It smelt bad.

The atmosphere in the chamber was thick, oppressive, full of the smoke of a hundred burning candles. The light from the lanterns on the wall seemed isolated, barely illuminating the cluttered interior.

Books were piled high on tables and chairs, some lying open with pages torn out. The candles were laid out on every available surface, save for an area cleared in the centre of the room. Two globes were supported on stands at the edge of the space. Both reflected lights not present in this place.

A figure shuffled between the obstructions, pausing at a pile of books on top of which a dish sat. A blue-green flame danced inside, over a small pile of white ash. The figure sniffed at the burning powder, wrinkled his nose and then extinguished the flame with a calloused hand.

From the recesses of its robes, the figure produced a small vial. Carefully removing the stopper, he poured an amount of the contents onto the powder. The result was a quiet hiss and a whisp of steam which rose up to the ceiling. The vial was replaced and a finger mixed the contents of the dish into a sticky paste.

A deep breath in rattled in the figure's laboured lungs and it coughed involuntarily, before spitting out the regurgitated bile into a dark corner.

The dish was taken and the lone occupant of the room crossed to the cleared space and began drawing on the ground with a finger daubed in the yellow paste. It muttered as it worked, speaking an unnatural tongue with conscious, steady rhythym.

The figure paused for breath when the task was complete. It stood, with effort, and considered one of the globes. In it's ears it heard the screams and saw faces slide across the perfect black surface. Some looked at him with pleading in their eyes, others showed only hate. It was irrelevant either way. Their souls were lost.

A handful of notes were grabbed off a desk almost buried in hand-written pages and studied for a moment. The figure then turned to the clearing and began reciting the first incantation.

The air stirred noticeably as the first syllables were voiced and the candles appeared to burn brighter. The acrid scent of the burning chemicals was steadily replaced by the putrid smell of sulphur.

As the last words were read, the figure released the page and it was consumed by flame. The ashen remains floated to the ground. The figure took no notice, already it began reading from the strange symbols on the next page, trying intently to concentrate on the words.

The lone voice rose and began speaking more quickly and the figure's eyes flicked momentarily to the globe to its right. When the second page was all but finished, the figure snatched up the black sphere and hurled it at the markings on the ground.

Noiselessly, the globe shattered. Each fragment sparkled as a fountain of colours rose up into the room. Each colour formed the vague shape of a person, swirling together within the confines set by the figure's drawings. Shadows danced on the walls, light played across murky surfaces long hidden inside this cellar.

Then the colours seemed to fade, a wind whipped around inside the room. The candles burned more ferociously than ever, melting all their wax in a matter of seconds. A darkness seemed to close in the released spirits, which were suddenly consumed by a shape rising up from the glowing markings.

The figure, no longer alone, hurriedly completed the incantation. He uttered the last words as a pair of red eyes turned to look at him.

"A fitting feast, Polgrim," said the creature, bound within the pictogram on the floor.

"I know your name, beast," muttered Polgrim, his voice grating, but steady.
"And I know yours." The words of the creature could be felt through the walls and floor, a deep booming tone that seemed to usher forth from the bowels of the earth.

"You are bound by the scriptures, demon, I am safe from your temptations."

"Foolish mortals often think they are safe from the likes of me, Polgrim. What is your request and how much will you pay?"

"My command, Kaet-azov," hissed Polgrim, "is for you to go forth into the material world and prevent the battle that will take place, two hours from now, on the plains of Jinn."

"You have been scrying again, friend Polgrim - gazing into the future is a hazardous business. You never know what you may find there." The demon stretched out within its prison, its form shifting from one shape to the next in gradual, nauseating cycle.

"I have looked deep into the vortex of time and seen many possible future, Kaet-azov. I have looked into the depths of Hell and watched you within your lair. I know what intentions you have for the creatures of this planet."

"I never realised you had been so busy Polgrim. Though your chest is worsened since our last conversation - too many noxious fumes I'll warrant. This mageik lifestyle really isn't doing anything for your health." Kaet-azov grinned, curling a black lip back to display a mouth of razor sharp teeth. As Polgrim watched, they changed shifting into the shapes of men and women - people who he had imprisoned within the broken globe.

