scratch an errant lich 3

 

III

 

“Now we use blood magic to get a line on Nurtazin at least; and hope that where he is, so too is our wight,” said Amber.  “On account of how we can’t hope that the wight would go along with Uncle Tulegen’s immediate plans of kill the wench grab the country.  Unless Tulegen can talk very fast and suggest too killing Zhanargul’s parents shortly after so there is one country under the joint control.  It depends on the personality of Abaris; whether he is paranoid about an underling having power or whether he is content to move slowly and through another.” She looked around. “Since Ágnes is a dowser, we have a better way to do this than usual. Normally we should take blood ritually from Zhanargul and get a direction of her uncle from it and approximate distance; then move to a sufficiently distant place for another such reading and triangulate. I however intend to make use of Ágnes’s unusual ability and have her dowse with Zhanka’s blood on a map.  And I have borrowed for the  purpose a scrolling globe that projects an appropriate part of the world; it was made by a kobold artificer of considerable power and skill and has been gifted to us for dealing with a little problem he had last year.”

“The nasty accusations from that nasty little racist?” asked Jeronim.

“Even so,” said Amber.

“How does it work?” asked Wojciech. “Is it programmed like a computer?”

“It’s different” said Amber “Much relies on understanding the properties of the metals kobolds use and the special enchantments they can be made to take.  He’s improving on it, for us, having adopted a Familyless Talented who is also a dowser; he’s making a frame with a set of divining rods attached and the rods will tell the flat plate what part of the world to show.  It’s a quirky sort of skill, and can’t be easily aimed at the problem you are looking for.”

“And it certainly doesn’t always work to order with a crystal ball,” said Ágnes. “I looked into the damn ball to see if I could divine the health of the examiner last year’s exams, and fetched up telling her where to find a lost ring, because it showed me a large scale map. Divination is hit and miss.”

“That’s why it has to be taught, to pick up those who can do something, and then try to develop their individual skills,” said Amber. “I’ve got a cousin who sometimes looks at someone and draws a picture of their near future. He finds it scary.”

“So would I,” said Ágnes. “Give me something reliable any day; at least I’m fairly reliable with my copper rods.”

“Which is why you’re here,” said Amber.

“What do we do with my blood?” asked Zhanargul.

“We write a finding charm around you on the floor, slit a part of your body you don’t mind having a scar on, and take twenty three drops of blood” said Amber.

“Why twenty three?” asked Takeo “The number was not mentioned in the book on blood magic.”

“That’s because some rather original research has been done since,” said Amber “By my genius kid sister as it happens; and checked over by others.  This is partly tied in to knowledge from science; because we each have 23 pairs of chromosomes carrying our heritance.  This is why we can interbreed with kobolds and elves who have the same number, and suggests a common ancestry.  Horses and donkeys have a number that relate to each other but are not the same and so can produce a – usually – sterile hybrid in a mule.  It’s important to know for higher transmogrificational skills and helps no end with human transmogrification.  We take a drop of blood to represent every part of her heritance which a mundane biologist would find bad science, but then science and Talent may interrelate but do not always march well together.  One reason it works is because of the assimilative correlation that focuses our will because we believe it will work.  Anyway, this blood goes into a vial on a chain of vanadium gold alloy.  Vanadium has a molecular weight of twenty three.  Gold is traditionally good.  Ágnes swings it over the globe, concentrating on finding those of the blood of Zhanargul and we should get her parents and her uncle showing up on a projected map.  We eliminate the parents from the search and home in on the uncle with greater detail.  Zhanka and I have spent time this evening adding details to the map of what her country is like. We can add to it as we need it,” she said.

Zhanargul stood inside a chalk circle and counted blood drops from the end of her finger; and stoppered the tiny bottle when she reached twenty three.  She had to squeeze the last few.  Ágnes took up the chain.

“My, that is powerful!” she said “I already have direction just from the feel; lead me to the map!”

At Ágnes’s touch the globe projected a map with two pulsing lights at one corner and one at the other.

“That’s my parents’ palace,” Zhanargul pointed to the double light.

Ágnes concentrated and the map centred on the other light, homing in and drawing up a tiny aerial view of a deep valley with a fortification hardly big enough to be called a castle nestling on the lip of the valley.  Amber was heard to mutter about it looking like the abbey in ‘Hawk the Slayer’ which was no information of use to anyone else. Amber’s film watching was eclectic and occasionally obscure.

“Good; we have a location,” said Amber “Boys, what did you unearth about Abaris before we go in all Talent blazing?”

“Not a lot” said Wojciech, speaking for both of them; they had pooled information.

