The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  Ideria watched the death of the metal dragon play out before her from the shadows of an alleyway. The sweat from her brow turned to ice when she realized that she had just killed one of the king’s dragons. The penalty for such an act was beyond her comprehension. She had hoped for a simple zap from the lightning dragon, one strong enough to discourage the metal dragon from continuing. Not this. Now, her life was forfeit and unspeakable tortures await her. “What have I done?”

  “You stood up to tyranny.” The man who had talked to her about the secret army emerged from deeper within the alley. His orc friend stood behind him but pointed to the street where the twisted remains of the metal dragon lay. “And saved lives.”

  Ideria looked at the product of her actions. Other townsfolk started to gather, men and women creeping out from their hiding spots to see if the danger had passed. They cringed, some even retreated back into the buildings they had come from when the king and his gem dragon landed next to the metal dragon. The dragon showed no interest in its fallen brethren. The king cried out as if he had lost a child and ran to the hunk of metal. “No! Nooooooo! Who did this? Where is the man who did this? Ten thousand coins for the person who brings him to me!”

  Upon hearing the bounty the king just placed on her head, Ideria turned and clenched her fists. “Undoubtedly, you two will be very rich, but I’ll make sure you have permanent injuries, though.”

  The orc walked past her to the edge of the alleyway and crouched as if getting ready to run. “Undoubtedly, you have yet to learn there are things more valuable than gold.”

  The human walked past her as well but paused to point at the other end of the alley. “At the end of the alley make a right. Drop your hood and let that pretty face get you out of this trouble.”

  The pair then ran from the alley to the right. The human yelled, “This way. I saw him go this way!”

  “Get him!” the orc added.

  Whether or not the townsfolk believed them or if they were all a part of the secret army reacting to two of their members hardly mattered at the moment. Those on the streets ran in the same direction as the human and the orc, all giving chase to a ghost. Even King Oremethus climbed on his gem dragon and pursued.

  Grandfather, grandmother, and her uncles all taught her and Nevin to be wary, to trust no one outside of the family, lest they wished a dagger in their backs. Maybe there were still good people in a world where kings destroy their own villages? Whatever the motivation was to disregard an easy ten thousand gold coins, the two denizens gave Ideria an opportunity not only to flee but remain anonymous as well. Following the human’s instructions, she ran the opposite direction down the alley and turned right. Nevin greeted her.

  “You killed the metal dragon!”

  “Hush! No one knows it was me, and I wish to keep it that way. How did you find me?”

  “From where I was, I saw you dive into the alleyway. I was on my way around the back of the buildings.”

  “We’ve done all we can do. Let us go.”

  Despite wishing to forget this moment, for the entire trip back to the farm, Nevin lauded her with praises of killing a dragon.

  six

  Daedalus landed the dragon with such force that a fissure of pain shot down his back. The landing, the pain, was purposeful, part from the pressing need to be here, part from the anger caused by the need to be here. He was busy; too busy for this. The culmination of his Dearborn Day celebrations would be upon him soon, meaning he could finally reveal his revenge to the holiday’s namesake so she could spend her remaining days alive cursing her own name. He needed to schedule time with Oremethus to yet again try to convince him to allow their armies greater use of the wizards and the dragons and that they could be used to hunt demons every day after they win the war. Despite their minimal use in a skirmish or battle that found itself too close to Albathian borders, the war should have ended years ago if not for the ineptitude of their generals, whom he had recently met with. The damnable country of Tsinel had but one dragon and one wizard worth anything! But it was a void dragon and a wizard who could summon portals—the only wizard with such power—and they were enough to confound any invasion tactic he and his generals attempted. He started the meeting by stripping his least effective general of title and turning him over Speekore. He promoted the next in line. A promotion always boosted morale before a planning meeting.

  After sending Methel and his Elite Troop to hunt down Perciless, Daedalus needed to shift resources to fill the void of hunting down rogue wizards. There were still many rumors about wizards in Albathia which meant there were too many free wizards in Albathia. Those who dabbled in the mystical arts were too powerful—they had access to nefarious benefits unavailable to Daedalus. That was unacceptable. Within months of his brother taking his rightful place upon the throne, Prince Daedalus had performed his duty as an adviser and a good citizen of the crown and prepared an argument as to why sorcery should be banned unless they pledged to use their mystical crafts for the good of the crown. Daedalus had seen an opportunity to wield the power disallowed to him. Any captured wizard had a choice—declare fealty to the crown or die a horrible death. The wizards’ guilds were raided and burned to the ground. The wizard population had been dwindling over the past decade, but there were still too many. Too many.

  Today, he wished to spend time devising a plan, to take inventory of his available resources necessary to finish off the wizards once and for all, but he had no chance. His day had been ruined by Haddaman. Not even an hour after breakfast, his vision crystal glowed blue, and it filled with Haddaman’s disgusting visage telling Daedalus that he was needed in this burgeoning mining town because of Oremethus and his obsession with demons.

