The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  “The pass is too small, and the terrain is too unwieldy for entire garrisons with heavy artillery, but foot soldiers and healthy enough steeds can make it through. And the weather has been leaning toward unseasonably warm. Our troops may not have been engaging the enemy, but they were fending off the enemy just the same.”

  The Timeless Mountains. The northern border between Albathia and Tsinel was a natural one—an ancient mountain range. There were a few other mountains scattered about Albathia, most notably the ring around The Scorched Sea, the desert where Oremethus had found the demon stone that scrambled his sanity. The Timeless Mountains range between the two countries made all other mountains look like foothills. The northern part of the mountain range terminated at the ocean, massive crags of snow and ice leading into frozen waters. The mountains traveled southward for a majority of the continent, keeping Albathia to the west, Tsinel to the east. Halfway down the range was Kallistah Pass. The road was not always flat, but the twenty-mile stretch was the shortest, fastest, and safest way to travel from one side of the Timeless Mountains to the other.

  The Horizon River flowed south from the mountains, named for being so wide at the start that an individual standing on one side could not see the other side, just the horizon. The river formed a second natural barrier between Albathia and Tsinel, draining into the Southern Sea. Forests and fields were the final borders as they extended from the sea to the ocean. Most of the war took place there and that was where Daedalus spent his focus. The southern part of Horizon River did taper in width to create more manageable crossing points, but Daedalus made sure to destroy every bridge that had connected the two countries. He wanted to keep the war contained to one area. Alas, he would have no such luck. “I assume you’re going to suggest that I send the troops back to Kallistah Pass.”

  “No. I’m going to suggest that we disperse the troops to the nearest towns around Phenomere.”

  Daedalus brushed the dust and stone flecks from his skeletal hand. “Dare I ask why?”

  “To help with the local constabulary.”

  Daedalus wondered if he could drive his bone hand through Perrator’s chest but thought better of it. The general eschewed death as if it were nothing more than a fly buzzing too close to his face. Daedalus had yet to encounter anything that could do damage to his arm, yet he feared the general might be able to. He took a deep breath to remind himself that the half-giant was a warrior, not a bureaucrat. “If you are to be my advisor, you need to give me reasons for your suggestions as well as the suggestion itself. Brevity of statement leads to excessive conversation.”

  Perrator shifted his posture and snarled his upper lip. Daedalus wondered if the general was weighing the options of trying to kill him, frustrated by his demands to act a part he had little training for. “Very well. Vogothe is dead. Even if the criminals who live in the underworld didn’t know Haddaman was Vogothe, they have quickly learned that the head crime lord is dead. Many who have any form of power are making a play to be the new crime lord.”

  Daedalus shook his head, dismayed. “How is that possible? He’s only been dead for ten days.”

  “I have seen firsthand in every army I have ever commanded—rumors fly faster than arrows. Local constables have been sending messengers to the castle this past week requesting out help in the form of troops.”

  “Are you telling me that crime has increased throughout the surrounding towns so much that the locals can’t handle it? How many messengers have visited the castle?”

  “Thirteen so far with more every day. The news of this has undoubtedly reached the ears of other local crime lords, each emboldened by the lack of consequence of asserting their influence. The locals do make attempts, but most times they’re outmatched. The town of Wrenfeld has been burned to the ground.”

  “Bah. Wrenfeld. I wouldn’t even call it a town. Five public buildings at most surrounded by farms. If these so-called crime lords are focusing on places like Wrenfeld, then we’ve nothing to worry about.”

  “A voice unheard by Oremethus will vilify Daedalus and glorify Perciless. Surely you’ve heard of the secret army that Perciless has been building?”

  Daedalus smashed his fist against the wall again, creating a bigger dent than the first one. “Yes! I am very aware of Perciless building his secret army. I have been aware of it for years! I have been hunting him. I paid others to find him. I hired mercenaries and bounty hunters. I captured and tortured wizards into helping me find him. I gave the task to Haddaman and when he provided no results, I’ve given the order to my Elite Troop to find him. Yes, good sir Advisor, I have heard a tale of Perciless building his secret army.”

  “Then why add to it? If you can’t protect the people, then they will turn to someone who can. We can send a hundred troops to meet up with the hundred that are on their way back from Kallistah Pass with instructions. Five to ten soldiers will be more than enough to help bring any town back to order.”

  “If I do as you suggest, Advisor, then how do we deal with the situation at Kallistah Pass?”

  “Not we—you. Take your dragon to the Pass. You will find either the solders of Tsinel coming into our country, or you will find deserters attempting to leave our country, or both. Whatever you find, your dragon’s breath will add them to your army. You will have a firsthand account of the situation and devise the best plan possible on how to handle it. If nothing else, send the new skeletons through the Pass to confound whatever soldiers Tsinel has on the other side.”

  Daedalus worked his jaw muscles, chewing on the possibility of following Perrator’s suggestion. “That is a rather well thought out plan indeed. However, I have a burning in my gut that can only be quenched by the blood of Dearborn and her children.”

  “Now that she has escaped from the dungeon, what do you think she’ll do?”

