17. Demon's call

"You're sure it's the real thing?" Alined's hand tentatively stroked the valuable leather cover and the gold fittings of the book he held.

"The Prince led us straight to it. It was in the old Count's grave." Cajolingly, grovelling as always, Trickler danced around his master, rubbing his hands in joyful anticipation of a reward.

Alined's fist shot out and hit the slimy magician and Court Jester in the face.

"That's not what I wanted to know" the King roared. "Is it or is it not the Book of Demons. You told me you'd know the moment you set eyes on it!"

"It is the original" Trickler, brutally woken from his pleasing dreams, whined and sniffed while his nose bled profoundly. "I felt it when I touched it. It's real. They…the demons whispered to me."

"Did you open it?" Alined snapped, not in the least perturbed by the man's whimpering.

"No, Sire. But the demons…. They almost overwhelmed me. It was like that day I invented the dampening field that surrounds this house, suffocating any magic but mine inside these walls. When I recited the spell from Llanfair's handwritten notes...you know, the ones we first retrieved from Antek of Llanfair..." Trickler shuddered, but where anybody else would have taken it as a distinct warning that this corrupt, utterly unconscionable man should shudder at anything, Alined did not.

"What did they say, huh? A dinner invitation with you as the main course? I'd like to attend that myself." The King guffawed, beastly amused by his joke at the servant's expense.

Trickler didn't answer that; instead he kept his head down. The sycophantic jester drew in his horns like a frightened dog and yet there was a defiant streak in his features. "I know from then that I can't handle this kind of magic" he said. "And I wouldn't advise you to try it on your own."

In the next second Trickler yelped again when his ear was brutally twisted and torn. Alined's face was red with anger. "Do not remind me of your uselessness or I might ask myself for what I'm feeding you."

"You'll need the boy's help, master" Trickler wailed. "Merlin. But he's not very cooperative. Two days without food or water and he still yelled at me to get lost when I checked up on him."

"And who would blame him, eh?" The King let go of the hapless jester only to viciously kick his leg. "So it's high time we instil some cooperativeness in the young warlock. Bring me Pendragon!" and Trickler made good use of the opportunity to leave his master's sight.

Regrettably – if anyone in the world would've gone as low as to pity Trickler – his troubles were far from over.

For two whole days Alined had exercised patience. His three prisoners had been forced to do the same, which had done nothing to improve their confidence. Trickler's King was a coward, but, as Gaius had once granted him, an intelligent one.

The Jester had to deal with two thoroughly unnerved young men and while one of them was cautious and determined to assess the situation before he acted, the other one was hell-bent on making good on his former mistakes.

Merlin would have been proud of his favourite royal prat, as for once in his life it was Arthur who chose to be careful. However, Antek's much tried patience was as raddled as a worn out shirt.

The background story of Llanfair's misery was a complex one.

The quarrel in the forest had seen the last of Antek's stubborn defiance; the Count would've given much to regain Arthur's … whatever it had been they'd felt for each other before. Perhaps 'regard' was the correct word.

This friendship to the Pendragon Prince – indeed the one and only friendship in Antek's life – was thoroughly in shambles and only now, as it was too late, young Llanfair began to really appreciate it. So he was determined to make sure that Arthur came out of this unscathed. Naturally it had to be done in the Prince's full sight, so that he could appreciate Antek's valiant efforts on his behalf. After that, the Count of Llanfair would resume his lonesome fight for Blackrock and his people's future. Secretly Antek enjoyed this last bit of his fancy, it sounded so very selfless and heroic.

As young Llanfair had assumed that, once Merlin was in Alined's hands, he and Arthur could steer clear of the King and whatever business he had with the young warlock, persuading Alined's men to let them go should have been a piece of cake as well as the perfect opportunity to see the Prince safely on his way to Camelot while Antek kept his head on his shoulders.

Instead all three of them had ended up as Alined's prisoners and, honestly, after two days of captivity Antek saw all his hopes perish. Not only that they were obviously in some danger about which Arthur obviously knew a lot but obstinately refused to speak. Said Prince openly showed how much he despised his former friend; and this tormented Antek more than he'd ever thought possible.

Besides all that, Antek did not dare think about what Cendred thought about the mess. As far as Antek knew, both Pendragons were out of Cendred's reach, his liegeman disappeared, Cymbrian soldiers wounded or even dead - as sure as eggs were eggs, the rebuilding of Blackrock had vanished into the mists of a future that became more uncertain with every passing day.

The Count and his princely friend had a lot in common. Gifted warriors they both were. Used to giving orders and be obeyed, good leaders in battle, proud and stiff-necked, self-centred at times yet thoroughly dedicated to those who were their own – but there it ended.

Other than Uther's son, not even the Great Mother herself in all her divine glory could have turned young Antek into a carefully waging strategist; he searched for his advantage as much as the next man but usually he was much too impulsive to find it.

As a certain Court Jester was about to find out the hard way.

Trickler was all puffed up with his own importance and position of power when he entered, strutting directly towards the wary Prince. Arthur had risen the moment they heard somebody at the door, assuming correctly that their captor wanted to bring the cat and mouse game to the next level. "Come with me!" For emphasis, the Jester grabbed Arthur's arm.

