Fury of a Demon

by Brian Naslund

  2

  VERA

  Ghalamar, City of Argel

  Vera’s left pauldron pinched her armpit as she climbed the tower of Argel’s keep. Garret was a stride below her. The sun had set three minutes ago.

  They were heading for the private chambers of Argel’s ruler, a man named Garwin. He’d been a lowly baron the last time Vera passed through Argel, and she’d watched his city ravaged by a Red Skull. But his prospects seemed to have improved since then.

  First, he wasn’t a baron anymore, but a count.

  The promotion seemed to have come with more resources. His keep had been rebuilt twice as tall, and in the latest Balarian design—all steel beams and decorative clockwork gears. A lingering reward for Garwin’s loyalty to the murdered emperor, Mercer Domitian.

  But Garwin’s time basking in the wealthy, kind sun of the empire was over. Osyrus Ward had requested a full garrison of Garwin’s troops delivered to Floodhaven to fuel the war effort in the Dainwood, and Garwin was dragging his feet on the delivery. He knew that Ward needed soldiers badly, so he was trying to delay his way into a better deal.

  Instead of sending more favorable terms, Osyrus had sent Vera and Garret.

  They reached the upper chambers, which had their windows cracked open to let in the cool sea breeze. Garwin was lying facedown on a table, getting massaged by two yellow-haired Ghalamarians. There were candles and incense. The women were chanting and running oiled hands across his body in a synchronized pattern that would have been beautiful if Garwin wasn’t so hairy. The rough sound of his oiled hair being swished around made Vera’s skin crawl.

  She waited. A few minutes later, one of the women tapped Garwin on his ass, and he flipped over onto his back. Kept his eyes closed. They continued massaging—one starting at his feet and the other at his chest. Eventually, the two of them met at his cock. One started rubbing his balls while the other began jerking his cock into a stiff erection. His moans were loud enough to cover her entrance.

  Vera glanced down at Garret, who gave her a single nod.

  She opened the window a little wider. Slipped through.

  Both women were focused on their work, so they didn’t notice her presence until she took a chair from the corner of the room, thumped it down in the middle of the room, and sat.

  The girl who’d been jerking Garwin off yelped and brought both hands to her mouth, which caused Garwin’s cock to slap against his ample belly. He shot up with a Ghalamarian curse, but froze when he saw Vera.

  “Both of you, back up against the far wall,” Vera said in Ghalamarian. “Make no sound, make no fuss, and you will both live.”

  The women did as they were told. By the time their palms were pressed against the stone wall, Garwin’s cock had completely retreated into his mound of wild pubic hair. Vera motioned to it with one of her daggers and smiled.

  “Not sure I’ve ever seen a cock shrink that fast.” She motioned to her dark hair. “Guess I’m not your type?”

  “Who the fuck are you?” Garwin growled.

  “You know who I am, Garwin. And you know why I’m here.”

  “The Madman wants his soldiers.”

  “You promised them a fortnight ago. Yet the barracks of Floodhaven sit empty.”

  “As does my skyline,” Garwin responded, then smiled. “What’s the matter, is Osyrus Ward a little short on spare skyships to come cajole me into submission?”

  He was, but there was no reason to confirm that truth for Garwin.

  “Ward wasn’t in a rush to firebomb a city full of perfectly capable soldiers until he learned the reason for the delay.”

  Garwin smiled. “The Almiran savages are tearing apart any soldiers who get dropped into that jungle. If Ward wants my men to face a similar carnage, I need more coin.”

  Ah. Simple greed.

  “No. You will honor the agreement, or I will kill you in this room.”

  Vera knew that Garwin was going to attack her because his pupils dilated and his shoulder muscles tensed. But all he managed was half a lunge before Garret’s noose slipped around his throat and tightened, then hauled him up through the air like a bundle of hay being lifted to the top rafters of a barn. Vera leaned back in the chair and kicked the massage table backward, but not too far. Garwin’s legs flailed as they sought purchase.

