The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  The satyr did as instructed without hesitation or question, only pausing when the dragon opened his mouth to breathe its mist upon the other soldiers behind him. Under its miasma, they writhed and clawed away their own skins to reveal the skeletons beneath. In this state the chimeras looked even more terrifying, their frames completely unnatural. Juruk stopped within two steps of Daedalus. “I pledge my life to you, your Highness.”

  “I know. That’s why I’m allowing you to prove yourself to me. I’m taking you with me to Kallistah Pass.”

  Juruk winced, confused. “You . . . you are going to let me ride upon your dragon with you?”

  Daedalus laughed. No, Juruk was not a smart individual at all and Daedalus could not find enough breath to dignify such a stupid statement with a worded response. Instead, he enjoyed watching the look of regret soften Juruk’s hard face as the eleven skeletons shambled to him. They encircled the satyr and linked themselves together, creating a cage of bones.

  Satisfied that Juruk understood that there was no circumstance where he would ever ride upon a dragon, Daedalus mounted his and they took flight, commanding his ride to grab the cage before aiming for the clouds.

  twenty-five

  Draymon sipped from his cup, the flavor of spiced apple flowing over his tongue, while the sting of acid burned all the way down his throat. He coughed and looked inside his cup, wondering how much liquid was left and why it had yet to burn a hole through the bottom. His reward for enduring the pain was a nice warmth blooming in his belly and flowering up his chest and into his head. He took another drink. This round of coughing was much more subdued, but the burn was no less harsh. The taste of spiced apple was delicious, though. And he chuckled to himself. Somehow in the middle of nowhere, Lapin had found spirits.

  The Looping forest bled into a more traditional forest of greens and browns and after a half-day’s walk, they decided to rest and find food. Immediately after stopping to set up camp, the talking rabbit insisted that there were spirits to be found around a copse of trees and down a hill. Landyr and Phyl went to investigate and, sure enough, they had run into a traveling merchant and purchased all that he had to offer, four jugs worth. Lapin laid claim to one entire jug for himself, as well as lapping from Bale’s cup when the ogre’s attention was elsewhere. The rest of the group enjoyed the other three, enough to help everyone relax.

  Night had fallen and Draymon opted to stand watch even though the only party member asleep was Phyl, tipsy after one cup of drink, unconscious after another half cup. Lapin was quick to finish what remained. Everyone else was still awake, sitting around the campfire. Stories were exchanged, the two main tellers of tales being King Perciless and Dearborn. Bale made efforts to enhance Dearborn’s words, but his attempts were awkward at best. Draymon was too far away now to pick out specific words, but he could hear voices and the sound of laughter reached his ears perfectly. It was wonderful in a way, but he just did not wish to be a part of it.

  Ideria still had not forgiven him, barely even acknowledged that he was even a member of their traveling party. Neither had any of the other kids, really. They participated in conversations regarding strategy and planning with him, but that was the extent of things. No pleasantries. To some extent, Draymon could not fault them. They were young, their emotions lived close to their skin and were easily touched. Parents they thought were dead had come back into their lives, healthier than anyone could have imagined. When not fighting for their lives, Ideria looked at nothing else other than her mother with the same wide-eyed wonder of staring directly at a goddess. She heard her mother’s every word with a smile upon her face. Even Nevin showed a significant change as well. A young man who kept to himself and analyzed every situation before becoming a part of it, he sat next to the light of the fire instead of the shadows it cast with the hood of his cloak down instead of up. He, too, watched his mother with rapt fascination.

  The children of Bale acted the same way. Hope looked as if she could burst into happy tears at any moment. Rue was the intellectual superior to anyone in this group, yet he absorbed his father’s words as if every syllable were a nugget of wisdom. Woe shared the same dull look as Bale with a few less wrinkles. Draymon knew enough about the young ogre to see the subtle shifts in his expression every time Bale addressed him. Draymon had spent time with Bale’s progeny over the past decade to know them, but not enough to consider them family. He never knew Woe’s back hump was actually a way to hide his wings until recently. He taught them a few fighting techniques and showed them how to use tools to build what they needed or fix what they had. Now that they had been reunited with their father, they acted as if Draymon were but a stranger. The way the children treated him would not stick in his craw so badly if they would have treated the other set of ersatz parents with the same level of apathy. Instead, they allowed Phyl to nuzzle close to them as he slept and laughed along with Lapin as he drunkenly joked.

  Draymon took another sip and silently berated himself, a fool for having such juvenile feelings. He loved Ideria and Nevin. Their happiness was his happiness. He had never seen them smile so brightly before. No matter the pain he felt, those smiles were worth it.

  “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” came from the other side of the tree he leaned against. He jolted straight so quickly that a splash of alcohol had sloshed from his cup. He had mixed feelings about that. But he felt comfortable enough to weigh the good against the bad of losing a sip or two of the liquid once he saw that the voice was attached to Landyr. The Elite Troop general leaned against the tree with his left shoulder.

  Draymon chuckled and went back to rest against the tree with his right shoulder. “A very true statement. How many do you have?”

