The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  The general was a self-proclaimed half-giant. At eight feet tall, Daedalus assumed the boast was true. However, that claim was not enough to explain the tusks growing upward from his bottom jaw, nor the clawed fingers. There was more going on with the general’s genealogical history than he was willing to share, and the different possible combinations of horrific creatures needed to make a beast such as the general even made Daedalus shudder with unease.

  “We need to talk,” the general said, striding toward Daedalus.

  “Not now,” the prince replied.

  “The king is pulling troops from the Kallistah Pass.”

  Daedalus stopped walking and gave the general his attention. The truth of the matter was that the general was so wide in the shoulder that Daedalus would have been unable to walk past him in the hallway without turning sideways, ceding some form of control. Having a half-giant for a general was a double-edged sword. There was no member of the army he could not instill fear into with anything more than a simple look; however, he felt no fear of anyone, including the sadistic brother of the king. Daedalus’ ire bounced off General Perrator as it were nothing more than a handful of pebbles being thrown at his plate mail. Instead, the prince would have to sacrifice a moment of time to deal with the general’s issue first. “My brother wishes to what?”

  “I believe my words did not lack clarity.”

  “How many troops?”

  “All of them.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “None was given, but I can make assumptions.”

  Daedalus made the same assumptions. Demons. This was not a unique occurrence. Many times before, the king had pulled troops from an active battle site to have them quest for the demons that lurked only in his imagination. Daedalus had neither the time nor the desire to deal with this predicament. Pain started to throb between his eyes because deal with it he must. “Very well, I’ll find the king and convince him to reverse the command.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The general gave a deep bow and then turned on his heel to walk away.

  The pain in Daedalus’ head grew with each successive throb to the point he was starting to lose his vision. He knew what was happening and fought against it until he was finally alone in the hallway. Panting as sweat rolled down his face and neck, he leaned against the wall waiting to be transported to . . .

  . . . he was in a bed. He remembered this bed, one that would never leave his memory. It was a makeshift infirmary, a lone room deep in the middle of the castle with no windows and a damnable drip that echoed away in some unseen corner. The room smelled of mildew. A faint scent of feces still lingered. It would be years before that smell truly disappeared.

  This was two weeks since the horse-riding accident of his early teen years. Two weeks since his older brother, Perciless, betrayed him by letting him fall from a horse onto a fence and face first into pig shit. He had broken ribs as well as contracted any number of filth-borne diseases causing nonstop vomiting for a week and a half. He hadn’t overturned anything for the last three days and developed a semblance of an appetite. The castle physicians still insisted that he consume nothing more agitating than water and bread crusts. After bile flowing over his tongue for a week and a half, he desperately wanted something sweet. Finally, after the drip and the smells and the stomach pains drove him to silent tears, his prayers were answered.

  The lone door to the infirmary opened. A screeching noise that radiated all the way from his ears down to his neck. He hoped it was one of the physicians coming to tell him that he no longer needed to be sequestered in this room and was now free to go. No such luck. It was just Oremethus.

  Normally Oremethus resided alone atop Daedalus’ list of those he hated the most. But it was Perciless’ fault that Daedalus was in imprisoned in this bed, so he sequestered the anger for his eldest brother. That and he so desperately wished for some form of distraction that even the sight of someone so despised was now a welcome image. “I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I can only imagine the level of pain you’re in. I wanted to come and check on you.”

  “I . . . I appreciate that.”

  “I assume Perciless has yet to visit you.”

  Too angry to form words at the mere mention of his brother’s name, Daedalus frowned and looked away.

  Hands behind his back, Oremethus strolled over to the bed and uncomfortably close to Daedalus. “He does feel bad. As the idiot should.”

  Confused by his oldest brother’s statement, Daedalus looked back to him. “What?”

  Oremethus shrugged a shoulder. “It’s his fault that you’re in here. So, you didn’t secure your saddle properly. I hardly think that this is a just punishment for such a small infraction. Instead of helping his brother, his flesh and blood, he chose to follow father’s rules and remain quiet, content to watch you fall to harm. His compliance led to your injury and subsequent discomfort.”

  It felt good to hear Oremethus say those words, even though he, too, often marched merrily along with father’s procession. “Father and his damnable rules.”

  “Father may have made the rule, but he wasn’t there to stop his son from getting hurt. Perciless was. He was right beside you and could have stopped this calamity by simply lending you a hand.” To punctuate his statement, he brought his right hand out from behind his back. On his palm rested a piece of cake, topped with frosting the castle baker made from buttercream and strawberries.

  Despite the fact that he wanted to hide his enthusiasm, Daedalus smiled and snatched the cake. He used his index finger to capture the icing and guide it all into his mouth. Happiness exploded on his tongue. The cake was sweet and delicious as well, but without the icing became drier with every bite. As if Oremethus could sense the dilemma, he brought his left hand from behind his back. A large cup of milk, spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg, and vanilla. Daedalus’ favorite.

  “Father said to follow the physicians’ orders,” Daedalus said, wiping away the milk remains from his upper lip.

