The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  Children? Dearborn had children? Daedalus snatched the stone and cupped it with both hands. This. This would be his ultimate revenge against Dearborn. Oh, the horrors he would perform on these two in front of their mother! He laughed a shrill maniacal noise that sounded alien even to his own ear. “Oh, my dear advisor, your bold prediction was correct. This is indeed valuable, valuable information.”

  Platitudes started to roll from Haddaman’s mouth, but Daedalus had no interest in hearing them. He turned a deaf ear and left the tent. He strode back into the center of town with purpose. “People of Orsrun! Gather around once more.”

  The people assembled, trepidation within their movements, concern upon their faces. While they gathered before him, his bone dragon made its way through the streets, tucking its wings to squeeze between the buildings, and stopped behind him. The people gasped and angled their bodies as if to run.

  A few dozen people stood before him. There were more filing in, but this was enough. It had to be. He was losing patience and wanted answers now. He held out the vision crystal and walked close enough to those before him for all to see the image. He did a single pass and then stood next to his dragon. He pointed to the person closest to him, an old man in the early stages of developing a permanent stoop. “You. Who are these two?”

  The old man shook his head. “I’m sorry your grace, but I don’t kno—”

  The dragon breathed on the man, a stream of white dust. The crowd screamed as the old man shriveled like a plum shrinking to a prune. His skin sloughed away, and his organs slipped free. All that remained was a skeleton, the clothes falling to the ground or hanging from the bones.

  The old man was no longer alive, but the skeleton still moved, and it grabbed the person closest to it. A woman long past her birthing years, blubbering and falling to the ground. Daedalus asked her, “Who are these two?”

  She shook her head and brought her hands together in prayer. “Pl . . . please . . . I don’t . . . please . . .”

  The dragon breathed on her. Before her transformation to a skeletal servant was finished, Daedalus moved onto the next person the crowd. The people cried and screamed and held each other, but none of them ran. Daedalus had been a prince all of his life and knew his subjects, knew they were too afraid to move, fearing that there might be some punishment worse than what he was doing to them now. But before he could ask the question a third time, a voice came from the crowd. “I know! I know who they are.”

  The crowd parted for the two skeletons as they made their way to the lone woman in the center. They each grabbed an arm and marched her closer to Daedalus. “Who are they?”

  “I don’t . . . I don’t know their names, but I overheard them talking while they were at my stand. I’m . . . I’m the blacksmith’s wife and they were at my stand this morning, talking. They mentioned the Wahl’s being their grandparents.”

  “The Wahl’s. Where do they live?”

  “A farm. A double farm, actually. Five . . . five miles that way.”

  A collective sigh of relief rippled through the crowd when the skeletons released the woman. Daedalus mounted his dragon and it took flight, snatching up the two skeletons with its claws once it became air born. Meetings and plans and wizards and war be damned. Even Perciless. Nothing was more important than introducing himself to Dearborn’s children.

  seven

  Ideria rubbed her temples. All the bickering made her eyes cross. As soon as she and Nevin walked through the door after their trip to Orsrun, both of their grandparents sensed something amiss. Even though there was no Wahl blood in her veins, Ideria wondered if they had a direct connection to her mind. There certainly was one to her heart, because hers broke while Grandmother cried during Nevin’s recounting of the tale.

  Nevin reported all the details as mere facts, a dry reporting as if he had heard the story from a friend of a friend. No sooner than he finished, Grandfather collected Uncle Draymon and Uncle Bartholomew and he had Nevin tell it again, this time even more stoically. Arguing ensued. The first few rounds, Ideria participated, but no one changed their minds, simply restating their opinion in different ways and different volumes. She remained perfectly quiet for over half an hour and her disappearance from the conversation failed to alter it one iota.

  “This is fantastic!” Bartholomew added emphasis to his statement by slapping the table they sat around. “Our Ideria single-handedly killed one of the king’s dragons. We should be celebrating this, not arguing about it.”

  “She took unnecessary risks,” Draymon countered.

  “And potentially exposed herself,” Grandfather added.

