‘No,’ said Amirantha. ‘There’s something about this that is both familiar and troubling, something I need ponder in my own study, with my own volumes for reference. And it’s the safest place for us to be right now.’
‘Since when did you concern yourself with safety?’ asked the old fighter.
‘Since I recognized a familiar ... presence behind that demon.’
Brandos closed his eyes for a moment, as if weighing what he had just heard. ‘I’m not going to like this next part, am I?’
‘Probably not,’ said Amirantha inspecting the contents of his belt bag to note what would have to be replaced. ‘When the demon exploded, a series of magic . . . call them signatures, hallmarks of spellcraft, tumbled away. Most were my own, from the wards and spells I had fashioned, save two. One was the demon’s, which I expected, alien and unfamiliar, but the last belonged to another player.’ He was silent for a moment, then said, ‘A player with a signature as familiar to me as my own.’
Brandos 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.’