Half-Demon's Revenge

by Lina J. Potter

  Darius looked serious. And actually, the vow of the Triad was not a toy. I knew that for a fact, as a mage and a necromancer.

  Over the previous years, it had gone out of style, as lying or violating the vow resulted in too steep a price. Whatever the thralls preached, our world was saturated with magic, and it wrought terrible vengeance on oathbreakers.

  I, of course, pretended to be confused. I believe you, Your Majesty, but who was it, then?

  Darius threw up his hands and suggested that the war between our nations profited the Tevarrians. Maybe they were the ones to answer for that?

  In return, I lamented that there was no one to answer anyway, as there were no necromancers to speak to the dead in the vicinity, and even if there were, that was an ungodly craft.

  Darius sighed as well and asked me if I knew what exactly had happened there.

  Doe-eyed, I told him that Mikael had been sure of a victory… at first.

  Then, something went wrong. He was telling something to his companions with a worried look, and then those creatures appeared...it’s a miracle I survived. Or, rather, that Tom saved me, but didn’t save himself.

  Darius sympathized with me, while I pretended to grieve, wiping my crocodile tears.

  Nobody suspected me, by the way. First, I had displayed to everybody my powers as a fire mage, which meant that I couldn’t be a necromancer. Second, I would have never put myself under fire.

  They were wrong about magic, though. There were mages with several types of magic, even if they appeared exceedingly rarely, like once in five or six hundred years. And there was no guarantee that they would live long, as each gift was bound to manifest itself eventually. And if a child first starts a fire, gets scared, and summons a hurricane, it was highly likely that they wouldn’t survive.

  I was the only one who knew how stupid I had been. I had miscalculated, I hadn’t been prepared or careful enough, and my friend had almost fallen victim to my carelessness. Nobody else had noticed that, however. They had only seen Tom saving me, and how I had burned the tentacles to ashes.

  And they saw me at the talks, exhausted, with under-eye circles, barely standing. The crowd is an odd animal. Having once formed an opinion, it changes it rarely and only under considerable pressure. And the army had already decided that I was a victim.

  So, who were the evil necromancers? Two versions: either the Riolonians or the Tevarrians. Yet I wanted neither; we still had to return to Radenor, and what if people started tearing the Tevarrians to pieces? They weren’t guilty of anything. It had been Mikael, the scumbag, who had tried playing with other lives, only to become another man’s pawn. His soldiers were ordinary people who had their families waiting for them at home.

  Was that honorable of me? More like practical. If left alive, they would be of use to me later.

  Thus, the main culprit remained unknown. Darius and I parted company on amicable terms and headed back to our countries.

  ***

  We marched all day long, ignoring pain, fatigue, hunger, and everything else. I found a moment and approached the cart that was transporting Tom.

  The healer was still by his side.

  “Will he make it?”

  “I hope so. He has fractured ribs, but none of them pierced his lungs. It’s almost a miracle. His left arm is broken, and I’m not sure about the leg, but it’s bound to leave a spectacular bruise.”

  “Why is he unconscious?”

  “I sedated him, or he would be screaming with each breath,” the healer snapped.

  It made sense. A hermetic seal was no cure for pain. That was rather stupid of me, all things considered.

  I still had so much to learn.

  ***

  The Tevarrians left on the second day, and their colonel politely bid me goodbye, expressing his hope that we would stay friends. My response was a shrug of the shoulders. Whatever His Royal Majesty decides. I would love that, but we will have to investigate the whole matter! Things like that don’t happen every day.

  A day later, we were visited by the templars. Ten men in white robes, on white horses, in white capes... It was an incredible sight, as if ten patches of fresh-fallen snow stood before our eyes, or white birds against the grassy backdrop.

  In truth, however, templars were some of the worst bastards ever born. How are they made, you may ask? I will gloss over those people who serve the Church simply because they didn’t want to work themselves and strove to live at others’ expense, or the true believers who sought to enlighten and console the masses. No, there really were some...a percent or two of the overall line-up. Maybe in the lowest ranks, so, the Bright Saint forbid, they wouldn’t try to elevate the others.

  One of the templar squads was called the Avenging Hounds. This title fit them like a glove. Their job was to track down, catch, and kill all dissenters. They had been hunting Rene, all mages in fact. They were mages themselves as well, only turned inside out. Don’t try to picture something unappetizing, everything is much simpler than that.

  The templars looked for gifted children, and upon finding them, took them to the church and raised them as true believers. And by that I mean total brainwashing. They managed to bring up such zealots that I was horrified. Compared to them, holy thralls were bundles of joy. And when such a child manifested his gift for the first time... Honestly, I don’t know what was done to them, I can only suspect. You see, upon initiation, a mage accepts all their power, and together with it, the entire world. They become akin to connecting vessels: the initiation breaks the barrier between the glass tubes, and magic fills both halves.

  As for the Hounds... Somehow, they broke that vessel. Not the barrier that separated it from magic, no—the entire glass. Magic is a fragile thing, and a gift can be lost. Such people couldn’t cast spells anymore, and like all damaged beings, had a very keen sense of magic. They also intensely hated those who hadn’t lost that part of their nature. Hated them so much that if I were to fall into their hands, I would sooner burn myself, and that would be quite painless compared to their torture.

