1

     As the herald’s voice lifted once again, Jereme bowed his head, shifted the folds of his cloak over
his arm, and called the demon of light to his hand.  “Well?”

     “About a hundred feet,” she chirped. “The
carpet is fifteen feet wide or so.” The little demon fit easily in his right
palm, pulsing from white globe to tiny figure and back too fast for the eye to
follow. She cast a smug look towards his left hand. “I can manage it easily.”

     “It’s nothing,” the impish demon of fire in
his other hand shot back.

     “Peace, you two,” Jereme
said without particular inflection. He’d long since given up on breaking the
demons of their willful squabbling. At least these days they acted more like
bickering siblings than blood enemies. “Cassie, thank you for
the appraisal. I’d like the light effects across the ceiling, and in
columns down the carpet, but not onto the dais His Majesty will be seated on. Gespar, smoke
and flames to accompany. No
damage.” He lifted his hand up slightly to fix the little imp with a stern
look. Gespar simply turned his oversized head away
with an indignant look. Well, better he imply Jereme
was an idiot for even thinking he needed the reminder than… any of the other
likely alternatives, most of which would probably end them in the dungeons.

     “Go,” Jereme said
as he deliberately spread his hands wider. The two demons vanished from his
hands. Satisfied that his entrance would be reasonably worthy of his title, the
Binder looked up to assess the situation once more.

     The discussion, brief as it had been, had
lasted long enough to see him near to the front of the line. Ahead of him, only
a Countess waited for the gesture to enter His Majesty’s throne room, where the
herald would formally announce her entrance to court. That Jereme
waited in this line at all, despite being here at the King’s behest, showed how
unimportant the monarch considered the situation.  Of course, Jereme
appended to his thoughts, the fact that the Circle had sent him showed just how little it thought of
the matter as well.

     I won’t
even get another binding out of this, barring a miracle. But at least I can
lean on the Inquisitor and the claenal for the real work.

     The Countess stepped forward in a huff of
powder and impatience, turning into the great doorway as the herald cried her
name out to the courtiers assembled in the throne room. The footman standing
guard on this side of the doors offered Jereme a
respectful nod that covered a quick appraisal of his person. Jereme had long since surrendered his runed
sword to the Captain’s office, so the guard returned to his stance at-attention
without offering him any trouble. This close to his announcement, with no more buffer between himself and that moment, his mind had plenty
of troubles to press on him.

     You’ve
studied the proper protocol! he reminded himself
even as he unconsciously bit his lip. You’re
a Binder! You might as well be nobility, if not an equal, to His Majesty!
But the words rang hollow. He hadn’t been a Binder for so long that he had
forgotten sixteen years spent growing up in theater, where a monarch stood so
far above you, you might sooner hope to meet the moon.

     “My lord,” a soft voice said from in front
of him, nearly making him jump. Jereme pulled his
thoughts back to reality to find the herald standing before him. The herald
made a slight motion to the great doors as he stepped backwards.  Swallowing hard, Jereme
stepped forward, turned smartly, then stepped into the
Throne Room with the herald at his side.

     “Your name, my lord?” the herald said in a
perfectly-pitched undertone.

     “Magus Jereme,
the Nineteenth Binder.”

     The herald nodded as the trumpters flanking them let out a subdued peal to seize the
crowd’s attention. He took a couple of quick breaths, then
glanced once more at Jereme. A
little smile quirked his lips, with surprising kindness. “Full
introduction,” he murmured, “I daresay you need it.”

     The trumpets quieted and the herald raised
his voice to a note than, while not seeming loud, rang perfectly off every
stone and through every corner of the room. “Magus Jereme, Acclaimed Member of the Circle of Binders, Master
of the Demons of All Hells, also known as the Nineteenth Binder!”

     Formal indeed, Jereme
thought with a wry grin. Every eye in the room had turned to him at the moment
the word ‘Magus’ was pronounced; now a sea of nobility, courtiers, petitioners,
and hangers-on stared at him intently, each one wondering at his entrance, each
one wondering how to fit him into the tangled webs and cords of intrigue,
favor, and politics to their own advantage.

