the warlock looked twenty years his junior. Both men knew that the magic user would outlive the fighter by a generation, yet they never spoke of it, except upon occasion when Brandos quipped that Amirantha’s proclivities would end up getting him killed before his time. Despite appearances, Brandos looked upon Amirantha as a father.
How a practitioner of a particularly dark form of magic had come to play the role of foster father to an illiterate street boy was still a bit of a mystery to Amirantha, but somehow Brandos had insinuated his way into the magic user’s affections and they had been together ever since.
Amirantha led Brandos past the charred remains of the demon to the summoning cave and picked up two large leather bags, handing one to the fighter. Both men shouldered their burdens. Looking around at the overturned ward stones, the burning pots of incense, and the other accoutrements of demon summoning, the Warlock said, ‘I’m not criticizing, but what brought you into the cave?’
‘You were taking a bit longer than normal and the Governor was getting restless. Then that noise erupted so I thought I’d best go and see what had gone awry.’
Shaking his head slightly, the Warlock said, ‘Good thing you did.’
They exited the cave, a deep recess in the hillside a few miles away from the village of Kencheta. Waiting astride his ornately saddled horse was the Governor of Lanada, who said, ‘Is the demon dead?’
Raising his hand in an indifferent salute to the ruler of the region, Amirantha said, ‘Most efficiently dead, Your Excellency. You will find his remains scattered around the tunnel about a hundred yards within.’
The Governor nodded once and signalled to one of his junior officers, ‘See that it is so.’
Amirantha and Brandos exchanged glances. Local rulers were usually content with their word. On the other hand, they usually caught a glimpse or two of the monster, and not just heard howls and bellowing from within a dark cave.
A short time later, the young officer returned, his face pale and sweating. Amirantha said, ‘I should have mentioned the peculiar stench—’
‘You should have,’ agreed Brandos.
‘—takes some getting used to.’
‘Well?’ asked the Governor.
Nodding, the officer said, ‘It is so, Your Excellency. Most of the creature was strewn around the tunnel, bits here and there, but one leg was intact, and it was … nothing of this world.’
‘Bring it to me,’ instructed the Governor.
Again, Brandos and Amirantha exchanged questioning looks.
This time the officer motioned to two of his older soldiers and said, ‘You heard the Governor. Go and get the leg.’
Eventually the two soldiers emerged from the cave carrying the huge charred limb between them. The reek caused even the strongest stomach to weaken and the Governor backed his mount off slightly, holding up his hand. ‘Stay,’ he instructed.
From his distant vantage point he could see the top of a thigh covered in burned hair, down to the foot with its three massive toes ending in razor-sharp claws. Whatever it might be, it was not of this world, and at last satisfied, the Governor nodded. ‘We had word from the Maharajah’s Court of charlatans preying on the gullible, promising to rid outlying villages of non-existent demons, dark spirits, and other malefactions. Had you been such, we would have hanged you from that tree,’ he said, pointing to a stout elm a few yards away. ‘As this is without doubt a demonic limb, I am now convinced that your timely arrival so soon after word reached us of this demon, is but a lucky coincidence, and shall convey my opinion to my lords and masters in the city of Maharta.’
Amirantha bowed his most courtly bow, and Brandos followed suit. ‘We thank His Excellency,’ said the Warlock.
As the Governor began to turn his mount,’ Amirantha said, ‘Excellency, as to the matter of payment?’
Over his shoulder, the Governor said, ‘Come to my palace and see my seneschal. He will pay you.’ With that, he rode off, followed closely by his men-at-arms.
‘Well, at least it’s on the way home,’ the Warlock said.
Shrugging, the warrior picked up his companion’s shoulder bag. ‘There are times one must settle for small benefits, my friend. At least this time we get paid.
‘Maybe it was a good thing that new demon showed up. Kreegrom is fairly hideous, but for a demon he’s about as menacing as a puppy. If that Governor had caught on that he was only playing “chase me” and not really trying to kill you … well, I don’t particularly relish ending my days hanging from an elm.’ He glanced at the tree as they walked past it. ‘Though, I must confess it’s a handsome enough tree.’
‘You do always see the good in a situation, don’t you?’
‘Someone must,’ said Brandos, ‘given the usual nature of our trade.’
‘There is that,’ agreed Amirantha as they started down the road that would take them to the Governor’s Palace in Lanada, and then on to their distant home.
The village had been the only home Amirantha had known in the last thirty years. For about five months each year, he resided in a stone tower on top of a tor a mile north of the village. The rest of the time he and Brandos would travel.
His tower was on top of an ancient hill, Gashen Tor, highest of the hills overlooking the village of Talumba, two days’ ride east of the city of Maharta. The small farming community had come to appreciate the presence of such a powerful magic user, even if his area of mastery was considered to border on evil by most people. They believed that the warlock had wandered to Talumba from another land, and had come to his lonely hill to avoid persecution. It had been said that he built the single tower in which he resided using demons for the labour, and that he had placed wards about the tor to prevent intruders from troubling him.
The truth was far more prosaic; Amirantha had used magic, though not his own, to build the simple tower. A pair of magicians, masters of geomancy, had used their arts to manoeuvre rocks in such a design that when they were done, Amirantha had only to employ a local carpenter to install the two wooden floors, hang doors, and build some furniture; including the large table now before the magician and the heavy chair in which he sat.
He
