The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

Clearly, General Perrator was able to convince the king he had been on a fool’s errand and to return to the castle. Did Oremethus come home because he understood the logic of being too close to the war front? Or did he return home because there were no demons to find? If standing naked before him garnered no questions, then Daedalus would simply forget that his brother had ever left the castle. “You are absolutely correct.”

  “You look hungry.”

  “Nonsense. I have too much to discuss to pause for food.”

  “No one said anything about pausing.” Oremethus snapped his fingers to a guard walking patrol. “You! Come here.”

  The man did as commanded, jogging to cover the distance between them. “Yes, Sire?”

  “The prince is famished. I believe I heard talk that the kitchen just finished a roast pig. Have them bring it to the meeting chambers in ten minutes. Remind them that the prince has created more . . . assistants. If the kitchen staff needs help fulfilling my request, we can always send Daedalus’ new assistants to hasten their pace.”

  Eyes widening with every word, the guard audibly gulped once the king finished his request. Oremethus’ tone was conversational, but there was an underlying insidiousness that gave Daedalus pause. The guard saluted, offered a, “Yes, Sire,” and ran down the hallway.

  Upon mention of the word “pig,” noises emanated from Daedalus’ gurgling stomach. “Well, it appears that you and my belly are in agreeance.”

  Oremethus put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and kept it there for the rest of the trip to the meeting chamber. “My dear Daedalus, it’s my responsibility and honor as your older brother to make sure that all your needs are met, even if you are unaware of them.”

  Daedalus found it interesting that his brother knew he was lacking food but seemed to have no idea that he was lacking clothes. He pushed the thought from his mind as he followed his brother into the meeting chambers.

  The table was originally created to comfortably accommodate banquet guests. During the entirety of Oremethus’ reign, exactly zero banquets were held. The room was designed to allow musicians to play, nobility to dance, jesters to entertain, and all to feast. Now, it was a meeting room. Instead of delicate members of society flitting to and fro, the room was populated by grizzled men. General Perrator. Speekore. The Seneschal. Two dozen sergeants, little more than messengers to the generals on the front lines. Everyone was milling about when Daedalus and Oremethus entered the room. Half started toward the table, taking the closest seats available. One sergeant, with an eye-patch, whom Daedalus had never seen before, looked down at the prince’s crotch. “Didya’ forget somethin’ this morning, Sire?”

  The closest man to the sergeant grabbed his arm. “Are you daft? Apologize immediately.”

  Yanking his arm from the other’s grasp, the sergeant offered a wide smile to Daedalus. “Apologize? Surely our fine prince knows my words were meant as a jest, not a slight.”

  Keeping his fingers tightly together, Daedalus rammed his skeletal hand through the sergeant’s face, the tips poking out from the back of his head. Daedalus withdrew his hand, the sergeant’s brain slopping onto the floor. A much better place for it, Daedalus thought as he took his seat. Gasps came from the two servants carrying a small cooked pig on a tray. They hurried from the doorway, dropped it off on the table before Daedalus, and scurried from the room with their heads down in an effort to hide their faces.

  Eyelids heavy as if boredom weighed upon them, Oremethus took his seat at the head of the table, paying no mind to the dead body on the floor nor his brother using his bloodied fingers to dig a hunk of meat from the pig’s rump.

  Sloppy bits of ham sprayed from Daedalus’ mouth as he said, “Well, dear brother, it seems as though the kitchen servants are the only ones in this room who have succeeded with their duties.”

  Those who had yet to take a seat did so with haste; the men who were already sitting straightened their posture, casting furtive glances to their fallen peer.

  “Our kingdom is in a terrible state of disarray and there is really no one else to blame except for all of you,” Oremethus started.