  Twenty years ago, Oremethus gained possession of The Satan Stone, one of the five ensorcelled stones used to shred the fabric between this world and Hell causing the Demon War. Because of the stone, the war, what he witnessed and lived through, Oremethus’ mind shattered and reformed into one of singular purpose—find and kill demons. Daedalus learned quickly how to manipulate that obsession for his benefit. Of course, Daedalus could not control all aspects of his brother’s degraded mental state. The demons were not real, they did not exist, but that never stopped Oremethus from seeing them and taking a couple of his dragons to destroy a town a few times each year. Why Haddaman was here in Orsrun, Daedalus would have to find out later. Now, he needed to meet with the town leader, if he were still alive. He was also curious if the events that had happened here had anything to do with why he could no longer feel the metal dragon in his mind, a sensation stripped from him earlier today.

  Daedalus dismounted from his dragon. The beast stretched and fluttered its wings. Though made of bone, it still acted like any other creature of flesh and muscle.

  Had he arrived on horse there would have been a reception party. Town leaders would have demonstrated their prowess at being sycophants, offering Daedalus anything he could want, as many assistants as he needed. That would have been if this were a more diplomatic reason for his visit. Instead of coming by horse and being lauded, he had to arrive by dragon and be feared. There was nothing wrong with being feared, though.

  The number of years he had been alive asserted themselves in the form of aches in his joints and stiffness in his muscles. He stretched them away and undid the first few clasps of his riding leathers—black snakeskin with polished white bone sewn into the coat and pants to loosely mimic the skeleton within. Even though his saddle was crafted for comfort, it was still a long ride between Phenomere and Orsrun. Even his hand hurt.

  He removed the padded leather gauntlet from his left hand and stretched his fingers. There was no true need to wear one on his right hand, yet he wore one to complete the aesthetic of his riding outfit. From his elbow to his fingertips was bone. He wiggled his skeletal fingers, unable to feel the sensation, but admired the action. The dark arts of wizardry g
rew these bones from a once severed stump. To this day, it still amazed him.

  No town leader had yet come to greet him. Whomever that had been must be dead. No matter. Daedalus would just have to handle the situation, just as he always did. First, he needed to handle his brother.

  Oremethus was easy to find; after all, he was standing between two dragons. At the edge of town, the king and his creatures had their backs to it. Shoulders slumped, the king sulked. The gemstone dragon sat straight and perfectly still. The lightning dragon sat as well but used the back of its front claw to fuss with its eye. Daedalus approached. “Oremethus?”

  The king sighed. He looked off into the horizon but addressed his brother. “There were demons here, Daedalus.”

  “I know, brother. I know.”

  “Dangerous ones. Tricky ones. They tricked my dragons to turn on each other.”

  Daedalus looked around. “How many did you bring?”

  “Three. But these demons were tricky.”

  “You said. What happened?”

  “The metal one is dead.”

  Dead? Of all the dragons they had, Daedalus had always assumed the metal one would have been the hardest to kill. Maybe this was truly the work of demons? Daedalus pushed that thought aside. It had been twenty years since he last saw a demon. Logic dictated that there must have been other factors in play. “How did the metal one die?”

  Oremethus finally moved his attention away from the distance and stroked the shimmering scales of the lightning dragon. “The demons tricked the lightning out of this one. Tricked it into unleashing its fury on the metal one.”

  Daedalus walked around the dragon and looked at what it was fussing over. A wound. Its eye had been wounded, stabbed as Daedalus surmised. A wounded animal would lash out, especially one not used to being hurt. Although a person clever enough to trick one dragon into killing another was a demon in their own right, Daedalus doubted that a denizen of Hell was the culprit today.

  “I saw them, Daedalus. I saw them skirting between the buildings, flitting from shadow to shadow. But I was too slow. I’m always too slow. I destroyed another town and have nothing to show for it.”

  Daedalus had no care for the town. He barely knew it existed before today. What he did care about were the dragons. They were one of the few things nature got right, one of the few things Daedalus admired. They were also the thrust of his conquest machine. They kept the people afraid and aided his troops in battle whenever his brother deemed it necessary for them to be involved. Daedalus had many plans for the metal dragon and now had to alter them all.

  One thing still buzzed around his mind like a gnat—why did his brother attack this town, and why now? Usually, when Oremethus discovered “demons” within a town, it was after some research, after making his own deductions. This attack seemed more impulsive. Either his brother was traipsing further away from sanity, or he, like the lightning dragon, was tricked. “How did you discover this town had demons lurking within it?”

  “Haddaman told me. He contacted my vision crystal and told me about the demons in this town. He was here—he’s still here—and told me he saw demons.”

  “Haddaman, you say? I believe I’ll have to exchange words with him. Now, you head back to the castle, and we’ll discuss this demon hunt in more detail later. I will address the people of Orsrun.”

  Oremethus mounted the gemstone dragon, and then looked down to his brother. “He was right, Daedalus. Haddaman was right. There were demons in this town. I saw them but couldn’t stop them.”

  As the dragons took flight, Daedalus muttered, “I have no doubt in my mind that you believe that, dear brother. No doubt in my mind.”

