Followed by Fire

by McKenzie Austin

  He needed to get rid of Vahldod before that happened.

  Balvonak glanced around, surveying the area. He didn’t want to leave; he had assured Esven that he’d guide her back to the inn. But decisions needed to be made. She was an intelligent woman; she’d know to return to the inn, or stay with the priest. Either way, he’d find a way to return to her.

  Buying himself some time with a short cough, Balvo returning his focus to his fellow demon. “There are too many watchful eyes here, old friend. How about we find a quiet place to settle things? Maybe we can work something out that benefits us both equally.”

  A sick ray of delight flashed through Vahldod’s eyes. “A wonderful idea,” he said, the words rolling off of his tongue with a sing-songy tone. “Where shall we go?”

  “The forest,” Balvonak answered quickly, already growing suspicious of the people who walked in close proximity. “Away from listening ears.” He extended a hand, gesturing toward Pinesguard’s gate. “Lead the way.”

  “With pleasure,” Vahldod answered, offering a veiled bow, before he turned on his heels and headed off.

  Balvonak waited until he was a respectful distance away. Only then did he cast his eyes to Maritimus and lower his voice. “Tell Esven not to worry, if you can.” He flicked his eyes toward Vahldod’s back, scowling. “I’ll be back as soon as I remove this thorn…”

  Separating himself from Maritimus, who failed to issue a reply, Balvonak sliced through the town until he was on Vahldod’s heels. A part of him felt an unexpected pang of guilt for leaving Esven, when he assured her he’d be there. It irritated him. The feelings of humans had never concerned him before. Not in his life as a man, or as a demon. He tried to brush the sentiment away. He needed to focus. All his wits amassed to the forefront. He required all of them to deal with Vahldod.

  Maritimus watched the demons leave from his place outside the church. Amusing that Balvonak thought he could order him around. The cat stood, following after the two, knowing full well that his efforts were better suited to being a spy, than a messenger.

  The pair exited the small town with little effort. Voices faded away from earshot the farther they crept into the forest. Balvo followed as Vahldod veered off of the dirt path that had been carved in the woods from centuries of walking feet.

  Deeper into the trees he went, until the path that bridged Pinesguard and Bronzglen disappeared from sight.

  “She’s easy on the eyes,” Vahldod announced after a long silence, continuing to put distance between himself and civilization.

  Balvonak huffed. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  After reaching up to push a pine-needle covered branch out of his route, Vahldod asked over his shoulder, “Did she say she’d open the door?”

  Balvonak fell quiet. He needed to choose his words carefully. Vahldod had the cunning ability to sniff out the intricacies in anything that was said, and turn it into a weapon. “I’m… still convincing her,” he admitted, trying to sound confident. “But everything is going in the right direction.”

  A smirk split Vahldod’s face in half, though he did not turn to show it to his traveling companion. “If you can’t get them to give willingly, sometimes you have to take.”

  Shadows fell over Balvonak’s eyes as he frowned. “You can’t force her to open the door. She has to want to let the demons out. Divine permission from a human, rulers of the surface world. You know how it works.”

  “Humans are easily manipulated,” Vahldod muttered as he came to a stop. They had trekked far into the forest. The few shadows that pierced the treetops played tricks on the eyes. Turning to Balvonak with a devious sneer, Vahldod dipped his chin. “But you know that already, don’t you, my friend?”

  A dig. Vahldod was good at those. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty for what happened to that woman—”

  “Please, Balvo. We’re incapable of guilt.” Vahldod tilted his head, assessing the demon’s face. “Aren’t we?”

  The mind games. Balvonak remembered them well. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he closed his eyes tightly and sighed. He was tired of beating around the bush. They were far enough away from the townsfolk. He needed to make his position known, and make it clear. “As it stands, she’s mine, Vahl.” His hand slid down his face, and he opened his eyes long enough to glower at his peer. “You’ll keep your distance.”

  A grim chuckle followed. Vahldod held his ground. “We shall see,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

  It irked Balvonak that there was no fear in Vahldod’s face. No sign of resignation. He took a step forward, his jaw tightening. “I’ll instruct her to stay in the church if need be. You won’t be able to touch her.”