  Daedalus was surprised by his brother’s opening statement. Usually, he sat back and let Daedalus handle these situations and never stated any form of disappointment. Was this how he wanted to help? Oremethus studied the pig, within his reach, and grabbed a loose piece of meat dangling from the hole that Daedalus had created. “The war effort has been atrocious. My grandfather won wars in a matter of minutes and my father never once went to war with Tsinel, because of their perception of our army. Now we must continue our struggle with them because they refuse to see that I am the one who should truly rule them. Yet we still have not won. It has been years and our borders with them have not changed one iota.”

  General Perrator cleared his throat. “The town of Greengate was lost after your demon hunt.”

  Oremethus picked another small chunk of meat from behind the front shoulder of the pig. “We’ll host a festival for them.”

  “I apologize for the lack of clarity in my statement. I meant that after you burned half of the town down in your quest for demons, Tsinel’s troops advanced into it and now occupy it.”

  Meat pinched between his fingers, mere inches from his mouth, Oremethus paused and scowled at the general. “Then let Tsinel host the festival. Obviously, Greengate is no longer our concern, so why are we still going on about it like a group of clucking hens?”

  “Were we to use your dragons and any of your wizards, we may find an advantage.”

  Now Oremethus showed emotion, one of contempt. “Were you to prove you could use them properly, I would allow you to use them. Time and time again the battlefield generals have shown that they shouldn’t be there, and we must relieve them of their duties. In fact, their incompetence has been spreading.”

  Daedalus stopped chewing, curious, and a little concerned, as to what his brother might say next. He certainly agreed with Perrator about using the dragons and wizards for battlefield purposes, but he was surprised by the general’s bluntness. The sergeants were uneasy as well, shifting around in their seats. Oremethus continued, “The recruits residing at the castle allowed a dungeon escape. A woman and a buffoon of an ogre. Incompetence. Then we sent the Elite Troop after my brother. They found him. After ten years and a ton of gold in effort and nothing until recently. They found him and then failed to capture him. Incompetence. A washed-up bureaucratic fop teams up with a woman and an ogre to defeat the greatest warriors in the land and the most advanced creations science has to offer. Incompetence.”

  Daedalus almost smiled at the way Oremethus snapped his gaze to Speekore for the last word of his speech. The hobgoblin’s head was more metal and glass than flesh, but there was fear upon his face. Daedalus tore the hock from the pig and took a full bite, oily juices streamed over his chin. “Now, brother, he may prove useful as long as he has knowledge.”

  “What would you like to know, m’lord?” the hobgoblin asked, his voice more subdued and less shrill.

  “My dragon’s breath seemed to have failed during my battle with my brother and his band of miscreants. I had them cornered and a group of Yullians came to their rescue. My dragon engulfed them with its mist and there was no effect. Then, everyone disappeared, vanishing as if they were never there.”

  “Yullians you say? Well, they are a mystical race, one more created from magic than breeding. Strong magic, indeed.”

  “They are magical you say? Very well. Then explain why Elite Troop General Methel was immune to my orders? The mist turned him into a skeleton, but he was not under my command.”

  “Oh, that’s because his hatred for you ran deep, too deep for you to assume control of him.”

  Daedalus scowled at those words but continued to eat. “Be that as it may, we need to pull troops from the war effort to chase them through Kal
listah Pass.”

  General Perrator cleared his throat again. “I do not think that would be such a wise idea.”

  Daedalus’ rage was a beast that needed constant feedings. Now was a rare time when actual food sated it for a moment, keeping it quiet long enough for a few rational thoughts to appeal to his mind. The general had given good advice in the past and even if Daedalus ordered every man in this room to attack the general, he doubted that general would be defeated. “How so?”

  “Because it’s no longer likely they will be going through the pass.”

  Daedalus slammed the hock against the table, meat exploding from the cracking bone. “Damnation! You told me they were going to Kallistah Pass to flee Albathia and that is exactly where I found them and what they were doing. Now you’re telling me they’re not?”

  “I believed that you would find either the escaped prisoners or your brother. I did not expect that they would have found each other. Were there citizens attempting to flee via the pass?”

  “Yes. A few dozen, but I turned most of them into skeletons.”

  “And there were Yullians?”

