I was watching them in my mirror when the call came.
“Mine,” I growled. No one dared challenge me. It has been many decades – centuries, even, perhaps – since I answered a call. I don’t need to anymore, for my mirror and my crystals and the charred bones that I toss in a pit of fine sand fulfil my mandate. And, after all, answering calls takes so much effort. But one of the callers intrigued me, and so I donned the form of a minor devil – a hamatula – and allowed the summoning magic to take me.
Clawing my way through fire and darkness I fought to endure the searing agony of the tear between the worlds. I had forgotten how much pain was involved. I allowed it to pierce my mind, clearing my head for the coming work.
Finally, I emerged through the flaming portal and into a protective symbol drawn on the ground. They always think such things will keep them safe. I scoured this one in a heartbeat, and found it perfectly crafted. Physically, I could not leave its confines. But, then, I wouldn’t be very good if I relied upon such trivial needs.
And I am. Very good.
I sized up the four who had called me. Seeing them in the flesh is always so much more enriching than watching them in the mirror. I had forgotten that thrill. Or, rather, had allowed it to drift from my mind. I don’t forget much of anything these days.
The wizard who had cast the spell and drawn the protective diagram was a bumbling human, his mind already beginning to crack under the weight of the power it was channeling. Not that he realized it yet. He would be easy.
Beside him, her bow drawn and pointed at me, a tabaxi snarled. I squinted at the arrow she had nocked. It presented no danger. Her desires were written all over her clothing and equipment. She wanted nice things. Having watched her in the mirror, I knew that she sent those things to her poverty-stricken village. As we say in Hell, the ends most always justify the means.
The goliath looming in the background wielded a large hammer which looked like it might actually do me harm. In her eyes I saw an eagerness – she wanted me to break through the diagram. She wanted to fight me. I smiled inwardly. She was practically one of us already.
Fourth in their party was an orc in priestly garb. His face was a mask of impassivity, but I have plied this trade for millennia and I saw the truth in his eyes. He hated me. I admit that his hatred aroused me. What can I say? I’m still a devil after all. I never claimed to be objective.
My hamatula form crouched in readiness and I twisted its face into a hideous scowl. I’ve discovered that mortals expect certain things and it can be effective to reinforce those expectations. At least in the beginning.
“Oh devil,” began the wizard, “foul thing from Hell, I have summoned you by the power of my will, and by my will you are bound to obey me for—”
I ignored him and focused instead on my strategy. Finally, his pronouncement came to an end.
“Do you understand?” the tabaxi asked in Infernal. My insides writhed. Her accent was truly terrible. Clearly she had picked up the language secondhand. Perhaps I could offer to tutor her. For a fee, of course.
“Yes,” I responded in Infernal. “I understand. And I do speak Common if you prefer.” What do they think? I’ve never done this before?
“The task we have set for you is this,” intoned the wizard. “We require your devilish sight to penetrate that magical darkness and inform us what lies beyond. All our attempts to dispel the darkness have failed.”
Glancing at the darkness I sighed. Mortals are so limited. I could have easily dispelled the darkness with a thought, but that would have gone beyond the powers of my hamatula form and made them suspicious. Also, it would have exceeded the scope of their request, which always makes me feel a little gross inside. Maybe that’s how angels feel when they are unable to fully accomplish a task. Perfectionists, all of us.
“I will, of course, require payment,” I snarled.
“That’s as expected,” said the orc cleric. “What is your price? Magic? Service? Gold?” At the mention of the last I saw the tabaxi scowl at her companion. Good, so I had read her correctly.
“The task you set me is simple, and so I require something simple in payment,” I responded. “I will ask each of you a question, and each must answer honestly. I will know if you lie.” I have found that the simple phrase I will know if you lie is eminently effective against mortals. They think that, as a devil, I have some cosmic power to distinguish their truths from their falsehoods. In reality most mortals are simply not as good at lying as they delude themselves into believing.
The four companions glanced around at each other. This was clearly not the price they had been expecting. I allowed them to take their time. I wondered whether they had some magical bond connecting them telepathically or if they truly thought themselves insightful enough to read one another’s expressions.
Turning back to me, the orc nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “But first you tell us what’s in the darkness, and then we answer the questions.”
“Oh, now, let’s be fair,” I retorted. “I’ll ask two of my questions, then I’ll tell you what’s in the darkness, then I’ll ask two more questions.”
“Fine,” he growled.
“My first question is for the tabaxi,” I began. I’ve always found that mortals are more willing to cooperate if they don’t realize that I already know their names and everything about them. “Which is more important – food or family?”
“Family,” she answered quickly.
I raised on of my hamatula eyebrows at her and bored into her with my yellow eyes. The eye-boring trick is a good one.
“But a family that starves is no good for anybody,” she finished ponderously.
I nodded, satisfied, and turned my attention to the wizard. “What is the most powerful spell in the multiverse?” I demanded.
