There was nothing romantic about plotting rebellion. In the stories, the hovel of a bar the unlikely heroes chose as their base of operations was cozy and warm despite its humble decor and meagre offerings. The summoners had also chosen such a place for their meetings. One did not scheme in crowded taverns or upscale inns. They had to be discreet and that meant squatting in places no one would look at twice.
There was nothing cozy about drinking alongside the unwashed dregs of society. A terrible smell assaulted visitors upon opening the door, something sour created by too many spilled things left to dry, fouling the stagnant air trapped inside the small bar by boarded-up windows. Small lamps doused the main room equally in firelight and shadows. Most of the furniture was chipped and the floor was wet with what Luke hoped was just spilled drinks. He had tried the food once and never would again. Not the kind of place the nobleman ever thought he would find himself entering.
It was aptly named the Dirty Dagger. Despite such a terrible moniker and a worse appearance, the bar was quite popular. With the wrong kind of people but a villain’s coin spent the same as a hero’s. The unwanted crowded the tables, drinking the swill disguised as ale and swapping stories with strangers.
There was even a bard slowly plucking the strings of a lyre, their face hidden by the oversized hood of a black cloak. Luke had never heard their voice but the small bowl they kept at their feet saw a steady flow of coin. One of the many suspicious happenstances Luke had witnessed during his visits but he kept his nose out of it. The last thing he needed was more problems.
The barkeep watched him carefully as he approached. Without a word, he set down the mug he was cleaning and lifted a small part of the counter, allowing Luke to pass. He’d been around enough that he no longer had to prove his intentions.
Behind the counter was a door that led to a narrow hall with two doors. The door to the right was used as storage. Luke saw a skinny young man with a nasty scar across half his face and a nastier scowl working inside for a moment before the worker slammed the door shut. The left was a mystery. Luke’s goal was at the end of the hall. Right before the back entrance was a tattered brown rug. It was a little out of place and very ugly but what it hid would have drawn more attention.
Luke’s features scrunched in disgust as he pinched the end of it and flipped it aside, revealing a small door. He grunted as he pulled on the circular handles, straining to lift the heavy wood. The faint glow of the same cheap lanterns used in the bar illuminated a heavy ladder. Luke indulged in bitter murmurs as he put his feet on the first rung, grabbing the bar on the back of the door to pull it closed as he descended.
The cellar was a cramped space. The walls were too close and the ceiling was too low to be accommodating. Still, it was a far sight better than anything up above.
For one, it was clean. It was also private, which was what the summoners needed most. A small round table and four chairs sat in the center of the room, three of the seats occupied by his recently acquired comrades.
The most surprising of them was the young patriarch of the newly renamed Mason family, Gordon Mason. The son of his greatest enemy who, for all his life, looked to be shaping up to be a fine heir to the Grimoire’s traditions of arrogance and cruelty before suddenly having a change of heart following the death of his father. He didn’t become a saint but did become respectable.
Junior, as Luke would forever think of him despite it no longer applying, had put an end to the rampant abuse of the mental affinity. Beautiful men and women no longer had to worry about being snatched off the street and turned into mindless playthings for depraved perverts. Powerful families no longer lived in fear of being blackmailed with their darkest secrets.
Despite that, the Mason family had only grown in power. Their coffers were full and their influence surpassed its peak during his father’s stint as a royal adviser. An outcome that didn’t make sense to outsiders but as a summoner, Luke understood the success. The answer lay in the beautiful creature standing behind Junior’s chair, smiling softly as its whip-like tail slowly waved side-to-side.
The Grimoire family had seen the changes Junior intended for the family and rallied to replace him. It should have been a bloodbath. Instead, despite his contract being a circle three thrall, he gained control of every succbi his family had contracted. The fight ended before it could begin.
In one move, the young patriarch secured total control over the family and eliminated all his dissenters. Riding in a carriage pulled by the succubi with no obstacles in his way, the only feasible outcome was a rapid rise to success.
Personally, Luke thought that growth was the source of their woes. Gordon Sr. had always been a pain in the king’s side but there was nothing he could do about the man without inciting chaos within the capital. Besides, the Grimoires had an understanding with the crown. The king let them be to harass the masses and they didn’t actively plot his downfall. Boundaries created an uneasy trust.