The Prince's "Antek, don't" was utterly useless; the next instant saw Trickler flying into a huge mirror that shattered under the impact into a thousand pieces while the enraged Count pursued him frantically.

Unfortunately, Llanfair's valiant attempt at protecting his princely one-time friend was as ill planned as it was ill timed, because the five sturdy guards in Trickler's wake failed to see the humour in the situation. In no time Arthur found himself in their arms with his own wrists twisted behind his back while Antek was beaten into submission until he curled up on the floor trying to protect his head.

Pendragon gritted his teeth, fighting against the urge to teach the brutes a lesson they'd not forget easily. Llanfair's antics were touching, but they weren't very clever and so the Prince, against his nature, restrained himself. He had a pretty good idea what Alined wanted him for and getting beaten up wouldn't exactly be uplifting for a certain young warlock's spirits.

Ten minutes later, with Antek being dragged to the dungeons by an aggravated Court Jester's command, Alined was, as always, fascinated by what he saw. He had not lied when he had once told Trickler how very attractive he found Uther's son. So far he had forgone the possibility to have Arthur restrained or rough-handled; he still kept up the appearances of one royal talking to another. And yet, seeing the young man like that, defenceless and surrounded by guards, was pure temptation.

"I apologize for the impropriety of our encounter" Alined opened the bartering session "but surely you know what this is about. I'd like to borrow your warlock's services for a short while. Unfortunate he refuses me, most insolently."

Arthur looked at the appalling book in the other's hand and swallowed painfully. "You've no idea what you're holding there. This thing has destroyed many men, Anwar of Llanfair among them. Believe me, you would not wish to share their fate!"

Alined sighed. So it wouldn't be easy. He had anticipated that much and yet it was annoying.

Frankly, it was enough to jump out of his skin. At last he had the object of his desire at his mercy but, as the value of a bargaining chip could not be diminished, he had to control himself. The obstinate wizard's cooperation was too important.

He knew that the Rashnijaan, amongst many other interesting things, contained more than one ritual that would shower a man with gold and riches beyond compare. No more grubbing and scraping for money, no more biding his time and making up clever schemes; with this kind of riches the power in Albion would be his without so much as rising his backside from his throne. Once he had the warlock under his heel he'd have no need to care about Uther's wrath or Camelot's army, he could do as he pleased, fearing no one.

But, alas, not yet.

Most likely he'd be forced to put the screws on this Merlin fellow without damaging him physically. It had to be a step by step process, not to be spoiled by torturing the only possible hostage too hastily.

A part of Alined – the part even Trickler detested – relished in the idea that there were probably things the young Prince would fear much more than death or physical pain. Doubtlessly his close friend the warlock would know that. Which meant, for example, that the threat to force the Prince into the royal bed might be a very last resort; the actual act, however, would ruin everything.

But, as it was far too early for the really big battle axes anyhow, pussyfooting around his captive was the order of the day. "If your warlock-friend is remotely as powerful as people say, he should have no problem using the Rashnijaan" Alined said silkily to Arthur. "What is it to him; a few experiments, a few spells until I've got what I need. It's not so very much to ask."

"Merlin must not even come near the damned thing" Pendragon replied despairingly. Blast it, Alined's ears and mind were virtually nailed-up. Knowing that state of mind in a King by heart, Arthur instinctively fell into the habits he had taken on whilst dealing with his father. "Please Sire, I beg you. A born magician, however powerful, must not come into contact with the artificial magic the book provides. You too would live to regret it."

"How much I like hearing you beg" Alined thought. "How I wish I could make you beg." With an effort, he pulled himself together and kept up his attitude of feigned friendliness.

"Come, come my boy, it can't be too much to ask of Camelot's Court Magician. A few weeks in my service, a month or two at most." The King's face hardened. "Or should I say, in his Prince's service and best interest?"

Inwardly, Alined braced for the inevitable outburst and the equally inevitable exchange of insults. It was all so very foreseeable, so utterly boring, if only he could skip this part of the business: -Wait until my father hears of this, Camelot will crush your Kingdom to dust- -That won't help you when my men kill you- -How dare you- -I can do as I please, you're my prisoner now- bla, bla, bla, etc. etc. pp..

However, the King waited in vain. Arthur didn't even try. He was alone, unarmed, he had no idea where Merlin was held and neither Camelot nor his father knew where he was.

Therefore the Prince was way beyond some idiotic chest thumping or empty threats. "Do with me what you like, Sire. If its money you want or anything else, you shall have it, I don't care, as long as you leave the damn thing alone!"

Without thinking, Arthur slapped the book in Alined's hand, only to recoil from it with a gasp, as if he had been burned.

He hadn't touched the Book of Demons when they had retrieved it. His hands had been tied behind his back and Trickler had been far too eager to obtain the precious bounty anyway. Now, with the fleeting contact a sensation had come. Something horribly familiar to the Pendragon Prince. Someone familiar!

