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On Tuesday, Rulin was sleepily pouring cereal when his front door slammed open and a furious Bureau of Prevention mage stormed in, wielding a file like a weapon. Two broad-shouldered familiars—bear-shifters by the looks of them—took up positions behind her, scowling at Rulin like he had personally stolen the moon.
That was how he discovered the house Thaddeus had left him came with three magical “dependants”. And they hadn’t been fed since the day of the funeral.
“I didn’t know,” he said, for the twentieth time, stuffing the last ink bottle into a sock. He rummaged about in his spell drawers, hoping he hadn’t missed anything he couldn’t do without for a few weeks. “No one told me Thaddeus had slaves.”
The mage gave him the stink-eye.
“They only said they would take care of the demon that killed him.” Personally he thought it served Thaddeus right.
“Didn’t you care to at least see the house?”
He scrubbed his face. “No—Well, yes eventually.”
*-*-*
He almost didn’t recognise the house. It dominated the village in the valley of East Hromach Enclave, and it did so, he had to admit, with subtlety and a refined taste that he would never accuse Thaddeus of possessing. A wide staircase began at the foot of the garden and led straight to the first floor. The walls had been patched up and painted light blue. All sorts of flowers tumbled out of window boxes. The rich brown marble balustrade was exactly as he remembered though—carved with figures in all states of misery, straining under the weight of the railing.
A grey blur had streaked across the garden when he unsealed the spelled gates, presumably gone to warn the others of his arrival. He was about the climb the staircase, when he heard an angry shout from the side of the house.
He left his two suitcases there and followed the shout to the stables. The door was open. The place smelled of horse. He did a quick sweep with his magic to check for threats.
It seemed he had been spotted, for the voice yelled, “Look what you’ve done, Mage.”
He stepped through the door and froze at the scene that greeted him. A pitifully thin thrall was prostrate on the stinking hay, a hard brush still clutched in one twitching hand. A gaunt wolf whimpered in the far corner, and a centaur—a centaur—stood over the thrall protectively, daring anyone to hurt him. The centaur wore a black collar—it was spelled, though Rulin couldn’t tell what kind at first glance—and a leather harness criss-crossed his chest. There were horses in two other stalls, but they did not seem very interested in the proceedings.
Rulin had never commanded a thrall before, but somehow he produced the necessary words. “At ease,” he said, and when the thrall still trembled, he tamped down on his mounting fury and he reached for magical currents, feeling for the chains of magic. The locks sprang open at his touch—for these chains were his inheritance as much as the thrall, and the binds would listen to his will and no other’s.
When he worked his way into the real world, the thrall had still not moved, but he was breathing easier, and now his fists crushed the brush in silent anger.
“I am called Rulin. What is your name?”
“Lir, Master.” His voice was dry and raspy.
“Can you sit up, Lir?”
He rose to a kneel in response, hands clasped behind his back, emaciated chest thrust out. His face was blank.
“Are you sick or injured?”
He shook his head, then, as if remembering too late, rushed to add, “No, Master.”
“Good.” He meant to send for a healer anyway, but he was glad it was not urgent.
“Is there food in the house? Groceries?”
“Yes, Master.”
The centaur volunteered, “The shops in the village will deliver if what you want is not stocked in the house. Lir can call them.”
Lir tensed, probably expecting the centaur to be punished for speaking out of turn.
“Thank you.” Judging from the centaur’s attitude, he would be the most volatile. Rulin wanted to settle the other two first. He thought carefully before he spoke. “Lir, I want you to eat and drink till you are satisfied—good, healthy food, mind you. Imagine you’ve been invited to the Master’s table. When you are done, find a bed or any place you feel safe and comfortable, and rest. Leave off the chores until further notice. Don’t even stop to clean the kitchen. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Master.” A whisper of an expression crossed his face. Rulin thought it might have been a smile.
He turned his attention to the wolf cowering against the back wall. His coat, he noticed, was matted with bare patches. “Wolf, I would speak with you.”
The wolf hastily shifted, taking up a mirror of Lir’s position. He was as thin as Lir, but his face was not nearly so blank. He was afraid, but also curious.
“What is your name?”
He licked his lips. “Nobuz, Master.”
Rulin suppressed a sigh. He had hoped the wolf would be more free-willed. “I am not your master. You may call me Mage or Rulin.”
He received an uncertain nod.
“The same instructions apply to you, Nobuz. Drink, eat and rest. Take care of Lir. Or perhaps he will take care of you. Do you understand me?”
“Yes, Ma—Mage.”
Unable to resist, he reached with his magic to see Nobuz’s affinities. He was startled to see an echo of his own technomancy. He had taken Thaddeus for a very traditional sort of mage. He caught himself speculating about Nobuz’s usefulness and put a firm stop to that. There were reasons he had never taken on a familiar, and his tiny city apartment was only the least of them.