  Vahldod nodded, bobbing his head from right to left, as he weighed the statement. “Mm. Yes. Neither will you.”

  With a rising feeling of unreadable emotions in his gut, Balvonak clenched his teeth together. “I’ll figure something out.”

  “Temper, temper,” Vahldod uttered, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, as he waggled a finger at Balvo. The demon was no fool. He knew Balvonak was a worthy opponent. But Vahldod did not play the part of the losing side. In an attempt to prevent victory from slipping away, he said, “I thought we were trying to find a situation that benefitted us both, hm? Let’s say you and I return to the Netherworld together. We’ll inform Marumon that we have paired up.” His hands spread out in supplication. “A team, if you will. Vahldod and Balvonak, back together once more. Perhaps He will bless both of us with the prize of freedom.” Vahldod dissected his companion’s expression, his head tilted to the side. “What do you say?”

  The offer fell over him in a tempting way. It would be far less of a headache to align himself with Vahldod. But even that had its risks.

  All that, and there was no way he could return from the Netherworld. Not as long as Esven carried his key around in her pocket.

  “I’m going to have to pass,” Balvo murmured, not wishing to give his vulnerability away.

  A scowl fashioned onto Vahldod’s face, but it did not last long. “Selfish,” he muttered, leaning against the trunk of a tree. “I shouldn’t have expected anything less. But… ‘tis reckless, too,” he added, pointing a finger at his colleague. “I took you for an intelligent demon, Balvonak. You know that if you’re not with me, you’re against me… and I do not play by the rules.”

  “I don’t want to go back there,” Balvonak snarled a bit too forcefully. After a moment of realizing his error, he muffled his forceful apprehension. “Not yet. Not until Esven is willing to open the door. I don’t want to risk irritating Marumon any further than I already did when I told Him Amadeia was dead.”

  Vahldod’s head twisted slowly to one side. His golden eyes flickered across Balvonak’s face, evaluating him. Dissecting him. He saw the small beads of sweat that had formed on Balvo’s forehead. He took notice of the clenched fingers. The fear. It was hidden, but just enough scent remained that he caught it a whiff of it. When he did, his expression warped into one of sadistic glee. “By Marumon’s blood,” he breathed, “you lost your key.”

  If Vahldod had been guessing, Balvonak verified it when he cringed at the accusation. His eyes widened, and he felt a chill inject itself into his entire body. “I—I didn’t lose it,” he mumbled, his tone lacking conviction.

  Laughter from Vahldod’s throat rattled the air surrounding them. He thrust a finger into Balvonak’s chest, poking him repeatedly as he took several steps forward. “You can’t trick a trickster, Balvo. You can’t.” His arm fell as his eyes glistened with the thought of his next move. “This… this changes everything. It really does.”

  He fucked up. Balvonak knew it then and there. The sick look of glee in the glowing orbs that were Vahldod’s eyes—it was unmistakable.

  He knew too much.

  Balvonak took a step away. There was no turning back. Not anymore. He turned his palms upward, and from them, a handful of flames shot up. Cupping the raging balls of fire, Ba
lvo lowered his head, shoving his feet into the soft earth. If it had to come to this, he was pleased they were away from the town. Away from the murderous eyes of the Brotherhood. He had enough problems, without adding Brigovia’s finest magic hunters to the list. “You’ll never outlive me, Vahl.” He followed the demon, his voice rough. “You may have the brains, but I’ve got the endurance.”

  “Outlive you?” Vahldod chuckled, summoning fire into his own hands as he side-stepped, circling Balvonak. “I don’t need to outlive you, my friend. Only outsmart you.”

  Balvonak drew his shoulders back. It wasn’t his first fight. He’d endured a hundred or more in his earthly life. It was the only thing that had ensured his survival. As for demons? He’d sparred with one or two. Making friends in the Netherworld paralleled that of Brigovia’s surface. It didn’t matter, though. He was never out to make companions.

  The first ball of fire left Balvonak’s hand. Vahldod avoided it with ease. It would have mattered little if he hadn’t. Both opponents shared a natural resistance to fire. But with precious few weapons at their disposal in the middle of nowhere, each demon utilized what he had.