     But Jereme had
been on the stage at five, and over the years had played to far more hostile
audiences. A quick self-check revealed no quickened breath, sweat-beaded brow,
twisted stomach. Still got it, he
thought to himself – and then outwards, Now.

     Brilliant white light burst out from behind
him like fingers of sun stabbing through the clouds. Where they struck the
ceiling, the light pooled, spreading out until it seemed to coat the entire
surface. From that ceiling, columns stabbed down along the royal carpet’s
perimeter, flames rising up to meet and wreathe them, as if sunlight itself had
been set ablaze.

Deliberately, Jereme
began to walk forward. As he did so, smoke rose from his feet – first small
puffs, but doubling with each pace, until tongues from the cloud burst out and
rushed forward past him as if windswept. Between the columns, the smoke
cavorted and capered in whispers, forming half-fancied images of demons,
dragons, and all manner of hellspawn.

     In the heart of this theatrical chaos, Jereme walked forward calmly – hands at his sides but
half-concealed in voluminous sleeves, robes almost trailing the ground, so that
his deliberate steps made him half seem to float. He’d have preferred to have
the hood of his cloak up, but after some deliberation had decided that the
breach of manners and royal protocol wouldn’t be auspicious. A King might find
complaint in a breach of his preferred etiquette – but never in a good show, of
that Jereme was certain.

     Fifteen feet from the throne, he stopped,
raised his right hand, then snapped his fingers. At
once the effects disappeared, as his two demons unmade all they had conjured.
The silence in the throne room could deafen. Jereme
swept his hand down, segueing the motion perfectly into a courtly bow.

     The room erupted into cheering and cries of
applause. Jereme kept his face utterly neutral, but
inside he grinned like a boy during the gift-giving on All Heavens’ Day. Even
His Majesty offered sincere applause from the throne, though the performance
had not brought him to his feet.

     Some
days I wish I could take these two on the road. He rose from the bow,
lifting both hands as he did so. Most Binders’ demons came back to them without
any fanfare or great noise unless deliberately instructed, but either Cassie and Gespar had
picked up some of his flair, or simply loved theatrics themselves. A bright
blaze of white light slapped into his right hand, a smoking red-grey orb into
his left. With a breathed “Thank you” he tapped his own power for the first
time of the display, condensing the two demons into solid crystal orb-forms. As
he lowered his arms, he pressed each orb into the opposite forearm; they passed
through his sleeves and the binding gloves beneath, dissolving into his flesh
as if they belonged there. The runes on the binding gloves shone brilliant blue
through his loose sleeves in response to his powers.

     Jereme quickly
reviewed the performance in his head. Any major problems?
None that he could see. Areas of
improvement? Details to add to the smoke figures
most likely, a greater melding of light and flame – he abruptly became aware
that His Majesty was speaking.

     “Magnificent, Magus, if We
may have the honor of so saying,” Jereme caught just
in time. His Royal Majesty, King Edrach Fandurell, sat back in his throne, fingers curling around
the ornate wolf carvings on the arms. The symbol of the Fandurell line, and thus the kingdom. The King was a cagey old wolf, or so everyone
said – canny and clever, keeping the power of the kingdom in his own hands, but
still able to take up sword and shield himself. No wonder he seemed utterly
unconcerned about this mess. The hard lines of his aged face, even concealed by
the trimmed white beard and mustache, seemed utterly relaxed and at ease.

     Around them, the courtiers had resumed
their initial incomprehensible murmurs, but Jereme
felt acutely conscious of their attention on him. Formal language, now. “Such as I
have shown you is but the merest and least of the
powers a skilled Binder can command, Your Majesty.” No lies to the King, now;
completely false implications would be his limit.

     “Yes, yes, We
know,” the King said airly, one hand waving in a
vague circle. “We have had the honor of working with some of the greatest of
your Circle in Our time. We are pleased to see the Circle remembers its duties
to the people, and heeds Our call.”

     We
answered as seriously as you called. Outwardly he merely bowed again. “I
hope Your Majesty will excuse a bold question as zeal, rather than effrontery.”
At His Majesty’s indulgent wave, Jereme continued. “I
would ask if the representatives from Arishkalla and Ordos have yet arrived, in response to Your Majesty’s
summons.”

