Eldritch Exorcist

Emmanuel Riswalt walked through the hotel hall, the cold clacking sound of his shoes against the stone floor echoing through the empty corridor. He was late. Everyone was already in the conference room, but that didn’t matter—they would wait whether they liked it or not.

His mouth stretched into a thin smile. Now that he thought about it, maybe he should have waited longer. They could use some disrespect after the last showing.

After briefly considering turning around and getting a coffee first, he simply shook his head and pressed the door handle down. He entered a long room with a conference table in the middle, with mages sitting around it. The moment he entered, all the talk died down as the men and women inside stood up to greet him.

He did not answer any of the greetings. Instead, he let his almost-ascension-ready second-circle aura radiate from him. And the moment it did, a weight in his stomach made itself known. He used to be proud of his level, showing it around as a symbol of the Riswalts’ strength, but now it embarrassed him. The leader of half the noble faction was proud of his second-circle power when the leader of the third chamber had mowed down seven people just like him.

This made his mood even worse. By the time he sat down in the chair, his face was twisted into a frown.

He looked over the people gathered. Half were from his own faction within the nobles. The rest were representatives of other groups from the noble and religious factions.

“What the fuck happened?” he asked without any ceremony.

“That’s what I would like to know as well,” barked one of the church leaders in a priest’s clothing. “You were supposed to judge his strength. Did that look like a ‘third circle at worst’ to you?”

“Did he cast anything over the third circle?”

“There’s a difference between a freshly ascended mage struggling with spells and silent dual casting without even hand gestures! For fuck’s sake, you sent our men to slaughter!”

“MY men,” Emmanuel spat back.

The priest shrugged. “Should have sent more. And it was OUR investment.”

“Ethan–”

“Father Ethan,” Ethaninterrupted, “and don’t try to give me excuses. You were given all the support, we tipped the scales in your favour, and for what?”

“Well,” one of the noble families’ heads spoke, a mousy man with light facial hair and a French accent. “We managed to inform you about the Hook and that he would be after souls,” he said.

“Oh, great, where did you uncover those deep secrets—his broker left them on your desk by accident?”

“The cats were supposed to be neutral,” the man said, his voice uncertain.

As the words fell, everyone looked at a hairless Donskoy cat sitting within a carpet-sleeve of an older man dressed like a butler. The animal looked at them with barely open eyes, his gaze similar to the one he might have when looking at a mouse. “The brokers have their own free will. We do not interfere with other cat organizations unless necessary,” he said.

“You—” the Frenchman was about to say something, but shut up immediately when Riswalt raised his hand.

He then looked to the priest, still holding his gaze, waiting for an answer. “We did fail on that front, but we weren’t alone in that failure…”

“Your people.”

“Your meeting.”

The two men looked into one another’s eyes.

“If you are done with the measuring contest, how about we discuss what’s next?” asked an older woman sitting between the noble factions. “We aren’t out of options yet. Unless we plan on running with tails between our legs… So what now—can we go after Samuel in some other way before the voting starts?”

“We don’t have the manpower,” Riswalt said, each word feeling bitter on his tongue.

“We have freshly ascended second circles.”

“The problem isn’t the number of people—it’s the difference in magic control and casting speeds. They’ll just get killed.”

“Yes, but—” the man was about to argue, but then froze. “Oh, so sorry, my condolences about your son.”

Riswalt just shrugged. "I have a few more useless ones.”

The Frenchman nodded. “We would need someone to prevent him from casting third-level magic so he doesn’t kill our people easily. His casting speed at the third circle is as fast as our men at their second. It would be tough to get him with numbers alone, and he didn’t even use his family’s magic. We need to raise someone who can match him in combat so that numbers start to matter—and then isolate him. How about summoning a demon? If we pull together, we can summon a third-circle creature. That could work.”

“It won’t,” a sharp voice from the other end of the table said.

They all looked to its source to meet the eyes of a scarred man wearing a turban, with the handle of a curved sabre visible from over the table.

They waited for him to continue.

“Our sabre techniques were passed on to us from our ancestors,” he said, looking at the handle with almost gentle eyes. “As my father taught me, so did his father before, and his father’s father before. But for each generation, their understanding of the blade only reached as far as the magic allowed… Tell me, Emanel.”

“Emmanuel.”

“Tell me,” the man continued, not correcting himself. “The men you sent with the fat man’s family—were they yours?”

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“Two of them. Yes.”

“And who was your father?”

“What?”

“Your father. Was he a great mage?”

“He reached the second circle and passed on his teachings.”

“But who WAS he?”

“A businessman?” Riswalt answered, uncertain.

To that, the man nodded, as if the answer were obvious.

“And his father—was he a businessman too?”

“He too reached the second circle—”

“As a businessman?”

“…Yes. Where are you going with this?”

“The man you tried to kill—his father was at least twice ascended before shattering his rings. His insight into battle was that of a twice-ascended mage. His grandfather fought and practically ended the War of Tears—a thrice-ascended mage whose insights into magic were thrice ascended. You sent businessmen after a killer, and you’re surprised they failed. You won’t get him with petty tricks. You–”

“We,” someone at the table corrected.

“You lack expertise. You won't trick him easily.”

“Then what do you suggest?”

The man just shrugged, to which Emmanuel gritted his teeth, a vein showing on his forehead.

“What about his apprentice?” asked a priest sitting next to Ethan. “Can’t we use her as leverage?”

“That could work,” the Frenchman nodded excitedly. “She isn’t always with him. His associates are easier to deal with. Yes, that could—”

“Do that, and you’ll lose our support.” This time, the cat’s voice interrupted the Frenchman’s theorising.

