The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  Rue, the young ogre, clapped and bowed. “Bravo, milady, bravo. Well done as always.”

  Ideria chuckled and curtsied. “I couldn’t have done what I did unless you did what you did. ‘It appears these spectacles have malfunctioned on me.’ Excellent performance.”

  Rue pulled the spectacles from his pocket and put them on, keeping them close to the tip of his bulbous nose. He crossed his eyes and wiggled his fingers, jerking his upper body about as if in a bizarre dance. “Oh, deary me! These spectacles of mine are failing me.”

  Ideria laughed. Rue’s antics even elicited a chuckled from his sister, Joy, the harpy. She sat on a massive log in the center of the clearing, next to Nevin, Ideria’s brother, while he divvied up the coins from the Constable’s pouch. Even though he was the youngest at seventeen, he was the most trusted and usually the leader of their little band of thieves. He often denied his role neither wanting it nor enjoying it, but the other three had agreed that he would be the one to tally the plunders. The best leader was the person who had no desire to be one. However, he did sometimes enjoy planning their capers, such as the one that just yielded fifteen gold coins for each of them.

  “Fifteen?” Ideria asked as she sat on the other side of Nevin. He was an extremely handsome boy with sapphire eyes brighter than the blue Evening sun and short, black hair that always seemed to be mussed. There was little question as to why he held Joy’s gaze, her eyes peeking out from her curtain of hair. “That’s our best haul yet!”

  “It is,” Nevin confirmed as he handed a small stack of coins to his sister. “It just makes me uncomfortable that it came from the Constable of Bulderswith.”

  Ideria snorted in contempt. “He’s the worst part of a horse’s ass. I remember Mother and Father complaining about him all the time.”

  Regret bittered her tongue as soon as the word left her mouth. They both died ten years ago, but being two years older than Nevin, she recalled more memories of them. Nevin showed no overt reaction to what she had said, but she could tell that she would have to apologize later.

  “I don’t like the Constable, either,” Joy said. Her wings shivered when Nevin placed the coins in her palm.

  “Eh, he’s never done us wrong, Joy,” Rue said as he cascaded his coins from one hand to the other, then repeated the process. One last time and he waved his hands. The coins disappeared. His sleight of hand skills were second to none, even better than her own, Ideria had to admit. Especially for an ogre. “He leaves our family alone.”

  “That’s because he doesn’t want to have anything to do with our uncles. Now that he knows you pilfered from him, he might be inclined to visit later.”

  Rue removed his spectacles and pointed them at his sister. “He doesn’t know anything about anything, as he so often proves by bragging about the cheap baubles around his wife’s neck as if they were real jewelry. In his mind, I’m just another ogre, tall and green.”

  “Tall and green, and as fit as a logger, and as well-spoken as an esquire.”

  Tapping the spectacles against his chin, Rue considered his sister’s words. He placed his spectacles in his vest pocket and said, “Let’s go home and devise an alibi just in case.”

  With a quick wave, Rue and Joy left the clearing, the ogre through the trees, the harpy above them. Ideria was alone with her brother. “Ummm . . . Nevin? What I said earlier about mother and father complaining about the Constable, I meant to prove that he’s deplorable, not to be hurtful.”

  Nevin slid down from the log and smiled at his sister. Soft. Warm. Forgiving. He started in the direction of their home and she walked next to him. “I know, but that’s not what has me concerned. I remember our parents, more so our mother. You look exactly like her, except for your hair color.”

  Ideria sighed. “I know, I know. Our ‘uncles’ and our ‘grandparents’ have been telling me that for years now. I’ve heard it a hundred times. That and you look more and more like our father every time the suns rise.”

  “True, but I don’t stand out.”

  That hurt. It was a simple truth, and impossible to blame Nevin for the pain his words caused, but it hurt, nonetheless. She mumbled, “I know.”