  “None, to the best of my knowledge. I just know it’s something to say when a parent figure is looking maudlin while observing children.”

  Draymon chuckled again and wondered if he should slow his consumption of the liquid in the cup. He took another sip anyway. “Well, you may not have been a parent figure these past ten years, but you certainly had your hands full keeping the prince alive.”

  It was Landyr’s turn to be maudlin with a long, slow sigh. “I did. But I would be remiss if I didn’t mention that I had plenty of help.”

  Another truth. Draymon wondered how much easier life would have been if he could have added “Elite Troop members” and “psychotic were-creatures” to the list of guardians for Ideria and Nevin. Bartholomew and the Wahl’s might still be alive. Nice thought indeed. However, he noted that the Elite Troop now consisted of two members, half the size since the last time he saw them a decade ago. Landyr was next to him, propped up by a tree, while Thorna sat by the campfire, but away from the main group as she whetted her sword. The psychotic were-creatures were nowhere to be found. “So, where are the wolf and the cat?”

  “Cezomir and Lina? Either fucking or hunting. Or both. Sometimes they’ll hunt something, kill it, and then fuck on its corpse. They’re bizarre like that.”

  Draymon thought about laughing, but there was nothing in Landyr’s tone that encouraged him to do so. Was he serious? Or were the spirits lubricating his mouth and allowing the words to slide out faster than they should? “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “If so, then how would you trust that whatever they bring back won’t have been violated?”

  Landyr shrugged his free shoulder. “You can’t.”

  Something shifted within Draymon’s stomach. He turned his cup upside down, its contents no longer welcome within him. “Well, that’s unsettling.”

  Landyr pushed himself away from the tree and needed a quick sidestep to keep from planting his face on the ground. “Apologizes. That was not my intent. I merely wanted to extend my greetings and let you know that it’s good to see you again.”

  Draymon moved from the tree as well, the alcohol shifting his world just enough to create a need to
touch the bark for balance. Once steadied, he wanted to say something to Landyr, but the other had disappeared.

  Hand still on the tree, Draymon walked around the whole thing looking for any hint of where Landyr had gone. No such luck.

  “He drank almost as much as Lapin did, so I’m a little surprised that he’s still standing,” came from behind him. It was a woman’s voice, one he had been dreaming about hearing for quite a long time.

  Dearborn.

  “Draymon?” she asked as she approached, almost as if seeking permission to speak with him.

  The uneasiness in his stomach changed from that of apprehension to the flutters of excitement. “Yes.”

  “We’ve fought beside each other three times now and we have yet to be officially introduced. I am Dearborn Stillheart.”

  A smile so broad that it hurt formed along Draymon’s face. “Believe me, I know who you are.”

  “I also wanted to meet the man who raised my children.”

  “I assure you, Mr. and Mrs. Wahl were the ones who raised them.”

  “Don’t be so humble. They refer to you as Uncle in a very reverent tone.”

  The strings of Draymon’s heart were plucked. He had feared that the damage he had done with his lie would be irreparable. Now he had hope that someday they would forgive him. “After lying to them about your death, I fear that I’m their uncle no longer.”

  “Nonsense. You did the right thing. They know it as well. Just give a few more days for everyone’s emotions to settle. They’re smart children.”

  “They have a smart mother.”

  Dearborn tilted her head and smiled as if she were surprised that he knew more about her than just her name. “Be that as it may, they’ve told me that you were their educator.”

  “They have become exceptional scholars.”

  “And exceptional warriors.”

  “And exceptional thieves.”

  She squinted and drew her lips tight against her teeth. “I don’t know how I feel about that news.”

  “Lapin taught them, drawing upon his many years of experience of being a thief before getting turned into a rabbit.”

  “Lapin?”

  “Yes. He has always had quite a difficult time in the market place. More than a few times he was caught and meant to be made into a meal, but thanks to the dragon magic that turned him into a rabbit, he has an impenetrable hide. After a gutting knife ran harmlessly over him, he would run away, but not before shitting all over the house of whoever caught him.”

  Dearborn fought to keep from laughing but lost. “Oh, I can only imagine that sight.”

  Draymon’s smile was wide, a true expression of joy. “I have and it usually leads to laughter such as yours every time he tells one of those stories, which just angers him more. But that is one of the drawbacks of being a bunny. And his capture only happens if he’s even noticed. Sure, he can talk, but it’s difficult for him to make a simple transaction in a bustling market place. So, he taught all the children to steal.”

  “All the children? Even those belonging to Bale?”

  “Yes. In fact, the three that have joined this adventure make quite an impressive team when combined with your two.”

  “You don’t say?”

  “I do. Very skilled. Very smooth. Masters of misdirection. Never once have they had the need to run because never once were they caught or even suspected of any form of malfeasance.”

  Dearborn sighed. “My husband was a thief and I rarely approved when he committed any form of larceny. How could you allow them to be this way?”

  Draymon looked over to the children, all five laying in a group, settling in to sleep. “Despite the wrongdoing, they would always do it for right reasons. They took just enough to help the households. If they took too much, they would give the remainder to those in need. They never stole from those who would truly miss it. Every dignitary that passed through a town close enough for them to walk to always left lighter. Though their favorite target is the Constable from Bulderswith.”