  “No matter how father pits us against one another, you’re my youngest brother and I will always love you, more than anyone else. Don’t ever forget that.”

  The world went to black . . .

  . . . and Daedalus woke up on the floor, leaning against a wall. The coolness of the stone felt good against his burning skin. It had been a long while since he last had a spell like that, a memory of the past so intense it was as if he left the present to go visit it.

  Getting to his feet, he dusted himself off as his brother’s words echoed in his head, “Don’t ever forget that.” He did. He had forgotten that Oremethus visited him when he was sick and that he broke the rules to sneak him a treat that offered a moment of bliss within a maelstrom of pain. Immediately after Daedalus had been able to leave the bed, his father was praising Oremethus and patronizing Daedalus while Perciless just existed, a happy dog patiently waiting for a scrap of food. King Theomann was a terrible father and an even worse king, the reason for all of Daedalus’ problems. Now that Oremethus was king, and Daedalus held his ear, things for the kingdom of Albathia would be different, starting with the conquest of Tsinel. Of course, Daedalus still had to convince Oremethus to stop withdrawing troops from critical war fronts for foolhardy reasons.

  Oremethus was in his “hunting room” as he referred to it, an old banquet hall now dedicated to his obsession with hunting demons. A detailed map of Albathia was painted on the walls, ceiling, and floor. Every town, road, stream, and farm represented. Lengths of twine spanned from wall to wall to floor to ceiling. Sometimes a quarterstaff planted in a pot was needed to support a run of twine too long to keep from losing its shape. The twine had been dyed different colors, the shades each representing something different. What, Daedalus could hardly remember. Thousands upon thousands of individual twine strings ran taut throughout the entire room. “Brother?”

  “He
re, Daedalus!” came from somewhere toward the middle of the room. The twine web so thick, Daedalus could see but a quarter of the way in. He so hated entering this room. There were windows along the one wall, normally enough to light the entire room from the rise of the Day Sun to the fall of the Evening Sun, but they had been painted over and the density of the twine prohibited the light from either sun from venturing too far into the room. Flame of any sort had been prohibited, even that behind the protective glass of a lantern. The one and only time Oremethus had been more extreme in his issuance of punishment than Daedalus was when he executed a servant trying to clean the room after she accidentally broke one of the twine strings. Everyone in the castle now passed by this room only when they had to, and they did so with hastened pace.

  Careful not to pluck a single string, Daedalus moved through the web, the dark fear of being watched by a room-sized spider tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. There was a stretch along the corner of the wall and floor where the twine created a tunnel, one that Daedalus used to shimmy the rest of the way to his brother.

  Getting to his feet and a little winded from having to use his arms to propel his whole body, Daedalus approached his brother. Because no flames were aloud, Oremethus had a wizard work a spell to place upon the vest he was wearing now, to make it glow a soft yellow, mimicking candlelight. His face was stern but showed no emotion. Daedalus knew this look. He was deep in thought, his mind asking a thousand different questions at once. “How goes the hunt?”

  “Not well,” he mumbled. “Haddaman warned me of the demons, but I was ill-prepared to face them.”

  Daedalus looked at the map. Orsrun. Twelve strings of four different colors wrapped around a thick nail protruding from the center of the town. The strings went in all different directions, some even to the ceiling or floor. Oremethus pinched one of the strings and whispered to himself about the location attached to the other end of the string. His mutterings only made sense to himself.

  “Orsrun?” Daedalus asked.

  “A demon killed the metal dragon there. I knew there were demons there, but I was sloppy, and it cost us one of our dragons.”

  “Is that why you pulled the troops from Kallistah Pass?”

  Oremethus stopped whispering to himself and gave Daedalus a look that made him feel stupid for asking. “No.”

  After taking a breath to compose himself, Daedalus asked, “Then why?”

  “Our supply lines to the troops there have been getting disrupted. Tsinel is more knowledgeable about that valley than we are. Every skirmish there, we have lost. Even if somehow we won, what do we really gain? Tsinel’s city of Kallistah is known for its wealth, its gold, the reason why we attacked it in the first place. Since our initial attempt failed, they undoubtedly have evacuated the people and moved the gold. Conquering an empty city, especially one with a location of no strategic value, is a moral victory at best, depending on how many men we lose.”

  Daedalus couldn’t help but smile, a pleasant surprise that the king still had enough of his faculties to know what was happening around him and make good decisions with the data he had. “Yes, brother, you are absolutely correct. If the opportunity arises, I’ll create more skeleton soldiers and send them to Kallistah Pass. However, you have yet to tell me where you are sending them.”

  “I’m going to break them into smaller units and have them scour the lands to find our brother.”

  “Find Perciless?”

  “Yes. I have heard a lot of mention about him lately. He keeps avoiding capture and he is winning over town after town with the hopes of him returning to the throne. All of this talk about our brother has made me realize that he has yet to pay for his crimes.”

  “His crimes?”