“Are you backing out?” Riswalt said in a low, threatening voice.

“Your knowledge of history is quite lacking for how much you speak of your ancestors,” said the creature, still looking half asleep. “You have two possible outcomes: you succeed, and he ignores you as the Alhazreds always have when someone tried blackmailing them. So you kill her to hurt her, and now you have a real death grudge against a clan whose history of atrocities and torture reaches the mythical era. Or you don’t succeed—she slips away—and you have the same grudge. That is a surefire way to spend the rest of your lives looking over your shoulders—and I don’t fancy getting kidnapped by that psycho.”

“You're afraid?”

“Yes. We are. That was the real Butcher’s Hook, and I don't want to find out if he can recreate the butcher's atrocities using it. We will not support any actions that might result in a real death grudge deep enough to be made ‘examples of.’”

Another bit of silence descended.

“We were thinking about this wrong,” spoke one of the Catholic priests. “We wanted to get rid of him to make sure the third chamber wouldn’t vote as one block. If we can’t have that, we should simply focus on getting the votes we need.”

“Yeah, that went well,” said the older woman, looking at two empty seats on the other side of the table.

“We assumed Buddhists would stay neutral from the get-go,” said the cat. “We need to get someone from the third chamber—get their votes on our side. And we might have a way to do that without Samuel’s involvement.”

The cat got everyone’s attention, and as they looked at the little animal, he started to present his plan, step by step. Each word depend the tension in the room, and by the end, everyone was frowning, an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air.

“Why go that far?” asked Emmanuel. “You, of all the people here? Didn’t you just say you were against blackmail?”

“Against blackmailing him or his close associates. This will not be his grudge to settle.”

“Why risk it?” Riswalt repeated the question.

The cats always left a back door open, keeping themselves as neutral information brokers, so his suggestion was a surprise.

“That is for the Cats’ Council and the Sphynx clan to know—and for you to celebrate. We only offer you this information,” said the cat.

Emmanuel looked to Ethan, who seemed even angrier.

“That goes beyond just favouritism. The fact that you discuss this with us here is offensive enough.”

“I don’t see the high judge in the room…”

Ethan scoffed but didn’t rebut. “If we calculate the votes as we did, assuming we succeed… what then?”

The cat thought for a few seconds before nodding. “We win by two.”

And with that, the plan was set.

We were sitting in my room, the whole group in one place, discussing tomorrow's speeches.

“You sure?” asked a woman in a large pointy hat. She had a cascade of black hair, long enough to reach her waist, and a round, youthful face that hid her actual age. “If the vampires make the proposition, that could be better for the demihuman and outsider factions.”

“Yes,” Luna spoke up. “But it’s well known that we are close with the Alhazreds, especially recently, not to mention my relationship with the Helsings.” A few people snickered, to which the vampire flipped them off before continuing. “This might agitate some. The Helsings are part of the third chamber but still have some respect among the nobles and a voice among the vampires. Their ties to Sam are only through William, so it won’t be easy to paint them as lapdogs. He’s a better choice.”

The witch nodded. “Then we will let William be the voice of reason. Who will be the agitator?”

“I have a professional of the highest degree set up,” Q’Shar said mysteriously, to which some of the people looked around at those gathered.

“It’s Sam,” sighed William. “While his speech is a disaster in the making, I have to agree—he can piss people off. Just please turn down any expletives. We are at a sabbath,” he said, looking at me.

“Um, yeees, my good lord. He shall not break yer ‘noblesse aubergine’, only the fanciest of words shall be used, I’m sure,” Darius said.

“I’m the least offensive person possible. Worry not, my good sir, I shall use the most elegant and complicated of sentences.”

“And the most elegant of swearwords?” Darius asked me with fake concern.

“Well, of course.”

“Theee forests speak of snakes with less venom in their mouths than you.” Myhur looked at me over raised mossy brows. “Would like to see that.”

“Please, all of you shut up,” the cat sighed. “Yes, Sam will be the agitator.”

“And how about the one to start the speech?”

“Oh, that will be a surprise. We have someone great.”

“Our faction?”

“The religious. Although not really. You’ll see,” the cat said with a smile.

“It’s all good and everything, but… do we know what the nobles are planning with the church and the new pope?” asked Luna.

That calmed the jovial atmosphere.

Q’Shar looked down, his tail calming the slight movement of the tip. “We didn’t see the pope change coming—they got us there. I spoke with the high judge, and they tried to stack the sabbath leaders, but he blocked it. But it’s the first time nobles are working this closely with the religious factions. What’s strange is the involvement of other organised religions. We… we have a guess about what they want, but it’s hard to confirm, and I don’t want to give you assumptions—not about something like that.”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” Luna said. “I really wish I could meet that new pope in a dark alley without witnesses. Clementus the Second—moron.”

“I don’t think the name was his idea,” Q’Shar said. “They might be deliberately undermining the arcane world’s pope. It’s hard to say. Sam and William have been informed about the worst-case scenario, and both have speeches for it.”

I coughed involuntarily.

“William has a speech. Sam will be the massive cunt he is.” The cat let out a tired sigh, to which I nodded sagely.

We got a good night’s sleep—at least I did. I’m pretty sure Q’Shar was nervously walking around the room the whole time, judging by his tired eyes the next morning.

We got to the buses and to the Vatican. With a loud ring, the day to discuss new laws started. And before anyone could do anything, a man from the religious faction shot up to take the voice.