by Rory Surtain
“I carry the House of Hal-Raekorn here. What am I in the Outer Domain?”
“While your Infernal being, your House, is forbidden to cross into the Outer Domain, your soul lives in a state of exile, having an embodiment in two places at once.”
“The High-Prince forbids my crossing?”
“He forbids all of his most powerful Houses from leaving his Domain. That is why, with few exceptions, only lesser demons can cross over. The High-Prince’s mandate for oversight and control of our reality is eternal. When Maltheus sent the Kjaira through, he did so at great expense and with Kasaval’s backing.
“And that is why you are stuck in this Infernal bar, this cocoon of sorts; while your other self bleeds, you garner your power. A connection between you and your other self exists through the shared soul which defines you and the eternal spirit that carries on the seed of your House. You leverage common instincts and abilities based on the powers and titles that your House already holds or may acquire in either Realm of existence.”
“Here, I have eons of knowledge and skill to draw upon, but I am expected to wait for my other half to mature. I don’t have the patience for it.”
“Remember my words about growing too fast. Don’t let your quest for wings tear you apart.”
“If I can draw so readily from him, then he can also learn to draw from me.”
“And that, Younger, is the secret that Hal-Raekorn the Elder learned with the title Firefanged.”
Chapter 5
Firefanged
I felt like a prisoner. I had lived an independent life, perhaps from too early an age. Now, I was always surrounded by an armed guard and was never allowed to go out scouting or hunting on my own. While I understood the wisdom of safety in numbers, especially as a way to avoid conflict, old habits die hard. I wanted to lead the way, not follow along, or be escorted.
We left Lockrun for the week-long trip down to the northern city of Stonnberg, Duke Ragir’s seat. I had made my good-byes and promised Cat that I would be back to check on her sometime soon, though I wasn’t sure when. Pastor Riley gave me a thorough once over and his Blessing of the Divine through all the many Saints. Sister Kay wouldn’t say good-bye, letting me know that there would always be a place for me in Lockrun, no matter how far I roamed. I got the feeling that maybe I hadn’t been so very independent after all. The pit in my stomach as I rode away seemed to agree.
While the King’s Realm Guard and the other mounted Knights traveled rapidly ahead, intent on their own pace and destination, we marched or rode with the Order’s foot soldiers. I remained armed and was given a beautiful horse, a black gelding named Daur. It was well-trained and easy to ride. I had never ridden a horse before, and I was told that I would have plenty of time to learn on the trip westward. While my backside and muscles had plenty to master, generally, my arms and legs found it easy to guide the animal any which way it wanted to go. As I said, it was well-trained.
Vigil Snow found the time to share his plans for me. We were headed to his stronghold a few days ride north of Stonnberg, the headquarters of the Vigil in this region. The castle and surrounding town were called Berykholt. There I would be trained further in the arts and tactics of the Vigil. My arm was healing well in its leather and steel vambrace cocoon, and I expected to be in much better shape by the time we reached our destination, ten days hence.
The first night on the road, we halted at one of the prepared campgrounds sited along our route every thirty miles or so. Paddocks existed for the horses, and dry areas were set aside for tents and cooking. A large berm encircled the camp, but overall security for the armed force wasn’t of significant concern. I was given a tent with a pair of Sentinel guards, Tate and Stevens by name, stationed outside. Knowing that we had another long day on the road ahead of us, I slept, and I dreamed.
A smoke-stained tavern ignored the barren desert that ran for uncounted miles in every direction. A thick ribbon of Sulphur rode on the wind, masking much as I stepped cautiously inside the dark, dismal abode. The bar’s patrons had a sour disposition as if they resented being there, or just resented being. Caged incense hung overhead, and the rotten smell from outside was replaced with the pungent odor of burning flesh. It didn’t bother me as much as it should have.
Dreams were just random echoes, after all, right?