  Nevin dropped her coins into a satchel. He pulled out a bit of dark material from the satchel as an aid for his next set of words. “You’re not wearing your cloak today. The next time the Constable sees a blonde woman bigger than most men, he’ll know it’s you. Even if he doesn’t suspect that you were a partner to the ogre, he’ll still recognize you.”

  “I look like a man in that cloak.” Her words were whinier than she had intended.

  “Precisely the point.”

  “But I’m a girl, and a pretty one at that. I want to be fitted for dresses and catch the eye of young men.”

  “I understand, but—”

  “You don’t understand, Nevin. As you already stated, you don’t stand out.”

  It was Nevin’s turn to sigh. Ideria knew very well the point he was trying to make, she just had no desire to hear it. As Nevin opened his mouth, they exited the woods to the road, but Ideria grabbed her brother and retreated behind a tree. The king’s guards.

  There were three of them. Two of the guards were off their horses harassing four women with a donkey-drawn cart. The third remained on his horse, trotting it in tight circles around the scene. The guard closest to the women was also the fattest of the three. He sauntered even closer as he said, “Come now, Lasses, we’re upstanding members of the king’s guard. We’re here to help you.”

  Ideria hated the way the guard talked to the women as they huddled together, two of them shaking. He was a squat man with thinning hair and had gray stubble upon his leathery face. She hated the way the other two guards laughed, sinister and lacking mirth. The oldest of the four women tried to stay between the guards and the girls. “I already told you, we have no money. We’re just going to Phenomere to look for work as handmaidens.”

  The old guard dug his thumbs down the front of his pants and lifted, the material outlining the obnoxious bulge of his crotch. It disappeared when he let go, his pants falling back into place beneath his belly. “Well, as it so happens, my men and I are heading back to the castle as well to receive our new orders from the king. We would be more than happy to escort you.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” the matriarch said.

  The two guards on the ground started to fiddle with their belts while the one on horseback licked his lips. “Oh, but it’s our duty. We all have duties to fulfill. Each and every one of us.”

  Ideria clenched her fists, but Nevin grabbed her wrist. Leaning close, he whispered, “We can’t.”

  “We have to.”

  “This could lead to trouble.”

  “This could lead to nightmares if we do nothing.” Ideria yanked her arm from Nevin’s grasp and grabbed her cloak from the satchel. With haste, she donned it. The hood covered her face, but her ponytail poked out. She left the confines of the forest and elicited a look of surprise from everyone, even from the scared and crying girls.

  “My, my, you’re a big girl, ain’t ya?” the grizzled man said, finally turning his attention away from the women. Ideria advanced on him. No introduction, no threats, no warning. She reeled back and let loose, her fist connecting with his cheek so hard that his feet left the ground. He bounced, cushioned by his soft girth, and got to his feet quickly. But not fast enough. Ideria got two more punches in, both pulping his nose.

  The other guard on the ground drew his short sword to aid his embattled comrade. His feet went out from under him and his face smacked the dirt road. He tried to get up but ended up on the ground again. Nevin. Ideria knew that if she jumped into battle, he would follow her.

  The guard on the horse kneed his steed closer, but Ideria paused in her beating to glare at the man. Eyes widening, the guard stopped his charge.
The horse brayed, its legs high-stepping to back away. Ideria growled and the guard allowed the horse to gallop away.

  “Cowardly bastard,” the grizzled man cursed, his swollen nose making his words thick. His whole body heaved with every breath. He clenched his fists, ready to hold his ground until the thump from the other guard falling distracted him. He spat a gob of blood and limped to his horse. As he, too, fled, he yelled over his shoulder, “Bitch!”

  Nevin stopped his attack and allowed his opponent to get to his feet. The guard made the wise choice of mounting his horse and racing away.

  Two of the girls hugged each other and the third continued to cry. The matriarch of the four rushed to the siblings. “Thank you! Oh, by the gods, thank you. We have no money to give for your kindness and bravery.”