“Let’s just say he isn’t the sort of chap  to accept a coalition power,” said Lázló. “As I understand it, Tulegen was going to bring him back to er, undeath, to use as a servant; but the tables got turned when his knife did its stuff.  Evidently it was attuned to sense a living body and was used  to channel life force.”

“Let’s play – Master and Servant,” sang Amber “You people don’t listen to the right sort of music, either, do you? Oh, well.  He ain’t going to be so happy to be stuck in the middle of nowhere without life forces to sustain him, is he?”

“No but having discovered that there were two wizards Uncle Tulegen wasn’t aware of is going to mean they both want to consolidate,” said Lázló. “My guess is he left the zombies to mop up us and any reinforcements we brought in; because as I understand it a lot of dark Talented are most awfully impressed with themselves that they can recycle dead bodies and expect everyone else to run away.  Though if you ask me any four or five competent Talented could have mopped up that lot without getting hit with blood magic.”

“Oh I agree; the hit was for if he was still there.” said Amber.  “Uncle Tootles is moderately competent and he acknowledged a master; so Abaris the once and future skank might even be more powerful than me on my own. We have to assume it.  We also have to wonder if he has a phylacterion. Greek word, meaning phylacterion,” she added.

“You’re a git sometimes, Amber,” said Wojciech. “She means a phylactery or soul-jar as beloved of great immortal mages in fairy tales, whose souls, or hearts, are hidden in a pearl inside an oyster inside the belly of a great fish in the bottom of some vast, legendary lake.”

“It would rot,” said Zhanargul.

“Of course it would rot, but that’s why those versions are pure fantasy,” said Amber. “It was a fashion amongst a selection of Egyptian magicians at the time and earlier; now I know you’ve all seen ‘The Mummy.’

“Yes, that was cool,” said Lázló.

“If he has we’re a bit sunk” said Jeronim.

“I gather he had a solidity?” Amber asked Wojciech.  He nodded.

“He looked a little the worse for wear; kind of shrivelled and mummified but essentially human” he said.

“A lich then more than a wight,” said Amber “Technically a wight is a kind of angry ghost.  So probably no phylacterion but a very nasty knife.  We may need an artefact to destroy it; still, a chant should work.  And first catch your knife as they say.  Well they would if they were after knives not fish.  Sorry,” she added.

“You talk the most awful rubbish at times Amber,” said Lázló. “Even more than me.”

“I need to let my mind freewheel; sometimes it throws up the best ideas that way; Wulf will tell you” she added leaning back against Wulf who smiled tenderly and nodded.

“Her lunacies often have purpose,” he said. “We have little information save that Abaris is going to want people to drain soon; but that also he is going to want to find out from Uncle Tulegen just exactly how long he has been er, indisposed and what exactly has been happening in the last couple of millennia or so; he is no fool I think and is not about to act without data to work with.  It’s a lot of history lesson.”

The others nodded, reminded again why the quiet Wulf was second in command; he had an excellent grasp of the essentials.

“Right; so we need to interrupt them at it while we know where they are,” said Amber. “No finesse; kill Abaris.  Er, again.  And it would be nice to capture Tulegen and drag him in chains before Zhanargul’s father; we have two good and true witnesses who saw him deliberately engage in an act that led to the deaths of a number of mundanes; and he has allied with the killer.  That is enough isn’t it Zhanka?”

“I would think so,” said Zhanargul. “And you can witness that he sent the wild hunt also.”

“So I can.” said Amber.  “I think that’s an instant sentence to a crystal cave more or less without appeal. I have a spare amulet for Zhanka; now let her open that cut again and bleed on each of ours, and her own, and she will be linked.”

This was rapidly done; adding people was easier than the initial ritual making the amulets from pure Baltic amber. Zhanargul put on the undistinguished looking yellow lump on its silver chain, and her eyes opened to have a sense of the people she was with, most of them amused at her reaction.

“I’m going to suggest the full ritual later, now you all know how damned useful the limited link with the amulet is,” said Amber. “All right people; link hands, we’re going in.”

The group arrived on the roof of the fortress; there were no guards.  A flock of rooks were disturbed from their slumbers and fluttered briefly up cawing disapproval.

Amber and Zhanargul led the way; and the others focused amulets on Zhanargul.  She was to arrest her uncle and startle him with what she could do against him.  Amber had every confidence that she could hold the lich by herself; if she could not, she would call on her comrades.  There was some matter of pride; but most of it was, as usual for Amber, academic curiosity.

They came to a main chamber; and burst in.

It was something of an anticlimax to see a wizard of similar appearance to Zhanargul slumped barely conscious on the floor, a serving maid weeping over the body of another servant.

“Neighbour, my apologies for disturbing your grief, but has the other one, Abaris the Lich, left this place?” asked Amber gently.

The servant lifted a tearstained face.