  He gurgled. His face was beginning to turn purple. But eventually he found the table again with his toes and managed to balance himself on it by pushing his naked belly forward.

  Fully exposed and vulnerable. Good.

  “Garwin, Garwin, Garwin.” Vera tapped her dagger against her palm in time with the name. “That wasn’t a very smart negotiating tactic.”

  “Fucking bitch,” he rasped.

  She shrugged. “There is a new deal on offer now. You will deliver your troops on the next tide. All of them. You will receive no remuneration for your contribution to the war effort, other than the chance to continue drawing breath through your greedy lungs. If you do not adhere to these instructions, I will come back here and I will kill you.”

  Vera stood up from the chair. Stepped forward. She used her dagger to lift the stubby head of Garwin’s cock slightly. Balanced it on the flat of the blade.

  “You will not get a soldier’s death from me. It will not be clean, and it will not be fast. And while the skyships of Kira’s empire are currently occupied, they will arrive at their earliest convenience, and kill every man, woman, and child of Argel. Do you understand?”

  The veins in his forehead were bulging with a mixture of strain and fury. But he nodded.

  “Are you going to be a more obedient count from here forward?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  Vera retracted the dagger, then motioned to Garret, who released the noose and let Garwin collapse on the lush, Pargossian carpet covering the floor. He rubbed his throat while he heaved in some ragged breaths.

  Vera glanced at the two women, one of whom was crying. The other was shivering, despite the sticky, humid night. “Neither of you will breathe a word of this to anyone,” she said. “Or it will be your bedrooms that I visit. Clear?”

  They both nodded. Eyes full of fear.

  “Good.” She crouched down so Garwin could see her eyes and hear her better. “I wish you calm seas and clear skies on your journey to Almira.”

  Vera moved to the window.

  “Should have known the widows would throw in with the Madman after Okinu died. Your order plays solemn and loyal bodyguards, but you’re all just lackeys to whomever holds the most power.” He spat. “Call me greedy if you want. Intimidate me into obedience. But you’re not better than me. None of the widows are.”

  Vera looked back at him. “My order is destroyed, Garwin. I am the last Papyrian widow. And I’ve never pretended to be better than anyone.”

  * * *

  She and Garret left Argel the same way they came in—climbing down the tower and sneaking through the shadows and alleys.

  Vera would have preferred to fly the Blue Sparrow directly above Garwin’s tower and drop in by rope. Moving through the city on foot was the most dangerous part of this mission. But Osyrus had wanted to show Garwin that it wasn’t just the skyships that could get to him. It was also a regular blade, brought to him by a human hand in the night.

  The logic made sense, but Osyrus Ward wasn’t the one sneaking in and out of a fortified city. They’d used a drainage tunnel with a rusted-out grate to get in, and the plan had been to use the same method for getting out.

  That would have worked just fine if there weren’t four spearmen guarding the mouth of the drain when they returned to it.

  Garret and Vera both squatted in the shadows of an alley that ended about two hundred paces from the grate.

  “I thought Ward’s spies said they never guarded the drain,” Garret whispered.

  “Either the spy was wrong, or he lied. Either way, we have a problem.”

  “Secondary exit?”

  That i
nvolved climbing up one of the dragon watchtowers on the opposite side of the city, which was manned by two sentries who—according to their intelligence—emptied an entire bag of wine into their stomachs before night watch, and worked their way through a second one before their shift ended.

  Vera checked the watch on the inside of her wrist. Shook her head.

  “Too far away. The sun will be up by the time we return to the Blue Sparrow. Ward wants us to be invisible on this one.”

  Garret nodded. Turned back to the spearmen. “Then this needs to be silent.”

  “Yes.”

  They both studied the terrain. There was a long shadow stretching from where they were positioned to a clump of ferns about twenty strides from the left side of the grate. A big stack of replacement shingles gave good cover on the ride side, but it was farther away.

  “I’m left,” Vera said. “You’re right.”

