Underkeeper

Bernt approached the kobolds’ breach an hour after dawn, growing more nervous by the second. It was clear that word had spread overnight about what was happening down below. The city buzzed with activity like a kicked anthill. Guards were posted on every street, observing as throngs of people swarmed stalls and stores to buy up food and supplies. The guards were also, Bernt noted, each standing with a clear view of their nearest sewer access shaft.

That was probably wise. Wiser than Bernt would have given the guard commander credit for, really—but he supposed he had a low opinion of the man.

The entire area around the breach was locked down by the City Guard with barricades and armed checkpoints. He could see the command post from here—a house directly across from the hole in the street, with a large banner hanging over the doorway, and two guards standing on either side of it.

The Underkeepers had been tasked with providing security for the dungeon alongside the City Guard, and Ed was an archmage, so he would probably be inside unless there was an attack.

Bernt listened, but he didn’t hear any noises coming from the breach itself. As Jori approached, he saw through her eyes that the guards were arrayed in a semicircle around the entrance, along with Yarrod and a massive man holding a sword that seemed too large to lift for a normal person—most likely one of the city’s adventurers who hadn’t gone into the dungeon. The guards looked nervous, but these two were chatting amiably.

Nobody saw Jori, of course.

He had to walk into that command post—and so did Jori. That meant he was about to cause an incident. Not an illegal incident, of course, but still the kind that would lead to rumors, dirty looks and potentially a reputation that would make his job even harder.

Looking around, Bernt tried to find a way to sneak her in quietly, but the place was locked down. It was meant to be a secure location, after all.

Bernt swallowed. He could still walk away, but then he would lose his job. Worse, Ed or Iriala might decide Jori was too much of a problem and come after her. He didn’t know how he was going to solve this yet, but he wasn’t going to be a warlock, and Jori was going to hell over his dead body. He needed time to figure this out.

Resolved, he signaled Jori through their bond and tried to project confidence as he walked toward the door.

The guards ignored him.

That made sense. He was wearing an Underkeeper’s robes, after all.

But then Jori emerged from the sewer, climbing from the hole that led to the dungeon entrance and appearing just a few steps away.

She was fast, but her foot caught on a pebble on the quiet street as she ghosted toward him, making a clattering noise. The response was nearly instantaneous. Guards lowered their weapons, and one let out a shout. Bernt cursed quietly at their reaction. It seemed disproportionate, considering what they were up against.

He supposed they had almost certainly never seen anything that qualified as a monster before—not even one that, in Bernt’s estimation, was tiny and adorable. The guards were soft in that regard. It probably didn’t help that she’d seemingly appeared out of nowhere. But they didn’t attack right away, and Bernt raised his hands in a placating gesture.

“Relax!” he called out. “It’s fine, the cute little imp is with me. She’s assisting with the defense of the city. We have an arrangement.”

Sensing everyone’s attention on her, Jori waved and hurried over to him. The guards relaxed, a few looking a little embarrassed at his words, and Bernt breathed a small sigh of relief. For a moment, he’d been worried that they would attack. Claiming her had been the right move, though now everyone was going to think he was a warlock. He pushed the door open and stepped inside, pushing Jori in ahead of him.

There he found Ed and Iriala waiting for him in the main room, drinking tea. Iriala looked out of place, somehow. She was dressed too richly for what was essentially a war zone, but more than that, it was the way she carried herself. Iriala spent most of her time running the Halfbridge Mages’ Guild, and the rest of it in the count’s court. Looking at her like this, it was hard to remember she could probably turn him inside out with a flick of her wrist.

Both turned to the newcomers as they entered and critically eyed the pair of them. Jori cringed under their stare, as if she could sense their power. Or maybe she was just feeling Bernt’s own apprehension. Ed nodded at him in greeting. His facial expression was almost neutral, and coming from Ed, that counted as a friendly smile.

“Jori, is it?” Iriala asked, addressing the demon directly. “Did your friend here explain what’s going to happen to you today?”

Bernt had tried, but he still wasn’t sure how much she really understood. The reasons for this whole thing were abstract, and their communication so far had been more direct and practical than this.

Jori hesitated a moment, then spoke.

“You cast spells to watch me,” she explained. “So that Bernt’s master knows if I am in the wrong place.”

Iriala tilted her head a little, but she nodded. It was close enough.

“And you accept this?”

“Great Ones speak, and small ones hear,” Jori replied, apparently quoting, and shrugged. It was true enough, Bernt supposed, if a little fatalistic. He wondered where she’d picked up that particular bit of wisdom, though, considering she’d just started talking a few days ago.

It was good enough for Iriala, as it turned out, because she went on in that same formal tone.

“In exchange, you will be registered as a resident extraplanar entity in the city of Halfbridge. This means that neither the City Guard nor any official guilds will be instructed to harm you. Please note that this does not construe a guarantee of safety or protection. While you are permitted to defend yourself if attacked, you may be held responsible for any damage or injuries you cause. Penalties include, but are not limited to, banishment to your home plane.”

Jori shivered. Then, in a surprisingly clear voice, she responded.

“Yes, Great One. I accept.”

Nodding in a businesslike fashion, Iriala drew a short wand and placed the tip against the imp’s arm. Jori hissed in pain, but it was already done. When she pulled the wand back, a small shape had materialized on her skin in glowing white—an eye.