Senior’s death must have seemed like a miracle given by the saints. Nobles were like vultures. When one of their own fell, they rushed all over themselves to pick over the remains. The royal family, the most powerful nobles in the kingdom, were no exception and the Grimoires should have made a juicy meal.
Not only did they not get to dine on the family’s resources, the new patriarch emerged stronger than his predecessor. Junior was nothing like his father. He didn’t have the same vices or ambitions. That meant there were no deals that could be made to control him and that made a lot of people very nervous.
It escaped no one’s notice that the only recognizable elemental on the banned list were the succubi. The crown was afraid of the Masons. If they could no longer wield the family’s terrible reputation against them due to Junior’s reforms, there would be no stopping them. Therefore, the king had decided to take action before it was too late. Put the Masons to the sword before people forgot the sins of their forefathers. The rest of the summoning community were simply collateral damage.
The other two occupants of the table were new to him. The Tomes didn’t engage with other summoners. He wouldn’t say it aloud but he considered wild summoners to be inferior. His family had centuries of tradition that trumped anything that could be learned through interacting with self-taught individuals who had taken up the art because they’d failed to become proper casters.
Even at the Summoning Hall, he hadn’t learned anything. It was simply the ideal environment to conduct research. However, what they were attempting couldn’t be done by any one group so Luke tried to keep his bias to himself.
In the seat next to Junior was a middle-aged man wearing fine clothes and an expression of contempt. His usual appearance. He had the pale complexion common to the capital, with common brown eyes and dark hair that was thinning at the top. He called himself Lazarus, though Luke would bet ten gold crowns that it wasn’t the name he was born with, and he claimed to specialize in “prideful” summons. Elementals that looked down on human summoners and would demand unreasonable or impossible terms to secure a contract.
The man was interesting enough, if a bit grating. More importantly, he volunteered to form the contract with the drakkon, knowing full well the consequences. That alone would be enough to earn Luke’s respect. Anyone who risked their life so he didn’t have to risk his deserved common courtesy at the very least.
Seated next to him was a young man with the golden complexion of the south and curly hair tied back with a clip. An unusual style for men in the capital but he was an artist and they were always an unconventional bunch. His paint-spattered pants and loose shirt that exposed enough of his skinny chest to be considered indecent added to his strange appearance.
He would be the one to draw the circle. Luke had been recruited for his knowledge but he didn’t have the steadiest hand or most colorful mind. Summoning was an art of intention. A magic where the creative excelled as much as the scholarly.
Luke was the best in one respect, and dared anyone to say otherwise, but lacked in the ther. If the circle was a written invitation, Luke was the best candidate to draft the words but Ambrose had better penmanship. Supposedly, having another draw a circle was a common practice amongst independent summoners. Ambrose and his master were the most well regarded amongst those who specialized in such work.
“Lord Tome!” Ambrose called with a youthful enthusiasm Luke both admired and despised. “Thank you for joining us once again. Since some of us are still missing, perhaps we can have another discussion.”
“I’m sure the others will be here soon,” he replied while taking his seat, unwilling to play teacher. “And there are other things we should be discussing. Junior.”
“Old man.”
“Have you spoken with my daughter?” When their plan had gotten underway, he’d thought to include her. Not just because of her powerful wife. Lourianne had proven herself a capable summoner. She also had the right temperament, willing to spend weeks researching and crafting the perfect circle.
One day, she’d be better than him, something he was looking forward to almost as much as the day she finally decided to stop pretending to be allergic to responsibility and pushed aside his brother to claim the Tome family. It would have been nice to have had her beside him.
“Why do you think she would speak to me before you?”
“You seemed to have grown closer before she left the capital.”
Junior scoffed before throwing a discreet glance at the succubus beside him. “She doesn’t contact me directly, but I hear things. Apparently, she’s messing around in Victory.”
“Victory?!” Luke shouted, feeling a rare bout of concern. He had never been to the northernmost territory of the kingdom, but all knew it was a place where men died in droves. “By the saints, what’s she doing there?”
“What anyone’s doing there this time of year, I suppose. Don’t get your robes twisted in a bunch. She’ll be fine as long as that monster is beside her.”
“…of course.” The thought of the powerful elf quashed his momentary worry. It still mystified him that his daughter had brought home such a “wife”. Her marrying another woman was unexpected but easy to accept when said woman was a foreign princess of incredible power. “That explains why I haven’t received a response to my letter.”