  Nevin took the woman’s hands and filled them with fifteen coins. “You can repay us by forgetting this incident ever happened. Take the road back the way you came. About a mile there will be a footpath on the left. Follow that to Orsrun. This will buy you a room for a month, plenty of time to find work.”

  The woman’s eyes became slick with tears. She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. Nevin smiled and the woman’s body relaxed. The magic in his glance could calm a charging bull. He patted her hands and said, “You’re welcome. Now, please, hurry along. The faster you go, the sooner you can forget about us.”

  Ideria gave a polite grin and wave as the women guided their donkey back down the road. Nevin tapped her arm and said, “Come on. Let’s go home and devise an alibi. Just in case.”

  two

  Landyr awoke with a start, shoved into consciousness by an aggressive dream. Not quite a nightmare, but far from soothing. The same dream he had been having for ten years of the same things. Of teeth. Of claws. Of horns. Of long flowing hair the color of gushing blood. Of blackness that moved, a living darkness. Of the arousal caused by fear, and sexual release. Of her.

  Smacking his pasty lips, he stretched his limbs and quickly realized he was not alone in bed. Something heavy rested on his chest, and he looked down.

  A breast.

  Green and amorphous, purple veins raced along its paper-thin skin to a nipple so dark it could be considered black. As he had done many times before, he shoved the breast off his chest and sat up to finish stretching. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took inventory of his clothes scattered upon the floor, slightly amazed he found everything. The nearest wall contained leaves and vines and flowers and stems from all sorts of plants. If not for the window in the middle of it all, he would have sworn there was no wall there, just the growth to hold up the roof.

  Bony fingers crawled along his shoulder, looking like the knuckled legs of some green spider. The index finger stroked his cheek. “Care for a morning tug?”

  Leelanna, the goblin witch, lay naked behind him like a smear of wrinkled skin upon the bedding. Thinning red hair like frizzed yarn pulled blindly from a skein framed a grotesque painting, the centerpiece a nose that dangled like a flaccid penis and jiggled when she spoke. Landyr stood and grabbed his pants. “This is not the way to entice me back.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry, my dear.” She got out of bed and as she walked to him, her body shifted. Wrinkles smoothed. Warts retreated. Tits and ass firmed with every step. Her face traveled back decades, finishing as a young goblin maiden. Her nose was still beaklike but had a certain elegance in the way it flowed from her brow. A goblin could be beautiful, especially with golden eyes like hers. For Landyr, though, the reason why he visited her bedroom was her hair. Long flowing hair, the color of gushing blood. Like in his dreams. Like her hair. “Is this a better way to entice you?”

  It was, and he thought about accepting her offer. Not knowing exactly how much of the morning had elapsed, he decided against it and put on his shirt. He needed to meet the others. “Do that again the next time I come through town. Before I go, I still need what I paid for.”

  Leelanna laughed. In this form, it was a melodious sound; in her other form, a horrid cackle. As he sat back down on the bed to put his boots on, she glided her fingers over his cheek. They were soft, warm, inviting. Instead of succumbing to his desires, he put his other boot on.

  He waited by the door and she sauntered over, her firm breasts bouncing in a hypnotic rhythm. As she handed him three large bags of medicinal herbs, she reached up and grabbed the back of his head with her other hand. One last kiss. Soft, warm, inviting. Satisfied that he had enough memories to last until their next meeting, he pulled away to see she had slipped back into her natural form. He did not care. He expected it. Her cackle acted as her farewell behind him as he walked away.

  Leelanna’s hut was a footpath and a cart path away from the main road, one that led to the town of Ironcore. Landyr had always liked this town. A simple town with a simple name. The main road went all the way through the town right to the iron mine at the base of the mountain. Men worked until their muscles told them to quit. Those with families went home to them; those without went to the taverns. This town also happened to have a goblin that happily replenished medicinal supplies for a tussle under the sheets with Landyr. He placed the pouches of newly acquired herbs into the proper containers of their supply wagon once he entered the stables.

