“What happened?”
“The child went mad. Killed them all.”
Martin winced; the images of a knife-wielding child all too vivid. “What would have happened to me if I hadn’t made the right choices?”
Xariel once more fixed his eerie gaze on Martin’s. “Then Dmitri would have ensured you were out of reach of Thomoth and waited for a new champion.”
“He’d have…”
“Yes, he’d have killed you. This war is far more important than a single life.”
How easily this man… being… spoke of killing. Martin would rather die than become so heartless. “Are you helping me, or do you intend to use me against Dmitri?”
“I don’t intend to use you at all. If Dmitri and I succeed in our efforts, you’ll do the right thing of your own accord.”
“And if I don’t?”
Xariel shrugged. “Then it won’t matter, for we’ll all be dead.”
Time didn’t pass the same in the strange realm Martin found himself in. Days seemed so much longer, or maybe being outside his element took a toll. He had very little time to worry about what might be going on in his own world. Xariel kept Martin’s mind busy.
He woke one morn to voices, one the hissing susurrus of a demon. He shot out of bed in the hovel, barely stopping himself from charging out the door. Weapons! What could be used as a weapon? No sword, no fire poker, not even a bread knife.
He crept to the window, peeking out. Xariel sat on the ground across from a demon. Instead of the normal menacing appearance, this one was… crying?
Evil incarnate itself in the form of Xariel was… comforting the creature?
Martin stepped out of the hut. The creature screeched.
Xariel placed himself between Martin and the blue-scaled demon.
“What is that doing here?” Martin spat, working up a ball of mage fire.
With a simple wave of his hand, Xariel extinguished the ball. “Martin, you are in my home. You are a guest here.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Here I was thinking myself a prisoner.”
“Are you wearing shackles? Are you staring through the bars of a cage?”
“You’ve taken me from my home. I can’t get back.”
The demon poked its head around Xariel. “He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Silence, Garamel.” Xariel eased away from the creature and gestured to the ground. “Ark… Martin. Since you’ve ill enough manners to eavesdrop on others’ conversations, you might as well join in.”
Xariel wanted Martin to sit down with that… that…thing?
“Suit yourself.” Xariel shrugged, smoothing down his simple brown robe. “Garamel, may I present Martin of the realm currently housing Thomoth?”
The demon hissed, showing a row of sharp teeth. “Thatthinghas killed many of my kind.”
“Yourkind have killed many ofmypeople,” Martin retorted.
Xariel held up a hand. “Silence. We have two choices here. We can hiss and spit and solve nothing, or we can do what we came here for.”
“What is that?” How could anyone hope to accomplish anything by speaking to a demon and an evil mage? A demon who, moments ago, had been crying, and an evil mage who’d been offering comforting words.
“We are here to discuss an alliance, to defeat a common enemy,” a new voice said.