  “We couldn’t stand by and do nothing,” Nevin said, his calm tone never once wavering.

  Grandmother’s response to his words never varied either. She put her hands on one of Nevin’s and one of Ideria’s and said, “You two are so brave and selfless.”

  “Don’t encourage that behavior, Marrim,” Grandfather scolded. “Such actions will lead them to an early grave. There is a reason why Bard’s sing about the bravery and selflessness of heroes. It’s because the heroes can’t do it themselves.”

  Bartholomew huffed and rolled his eyes. “We should be elated that they followed our training so well. The first time fate calls upon them to use their skills, they performed beyond what we could have hoped for. Beyond what any of us who trained them can do. If we didn’t want them to stand up to the king, then why did we bother training them?”

  Draymon answered, “To make sure they had a fighting chance against the king if he or his brother ever found out they existed. Certainly not to traverse the kingdom as dragon slayers.”

  Of her two “uncles,” Ideria favored Draymon over Bartholomew. They were both over twice her age, and their tired faces and gray hair showed it. However, Draymon possessed an air of a more traditional instructor. The wrinkles on his face came from the consternation of having students. Pulled back into a ponytail, his brown hair was streaked with many strands of white, but his eyes still held the brightness of wonder, still curious and ready to absorb everything the world had to offer. He also had the willingness to share it. Bartholomew had gray around his temples, and a permanent squint hiding his dark eyes. He had learned from the world as well, but rather ways to exploit his skills for the betterment of his coin pouch. He had certainly taught Ideria and Nevin plenty over the years, but she desperately hoped that world beyond the nearby towns wasn’t as duplicitous as he always made it out to be.

  A wicked smile accompanied the newly sparked glimmer in Bartholomew’s eyes. “There is a hefty sum of coin to be made in dragon slaying.”

  Grandmother huffed. “Rogue!”

  Bartholomew shrugged a shoulder, barely acknowledging her comment. It was an accurate one. He and Draymon met over a decade ago, partnering for well-paying jobs. One such job was commissioned by King Perciless himself, back when he sat on the throne. During that mission, they crossed paths with Dearborn and Diminutia, and joined them to fight against the king’s invading brothers. They lost—the whole country of Albathia lost—as King Perciless abdicated his throne and barely escaped with his life. Dearborn and Diminutia were not as fortunate. Draymon and Bartholomew had a change of heart and dedicated their lives to keep the children of Diminutia and Dearborn hidden from Perciless’s brothers. And to help Captain Wahl train them.

  The two mercenaries went about their lessons differently. Draymon aided Wahl in teaching Ideria and Nevin weaponry and fighting styles, Bartholomew’s lessons involved sleight of hand and stealth. When Ideria and Nevin mastered what their guardians had to teach, Draymon and Bartholomew sought out masters of various disciplines from all over the country. As with their personalities, they each prioritized their beliefs. Draymon brought warriors, Bartholomew brought scoundrels. Grandmother disapproved of scoundrels spending evenings in her house. Over the years, not a single guest caused any s
ort of trouble, even the ones too fond of ales and mead but nevertheless, Grandmother disapproved.

  “Gaining coin is hardly the goal,” Grandfather said.

  “Then what is?” Ideria was surprised that it was her voice. “keeping us hidden away from the world?”

  “Ideria . . . ,” Draymon started. She wanted none of his words. She had heard them all before, again and again, so she stood up from the table and walked to the window. This was how she lived her life — separate from the world, only able to look at it through a window. Behind her, she heard her brother pleading her case for her, explaining her feelings since she was unable to articulate them well, like a cross-eyed simpleton walking down the streets needing the aid of a loved one to translate her blathering to anyone she tried to talk to. She was frustrated and disappointed with her grandmother the most. Men were far simpler, content to be rigid trunks and boughs while women were more flexible and freer, dandelion puffs excited by the strongest breeze to take them from where they were born. Had her grandmother never been a seed upon the wind? Did she not understand Ideria’s needs? Alas, these musings were pointless. Her grandmother agreed with Ideria’s actions in Orsrun, but she would never defend them, never agree to her leaving the farms and setting out on her own.

