Even at half-grown-- and barely that-- Ummor was determined to make sure she was useful. She sensed that the sooner she made her presence an asset rather than a burden, the better she and her brother would fare with their master, Habithi Balechild. Cruel he might have been, but he was also intelligent, and good work required compensation or the good workers would leave. Only the insane or the desperate stayed where they were not rewarded for their efforts.

Which was why Illiot was still there, Ummor guessed.

Very quickly Ummor had realized that each of them in the small group-- Ummor never called it a "family", even in her own head, though she had sometimes wished she could have; she knew Master Balechild would disapprove of such a sentimental word for his following-- had their role. Illiot owned the apartment and stroked Master Balechild's ego when he needed it; Petunia made sure everyone ate and brought in part of the income that fed them; and Jetan'Betina socialized with those Master Balechild could not, brought home information, and brought in another significant portion of their income. Terebinth filled in the financial cracks by playing at games and gamblings of which she already knew the outcome, and gave Master Balechild her riddle-locked knowledge when he asked it of her.

Ummor and Quatan, however, were still young and not yet contributing much. Ummor kept the apartment tidy and looked after her brother when he wasn't trailing after their master or Terebinth, and she and Quatan quietly learned everything that he came across, but Ummor wasn't satisfied with that. She wasn't old enough or big enough to get a job, she had no connections or friends to exploit, no special power that she could use or extraordinary intelligence, and she would be laughed at and run off anywhere she might try to spy or investigate. Besides, she didn't like spying or investigating; she preferred to be straight-forward than sneaky, and preferred to be seen to hide. She didn't even have much to show for her learning: Quatan was eating up styles of fighting and showing great promise with his adaptable magic, regularly impressing Master Balechild with his progress. Ummor's magic was too specific to impress him much, and not her strength, anyway.

Ummor wasn't even sure what her strength was, yet, and that disturbed her. She was a capable mage, nothing more; she was not a fighter nor did she have any wish to be; she was not a spy nor did she wish to be that; and she was really happiest when looking after someone, organizing something, or intervening in squabbles. But many of the household-- she liked that word; it seemed a happier medium between the volatile "family" and the clinical "group" or even the fanatical "following"-- had no desire nor need to be looked after by a child, there was only so much to put in order, and no one took her seriously when she tried to mediate disputes.

Some might have told Ummor that, at barely a year old, she had plenty of time to find her niche before she was in danger of being expelled from the household. It seemed like her niche, her purpose-- the only one she could think of that she would be happy and able to fill-- would have to be post-poned until she was older, bigger, more likely to be taken seriously. It was frustrating, but perhaps she just needed to learn patience.

So she tried to hone her other skills, do what she was told, look out for her brother, and above all watch and listen while she waited for adulthood.

That included helping Quatan when he found a new spell that had a somatic component, or required a willing blood donor, or even just suggested someone be there to watch in case things went wrong. Most of Ummor and Quatan's learning came from books, with occasional cryptic suggestions from Terebinth or even more occasional advice from Master Balechild himself, since none of the others had any blood or darkness magic to teach them, but Terebinth knew where all the books on the subjects could be found and made sure they had them to review. Mostly, though, they were left on their own and merely tested regularly to see how much they could do. So when Quatan found an old, vaguely-written scroll sitting on the pile of blankets that served as his bed and brought it to his sister, the only real thing to do was try the spell within and see what happened. If there was going to be trouble from it that they couldn't handle, Terebinth would know and would either be present herself or send Master Balechild, so Ummor had no fear, and reassured Quatan as much.

::Terebinth likes suffering,:: Quatan had answered succinctly after a long pause, implying that she might well let them get what was coming to them, if there was anything.

"Nonsense," Ummor said, admittedly uneasily, while one head clacked its beak in an attempt to look braver. "She would not risk our usefulness to Master Balechild. Would she?"

Quatan said nothing in response, but he did go into their magic room-- they had acquired the apartment next door, though Ummor wasn't sure how, and converted one room into one safe to practice potentially dangerous spells within-- with the scroll without any further protest than slicking his feathers down. Normally Ummor was the more cautious, but she also trusted their housemates more than Quatan did, and she thought Terebinth had been the one to leave the scroll. She wouldn't have left it if not for a reason-- everything Terebinth did had a reason, because she knew everything. Ummor refused to believe that the hooved dragoness's reason was pure malice.

Quatan set up the physical components of the spell while Ummor waited, then she offered her own foreleg for him to delicately cut open and drain blood from, wincing as he mixed it with some of his own. In the case of having no one around to speak the words, Quatan had at least managed to work around that: he wrote them, with one claw dipped carefully in the mixed blood, on the floor around the diagram he'd made with the chalk. Ummor actually thought that made it work better, though she still dutifully read them aloud, slowly and carefully, as he wrote. Not as well as forcing someone whose pain was fueling the spell, but better than a willing speaker. Some spells even required an unwilling victim, but those were in short supply while they lived on the space station, given the tight security.

But when there was no need for someone to torture, Ummor was glad to help her brother. It seemed like she was the only one who could, with the possible exception of Master Balechild, because he hadn't yet tried. She suspected that the only reason she could work spells in concert with him, like this, was that she was his sister and he always included a bit of her blood, too-- the power came from him, but it deigned to let her focus it if the spell demanded words.

