For generations my family had kept the demons of the northern wood in check, and never before had the spirits succeeded in overtaking one of our kind. Until now.
Whether or not the demon found my prison ironic escaped my sharpened senses, as I was still grappling with the anger, and humiliation, of being defeated at my own game. How dare this demon imprison the soul of Wizard Keighvin and torment me with promises of freedom?
The prison was simple, effective. In this place of dark thoughts and ghostly beings—indeed, I was a ghost—my captor made a sphere from which I could not escape. With no sense of up or down, my soul floated freely in this cage, having forgotten already what it was like to have a body, to be able to touch, to walk, and to breathe in cool night air. And the irony was, this prison drew its power from the very circle-casting I had forged in the northern meadow; with which I'd intended to imprison, or at least ward away, the being which kept me under lock and key now! I wanted freedom, but whoever or whatever was responsible was slow to inform me of its motives. Years seemed to pass before I understood the extent of my hellish fate.
I knew I had to forget the happiness I had enjoyed in the small village if I were to avoid total madness, and focus on what was happening to me now. If indeed I had any purpose left, it was to defeat this demon with whatever I could. But to do that, I had to learn about it. And the easiest way to do that would be to feign an alliance....
As I entertained these devious thoughts I became aware of a deep shadow that mirrored my mood all too well. It resembled the wraiths that I had, for a time, kept successfully at bay, but it was much larger and darker than those faint ghosts that had clustered at the edge of my erstwhile shields. It stank of evil, and of a power behind that, a collection of magics I never dreamed existed. I comforted myself with bleak reassurances that I was already dead, that no further harm could come to me. Since I had failed to subdue the demon in my own world, I would have to do so in his—for it was indeed male, I saw, its ugly shape, its horned head. It parted great stormclouds to reveal my prison, and stood over it, tall as a tree.
The demon regarded me silently for a time, like an overgrown lad contemplating a newly caught rodent in a cage. I sent forth thought forms of confusion and complacency, all the while hoping this creature didn't dig too deeply. This was a new venture for me, tricking demons in their own kingdoms, and I doubted my work would hold up under much scrutiny.
"What are you?" I asked, my words only thoughts, and for a time I didn't know if it understood. "What happened to make me a prisoner of my own magic?"
Its face contorted into something approximating amusement. I am your captor, your victorious enemy. I am your master, and you are my slave.
I am Demonheart...
Images of the grove and the circle I had cast within it flew at me as if caught up in a storm.
It was the heart of evil you found, and tried, like a fool, to imprison. I am that heart. I am Demonheart.
There was gloating in the creature's words, but I detected a sense of simplicity about it; it might know the magical world but it might yet be fooled by guile. I conveyed a feeling of helplessness in manner and thought. In apparent response to this my prison walls thinned somewhat, and Demonheart came into sharper focus. It was a monstrous wraith, yes, but one that still had a sense of naivete about him, if such things were possible in a demon.
Would you serve me in my work? Demonheart asked.
"Of course I would," I said readily. "Not because I appear to have no choice, but because I would gladly serve one as mighty as you. What would you have me do?"
Demonheart didn't tell me immediately what he had in mind, but over the course of time I learned that, despite his power, he lacked something mortal humans take for granted: life. Not spiritual life, of which he obviously had plenty, but a physical life, with birth and death and all the joys and miseries in between. Whether he had lived before he never said, but if he had, it was a long time ago. How he was to be reborn remained a mystery, as he was no mere soul; I also had the impression that he had tried before, with no results other than a hasty death for the newborn infant. He would need something other than a mere mortal body, and I was beginning to suspect I was going to be his means of achieving this dark purpose.
This I could not do, to create a being in which this evil thing could live. It was against my oaths as a wizard; even though I was quite dead, I was still bound to them: I would not do harm, nor would I create something that would do any harm. Do what thou will, but harm none, that will be the whole of the law.
Demonheart began to let me out of my cage from time to time, allowing me explore this new world of phantasm, only to bottle me up once again. I found myself ensnared by bindings the demon created, thin but strong silver threads that kept me tethered and at the demon's whim. I thought that with time the demon might become more trusting and let me explore other regions with greater freedom. I might travel distances his bindings could not sustain, and I would be free—to go where, I did not know, but if I were to be an earthbound spirit then so be it. At least earthbound I might find a wizard who could send me onward to the divine light, from whence I might return and be reborn.
First things first, I reminded myself. To fool the demon...
This plan might have served its purpose if not for the arrival of an unaccounted-for presence: the wizard who came to take my place as the village magiker.
Beautiful, she was, with long red hair. I did not know what tradition she learned from, but from her competent air, she seemed highly learned in whatever school had taught her. She also seemed eager and wanting a place to practice, and I remembered all too well the pleasant working conditions I'd had in my previous life. These people were kind and generous, and if she had any degree of compassion she would stay on whatever terms they offered, and help them. When I sensed her gift for healing I rejoiced, knowing the town needed a good healer. My poor attempts at the healing arts had produced little result despite the village's great need for them.
As she took up residence, going through my former belongings with respect, but also with a determination to wipe the slate clean, so to speak, I realized she was in great danger. My demise must concern her, if she be a magiker of any merit. She would investigate, and soon she would discover the demon, and perhaps make the same mistake as I in underestimating it.
Only if I could contact her, warn her... My reins tightened the moment she took up residence in my former home, and Demonheart let me from my spherical cage only rarely, and when he did he kept me under constant watch.
Beautiful, is she not? Demonheart asked, from a point directly over my shoulder. She had already healed the headman's ailment, whatever it had been, and had started work on the miller's sickly cow. She would make a suitable wife for anyone, don't you think, my young slave?
I agreed with the demon's observations. It was at this point that I began to suspect his intention, although I was not convinced he was shrewd enough to pull it off. He would have to know... what I know. My books, my spells. With a sickening realization I saw that was what he had done; Demonheart had absorbed my knowledge as he had absorbed my soul.