sorry but this chapter is kinda short, but i hope you enjoy. R/R

Chapter Three: Quick, Slow, and Stagnant.

Earth 597.

“The Age of Faith”

The 16th Day of the Month of the Bull.

The Empire of Renosa

Rays of moonlight cut through the dense greenery of Adders Swamp, illuminating the tiny hut that made its home within the branches of the elder trees. The swamp air was cooler than normal for this time of year and thus, lacked the humidity it would have had otherwise. Birds of all kinds called to the stars, along with various bugs that called the swamp home. The sound comingled, crashed together, and mixed into a symphony worthy of the Fairy Queen.

It was here, within the heart of the swamp, that Idrean made her home. She sat in her stuffy hut, lit with perfumed candles and burning incense, spying into her cooking pot. It was something she did often to gather information about the world outside of the swamp to which she had been banished. Of late, she had set her eye to spy on the young consort, Melthoran.

If he succeeded at his fool hearted attempt, then she would be set free once again. Eager as she was to be set free, she knew that the boy would need help. So she watched and waited, knowing that if true freedom was to be hers, she would need to work for it.

Over the past few days she had gathered her Demonica, storing it in items around her hut. Idrean had even spell-weaved a number of complicated spells to memory, like mortal mages do, as a backup. She knew that casting a spell over a distance would be hard enough, let alone trying to do so across realities of existence.

The workings of such magics could be deadly to a less experienced practitioner. Fortunately for her, she was of the elder races, and thus had the luxury of time to master such deadly spells. Even the undying elves and their mastery of their Elvin high-magic feared the spells of utterance that a true elder race could work.

Idrean dipped her long, wooden ladle into her cooking pot and mixed the contents within, lest her dinner burn. She had long ago learned that any reflective surface could be used to scry someone; though the greater scrying spells did have a few specific requirements, however the eyes of a great hawk, plus nitric acid, copper, and zinc were easy enough for her to make and not at all deadly to a demon to eat.

Sniffing the aroma of her soup, she could tell that it was not quite ready yet. Once more she looked down into the pot to check on Melthoran. The boy had just entered the outer part of the Ancient Ruins of Leyinad. She watched as he searched the once proud city for the temple to which she had instructed him to go.

It was impossible to tell by looking at the few remains of crumpled bricks - scattered across the desert – that once, long ago stood scarlet towers of magnificent design that kissed the clouds. Or that the inhabitants of the city planted at the top of those very towers hanging gardens. No, now all that remained was the desolate wastelands of the desert.

Idrean watched excitedly as Melthoran neared the spot where the primordial spell symbols of utterance were etched deep into the stone below the earth and sand. It was here and only here – if one knew the right incantations – that one could pass from the mortal world into that of the realm of hell without being scathed.

She watched the boy chalk the arcane markings onto the floor that she had insisted he learn before he left. Melthoran had complained, but in the end, she had won the debate. Now she was glad of it, for she could see – as Melthoran stood in the center of the arcane markings and recited the spell that would open the void - a number of things that he got wrong. Luckily she had the foresight to anticipate such a thing.

Idrean stood near her cooking pot in a similar circle, casting the very spell Melthoran was. Only her spell would supersede his, canceling out the botched spell completely and leaving him unharmed from arcane backlash, or worse. So long as he stood in the circle she could channel her magic through him, and she did.

A swell of pride filled her as she spoke the last words of the spell and watched the void burst to life. Not just any demon could boast that they could open a planar void from miles away through a novice mage, or teach such a complicated spell as the channeling circle to one. No, not just any demon.

She watched as Melthoran entered the void, cursing at the boy’s impatience. She had told him to scry into the void first to make sure it was safe to pass into the planes of hell. It was a wise thing to do; however, in-love fools do not always do the smartest things. The link from the channeling circle still lingered and would do so for a little longer. It was that link and her cooking pot that alerted her to the danger that Melthoran was in. She was left scrambling for a number of potions and spells because of his impatience.

Quickly, without thought, she weaved a powerful polymorph enchantment. She could not cast the spell on Melthoran himself, for his distance was too far and he was not within the circle – thinking quickly she remembered that he was wearing her demon stone ring, the very ring that allowed her to scry him. She could curse it – yes a curse right now would be just as helpful. With a slight change of words, she cursed the ring and watched as his vestige changed from that of a handsome young man to that of a tanar'ri.

Sweat beads clung to Idrean’s brow, and she huffed and puffed, clearly winded. It took her a minute to regain her breathing, and even longer before she was able to stand and look into her pot. She spied Melthoran, seeing only the tanar’ri and knew that her spell had worked. With a wooden bowl she scooped out some of her soup and greedily devoured its contents. The workings of such powerful magics were taxing, and she was not yet done, for she would have to hide her hut and cover her spell signatures lest spell eaters or worse came looking for her.