Quatan finished the last line and dotted it with a period to close it, and Ummor shut her beaks with a final click, then took the bowl of blood and poured it over the center of the diagram. Rather than splashing, the blood ran along the predefined lines a moment, soaking into the chalk, before the diagram suddenly flared up with red light and the candles placed at the cardinal points rose a good foot before going out entirely-- leaving behind a round... hole... in the floor. That seemed to go down into nothingness, endless blackness of some other, darker dimension.

"Quatan, did the spell say anything about what it did?" Ummor asked nervously.

His only answer was a shrug, which could have meant anything, and Quatan trailed one claw through the bloody script, disrupting the neat, orderly flow of letters.

The hole flared up again, and both gryphydras scrambled back-- Ummor with an undignified squawk-- as actual flames roared from the nothingness. "Quatan, what did you do?" Ummor squealed, crowding her brother behind her protectively, ignoring the way a few of her feathers, catching in his balefire, turned to a fine, black power that dusted the floor.

All three of his beaks were open, soundlessly, but he didn't answer, too fixated on the otherwordly fire. Ummor followed his gaze back to the flames, and stared, too: there were now two... figures... in the fire. It almost looked like one figure, except as the flames receded, then vanished, leaving the room dim and the floor restored, Ummor and Quatan were left blinked at a tall, human-shaped dragon carrying a trident and a much smaller dragon, brightly on fire, perched across his shoulders.

"I was thinking nobody'd ever summon us!" the fiery one exclaimed gleefully, its voice crackly like fire, high-pitched, and ambiguously-gendered. "And look-- look, they're just kids! Let's eat them!"

"Don't!" Ummor cried hastily. "We summoned you! Don't you have to do our bidding?" She really had no idea whether this was true, but at the very least it would stall them while, hopefully, Quatan would call Master Balechild.

"There is no binding in the spell that called us," the larger of the two, dull brown and solidly built and decidedly male, said. His voice was deep, slow, and ominous. "We are free."

"And if you make the mistake of trying to bid us," the fiery one added with a flame-toothed grin, "we'll eat you while you're still alive."

"But-- won't it be-- more fun-- to stay a while with-- with guides?" she stammered, grasping at the first idea that came to mind. 

"Well... you could make promising servants," the tall one mused.

::We have a master,:: Quatan spoke up, briefly, but inflexibly.

"A powerful master," Ummor added, taking up the thread for her quiet brother. "A Balespawn. He wouldn't like anyone taking us away from him-- but he might like you."

"I've never heard of this 'balespawn'," the tall one commented, "but we serve no master."

"We just kill things," the fiery one put in happily. "Well, and maim things. And eat things. And set things on fire. And give people nightmares. And--"

"That is enough, Xirtia," its tall companion scolded gently.

"Yes, that is quite enough," came the rumble from the doorway. Ummor felt briefly weak-kneed with relief, but she refused to show it in front of Master Balechild. He had come, after all-- and quickly! There was no more danger, now that he was there and could protect them. Terebinth even peered in behind him, looking both pleased and amused.

The two strangers stepped back as Habithi Balechild's green fire bathed them in in a sickly light. He was massive today, and though not quite done growing-- he still had another couple growth spurts-- he no longer looked quite as gawky and awkward as he did while his limbs took off growing without the rest of him. He was... impressive. Perfect for a demigod like himself, and intimidating for a pair of outsiders, or whatever these two were.

"Ummor, Quatan," Master Balechild continued, eyes not leaving the two newcomers. "Please. Continue."

What he suggested was obvious: they started it, so they must be the ones to finish it. A test, of sorts. Ummor swallowed-- twice-- and her third head focused back on the outsiders. "This, friends, is a Balespawn. Our master, Habithi Balechild. He is strong, and he is clever, and he is a master of corruption. If you need direction in your-- your killing and maiming and giving of nightmares, while you're in a strange place like this, he is one who could give it."

"We need nothing," the tall one reiterated, "and we serve no master."

"Perhaps the hellspawn misunderstand their place," Terebinth's two voices spoke up sweetly. "And perhaps they would do well to try and save face. If the master of corruption would have your vow, you should consider, if you wish to stay as well-made as you are now."

"No one threatens us," the fiery one hissed, and the tall one hefted his trident warningly.

Ummor scurried away from her brother and between the Balespawn and the demons-- hellspawn, fire, and sharp things? of course they were demons-- and said hastily, "Perhaps a partnership-- an alliance. You like death, destruction, and cruelty-- Master Balechild is familiar with all of them. His name is cruelty. Perhaps you could help each other. You could have a cause, a purpose to put your mayhem towards."

Master Balechild wouldn't like the sound of that, but there needed to be some compromise here, or there would be blood spilt.

More blood.

Blood. Quatan was, she noted with pleased surprise out of one head, hurriedly tracing things on the floor with more of his own blood, staring fiercely at the demons. She had no idea what he was doing, or whether it worked, but the tall one put down his trident and the fiery one clung to his neck rather than leaping, blazing, at anyone.

"We will consider this," the tall one said slowly. "We are strangers here, and it might be well that we have a purpose."

Ummor relaxed slightly, relieved again. "Take as much time as you need, friends," she told them.

"But make sure that you do not need too much," Master Balechild added. "Ummor, Quatan. Out."

Obediently, both gryphydras hurried out, but each one, on their way past him, got an approving nod and a large hand laid briefly on their backs.

They'd done well.

Chapter Twenty-Two

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