The Stories of Elaine Cunningham

Renwick simply did not see things as other men did. To his eyes, symbols turned this way and that upon the page, rearranging themselves into unintelligible patterns that required long study to decrypt. His mind demanded that certain runes be written in certain colored inks or they would be perceived as something altogether different. There was nothing wrong with his memory, but his spells, once learned, were still unreliable, for he was likely to invert words and gestures. None of these troubles, however, lessened his ambition or dimmed his conviction that he was destined for great things. The notion of gaining mastery over his malady through a demon's magic pained him, as did the role he must play to convince Yamarral that he was a "worthy" ally, but some paths toward the greater good must needs pass through dark and dangerous places.

"A fair exchange, for you will not soon tire of the girl," Renwick promised. "She is as quick-witted as she is fair. Under your tutelage, she could become a wizard of great power. Through her, your dominion over these parts would be assured for many years to come."

"This has possibilities," Yamarral admitted. "And what form would your payment take?"

"A blood token."

The demon's brows flew upward. "Long years have passed since a mortal bound himself and his bloodline to my service! I had thought this knowledge lost since before the Ilythiiri took to tunneling into the dirt like badgers and calling themselves drow. But since you know something of my history, I assume you also know what befell those who treated with me?"

"Of course."

"Of course," Yamarral echoed with mock gravity. "And you hope to avoid this… how?"

"I am twin-born."

For long moments, demon and wizard regarded each other in silence. "Either you are not quite the fool you appear," Yamarral said softly, "or your folly exceeds all boundaries previously known to me."

A frisson of unease ran up Renwick's spine, but he refused to entertain doubt. Some mystical force bound the twin-born, inclining them toward a shared purpose. This was common knowledge; the demon assumed, as Renwick had intended him to, that Renwick meant to transfer any ill effects of this magic, as well as the legacy of demonic bondage, to Samular and his descendants. But Renwick had made long study of the twin-born tie and was confident in his knowledge of its strengths and weaknesses. If any man could stretch them in ways never before tested, it was he.

He cleared his throat. "You will have the traditional safeguards, naturally. Our bargain is void if you are returned to the Abyss by me or any other. I will possess whatever magic our bargain yields until the day you return to the Abyss, but any new spells or magical devices I might wish to create in the future will require either your consent, or the will of your blood-bound servants."

"By which you mean the paladin's pretty daughter and the demonspawn I intend to get on her." Yamarral lifted one brow, and his lascivious smile turned sly. "Since you know something of my history with mortals, you are no doubt aware that I breed only twin-born sons. They will look alike, but one will favor his sire. You won't know which one, of course. We are tossing the dice, you and I, with much riding on the outcome."

This was the moment Renwick had dreaded. Was it possible to lie to a demon? Could Yamarral hear the nervous quickening of his heart, smell the stench of falsehood in his sweat?

Renwick fashioned a smirk and set it firmly upon his lips. "Where it is written that the blood token must be held by only one heir at a time? And is it not possible that kinsmen, as well as descendants, could be bound by the blood-token pledge? Why could I not share the burden and the benefits with two others of my blood?"

Yamarral thought it over. "The thing has never been done, but I see no reason why it could not be as you say."

"Then let the token reside in three parts. I will claim one third of the token and derive from it the power I need for my daily work. The three parts, wielded with the agreement of three blood-bound, must unite to realize the token's full power. We will also divide among us the consequences of that power." Renwick shrugged. "Hardly the legacy the good paladin might desire, but no doubt his faith will sustain him through the dark times ahead."

Yamarral laughed delightedly. "You surprise me, Renwick Caradoon! I did not expect such vile treachery, and I mean that as a compliment."

"Taken as such," Renwick lied. He set Nimra's portrait down and picked up the ready parchment and quill. "Now, shall we discuss the particulars?"

29 Mirtul, the Year of the Banner (1368 DR)

Waterdeep

To a man whose height could be measured by a single hand-span, even a paladin's library was a dark and dangerous place.