In the thirteenth level of hell.

Calidor urged Neico to run full out even though doing so meant that the icy winds of this hell would shred through his cloak to freeze his skin and bite into his bones; but he knew that this would be nothing compared to the hell he’d face if he got caught.

“We must make our way to the mountains, Neico; they would not expect us to seek shelter among the glacial peaks.”

“Calidor, you’ll never survive the mountain peaks in your state. The winter storms alone could instantly freeze even the hottest of things.”

“Still, we must try. Now run!”

It was an order, and Neico’s feet moved with a burst of speed. He really didn’t like being controlled in such a manner. Even as they were being chased, all Neico could think of was dropping the demon on his ass in the snow and being done with him. Let the damn devils have him, what did he care?

But that was the problem, he did care, from the moment the demon’s dark blood passed his lips, he was ensnared. His will was consumed, and the demon knew it. The fact that Calidor hadn’t forced Neico at every turn was because he didn’t need to, he was confident Neico would obey, and rightly so. What choice did he have?

Neico ran full out toward the canyons but his speed was no match for fully charged demons, not when he himself was half starved. Calidor could feel the energy draining from Neico; turning his head he looked over Neico’s shoulder to see that one of the demons was casting something. After the she-demon had completed her incantation, Calidor found himself surrounded by more demons.

“Shit,” cursed Neico as one of the demons spawned in front of him. Neico charged through the demon, knocking it to the floor. Still even more demons began to pop up in front of him, forcing him to dodge and weave the outstretched clawed hands that grabbed at him.

“Give up, Calidor!” mocked the woman who had summoned the other demons. “We’ve got you now.”

A larger demon with ivory tusks protruding from his joints laughed at the women’s taunt, adding a jibe of his own. “Come with us, and I may let your pet live.”

Calidor siphoned energy from Neico; he knew that it would leave Neico weak and that the other demons would know what he was doing. But he also knew that the four-armed woman – if not the other demons – would know that he wouldn’t be able to pull enough Demonica from Neico to put up a fight.

“What are you doing, Calidor,” smirked the four-armed woman.

“Trying to run, I’d bet, and leave his charge behind,” laughed the ugly, tusked demon.

Calidor was steaming, he was a master demon and no master demon would unwillingly leave his property to lesser demons, even cornered as he was. A true demon would destroy his charge first, and Calidor would do just that if he thought that this was the end for him. Still he was confident that he could survive this. For, if they were allowed to kill him, they would have done it already. No, he had time, but Neico, Neico they would kill just to spite him.

“Neico, put me down.” As Neico did so, Calidor cloaked him with the little power he was able to gather.

“Where’d he go? What did you do?” demanded the dumb big one.

Calidor just smiled. Angered, the woman bumped him on the head with the butt of her ax, knocking him out.

Neico remained unmoving, just as Calidor had mentally commanded. Neico had no idea what Calidor had done to him, but the other demons couldn’t see or touch him. He remained still for hours, making sure no one was lurking about. Luckily for him, the cold had little effect on vampires or he would have already frozen to death.

What was he to do now; he couldn’t leave Calidor with them – not for long, at least – not after the demon just saved his un-life. But in order to do so, he would need to feed. Neico hoped Calidor could handle himself for a few days because he would be no help to him now, not until Caldor’s command faded, if it faded at all.

Idrean busied herself around the small hut, working diligently to prepare for the rituals that would hide her. It had been nearly two hours since she had cast the last spell, and she was still a little drained; but she knew that if she wished to survive, she would have to hurry. Her soup pot hummed like a nightingale only moments after she aided Mal, and the nightingale song could only mean one thing to a demon, danger.

Idrean took a moment to spy into her pot, hoping to see what might be coming for her, the pot showed her a map and two groups heading her way. The first group was lead by a young woman who wore the crest of Haligo, the demon sorcerer. If the Haligo army found her, she would be enslaved and forced to serve. A feeling of disgust swelled at the thought of a demon serving a human, but the power by which the Sorcerer managed the task was formidable.

Idrean set her pot to spy the other group; the water in the pot bubbled over and hazed in a fit to complete its task. Tapping her large spoon on the side of the pot Idrean cursed. “Get on with it.”

The pot struggled to do as told, turning the soup into clear water to help focus its picture, the pot for a flash of a second held an image, and then began to scream with the sound of splitting metal. A large crack made its way down one side of the cast-iron pot before the magic in the pot died.

Idrean shook with fear, she knew of only one thing powerful enough to do this to her magic, spell eaters. Now, with a newfound determination she set herself to the task of readying the ritual and she knew time was of the essence, for time was one of the big differences between spells and rituals, and she had very little of it left.