Underkeeper

Jori broke through the circle of incapacitated underkeepers and flung a handful of hellfire at the dwarf, who was still on the ground, emitting a sort of wheezing groan.

The other mortals were all out of the fight for the moment as far as she could see, though she was sure that Josie herself would be right behind her. Without pausing to see what happened with the dwarf, she flung herself past the bulky duergar and at the imp, who had stopped for a second at Josie’s scream, but like Jori herself didn’t seem seriously affected otherwise. He turned his head this way and that, looking for the source.

Jori barreled into him, claws first, and tore at his hide drawing gouts of blazing blood. She tried to ignore the imp's screeching and power through the incandescent blood burning her hands and arms, but flinched away when it splashed onto her face, hissing with pain.

Only then did she realize her mistake. She needed to buy time for the others to recover from Josie’s scream and to deal with the duergar. But the air in the tunnel was getting hot. She couldn’t afford to throw around a lot of hellfire, or for either herself or her opponent to get injured too much. It wouldn’t take long before the mortals would start burning their lungs with every breath.

She needed to stall.

“Stop, cousin!” she hissed, improvising. “Why are you attacking us?”

It didn’t work. The imp ignored her, gathering fire in one hand and flung it toward one of the goblins. The guard had recovered enough to move and managed to roll away from the liquid flames, though a few droplets still spattered onto her armor. Suddenly much more lively, the goblin woman squeaked in surprise and slapped at the flames in panic.

Thinking furiously, Jori tried something else. “You’re interfering with the Great One’s plan!” she bluffed. “He will devour you when you are returned home.”

At that, the imp turned to her and squinted, backing up a step.

“What Great One?” he said, warily. His eyes widened suddenly. “Wait. Dzhorianath?”

Jori blinked. What? She stepped closer and examined the other demon’s torn-up face and mottled coloring.

Well. How about that? He really was a cousin. One of those who had submitted to greater powers while she hid. He’d done well for himself.

“Gegrenoth!” she said, surprised. “Where are the others? Are you all working with the duergar? What happened to everyone?”

Behind her, Jori heard a gasp, followed by a pained moan. Josie had gone to work on the duergar by the sound of it. The other imp glanced behind Jori for a moment before narrowing his eyes and answering.

“We were bound by the fiend Tallash, who is bound by the whisperer Zijeregh, who is bound by the greater shade Nuros, favored servant of Varamemnon.” Gegrenoth said, with a nearly ritualistic cadence. “Whom do you serve?”

“I have powerful patrons,” Jori said evasively. “Their goals are secret, I don’t know them. But I can help our pack. Get them out, maybe... It was Tallash, you said? I know some warlocks…”

“I am stronger than you, little one. I don’t need your help.” The other imp scoffed at her. “And our pack is shrinking. Soon it will be gone. The weak die together, and the strong grow alone, each their own way. You know that.”

Jori did know that. But she didn’t believe it. Not anymore.

She bared her teeth at Gegrenoth, ready to spring at him again when his head disappeared with a blunt sound of impact, knocked clean off his shoulders. Fire fountained up in its place, reheating the air in the tunnel, which had just started to cool off to normal levels again.

The body toppled over, and a few seconds later, the hellfire stopped gushing out of the body. Jori exhaled a breath in a sigh. Too bad. He would be restored in the flames of their home plane sometime tomorrow.

What an ass.

“What'd you tell him?” Dayle asked, stepping up to nudge the demon’s body with the toe of his boot. “Pretty nice distraction, I reckon.”

Jori nodded distractedly.

“Josie!” Dayle said, turning to the warlock somewhere behind Jori. “Kustov told me what you could do, you know? But I didn’t know it was like that. You could put half a company down on their asses without even trying! Did you ever consider enlisting? I know there ain't a warlock corps or anything like that. But you know, maybe there really should be.”

Jori looked back to find Josie shaking her head at the mage.

“Warlocks are officially banned from serving in any crown military force,” Josie said seriously. “It’s literally one of the oldest laws in the entire realm. Besides, I’m a solicitor. The military can't afford me.”

Dayle put up his hands in mock surrender and moved off to join Lin, who was checking on the goblin that had been spattered with hellfire. Jori could see that one sleeve of the goblin’s mail had partially melted. Depending on how well the gambeson underneath held up, she could imagine that she might have a day off with a healing potion ahead of her.

All things considered, it had gone surprisingly well. No one had died, and it didn’t look like anyone was seriously injured, even if a few of the underkeepers here looked like they might need a break and something strong to drink after being exposed to Josie’s psychic attack.

The warlock moved closer and bent down to check on Jori. “Are you alright? I saw you get hit right in the face. Doesn’t it hurt?”

Jori grunted. “It’s fine.”

She was in a sour mood. Her pack, the few remaining imps of the massive swarm that she’d been born with, were attached to the enemy. Sure, Gegrenoth was doing just fine, but the others… they were just like she had been. Small, mostly helpless and not smart enough to understand that they were probably just being kept as food for their fiend master, Tallash.