  “Got it.”

  They split up and moved into position, both moving slowly and carefully to avoid attracting the attention of the four spearmen, who were relaxed but generally alert. Every few minutes one of them spat or muttered something, but otherwise they kept their eyes on their sectors.

  When Vera reached the stack of shingles, she loaded a shot into her close-range sling, then took a spare shot out and tapped it against a crooked nail that was hammered into one of the shingles. It wasn’t a loud or suspicious sound, but Vera had been working with Garret long enough to know that it would work as a signal.

  She got a good grip on her sling with her right hand, then pulled it taut with her left, which would save her half a second when it came time to swing it.

  Silence. One of the guards farted. Then spat again. Tamped the spittle into the dirt with his boot.

  Then a hemp rope wrapped around his throat and yanked him into the shadows.

  Vera waited for the remaining three to turn away from her. When they did, she stood and whipped her sling in a tight circle. Released.

  Her shot buried into the back of the nearest spearmen’s skull. She followed her shot at a full sprint, drawing Owaru as she ran. The spearman tottered and fell before she’d covered half the distance. The sound of their comrade falling over got the two remaining spearmen to turn around again and face her. They dropped their spears into a defensive position. Well-trained bastards.

  Vera reared back with Owaru like she was poised to strike, but at the last minute she drew Kaisha off her left hip and threw her into the nearest spearman’s throat. It was a good way to kill him without a sound, but it left her completely vulnerable to a spear strike from the last man, who reared back and prepared to skewer her.

  Garret appeared from the shadows and stabbed him through the back of the neck. Held his hand over his mouth while he died. Lowered him to the ground slowly. Pulled his knife out of the back of his neck, cleaned the blood off with three quick strokes across the dead man’s cloak, and sheathed it again. He looked at Vera.

  “We’ll string them together, then pull them through the drainage pipe after us,” Vera said. “Nobody will find them until the smell gives them away.”

  Garret nodded, then starting tying the corpses together.

  * * *

  There was an open field on the far side of the sewer tunnel that led to a riverbank with good cover. She and Garret crossed the field in silence, sticking to whatever shadows they could find. Neither spoke until they’d dropped down into the riverbank, and tucked themselves beneath an overhang.

  Vera remembered when the Red Skull had attacked Argel during her first visit. This was where the people of the city had taken cover. Now she was doing the same. Strange to have the motions of her life running in circles like this.

  Vera pressed two fingers against the watch in her bracer, which caused it to give her the time in four quick pulses. A recent improvement from Osyrus Ward that allowed her to tell time in pure darkness.

  “Seventeen minutes,” she said.

  “Got it.”

  Vera was tempted to pass the time by smoking her pipe, but that was a really good way to attract the attention of a dragon or a passing human or both. Sharpening her blades wasn’t a great idea, either. So, she tried to readjust that left pauldron that had been digging into her armpit during the climb.

  Garret produced a small vial of oil wrapped in black cloth from his satchel and started rubbing oil along the length of that rope he liked so much.

  For a while, they worked on their respective equipment in silence. The problematic pauldron was the same piece of armor that a Skojit had sheared off during Vera’s first trip over the Razorback Mountains, and despite visiting half the armories in Burz-al-dun, nobody had been able to restore the damaged piece to its former functionality. Sharkskin armor was an obstinate material that required years to master.

  A widow’s armorer in Himeja might have been able to repair it properly. But they were dead, along with everyone else in the capital. At this point, she just had to accept the damage as permanent.

  “You told Garwin that you were the last Papyrian widow,” Garret said, breaking her out of her thoughts. “Are you sure about that?”

  This was the seventh job they’d done together, but the first time he’d asked a question that wasn’t required to complete their work.

  “Most of my order was killed in the bombing of Himeja,” Vera said. “A few were scattered across Almira. Remnants of the aid that Okinu sent to Ashlyn before she was deposed. But I killed the last of those myself.”

  “Why?”

  “She betrayed Kira.”

