A knock interrupted them. Rising, Alonnen crossed to the door and cracked it open. The last clutch of the fellows he had brought along for their protection had arrived. Murmuring where Ohso, Gabria, and Mark had gone, he directed them to pick one of the other two rooms. Once the door was shut, Alonnen realized what that meant. Sighing, he turned back to Rexei.
“As much as I’d like to give you privacy tonight . . . I’m going to have to stay here. Guild policy, no one sleeps alone outside the Vortex. These rooms are sheltered against magic, both scryings and attacks, but not against nonmagical attacks,” he told her.
She blushed, thinking about sharing the bed with him again. Rexei glanced at it, then managed a casual shrug when she looked back at him. “It’s okay. I trust you.” The way he relaxed at her words, the smile he gave her, warmed her. She returned it, ducking her head a little. “Besides, you didn’t snore last night. I’ve no guarantee about sharing a bed with anyone else.”
“You were out so hard, not even the dam breaking would’ve woken you,” Alonnen retorted. He tapped the tip of his nose and pointed at her. “But you can’t say I didn’t warn you tonight.”
That made her laugh heartily . . . and that made him feel the paradox of a sudden flush of heat coupled with a chilling realization. I like her. A lot. Like I haven’t . . . like I haven’t loved anyone since Bethana . . .
His first romantic interest had tried to use him for power and prestige. His second had been a good woman at heart, but she had died in an explosion at her munitions factory. After that, Alonnen had buried himself in his work, believing that Fate just didn’t have a long-lasting love in mind for him. So either Fate is teasing me a third time, or . . . well, Daralei didn’t count since it wasn’t mutual on her part, so Fate just might be giving me a second chance, not a third, at love . . .
Sleeping chastely beside her might be awkward, now that he was aware of how much he really liked Rexei Longshanks. The couch was a little short for a full-length sprawl, but he’d manage if need be. Pushing away from the door, he lifted his chin. “Right, then. Let’s get out some paper and a couple writing sticks, and start figuring out what, exactly, the role of the new Holy Guild will be. What you’ll do, what you’ll not do . . . You are the Guild Master, the very first one, and that means you’re the one stuck with figuring out how your guild will be run.”
With a groan and a roll of her eyes, she pushed off the divan and headed back to the table, grabbing her satchel on the way. “Which means I’ll have to present a Guild Charter and figure out who to choose for my three apprentices, as soon as possible. Because there was another reason for a Patron Goddess, one I didn’t dare tell the others at the meeting.”
“Oh? And what’s that?” Alonnen asked her.
She gave him a level look. “A Goddess might be the only being strong enough to deal with any demon conjured by the former priesthood of Mekhana. But a Patron’s strength depends heavily upon prayer and worship . . . when They’re not siphoning magic like a bullying thief.”
“Good point. You’ll need those apprentices fast, then. Tomorrow morning, you can use the Consulate talker-box to network with the other Precincts. They’re bound to know Gearmen who’d be willing to volunteer,” he said. Joining her at the table, he helped by taking up one of the graphite sticks she had brought, her previous notes, and a few sheets of paper. His stomach rumbled, but he ignored it; their food wouldn’t be brought up for a little while more. “First, though, let’s see what you’ve got so far . . . and let’s see if we can word a message to the other towns about just what sort of apprentices you’ll need. Three guilds, three months each . . .”
“We’ll need wording that won’t scare everyone away from the thought of serving a Goddess,” Rexei agreed, thinking of poor Gabria. She wasn’t afraid, but then she knew . . . obviously . . . exactly what Guildra stood for, and stood against. “Even if it’s for a completely different sort of deity, finding others who are willing to serve is the biggest obstacle I face.”
• • •
If it weren’t for the band wrapped around his brow, sweat would have long since stung Torven’s eyes. He was peripherally aware of the agitated man pacing angrily in the corridor outside this outer cell room, too, but building permanent wards to contain a minor demon took time, patience, and attention to the tiniest detail, including being aware before beginning that his face would sweat from the sheer effort and concentration involved. Crouched over the smooth stone of the cell floor, he placed another painstakingly neat line of binding runes along the curve of the ward-within-a-ward circle that would protect him from what he was summoning.
Crowded into the doorway, three priest apprentices, novices, scribbled notes on everything he was doing. Behind them, the clucking of a chicken could be heard. Demons required food, same as any other being, but their nutritional needs were not the same as mortals. They were more akin to what Mekha had done in a way, save that where Mekha sucked up magic from mages like a man in a desert sucked up water, demons sucked up agony, fear, and other ephemeral energies. And blood, of course.
More blood would be needed for a permanent binding, but Torven wasn’t going to tell these ex-Mekhanans that. For one, he wasn’t going to draw these runes on the floor in spell-bound, metal-dusted blood when simple chalk would do for a temporary, demonstration-based summons. For another, he wasn’t going to tell them just yet that to bind a truly powerful demon required the prolonged sacrifice of something intelligent, a fellow human. That was blood magic.
Torven knew of a couple loopholes, however. Self-sacrifice—preferably one of the novices or priests, not himself—was perfectly acceptable by all. Sacrificing a known murderer was borderline but acceptable as well if the energies were used to recompense for whatever had been destroyed by their actions. Someone who had tortured others could be used, though that might backfire upon this priesthood. And there was at least one case in ancient recorded history of a Goddess—in actuality a demon princess in disguise—“permitting” the ritual sacrifice of Her enemies to feed Her.
Her existence and Her ambitions had been thwarted at the next Convocation of Gods and Man, but only at the cost of another God’s life. If the Convocations had indeed been renewed yesterday, as he suspected they had, and he and these priests could summon and bind a demon-God here and now, then that would give them four years to build up a power base of worship and sacrifices. Based on what he had read in the crumbling records of the Tower’s oldest archives, the previous attempt had failed because the priesthood in question had only been active for a year or so and because the demoness had sought to destroy all the other Gods and Goddesses, rather than focus exclusively upon making herself a true deity.
“Isn’t he done yet?” Torven heard Archbishop Elcarei snap impatiently. The chicken clucked and ruffled its feathers in its cage. Marking the last three runes with slow, exacting patience, Torven finally stood up.
“I am done with the rune-wardings, milord. Such things cannot be rushed and must be done with great care, unless you wish for the demon to break free and claw its way through the bodies of your fellow priests,” he warned the somewhat older, irritated man. “Demons are not easily killed, and their capacity for wielding magic is unusually strong, so do not think your normal shields will spare you from their rage.”