“Yes Mistress” she said.

“We will help you to bury him presently,” said Amber. “I missed asking Uncle Marcus something; I must globe him to ask him to dig out all his ancient texts to find out what was around in the time of Pythagoras that’s still standing.”

Zhanargul put binding spells on her uncle.   Tulegen moaned.

Amber laid a hand to his head and gave him enough power to come fully to consciousness.  He screamed.

“A little early to terrorise him isn’t it?” asked Jeronim.

“Haven’t done a thing yet” said Amber laconically “Tulegen, stop screaming and look at me; tell me what Abaris is up to and I shan’t have to hurt you by taking it forcibly from your mind.”

“That’s what he did” moaned the broken Talented. “Took all my knowledge; it hurt, oh how it hurt!” he moaned, rocking back and forth. “He said that telling him was too slow.  Made me call for my servants; he needed power to go somewhere.  Then he teleported.  Cost me my manservant; bastard, how was I to know he had the means to come back for himself?  The text only said he would rise again with aid from the living!”

“Well!” said Amber. “Lázló, Wojciech, take this creep to Zhanargul’s parents; she’ll give you a visualisation.  The rest of you go through this place and – here, take the cushion covers as bags – fill them with every book you find.  Use gloves or pull your sleeves over your hands to pick them up do not place bare flesh to any of them.  Just in case,” she added.

“You know, I don’t think any of us who graduated from the ICCT  college in Kraków really have any idea about real dark arts,” said Jeronim.

“You don’t; that’s why you leave it to the experts,” said Amber. “Like my family who have forgotten more about the dark arts than most people ever learn.  The dark arts are actually rather nasty; and not the simple and childish toys you get to play with at school.” 

 “What when we have all books?” asked Jeronim

“Back to Festung Amber,” said Amber, which was the nickname they had bestowed on their headquarters.

Marcus arrived later that day.

“All right; we have large portions of Egypt; also Athens and actually large portions of Greece. Which he would know quite a lot about though it’s doubtful if Nurtazin did. Then we still have cities extant at Byzantium, or rather Istanbul; Samarkand; and some of the settlements and towns on the trade route that became the Silk Road like Leninabad and Kokand were probably around in his day.  I’d lay odds on him going places first that are known landmarks in the cultural knowledge of Nurtazin that he’s know either from description or first-hand experience. Like the pyramids at Ghiza or the Acropolis in Athens.  And assuming that he uses some kind of transfiguration or disillusionment and isn’t walking around looking undead he is not going to stand out. If he acts unfamiliarly he’ll be put down as one more stupid tourist.  And unless he attacks wealthy tourists I’m afraid he is going to disappear unless his appetite is horrendous.  Who reports dead prostitutes in the less savoury parts of Egyptian or Hellenic tourist cities?” he said.

“You are a pessimist Marcus,” said Amber. “And I’m afraid you’re also probably right.  So we have to wait until he makes some move towards consolidating a power base?  I hate to be reactive.”

“If we keep an eye out on international TV news in case he is greedy – or sloppy, as he might well be, not realising that we can keep tabs on mundane activity, because they didn’t in his day, as much – and on news of say, a new teacher of the arts in these places we might pick up something.  I have a few business interests in Istanbul who might be able to keep their ears to the ground for me; though they are mostly mundane.”

“Gun running, Marcus?”

“Silk,” said Marcus.  “And probably a bit of gun running on the side for some of my less scrupulous contacts.  Don’t knock it; where do you think the last lot of AK’s came from?”

“Fair point,” Amber admitted. Sometimes looking like mundane mercenaries came in handy,  and would-be Talented dictators tended to despise mundane methods. Often to their costs.  “Well I hope at least Nurtazin will be safe in prison; though I might just pop up there and get a fey-proof exclusion zone around it.  We don’t want him calling up a great form spirit to spirit him out, literally, through feyspace.”

“Yes; you can’t be too paranoid over things like that,” said Marcus. “I’d think about it now I know more about the fey.  Have I been any use?”

“Tremendously; thanks” said Amber, kissing him on the cheek.  “I suppose you wouldn’t like to go through Nurtazin’s book collection for me would you?  I’m itching to do it myself but I am alive to my faults; if I once engaged with such a collection I’d forget to eat and sleep let alone lead the team.”

Marcus laughed.

“Just like your father,” he said. “Nobody knows cursed and grubby literature like me though, I think; I’ll be glad to do it.  I’ll give you potted précis of any that seem interesting and bring in anything I think you should see.”

“Ta” said Amber. Her uncle had been an incipient dark Talented once, but her adoptive father had stopped him, and turned him, and he was a valuable ally, and the taint on his soul less virulent for his own part fey heritance.