  “But there could be other widows. Hiding out in some dark corner of the world.”

  “No.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  Vera took a breath. “Because I serve the man who destroyed Papyria. If there were any other widows alive, they would have come to try and kill me by now.”

  “Fair point.”

  He worked a fresh glob of oil into his noose. Seemed done with the conversation, which was fine with her. But he spoke again a few minutes later.

  “I enjoy working with you,” he said.

  Vera scoffed. Thought he was joking at first, then saw his serious face and was just confused.

  “Why’s that?” she asked.

  “Garwin never gained a modicum of control over his situation. And on the way out when those four guards could have made things messy, you kept calm and kept it clean.” He looked at her. “You should be proud of your skills. They’re impressive.”

  “There’s nothing impressive about extorting a naked lord.”

  “No, not the actual job. I don’t care about that.” He returned his attention to the rope. Tested a braid of his noose with two fingers. “But the skills required to complete the job—and to do it clean—those are different. There is a beauty in your proficiency.”

  She let that comment linger on its own for a moment, unsure of how to respond. She doubted that Garret offered compliments to people on a regular basis. This was a chance to learn more about the enigmatic man she’d been traveling with for almost two moon turns, but barely knew.

  “You don’t care about the work that we do?” she asked.

  “The outcome is inconsequential.”

  “Not sure the dead spearmen going to rot in that drain would agree.”

  He blinked. “What I mean is that all outcomes are inconsequential. Someone will win this war eventually. Probably Osyrus Ward, but you never know. Jungle warfare is messy. Unpredictable.” He used a knife to slice away a few frayed strands of his rope. “But regardless, the outcome will be the same. There’ll be a period of peace. Terra will lick her wounds. A fresh crop of soldiers will be born, and trained for the thresher. And then—a decade or two from now—a new war will start. And another after that, and another after that. The loop is endless and pointless. The best you can do is find beauty in the minutiae.”

  “I disagree,” said Vera. “You can also find people that mean something to you and protect them.”


  “Ah, right,” said Garret. “Your wounded empress. Kira. How long since you last saw her?”

  “Forty-seven days.” She glanced at the watch embedded in her bracer. “Six hours. Fifteen minutes.”

  “Are you counting the seconds, too?”

  Vera gave him a look, but didn’t say anything.

  “I suppose that is why you’re fighting on the wrong side of this war,” Garret continued.

  “I thought you said that you didn’t believe in right and wrong.”

  “I don’t care about right and wrong. But you do. Don’t tell me that you believe Terra is a better place with Osyrus Ward lording over her skies.”

  “Ward is the only person keeping Kira alive. The only one who can heal her.”

  “We’ve been working together for months. Been to almost every country in Terra doing the Madman’s work. If he can heal her, he is certainly taking his time.”

  Vera shook her head. “Kira is to come off the machines upon my return. She’ll be ready. I have his word.”

  “And you trust it?”

  “I don’t trust anyone.”

  “Then why did you agree to be gone for so long?” he asked.

  Vera picked at a cut near one fingernail that had been opened during their climb up the Argel tower. Winced. “Because I don’t serve her by moping by her side.”

  “But you serve her by serving Osyrus Ward?”

  She picked a scab off her knuckles. Flicked it away.

  “Something like that.”

  The real reason that Vera had agreed to crisscross Terra on behalf of Osyrus Ward was more complicated, but she wasn’t going to share that with Garret the Hangman. The man had an empty, black pit where his soul should have been.

  Garret coiled his noose into a neat circle and hooked it to his hip. “I supposed you’ll be done with these missions, then. Once your empress is recovered.”

  “That’s right.”

  “Too bad. We make a good team.”

  Garret was right. Not only had they helped Osyrus Ward shore up influence all over Terra, but they’d been extremely successful at it. The closest they’d come to a mistake was that hiccup leaving Argel. Somehow, being good at helping Osyrus Ward made her feel even worse about it. The opposite of Garret, apparently.