He looked between Lir and Nobuz, avoiding the centaur’s glare. “You may not believe me, but I will not punish any of you for anything today. Certainly there will be no punishments until I have explained my rules, which I will not do until everyone is fed and rested.” His stomach reminded him he had eaten only one measly over-priced sandwich since last night. He hadn’t had a chance to finish breakfast before it was time to run to the airport. Rulin stepped to the side. “Alright, go on in, both of you.”
Lir rose gracefully to his feet. Nobuz scrambled up. Rulin watched uncomfortably as they bowed and quickly disappeared through the door as though afraid he would change his mind.
When they were out of ear shot, the centaur snapped, “No ‘good, healthy food’ for me, Master?”
He loomed.
Rulin found himself face-to-face with his solid abs. Up close he could see that the leather straps had rubbed the skin raw and red. He looked up with a grin. “Somehow I don’t think you’d appreciate that tone from me.”
He poked at the collar with his magic and shuddered. “How did you contact the Bureau of Prevention? This thing keeps you confined to the stable.”
The centaur worked his jaw. Finally he said, “I convinced Nobuz to speak to someone through the gate. I’m not sorry for doing it—Lir was starving—but if you must punish someone, punish me. Nobuz is easily cowed.”
“Weren’t you listening? I said I’m not here to mete out punishments.” He gave the tack hanging on the wall an appraising look. He pointed to an odd shaped bridle. “Please don’t tell me Thaddeus did that to you.”
“He tried,” said the centaur darkly. Then, “I won’t let you ride me. I will not pull your carriage.” His shoulders were slumped. His voice was already defeated, like he was making a token protest.
“Nor would I expect you to.” He looked around the stable, spotted a likely object, and dragged it to the centaur. It looked like an old crate that had been modified to be a trap at some point. He tested it, then climbed up.
“What are you doing?” asked the centaur warily, taking a few steps back.
“Come here, it’ll only take a moment.”
He looked ready to bolt.
“I could make it an order,” said Rulin. “But that’s not who I am. Come here so I can release the spells on your collar.”
The offer seemed to tempt the centaur enough that he came back to stand before Rulin. “If you’re tricking me—”
He broke off as Rulin reached up and unbuckled the collar. It came off easily in his hands, though he suspected the centaur could never have freed himself. He threw it viciously with all the anger that had been building up in his heart. It flared and crumbled into ashes before it hit the wall. He turned his attention to the leather harness, trying to work out the locking mechanism in the tangle of straps, buckles and studs.
The centaur was still picking his jaw up off the floor. “I’m a centaur,” he sputtered finally.
“Believe me, I noticed.” He took out his light blade and eased it under a strap, cutting it loose with sawing motions. “Where do you want to go? I can take you home safely, if you like.”
“But, but—” Just like that, his confusion turned to anger. “But you didn’t free the others!”
Rulin had begun work on the next strap. He gathered his patience. It was not his world being turned upside down. “I don’t know what Thaddeus told you, but familiars are not slaves. If Nobuz wishes to leave, I will release him from his contract. If he wants to stay, I will renegotiate a contract. I don’t have much faith in Thaddeus’ terms.” He looked the centaur in the eye. “I hope he will stay, it’s not easy finding a technomancy familiar. But I won’t stop him from leaving. God knows my cousin has traumatised him enough.”
“And Lir?”
Rulin hesitated. This had bothered him since the airport waiting room, when he’d had the first chance to really think about what he was getting into. “Lir’s binds go too deep,” he said finally. “I had hoped it was not so, but what has been done to him is unmistakeable. Unravelling the threads will kill him.” Or rather, it would complete the spell and turn him into a drone, but he had a feeling the centaur didn’t want to hear that. His anger boiled again. He knew Thaddeus had left his mind alone only so he could still suffer.
The centaur looked mutinous.
Rulin sighed. All the tiredness of a day’s travel settled on him suddenly and he felt half-asleep. “I will take care of him,” said. And then, “Don’t you want to go home?”
“I was a loner before. And…I have no home. This village is built on the land I used to roam.”
“I’m sorry,” said Rulin. He knew the village was at least two hundred years old. The centaur must be much older. Something compelled him to add, “You can stay here, you know. Not—Not here in the stable, unless you’d prefer that. We can build you a cottage on the grounds. Or make the ground floor of the house accessible to you. You can keep an eye on me and protect Lir—though I promise Lir will not need protection from me.”
When the centaur spoke, his voice was tentative. “The ground floor—you would do that? Why?”