  “Yes. Also, a couple dozen of them as well.”

  “This will change the plans of your brother and Dearborn, therefore we need to change our plans. Our sources and spies have been telling us that over the years Perciless has been going from town to town building and fortifying a secret army.”

  “That is not news to anyone at this table.”

  “What is news is that no one at this table thought now would be the time for them to strike.”

  “Why do you think it would the perfect time?”

  “They just bested you.”

  Pulped meat oozed from between bone fingers as Daedalus squeezed his skeletal hand in a fist. “I told you they just blinked out of existence.”

  “Magic. That means they have at least one wizard. And that won’t be the story your brother tells his secret army as he assembles it. He will tell them it’s time to gather. He’ll tell them that he and a small band of brave souls bested Prince Daedalus and his bone dragon. He’ll tell that story, again and again, all the while parading around Ideria Stillheart, the girl who single-handedly killed the king’s metal dragon. Yullians have joined him. Greengate is lost to Tsinel. Crime is on the rise. What more push do the people need to secure a weapon and gather to storm the castle?”

  Daedalus wanted to crush the half-giant’s skull, but it would little good. The general spoke the truth, no matter how much Daedalus wanted to deny it. “What do you propose?”

  “We wait. We have been chasing your brother for years and those efforts yielded nothing more than giving the citizens confidence as Perciless continued to evade your capture. We sought the dungeon escapees and lost our entire Elite Troop. We’ve been fighting a war that the soldiers don’t want to win. We wait. We stop giving our enemies the fuel that burns in the furnace of their war machine. Every household in the city will host one soldier until the attack. If a household refuses, then living skeletons equal to the number of those who live there shall inhabit the dwelling until the day of the attack. This will save us gold to use for different resources and stymie the flow of secret information. We wait for our enemies to come to us.”

  Perrator was right. Every effort that Oremethus and Daedalus made this past decade had been thwarted. But Daedalus could not form the words. Instead, he stood and stormed from the room.

  He aimed for his chambers, the one place he could clear his mind. He should have a few moving skeletons shambling around in there, mindlessly awaiting his commands. There was no greater Hell than being without one’s mind, and there was no greater power than putting someone in Hell. There was no one better at putting individuals in Hell than Daedalus and he enjoyed it. Only one person ever escaped from one of his Hells—Dearborn. And she took her pet ogre with her.

  As he walked along, his thoughts became muddled and jumbled, flowing through his mind thick like cold molasses. His vision blurred, starting at edges. An attack was coming on. Daedalus slumped against the wall and slid to the floor before . . .

  . . . being transported back to his chambers. The stones were cleaner, and the decorations were not befitting an adult. He was younger, a child now. Luck graced him with an opportunity, a turn of his head and a mirror passed by his field of vision. Nine years old, he guessed. He was sitting on the bed and there were toys in front of him. Toys? He never owned any toys and rarely played with the ones that belonged to either of his brothers. His father, King Theomann, used toys and other gifts as markers to keep track of subordination. Follow his orders and get a reward. Perciless had the most toys, of course, never once disobeying Father. Oremethus had plenty, but not as many as Perciless, a sycophant even at such an early age. No, Daedalus owned no toys, and this was certainly his room, but there he was with toys on his bed.

  Painted knights made of wood, gray armor on stiff legs, swords secured in unmoving arms. A music box that played an ominous tone and hid a dragon under its lid. Bejeweled tops that created rainbows when spun. Mechanized carts that rolled under their own power whenever there was enough twisted tension upon the strings hidden within the carriage. And more.

  Daedalus remembered these toys and coveted them. He did not remember this moment, though, and jumped up with a start when his father burst into his room, Perciless in tow. Red-faced with anger, Theomann scolded Daedalus for stealing his brother’s toys. He tried to think of a lie, but his mind remained empty. His mouth simply hung open, while the king repeated his demand for an answer.

  “It was my idea,” Oremethus, age eleven, said as he strolled past his father and climbed onto the bed next to his youngest brother. “I was the one who took the toys from Perciless’ room.”

