Half-Demon's Revenge

by Lina J. Potter

  In confidence, I told a young girl next to me that a treasure had been hidden in the castle. My grandfather had been afraid that the treasury would get robbed and his grandson would be left with nothing. To prevent that, he had buried his riches in Altverin, creating a cache with gems and gold and giving the key to his agent, who had later passed it on to me. Now that I had come there, I was going to take the treasure to pay off my debts and buy a house in the capital—high time to stop leeching off my uncle. Just keep it to yourself, please! It’s my big secret!

  After that, I vomited right under the table and on the knees of the other girl next to me. She had brought it on herself when she decided to eavesdrop. I had the full attention of the entire reception.

  “You’re such an idiot,” Tommy berated me. “You know that rhubarb isn’t good for you, but you ate it anyway. What a moron!”

  I grinned as I listened to my friend. All right, someone was a moron—but was it me? Yes, I shouldn’t have eaten rhubarb; it literally turned my guts inside out. I hated that crap! I had no idea why, either—they say Michelle also had an allergy to that stuff. In any case, two stalks of rhubarb in a salad were enough for me to puke.

  “But everyone believed I was hammered.”

  Tommy sighed, “Don’t get up.” He left for another dose of lemon water for my stomach.

  I smiled, pleased, as I watched the ceiling. The first act of the play was complete.

  ***

  Naturally, we got attacked two days away from Altverin.

  After all, my lands had peasants living on them, and peasants could simply beat the bandits with their clubs, not giving a care about nobility and honor. We also had some idiot minstrel singing songs about a noble thief who stole from the rich while completely forgetting that stealing was a crime no matter who you stole from. And of course, we could never put up any resistance, with only a score of guards.

  Therefore, the bandits—almost two hundred strong—surrounded our carts, aimed crossbows at my people, and ordered them to throw all they had on the ground and disarm themselves.

  Tommy did disarm, followed by Rene, and then the others.

  “Where’s the prince?” the bandit leader, who had been cautious enough to put on a mask, asked, finally noticing my absence.

  “He had to return to the castle for a bit.”

  The bandits paused to think. Apparently, they had been ordered not only to rob us, but to kill me as well. That was the most complicated part of our plan, but fortunately, Rene thought on his feet.

  “If you kill us right now, the prince will never come. He’ll find our bodies and head for the capital in secret, or summon the guards from there. But if he had a reason to rescue us...”

  They saw his point. My friends and the guards were tied up, laid into the carts laden with chests, and asked about the keys. After learning that I had the keys, the bandits left them alone, simply driving them to their lair—right where we wanted them. They couldn’t start breaking the locks right on the road, not really. That would be too stupid. Taking the loot to their place and sorting it out there seemed a much better idea.

  As I had expected, they set up house in the castle of one of our neighboring counts, another distant relative of Abigail’s. Was there no end to them? I had suspected that ever since my talk with Sharen. There were no bandits—just a few cut-throats who were robbing and killing my people, and now they were set on repeating it one more time.

  They never got the chance, however. Because that night, the horror came.

  ***

  It was time for the third act of the play. I was a necromancer. I had no need of an army—at least not an army that was alive. My recruiting took place on the high road. Right at midnight, I drew a six-rayed star on a crossroad of three paths. In each corner, I put the symbols of death, vengeance, blood, summoning, control, and loop.

  The moon was shining, as the wind deftly combed through the trees, and the stars were smirking apathetically, watching a strange man from the sky. What was he bothering himself with? Wasn’t his life just a moment compared to the eternal existence of a star? It might be but that wasn’t a reason to spend it without honor.

  I slowly touched my wrist with a plain old dagger. No need for ceremonial knives here. My blood, black in the light of the moon, dripped onto the ground, and the candles set in the corners of the hexagram lit up in unison.

  And then I summoned them. Not with my words, or spells, or my voice, but with my demonic blood. With the black essence flowing in my veins, I commanded the restless souls to return to the world of the living. Those killed on that land to get gold, those left unsung and unburied, those dreaming of wreaking vengeance on their murderers...

  Come to me, and I’ll grant you something sweeter than an eternal rest. I’ll grant you revenge. I’ll help you get back at those who wronged you, and you will see them writhe in torment, drink their blood and consume their flesh; you will torture their souls just as you suffered before. Come to me, by the power of demon’s blood!

  I didn’t have to wait long. It looked like a lingering gust of cold wind that had suddenly stopped in one place only to sweep down and encircle me, yet failing to pass the borders of the hexagram. I looked inside, and I saw the souls of people who had died a sudden death at the hands of miscreants. Men and women, young and old, everyone who had wound up on the road at the wrong time, they were staring at me. Their eyes weren’t holes filled with darkness, oh no. They were blank, filled with the grey mist of a swamp, and they were watching.

  I spoke first, as was my due. “Are you ready to avenge your deaths?”

  The flames of the candles flared up. The words had been spoken, and all I had to do was wait until the spell worked. To get their revenge, they would go anywhere I commanded, and after everything was over, I would release each and every one of them.

  Steeling myself, I stepped out of the circle. A gust of cold wind hit me, freezing my insides. I felt an icy dagger stabbing me as each ghost passed through, leaving me their memories and their pain, their hate, their grief, and their longing.