“Is your daughter particularly skilled?”
Luke unconsciously straightened with pride as he turned to the curious artist. “She is.”
“…is she beautiful?”
He blinked at Ambrose, shocked into silence facing the unrepentant smile the young man wore. “What kind of man asks a father that question?”
“One that wants to secure a future beyond paints. It would be an honor to marry into a family with the history of the Tomes and it’s best to keep it all in the community, isn’t it? I am a good man who knows how to treat a woman well, I assure you.”
“You better stop there,” Junior said, Luke remaining quiet as he tried to formulate a response to the unexpected proposal.
“Oh? Does the young master of the Masons have an interest? There were rumors that a young woman had inspired your many changes. I thought it referenced the lovely creature beside you but given Lord Tome’s words, perhaps not?”
“Don’t joke. I’m not—" Junior abruptly stopped, once more looking toward his succubus. Then he let out an explosive sigh. “Lou’s a wonderful woman but has no interest in men. No, she is anti-men. The best-case scenario of you showing any interest in her is being shooed away like a stray dog. If you try to broker an engagement behind her back, you’re dead, no doubt about it. Won’t even be her. I’d bet good money her wife kicks down your door and puts an arrow through your eye.”
“Unless I can woo them both.” Ambrose shrugged at the incredulous look Junior fixed on him. “It’s not my first time seeing two women inclined to one another. I wouldn’t get between a romance, but two hands can hold two women, you know?”
“…your death,” Junior muttered.
“If you three are done gossiping,” Lazarus sneered. “Perhaps we can speak of something of substance. For example, our demands.”
Luke leaped onto the topic he knew how to handle. “We’ve already decided this,” he said, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
“And they are too small. We are going to contract a drakkon in the middle of the capital. The crown and the most important nobles in the kingdom will be at our mercy. Now is the time to think ambitiously.”
“We have plenty of ambition, but haste will doom us all.”
“How about you actually manage to contract the thing before talking about demands,” Junior scoffed.
“Our success is guaranteed.”
“Famous last words.”
Luke agreed. Luckily, the sound of the cellar’s door being opened saved him from wrestling with either his comrades’ egos or questionable interest in his daughter.
There was nothing romantic about plotting rebellion. In the stories, the hovel of a bar the unlikely heroes chose as their base of operations was cozy and warm despite its humble decor and meagre offerings. The summoners had also chosen such a place for their meetings. One did not scheme in crowded taverns or upscale inns. They had to be discreet and that meant squatting in places no one would look at twice.
There was nothing cozy about drinking alongside the unwashed dregs of society. A terrible smell assaulted visitors upon opening the door, something sour created by too many spilled things left to dry, fouling the stagnant air trapped inside the small bar by boarded-up windows. Small lamps doused the main room equally in firelight and shadows. Most of the furniture was chipped and the floor was wet with what Luke hoped was just spilled drinks. He had tried the food once and never would again. Not the kind of place the nobleman ever thought he would find himself entering.
It was aptly named the Dirty Dagger. Despite such a terrible moniker and a worse appearance, the bar was quite popular. With the wrong kind of people but a villain’s coin spent the same as a hero’s. The unwanted crowded the tables, drinking the swill disguised as ale and swapping stories with strangers.
There was even a bard slowly plucking the strings of a lyre, their face hidden by the oversized hood of a black cloak. Luke had never heard their voice but the small bowl they kept at their feet saw a steady flow of coin. One of the many suspicious happenstances Luke had witnessed during his visits but he kept his nose out of it. The last thing he needed was more problems.
The barkeep watched him carefully as he approached. Without a word, he set down the mug he was cleaning and lifted a small part of the counter, allowing Luke to pass. He’d been around enough that he no longer had to prove his intentions.
Behind the counter was a door that led to a narrow hall with two doors. The door to the right was used as storage. Luke saw a skinny young man with a nasty scar across half his face and a nastier scowl working inside for a moment before the worker slammed the door shut. The left was a mystery. Luke’s goal was at the end of the hall. Right before the back entrance was a tattered brown rug. It was a little out of place and very ugly but what it hid would have drawn more attention.
Luke’s features scrunched in disgust as he pinched the end of it and flipped it aside, revealing a small door. He grunted as he pulled on the circular handles, straining to lift the heavy wood. The faint glow of the same cheap lanterns used in the bar illuminated a heavy ladder. Luke indulged in bitter murmurs as he put his feet on the first rung, grabbing the bar on the back of the door to pull it closed as he descended.
