By the Pact

1 As soon as Kamira kicked sand into the dark hole in the desert, she knew she’d found the right place. The golden grains rolled down and stopped at the edge of a tunnel leading deep into the ground. At least she hoped it was, because after two days of pointlessly crawling into random holes that always turned out to be dead ends, her patience and good mood were both running thin. Half-crumbled ruins jutting out of the sand like skeletons of creatures long dead did little to improve her state. Every stone, charred or glazed into glass, reminded her that the surrounding desert was the result of a single mistake, a mistake that her predecessors made in their blind pride. Even over four hundred years later, people weren’t willing to forgive a whole kingdom lost, and the blame for the past deeds traveled down the line of teachers and students of a once-respected school. She shrugged off those thoughts as she circled the hole searching for the source of magic that barred the sands’ entry. Her shadow shifted, mimicking both the movement of her sleek figure and the shape of her messy hair that she liked to adorn with feathers and bones. Back in the city, she’d add even more decorations, enjoying the many flinches her appearance spurred in the common folk. Over the years, the whisper “demonologist” behind her back aroused amusement instead of ire, and she’d long stopped bothering to explain her actual title or that she was nothing like arcanists of the past. Catering to common fears and misconceptions often brought unexpected benefits, and if nothing else, it made people leave her be. Only those who wanted to conduct business bothered her, and Kamira appreciated the peace and quiet of being alone. Mostly alone, she concluded at the sound of footsteps. “You found it.” Veelk stopped beside her. If she was the epitome of what people thought a demonologist should look like, complete with her gaunt, close to malnourished features adding a sinister undercurrent to her grouchy personality, Veelk reflected the commoners’ idea of a tribal warrior. Tall and muscular, with a hairless head and an intricate net of scars marking his copper-hued skin, he often took advantage of anyone who assumed he was an uneducated savage. He surprised them with his wit, leaving many of people speechless, but when the ways of civilized men failed, he never lamented resorting to his keshal. His tribe’s traditional spear had a blade at each end of the haft—one narrow and one wide, both as sharp as his tongue. “I hope so,” she muttered. “Otherwise, we’re going to crawl in the dirt, risking the desert collapsing on us, only to find another dead end with an equally dead body.” Veelk grinned, unmoved as usual. “If you ever stop complaining, I’ll know a demon has taken you.” He approached the hole and carelessly threw a rock inside. Instead of bouncing or rolling, it sank into the black. While he listened, Kamira bit her tongue before reminding him demon possessions were deemed impossible. After three years of traveling together, such a comment was nothing more than bait or distraction, or possibly both, since Veelk rarely passed on the opportunity to tease her as if trying to cure her inherent grumpiness. “It’s deep.” Veelk glanced at her. “For once, that mage’s source might have actually been right about the location.” Kamira groaned, since it meant they’d both have to climb down, because there was no chance Veelk would go down to check it only to come back up to help her, always eager to give her exercise opportunities. She eyed the opening in the ground with hate. “I regret we took the job.” “No, you don’t.” As he squatted by the opening in the ground, the keshal strapped to his back towered over him. “Think of all that you might find in there. All the knowledge that will be yours to keep.” She sneered, meeting his bait with hers. “All the knowledge I won’t be able to carry out?” Veelk’s glance over his shoulder made it clear he didn’t fall for it. “I would consider carrying some for you if you stopped complaining and started moving. Or, at least, did both at the same time.” With a chuckle, she made her way to him. If she found any tomes worth taking, it would be Veelk’s turn to complain about lugging the ancient scribbles, which he was certain to call them. But if she wanted her meager payback, she needed to make it down the tunnel, otherwise the only spoils he’d carry out would be the items that looked most valuable, and even if old books fetched a good price among collectors, they didn’t look as enticing as jewels or gold. It didn’t require much focus to summon a lumisphere, and with the nudge of her will, she sent it down. As it sank, its warm light revealed a partially crumbling tower. Where the Cataclysm damaged the structure, its large stones shifted or broke off, creating an irregular pattern of ledges that seemed stable enough to allow careful descent. She inspected the inner walls with interest, but no obvious arcane markings presented themselves. She wanted to believe the structure was sturdy on its own, but more sand trickled from the edges, and as it stopped short of falling, it reminded her that magic had its part in securing the opening. Unless the arcanists of the past were subtle with their art, someone ensured the remains of the old tower didn’t collapse or get buried by the desert entirely. Veelk made his way down, and after he checked the first ledge was stable, he helped Kamira. While she was finding her footing, he dropped to another ledge, so she called her lumisphere back and inspected the walls with renewed interest. Whoever wanted the tunnel sand-free must have been carving the runes around it while balancing on the uneven surfaces, and this meant a rushed job that would be hard to conceal. Yet the porous walls revealed nothing, not a single mark nor even a portion of an arcanist’s circle. Disappointed, she followed her companion down. As they descended, the air cooled and carried a breeze that made Kamira pause. “You sense that too, don’t you?” Veelk threw her a glance. She nodded. “Demon magic.” She didn’t need to