  “There are other ways to pay,” Perciless said, placing a hand on Landyr’s shoulder. The prince always said that the morning following a transaction with the witch.

  “It’s no bother at all, your majesty.”

  Perciless offered a pitying smile. Over the past decade, the utterance of “your majesty” by Landyr meant it was time to change the topic. “Well, then you are in time for the meeting.”

  “Nothing in this world could make me miss it.” Landyr’s sarcasm was obvious and he shared a guffaw with the prince.

  “I always appreciate your candor, General.” Perciless still chuckled as he went to help Thorna and Brokar prep the horses. Landyr hated that the prince referred to him as a general. His Elite Troop was once forty strong; men and women capable of besting any opponent. Unless the opponent was an army of living skeletons and a handful of mystical dragons. His Elite Troop now numbered three. Brokar and Rolin were like brothers—similar in sturdiness and inseparable. The only noticeable difference between the two was their choice of hairstyle: Brokar opted to run a blade over his skin once a week while Rolin reined his flowing locks into a ponytail. Thorna wore her hair in a ponytail as well but did not interact that often with any of the men other than Landyr. Most mornings began with her asking Landyr if he needed her for any special tasks. The answer was usually no, save for the occasional mission to disrupt a supply chain benefitting the king’s army. They allowed him to be general out of courtesy. He had no true authority over them at all.

  “You smell like flowers,” Cezomir, the werewolf forever trapped in bipedal wolf form, said as he approached to help Landyr secure the containers in the cart. His nose twitched and his muzzle rippled as he sniffed the air around Landyr. “And goblin twat.”

  “Considering your bedmate is a cat, do you really want me to tell you what you smell like?”

  Cezomir growled as both men paused from their duties to look at Lina as she helped Rolin with the bedrolls and cooking supplies. “My bedmate is far more attractive than yours.”

  There was no arguing that point. Landyr agreed with him. She was a Yullian, a cat in human form from an enigmatic tribe and land she could never call home again. Gray fur covered her and ran the length of her body, mostly hidden by a thin linen top and trousers. Despite the dense fur cover, Landyr could see the rippling of powerful muscles whenever she moved. He was vaguely aware of Cezomir saying something in his ear, but it was lost amidst his baser thoughts as Lina turned away from him and he stared at the way her ass strained against her pants, a captive entreating release. Landyr envisioned himself grabbing a handful of her powerful hind side, straining to squeeze against the rip
pling hardness, only to lose control of the dominance of the situation, and have it overtake his hand, instead.

  Lina turned as Landyr was lost in thought and, though her movement broke his concentration, it was only a second before he focused on the swaying of her ample breasts, and he was lost again in his fantasies. He was vaguely aware of licking his lips, but then a firm poke in his shoulder roused him as if from his trance.

  “Perhaps you should draw a picture,” Cezomir growled, “it will last longer.”

  “I . . . ,” Landyr faltered. He was clearly caught being in the wrong and there was little wiggle room even for his well-rehearsed tongue to find an escape.

  Lina walked over to the two men, her normal stride was such an easy gait that Landyr caught himself on the precipice of falling into another trance. She stopped before them and said, “Well, you two are certainly acting very friendly towards one another. What common ground did you find to talk about?”

  Cezomir laughed as he turned his eye towards Landyr. The look on his muzzled face Landyr interpreted as the equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

  Landyr sputtered for the briefest moment before his words found traction. “We were discussing the upcoming meeting, of course,” he said, gesturing with his hand between himself and the werewolf. “We both found it odd that our guests hadn’t arrived yet and were just wondering how much longer we should wait before we consider something to be amiss.”

  “I would say that you needn’t wait much longer,” Perciless said, striding up to the trio.

  “My king?” Landyr asked.

  Perciless smiled. “Meaning that they are here at last. Escort them to me, please.”

  Landyr regained his wits, seeking to exit an uncomfortable discussion, and covering the length of the stables to the open door. He was greeted by two individuals: a man and a woman.