ARC 7-Cursed Fates-111-Callan (Patreon)

Things had been going well for Callan. Perhaps too well. Maybe that was why he was currently crouching and crawling, trying to avoid stray spells and knives.

When he first received a summoning record from Lourianne Tome’s thrall, he only had vague ideas of power and achieving it. Contracting the Vanity King had opened his eyes and mind to much grander visions. He had never been shy. When he saw the opportunity, he latched onto it, determined to milk it for all it was worth.

The result was the Grand Summoners. He knew he would need a following if he wanted his elemental to remain loyal, but it became more than he could have ever imagined, far faster than he thought possible.

He was not alone in being a man of common talents in search of a privileged future. Support flooded in, from summoners of the Hall that wanted to spread the uncommon art and the downtrodden of the city. In a matter of days since he started recruiting, he had dozens of members. After weeks, hundreds. Everyone wanted a chance to be more.

However, there was only so much they could contribute. The guilds were a different story. They had wealth, they had connections, and most importantly, they had authority. With their backing, it wouldn’t just be the desperate uniting around Callan. It’d be the whole kingdom.

Of course, that was only if the guilds weren’t crippled by their business with the north. He was no fan of war but the hunter that approached him made it quite clear that Callan would benefit greatly should Quest manage to dissuade Victory from collecting its debt. He had been asked if he could make a difference. He replied by asking if thousands of manabeasts, as the weaker elementals he had in mind for the hunters to contract were slightly intelligent animals at best, would make up the difference. The hunter had liked his answer.

But there were two things Callan had been clear about. His new partners asked him if he could contract an elemental that could rival a master caster. If they could substitute fairly useless novice hunters with coefficients of less than a hundred with experienced, master casters, Quest would trounce the northmen, titan-killers or not. Had he said yes, the guilds would have lined up to kiss his ass, but he knew enough about life not to make promises he couldn’t keep.

Those elementals were far from convenient beasts. They were human in all the ways that mattered, including a human’s ability to reason and a human’s titanic ambitions. Some of them even had human cruelty. They wouldn’t be satisfied with a steady diet of meat or precious metals. They had designs.

Callan didn’t think himself a weak man or a particularly gullible one, but he knew he was out of his depth when it came to such creatures. King was one such being, but the record had made the contract easy, outlining the elemental’s wants and the best way to approach him. One day, Callan would guide the members of his group through such summonings, but he wouldn’t stake his burgeoning reputation on his ability to do so in the present.

The second demand he’d divested himself of was in regard to Lourianne Tome. They questioned if, as a summoner, he had a way of dealing with her. Or, better, if he and King were willing to fight for the guilds. To that, Callan had responded with a resounding no.

Oh, he would love to put the noblewoman in her place and repay her for every humiliation he suffered at her hands. Maybe one day he would. That day was far from being realized. He was under no illusion about his abilities. More importantly, he had read up on succubi and he knew very well the abilities of Kierra. Fighting Lourianne was well beyond his abilities. That’s why he only agreed to assist the guilds.

Maximum benefits for minimum risk.

That minimum risk was meant to keep him away from Lourianne Tome. Yet, he found his demonstration interrupted by the very woman tearing through some of the best fighters in the city. The saddest part was that it wasn’t even a close fight. He didn’t see much as most of his attention was on preserving his own life but from the few glimpses her risked, he saw something right out of a cheesy story.

The noblewoman was being pelted with magic of all kinds. Fire, water, ice, bits of rock, sharp bits of metal, blasts of air that roared through the room, and more. One bastard even threw lightning, the muted clap of thunder that accompanied it nearly deafening Callan. None of it worked.

Some of the attacks injured Lourianne but nothing stuck. Nothing knocked her down. Not even the fighters that dared risk getting close to her, darting between the rain of deadly projectiles. He knew she was strong. He didn’t know that she was fast and a very practiced fighter. Or at least she gave that impression, the way she dispatched the fighters. Her movements weren’t nearly as graceful as Kierra’s, who moved with unnatural speed and precision, giving off the impression of a dancer as she weaved through the room, but she was efficient.

One blow was all it took to put down a hunter. They were experienced fighters and they worked together to keep her at bay, but it didn’t matter. Eventually they made a mistake, and that mistake ended their life. With every downed attacker, their assault became that much harder to keep up, making the next mistake even more likely.

But it wasn’t Lou’s ability that unsettled Callan. It was the noblewoman’s expression. He’d been in many fights throughout his life and they’d inspired a whole range of emotions. Anger. Excitement. Fear. Everything in-between. That was normal.

What wasn’t normal was dispatching men and women with the ease of stomping insects with a perfectly bored expression. He couldn’t tell if the stoicism was forced but, at first glance, Lourianne didn’t appear to care at all that she was currently enduring a barrage that could bring down a master caster. She didn’t blink as people became corpses and the building threatened to collapse on top of them.

Callan wasn’t a coward. A coward wouldn’t get into a ring to face off against Foundation acolytes with nothing but grit and his bare fists. The bravest of men would feel his same struggle as he watched the slaughter and fought the primal fear clawing at his mind. It sapped his reason, tossing aside useless concepts like hunters, nobles, and ambition. It boiled down his circumstances to simple, natural facts. He was weak, vulnerable prey trapped in an enclosed space with predators savaging the herd he was meant to draw safety from.