  Everyone argued. She and Nevin either did the right thing or the wrong thing at Orsrun. No! They had done the right thing. These four raised her and her brother after their parents died, teaching them right from wrong. Saving people was right. It was that simple. No more watching the world from behind a window. Determined to make her thoughts and feelings known, she organized her arguments, but it took too long. The window was supposed to show her a better life, a world for her to explore. Instead, the window showed her doom. Prince Daedalus arrived.

  Fear. He was the personification of fear, the kind that oozed through her body and locked her joints. Her eyes widened past the point of pain, and her whole body quaked. She could only stare.

  The dragon’s presence caused the livestock to fuss. All the animals ran to the corners of their respective pens and stalls to cower, too terrified to make even the slightest sound. Daedalus dismounted and removed his riding gloves to expose that dreadful skeletal arm of his.

  “Ideria?”

  She heard her name, even recognized that it was her grandmother’s voice, but she had no faculties to respond to it. She could only watch Daedalus walk toward the house.

  “Ideria, are you . . . ? Oh . . . ! Oh, by the gods! Ideria, please, we must hide you. We must hide you and your brother now.”

  “What? What is it, Marrim?” Grandfather called out as everyone stood, bodies tensing in alarm.

  “Prince Daedalus is here. He came on that damnable bone dragon, and he brought skeletons.”

  Skeletons? How did she not notice the moving, walking skeletons? The cold emptiness of the dark holes of bare skulls. Staring at her. Through her. Did they see her? Were they capable of seeing? Such conjectures mattered little at the moment—the prince drew closer.

  Hands grabbed at Ideria, pulled at her. Bartholomew and Draymon guided her and Nevin to the backroom and closed the door. They each raised their index finger to their lips. Even if Ideria had the propensity to speak, she was smart enough not to do so even though she disliked the idea of leaving her grandparents at the mercy of a madman while two of the men who trained her how to fight were looking for a means of escape. She wanted to be out there, and so should they.

  The back room was used as a bedroom for Ideria and Nevin. Bartholomew and Nevin found rucksacks and filled them with clothes as quietly as possible. Draymon wrapped his hand with a shirt and stood next to the window. Ideria inched closer to the door, knowing there was a gap between the door itself and the frame just wide enough to see through.

  Daedalus burst through the front door.

  Grandmother screamed in surprise and Grandfather yelled, “Hey!”

  “Where are they?” the prince screamed, eyes bulging, face beet red.

  Grandmother dropped to one knee and bowed her head. “Your Highness! I assure you that we do not know what you mean.”

  “You do, you lying bitch! Where are they?”

  “Your Highness!” Grandfather barked. He held his hands out while backing away. It seemed like an act of fearfulness, but he was making his way toward the wall with a sword on display. “Please. I once served in the army of your father. My wife and I now farm. We pay our taxes in full and on time. We do our part to support the kingdom as your citizens. All we ask this very moment is that you explain what you are looking for so we may help you find it.”

  “What I’m looking for?” The Prince walked toward Grandfather while the skeletons clattered their way to Grandmother. The old woman raised her head. Her eyes went wide and then she went back to looking at the floor. Grandfather continued to back away from the approaching prince. “Don’t play coy with me, old man. You know very well I seek no ‘what,’ but instead ‘who.’ If I must play your silly game for no other reason than to speed up this process, then so be it. Where are the children of Dearborn Stillheart?”

  “No!” Grandmother shouted.

  Daedalus snapped his fingers and his skeletons tore into the old woman. Her clothing, her skin, shredded. The skeletons tossed aside bloodied chunks of meat, borrowing deeper to the bones. Her screams were brief.

  Grandfather roared as he grabbed the sword from the wall and slashed at the prince. The younger man parried the attack with ease, using his skeletal hand to slap the sword away. Keeping his bone fingers tight together, Daedalus thrust his hand upward from underneath Grandfather’s jaw, shoving it into his skull as if stuffing a game bird for dinner.