“Wish.”
These mortals do love their snappy one-word answers. As if by speaking quickly they’ll avoid what is to come. I allowed myself to guffaw visibly.
“I said in the multiverse,” I repeated.
The wizard looked at me askance. “It’s Wish…” he repeated. “…isn’t it?”
I gave an audible sigh, which is harder than you’d think when you’re scrunched up in the form of a hamatula. “I will accept your limited understanding as the best truth you can offer.” I watched the wizard’s eyes go wide at that. He really was going to be so easy.
“Your end of the bargain, fiend,” snapped the cleric. “What’s in that darkness?”
I puffed out my chest for dramatic effect. “Five feet into the darkness there is a pit trap which I only assume leads to something suitably nasty. For the next twenty feet after the trap, the floor is covered with grease. Clinging to the ceiling at the back of the passage is a Balhannoth. It’s quite a vicious setup in there. Now, my next two questions. For the goliath, what’s the best fight you’ve ever had?”
She got a dreamy look in her eyes and began recounting in exquisite detail a time when four assassins had surprised their party. All the odds had seemed stacked against them, and she had felt a rush of adrenaline unlike anything she’d before experienced. She was just getting to the gory details when the cleric interrupted her.
“That’s quite enough. I won’t have us oversharing with fiends. Ask me my question so we can banish you back whence you came.”
I shrugged my hamatula shoulders. “All the same to me,” I said. “My question for you is this: Is enduring personal suffering an acceptable cost when fighting an egregious evil?”
The cleric smiled at me coolly. “Yes it is.” He turned to the wizard. “Now send the devil back. We got the information we needed.”
The wizard began chanting the words to close the portal. I had one more thing to say, which I calculated would take me seven seconds if I spoke fast. When there were exactly seven seconds left in the incantation, I began.
“By the way, there are no doors – secret or otherwise – in that area of magical darkness. It’s a dead end.”
Then I felt myself being pulled back through the fabric between worlds. With no small degree of discomfort, I landed in my chambers. I shed the hamatula skin, glad to be rid of it. Even the ten minutes or so I had endured had been stifling. I quickly found the four of them in my mirror. They were fighting the Balhannoth. Typical. Never trust a devil. But they would see that I had not been lying about the dead end. And they would call me again. Of that I was certain. I tossed some bones into the sand and smiled. It was rare that augury came back so unilaterally encouraging.
to be continued
“Mine,” I growled. No one dared challenge me. It has been many decades – centuries, even, perhaps – since I answered a call. I don’t need to anymore, for my mirror and my crystals and the charred bones that I toss in a pit of fine sand fulfil my mandate. And, after all, answering calls takes so much effort. But one of the callers intrigued me, and so I donned the form of a minor devil – a hamatula – and allowed the summoning magic to take me.
Clawing my way through fire and darkness I fought to endure the searing agony of the tear between the worlds. I had forgotten how much pain was involved. I allowed it to pierce my mind, clearing my head for the coming work.
Finally, I emerged through the flaming portal and into a protective symbol drawn on the ground. They always think such things will keep them safe. I scoured this one in a heartbeat, and found it perfectly crafted. Physically, I could not leave its confines. But, then, I wouldn’t be very good if I relied upon such trivial needs.
And I am. Very good.
I sized up the four who had called me. Seeing them in the flesh is always so much more enriching than watching them in the mirror. I had forgotten that thrill. Or, rather, had allowed it to drift from my mind. I don’t forget much of anything these days.
The wizard who had cast the spell and drawn the protective diagram was a bumbling human, his mind already beginning to crack under the weight of the power it was channeling. Not that he realized it yet. He would be easy.
Beside him, her bow drawn and pointed at me, a tabaxi snarled. I squinted at the arrow she had nocked. It presented no danger. Her desires were written all over her clothing and equipment. She wanted nice things. Having watched her in the mirror, I knew that she sent those things to her poverty-stricken village. As we say in Hell, the ends most always justify the means.
The goliath looming in the background wielded a large hammer which looked like it might actually do me harm. In her eyes I saw an eagerness – she wanted me to break through the diagram. She wanted to fight me. I smiled inwardly. She was practically one of us already.
Fourth in their party was an orc in priestly garb. His face was a mask of impassivity, but I have plied this trade for millennia and I saw the truth in his eyes. He hated me. I admit that his hatred aroused me. What can I say? I’m still a devil after all. I never claimed to be objective.
My hamatula form crouched in readiness and I twisted its face into a hideous scowl. I’ve discovered that mortals expect certain things and it can be effective to reinforce those expectations. At least in the beginning.
“Oh devil,” began the wizard, “foul thing from Hell, I have summoned you by the power of my will, and by my will you are bound to obey me for—”
I ignored him and focused instead on my strategy. Finally, his pronouncement came to an end.