  The fireball hit the earth. Balvo swept his hand. In that single motion, the flames died. Couldn’t risk a forest fire. Unnecessary attention. Smoke remained, and nothing more.

  Light caught on the length of silver that Vahl pulled from his side. A shiv. Balvo recognized it. He’d seen enough of them as a man. The first knife fight—the forty-second knife fight—and each one after embedded into his mind. Hard to forget when blood was spilled, no matter how often it occurred.

  Experience made it easy to sidestep Vahl’s swing. Balvo had seen the demon’s fighting style before. Wild. Unskilled. Imperfect. He saw it in every opponent he faced who did not regularly use knives.

  It made sense. That would be Vahl’s approach. He didn’t need knives. Vahl’s best weapon was his mind.

  Predicting the movement of Vahl’s next chaotic swing, Balvo grabbed his arm. One hand at the wrist. The other on the elbow.

  Pressure applied.

  Unnatural movement forced.

  Crack.

  Vahldod shrieked. He hit his knees. A sign of weakness, but only for one moment. The demon cradled his broken limb as he vaulted away, scowling. He stood, letting the arm fall limp at his side.

  Little time existed to capitalize on the injury. Balvonak launched—and stopped. A wall of fire rose at Vahldod’s command, encircling him.

  Blocked.

  Balvo cursed. His focus found a fallen tree limb. Scooping it up, he searched the firewall. Barely discernable through the blaze, he spied Vahldod’s form.

  One exhale and the tree limb was engulfed in fire. Balvo squinted, lining up his aim. With a grunt, the wood flew from his hands, hurdling toward its target.

  It had to have struck him. He heard the grunt. Balvo smirked. Vahl stood no chance. He knew it. Not in hand-to-hand combat. In that area, Balvonak excelled.

  He couldn’t wait for Vahl to catch his breath. Each second that passed was one additional second his opponent had to think. He couldn’t allow that to happen.

  A hit of oxygen. Adrenaline. Both pushed Balvo’s feet off of the ground, and through the flames. The heat nipped at his skin, but he found himself on the other side. The scent of the smoke clung to his clothing. It wafted away from his shoulders and arms as he grabbed Vahldod by his cloak.

  It almost seemed too easy.

  Balvo pulled the demon toward him, his fingers balling around the fabric that made up the cloak. He panted, a bead of sweat sliding down the side of his face. “Embarrassing.” He leaned in, inches from Vahl, and grinned. “Less than a minute. That was my fastest victory yet.”

  Vahldod’s chest heaved with each breath. His arm throbbed, but he forced himself to find Balvonak’s eyes. Through the pain, his pupils spiked and shrank, molded in orange by the flames. He let out a small, gasping laugh. “Mine, too.”

  Confused, Balvo’s eyes narrowed. Before he realized what was happening, Vahldod thrust the bone key he hid in his palm, into the air behind his opponent.

  It happened so fast. The movement of the appearing door behind him. The unexpected flames. Vahldod ignited his own cloak. It bought him enough time, enough distraction, to break the clasp.

  A swift kick to Balvonak’s chest ended everything. The demon stumbled back from the force, falling into the mouth of the Netherworld.

  He landed on his back. It knocked the wind from his lungs, but the heat of the fight pushed him back up. Digging his fingernails into the jagged rocks of his old stomping grounds, Balvonak’s stomach fell. The porous earth. The stifling heat. He threw his body at the transparent door.

  It did not yield.

  The light of the sun flooded the Netherworld. Demons swung their heads, each lifting arms over their white eyes to shield their vision from the unforgiving brightness. As soon as they realized what it was—a precious door to freedom—they ran toward it, blindly shrieking.

  “Vahl!” Balvonak pounded on the door. It rippled from his effort, but failed to break.

  Vahldod lifted his good arm, wiping a mouthful of drool that trickled down his chin from his rigorous panting. His lips split into a maniacal grin as he watched Balvonak from the opposite side of the door.

  Balvonak snarled, throwing himself against it again. Small pebbles rattled at his feet. He turned to look over his shoulder. A stampede of demons hurdled toward him, jaws unhinging, muscles tearing as they flew to the door so quickly, that it caused them physical harm.