"My time is near, demon, that I already know. I have little doubt this will be our last meeting on this plane. I have been charged to complete this task and then I will retire to await my passage to Mien-Causlin."

"I am aware that Baron Blandmere is your present patron, filling your purse amply with gold. He has noble motives, he has seen the ravages of the war and hopes to play his part in ending the bloodshed."

"That is no concern of mine," responded Polgrim, forcing back another coughing fit.

"Noble motives come from an impure source Polgrim. Baron Blandmere was naive and ignorant. His son marched out with the first of the Knights of the Cross and died when his column was ambushed. The good Baron is wracked with guilt and believes this action will redeem him."

"I have been paid, demon. The Baron's motives are his own."

"The blinding influence of gold, eh Polgrim? The richer a man becomes, the less he sees. It would do you well to know a little of your employer. He is a fervent believer in the Church, he takes his family to mass every seventh day. Once you complete this little job for him he will remember his vows and remember the punishment for dealing with heretics and mages. The Baron's guards will take you to the gallows two dawns from now and the Baron's guilt will only be sated when you're swinging with a rope around your neck."

"Your mouth is unclean demon. It spews forth lies and deceit, words twisted by your corrupt mind. I am well aware of the nature of Blandmere, I see it in his eyes when we talk. His hands shake and sweat masses on his brow when in my presence."

"Your own words vouch for my honesty mage. You know as well as I that your safety here is only assured by the Baron's denial to himself of your activities. He is a man not worthy of your talents. Would you accede to the request of your would-be murderer?"

"Creature," rasped Polgrim, forcing out his words, "you are here bound my spell and shall carry out that which I have asked of thee. You cannot turn aside my intention, nor challenge my conviction in this matter."

"I not seek to sway your on any matter friend Polgrim. I merely question whether it is wise to go forth on this course when it shall end in nothing but pain for thee. Send me back from whence I came." There was a warning edge in the demon's voice and his eyes, burning red, fixed Polgrim with a caustic stare.

Polgrim sneered and a held up a tightly clenched fist. The demon tensed. The mage opened his hand and sent the white powder contained therein, falling over his captive.

Kaet-asov screamed in agony as the particles touched his flesh. He writhed within his prison as each granule burned through his being.

"Now go, Kaet-asov, I command thee. Halt the armies marching on the plain of Jinn and prevent their meeting. Make it so the bloody battle of Jinn-Tor shall never happen. Go!"

The demon screamed at Polgrim, vanishing in an instant, taking all light from the cellar with him.

***

The plains of Jinn were dry and barren. To the East, the desolation continued until the desert gave way to savanna, and then forest, in which lay the town of Azharad. Westwards, past the great rivers and city-states that littered the plains, lay the Citadels of the Pagans. It had been five years since the Pagan-Emperor had sent his armies forth bent on unholy conquest.

The Westlanders now marched East, crushing all those in their path and expanding their demonic Empire. The free lands of the Church had stood firm, but eventually fell back under sheer weight of numbers. The Cathedral at Verin had been sacked and burned and refuges fled to the forests and mountains of the Lastlands.

Azharad was one of the last cities of the Holy Cross remaining. Two weeks previously, the bulk of its army was gathered and sent to meet the murderous horde closing in from the Westlands.

In less than two hours, the two armies would meet. Steels would clash against steel and men would fall. The Plains of Jinn would be awash with blood and only a few would be left standing.

The demon Kaet-asov knew this. He knew the command that had been laid upon him and knew he could not refuse. He flesh still burned and his thoughts were all of murderous intent against the mage Polgrim. There was time, the creature told itself. Polgrim was not long for this earth. The demon swore that his passage to the next world would be a long and torturous one.

Kaet-asov saw everything. He thought of the plain of Jinn and knew the armies were matching onwards, soon to meet. He heard every footfall, every mutter between the ranks, saw each hair on each soldiers head. The plain was full of life; insects, rodents, vultures. All distractions.