  What do ghosts remember the best? Their deaths. Tom Shale was an archer killed by a traitorous stab in the back; Curth Maren was a swordsman who had fallen off the back of his horse as an arrow shot from the woods hit his spine; Rikka Vale was a cook passed around by her murderers before they slit her throat... And more, so much more. Over twenty years, hundreds of innocent people had perished there. They had died knowing they would remain unburied and unavenged…and they were glad to answer my call.

  Was I scared? I wasn’t. I had to merge together with my army, become a part of it, feel their pain, grief, and hate as if it was my own. Then and only then would I be sure that my people would remain untouched.

  Finally, the flashes of their dying moments stopped, and I paused to get used to my new sensations. I felt a lump of grey ice lodged in my chest, but that allowed the ghosts to consider me a part of their host. That would be enough. When I released them, everything would go back to normal.

  I followed the trail of innocent blood. Ghosts couldn’t take their revenge on their own—not until they received their power through me, through my blood. I let them wreak vengeance on their enemies, yet I also gained control of them. And they wanted to help me, all right.

  I broke into a run. If anybody saw me, they would be shocked, as I was racing down the road faster than a saddled stallion, empowered by moonlight. A grey cloud hid me from prying eyes. I didn’t even notice as I arrived at the castle, but blood was calling me. It was the home of those who had spilled it. Not all of them, but the majority.

  What about the rest of them? It doesn’t matter. Those who are here are the priority.

  Behind the castle walls, I sensed my own people as well—my blood. Tommy hadn’t even noticed how I cut his finger and touched his hand; neither had Rene. A drop of dried blood, what a trivial thing! Few would catch such a speck on their clothes, but I would always sense it.

  I unleashed the ghos
ts. What were they capable of? Not much, without outside help, other than sighing and moaning. But after giving me their pain and receiving my rage, they were powerful indeed. They could drive a man insane, scare people out of their wits and make them run away over hedge and ditch. And so, behind the castle walls, chaos reigned.

  I knew what it looked like even though I wasn’t inside yet. A grey wave swept over the rooms, breaking into a mass of phantoms who advanced on their enemies, exuding icy horror. Their spectral eyes burned, their ghostly lips moved, trying to say something, and their dead fingers reached out to their murderers.

  Death...death...death.... Revenge...revenge...revenge...

  For a second, their victims froze in place, only to break into a run—anywhere, as long as they were away from that terror. But the ghosts were everywhere. There was no escape, no salvation. The weakest collapsed on the floor, writhing in agony, their hearts stopped. The strongest were crawling, only to fall anyway—and never get up. Few could withstand the wave of horror. Even I wouldn’t have been able to, most likely. And they died, one after another. Some jumped out of windows, some threw themselves onto their own knives. In the entire castle, only the prison with my people was spared, nobody else.

  I looked at the gates. Damn, nobody left to open them up for me. Oh well. I still had my claws, a couple of daggers, and a wall in front of me.

  Can I climb it? Piece of cake.

  ***

  The fourth act was started in the prison. I broke the lock and set my people free. Their reactions varied, from Tommy’s friendly and worried “Are you all right, Alex?” to a guardsman’s respectful and admiring “Your Highness!”

  I shrugged and clapped Tommy on the shoulder. Apparently, that annoying gesture was contagious.

  “You couldn’t break me if you threw me against the wall. Do you think that a bandit castle is worse?”

  Tommy calmed down and started to smile. Rene, however, was looking around in surprise.

  “Alex, how did you manage to do that?”

  “I can be quite persuasive sometimes.”

  He was surprised even more when he saw bodies scattered across halls and corridors, their faces frozen with horrified expressions.

  Everyone was dead...or mostly everyone. Some had simply gone mad, two or even three people.

  “Alex, how the hell did you do that?”

  I shrugged.

  “Rene, I just went in and smiled.”

  I saw that my friend didn’t believe me. For a few seconds, he considered my words, probably contemplating if he should run away and leave that place. And then he smiled and shrugged as well.

  “Alex, I don’t want to pry into your secrets, but I hope that one day, you will consider me worthy of your trust.”

  And that was it, short and business-like—one more reason to respect the Morinar family.

  ***

  We returned to Altverin with goods in tow, having not just retrieved our belongings, but also with the bandits’ loot.

  The stuff we had obtained was more than enough to pay off all of the county’s debts and refurnish the castle. Still, that was excessive luxury. It would be better for Sharen to build a few mills, and also purchase some breeding stock and grain seeds.

  The only trouble was the memories. Two of them, both quite significant.

  The first one was me releasing the ghosts.

  It’s just before dawn, and I’m standing atop the main tower of the castle. A shroud of grey mist surrounds me, covering me with a blanket, clinging to my pants, and I hear a mournful weeping as a wave of icy cold rolls over me.

  The ghosts cannot harm me, but they’re still affecting me. What a nasty feeling!

  I stretch out my hand and clench my fist. The cut is still open, and black drops of blood fall into the mist.

  “You’ve had your revenge. Rest in peace.”