She hated the waiting, but took the time to pray for the souls of those unfortunates killed by Abaris until they could catch up with him.

 

Scratch an errant lich 2

 

II

Amber had set warnings into the wards and two weeks on, she felt an attempted penetration.

What Amber had not told Zhanargul was that she was, herself, part fey, and could use some of their magics without difficulty, including the mystical forms of travel they used, which Amber called ‘fey space.’  It relied heavily on the flow of power between places of long-established power and talent, but the Carpathian headquarters of the ICCT fast response team was one of them. And Uncle Tulegan had plainly tracked Zhanargul to the vicinity, at least, even if the headquarters itself was so well hidden, it would puzzle them to find it. Amber, being Amber, had added anti-fey wards in their own language. And language was power. She slipped out in fey space to see what she might see.  Any fey who had hit the wards was going to be somewhat disoriented and unlikely to notice her for a while.  And she knew exactly where the boundaries were.

The would-be intruders appeared to be some specie of wild hunt. They appeared to have lost control of the soul-leeches, which were used to herd mortals by the air of despair they carried, which would have been more worrying had not the soul-leeches been as disoriented as their masters. The level of kick she had put on the wards was enough to make them fight to retain cohesiveness of spirit.

“One question, neighbour,” said Amber to the angry and unhappy great spirit who was in charge. “Are you just a group passing through, or are you summoned by the fool Nurtazin?”

“What – what is it to you, High Sidhe Princess?” asked the great form spirit, taking her as such for being in fey space.

“I do the asking; you do the answering,” said Amber.

“I was sent.  What of it?”

“You are still asking questions,” said Amber, using the electricity spell toned down to disrupt his form.  He writhed.  She did not hold it long; it was torture and Amber despised torture.  But one had to convince the fey that one could best them before they actually listened and the only language, unfortunately, that most understood was force.

“I regret my foolishness!” it cried.

“Very well.  I have a message to Tulegen Nurtazin; tell him that I can counter any Great Form Spirit he cares to summon for I scarcely would have had to build up a sweat for one so weak as yourself.  Tell him that his niece is under my protection; and that I will not brook his insolence in opposing her.  You may tell him that I am her fairy godmother if you like” added Amber whimsically.  “I have forgotten more about demonology than he could possibly ever learn.  Tell him to go away and play with himself; it’s about all he’s good for,” she concluded.

With a bit of luck he would overreach himself in anger and try to raise something that was beyond him that would devour him.

“I hear and obey, O princess of the Fey,” said the spirit.

“Good; now sod off,” said Amber.

The spirits collected themselves and roiled off in a rather reeling and drunken fashion, still suffering the effects of the ward line. 

Amber went back to bed.

 

Gosia was acting as go-between for Wojciech, as they had a mind-link. She had reported several times that Nurtazin was irritable about the way that the archaeologists took things so slowly; he had tried the persuasion spell to make them to move faster but one had been seemingly resistant and had thrown off the persuasion and railed at the others that they would be sacked if they did not do things properly.  They were, even so, moving faster than they might otherwise have done and had almost reached a burial chamber. 

Gosia came to Amber in the morning.

“Amber, Wojciech says that he saw Nurtazin raise some fey spirits, and he said the wards you raised would bounce them without trouble,” she said, anxiously.

“They bounced very nicely,” said Amber. “It might have been nice if Wojciech had let us know last night, but never mind.”

“I’m sorry; Michał was restless last night, so he may have tried.”

“Oh, understood,” said Amber.  “I think I’d better work with you and Zhanargul on how to destroy soul leeches, in case any of them slip the control of their fey masters. The spell is Latin, ‘ride’, ree-day it is said, the imperative of ‘to laugh’. They epitomise all that is negative, and consequently, laughter is their natural enemy. Holding your will on them is imperative to drive them inexorably to their inevitable gelastic doom ... to laugh them to death,” she translated.

“Why are some spells in Latin and some in Polish?” asked Zhanargul.

“There are some in other ancient languages, too,” said Amber. “Latin is a language of formula and ritual and has been for a long time. Polish? Well, it seems that it just works. I suspect the language doesn’t matter as much so long as your will is concentrated enough. I used to get a light out of my finger as a child by commanding it ‘shine’ in English, without knowing to use ‘Lumino’ and I don’t even bother with a word these days. Words and spells are there to concentrate the will, and ... no, I won’t say they have no power of themselves because if that was so, then runes would not be so powerful. And there again, runes are inscribed or drawn with intent. It’s one of those debates for long winter nights. And hey, who knows? Maybe Jan Sobieski was the Kwisatz Haderach, and we’re all the second reserve. Oh dear, you do not watch the right films or read the right books,”  she added as Zhanargul looked puzzled.