  “Your Highness!”

  Our scouts were the first to discover them, and returned to us together with the white-clad riders. I couldn’t help but shiver, as if I were cold, although the templars didn’t pay it any mind. In their presence, everyone felt uneasy. It was a side effect of the magic nullification.

  I was in no hurry to speak up and silently examined their squad. Ten men, from a grey-haired Hound to a very young boy no older than fifteen. All in white, with grim looks on their faces, tight-lipped, and not a hint of a smile. And the worst thing: they all had the same eyes—dusty grey, as if powdered with ash. Maybe that was even true. The ash of burned magic was inside their hearts, and nothing could ever grow there. The only purpose they had was to turn everything around them into the same ash.

  “Prince Alexander Leonard Radenor?”

  The Hound who spoke to me looked thirty to thirty-five years old. He had dark hair, pale skin as if deprived of sunlight for years, and a burn scar on his cheek. Somebody had probably sold their life at a dear cost. Too bad they didn’t finish the job. No big deal. I will help.

  “Whom do I have the honor of speaking with?”

  I looked straight ahead, didn’t smile, but showed no fear. I wouldn’t let those scum see any, even if I was afraid.

  I hadn’t been scared when I had killed those hunting Rene, but that had been different. It had been the thrill of battle, the intoxication, the pleasure...

  Here, it was cold calculation and intrigue. Who will get the upper hand? I will, no other choice. Those animals would never rule my country!

  “Alexander, the first warrior of the squad.”

  I nodded. The Hounds had no titles or ranks. There was only a warrior assigned to lead a squad of others such as him during their mission.

  “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “We’ve detected...a breach.”

  I nodded once again and reminded myself of a bobblehead wit
h a broken neck.

  “You are too late. We left it behind on the battlefield, more than two days ago.”

  “We couldn’t make it in time,” the templar said, staring at me coldly. “What can you tell us about it?”

  I could tell them a lot, but I wasn’t going to give in.

  “Right now, nothing. You can wait until evening, and I’ll talk to you when the army sets up camp.”

  “We need to move in the opposite direction.”

  “Not my problem.”

  “Are you obstructing a holy mission?”

  “Are you obstructing the king’s will?”

  I looked at him with a mocking smile. Just you wait, you cur! I’ll teach you to bark when ordered...and will neuter all of you. I don’t want any more such kennels.

  The templar flushed with anger, but restrained himself. He realized that strength wasn’t on their side and swallowed the insult. He would get back at me later, if I gave him the chance.

  “We are going to question the soldiers; in the evening, we’ll speak with you.”

  It sounded like a clear threat, but I responded with a serene smile.

  You haven’t seen Argadon yet, you dog.

  “I’ll be eagerly waiting.”

  “Then wait,” the templar said curtly to have the last word in the argument and turned his horse back.

  The colonels stared at me with...fear? Finally, one of them spoke up.

  “Your Highness, is that really such a good idea, angering the Church? They are powerful...”

  I shrugged.

  “Powerful? How many warriors do they have?”

  The way I put that question seemed new to the colonel. It clearly made him think.

  “Your Highness...”

  “My people, colonel, are more important to me than any potential problems with the temple,” I snipped. “We’ll move as intended. We need to reach the river by the evening, or we’ll have nothing to drink. And thirsty horses...do I have to spell it out?

  I didn’t have to. The army continued on its way.

  ***

  The templars returned in the evening, just as I was talking to Tom.

  Yes, my friend survived and was getting better by the hour, which I contributed to my imbuing him with magic. Of course, Tom couldn’t use it or even take it in, but simply by its nature, magic, as it ran through his veins, evened out his energy channels, sped up the healing process, and tried to restore his body’s natural state. A sound mind in a sound body, and all that, and vice versa.

  Even my necromancy could benefit. It’s no coincidence that mages live longer than ordinary people.

  “Your Highness?”

  I threw up my hands, pulling away from discussing Tom’s future wedding. Yes, my friend had decided to propose to his baroness after arriving home. I approved.

  Why not? She was smart and pretty. Once, she had gotten burned, but that gave her a good reference point—she’d both appreciate Tom and love him, making the marriage solid.

  The only thing left was to get his parents’ approval, but that would have to wait. It wasn’t yet time for her to visit Torrin. So, for now, there would be a betrothal, and the wedding a bit later, especially since they wouldn’t have to wait long.

  “What would you like to ask?”

  “We’ve talked to the soldiers, and they’ve said that you used magic.”

  I sighed dramatically.

  “I’m sorry, Tommy. I’ll talk to them and be right back.”

  “We’d like to speak both with you and your friend,” the templar was almost hissing. I shrugged.

  “Tom, can you lend him some of your time?”

  It wasn’t good timing, but the help came sooner than I had anticipated and from the place I had never expected.

  “No,” the healer sharply interjected. “My patient won’t talk to anyone.”

  “Are you obstructing the temple’s holy mission?”

  The templar, my namesake, hissed even louder, but the healer wasn’t about to get scared.

