Chapter 99 - Familiar Threats

  “Your familiar?” I demanded.

  “My bound demon,” acknowledged Daggertongue. He smoothed his vests and reclaimed his chair, whisking it upright with a snap of his fingers. “And you would not believe, nor condone, the price paid to gain its service.”

  The demonic creature moved toward me, new mouths forming and wrestling with each other to chomp at me like fish at the docks competing for a dropped morsel, until it recoiled in either shock or pain. Some invisible force held it at bay. I risked a glance back toward the elf lord, who held a card out, face toward the demon. I couldn’t see what it was from my angle.

  As though reading my mind, Daggertongue continued. “The bars of its cell are an invention of its own consciousness. It is held back only by its incapability of defying its own uttered words—for to lie, is for its mind to break.”

  “The other shared court lords would have you drawn and quartered if they knew you had this."

  Daggertongue sipped his tea. “This demon devoured six skilled lieutenants of Margot Bethane and would have devoured a seventh if Mother Mayaz had not twice fended it off. They’re more likely to pin a medal on it. Do you believe you could defeat it?”

  “No,” I answered, honestly, scowling. “I was bested by Mother Mayaz’ minions. And she flattened me without a second thought when Kridick sent us into Hollowdown to rescue Mithra, Lenise, and the others.”

  I noticed the corners of Daggertongue’s mouth twitch downward for just an instant—but I didn’t know exactly at what, whether it was the mention of Kridick, Mayaz, or Hollowdown itself. I had more imminent concerns than deciphering his thoughts, though, like the demon staring at me with more eyes than an overripe spud. I shivered. This thing had broken men in half and devoured them in the most violent display I’d seen since the night Margot Bethane stalked the downs. The fact Daggertongue kept it on a short leash might have made me more at ease, except Daggertongue was still the one holding the other end, and if anything, that was the more dangerous one.

  “Yes, it was quite the pathetic display of lackwits and foolhardiness. Draw your deck. We’ve wasted enough time.”

  I pulled out my cards, never taking my eyes off the bound demon that seemed to devour light from the various candle flames and lanterns strung about the room. It somehow oozed and slithered around without moving, and I could feel the sensation of hatred pouring off of it like a miasma. “You want me to fight it?” I asked. “Duel your little puppet for combat experience?”

  Daggertongue barked a short laugh. “Of course not, idiot. I want you to learn, not die messily. The lack of fortitude with your deck lies not in your reflexes or your ability to spin those cards like a silly western fighter’s fan. It lies in your weak and feeble will. So you will strengthen it by necessity, or you will go mad. This will be painful. But not, I believe, more so than the rest of your unfortunate existence.”

  Cut right to the quick, did Daggertongue. I suppose he’d earned that name a hundred times over in his tenure. He looked at me, as though I ought know what to do. Then he rolled his eyes and sighed. “The four of knaves. You can use it, yes? Open your mind. Extend invitation to our little friend.”

  That seemed like a very bad idea. But I didn’t see that I had much choice. I called the four of knaves to my deck and opened myself up to the deviltongue.

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  The bound demon pounced on the opening, squeezing itself into my mind. It might have been a misshapen lump on the floor, but its pressure was of a creature ten times its size. Psychic claws tore at the open door, pulling it wider as it tried to force its way in. My mind’s eye overrode my sense of sight, presenting me with a vision of an enormous shadowy oil-slick.

  “Good,” said Daggertongue.

  “What happens once I let it in?” I asked through grit teeth. Needles stabbed at my skull.

  “Oh, I would advise against that. It would rearrange the furniture to suit itself. You’d go quite mad.”

  “What?!” I yelled. I tried to slam the mental door shut, cutting off the four of knaves. But the demon’s foot was already in the door, and its claws wrapped around the opening I’d made for it. I lost focus for a moment, and when I regained my senses, I realized I was on the floor. But I kept trying to slam that door. The demon’s emotions overwhelmed me, hitting me as a barrage of images, intents, threats, and seductions. I began to lose my grip again. With everything I had left, I mustered one big push, to force the demon out of my mind.

  It was like throwing a cup of water at a raging fire. All resistance I still had in me vanished completely. Then, so too did the demon from my mind.

  I blinked stars out of my eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

  “Well, you haven’t pissed yourself. I suppose that’s something," said Daggertongue. He tossed down a bladder, and I uncapped it and took a drink of water that tasted like he’d drawn it from the gutter. “While we’re waiting for your wits to gather enough for another go, do you know why Soul Seekers make such poor mages? Is that something they teach at the academy?”

  I gurgled and tried to answer, but all that came out was a wretched moan.

  “It’s because of the deck of wills. When we bond with the deck, we forever stunt ourselves in the arcane. The power we borrow from the wills borrows from us in exchange. We form a contract, and power passes through the cameos like a window. The lion’s share of your power exists in other realms, Darcent of Stitch Alley. You have no say in whether your power is used for good or ill. You might have been the source of a summoned spell that killed hundreds, thousands even. Or one that brought water to a drought-stricken village. Your natural talent as a mage is meaningless to you. Your power now derives from how much you can draw from others. It is an exchange, yes. But it need not be equal. Stand up. You’ve lazed long enough.”

  I forced myself onto my belly, where it took everything I had not to keep my fevered head pressed against the cool, cool tiles. But lift it I did, and I climbed, unsteadily, to my feet. Despite the drink, my mouth felt dry and swollen, and I had trouble forming words.

  “What am I to demand of this demon?” I slurred.

  “From this…? Nothing. This is simply a beginner’s exercise in strengthening your force of will. You aren’t yet ready to make demands. Now, open your mind again.”

  A beginners exercise? The overwhelming onslaught of fiery rage and hatred assailing my waking mind was a beginner exercise? I shook my head and called the four of knaves to my hand again. Or, at least, I tried to. It zigged away and snapped between Daggertongue’s fore and middle finger. He scrutinized the card, then looked at me with eyes narrowed. “I know these cameos. I’ve seen this deck before.”

  “I imagine so,” I said, voice starting to clear. I would take the extra few seconds of this distraction. “The enforcers took it off Margot Bethane’s body.”

  The corner of Daggertongue’s mouth twisted down. “I can still smell them both. Her blood, and the grubby fingers of the Ways Witch.” He tossed the card down at me. “Do not bring this filth here again. Now, begin.”

  If anything, the second attempt was even more pathetic. The demon had gotten a look at my inner defenses, and this time it knew just where to hit to shatter the meager barricade I tried to put before the door to my mental vault. I pushed against it, but a mass of teeth and claws and mouths roaring blasphemies began to push through the cracks forming in my resistance. All at once, the thing flowed over and around me, and it felt like its claws were scraping the inside of my skull before Daggertongue pulled it back.

  “Hmm. Threadripper was certain you would crack under my familiar’s resolve on the first or second attempt.”

  This time I was face down on the floor with my ass in the air when I came back to my own body. “Glad to disappoint that cuck,” I mumbled into the tile.

  “Let us see how far off the mark he was. Again.”