  “Yes. Against you. He has been the biggest source of your pain ever since we were children. He was father’s favorite and was able to get anything he wanted by simply doing whatever he was told. I grew up insulated from his inanities because of my training to take the throne. But you not only had to live in his shadow, you had to suffer for it. I couldn’t be there to shield you from such a life, but I want to be there for you now.”

  A sting formed behind Daedalus’ eyes. For the first time in decades, a tear rolled down his cheek. “Oremethus . . . ? That is very thoughtful of you. Yes, call the troops back to the castle and we will equip them with the means to find our brother.”

  “No matter how father pitted us against one another, you’re my youngest brother and I will always love you, more than anyone else. Don’t ever forget that.”

  Daedalus opened his mouth to reply, but Oremethus’ eyes glossed over and became unfocused. Attention back to the map, he plucked the strings while speaking soft sounds full of gibberish. Going back the exact way he came, Daedalus left without any form of farewell, knowing his words would go unheard.

  Back in the hallway, thoughts of telling Dearborn about her children occupied his mind, although now without quite the same fervor as before the interruptions. When he turned the corner from one hallway to the next, he found yet another interruption standing before him in the form of Speekore.

  “Ah, Prince Daedalus!” the hobgoblin said, torchlight glimmering off a fresh patch of viscous liquid on his leather apron. “I was hoping to find you. Haddaman mentioned that you had just arrived.”

  “Haddaman’s back in the castle? Already?”

  “Nothing but the best steeds for him, I presume.”

  Daedalus shook his head and waved his hand to dismiss his scientist while he started back down the hallway. “Be that as it may, I hardly have time for you.”

  “I need only the scant seconds to say the following: the hundredth has arrived.”

  Those words held Daedalus stronger than any tether or chains. “Did . . . did you say that we now have one hundred?”

  “I did indeed.”

  The torture of Dearborn Stillheart was just about to become sweeter.

  eleven

  “We need him, please,” Perciless said. Brokar saluted and then went off to find Landyr.

  When Cezomir and Thorna gave him word of the morning attack, Perciless ordered everyone into the small hideaway. They needed to relocate, he reasoned, but only after the danger had passed. The group grabbed up what few items of importance there were in the room and stowed them away for travel. Minimal words were needed at this point . . . moving had become second nature to them. It took less than an hour from when Perciless made his request to the sounds of Landyr and Brokar bringing horses the house. Under the baleful stare of the Morning Sun, they mounted up and moved out. The evacuation was quiet and somber, each member of the party mourning Rolin.

  The destination had been predetermined and an out of the way little place called Manafor’s Glen became their new temporary haven. The safe house was paid for already and keys turned over months ago, during the last time they visited.

  Perciless and his small group of companions entered the little dwelling, while Thorna waited outside with the horses. Cezomir and Lina entered first, having been farther ahead of the rest of the party, lest the newly procured horses catch the scent of the predators. It took only moments to declare the ground floor and attic free of interlopers. Cezomir found the concealed door to the cellar where they would spend most of their time while they were here and lifted it free to inspect the lower levels. When his lupine senses were satisfied the area was secure, Perciless asked Thorna to stable the horses while he asked Landyr to join him for a trip around the town for supplies.

  They were quick about their business, garnering some food and minor items of use. Perciless was careful to keep his face shadowed by the cowl of his cloak and displayed only a handful of low-value coins. He couldn’t keep himself from asking a few questions about the conditions of life in Manafor’s Glen and exchanging a few pleasantries with some of the simple townsfolk. The common folk truly we
re his people after all, and he enjoyed no company more than their own, for without them, nothing worthwhile could ever exist. It was a far cry from what he had heard his brothers say while growing up. Oremethus believed that the simple folk were numbers of the economy, while Daedalus saw them only as a stepping stone to achieve his own selfish ends.

  When they returned to the safe house, everyone was already inside. Perciless paced around the few rooms of the ground floor. “It helps me think,” he often exclaimed to anyone who pointed out the habit to him.

  As he walked the length of the room and back, he allowed everyone to get as comfortable as possible in the chairs around a simple wooden table. Landyr, Brokar, and Thorna ripped chunks from the loaves of bread in the center of the table and pulled their share of jerked meat from a sack before giving the rest to Cezomir and Lina. They each had a bloated water skin to wash down their meals. Finally growing tired of the floorboard squeak that accompanied his third and seventeenth step, Perciless stopped pacing. “I apologize for picking a wound before it can heal, but we need to review the events of this morning.”

  “I had a delicious breakfast of hobgoblin,” Cezomir said while slipping a sliver of dried meat into his mouth. “I just wish I could have eaten it before it killed Rolin.”

  “As do we all, my friend. As do we all.” Perciless started his pacing again, this time along a different path. “Did you find any clues about them or their motivations before you ate them?”

  Landyr placed his heels on the table and leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms back as far as they could go. “The hobgoblins that attacked us were soldiers, definitely Elite Troop judging from the insignias all over their uniforms.”

  “Do you think we stumbled upon them out of bad luck? There were only three of them.”

  “It doesn’t seem likely. Two of them had ensorcelled weapons and one of those two had been sitting in a position to snipe at us. I believe it was reconnaissance.”