explain that it wasn’t the traditional magic that arcanists channeled through their pacts with demons. Veelk dropped off to another ledge. “Lingering from the Cataclysm?” he asked while she made her way down to him. A simple “yes” was all she needed to lull their instinctual concerns. After all, the original Towers were the epicenter of the Cataclysm, and the place where the arcanists of old laid down their lives fighting a demon who had betrayed their trust. Or, if the high mages got their version of history: where the arcanists paid dearly for attempting to summon a powerful demon in the flesh. But the truth was that she couldn’t be certain. Magic didn’t linger in places unless it was spelled into artifacts or arcane circles. And the pure demonic nature of the energy suggested that no arcanist had a hand in its making. At the same time, this was the place of a grand battle, and no one knew what happened when a demon was slain. Maybe his magic did continue to haunt the place of his final rest. “So it’s a no.” Veelk tensed, glaring at the tunnel’s dark bottom with wariness. All she could give him was a shrug as she approached the edge, letting him help her down. The grim aura of the tower must have been getting on his nerves too, since he offered not even a single remark at her lack of climbing prowess. They descended in silence, and the drift carried the faint magic from beneath in waves that made her think of steady breaths. The image that followed, of a powerful creature lurking in the darkness below, sent a shiver down her spine, but she didn’t share her thoughts with Veelk. He needed to be focused on real threats instead of entertaining her doubts. Feeling solid ground beneath her feet when they reached the dusted floor at the bottom of the tower brought no relief. Even the notion of familiarity the structure had for one who had spent years in the High Towers, like Kamira, couldn’t ease her thoughts. As she ran her hand against the half-crumbled reliefs depicting the great deeds of the arcanists of old, a pang of regret struck her. The mighty figures adorned in what was now considered tribal fashion were forever captured in stone performing incredible feats of magic. So much had been lost over the centuries, so much knowledge and power, and with the high mages dictating the rules for years after the original Towers’ destruction, no arcanist since had been commemorated, nor their deeds depicted in such a way. “Some demon gnawing on your brain?” Kamira snapped out of her thoughts. “Not since yesterday.” She inspected the corridor and pointed to the left, picking the direction at random. “Should be this way.” Even if she knew where the teachers’ quarters were supposed to be, entering the ruins through an unknown tower meant she first needed to find a point of reference; a bigger hall or a stairway would do. Until then, one way was as good as another. Veelk inspected her as if estimating her confidence and headed down the dusty corridor. She allowed him to get ahead in case the builders or recent visitors left any nasty surprises amongst the rubble. With the tribal scars protecting him, he could withstand most magical assaults, and he had a better chance of avoiding or destroying traps than she did. She smiled at that, because on rare occasions her magic came to aid as she shielded him from afar. Tackling the largest piles of rubble from caved-in walls, she tried to shake off the nagging feeling of uneasiness. The exploration wasn’t going at all as she had imagined. For years, she’d dreamed of delving into the old structure and discovering the long-forgotten secrets of the most skilled arcanists of all time; instead, she only found a longing to get back to the surface. Veelk looked back over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be so—” He never froze, just shifted instantly from a casual gesture to a battle-ready stance, keshal unstrapped, staring back the way they had come. Kamira ducked out of the way almost flat against the wall. The darkness behind them was so thick that it filled the corridor like black fog. Out of it emerged creatures with crude crystal bodies, and she gasped. Even in her homeland, where arcanists placed demon-imbued stones on statues and animated them, no one ever attempted to craft a construct from the stones themselves. Their creator must have been both skilled and powerful, and she tensed. The limitations of her own pact had become clear in comparison. The creatures moved at a slow pace, but their bulky mass blocked the way out if Kamira and Veelk wanted to retreat to the point of descent. Kamira moved behind Veelk, studying their crystalline skin. Besides directing sheer power at them, more than she could ever channel, she couldn’t think of any way to stop them. Veelk lunged and thrust at the one to their left. The keshal’s blade glanced off its body, as somewhat expected, and the construct retaliated. Kamira stumbled backward trying to get out of Veelk’s way as the crystalline claws cut through the air. “Better start running.” Veelk held his defensive stance, dodging just out of their reach only when he had to. “And pray to your demon to give you some magic.” “I don’t pray to any demon,” she muttered out of habit. “The running part still stands.” His tone may have seemed carefree, but she knew he meant it. Even if there wasn’t any way to defeat the creatures, they could at least outrun them. “Suzhaul’s curse!” Veelk’s shout startled her, and before she knew what all was happening, he threw her against the wall. Kamira narrowly dodged the giant crystal body thundering past, its swift movements and pivot both apparent and unexpected. So much for their slowness, she thought with her back to the stones. She searched the hallway as Veelk leapt and spun with narrow swings and powerful thrusts back and forth in front of her to hold the constructs at bay on both sides. Further down the corridor, a destroyed portion of the wall seemed to open into a natural tunnel. It could be unstable or a dead end, but trying to outrun the creatures would likely be suicide, so they had to risk it.