Chapter 17
The Master's Call
Castle Hannibal, Kingdom of Hannibal
"The sufetim request reinforcements, my lord," the herald said. "If Captain Bomilcar did not happen to be passing through on that manhunt business, the damage would have been far worse. There is no telling when the Mountain Devils might attack again and next time they may come in greater numbers."
These insipid little people with their insipid little problems. It made Lord Bannon's gorge rise. If only they knew that they were on the cusp of a new era, they would not waste his time with trifles like the Mountain Devils.
"Utica is not the only city that is threatened," he told the herald. "The garrisons are apportioned according to the magnitude of the threat and the value of the territory."
"Surely Utica deserves every consideration, my lord," the herald said. "Without the mines, think of the damage to trade in the kingdom, to the treasury!"
Trade... The treasury... Soon such petty matters would be swept away.
Thinking of this, Lord Bannon felt his chest squeeze. The first time he could maintain his composure, but the second time was more forceful and it unbalanced him. The master was impatient.
"My lord?" the herald asked, concerned.
Jibril stepped in on Lord Bannon's behalf and told the herald, "Return to your masters the sufetim and tell them that His Lordship has heard their plea and will take the appropriate measures."
"Then you will send reinforcements?"
"The appropriate measures will be taken," Jibril repeated. "Now go."
The herald was prudent enough not to press the issue further. He bowed and left.
"Thank you, Jibril," Lord Bannon said, clutching at his chest with the latest agonizing surge of pain.
"The master calls," Jibril replied. "Come, my lord, that you may answer him."
Jibril helped him along to his chambers. Each pulse was more painful than the last, to the point where Jibril nearly had to carry him the last few steps of the way. Once he was safely secluded in his chambers away from all prying eyes could he begin the ritual to answer the master's call.
First he stripped himself to the waist, then knelt on the floor. Next, he took a jagged shard of black crystal hanging from his neck and cut into the meat of his palm, then closed his fist over the crystal. Once the crystal had drunk enough of his blood, he could hear the master's voice clearly.
I am not one to be kept waiting.
"Forgive me, my master," Lord Bannon said, "but until the day you come into the fulness of your power, the masquerade must continue."
The master made an indistinct noise, like growling. Clearly he was displeased.
Still you have not found the child.
"My master, my men are scouring the kingdom as we speak."
Lord Bannon's chest squeezed again.
She has made contact with the Core. Now she will seek out the seat of power.
"Where is that?"
His chest squeezed again.
If she reaches the seat of power, she will be beyond your grasp. You must stop her before then.
"If you would but tell me what this seat of power is, where it is, I can send a thousand men to—"
His chest squeezed much harder this time, causing him to double over from the pain. By the time the pain faded, the master's voice was gone.
Jibril, who had been watching all this play out, stepped forward to help Lord Bannon to his feet.
"What did the master say?" he asked.
"It would seem we have failed," Lord Bannon replied. "The girl found her way to the Core."
"I thought that was impossible so long as her powers were sealed."
"Somehow that upstart must have broken the seal."
"Is that possible?"
"Not if that half-grown bastard Balthasar was telling the truth."
"Should I pay him a visit?"
"No need. We have to find the girl before she reaches something called the seat of power."
"I take it the master was once again sparing in details."
"He demands results yet deals in riddles..."
"Perhaps he does not know himself."
"A being of his power?"
"Power and knowledge are not always united," Jibril said. "In fact, they rarely are."
It was a bitter thought to imagine he might be serving an all-powerful idiot. Lord Bannon was fortunate the master could not read his thoughts or else he likely would have been struck dead just then. He looked down at the master's mark, the pulsing black vines that could easily crush his heart within his chest if he failed again.
"Your hand, my lord," Jibril said.
Lord Bannon held up the hand he had cut. Jibril licked his fingers then ran them over the wound. The wound closed up, but not cleanly, leaving a purplish scar behind. This scar was but the latest among several others crisscrossing the palm of his hand. Each time the master called, an offering of blood was required. He ought to be thankful more was not demanded of him.
"We must cast our nets wider," Jibril said, "press the sages of the castle to give us something that might aid in our search."
"If the master does not know where this seat of power is, might it be that the girl does not know either?"
"It would be wise not to hope for so much. Like as not, she knows exactly where she must go, but she has to get there first. Tobias Barca cannot elude the net forever."
"He has done well so far," Lord Bannon grumbled.
"We should not assume he is without help."
"Who would dare lend him aid?"
"At the moment, only the army knows of his treason and even among them he is sure to have allies."
Lord Bannon furrowed his brow.
"That... complicates things."
"Indeed," Jibril replied, "but we will find him, and the girl."
"We had better... or else I shudder to think of the master's wrath."