And then she felt consternation from Lázló and Wojciech; and they turned up looking slightly the worse for wear in the middle of the room.

“My goodness” said Amber mildly “I take it that your dark Talented has been causing you some trouble?”

“It wasn’t him; it was the blasted wight and his zombies” said Lázló.

“Right; as it’s Zhanargul’s ruddy uncle who’s the problem let’s make this lesson for her a practical one and you can tell us all about it; you didn’t call on me to hit the ground running so I assumed you were handling it.”

The boys exchanged sheepish looks.

“We could have sorted it all out then and there couldn’t we, by calling on the whole group?” said Wojciech in a small voice.

“You pair of blithering idiots, we could have hit you with power through the amulets to turn you temporarily into a pair of small gods if you needed it,” said Amber.  “Zhanargul, when you have learned enough, you will get an amulet tied to you, with your blood and that of the team, to be able to share emotions and a degree of power. And I am thinking we might do that sooner rather than later to handle your Uncle Tootles.  Boys! Tell me the worst and how come words like ‘wight’ and ‘zombies’ crept into the conversation.”

“The tomb they were digging up belonged to a chap called Abaris” said Wojciech “And we mooched off to find a Familied library; Ritter’s dad’s actually.  Turns out he was some well known priest or wizard or both who may or may not have taught magic to Pythagorus; only he wasn’t a very nice character.  And when we got back they’d broken into the tomb and he had a knife on his chest that wasn’t imbued with a soul or personality as such but it plainly had some awareness and independent action. It stabbed the first archaeologist who bent over him and drained his life force so old Abaris sat up because it went into him; and then he starts raising zombies that were ready prepared in his burial chamber; and killing the other archaeologists to fuel his power.  And Tulegen Nurtazin tries to cast a spell of control because from the wild and rather panicked tone in his voice he was expecting to have to raise Abaris and would then expect him to be grateful, instead of which the fellow is doing it all on his own.”

“And then” said Lázló “Abaris waves a hand and Nurtazin flies backward; which was the point he started gabbling about being useful to the master and begging to serve him.  He was using ancient Greek; and we’ve covered that so we were able to follow it.  I don’t know any Scythian.”

“They didn’t have a written language; the best you’ll do is a few words and names written down by mundanes,” said Amber.  “It does make using runes against the bugger more powerful though, as if he’s literate it’ll only be in ancient Greek.  Illiterate peoples tend to place less value on the written word because generally they have a very competent oral record and trained memories accordingly.  Which is one reason I train my memory by learning yards of poetry; sometimes an oral tradition comes in handy too.  I take it you decided there was too much going on and hoofed it?”

“We forgot we could use everyone,” said Wojciech. “It’s all pretty new to us. We should have just creamed him and the zombies; but we’re too used to thinking of fifty odd zombies  as being overkill.”

“Fire generally discourages any number of zombies” said Amber.  “Are they still there?”

“No; he had tried to draw us in and we resisted” said Lázló “And he was busy asking Nurtazin who the other Talented were and Nurtazin was gabbling about getting to a place of safety to use as a base from which to take over the eastern extents of Europe.”

“Well let us go and see” said Amber.  “Zhanargul you should come; we’ll protect you, we can carry you with us.” she added “Stay at the back and only watch. Wojciech, give me a visualisation.”

They teleported smoothly to an opened mound with a scene of carnage.  Of Nurtazin and Abaris there was no sign; but there were fifty zombies.  Zhanargul gasped.

“Wojciech; Lázló; you shall be the foci so you know what to do next time,” said Amber.  They gasped as power hit them from all of those for whom Amber had made amulets; and then they were concentrating their Talent in fire fiercer than any one Talented could produce, a veritable firestorm.  And the zombies burned.

“That’s the way to do it” said Amber. “Let me see if I can’t pick up a geomantic trail on this ruddy wight and Nurtazin,” she walked around, feeling with her aura-sensing and grimaced. “I think he knows enough to have summoned some fey to cloud it by passing through the place he teleported,” she said.  “We can use Zhanargul’s blood to locate him later; poor bastards of archaeologists, this is going to have to be so hushed up; you can see the ones that weren’t caught in the fire have been exsanguinated.  I think we’re going to have to burn them too and fake up some kind of freak lightening strike.  Well, Zhanka, you won’t learn any younger; help me set the scene.  Your uncle doesn’t seem to care much what mundanes see,” she added to Zhanargul

“Excuse me Amber but if you ask me he was too busy shitting bricks to even consider it,” said Wojciech. “Abaris was casting fetyshless and wordless for all the world like he had an Oxford accent and Bellamy connections.”