The bar reeked of predators, like the Kjaira I had slain but on a larger scale of violence, a full cohort instead of a single assassin. There was a strange sword planted in the bar, sprouting two feet tall. While it was seemingly ignored by all those around it, I was drawn to it. I heard it rage loudly in my mind. It cried out for release, for blood and conquest. Part of me wanted to claim it, grab it from the bar and carry it to war.
Of the two men sitting at the bar counter, one was built large and dressed for battle, which, to me, was strange attire for a night of drinking. The sigils on his black armor and his scent were oddly familiar. He was an acquaintance I should remember, but one that I was sure I had never met. The other man was of medium build and dressed in burning gold and black finery. His essence was deeply foreign as if he were made of a completely different substance or was perhaps a different species than the warrior.
They had each other’s confidence, and their exchange was muted.
As I slowly approached the conversation, my mind still focused on the sword, I couldn’t help overhearing the word ‘Firefanged’ spill from the smaller man’s mouth. Instantly, I was engulfed in black fire and burned to the ground where I stood.
I awoke screaming in my tent. The brands under my shirt burned as if they had been applied anew. One of my guards peered in, asking if I was okay. I didn’t have an answer to that, so I just got up, shaking off the pain, and left.
The fresh night air felt good, and I eventually calmed down as the burning sensation eased. It was still a few hours until dawn, and not wanting to sleep anymore, I went back into my tent and kitted up with my weapons and chain-mail armor. Then I headed to the berm wall of the camp for a long walk.
I wanted to saddle up Daur and ride like the devil away into the night, but I wouldn’t risk running the horse in the dark. I might be able to see where I was going, but one wrong footstep by the steed could mean its end. Reaching the top of the wall, I began to circle the encampment. The circumference of the berm wall was close to a mile long, and it gave me plenty of time to sort things in my head as I marched along. I drew my fang knife just to be able to feel the weapon in my hand, and I scanned outward from the camp, sensing for any threats. The forest around us was quiet, and I was alone. There was nothing to fight and nothing to explain the vivid, violent ending to my dream. I felt the careless gaze of the room, the underfed light, the berserker rage of the sword, my unknown connection to the man at the bar, and the agony of my sudden conflagration. I had been an unseen observer right up until that last moment, and I had paid a price. That I knew for sure, but just not to whom, or why.
As I completed my circuit, I saw that Doctor Loeb was waiting for me. “Everything all right, Ara?” he said, an eye on my fang-blade.
Quickly sheathing my weapon, “I just needed to cool off, Doc. I had a rough time trying to sleep.”
“It might still be some aftereffect of your encounter with the Kjaira, perhaps some venom left in your blood. We’ll try to find out more when we reach Berykholt. How about another trip around the camp?” he offered.
Thunder rolled in the distance. “Sure, count me in,” I said.
Half-way around the berm with Loeb, I felt a baleful tug, not outward, but inward toward the center of our camp.
“Doctor, when do the guards change shifts tonight?”
“In another hour,” he answered. “Why?”
“Assassin?” I hissed, sliding down the earthen wall.
Sprinting inward, I headed for an area near my tent about two hundred yards away. I kept low, trying to mask my fast approach. As I neared my tent, I could see my two guards talking with a third, a courier dressed in the D
uke’s colors. They were pointing him toward the tent of Vigil Snow.
I put my hand on my back and slowed my approach. “What ho, change of the guards already?” I called out.
“Not yet, we were just showing the courier Gibbons here where to find Vigil Snow,” said Tate.
“Seems like an odd hour to receive a courier?” I pressed.
Being face to face, I could feel his lethal intent and his growing anxiety at being delayed. The courier offered a calm smile and gave me a slight bow. For some odd reason, that made me itch.
“I would appreciate it if you would lead the way. I was told to deliver this message in person as soon as possible,” he responded.
“Certainly, sir. Tate, did you check his credentials?” I asked.
Tate gave a nod. “He bears the Duke’s official seal on his dispatch,” he answered confidently.
I turned to the courier. “Sorry for the delay. Please follow me,” I said, striding off toward Snow’s tent in my most official manner.
We were met by Captain Glenn and two sentries at the entrance to Snow’s tent. I took a small step to one side to make room.