  It did little to slow them down.

  Balvonak turned once again. He gritted his teeth, slamming a fist into the door. “Vahldod! Come on!”

  The quiet grin was his only response.

  Turning once more, the fire demon braced himself. The others were nearly upon him now. He pressed his back as far as close to the doorway as he could, bringing his arms up over his face. His eyes closed. He waited.

  Boom.

  The bodies collided into him, each demon more rigorous than the last. They clawed at the door alongside him, their tongues flapping in their inhuman mouths. A flurry of teeth, horns, and cracking skin surrounded Balvo as he found himself pressed up against the door, barely able to move.

  It hurt. The pressure of the Netherworld paled in comparison to the thousands of pounds of demons that crushed into his ribs. Balvonak managed to lower one arm, cupping his side as he bared his teeth.

  Vahldod hovered before the door, tilting his head. “I could watch this all day,” he muttered, wincing as he clutched his broken arm at the elbow. The strain in his voice still brought feelings of victory. He was in pain, but it was a small sacrifice for a guaranteed win. “Anyway, I really must be going.”

  Dark eyes filled with panic as Vahldod reached for the bone key. “Vahldod, wait!” Balvonak pressed his hand against the invisible glass that separated them, one eye pinching shut against the agony that the simple motion birthed. “You can’t hurt her,” he stammered, saliva flying from his clenched jaw as he tried to speak through the torment. “Don’t forget that you need her—that Marumon would want no harm to come to Amadeia’s progeny!”

  Though the door muffled Balvonak’s voice, Vahldod heard. His delighted grin faded as he dissected the statement. Desperation hid in there. Sure, he expected that. But the nearly undetectable hint of fear came as a surprise. Not fear for losing—not fear for being chained to the Netherworld once again—but the fear for the girl. For her life. Her wellbeing. “Oh…” A warped laugh tumbled out of him, but he cut it short. The shaking of his chest only highlighted the sting in his arm. “This has a little something more to it than simply earning freedom, doesn’t it?”

  Balvonak’s chest tightened. He scowled at Vahldod from behind the door, offering no reply.

  The free demon cradled his chin. “How… tragic.” Gradually, a grin returned to his face. “I absolutely adore it.” Stepping backward, Vahldod saluted his opponent. “Farewell, Balvo, and don’
t worry… if you’re among one of those who Marumon releases when I get the girl to open the gate, you’ll touch the surface world again soon enough. Though I can’t say for certain He’d send you, seeing as how much you’ve let Him down today.” His bottom lip jutted out in mock pity, and Vahldod shrugged a lone shoulder. “Ah, well… it’s been fun. I’d stay, but I really must return to the church.” Perverse entertainment lived in his eyes as he whispered, “it seems my prayers are finally getting answered.”

  Balvonak’s panic grew as he watched Vahldod reach for the key. “Vahl—come on—Vahl!” Against the pain, he pounded on the door, a reflection of those beside him. “Vahldod!”

  The demon removed the key. Balvonak, and everything else trapped in the Netherworld faded from Vahldod’s sight. Blowing out his cheeks, he pocketed the key, his eyes flicking to his smoldering cloak that remained on the ground.

  There would be no salvaging that. A pity. Worse yet, there would be no salvaging his elbow.

  Vahldod started back toward Pinesguard, slicking back his hair. How long did it take for bones to heal, again? He wondered all the way back to town, along with how he’d get the Greenbriar child to bring Marumon’s vision to fruition.

  Chapter Twelve

  Esven had never been inside a church before. She’d been outside of them often enough, on the days that her mother changed her appearance and took her into town. The architecture had always fascinated her. To know that mankind was capable of building such a thing was amazing, in and of itself.

  But the inside… the vaulted ceilings, the stained glass, the intricate paintings and scrollwork, and statues… it defied explanation. It was art.

  Following Elias farther into the heart of the church, she rounded a corner. Ahead of her, the priest climbed a set of spiral steps, twisting and narrowing the higher they went. Anchored into the stone walls that flanked them, candles sat in wrought iron holders, illuminating the way.