     “Ah, yes.” The King mused a moment, then
lifted his voice slightly to indicate that his next words, though to Jereme, were for the benefit of the court. “The Order of
the Five Seasons and the Knights of the Storm Heaven’s Inquisition, who
together with the Circle of Binders safeguard our lands from all demonic
threats and the threat of portals to the infinite hells, shall be at your side,
Magus.”  The assemblage let out a cheer
as the King, in so many words, reassured them that everyone was doing their
jobs properly and the threat was being handled by the professionals. Good
statesmanship. Good showmanship. Jereme found himself
liking this King.

     “In truth,” His Majesty continued, voice
back to more conversational tones, “the Arishkallan
presented herself to Us not two days past. Lady Tyche, is she…?” Jereme followed
the King’s look to an elderly woman in subdued red robes, already shaking her
head. “Bah,” King Edrach said with no particular heat,
settling back into the throne. “Devotee Sennaya
kindly consented to consult with Lady Tyche on
matters of alchemy and anatomy. Lady Tyche, you will
kindly take the Magus to make her acquaintance upon the chimes.”

     Lady Tyche simply
curtsied in response. His Majesty returned attention to Jereme.
"We thank you for coming, Magus Jereme. Having
indulged your boldness, We would ask an indulgence of
our own.”

     Whims of the crown… hoping this would not
be too unpleasant, Jereme offered a bow. “I am Your
Majesty’s servant.”

     “We are not unfamiliar with the ways of a
Binder,” His Majesty said for the benefit of the court, though it was also news
to Jereme. “Recognizing the skill in the entrance you
made, We would meet the demons responsible, if such is
practical.”

     On the stage, especially before a crowd,
things often went wrong or simply awry, and the first rule in such cases was to
never break character. If not for years of that, drilled into his head and then
forcibly practiced during any number of odd, unplanned incidents, Jereme’s ‘practiced courtier’ expression would have
vanished beneath a slack jaw and wide-eyed shock. He kept his man-of-the-world
attitude, just barely, though his heart and lungs began to race with the
peculiar exhilaration that came with the necessity of improvisation.

     A number of thoughts flashed through his
head, too fast to conceptualize into words. The King had not ordered it. He had
not asked either, but had come as close to doing so as the royal dignity
allowed. Cassie and Gespar were not under his direct
control – to do so would reduce them to reactive puppets, lacking volition or
initiative – but had proven quite reliable, even friendly. And… though the fate
of every true performer might be to go uncredited for
their best work, Jereme saw no harm in allowing them
their bow.

     Before his pause turned from “casual
consideration” to “struggling for answers,” he said quite languidly, “I should
be happy to do so, Your Majesty. So long as,” he pitched his voice louder,
sweeping a stern look over the mass of indistinct bodies of the court, “those
gathered mind not the invocation of demons.”

     “You have already invoked them once,
Magus.” A slight smile betrayed the droll note in the King’s tone. “It may
perhaps be too late to consider their wishes on the subject.”

     “It is one thing, Your Majesty, to have a
demon produce a light or a smoke. It is another thing to bring them forth
directly.”

     His Majesty lifted his gaze to the court.
If any might have objections, they gave them no voice – which was exactly what Jereme had hoped for. The assembled nobility and whatnot
had been given a chance to protest, and if they chose not to out of a desire
not to offend their liege, well, they couldn’t later say in good faith they’d
had no chance to object.

     Jereme folded his
hands into the overwide sleeves of the opposite arms,
placing his palms along his forearms. Most Binders made every effort to display
their binding gloves when they invoked, so that the runes on the black silk
would add weight to their authority and presence. But Jereme
followed the prestidigitator’s rules, beginning with never revealing more than
the trick absolutely requires. And if the King did know anything of Binders, well, best he not see
the true limits of Jereme’s strength.

     He called up his power, and orbs coalesced
from his arms, their passage through the binding gloves making the runes glow
brilliant blue once again. His left hand caught the fire orb that emerged alone
from his right arm, while his right hand deftly plucked the light orb from its
orbit about his left arm, leaving the other to sink back into his flesh.  He invoked his magic as he tugged his hands
free, so that his audience saw him produce the demons of light and fire
seemingly whole-cloth from his sleeves.