“Captain Glenn, an urgent dispatch has arrived for Vigil Snow,” I said by way of introduction. “He bears the Duke’s seal. Oh, and I forgot to mention that I found a terrific bottle of Kjaira if you’re interested in drinking it with me.”
Glenn nodded without missing a beat. “That I would,” he said with a smile. “I’ll just wake our Vigil so we can see what news the Duke has sent us.”
Feeling a hot pressure build in the courier, I knew when and how he would make his move. Glenn turned his back on the potential assassin and started to duck into the tent. The dam burst beside me as the courier launched himself forward, drawing a long, dark knife from his dispatch case. I was already spinning into his path, snagging his left foot with mine. Instead of plunging his blade into Glenn’s back, he planted it into the ground at the Sentinel’s feet. Glenn instantly reversed his motion, slamming a rather large boot into the side of the man’s head. The guards to either side descended upon the attacker, further pinning him in place.
Inquisitor Loeb walked out of the shadows and tied the man’s arms and legs in a less than comfortable position. I guessed that the good doctor knew as much about inflicting pain as healing it. The assassin was likely in for a long ride back to Stonnberg, followed by a short meeting with the Duke’s executioner.
Vigil Snow exited his tent as Glenn completed a search of the assassin.
“Be careful with this blade. The last one we intercepted was coated in a dreadful poison,” Snow said, examining the ornate weapon. It looked like an antique to me.
“We are traveling with the Duke’s own troops. Why would he send a courier to kill you?” I asked.
“We don’t know who sent this man, though he does carry an official dispatch from the Duke,” answered Loeb.
“Why would anyone go after a Vigil? Especially one that just removed a dire threat to the region?” I asked, still confused by the attempt. “Isn’t assassination a political act? How are demons a political concern?”
“There are some that feel threatened by our absolute power in protecting this land or our success when it comes to dealing with the Demonic Horde that assails Colivar,” said Snow. “Captain Glenn and his House Guard are my most skilled Sentinels. Their sole task is to keep me and mine safe, and they have been kept quite busy these past few years.”
“Have any assassins ever been successful against the Order?” I asked.
“Sadly, we have lost more Vigils to assassins than demons over the past two decades. These are dangerous times for us all,” replied Snow.
I took to cat-napping in my saddle during the day as we traveled and staying awake most of the night. My Sentinel watchers, Stevens and Tate, were more than happy to train me as it replaced the boredom of just standing guard. Being part of Snow’s House Guard, they were experts in close combat against opponents, both human and Hellion, and I was quickly learning to recognize and counter their various moves.
Captain called me a ‘natural’ when it came to learning the arts of self-offense. I was rapidly becoming more adept with my axe and learning the subtleties required to wield it effectively. Its considerable momentum and double-blade demanded greater strength and control of its direction and angle of impact. A poorly aimed strike could just as easily injure the wielder as the target.
We also sparred with light sticks against heavily weighted clubs, trying to mimic the speed and quickness of the demons that we would face. The conventional drill was to wait until the light stick was committed to an attack. One would block hard with a shield, or in my case, a heavy vambrace, hoping to push the opponent off balance, and then counter-attack with the more massive weapon.
Some instinct told me that this was all much too slow, allowing time for more demons to join in the fight. We would rarely be fighting a single demon, and according to Glenn, they tended to attack in a cohesive mass of teeth and claws. I used my natural quickness and rapidly growing strength to attack preemptively, often with success, then dodge back before the counter-attack. The key was precision, avoiding their shield while making sure that my first strike was judged a killing blow. Soon, due to the speed of my attacks, I was relegated to the role of “practice demon” with only a couple of clubs made of light pine wood. I found myself slowing to half-speed just to make things a bit more even with my Sentinel sparring partners. It turns out pine shatters quite easily.
We reached Duke Ragir’s capital of Stonnberg after a long week. Loeb wasn’t able to get anything useful out of the hostile courier, though the Inquisitor did note a foreign-sounding accent to the assassin’s voice when under stress. As expected, we met a small delay in Stonnberg while we handed over the prisoner and then stayed to witness his execution.