  “Attempt to flee, of course. I’ve been personally searching the nearby towns.”

  “If the rumors of the king ordering the troops away from Kallistah Pass, making an unfettered path to Tsinel, reach her ears, then where do you think she’ll go?”

  Perrator tried Daedalus’ patience, but his advisory results had been satisfactory so far. “It seems I shall be making a personal visit to Kallistah Pass.”

  “Very good. In case Dearborn does not choose that path, I will instruct the soldiers to pass on to the local constables that the crown is willing to pay for the capture of the escaped prisoner and her children, their weight in gold.”

  Daedalus nodded. “You have some good ideas, Perrator.”

  The half-giant bowed, an awkward attempt to show fealty. “Thank you.”

  “Haddaman had good ideas, too. Sometimes, they didn’t work according to plan. It’d be wise for you to contemplate that. In fact, to help you remember that, his old room is your new room. Call upon as many servants as necessary to help you clean it to your liking. After the fires die down, of course.”

  Finally, Perrator’s expression shifted to something other than anger, one of discomfort, as he looked at the guttering flames in his new room. It was far from the look of fear that Daedalus strove for, but it was a start. The half-giant sighed. “Of course.”

  Daedalus stifled a laugh as he left his new advisor alone with his thoughts. He had to get himself and his dragon ready for a trip to Kallistah Pass.

  nineteen

  Dearborn brushed Ideria’s hair as her daughter brushed the horse’s mane. The flaxen stands flowed through Dearborn’s fingers like newly spun silk, a form of Heaven and she would have been content to do this all day. This was Diminutia’s hair, her husband, Ideria’s father. Although his hair had been twisted by a natural curl, it was impossibly soft. One of Dearborn’s favorite things to do was to play with it, just close her eyes to allow her sense of touch to be her only experience as her fingers traipsed through his hair.

  “Keep petting me like this and you
’ll make me go bald,” he would say.

  “Well, then I guess I need to get all my petting time in before that happens,” she would reply and sink her fingers deeper into the curls.

  The last time she was able to do that was over ten years ago before he got eaten by one of the king’s dragons. He died with valor while rescuing children, freeing them from the same fate. That did nothing to quell the desire to run her hands through his hair again. However, her daughter’s hair held the same place within her heart. This would have been a perfect substitute if not for the staining.

  The blonde was a perfect match, gilded rays of sunshine, but the glow was muted by persistent streaks and patches of brown. Blood dyed Ideria’s hair like an indelible memory that must be cut away. Cut away, she ruminated. Surely the hair would need to be shorn, for she had seen with her own eyes that water would never again remove the stains from her children. This was truly innocence lost. Never again could they open their eyes and look at her with that childlike purity of heart, nor could she look at them as if they could ever toddle to wherever their fleeting curiosity led them. Bathing could only purify the outside appearance, not the mind—nor the heart.

  Dearborn wanted to scream, to rail at the injustice of the world that had taken her children away from her and given them back as adults. Adults that had witnessed already too much horror in their short lives. Never again could they close their eyes against the nightmare and reopen them prepared to dream again without the threat of falling back into a chasm darkened by the shadow of death.

  “Mother,” Ideria started, only to be hushed by Dearborn as she drew her daughter close in a one-armed embrace.

  “No words,” Dearborn requested. “Not yet.” She hummed a quiet tune as her daughter, continued to brush the horse.

  When she became aware of Nevin’s proximity, she held out her free hand, cajoling him to come closer to her until she could embrace him in the other arm, her hand on his shoulder, her forearm across his chest. Her frame was still large enough that she could cause all three of them to rock to and fro without requiring much effort on her part. She wanted to stay like this forever, for this reunion to last until her eyes closed for the last time.

  “We missed you, too, Mother,” Nevin whispered, placing both of his hands on her forearm, tightening the embrace.

  She kissed the top of his head. These were the curls of her husband, despite the shade being the exact same black that she saw flow from her head anytime she looked into a mirror. Burying her face in his curls, she savored how they felt against her cheeks. This boy had been a child when she last saw him, now almost fully grown, a man by all rights. She had no idea how hard she was squeezing until he moaned, “There’s no love like a mother’s; always sweet, sometimes painful.”

  Laughing, she released her children and wiped away the tears, unrealized until now. Her son and daughter were both so beautiful, works of art demanding catharsis. There was no mistaking who sired Nevin, his face the perfect replica of Diminutia’s. Maybe not quite as tall and his lean body was framed with the type of muscles only a farm could build. When he smiled, her heart simultaneously broke and melted. It was a magic spell cast upon all who beheld it.

  Ideria was a living reflection of her mother. Just as tall with muscles that belonged on a thoroughbred, not a person, yet the curves from shoulder to waist to hip to thigh were undeniably feminine. Just like herself, her daughter lacked any discernible bosom, the sacrifice necessary for the striations of a muscled chest.

  How they had both grown, Dearborn mused, and how much she had missed. Her mind was awash with questions and she had to fight her own urges to keep from overwhelming them with a torrent of words, lest she deteriorate into a babbling, blubbering mess. Start with the most important details first, she exhorted herself, as she gathered up her courage and wits into something useful.