  “’Twas not!” Perciless yelled. Even though anger weighed upon his words, his voice sounded no different than any average girls at the same age. Had Daedalus spoken, he would have sounded no different, just another whelp waiting his turn for adolescence. Oremethus’ voice had started to deepen, hinting that manhood would be soon.

  “Oh, it was, brother. You have all of the toys and Daedalus none. I figured it to be time to atone for such inequities.”

  The king wore a twisted expression of surprise and disgust, looking at his son as if he had dropped his trousers and defecated in the middle of the room. “If you clamor for a reduction of inequality, then I shall grant it—your possessions shall equal that of Daedalus.”

  As calmly as if he had expected that exact sentence, Oremethus said, “Very well. A good solution indeed. I shall help Daedalus return these toys to Perciless’ room and then I will gather my toys and donate them to the orphanage.”

  King Theomann’s face hid no emotions. He was taken aback by the Oremethus’ words and confused as to why he said them. He turned on his heel and muttered, “Come, Perciless, let us get you to horse riding lessons.”

  After they left, Oremethus pulled at the bottom of his shirt and used it to help him collect the toys. Daedalus slid from the bed and mimicked his brother’s actions. “Why? I took the toys. Why are you willing to sacrifice your toys by telling father that you were the one who took them? Why pay for my crime?”

  Even as a child, Oremethus had the presence of royalty. Tall and lean, never once gangly or awkward, his voice resonated with confidence. “Because you are my youngest brother. You have the least, so I strive to make sure you have the most. Just because what’s important to you isn’t important to Father doesn’t mean I should ignore it. I will support you when no one else will.”

  Daedalus added another toy to the pile forming in his arms and . . .

  . . . awoke on the floor in his brother’s arms. Oremethus ran his hand over Daedalus’ sweat-soaked hair and whispered, “I will support you when no one else will.”

  “You speak the truth, don’t you?”

  “I do.
”

  “Why have I gone my whole life without that memory?”

  “You didn’t need it until now.”

  They both got to their feet, Oremethus taking time to brush the dust from his youngest brother. Daedalus found it difficult to believe that once upon a time he hated the man before him. Oremethus had spent ten years living in caves, the damage to his skin still evident in the formation of early wrinkles, tiny spots of discoloration, and looseness when he turned certain ways. He was still tall and had a regal bearing, but no one would sense he was the king unless bequeathed with that information beforehand. “These attacks always seem to come when we least expect them, don’t they?”

  Never once had Daedalus suspected that his oldest brother suffered from the same affliction. Because of the attacks within the past few months, Daedalus began recalling memories that proved he and Oremethus used to be closer in spirit than he knew. Now this information? “You suffer from the same attacks that I do? Ones that take you into the past not just to remember a moment, but to relive it?”

  Oremethus smiled, and the bottom dropped out from Daedalus’ belly. This was not a smile of happiness, mirth, or glee, but one of madness. Yet his eyes held such a lucidity that Daedalus felt unbridled zeal with every word. Oremethus placed his hands on Daedalus’ cheeks and moved close enough that they breathed the same air. “Yes, brother, I do. Sometimes they leave me feeling as if I’m without my mind. In fact, it’s tomorrow and next week and next year and I’m having an attack at this very moment to bring me back to this very moment. This is nothing but a memory, one I’ve lived already and will live again. A moment that binds us as brothers, a moment that reminds us that we are of the same blood and bodies, a moment where we must remember that we’re willing to do anything for each other, no matter how distasteful. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Gone.

  Oremethus vanished from the hallway so quickly, Daedalus wondered if he were but a specter. He replayed moments within his mind, recalling other interactions with Oremethus. He wondered if Oremethus would see those same moments, or were they gone from his mind as his brother implied they might be. Daedalus now understood his brother’s ramblings. They were more than just an incoherent jumble of syllables. They were a cry for help, a plea for his brother to set him free.