  Dearborn’s eyes widened. “The one with the wife always in jewels? You jest.”

  “I do not. They bedevil that fat bastard every chance they get, and his wife often loses said jewels.”

  Dearborn laughed again. “Oh, praise all the gods, real and unreal. He, too, was Diminutia’s favorite target.”

  Draymon laughed along with Dearborn. “He’s still a deserving one, I’m afraid.”

  Dearborn’s laughter faded, but her bright eyes held a bit of mirth even though her voice took a more earnest tone. “I need to thank you.”

  “You do not. Those children are an absolute joy.”

  “When I asked you to do right by them, I didn’t expect that you would live with them and serve as steward, teacher, and guardian.”

  Draymon wrinkled his brow, confused by her words. “I could think of no other option for your children.”

  “I imagined you would check their wellbeing once or twice a year from the shadows, making sure they were still alive.”

  “For your children, I would consider that level of commitment grossly lacking.”

  Dearborn squinted as she scrutinized his face, searching her memory for why she knew him. Whether she did so with purpose or not, he could not say, but she moved closer to him by one full step. The slightest of smiles tugged at the corners of her lips. “Instead, your level of commitment involved teaching them the finer skills of thieving.”

  It was his turn to offer a playful smirk. “I need to remind you that it was not under my tutelage where they learned those skills, rather the rabbit’s.”

  “Ah, yes. The rabbit’s tutelage. How could I possibly forget that they’ve acquired their larcenous ways from a creature one rung higher than a rodent on the ladder of intelligence.”

  “Clearly you haven’t seen him drunk as often as I have or else you wouldn’t have given him such credit. He’s easily two rungs beneath even the slowest of rats.”

  “I fear I may believe you. So, the rabbit taught my children how to steal, and you taught them weaponry and fighting?”

  Draymon held out his hands, most of his fingers permanently curled, a few in rather unnatural ways. “I taught them how to find answers where there are none to be found. How to improvise and think beyond any problem they face.”

  Dearborn’s smile fell away, replaced by amazement as she grabbed his hands. He suppressed a gasp, the sudden sensation of her touch sent warm lightning up his arms. Her hands were as calloused as a farmer’s, but her fingers were still soft and warm. However, she regarded his hands as unusual tools, instruments unique in style and function. She whispered, “I’ve seen you wield a quarterstaff with such deftness that you almost bested Bale and Praeker Trieste in the fighting pits.”

  Ten years ago, their paths crossed for the second time within the pit of an illegal fighting arena. They each had a different mission, but they had to work together to best the possibly immortal monster, Praeker Trieste. Their time together then was brief, only to see each other once more in the throne room attempting to thwart an insurrection. Ultimately, they failed, Dearborn sacrificing herself to help everyone else save Perciless from his brothers. Now, ten years later, his hands were in hers. “Magnetics.”

  Dearborn looked up. Even in the darkness her eyes somehow still managed to sparkle. “Magnetics?”

  “Yes. I’ve sewn magnets of differing strengths in various pairs of gloves. My quarterstaff had an iron core and the gloves I use to wield it have very powerful magnets.”

  “That’s brilliant.”

  “I got the suggestion from a brilliant woman.”

  Dearborn winced, confused by his statement, then her expression relaxed when she understood what he was saying. She looked down at his hands again, this time seeing the situation in a different li
ght. She let go and then put hers behind her back. Her smile returned, but this time one masking embarrassment. “I assume you mean me, but I must confess I don’t remember a particular conversation with you involving magnets, because I . . . I do not . . . remember you.”

  “Why did you ask me to do right by your children?”

  “Because there was . . . is . . . something undoubtedly familiar about you. How far back into the past must I travel?”

  “To when we were teens.”

  “As entertaining as this game of guessing has been, I must insist . . . that . . . you. . . ? Arten?”

  “Yes.”

  Eyes slicked from the start of tears, Dearborn reached to embrace him, then quickly pulled her hands back and brought them to her face. “By all the gods real and unreal. Arten?”

  Draymon chuckled. “No matter how many times you ask, the answer is still yes.”

  A variety of emotions played over Dearborn’s face, more obvious to Draymon than if she announced each one. Surprise. Glee. Concern. Pity. “You sacrificed so much. Ten years, for me, for a woman you barely knew when we were both struggling with adolescence.”

  Draymon had been in life or death battles more times than he could count, but his heart had never raced as it did now. Emboldened, he took a step closer to her, ready to blame the spirits should she object to his forwardness. So close to her he now needed a slight tilt to his head to look up into her eyes. “That woman I barely knew saved my life during that struggle.”

  A gasp disrupted her breathing. She opened her mouth, but no words were released. Draymon assumed she wanted to ask how, so he told her. “During the festival when Daedalus disfigured my hands, I saw into his eyes. Even at a young age, I knew evil lurked within his mind. A sense of whimsy tickled him because he had the ability to ruin my life. I wasn’t the only one who saw that evil as I wasn’t the only one left permanently injured. Then you came along.”