The Prince was trembling like aspen leaves, the shock ousted anything else. The presence of something, someone, that could not – should not by all laws of nature – exist crawled into his veins, his muscles, into his very soul.

Alined could make neither head nor tail of the sudden change in his prisoner. But with the instinct of a born bully and experienced manipulator he knew that his counterpart was rattled and that this was his best chance to expedite matters.

"Take him to the dungeon" he ordered, and his guards were all too ready to oblige.

All the way down, Alined racked his brain for a way to threaten Arthur – and, as a result, the blasted warlock – convincingly without actually breaking any bones. Besides from being primitive and vulgar, a body didn't become more beautiful by mutilating it. But only on his arrival in the impromptu torture chamber Trickler had furnished in anticipation of his King's needs, Alined knew how to proceed.

"Bastards" Arthur thought as he spotted Llanfair's figure spread eagled on a rack, with Trickler already turning the wheel. "Bloody bastards!"

Against his better judgement he tried to break free from the men's grasp as Antek screamed, terrified by the ropes pulling his limbs upwards mercilessly. Llanfair was brave enough in a fight but he didn't believe in silent endurance. And – like any other knight and swordsman he feared the rack more than hell.

The gruesome machine not only caused terrible pain but also crippled the victim for life. A lost eye, a deaf ear, a wounded left arm – 'inconvenient enough' as one of Arthur's tutors had once called it. But arms and legs pulled out of joint, ligaments severed and bones broken – that wasn't an inconvenience; that was a man's end.

"Alined, please…." Arthur struggled although he knew he stood no chance against the superior number and force of his opponents. Not even against the huge iron and leather clad hand that clamped down on his mouth and silenced him.

The nightmare of this reminder of what Antek's father had once done to him made his struggle a frantic one, that ended only when he was securely tied to a wooden beam, the disgusting claw still pressed firmly on his lips.

Antek heard him, albeit only through a haze of terror and pain. What he really got was the sudden standstill of the wheel and a little slack in the ropes. His breath rasping and his heart racing in his throat, he had trouble pricking his ears enough to hear Alined's low voice whispering to him.

At first, Antek didn't understand a word. Slowly, very slowly he understood what was demanded of him, what he should do in order to get himself and Arthur off the hook. "Yes. Yes. I'll do it. Just leave us both in peace." he wanted to shout "I'll do anything you want."

Instead he only whispered it and now it was Alined who had trouble hearing what he said. But finally, he got it and a satisfied smile came into his features.

Attentively the King helped his prisoner to his feet and steadied him until Antek could stand and walk again, if staggeringly. A short move of the King's hand and one of the henchmen ripped Arthur's shirt off. Alined noticed with some relief that Antek winced violently. This was much easier than he had feared.

Deliberately avoiding to look at his prisoners too closely – heavens, they both were handsome enough to haunt an old man's dreams – the King gave Llanfair a warm-hearted smile. "You have an hour. Not more."

"I'm sorry, Arthur" Antek thought with a last shy look at his helpless friend. "I know you do not want it, but it is for the best." At last he shuffled out, escorted by two of Alined's soldiers.

"Let go of him" the King said after the door had closed again and the brute finally took his hand off Arthur's mouth. The Prince's relief was short lived as the hand was quickly substituted by a solid gag.

"I'm sorry for that, my boy" Alined said indifferently. "But it won't be for long. I think the Count will be very convincing."

Arthur let his head sink against the beam and closed his eyes. This was exactly what he had tried to avoid at all costs - he, the book and Merlin in one place and just one more greedy, godforsaken, hare-brained half-wit suffering from pathologic avarice coming around to mess it all up; the kind of madmen that were driven to him and to the warlock like moths were driven to the light.

No use cursing Merlin's stupidity of always and everywhere following him around like a dumb-headed puppy or Antek's selfish cowardice. Or, to be honest with himself for once, his own absurd idea to take on this quest in the first place, as he was completely, utterly, hopelessly out of his depth.

All Arthur could do was to calm down, try to look as undefeated and unmolested as he could, given his situation, and hope, hope, hope; Gods help him, hope that the darn idiot of a far-too-loyal servant-wizard-peasant-friend for once had his wits about him and refused to go near the Rashnijaan, no matter what Alined would threaten him with.

Meanwhile the King killed the waiting time by tormenting Trickler with some vicious verbal and physical abuse about some made-up offence. The henchmen looked on and sneered for an audience.

While Arthur's breath and pulse calmed down, his eyes began to play tricks on him. The Rashnijaan, which Alined had brought with him and laid down on a small bench near the rack, seemed to glow; the ugly demonic figures engraved in the gold of the fittings moved and danced in the torches' light.

Alined frowned and ceased to harass the Jester for a split second. Arthur's eyes, glued to the book, had widened and he jerked in his bonds just once, but heftily, before he fell utterly still.

Alined was confused. What was the matter with the boy?

"Almost all the players on the stage" a voice once heard and never forgotten whispered in the Prince's mind. "Only one thing missing." The incorporeal voice snickered menacingly. "Long time no see, eh, little dragon?"