Kaet-asov focussed his attention, he felt the tremors caused by a hundred thousand horses'. He reached down, and rearranged the very earth, splitting rocks and joining tectonic plates. Then, with a supreme effort, Kaet-asov pulled.

A jagged line of lightning flashed across the plain of Jinn. It flashed under the advancing Westlander army and on underneath the marching feet of the Azharad soldier. Men panicked, horses reared and threw their riders. The commanders tried to control their troops, but time was against them.

Where the lightning had passed, the earth now ripped asunder. A gigantic crack ran along the desert with terrifying speed, swallowing the two armies before a man could shout a warning.

It took less than a minute. Loose earth tumbled into the newly formed gorge after the fallen soldiers, before Kaet-asov flexed his muscles again and pushed. With a sound like thunder, the great chasm was closed, until the force of the land meeting again caused a ridge to rise up out of the plains. In time men would come to this place again and look upon the phenomenon and give rise to stories about a great snake lying beneath the sands.

Kaet-asov thought of this and smiled. His jailer's bidding had been done and no longer would there be a battle at Jinn-Tor.

***

With a howl the demon was sucked back from his lair and deposited in the cellar of the mage. There was no feast of souls this time and the creatures temper flared like the fires in which in was born.

"I completed the task which you asked of me Polgrim," cried the demon, pointing a clawed finger at the shrivelled figure that watched him from outside the pictogram.

"You disappointed me Kaet-Asov," replied the mage, in a level tone. "Thousands of men now lie buried in the earth by your hand."

The creature grinned.

"I followed your commands, master," sneered the demon. "There was no Battle at Jinn-Tor."

"The rules bound you to the intention, beast, as well as the words. You did not accede to my intentions."

"You cannot hold me to that Polgrim," bellowed Kaet-asov, "intention resides in the minds of man and we cannot grasp that we which do not own."

"You heard the words of the summoning, beast, I took many a month searching for the correct incantation. You are bound by The Law Kaet-asov, and your ignorance of my intention is no excuse."

"That's not fair!" wailed the creature, throwing itself at the mage.

The prison held firm and the demon was thrown back into his prison.

"The rules are the rules, beast," hissed Polgrim. "I made sure you were acting in accordance with the rules of my choosing. Now I shall choose your punishment."

***

"Again," ordered the Captain.

The two guards slammed their shoulders against the door. The hinges buckled and broke and the door fell inwards.

Sword drawn, the Captain stormed into the room, pointing the blade at the figure cowering in the corner.

"Get him and take him outside."

The guards rushed in and, after a moments hesitation, grabbed hold of the old man. He could do little to resist, his arms quickly tied behind his back and his mouth gagged before he could utter a spell in his defence.

"Devil-friend," accused the Captain as the old man passed. He brought his knee hard up into the old man's stomach and caused a howl of pain and a prolonged fit of coughing.

"You'll meet your masters in Hell soon enough, mage," hissed the senior soldier, following the prisoner as he was dragged from the cellar before locking the door tightly behind them.

The Baron, his wife and his daughter, watched the shrivelled old man as he was lead into the yard. In daylight his features were easily seen, and not a pretty sight to behold. His skin was flaking and his eyes sunken into their sockets. Boils clustered on his cheeks and his frame was hunched from years of misuse.

Standing on a balcony, the Baron, nor his family, said a word as the rope was slung around the mage's neck. The Baron was thinking of his son, when he used to play in the yard. Now he lay on a slab in the crypt of the Blandmeres, sleeping the sleep of the dead.

The Baron turned away when the old man's feet were left hanging in mid-air by the opening of the trapdoor. He wandered back inside and thought he would say a long prayer that night.

***

The cellar of the mage was empty. The pictogram drawn on the stone floor had been worn away by the feet of the guards. The desk was clear of paper now and some of the books that had once been stacked here were missing. They were all wrapped up in a brown leather back, slung over the shoulder of an old man. He was hobbling down the main road out of Azharad, carrying a fishing rod. The Azhayd River was always full of salmon at this time of year.

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