Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

“No.”

“I’m surprised,” replied Astaroth. “It was very popular once upon a time. You see, Brigit and Elias were hardly childhood sweethearts. In fact, her father had already given his blessing to another suitor and did not approve a match to the brazen young sorcerer. But Elias was exceedingly stubborn and far too dangerous to simply dismiss out of hand. When Bram proclaimed that he would meet whatever demands Brigit’s father cared to set, the shrewd patriarch saw his chance. He devised a list of tasks so perilous that few believed Bram would even survive, much less fulfill them. Of course, they were mistaken. The Archmage not only completed the tasks and won his bride, but he also multiplied his fame in the bargain. Who could resist the story of the smitten sorcerer defying death time and again to win the hand of his truelove? The bards ate it up with a spoon and spread the tale to every shore.…” The Demon paused and tapped his chin. “Can you tell me what’s missing from the minstrels’ songs?”

“Brigit’s former suitor,” said Max, frowning.

Astaroth inclined his head. “Like myself, you have an instinct for justice,” he remarked. “What indeed happened to her betrothed? The bards never delved into such details because I daresay it complicates things. It just might make you consider your Archmage in a less flattering light. As you know, Brigit honored her father’s oath and married Elias Bram. But was she happy with this turn of events? Did she ever grow to love the arrogant young Archmage? Only she could say. Some have surmised that she was not pining for Bram when she waded into the sea but rather for this former suitor … the man she was supposed to marry.”

Max cleared his throat. “Well, what happened to him? The other suitor, I mean.”

“Sad stuff,” sighed the Demon. “Ironically, this fellow had been Bram’s closest companion. And despite this man’s many virtues, Elias still dominated and outshone him in every conceivable way. There was nothing the poor boy could have or achieve that Bram could not take or surpass. However, that all changed when this friend found love. Until that day, Bram had no interest or use for such sentiments, but nevertheless it galled him that this associate—this inferior —should possess something that he did not. And thus the spiteful Archmage resolved not only to take a wife, but also to take the very woman with whom his friend was smitten.”

“That’s terrible,” Max said.

“Yes, it is,” concurred Astaroth. “But you must understand that winning was never enough for Elias Bram; others also had to lose. And so you see, the famous tale of Bram’s heroic courtship is actually one of history’s great betrayals. Shall I tell you the name of Brigit’s suitor or can you guess?”

“Marley,” concluded Max stiffly. “It was Marley Augur, wasn’t it?”

“Correct,” Astaroth hissed. “You’ve always thought of Marley as a villain and a traitor, but aren’t those labels better suited for Bram? Be very careful of trusting Rowan’s fate to the Archmage, Hound. One might say that those who know him best, love him least.”

It was an uncomfortable revelation and Max wondered if David knew these allegations about his grandfather. Max did not doubt that they were true. For one, Astaroth never lied. For another, Max had also read some of Bram’s own papers and had to admit that nothing the Demon said ran counter to the tone or tenor in the writings. Elias Bram had been an arrogant young man; he had been consumed with his own achievements and advancement. And then there was Marley Augur … the blacksmith’s loathing of Bram, his desire for revenge, had staved off death itself and turned him into a revenant. The hatred was real and its origins were deep.

Still, Max gave a bitter laugh. “Should we look to you, then?” he wondered. “Will ‘the Great God’ come to Rowan’s aid when Prusias storms our gates?”

The Demon’s smile vanished and he glided almost within arm’s reach, hovering like a phantom.

“You have but to ask,” he whispered solemnly. “You have but to ask and I will come to you. Do you remember how to call me? ‘Noble Astaroth, pray favor thy petitioner with wisdom from under hill, beyond the stars, and beneath the deepest sea.’ Utter these words, Max McDaniels, and you shall have an ally in your hour of need.”

“How generous,” Max observed. “And what would you expect in return?”

“One minor service,” replied the Demon.

“And what would that be?”

“You must slay Elias Bram.”

Max smiled in disbelief before simply shaking his head.

“Don’t assume my motives are purely selfish,” Astaroth cautioned, leaning close. “It may be in your interest to destroy the Archmage.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He does not love you, Max McDaniels. You frighten him. You are a demigod and your lineage is very great. The Archmage’s powers are in full bloom, but yours are in mere infancy. Bram knows there will be a day when he cannot stand against you. Given the man’s past, do you really believe he will let that day come?”

Once he’d posed the question, the Demon stopped and awaited a response. Max gave a rueful smile.

“Your words are always poison.”

The Demon sighed and leaned upon his staff. “Truth is a bitter draught, but the wise man swallows it. Consider what I’ve said, Max. Sleep on it. Should the wolf come scratching at your door, know that you have an ally in waiting. Speak the proper words and we have a contract. Speak the proper words and I will aid you.”

“That will never happen.”

“As you will,” replied Astaroth softly. “But never is a long time and Rowan’s hour draws near.”

As Astaroth spoke these words, Old Tom struck ten o’clock. The notes rang clear and cold as the Demon backed slowly into the woods. And as he did, his ghostly form seemed to fade and dissipate. At last it unraveled into a wisp of vapor that scattered on the wind.

Following this strange and unsettling proposal, Max returned to the Manse. Once there, he retired to his room and remained there for two days. He did not share news of the Demon’s visit with anyone. A part of his consciousness—a hopeful sliver—wanted to believe that he had imagined the whole affair. Besides, what was he to say—that Astaroth was willing to save them in exchange for Elias Bram’s murder? Such an awful temptation might bitterly divide Rowan’s leadership when unity was needed.

Max regretted the conversation extremely. The Demon’s offer was an immense burden upon a mind and conscience already laden to capacity. He brooded over the many facets of their discussion, pacing about his room and gazing up at the starlit dome. While Astaroth never lied, he was often selective about what he shared and was perfectly willing for others to draw their own conclusions. He rarely relied on direct confrontation or brute force; his were more subtle schemes of leverage and manipulation. The Demon was notorious for moving allies and enemies about like chess pieces. Max did not fool himself that he could divine Astaroth’s grander game, but he did not have to be a pawn.

When in doubt, keep things simple .

He had no sooner resolved to speak with David when his roommate entered the observatory carrying Toby.

“Here you are,” said David, sounding distracted. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” said Max. “What’s up?”

“We’ve heard from Natasha Kiraly,” replied David, heading toward his bed. “She has the Workshop engineer and is waiting at the safe house. We’re going to make the switch.”

“Farewell, friend Max!” cried Toby. “As I set forth into peril, I do so with a full heart and no regrets. Was it Tennyson who once said—”