In the small village of Magog, the sorcerer Kane sat by a small fire inside his home. He usually conducted his rituals here with those who came to him for spiritual advice. So long as they were willing to pay the price, Kane would prepare for them potions and charms with which they might ensnare another man’s wife or hope for a better yield on their harvest.
Today, Kane’s client had paid an especially high price, for the desire was revenge. The villager had signed a covenant in blood in exchange for a demonic attack upon his neighbor. A heated dispute had been brewing for years, but this man had more resolve than the other did in the matter. According to custom, if a man died with no heir, as the victim would, then a neighbor could claim his land.
Kane sat across the fire from his client. He stirred a putrid mixture of herbs and animal entrails along with some of the client’s own blood in a clay bowl. The parchment bearing the man’s commitment to the set price, his own soul and his signature agreeing to the same, sat nearby with a crimson stained quill. “Do you have what I asked you to bring?” Kane asked.
The man reached into his cloak and produced a cloth. He unfolded it and removed a hairbrush. “Will this do?”
Kane took the brush and separated a wad of graying hair from the bristles. “It will.”
The sorcerer dropped the hair of the intended victim into the bowl and churned it into the mixture, reciting incantations as he did so. Among the unintelligible words, Kane added the Summoning Charm, peppering the flames with a pinch of gunpowder for effect.
The fire erupted in a flash of light much larger than Kane had expected. He and his client jumped back from the burst of flames. The fire grew in height until it stood taller than a man. The amber flame flashed again and became a bright blue, the form of a man appearing within the fire.
“My lord, Jericho?” Kane asked.
“Where is my servant Mordecai?” Jericho said from the flames.
Kane stumbled at the question. “My lord, this man requests murder for the-”
“MORDECAI!” he bellowed.
Kane bowed himself to the ground fearfully. “My lord, the priest took a weapon and went into the woods earlier today. I believe he meant to train, now that he is recovering well from his wounds.”
“Very good,” Jericho said. “I have need of his special skills. See to his provisions and bear him away in the morning.”
“My lord…this man has pledged his soul by covenant,” Kane said hesitantly.
The face in the flame looked toward the man cowering on the ground opposite Kane. Jericho laughed at the man. “The deed is done already-he fell when your blood stained the contract,” Jericho said. “But know this also. A disease, already present in your body, will take your life within a fortnight.” The demon laughed again, and the flames resumed their normal state and color as he left Kane and his astonished client to their mischief. Meanwhile, Jericho journeyed invisible into the forest beyond Magog looking for his assassin.
Mordecai stood blindfolded in a bamboo thicket deep within the forest near the village of Magog. Within the priestly sash at his waist hung a wooden scabbard anchored by a silver ring. Bright stripes of white paint marked ten bamboo stalks around him intermingled with unmarked chutes.
Mordecai grasped the rather plain looking wooden hilt of his sword and separated it-an oval, silver cross guard being the only item distinguishing blade from scabbard. He whipped the blade out, tagging first one then another of the white marks on the bamboo.
Mordecai made several elegant flourishes and severed five more stalks with white marks. He slashed at a plain chute of bamboo, but stopped the blade short of impact. With a quick backward somersault, the priest landed between the remaining three bearing white paint, severing each at their mark.
The entire attack had been so precise and quick that the first chutes only began to fall when he had finished cutting the tenth. Mordecai replaced his blade and removed the cloth wrap he had been using as a blindfold. He dabbed the sweat from his brow and tossed the wad of cloth over his shoulder.
Quick as a flash, Mordecai drew the blade again, stabbing it through the cloth as it fell. Two fingers caught the blade in flight, holding it there. Jericho looked out from behind the cloth hanging on the blade point. “I see you are healing nicely, Mordecai,” he said.
“I knew it was you,” Mordecai said as he yanked the sword back from the demon’s grip, replacing it in his scabbard.
“Even better that you could feel my presence before seeing my form,” Jericho said. “That kind of skill will prove very useful when you kill the Deliverer.”
Mordecai lifted his shirt from the ground and began to put it on. “So, you’ve found him?”
“He has been spotted in Millertown.”
“Beneath the Thornhills, eh? Guess that means I was right about them going to the Temple.”
“Apparently,” Jericho admitted.
“What now?”
“Now you infiltrate the Temple and rid me of God’s Deliverer.”
“Easier said than done” Mordecai said.
“Meaning?”
“Meaning there is only one way to enter the temple-at least for a priest-but no way for a demon or an assassin.”
Jericho began to pace among the bamboo, his form sometimes passing through the stalks like a ghost, deep in thought. Mordecai watched him in his peripheral vision as he continued to dress, getting ready to walk back to the village. Jericho stopped, epiphany lighting up his face. “A diversion, perhaps?”
Mordecai instantly took up his line of thought. “Yes, to lure the angels from their posts.”
“If they are distracted, then a lone assassin might just be able to enter the Temple. You will have at least a three-week head start before Mordred orders his patrols into the region. His messenger knows about the priest in Millertown, but they have been delayed for the time being.”
“I’ll need longer than that,” Mordecai said. “If you want this done right, then let me do it my way. Besides, the journey from here to the Thornhill Mountains is over a month easily. I’m not so well endowed with power as your kind.”
Jericho scowled at the priest. “I want this matter handled quickly, before the prophecy can come to pass.”
“Like I said, I’ll need more time to get there, and this must be handled delicately. I’ve never failed you before, Jericho. I’ll have to get the boy away from the others.”
“And you boast of your skills?” Jericho said sarcastically.
“You’re not the one who’d be facing three hundred warrior-priests if I’m discovered,” Mordecai rebutted. “The boy must be drawn away from the others. Then, I will deal with him. You just give me what I need to get to Millertown, and I’ll call for you when I’m ready for the diversion. Leave the rest to me.”
Jericho stood and began to dissipate. “Train well, Mordecai. I won’t accept failure in this matter. You had better be as good as you claim.”
“Oh, I will be.”