Never leave an enemy alive behind you.
Northward to Berykholt, I rode with the Order’s troops. It was another three days before we reached our destination in a valley just south of the Everest mountain range. As we crossed the Westever River bridge and entered the city of Berykholt, Vigil Snow dropped back to speak with me.
“Ara, welcome to my home. I am sure you are as ready as I am to get off the road. You will be given a private room at the castle, and you will be expected to train each day with the Sentinels and their recruits. If you get bored, I will also lend you to the Vigil’s Scouts. They are tasked to patrol and protect the broader area around Berykholt. Doctor Loeb seems to think that your left arm is almost up to the task.”
At the mention of Scouts, my spirits perked up. Berykholt was near the foothills of the Everest mountains and offered very similar terrain to Lockrun, which was located on the far eastern end of the same mountain range. With Summer arriving, the weather would be great for night scouting.
“I’m still dealing with a few aches in that arm, but my sore backside will be quite grateful for a break from the saddle,” I replied.
“In that case, Sentinel Glenn will get you situated. He oversees the House Guard when I'm around. Oh, and one other thing,” he said with a serious face. “Please keep your shirt on at all times.”
I watched him as he rode ahead.
Chapter 6
Snow’s keep
Berykholt, the city, spread in an unconfined manner across the valley on the south side of its castle. Berykholt Castle was initially built to guard the northern border and could hold a respectable garrison of up to five hundred in times of siege. As the threat of open war was rare these days, most of the Vigil soldiers stayed in barracks located outside the castle walls, or in the town proper if they had a family and the means to live there. Anchoring the stone block castle walls were four square towers at the cardinal points of a compass. The castle held a stable and four sizable keeps around a functional courtyard. An area for two hundred yards in every direction outside the castle walls was kept clear for tactical readiness and training.
Captain Glenn showed me into the Vigil�
��s Keep, which permanently housed Vigil Snow, Warden Hartwell, and their families. This last bit surprised me. Traveling in their company the past fortnight, I didn’t notice a hint of any family life for these men, especially one so near. Perhaps I saw everything through my disconnected position in the world. There was also a keep allocated for visiting dignitaries, another for visiting royalty, and the fourth for castle servants and garrison troops. As it was, Vigil Snow’s keep was modestly comfortable.
In Lockrun, I was content in an attic storage room with a small window for ventilation. It was private enough and had just enough room between boxes for my bed and a chest. In Berykholt, I was given a full bedroom in Snow’s Keep, complete with bed, dresser, chest, weapons rack, and a great view of the castle’s inner courtyard. The door to my room opened onto a common living area shared by six other bedrooms plus a shared pair of bathrooms. Currently, three of the additional bedrooms were occupied by my constant companions, Glenn and Loeb, and by Glenn’s second in the House Guard, one Sentinel Sergeant Gulliver Barnes. Vigil Snow’s and Warden Hartwell’s families occupied similar settings on higher floors, and we all shared a common kitchen and dining area on the ground floor of the keep.
I spent my first afternoon cleaning my armor and equipment while watching the comings and goings of the courtyard. In the evening, I took one of my usual catnaps that soon turned into a ten-hour slumber once my head got used to the soft pillow and mattress. Having a quiet night, one free of nightmares and demon cats and assassins, was a rare boon, and I felt rejuvenated the following morning.
My second day in Berykholt, I was invited to attend a Welcome dinner with all the keep’s inhabitants. An Order recruit had shown up at my door late in the afternoon with a word from Lady Rebecca Snow that I would be expected in the dining hall at dusk for food, drink, and formal introductions. I had been given plenty of sets of day to day garments for training and Order activities, so I washed up and put on a clean set of dark gray pants and a light gray shirt. I left my newly scrubbed armor on the rack in my room, only wearing the stiff leather wrap on my left arm and the fang-knife in its sheath on my back. The exotic dagger was growing on me, and I didn’t feel comfortable without it.