  Haddaman was going to die today. Daedalus did not know if his bone dragon had the sensation of taste. If it did, then Daedalus would feel bad for giving the command to eat the stumped body of Haddaman Crede and the rotting minotaur carcass. First, he needed to address the town.

  Daedalus strode along the main road and entered town, but paused when he saw the twisted remains of the metal dragon. Even in death, the thing was magnificent. He would be sure to retain that magnificence in the form of using its scales for new armor and the underlying skin for new riding leathers.

  Since Orsrun was a newer mining town it lacked many of the customary buildings. No town hall, no central meeting place, not even a dais to stand upon. No matter. Daedalus walked to the center of town, to the intersection of the two largest roads and called out, “People of Orsrun! Gather before me.”

  The citizens stopped working on cleaning away the debris and started to assemble before him. Over a hundred weary faces looked upon him, a few tired bodies swayed as they struggled to stay upright. The town was home to more, but this was plenty. What he had to say would disseminate among the populace. “People of Orsrun! Your king did you a great service today.”

  Murmurs made their way through the crowd, no single voice heard above any other. None would dare. They all knew who Daedalus was, all heard the rumors and stories. He let the rumblings die down before he continued. “We had heard this town hosted traitors to the crown, scoundrels, and cutthroats willing to sacrifice your integrity, your way of life to support my treacherous brother, Perciless. The king deemed that the population of filthy traitors became so great in this town that he needed to personally see them eradicated.”

  Daedalus paced with his hands folded behind his back, slow, measured steps so he could watch their faces as he spoke. A few had shifted from anger to concern. Had he the time and resources, he could have ferreted out whom within this crowd was truly a part of Perciless’ secret cabal. Ever since Oremethus had taken the crown, Daedalus had been fighting against two kings; the king of Tsinel protected within castle walls, and his brother, Perciless, a nomadic king who ruled from the shadows and more of a legend than any religious myth passed down from parent to child. But Daedalus did not visit Orsrun to suss out traitors. He meant to turn his brother’s mistake into an opportunity to spread discord.

  He paused in his pacing just long enough to pick up a stray brick from the debris with his skeleton hand. “Unfortunately, the king had to use drastic means. If gangrene affects the hand, one must cut off the arm. Sometimes the arm can be replaced with something stronger.” To demonstrate, he crushed the brick to pebbles. The crowd winced, the message received.

  Daedalus brushed his hands together and went back to pacing. “This whole incident could have been avoided if there were any of you brave enough or smart enough to have let our dear king know of such maleficence. In fact, you would have been rewarded for such loyalty as would anyone who would come forth with information about who killed my dragon.”

  Knowing how the rest of the events would play out, he stopped pacing to don his riding gloves and let the crowd whisper amongst itself. From somewhere in the center of the crowd a voice called out, “He was wearing a cloak. No one could see who it was.”

  Daedalus nodded, moderately impressed someone had the courage to speak. “Fair enough. I shall be off. The crown extends its regrets that it had to get involved the way it did.”

  As the crowd dispersed, he remembered one last thing. “Oh! Deliver the remains of the dragon to Castle Phenomere. There will be coin waiting for you.”

  Haddaman was easy enough to find. Daedalus needed merely to explore the roads behind the main buildings to find his advisor. A wagon large enough to necessitate eight horses to pull, tented by walls of purple velvet with gold filigree and tassels stood out in a town like this. Despite its ostentatiousness, it was still less noticeable than the abomination it hid. Daedalus yanked the back flap open and was assaulted by the stench carried on the burst of humidity. The minotaur sat in the middle of the wagon, legs crossed with Haddaman looking like a slime-swaddled baby on its lap.

  Haddaman welcomed Daedalus, the minotaur’s hands spreading with invitation. “Greeting, my l
iege.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Doing what I always do, my lord, making important discoveries while skulking about shadows and alleyways.”

  “Making discoveries meant summoning my brother to this town?”

  “It did.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, to make some very, very delicious discoveries, indeed.”

  “Do not assume you will live past this conversation. You have been an adequate enough adviser and information gatherer, but your value to me rests with what you can provide for me in the future, not what you’ve done for me in the past. You will need to move your tongue faster to supply an adequate explanation as to why you have interjected yourself into my busy schedule, subsequently getting one of the king’s dragons killed.”

  “I assure you, my prince, I have garnered information you will find most valuable. Maybe the most valuable ever, I predict. I know who killed your metal dragon.”

  “Bold words from a creature whose life is about to end.”

  “It will not end today.” For being so large and dead, the minotaur’s hand moved with grace and gently held out a vision stone. The edges of the stone glowed blue while a perfectly clear image of a young woman’s face filled the center.

  “By the gods,” Daedalus whispered. “If not for the blonde hair, I would have mistaken her for Dearborn of yesteryear.”

  The image flickered and changed to a new one. The vision crystal now showed the young woman in a cloak with a young man. “I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that her traveling companion has an uncanny resemblance to Dearborn’s late husband.”