  As my blood touches the mist, it starts dissipating, and the icy lump of grey ice finally thaws inside my chest. I see human souls soaring up and vanish in the rays of a new sun. They have finally fulfilled their purpose, and they are happy and content.

  But what about me? For a short moment, I feel that I have just given in to my demonic nature; that I’m a tiny bit more of a demon than I was before.

  I could have just let them go, but I decided to make use of their pain and hate to get their revenge. Was it the right choice?

  Yet...was it so bad, really? I didn’t have any other options, after all. So I shouldn’t be worrying about my nature. After all, I wasn’t human.

  As for the second issue...

  There were six children in that castle. All of them died inside their beds, from the count’s daughter to the cook’s grandson. The frenzied ghosts didn’t discriminate between the guilty and their blood. If you had gotten even one coin from the blood money, you were guilty. And your children were your blood, too. I didn’t like children dying, but...

  Your sins shall fall on the shoulders of your progeny to the seventh generation.

  If the thralls said that, then why couldn’t I? And could I judge? If not me, then who? My blood, my right. One day, I would answer for everything, but until then, was there any point in thinking about that? True, it was cruel. But I was a half-demon, not a lady from high society.

  ***

  I returned to the capital with all the taxes, interest, and fines. Sharen cried with relief and tried to kiss my hands. We barely managed to drag him away and get him drunk. We had to use cheap wine; it had been a while since we had had any money for the expensive stuff.

  Uncle didn’t seem happy with my return. His treasurer, however, shed tears of happiness. Of course he did—so much to steal! But Rudolph was grim.

  “I can assure you that Altverin won’t cause any more problems,” I smiled, trying to seem as relaxed as possible.

  “How did you do that?” Uncle narrowed his eyes. “We’ve heard some strange rumors...”

  I bet you have. It was I who spread them.

  The rumors said that Prince Alex was a terrible man who had hired a warlock to cast a curse, and anyone who stole even a needle from him would die a horrible death. There used to be lots of such warlocks in the olden times, but now most of them were gone. But can you truly get rid of all the unholy spawn in the world?

  That was the first version. There were others as well. That grandfather had left me a cursed item, and anyone who tried to get their hands on it would perish, that Prince Alex was a warlock himself...

  Honestly, at first, I hadn’t been sure about spreading such rumors, but then I brushed my doubts aside. I was a half-demon. Sooner or later, everyone would learn my nature. Let them get used to that, so when the truth was revealed, people wouldn’t care that much. All right, so he’s a half-demon. But he’s a good guy, isn’t he? Not like that one, who may be a human, but a complete bastard! Let’s give him a good dressing-down, but leave the king alone!

  “I don’t know about the rumors,” I shrugged. “But I hope you’ll tell me all about them, and we’ll sort it out.”

  Uncle seemed resentful, but started to list them anyway.

  I rejected the first rumor, the one about hiring a warlock, straight away. Where in our country would I find one? Haven’t the thralls wiped out all of them? Or weren’t they diligent enough?

  Grandpa left me a cursed object? How could you think ill of your sire? I’m shocked!

  I am a warlock? Lies! I’m no warlock.

  Right then, Abigail narrowed her eyes, looking at me with suspicion. Not a good look for her, really. Some women should never grimace like that, as it makes them resemble she-goats who weren’t milked properly.

  “Can you swear on the holy symbol?”

  I nodded like crazy. I could do that until the cows came home.

  There was quite a specific difference! How could I be a warlock? I had never summoned any demons or signed a blood contract with them. I was a necromancer, true, but no warlock. Warlocks summoned demons to gain magic power; before they did tha
t, they had been ordinary humans. I was a half-demon from the get-go. My nature was a part of me.

  Auntie seemed quite pleased and started nodding, as a thrall appeared from behind the throne. He looked really zealous, with the eyes of a rabid dog, a smile befitting said dog, a tattered robe, and the symbol of the Bright Saint in his hands. He handed me the symbol, which was a silver pendant with a blooming tree.

  Without pausing to think, I took the amulet and examined it. “What should I do with it?”

  You would really have to see auntie’s face to believe it! Apparently, I shouldn’t have even touched it. Not bloody likely.

  That said, the demon part of me really did feel some discomfort—a pretty mild one.

  As for the human half, it didn’t care a bit. I was a fire mage by blood. Bright fire was my element, my heritage. And the Bright Saint didn’t mind fire, never!

  “Son of light, kiss the pendant and vow upon it to tell the truth and only the truth.” The thrall’s droning was akin to dry leaves rustling in the wind.

  I paused to think, then pulled out a handkerchief from my pocket and started wiping the pendant.

  “What are you doing, Alex?”

  “Uncle, my health is rather poor,” I declared, loud enough for the entire court to hear. “Who knows who was drooling all over it before me?”

  “That is a holy object!” the thrall objected. Then get your holy ass kicked.

  “But the drool on its surface is far from holy,” I disagreed.

  He had nothing to say. The courtiers started giggling, and I finally polished the pendant sparkling clean—and gave it a smacking kiss, almost sucking on it.

  “I vow to tell the truth and only the truth!”

  “Are you a warlock?” the thrall asked straight away.