“I heard what you said, you know.” Josie said. She crouched down next to her and studied her face curiously. “You want to help them, right?”

Jori didn’t answer, she just glared at Gegrenoth’s unmoving form.

“Why?” the warlock asked. “Why help smaller demons?”

The little imp scratched her head, considering the question. Then she looked up to meet the woman’s inquisitive eyes. “Someone should.”

Concentrating on the enticing sense of something she could feel over by the dead duergar, she drew the spiritual residues from the body as she turned away.

“Someone should care. Come on. We have to get back on patrol.”

–----------

Something felt different as Bernt stepped out onto the small plaza just outside the Undercity gate, heading to the Mages' Guild after his shift. It was less oppressive. People were walking a bit more slowly than the day before, and a few small stands were open on the periphery, selling warm snacks and drinks to chilly passers-by in the crisp autumn air.

And there was music. Bernt looked around, finally finding a young man tucked away in a corner with a three-stringed fiddle. He wasn’t playing a specific song as far as he could tell. It was more like someone aimlessly practicing – playing a bit of something, then switching to something entirely different on a whim. He was good though, very good.

Bernt took a deep breath, feeling a weight that he hadn’t realized he was carrying slide off of his chest. It felt nice. Great, even. Trying on a smile, he moved on, heading toward the Mages’ Guild to work on his hellfire derivative.

As he left the plaza and headed down the street, he wondered how serious the morale situation on the surface must be if the Count was paying the Bard’s Guild to lift the spirits of the general populace. Was Elyn out there somewhere?

Ahead, a small crowd had formed around a street preacher – a young priest wearing white. He reminded Bernt of Torvald a little, at least until he heard him talk.

“–do not be led astray by promises of false defenders, guardians come from the hells themselves to save you... from what? Themselves? We must be vigilant against such deceptions. We must stand firm against the forces of evil and all those who traffic in their darkness.”

A few people shouted in agreement, but others rolled their eyes and kept walking. Bernt did his best not to look too conspicuous as he skirted the group.

“Didn’t see that guy get into a fire fight with some kind of flaming demon dwarf,” someone grumbled as he passed by.

What was all this about?

Bernt was back in the Lower District, just a few blocks from the Mages’ Guild, actually, when he felt something watching him. Whipping his head around, Bernt scanned his surroundings. He checked the mouths of alleyways and the faces of the people passing by. An elderly dwarf who was walking right behind him cursed at him for stopping and glared as he stepped around him.

He was being watched.

It was almost like a physical thing, and he wasn’t the only one who felt it. Everyone in this part of the street was rushing along, throwing glances this way and that. But there was nothing to see. Nobody and nothing was peering threateningly from a window or over a rooftop.

Swallowing nervously, Bernt ducked his head and hurried along. Something had changed up here. That bard – and probably others – weren’t just out here to lift the spirits of a population under siege. They were fighting something.

Were these the silent watchers that the possessed duergar warlock had mentioned?

Shivering, Bernt turned the corner and lengthened his stride, nearly breaking into a jog to get inside the walls of the massive guild structure.

–-------

“Sir, it’s getting worse.” Josie said, handing her daily report to the head solicitor. “I saw two shades on the way up today, and there are other things out there, messing with people in the streets. I’m guessing watchers from the fifth hell and maybe a couple of questioners from the second.”

Radast nodded. “That fits with our other intelligence. I already advised the count to take countermeasures, and he has. We’ll work on neutralizing at least some of them on our end. A few of the better exorcists from the Temple District are supposed to get involved as well, but Count Narald didn’t sound sure that they would cooperate with one another. It’s unclear how effective they’ll be.”

Josie grimaced. You could always trust the clergy to pick the most opportune moments to cripple themselves with pointless infighting. At least Torvald had seen the threat and done something, even if he was an obstinate moron.

“Our little demon was involved in the fighting today,” he said as he scanned the summary page of her report. “Did you get the details?”

She nodded. “It’s on the last page. I was there. We saved a few lives and Jori stopped another imp from most likely cooking half the guards and the mage.”

Radast smiled with satisfaction. “Good, good. That’s perfect. I’m going to get some ‘eyewitnesses’ out into the pubs with this. Maybe we can make a bit of a name for you, while we’re at it.” He met her eyes and grinned – a rare, genuine expression on a man who generally prided himself on his self control. “Solicitor Josie, I believe you may end up breaking new ground for us. Keep this up and you’ll be the first warlock celebrated as a hero in this city since before the fall of the Madurian Empire.”

Josie inclined her head to her mentor. His praise meant a lot – she knew that Radast wasn’t the sort of person to offer it lightly. A lot of people thought of the man as little more than a sinister and arrogant charicature of a warlock – he certainly played into it when it suited him. But he was more than that, too. A fiercely proud man with a worthy goal.

It didn’t hurt that with his help, she very well could become one of the most famous warlocks in Beseri history – and perhaps the first one that wasn’t framed as a villain.

She smiled back and excused herself. She needed to be up early tomorrow – she was scheduled to work on the interception team with Kustov and Bernt again an hour before dawn.