  “Children, where are Captain and Mrs. Wahl? They were to watch over you. And what of Draymon? He should have helped them until I was able to return to you. Please tell me that you snuck out on them . . . and that you had some good reason to do so.” Dearborn steeled herself to wait for their answers.

  Nevin and Ideria looked at each other for a few seconds before either of them made any attempt to answer. Nevin lowered his eyes first, an indication to his sister that she should start the story. Without taking her eyes off her brother, Ideria took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Grandmother and Grandfather are dead. They were killed by Prince Daedalus, trying to protect the secret of our existence from him. We don’t know how he found out about us, but he was most insistent on finding us. We escaped with the help of Uncle Draymon and Uncle Bartholomew. They led us through a series of underground tunnels that we had dug in preparation for such an event. We then went to Phyl’s and Lapin’s. From there we discovered that they had lied to all of us kids for all these years and unraveled the mystery of your whereabouts. We then set out to find you.”

  A stinging sensation formed behind her eyes. She had forgotten how to cry over the last ten years until hours ago when she first saw and held her children outside the castle. Now she willed herself not to, the notion of her children coming to rescue her plucked at her heart like the strings of a harp. A parent should always do the rescuing, never the children. “I am sorry that you had to escape like that, but I’m happy to hear you refer to them as your grandparents. They were exemplary people, two that I looked up to and admired. However, you mentioned an ‘Uncle’ Bartholomew? I assume he was the fellow killed by the water dragon?”

  Ideria’s eyes became glassy as she returned to brushing the horse’s mane and Dearborn instantly regretted her less than reverent tone when asking about the man. This time, Nevin answered her question. “Yes. Uncle Draymon showed up one day to let us know that you and father had died trying to save King Perciless. Grandmother and Grandfather had a long talk and then decided that they would purchase your property and have Uncle Draymon live there so he could train us. Grandmother never liked the idea, but acquiesced, saying that it was better for us to know how to defend ourselves than not. After a while, Uncle Draymon was running out of techniques to show us, so he invited Uncle Bartholomew to live with us and help. He taught us less sophisticated, yet equally useful methods of combat.”

  “And how to swear and deliver jokes that would call forth blushes from those who heard them. Especially grandmother. She never liked Uncle Bartholomew much.”

  Dearborn smiled at the images of Mrs. Wahl fussing about coarse language. A smirk touched Nevin’s lips as his tone lightened. “That as well as other life skills.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Dearborn displayed a frown that could not be misconstrued any other way than mocking. “Let me guess. Skills I would disapprove of, but your father would encourage.”

  Both children looked away as pink touched their cheeks. Dearborn chuckled and said, “Obviously those skills were necessary or else you would have never been able to come to my rescue. I am extremely sorry for your loss. Even though he may have seemed like a scoundrel, it’s clear to me that he was a good man.”

  The world around them infringed upon their collectively shared moment as the horse in the stall with them neighed for more food. When their group had come upon this farm, Dearborn suggested that they check out the stables as the farmer was not likely to be present and so that they could inspect the horses and offer fair value for them. Accustomed as she was to farm living, the group decided that she should go investigate the equines as she was less likely to get them riled up as an ogre or someone with wings might.

  Immediately evident to Dearborn was the lean and slightly haggard appearance of the horses. She found a small pile of food with ease and even though she was slightly leery about the freshness of the grains, she decided that the horses were probably used to a slight staleness and could still gain nourishment from unseasonable victuals until more choice materials could be
obtained. The animals had been mistreated in her opinion, but they seemed to be in decent health, considering. They were serviceable and could be brought back to full vitality at the same time if they didn’t push them too hard. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but how many times might they encounter the same scenario before better circumstances presented themselves, she wondered. She weighed the situation in her mind and decided that they could travel more quickly with these horses than by risking spending several days, potentially, looking for a better option.

  “Nevin, let’s bring in the rest of the group. We’ll talk more later. I love you both so much, and I’m so proud of who you have both become. I want to hear all about it, but we must stay focused. Remember everything that you have been taught up until now. Daedalus sets the stakes high and he will do anything to cause me pain.”

  Nevin regarded her with the same blue eyes she had, but there was so much more to them. Entire conversations played out behind them as he calculated what to say next. Dearborn could almost hear every question he wanted to ask:

  “Why does the king’s brother hate you so much?”

  “Is he really spending so many resources hunting us?”

  “How did you survive the dungeon and still be healthy?”

  “What do we do now?”

  “Where do we go?”

  Wisdom accompanied his curiosity and he knew to leave those questions for a later time as he led the way out of the stall.

  The stables were impressive. Stalls enough for eight horses, though only six were occupied, and a spacious loft over both sets of stalls. There was more than enough room to rent a peaceful night’s sleep from the farmer, should he be willing to accept their coin. Before they had fled the killing fields of the castle, Draymon inspected Bartholomew’s body and found small pouches of coin within his boots as well as sewn into his shirt and pants. No matter what she might hear about this Bartholomew fellow, she had to admire his forethought.