The cellar was a cramped space. The walls were too close and the ceiling was too low to be accommodating. Still, it was a far sight better than anything up above.
For one, it was clean. It was also private, which was what the summoners needed most. A small round table and four chairs sat in the center of the room, three of the seats occupied by his recently acquired comrades.
The most surprising of them was the young patriarch of the newly renamed Mason family, Gordon Mason. The son of his greatest enemy who, for all his life, looked to be shaping up to be a fine heir to the Grimoire’s traditions of arrogance and cruelty before suddenly having a change of heart following the death of his father. He didn’t become a saint but did become respectable.
Junior, as Luke would forever think of him despite it no longer applying, had put an end to the rampant abuse of the mental affinity. Beautiful men and women no longer had to worry about being snatched off the street and turned into mindless playthings for depraved perverts. Powerful families no longer lived in fear of being blackmailed with their darkest secrets.
Despite that, the Mason family had only grown in power. Their coffers were full and their influence surpassed its peak during his father’s stint as a royal adviser. An outcome that didn’t make sense to outsiders but as a summoner, Luke understood the success. The answer lay in the beautiful creature standing behind Junior’s chair, smiling softly as its whip-like tail slowly waved side-to-side.
The Grimoire family had seen the changes Junior intended for the family and rallied to replace him. It should have been a bloodbath. Instead, despite his contract being a circle three thrall, he gained control of every succbi his family had contracted. The fight ended before it could begin.
In one move, the young patriarch secured total control over the family and eliminated all his dissenters. Riding in a carriage pulled by the succubi with no obstacles in his way, the only feasible outcome was a rapid rise to success.
Personally, Luke thought that growth was the source of their woes. Gordon Sr. had always been a pain in the king’s side but there was nothing he could do about the man without inciting chaos within the capital. Besides, the Grimoires had an understanding with the crown. The king let them be to harass the masses and they didn’t actively plot his downfall. Boundaries created an uneasy trust.
Senior’s death must have seemed like a miracle given by the saints. Nobles were like vultures. When one of their own fell, they rushed all over themselves to pick over the remains. The royal family, the most powerful nobles in the kingdom, were no exception and the Grimoires should have made a juicy meal.
Not only did they not get to dine on the family’s resources, the new patriarch emerged stronger than his predecessor. Junior was nothing like his father. He didn’t have the same vices or ambitions. That meant there were no deals that could be made to control him and that made a lot of people very nervous.
It escaped no one’s notice that the only recognizable elemental on the banned list were the succubi. The crown was afraid of the Masons. If they could no longer wield the family’s terrible reputation against them due to Junior’s reforms, there would be no stopping them. Therefore, the king had decided to take action before it was too late. Put the Masons to the sword before people forgot the sins of their forefathers. The rest of the summoning community were simply collateral damage.
The other two occupants of the table were new to him. The Tomes didn’t engage with other summoners. He wouldn’t say it aloud but he considered wild summoners to be inferior. His family had centuries of tradition that trumped anything that could be learned through interacting with self-taught individuals who had taken up the art because they’d failed to become proper casters.
Even at the Summoning Hall, he hadn’t learned anything. It was simply the ideal environment to conduct research. However, what they were attempting couldn’t be done by any one group so Luke tried to keep his bias to himself.
In the seat next to Junior was a middle-aged man wearing fine clothes and an expression of contempt. His usual appearance. He had the pale complexion common to the capital, with common brown eyes and dark hair that was thinning at the top. He called himself Lazarus, though Luke would bet ten gold crowns that it wasn’t the name he was born with, and he claimed to specialize in “prideful” summons. Elementals that looked down on human summoners and would demand unreasonable or impossible terms to secure a contract.
The man was interesting enough, if a bit grating. More importantly, he volunteered to form the contract with the drakkon, knowing full well the consequences. That alone would be enough to earn Luke’s respect. Anyone who risked their life so he didn’t have to risk his deserved common courtesy at the very least.
Seated next to him was a young man with the golden complexion of the south and curly hair tied back with a clip. An unusual style for men in the capital but he was an artist and they were always an unconventional bunch. His paint-spattered pants and loose shirt that exposed enough of his skinny chest to be considered indecent added to his strange appearance.