The fear pressed on him, urging to make himself smaller and run away. It was hard to think past it. Especially when it was making sense and his thinking wasn’t getting him anywhere.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

Callan looked up from where he was crouched behind a small mound of crumpled ceiling to find glowing pink eyes looking down at him. Some of his fear receded, but only some. After all, the eyes were not kind. Beautiful, but not kind. Unnerving if he didn’t recognize them.

“Come on.”

He hesitated when the thrall extended a hand toward him but only for a moment. There were no other options and he wanted, no, he needed out. The thrall pulled him to his feet and confidently guided him alongside the outskirts of the conflict to one of the holes in the ceiling. Beneath it, the thrall scooped him up and before he could think to complain about the embarrassing position, she leaped to the upper floor and set him on his feet again.

A large portion of his fear was eased when they finally escaped the building. The flames in the distance weren’t a good sign but he could deal with that later. For the moment, he was just glad to be alive. “Thank you,” he said as he gratefully sucked in air, uncaring he could taste a hint of smoke and a lot of blood.

Had he cut his lip? A quick check with his tongue revealed he had and as soon as he acknowledged it, other aches made themselves known. He’d gotten out of the death trap of a basement but not unscathed.

“No need to thank me. You’ve done an admirable job.” Callan stumbled as the ground shook from the fight below. The creature was unbothered, tail whipping back and forth. “You put that record I gave you to good use. At this rate, the Grand Summoners will stretch across the kingdom in a generation.”

Callan jerkily nodded and started walking toward the gate. He didn’t want to be anywhere near the monsters spilling blood beneath his feet. “Maybe, before this…mess. With the resources of the guilds, even the king would have to take us seriously. Now…”

Now, it’d be a miracle if he could convince his people to leave their homes until the business with the north was settled. It was also possible that the harsh realities forced upon them would sap their ambitions altogether and Callan would have to rebuild, somewhere else. “I apologize. You gave me that record to help me, to save you from that…woman. But after what I’ve seen…” He shook his head. “It’s impossible.”

The thrall giggled. “Don’t worry, pet. Lou can be a vexing hunt, hm? She’s even managed to surprise me. Right under my nose, she went and matured. Decided she wanted to grow up instead of being my adorably hopeless summoner practically overnight. Ah, ah. This is why I truly despise grief. Its effects are always so unpredictable.”

Callan paused and stared at the creature. In response, she stopped and met his gaze. Remnants of his fear returned and started niggling at him. “I want to ask you a favor.”

“Go on.”

“I need you to tell Lou that I’m not her enemy. That I had nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, if only I could lie to her. That would make things so much easier. And it would be a lie, wouldn’t it? You’d slit her throat the second you had the opportunity. Or maybe not. You don’t seem the kind to dirty your hands, if you can help it.”

He flinched at the implied insult. “Are you not the same?”

“I couldn’t be further from you, pet. Especially in regards to Lou. If it were within my power, I’d shelter her from any danger, perfectly safe in a comfortable little box with a nice view. I’d give her anything she ever wanted, so long as she stayed put.” The thrall sighed. “It’s a small dream, or perhaps a very large one, but what are we without ambition? I’m sure you understand.”

Callan grit his teeth. The creature was very much a mystery to him but as a carpenter’s apprentice in the Grand Market, surrounded by the best talents of the kingdom, he knew condescension when he heard it. “Will you do it?” he said through grit teeth.

“I cover for you, sure. And you will do something for me.”

“…what?”

“You are going to, hm, what is the best way to put this to you? Grow a pair?”

“Wh—"

Her hand clamping over his mouth silenced him. Callan’s fear surged as he stared into the beautiful but cold eyes. It whispered to him that one of the predators had followed him out of the building. “This city is about to go up in flames. You are one of the few people has some ability to stop that. Well, King does. So, instead of making the little kitty dance for the guilds’ gold and amusement, I’m asking you to do something of relevant importance for the first time in your life. Tell the guilds that your Grand Summoners won’t be standing with them and if they try to drag the city into their mess, you’ll have something to say about it.”

Callan stumbled as he was thrown backwards, a hand idly rubbing his jaw. “What makes you think I’ll do a thing you’ll say after that?”

“Because if you don’t, I’ll tell Lou about the fantasies you have of her wife. This new enlightenment of hers aside, she’s still horribly insecure at heart. A few graphic details and she’d throttle you before day’s end.”

“…you’re different.” This was a far cry from the creature that had been nearly in tears as she asked for his help.

“Aw. Did I hurt your feelings, pet?” He flinched away from the tail that gently caressed his cheek. “I’m sorry.” She didn’t sound the least bit sincere. “Normally, I’m much better about my masks but I’m a bit frustrated at the moment. And since you’re not worth the bother of keeping up the act, I thought I’d tease you a little. It’s not as fun as I’d hoped. You’re offensively drab.”

Callan’s fear had been devoured by his rising temper. “Who are you to insult me? A damn slave to that disgrace of a woman?”

The thrall tsked as she shook her head. “Have you heard the saying that a dragon that serves a king is still a dragon? Alternately, the queen of an ant hill is still an ant. Your station is the least of the things that define you, pet. Something you’ll learn eventually if you don’t get yourself killed. Now, as boring as this is, I have other things to do tonight. Take care of yourself. It’d be the most minor of inconveniences if you died but an inconvenience still.”

He watched in disbelief as the creature disappeared into the night. And, as he had done so often, he swallowed his anger. Unlike before, he didn’t have to swallow it forever. Inconvenience?

He’d show her an inconvenience.