Amber laughed. Some Talented used a fetysh of some kind to focus their power as well as spell words; Amber discouraged it amongst her team. The amulets were enough of a crutch in her opinion, and she had half a mind to go to a higher level of ritual.

“Well it does go to prove we aren’t the only ones to do it” she said. 

“I think you should make Zhanargul an amulet,” said Lázló.  “And you will need my little sister to douse for where Uncle Tootles – Uncle Tootles, really, Amber?  That’s off the wall even for you.”

“It worked for me,” shrugged Amber. “Yes, Ágnes is going to be needed, and I suppose we won’t exclude Árpád if his twin is involved.”

“Not hardly,” said Lázló.

“Fine, you can heave them out of school,” said Amber. “I’ll sign a chit for you, and you can face down their headmistress.”

Lázló pulled a face.

“Don’t you have some stray soul-leeches to let me face instead, or a great-form fey with attitude, or something harmless?” he said plaintively.

“It is not well to joke about such things,” said Takeo, severely.

“You don’t know the old witch,” said Lázló. “She’ll agree – Ágnes has an extraordinary Talent in her field and she won’t be in danger – but the Head will make difficulties. And she will make me feel as though I have just entered her school, my pubescent Talent bubbling away and in need of training when my rampant hormones have made me teleport all the clothes off every female at the airport.”

“You didn’t!” said Amber.

“I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life,” said Lázló.  “It was a beautiful sight though ... mostly.”

Amber laughed.

“Well, I managed to set on fire the abbreviated costume of a lady in a parade” said Jeronim. “My father managed to convince people it was the sun through her diamante jewellery.  I was all of nine.”

“Now, that’s precocious,” said Lázló.

“Cossack; what do you expect?” said Amber.

“Fair point,” said Lázló.

“In the meantime, send Ritter back into his father’s library, Wojciech, Gosia, pester Councillor Wąz; and I’ll contact my Uncle Marcus and see what he has.”

 

 

 

Scratch an errant Lich 1

 this is a long short story in 5 parts, which grew out of FF, and may go in as it is to a mixed fantasy/fairy tale book with Gina and Simon or I might expand the idea of an international magical police force and see if it will expand to a modern fantasy book if anyone likes it.

Scratching an errant lich

 

I

 

The problem with magic, reflected Amber Luytens, was that nobody believed in it any more. It was what made it so hard to cover up problems caused by the magical, especially those who had no idea what they were doing.  The global village made it both easier, and harder. Easier, because a rapid-response team from The Council could readily find out about, and handle, a problem. Harder because not only did people travel, and spread their genetic heritance widely enough to make the appearance of Unfamilied Talented more likely, and because people discussed things on the internet.  The use of films and books and explaining away happenings as film locations kept those of literary bent very busy. It had been a brilliant stroke the first time that was used, on the part of someone when there were strange tales told of what had happened during the second world war in an obscure, English seaside town.

It also helped if those who were Familied had the decency to keep their Talent to themselves.

Wherein lay the problem.

“So, tell me about your uncle, Zhanargul,” sighed Amber, team leader of team Alpha, speaking to the new recruit. Zhanargul was a slim, dark girl from what Amber privately called ‘one of the Darkest Stans’. It could be hard sorting out the difference between the borders of Afghanistan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan, Kyrgiztan and if you wanted to be picky, Lechistan, which covered, in the old way of thinking, much of the Ukraine and Poland. Zhanargul Nurtazin was a princess of an obscure little kingdom which hid quietly in a valley and had very little to do with the outside world, being one of the bizarre little pockets which still was openly magical. 

“My uncle is an evil man,” said Zhanargul, in the precise English which the team, like air traffic control, used as a lingua franca. “Tulegen Nurtazin is his name, and he has tried more than once to kill my father. He wishes me dead, or married to a puppet of his, so he can rule through me. He considers himself a skilled Demonologist.”

“What a nuisance,” sighed Amber. “So you joined up as a RRT member under the Council to learn more and to keep safe?”

“Yes,” said Zhanargul. “And if my country is protected by the Council, so too it is important to do my bit towards helping out with that.”

Amber nodded.

“With great power comes great responsibility ... oh dear, I’m going to have to take you to the cinema. What is it about Familied Talented which makes them ignore some of the joys of technology?”

“In my country, an uncertain supply of electricity,” said Zhanargul, dryly.

“Oh, fair point,” said Amber. She was Familied officially, but had been adopted by relatives when they had found her in an orphanage, so she was as happy to do things Mundanely as with Talent. Her husband, Wulf, was her second in command, an Austrian; and her active team members were Wojciech Kowałski, Lázló Bathory, Jeronim Shevchenko and as a departure from Eastern Europeans, Takeo Honda. It would be nice to have another female on the team, but Amber had been picked for her facility with languages and her ability to soothe the sometimes abrasive culture differences. Wojciech’s wife, Gosia, was still recovering from birthing their son, Michał so was off the team.