He would be the one to draw the circle. Luke had been recruited for his knowledge but he didn’t have the steadiest hand or most colorful mind. Summoning was an art of intention. A magic where the creative excelled as much as the scholarly.
Luke was the best in one respect, and dared anyone to say otherwise, but lacked in the ther. If the circle was a written invitation, Luke was the best candidate to draft the words but Ambrose had better penmanship. Supposedly, having another draw a circle was a common practice amongst independent summoners. Ambrose and his master were the most well regarded amongst those who specialized in such work.
“Lord Tome!” Ambrose called with a youthful enthusiasm Luke both admired and despised. “Thank you for joining us once again. Since some of us are still missing, perhaps we can have another discussion.”
“I’m sure the others will be here soon,” he replied while taking his seat, unwilling to play teacher. “And there are other things we should be discussing. Junior.”
“Old man.”
“Have you spoken with my daughter?” When their plan had gotten underway, he’d thought to include her. Not just because of her powerful wife. Lourianne had proven herself a capable summoner. She also had the right temperament, willing to spend weeks researching and crafting the perfect circle.
One day, she’d be better than him, something he was looking forward to almost as much as the day she finally decided to stop pretending to be allergic to responsibility and pushed aside his brother to claim the Tome family. It would have been nice to have had her beside him.
“Why do you think she would speak to me before you?”
“You seemed to have grown closer before she left the capital.”
Junior scoffed before throwing a discreet glance at the succubus beside him. “She doesn’t contact me directly, but I hear things. Apparently, she’s messing around in Victory.”
“Victory?!” Luke shouted, feeling a rare bout of concern. He had never been to the northernmost territory of the kingdom, but all knew it was a place where men died in droves. “By the saints, what’s she doing there?”
“What anyone’s doing there this time of year, I suppose. Don’t get your robes twisted in a bunch. She’ll be fine as long as that monster is beside her.”
“…of course.” The thought of the powerful elf quashed his momentary worry. It still mystified him that his daughter had brought home such a “wife”. Her marrying another woman was unexpected but easy to accept when said woman was a foreign princess of incredible power. “That explains why I haven’t received a response to my letter.”
“Is your daughter particularly skilled?”
Luke unconsciously straightened with pride as he turned to the curious artist. “She is.”
“…is she beautiful?”
He blinked at Ambrose, shocked into silence facing the unrepentant smile the young man wore. “What kind of man asks a father that question?”
“One that wants to secure a future beyond paints. It would be an honor to marry into a family with the history of the Tomes and it’s best to keep it all in the community, isn’t it? I am a good man who knows how to treat a woman well, I assure you.”
“You better stop there,” Junior said, Luke remaining quiet as he tried to formulate a response to the unexpected proposal.
“Oh? Does the young master of the Masons have an interest? There were rumors that a young woman had inspired your many changes. I thought it referenced the lovely creature beside you but given Lord Tome’s words, perhaps not?”
“Don’t joke. I’m not—" Junior abruptly stopped, once more looking toward his succubus. Then he let out an explosive sigh. “Lou’s a wonderful woman but has no interest in men. No, she is anti-men. The best-case scenario of you showing any interest in her is being shooed away like a stray dog. If you try to broker an engagement behind her back, you’re dead, no doubt about it. Won’t even be her. I’d bet good money her wife kicks down your door and puts an arrow through your eye.”
“Unless I can woo them both.” Ambrose shrugged at the incredulous look Junior fixed on him. “It’s not my first time seeing two women inclined to one another. I wouldn’t get between a romance, but two hands can hold two women, you know?”
“…your death,” Junior muttered.
“If you three are done gossiping,” Lazarus sneered. “Perhaps we can speak of something of substance. For example, our demands.”
Luke leaped onto the topic he knew how to handle. “We’ve already decided this,” he said, not bothering to hide his exasperation.
“And they are too small. We are going to contract a drakkon in the middle of the capital. The crown and the most important nobles in the kingdom will be at our mercy. Now is the time to think ambitiously.”
“We have plenty of ambition, but haste will doom us all.”
“How about you actually manage to contract the thing before talking about demands,” Junior scoffed.
“Our success is guaranteed.”
“Famous last words.”
Luke agreed. Luckily, the sound of the cellar’s door being opened saved him from wrestling with either his comrades’ egos or questionable interest in his daughter.