  Ideria screamed and burst from the backroom. She had no plan, no rational thought. Her grandparents were gone and those who took them were still here. As soon as she entered the main room, she grabbed the dining table and lifted it over her head. She slammed it down on the skeletons, the impact rattling the windows. Wasting no time to celebrate or regain her wits, she grabbed Grandfather’s sword and hacked at the prince. Her attack was as ineffective as her grandfather’s.

  Daedalus caught the blade with his skeletal hand and pulled her close. His smile grew like an infected lesion, wider and wider, almost consuming his entire face. Using both hands, she attempted to wrest the sword from his grip, but her attempt was futile. He pulled her close enough for his breath to burn her cheeks. “You look exactly like her. I’m going to enjoy killing you in front of her.”

  Ideria froze. The mention of her mother stopped her assault. She could see pure bliss in his eyes as thought about killing as if he were a poet expounding about his sadistic love of her death. A thin trail of saliva ran from the corner of his disgusting smile. Grandfather’s sword crumbled like cheap tin in the prince’s skeletal hand. For the first time in her life, Ideria knew true fear, the feeling that weakened her bones and shattered her joints.

  “Ideria!” A figure blurred past her and slammed into Daedalus hard enough to knock him to the ground. “Run!”

  She knew the word, knew the concept, but her legs refused to comply until Draymon grabbed her arm and pulled. Bartholomew pushed her along as they ran to the back room, to the opened window. “Nevin’s already in the shed.”

  The shed. She and her brother had been trained for this moment. She knew they were living within the shadow of danger, but never fathomed that it was the king’s brother who cast it. Out the window was escape.

  Bartholomew pushed her through the window while Draymon pulled. She flopped onto the ground, but Draymon grabbed her arm and pulled her to her feet. To the shed. Nevin was already inside waiting for her, reaching for her. She stumbled through the door, her shoulder burning from being pulled, and tumbled into the hole. The entrance to the tunnel was sloped and she slid on her hip the whole way down. Nevin landed next to her, but with much more grace and control, and
immediately grabbed her to help her to her feet.

  The bone dragon roared. It was close enough to shake the ground. Dirt fell from the ceiling. Shouting from Draymon and Bartholomew. Their voices growing louder. Nevin pulled at Ideria, guiding her deeper into the tunnel.

  Another roar. More yelling. Ideria hated not being able to help. She so desperately wanted to run back up the slope and finish the fight. But that was not to be. Two bodies fell down the slope. Bartholomew and Draymon. They were both alive and as soon as they hit the ground, they each kicked at a support beam. With little impact, the beams cracked and, by design, gave way to the ground immediately above the sloped entrance. If the shed did what it was constructed to do, it would collapse on top of the controlled cave-in, making it even more difficult for them to be followed. Even if Daedalus and his dragon cleared away the detritus, all they would be greeted with was a large divot in the ground.

  The tunnels. As part of their exercise routines growing up, Ideria and Nevin worked on digging these tunnels, at least once a day. She hated it, every single second of hacking at the earth with a dull pick and scooping it away with a flimsy spade. Now, she thanked every god whose name she could remember that she had a route to flee.

  There was no light, no sound but the ragged panting of four people who had their lives destroyed in a matter of minutes. Keeping her fingers gliding along the wall, Ideria moved deeper into the tunnel. Almost to the precise number of paces, she found what she knew to be there. A box containing torches and flint.

  Ideria lit four small torches and distributed them. No one spoke, the looks of anger and loss on dirt-stained and bloodied faces said more than words could articulate. It was enough that they had lived through the ordeal, they did not need to discuss it and were not in a position to mourn their losses yet. They were still too close to the prince, muffled noises of dragon clawing at the ground came from above. She was content to follow while Draymon and Bartholomew led the way. She wanted to quiet her mind, push away the horrors she had just witnessed, allow her heart to grieve the people who had been her grandparents for the past decade, but one question loomed so large it allowed no room for any other thought: Did Prince Daedalus imply that my mother was still alive?