“Enjoy your stay.” Iriala said. “But keep in mind that there are people and organizations both in and outside of Halfbridge who will take a hostile interest in your presence here.”

Then she turned to Bernt.

“You will be registered as her host and guarantor. If she commits any crimes in the city, you will be held liable. I suggest you consider carefully how long you want to keep her here without a proper bond to keep her in check. The Solicitors will be looking into both you and Jori. They don’t have official authority, but no one—not the guilds or the crown—will interfere with them when it comes to managing warlock activities. They’ve cultivated an impeccable reputation for regulating warlocks and interplanar activity in general throughout all of the former Madurian Empire—including here in Besermark. You should do your best to keep them happy.”

With that, she inclined her head to Ed and swept out of the room, into the street.

Bernt looked from Jori to Ed in bewilderment.

“How…what?” he stopped himself. Then he tried again. “What was that?”

Ed scowled in his usual businesslike manner. “Jori’s been tagged and registered by mutual agreement. What’s not to understand?”

Bernt suppressed the urge to throw up his hands. “Jori, how did you even understand all that? I barely understood what was going on there. And what was that ‘Great One’ business about?”

Jori looked up at him for a moment, cringing back again.

“Great Ones!” she hissed. “She has the future-sight. A deep eye, like K’thanizar, the Schemer.”

A greater demon. Goosebumps rose on Bernt’s arms. Jori thought Iriala was like a greater demon. Disturbed, Bernt looked over to Ed for help, and the older man finally took pity on him.

“One of Iriala’s augmentations is for divining—she can probably sense it. She incorporated it into her mana network to ascend to magister back in the day. Iriala is an archmage now, so as far as Jori is concerned, she might as well be a god, even without the eye. Don’t worry about it. It’s normal, and probably a good thing.”

Bernt swallowed. “And the bureaucratic stuff? What was the point of all that? And how did she understand all that? She’s barely been talking for two days!”

“Demons are very hierarchical, and they abide by their word. Making an agreement is always a good idea.” Ed shrugged. “And she didn’t need to understand all of Iriala’s words—she could feel the intent behind them. It’s not that different from how your familiar bond works, really. The hells have a highly regimented society where total obedience is a matter of survival. Their innate comprehension of what is demanded of them is fundamental to what they are. How do you think nonverbal demons like hellhounds get contracted?”

Bernt hadn’t ever thought about it. Why would he? He wasn’t a warlock.

“Anyway, there’s one other thing I need to know from you,” Ed said, now turning to look directly at Jori. “If Bernt didn’t summon you two years ago, who did?”

Jori went still and cocked her head, thinking.

“Was a human. Very big and angry man. He was not nice! Very bad!”

Bernt had always assumed Jori must have wandered into the sewer system from outside the city. She was small enough to fit through the bars where the mains drained into the river.

“Can you be any more specific? Where were you summoned, exactly?” Ed followed up, but Jori just shrugged.

“He said I was bad! That I was wrong and useless. He was very angry, and he threw me down a nasty, wet hole. Then I was in the sewer. The sewers were better, a little—many, many rats! And Bernt found me!”

“So, inside the city, then.” Ed sat back in his chair, looking less than satisfied with her testimony.

“If we have someone summoning demons inside the walls, we have another problem to worry about. The Solicitors are going to come looking for answers to this same question, and it would be an excellent idea to have a more specific answer for them than that.”

“Uh… how specific?” Bernt didn’t want to go around hunting unregistered warlocks in Halfbridge. Granted, this one had apparently summoned Jori entirely by accident, but Bernt wasn’t sure if the culprit’s incompetence made him more or less of a threat.

Jori hissed in excitement. She was eager, and Bernt vividly sensed she was angry. He’d never sensed any hostility from her toward people, but now… She obviously still harbored some resentment toward her summoner.

“We can find the nasty, bad man!” she said. “We bring him back, and Great Warlocks leave us alone! Yes?”

Ed was still scowling, but Bernt could have sworn that he was also smiling. On the inside, anyway.

“I doubt that’ll be enough for the Solicitors,” he said, looking between her and Bernt. “But it’s a good start if you want to start off your… relationship… on a civil, conciliatory note—and I’d recommend doing that. Jori, you’re not going to stay on this plane for very long without a contract. It’s not the sort of thing we can just ignore—and those ‘great warlocks’ have very strict rules and procedures of their own to keep.”

Great. Another thing to worry about. He was not going to go warlock hunting on his own. If there was one thing he’d learned from his experiences in the dungeon, it was that going into dangerous situations alone was foolish at best, and downright suicidal in many cases. Besides, he might actually be able to get some help now. He had a party.

Bernt took a deep breath and sighed, and then changed the subject. Before anything else, he still had a job to do. That was the point of this meeting, after all.

“Do you have my assignments for the day? I need to get started.”

He needed to get back to work. This whole adventure in the dungeon hadn’t even paid for itself, and there was no telling when Ed would put him on dungeon guard duty. He needed better adventuring gear, if only to help him fight off these kobold incursions, and that was going to cost money he didn’t have. The sooner he finished that, the sooner he could worry about all of the other crises knocking on his door.

Ed stood up, handed him a list, and sat back in his chair, sipping his tea.

“Take care of that top one first. They asked for you personally.”

Curious, Bernt looked at the list. Who would even know to ask for him? When he saw where the first entry was from, he groaned.

He should have known.