“Do you understand?” the tabaxi asked in Infernal. My insides writhed. Her accent was truly terrible. Clearly she had picked up the language secondhand. Perhaps I could offer to tutor her. For a fee, of course.
“Yes,” I responded in Infernal. “I understand. And I do speak Common if you prefer.” What do they think? I’ve never done this before?
“The task we have set for you is this,” intoned the wizard. “We require your devilish sight to penetrate that magical darkness and inform us what lies beyond. All our attempts to dispel the darkness have failed.”
Glancing at the darkness I sighed. Mortals are so limited. I could have easily dispelled the darkness with a thought, but that would have gone beyond the powers of my hamatula form and made them suspicious. Also, it would have exceeded the scope of their request, which always makes me feel a little gross inside. Maybe that’s how angels feel when they are unable to fully accomplish a task. Perfectionists, all of us.
“I will, of course, require payment,” I snarled.
“That’s as expected,” said the orc cleric. “What is your price? Magic? Service? Gold?” At the mention of the last I saw the tabaxi scowl at her companion. Good, so I had read her correctly.
“The task you set me is simple, and so I require something simple in payment,” I responded. “I will ask each of you a question, and each must answer honestly. I will know if you lie.” I have found that the simple phrase I will know if you lie is eminently effective against mortals. They think that, as a devil, I have some cosmic power to distinguish their truths from their falsehoods. In reality most mortals are simply not as good at lying as they delude themselves into believing.
The four companions glanced around at each other. This was clearly not the price they had been expecting. I allowed them to take their time. I wondered whether they had some magical bond connecting them telepathically or if they truly thought themselves insightful enough to read one another’s expressions.
Turning back to me, the orc nodded. “Agreed,” he said. “But first you tell us what’s in the darkness, and then we answer the questions.”
“Oh, now, let’s be fair,” I retorted. “I’ll ask two of my questions, then I’ll tell you what’s in the darkness, then I’ll ask two more questions.”
“Fine,” he growled.
“My first question is for the tabaxi,” I began. I’ve always found that mortals are more willing to cooperate if they don’t realize that I already know their names and everything about them. “Which is more important – food or family?”
“Family,” she answered quickly.
I raised on of my hamatula eyebrows at her and bored into her with my yellow eyes. The eye-boring trick is a good one.
“But a family that starves is no good for anybody,” she finished ponderously.
I nodded, satisfied, and turned my attention to the wizard. “What is the most powerful spell in the multiverse?” I demanded.
“Wish.”
These mortals do love their snappy one-word answers. As if by speaking quickly they’ll avoid what is to come. I allowed myself to guffaw visibly.
“I said in the multiverse,” I repeated.
The wizard looked at me askance. “It’s Wish…” he repeated. “…isn’t it?”
I gave an audible sigh, which is harder than you’d think when you’re scrunched up in the form of a hamatula. “I will accept your limited understanding as the best truth you can offer.” I watched the wizard’s eyes go wide at that. He really was going to be so easy.
“Your end of the bargain, fiend,” snapped the cleric. “What’s in that darkness?”
I puffed out my chest for dramatic effect. “Five feet into the darkness there is a pit trap which I only assume leads to something suitably nasty. For the next twenty feet after the trap, the floor is covered with grease. Clinging to the ceiling at the back of the passage is a Balhannoth. It’s quite a vicious setup in there. Now, my next two questions. For the goliath, what’s the best fight you’ve ever had?”
She got a dreamy look in her eyes and began recounting in exquisite detail a time when four assassins had surprised their party. All the odds had seemed stacked against them, and she had felt a rush of adrenaline unlike anything she’d before experienced. She was just getting to the gory details when the cleric interrupted her.
“That’s quite enough. I won’t have us oversharing with fiends. Ask me my question so we can banish you back whence you came.”
I shrugged my hamatula shoulders. “All the same to me,” I said. “My question for you is this: Is enduring personal suffering an acceptable cost when fighting an egregious evil?”
The cleric smiled at me coolly. “Yes it is.” He turned to the wizard. “Now send the devil back. We got the information we needed.”
The wizard began chanting the words to close the portal. I had one more thing to say, which I calculated would take me seven seconds if I spoke fast. When there were exactly seven seconds left in the incantation, I began.
“By the way, there are no doors – secret or otherwise – in that area of magical darkness. It’s a dead end.”
Then I felt myself being pulled back through the fabric between worlds. With no small degree of discomfort, I landed in my chambers. I shed the hamatula skin, glad to be rid of it. Even the ten minutes or so I had endured had been stifling. I quickly found the four of them in my mirror. They were fighting the Balhannoth. Typical. Never trust a devil. But they would see that I had not been lying about the dead end. And they would call me again. Of that I was certain. I tossed some bones into the sand and smiled. It was rare that augury came back so unilaterally encouraging.
to be continued