     A
far cry from rabbits and pigeons! He
carefully kept his grin from his face.

     “Your Majesty, if
it please you, may I have the honor of introducing Cassie, demon of light, and Gespar, demon of fire.”

     Gespar, bless
him, bowed so low it seemed his forehead would touch his toes – and then imp
turned it into a perfect midair somersault. A smile touched the King’s lips,
slight but nonetheless genuine. Cassie shot from Jereme’s
other hand, describing a complete circle around the throne in a blink, then
came to a scintillating halt before His Majesty.

     “I remember you,” she said, her birdlike
voice a little reedy.

     The King’s eyebrows went so high they
threatened to vanish beneath his crown. “We beg your pardon?”

     “Forty years ago, you would say, or
something similar. The hells know no years.” The court had fallen utterly
silent now, every ounce of its attention on the demon and the King. Jereme bit his lip viciously, wondering if the price of
interruption would be less than that of letting this proceed.

     “Forty…” His Majesty trailed off, brow
furrowed as he sought for a memory more than half his life ago. “1248, do you
mean? The War of the Sunwyrm?”

     “The Sunwyrm was
our leader,” Cassie agreed. Her form shifted between minature
woman and ball of light so swiftly her features, if she had any, were never
distinct, only the outline. “You slew him, King Edrach,
by the power of the Throne and the Right.”

     “So I did,” the King said, his eyes
seeing nothing but that long-past battle. “The gods favored me that day.”

     “Always, King Edrach,”
Cassie said, her voice chiming. “We knew that day that you were a true King, that no demon of light could stand against you. Ever
since, even the greatest of us in the hell of light dared not invade while you
lived.”

     The King shot a swift glance at a robed
minister by his side, who after a moment’s thought made a circular gesture with
one hand, accompanied by half a shrug. “And yet you came back to this world,
Mistress demon,” he said back to Cassie. For the moment all else seemed forgotten.

     “Demons do not know human time,” she
chirped. “Not unless they spend time with humans. I was a scout, come to see if
you still lived. I see now you do, but soon your light will fade. My Binder is
my friend, and so my people will not hear from me. But please, Your Majesty, do
not show yourself to demons, or ask to meet us. To know that you will die soon
would be all they wished.”

     Cassie shot back into Jereme’s
hand so fast it seemed she would sprain his wrist from the impact, but her
touch felt lighter than air. He stared at the pixie-light for a long moment,
both shocked by the whole conversation and deeply touched. Few bound demons
thought of their Binders as friends.

     “Scene stealer!” Gespar cried shrilly, one fist shaking at the demon of
light, and the tension broke. His Majesty laughed; the rest of the court soon
followed suit, probably out of relief. A hysterical giggle nearly slipped out
of Jereme as he tucked his two demons back into himself.

     “Your Majesty, I’d no idea…” he began. The
King cut him off with a motion of one hand.

     “It was Our
request, thought clearly We’d no idea what We’d asked.” Though thoughtful, the
King still seemed in good humor. “We confess We’re
somewhat flattered that demons would hate and fear Us after all this time,
though now We wonder if we will ever be able to raise sword to a lesser demon
of light without remembering your companion.”

     “It is exposure to humans that changes
demons, Your Majesty,” Jereme said. “But only a bound
demon may earn that. The friendly lady who spoke to Your Majesty out of seeming
kindness bears passing little resemblance to the shrieking hellspawn
who spent most of the first week of her Binding
attempting to blind me permanently.”

     “Advice well-taken, Magus,” the King said,
an absent tone implying that he’d already put the conversation from his mind.
“But We have taken up too much of the afternoon in our
indulgences. Attend us, then, until chimes.” 
His Majesty waved one hand once more. 

     Sensing his dismissal, Jereme
bowed smartly, then stepped back a respectful number of paces to insinuate
himself into the crowd. Well then. The audience with the King had not gotten
him beheaded, so all had gone as well as he could have hoped, he supposed. Now
all that remained to him was decided which of the gods was the most appropriate
to pray to for the miracle of something like that never happening again.