Wulf was the team internet specialist, and he was out looking for more information.

He returned with a printout.

“Nurtazin is Zhanargul’s name; I don’t know if there’s anything in this, but I thought I’d bring it back just in case” he said.  Amber read the article quickly.  The name Tulegen Nurtazin was mentioned with respect to being a backer of an archaeological team investigating what was believed to be a high status Scythian tomb. 

Amber turned to Zhanargul.

“He’s paying for some Mundanes to dig up an ancient tomb,” said Amber “Any idea why?”

Zhanargul frowned.

“All I can think of is that there might be some artefact he wants to get his hands on,” she said.

Amber scowled; considered; and pulsed Lázló and Wojciech with magic, through the amulets the team shared.

They teleported in.

“I need you two to go to Uncle Marcus and have him forge you documents as Mundane historians and archaeologists; Wojciech, you can be an expert on plant material.  Lázló, you know enchanted items; be an expert on ritual significance.  This man is trying to kill young Zhanargul, here, who is our newbie; find out what he’s up to.”

They nodded. Marcus Bellamy was high in the council, and provided ... necessary equipment.

“As Talented, or Mundanes, Amber?” asked Wojciech.

“As Mundanes.  You’re credible people to take an interest, the Scythians were part of the background of all Eastern Europe.  If there’s any sort of artefact he is after, it is probably not very nice. And when I say ‘not very nice’ I probably mean ‘rather nasty’. You may have to steal it; be careful.”

“Yes mother,” teased Lázló.

“We will,” said Wojciech.  “You think he has ambitions to be a Gerhardt Schwarz of the east?” Gerhardt had been a Talented who had infiltrated the SS and rose within their ranks by ruthless use of Talent, using the mysticism of Himmler to uncover artefacts and forgotten knowledge, including making a bid for the Book of Thoth in Egypt. His plans had involved taking over from the Nazis when Europe was subdued. His career had been ended by the Council, who had sent a small group of Talented commandos to assassinate him.

“Something along those lines,” said Amber “He apparently raises great form spirits for a hobby; not something I’d like to do.”

“Yet I wager you’d do it better than most,” said Lázló “You know the dangers; and you have moral scruples.” 

“If he has a sacrifice waiting it becomes worth their while to obey him,” said Wojciech “I don’t know a lot about them but I have read widely and such things are recommended to keep demons satisfied.”

“Larverly,” said Amber.  “Well I leave it in your hands.”

“You can trust us,” said Lázló.

“More to the point you can trust us not to fuck up by showing an indecent amount of nobility like Ritter.” said Wojciech laconically.

Amber chuckled. Ritter Dunkelwald had been on the team, but was currently recovering from Core Drain, for being convinced he could handle something without aid. He was honourable to a fault, and at times, it could be a fault.

“The good news is,” she said to Zhanargul “We know where he is; even if we do not know why.  And that means he can be watched.”

Zhanargul nodded.

“Knowing that these men are my brothers and comrades, and that they watch for me is of great comfort,” she said.

“You’ll be too busy hating me as I train you to work with the team to worry about anything as minor as a wicked uncle for the next few weeks,” said Amber. “We use ritual a lot, and one thing I’m going to do, showing you the basics, is how to set up Wards. I want to strengthen our wards against such fey spirit creatures usually designated as ‘demons’ by many cultures. The fey are not, as such, evil, though individuals may be; but they are alien in thought, very capricious, and they have more or less solidity.  They are related to the more solid fey types like Wiły, dryads, Kobolds, Huldrvolk, Apsara, Rusalki and so on, which have different names in different cultures. Such races have achieved solidity by breeding with mortals, and they gain advantages and disadvantages. The discorporate and semi-corporate fey generally try to gain some form of solidity by stealing humans, or winning them. Their favourite game is known in Britain as hurley, also known in various forms as shinty, bandy, kolv and goff. It gave rise to modern games like hockey, lacrosse, golf, croquet, modern shinty, and in a rather back about face way, pool and billiards. None of which you need to know, but we do play hurley in its earliest and most brutal form, to keep fit and to oppose them at need.”

“They sound more complex than the term ‘demonology’ covers,” said Zhanargul.

“Believe it,” said Amber. “The fey are willing to use arts which would damage the souls of mortals, because they have their own checks and balances, which a mortal son of evil does not have.  You have been taught the definition of evil, of course?”

“Not really, no,” said Zhanargul.

