dwarfed him. A frigid burn traveled up his arm. He stared in horror at the appendage clamped onto his arm, the black hairs on Terek’s forearm standing erect. Welts formed up Cy’s arm. An icy burn spread in his body. Something squeezed his chest with a crushing pressure. He screamed the moment he felt his arm on the verge of cracking, but the scream cut off into a strangled gasp as he discovered himself unable to draw in air. His eyes locked onto Terek’s, which were no longer aqua but solid with a blackness that covered the whites and cornea. Devoid of life.
The sign of the Devil. Not a devil…a daemon.
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata blasted into Cy’s mind. He heard the barest whisper of a girl’s voice. “Follow the music. Let me play for you.” The lilt of the girl’s voice in the familiar South African accent comforted. He slammed his eyes closed and strained to hear her laughter as it dissolved away into the swelling melody. He wanted nothing more than the serenity the music offered. Within the notes, all his pain disappeared.
He didn’t know how long he lived within the music, but was jolted back to reality by violent shaking.
Terek demanded, “How did you resist the spell? Tell me what you remember. Now.”
Cy groaned as Terek twisted his arm almost to the point of dislocation. What did he mean about a spell? He looked around and listened for the music. Nothing. It was in his head. Not good. Now he really was losing it.
As the pain in his shoulder worsened, the music returned. It crescendoed in his brain until there was only the haunting beauty of the melody. As the sonata came to its climax, the doorway to memory opened. Over a thousand years of memory downloaded—knowledge of spells, incantations, Scimitar Magi, and legends. And a beautiful woman with a talent for music.
How many times had he been reincarnated as the spell keeper magus? Too many.
Never, though, had he been granted memory prior to his induction ceremony. Never when he was but fifteen.
Cy met the glowing aqua evil of his daemon-possessed tormentor. Djoser. The former Third Dynasty pharaoh had been a grand master of dark magik when human thousands of years ago. Some might call him a sorcerer, but the word seemed too upbeat for this twisted maniac.
Given that Djoser was coherent and controlled, not madly trying to kill everything in his path like most summoned daemons, meant he had somehow figured out how to suppress his homicidal urges. He had probably acquired the Necherophes wesekh . Somehow he always seemed to get the Egyptian beaded collar before any of them could prevent it or destroy the piece. The faience and carnelian collar appeared innocuous enough but granted its owner unlimited fortune, which in the case of a daemon didn’t just mean wealth. Fortune to a daemon was to remain somewhat in control and, therefore, under the radar of them—the magi. If his ability to remain calm in possessed form had nothing to do with the collar, then Djoser was far more dangerous than Cy was willing to consider.
Djoser wanted what he always sought when in the Human Realm—the Trifecta: the Necherophes wesekh, Anukratiamulet, and the sword of Neith. Three items each with unique qualities that, if brought together and wielded by one user, would grant him power equal only to the gods. Probably enough to lift the curse of the daemon, and to ensure him immortality and unlimited supremacy within the Human Realm. Good luck to him on him getting the pieces together, especially that sword.
Djoser uttered a low curse in the daemon language. Cy recognized it as a spell forcing truth.
He quickly whispered a counter spell. Would it work? Did he have any magik as a pre-mag? To cover his uttering, he whimpered loudly, faking fear.
Djoser demanded, “Tell me which magus you will become.”
Cy waited for the evil of a black spell to overtake his mind, but nothing happened. Thank the gods for giving him some ability. He forced out another whimper
The sign of the Devil. Not a devil…a daemon.
Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata blasted into Cy’s mind. He heard the barest whisper of a girl’s voice. “Follow the music. Let me play for you.” The lilt of the girl’s voice in the familiar South African accent comforted. He slammed his eyes closed and strained to hear her laughter as it dissolved away into the swelling melody. He wanted nothing more than the serenity the music offered. Within the notes, all his pain disappeared.
He didn’t know how long he lived within the music, but was jolted back to reality by violent shaking.
Terek demanded, “How did you resist the spell? Tell me what you remember. Now.”
Cy groaned as Terek twisted his arm almost to the point of dislocation. What did he mean about a spell? He looked around and listened for the music. Nothing. It was in his head. Not good. Now he really was losing it.
As the pain in his shoulder worsened, the music returned. It crescendoed in his brain until there was only the haunting beauty of the melody. As the sonata came to its climax, the doorway to memory opened. Over a thousand years of memory downloaded—knowledge of spells, incantations, Scimitar Magi, and legends. And a beautiful woman with a talent for music.
How many times had he been reincarnated as the spell keeper magus? Too many.
Never, though, had he been granted memory prior to his induction ceremony. Never when he was but fifteen.
Cy met the glowing aqua evil of his daemon-possessed tormentor. Djoser. The former Third Dynasty pharaoh had been a grand master of dark magik when human thousands of years ago. Some might call him a sorcerer, but the word seemed too upbeat for this twisted maniac.
Given that Djoser was coherent and controlled, not madly trying to kill everything in his path like most summoned daemons, meant he had somehow figured out how to suppress his homicidal urges. He had probably acquired the Necherophes wesekh . Somehow he always seemed to get the Egyptian beaded collar before any of them could prevent it or destroy the piece. The faience and carnelian collar appeared innocuous enough but granted its owner unlimited fortune, which in the case of a daemon didn’t just mean wealth. Fortune to a daemon was to remain somewhat in control and, therefore, under the radar of them—the magi. If his ability to remain calm in possessed form had nothing to do with the collar, then Djoser was far more dangerous than Cy was willing to consider.
Djoser wanted what he always sought when in the Human Realm—the Trifecta: the Necherophes wesekh, Anukratiamulet, and the sword of Neith. Three items each with unique qualities that, if brought together and wielded by one user, would grant him power equal only to the gods. Probably enough to lift the curse of the daemon, and to ensure him immortality and unlimited supremacy within the Human Realm. Good luck to him on him getting the pieces together, especially that sword.
Djoser uttered a low curse in the daemon language. Cy recognized it as a spell forcing truth.
He quickly whispered a counter spell. Would it work? Did he have any magik as a pre-mag? To cover his uttering, he whimpered loudly, faking fear.
Djoser demanded, “Tell me which magus you will become.”
Cy waited for the evil of a black spell to overtake his mind, but nothing happened. Thank the gods for giving him some ability. He forced out another whimper
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