  “He is my patient. When he gets better, you may visit him with your entire temple, but until then, I will stop anyone who prevents his recovery.”

  “And the holy mission?”

  The healer chuckled wickedly. “Bring here any other thrall, forsworn, and I will not get in your way. But the presence of a man who’s given up his essence is harmful for the wounded.”

  My jaw fell. The templar’s, too, but I was the first to come round.

  “Tend to him,” I ordered the healer and took the white scumbag by his arm.

  “Come with me.”

  Make your voice a bit more forceful, don’t even think that you’re touching a forsworn, that even his touch drains your magic, don’t think about anything. You will survive this moment.

  The templar recovered his composure only sixty feet away and turned back.

  “I—”

  “Halt!” This time, I was ordering in earnest. “You won’t touch that man. He’s doing his duty.”

  “He dared to—”

  “Tell the truth?” My tone became venomous. “It’s no secret for anybody. Tough it out. You’re a thrall of the Bright Saint, are you not? Then you’re supposed to grin and bear it.”

  The healer was promptly forgotten, replaced by me as enemy number one.

  “Well then, Prince Alexander,” the man was almost hissing once again, “tell me what happened.”

  “We were on the hill, watching the enemy.”

  “We?”

  “Tom, me, His Majesty Mikael...”

  “The king of Tevarr?”

  “Yes. And four of his generals. We were standing on the hill, talking, and then I got distracted...”

  “With what?”

  “I went to relieve myself.”

  The templar had a fit of coughing. I smiled.

  “Yes, it happens to princes, too. But they never let me. Tommy noticed something, knocked me down, and we tumbled down the hill.”

  “Really?”

  “And then, tentacles appeared. I didn’t understand what was happening. I can’t say how long it lasted. When something like that is next to you...”

  I shivered, and the templar nodded.

  “I know that. What happened next?”

  “It was an...entrancing sight. I got carried away and didn’t notice the danger,” I spread my arms. “Tom saved me again, and the healer saved him. Which is why I won’t let you hurt him. It’s a blood debt; you have to realize that.”

  For a few seconds, the templar stared at my face and then relaxed. I knew what he saw—a boy.

  Just a boy tormented by guilt for the loss, afraid to lose a friend, a boy who simply felt bad. An eighteen-year old boy. And of course, that boy was angry and lashed out...what else would he do? Let him lash out, up to a point.

  “What happened when your friend saved you again?”

  “He fell down. He was hit by a tentacle...and that was luck. Not the barbs, or the suction cups, or the poisonous spikes, just its weight. It knocked him down, and I got scared. I was afraid he would die,” I blurted with a slight pause, and I wasn’t lying, either! It was the honest truth.

  “And then?”

  “My mother was a fire mage. Turns out, I am as well.”

  “Really?”

  “The power poured out. Instead of those creatures, it’s all just baked earth.”

  “You have so much power?”

  “No,” I shook my head. “Later, I realized that I was just that desperate.”

  The templar nodded.

  “And the other two cracks?”

  “I don’t know. They were far away.”

  He questioned me some more, but I managed to wriggle out without saying an untrue word. I left things unsaid, talked around corners, beat around the bush, but I never lied—and that turned out to be enough.

  The templar nodded and left me alone.

  And I thought about that bone and the part of a demonic tentacle lying in my luggage, carefull
y wrapped in special fabric with glyphs that blocked the flow of magic.

  If I were caught, that would be a death sentence. For me? No, not quite. For the templars. I hated it when somebody stood in the way of my favorite occupation—in particular, necromancy.

  ***

  Until evening, those bastards were wandering around the camp, interrogating everyone, and getting on everyone’s nerves, while I was asking myself only one question: should I kill them or not? On the one hand, it would make the world a bit better.

  On the other...wouldn’t it be too suspicious? Ah, whatever! The war will write it off. But how will I get to them? I spent some time thinking, but couldn’t come up with anything useful. Eventually, I threw in the towel.

  Whatever will be, will be. Let fate decide whether they live or die. I could kill them right now, but how would I avoid revealing myself? The Church had a huge influence over the people, and I would have to rule them.

  The next morning, I roused the troops and ordered them to march out. The templars started to object, saying that they hadn’t questioned everybody they wanted yet, but I dismissed them.

  “Do you want to come with us? Go, then. I’ll even give you our best horses.”

  They wavered, hesitated, and finally, refused. We have to go, or the remaining traces of the crack will disappear. Well, their loss.

  And so we moved out in one direction, while they went in another, and I pushed them out of my head.

  A few days later, I got a letter from my uncle. Appalled, he told me that my wife, together with my father-in-law, were locked up, and asked me why I hadn’t thought about that?

  I read it all and spat in disgust. Yeah, why haven’t I thought about that? Because I was the one to instigate the whole thing, but Uncle didn’t have to know that. The next question would be why I hadn’t predicted that, prevented that, why I had allowed that...and weren’t you guilty of that, perchance?

  I wasn’t going to confess to everything. I wrote Uncle that I would be back soon and that we would sort out the issue then.

  For the next four days, we marched. And then...