“Schools these days!” said Amber. “Well, essentially, evil is about intent to cause harm. It is inherently selfish, for personal gain, and any adherents to a dark lord or lady are definitely minions, not disciples. Disciple implies a two-way flow of loyalty; a true dark lord gives a semblance of loyalty, to keep his followers, but inside? He doesn’t give a toss. Doesn’t care,” she added, noting that Zhanargul was unfamiliar with slang. The huristic language spell Amber was running would help the new girl to assimilate Amber’s idiom more quickly than with normal learning but it needed help.  “One could argue that spells and magic in themselves are not inherently evil, and there’s a big grain of truth in that, but we have to be careful about it. The spell.S Szabla-blask cuts, and is very useful, and one is permitted to kill with it, when facing a foe, but one must be careful not to use it too freely, and kill without thinking.”

“I see,” said Zhanargul.  “Equally the persuasion spell, rozkaz can be misused to persuade someone to do something foolish, though it cannot be used to do something seriously outside the will of the one it is cast on.”

“No, but you add ‘świetny’  to any spell, and it becomes a great-form spell. Pulls the drek out of your core unless you have tapped into the local heat and use that to power it, which is heavy ritual, and not everyone can do it.  Or, for that matter, should.  Using a great-form spell too powerful can cause local blizzards in summer, consequently changing whole weather patterns, and doing that without thinking is almost worse than dark magic. But anyway, supposing you use the great-form spell, that allows the scruples of the target to be overcome.  And if you use bodziec which needs naming magic to work properly, to stimulate as you choose – to make the target cough, sneeze, be tickled, caused pain – you can target directly the pain or pleasure centres in the brain.”

“And targeting the pain centre would be evil.”

“Well ... maybe,” said Amber. “On the other hand, it could be used to shock damaged nerves into working, in an emergency, or get a stopped heart restarted by making the body produce its own adrenaline to deal with the shock. But targeting the pleasure centre is likely to be more easy to use for evil purposes.  I mean, you can addict someone to pleasure.  I read science fiction books,” she added. “And they will be ready to do anything, and I mean anything, for the next hit of pleasure.  It’s not as simple as ‘hurting people bad, making people feel nice, good.’ Equally by using magic to get someone in your debt for the purpose of using them as a tool is dark.”

“I think now I do start to see,” said Zhanargul. “And the fey can use spells which the International Council of Combined Talents consider ... I think the word is ‘dodgy’ ... with more impunity?”

“Yes; because they have custom and usage enshrined in their society; rules about hospitality, about games, about agreements. This  is why demonology includes agreements written to force a summoned fey into doing something without taking retribution afterwards, and why demonologists with any sense use a better summoning circle than one made with chalk drawings on the floor, which can be scuffed.  I use a cast silver summoning circle quenched with my own blood in the quenching fluid to tie it to me. It would work for others, but not as well.”

“Blood magic is one of the things considered dodgy,” said Zhanargul.

Amber shrugged.

“It has a bad reputation,” she said. “It’s because the evil will insist on using unwilling blood sacrifices, and doing things like killing them,” she said. “Willing sacrifice takes one much further, and the sad, pathetic and yet ironic fact is that willing sacrifice of a little blood is more powerful than the death-magic of some random, unwilling victim.  Unless you can tap life-force. Which the fey can.”

“And do?”

“Well, this is the point of stealing and winning young humans becomes valuable to them,” said Amber. “Youngsters under the age of seven, or those in puberty have the most life force; and pregnant women.  Pregnant women don’t usually attract them, though, as they want to sire their own children on mortals, to have those with more substance as their agents. It’s one thing I suspect your uncle might try as you’re still growing, I fear; to have one of his demons get you with child, and then give you to the demon when you birth a trainable baby.”

“But ... but what would the demon gain?”

“Other than your life-force to feed on, your womb for other children, and some control over the child who is your heir and in your uncle’s hands?”

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed. I might miss my guess, but it does lead me to wonder if your Uncle Tootles or whatever his name is, is looking for something to add to his control of the fey. You know the laws of transmogrification, and how much harder it is to make something from scratch, and how it doesn’t last long?  Well, this is because any idiot can break the bonds of the strong nuclear force to make sound and fury, but creation means you have to put bonds of energy together to make it into matter, and that takes more energy. The fey can’t readily manufacture bodies, with all the time and Talent in the world, but a human can reproduce in nine months and produce a host body for one of them. Of course, unless the host body is Talented, it wears out pretty quickly. And even the Talented wear out fairly quickly. Being used by pure magic is exhausting. It’s the source of tales of those who visit fairyland, and return to find they have aged and a long time has passed. It’s a mangled story of how they return a few years later massively aged, all their life-force sucked from them.”

“Unpleasant,” said Zhanargul.

“We’ll make an Englishwoman of you yet with that level of understatement,” grinned Amber.