Rulin shrugged. “I’m not Thaddeus.” He turned to go, stopping to pet the nearest horse. “Where’s the stable-hand?”
“Presumably resting with Nobuz.”
“Oh. Did Lir do all the work in this house?”
“Nobuz was always tired after whatever Thaddeus did with him.”
“And you were restricted to the stables,” finished Rulin. He rubbed his forehead. At least Thaddeus had left him a fortune with which to clean up his mistakes. “Right, so we’ll need to get household staff. Brilliant. I’ve always wanted a butler.”
“I could do that,” offered the centaur. “If you let me stay here under your protection.”
“You anticipate needing that?”
He shrugged. “The whole village has seen me harnessed to a dog cart with a bit in my mouth,” he said. “Respect may be hard to come by.”
“Alright,” said Rulin. “Then I should know your name.”
The centaur looked sceptical.
“So I can work it into the wards,” he explained. “You know I could have bound you without your name.”
“Levitating Drizzle,” said the centaur through gritted teeth.
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Levitating Drizzle.”
“Okay. Thank you. We’ll talk details later. I expect I’ve kept you from your food long enough. Can you fit in the kitchen?”
Levitating Drizzle nodded.
“Good. Help yourself.”
It was only when he was blinking in the sudden sunlight outside that he heard the faintest “Thank you” in reply.
*-*-*
Rulin thought he had dealt with all of Thaddeus’ ugly legacy. Like usual, he was wrong.
Nobuz was curled up in wolf form near the brazier, keeping an eye on the row of herbs steeping in peppermint oil that would restore his grey coat to its glory days. Lir luxuriated on the corner sofa, working his way through the alphabet with a pencil. Levitating Drizzle practised reading and writing in the evenings too, but he always cloistered himself somewhere so no one could see him struggle.
In the last two weeks, he had searched the house from roof to basement, tracking down and destroying forbidden spell components and sealing away artefacts of unknown power—because god forbid Thaddeus keep a catalogue. He’d found, healed and released an animated computer mouse, six misshapen clockwork birds that looked like they’d been attacked with a hammer, and a whole tribe of pixies in a large aquarium in what must have been Thaddeus’ bedroom.
Rulin was just getting into the groove of his latest cyber-defence spell when the demon showed up.
He was tall, nearly as tall as Levitating Drizzle. His wrists and neck were bare—unlike any other demon he had ever seen—and he rubbed them unconsciously.
Rulin sprang to his feet, drawing up his magic, just as the demon sank to his knees.
“Well, you know the drill, Mage,” he drawled, with a little smirk. “Don’t make me grovel.”
Rulin cast a temporary bind on the demon. He had no great love for binding magic, but he suspected this was the demon who had killed his predecessor, and he had no intention of being vaporised before they had a civil conversation. Or, for that matter, afterwards.
“Don’t hurt him!” Lir scrambled across the room to stand in front of the demon. “Master Rulin, please!”
“Aw sweet—”
Lir spun around. “No! You can’t. I won’t let you. Why are you still here? Get away, get away!”
The demon’s face softened. He looked like he might touch Lir but he didn’t move. “Lir, sweet, I’ve seen him. He’s a good man.”
“I don’t care. You mustn’t.”
He looked regretful. “What do you think will happen when the Bureau of Crimes find my name and summon me?”
Lir grew pale and his lips quivered. “No.”
“You think I will be better?” asked Rulin.
The demon shrugged. “You won’t destroy me.”
“How close are they?”
“They have the first two syllables.”
Rulin was already running through the possibilities in his head. “You waited too long,” he snapped. “I will have to plant residue in your aura, to make it seem like I’ve had you longer.” He caught sight of Lir’s pallor, his rapid breathing, and gentled his voice. “It will have to be severe control. They won’t believe it otherwise.”
“I have already surrendered,” said the demon mildly.
“Very well. Nobuz, can you please bring me Narinki black and some paper. We don’t have time for a chalk circle. Lir, can you call Levitating Drizzle? And decide if you want to stay in the room for the binding. I’m afraid it will be painful for your friend.”
Lir firmed his jaw. “I will stay.” He gave the demon an inscrutable look, then ran into the hallway.
The demon watched him go with obvious pain. “I did it for him,” he said.
Rulin didn’t have to ask what he was talking about. “Then when the Bureau of Crimes are done sniffing around, you’d better make it up to him.”
“I will.” He hesitated. “I should apologise to you too.”
“I can hardly blame you for killing Thaddeus—”
“No, I mean, for making you do this. I know you don’t like it.”
Rulin shrugged. “I can’t let them punish you for doing what they ought to have done years ago.” He narrowed his eyes. “But if we have disagreements in the future, don’t you dare murder me. We have a perfectly good suggestions box in the breakfast room.”