The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  Yes, Daedalus thought, Yes, dear brother, after I kill Perciless, I shall set you free.

  After all, there was no greater Hell than being without one’s mind, and no greater mercy than releasing someone from Hell.

  thirty

  Dearborn was hot. Thanks to Silver’s ability to create portals to anywhere imaginable, one moment she was standing at the snow-covered mouth of the Kallistah Pass, now she was in the deep jungles of the Dark Corner, the least detailed part of any map of the continent. Albathia laid claim to it because it was nowhere near Tsinel, but no king ever made an effort to explore the land, let alone attempt to tame it.

  Wild. Sweltering. Dangerous. All descriptions Dearborn had heard used to describe the area. She agreed with them all and more. Both suns were sharing the sky and would continue to do so for a few more hours, but the canopy of wide leaves blocked their existence, the rays struggling to get through. It was so humid, that condensation formed on the lowest layer of leaves and immediately fell as if the trees themselves were perspiring. Every drop of water that dripped on her did nothing to cool her skin. Adding to her misery was the fire raging inside of her.

  Of all the people who could have saved them, who they might have solicited help from, she would have been satisfied with anyone, just not the one man they were here to see.

  Praeker Trieste.

  The mad man had trod the world for centuries and sought the accursed stones. Gems, that when combined with dragon’s blood, gave the user the ability to control the demons of hell. Praeker desired that power. He assembled the Horde, a collection of humans and non-humans alike all cast out from society. There was no discrimination in membership, the only requisite for following Praeker was the desire to destroy Albathia and everything in it.

  Praeker sought the stones through brute force. The only strategy he employed was razing a town, questioning the survivors, and then moving on to the next target. It was this destruction that spurred others on to seek the stones. Dearborn’s Elite Troop was one of those parties seeking them out, as was the trio of thieves that included her future husband, Diminutia.

  In Dearborn’s mind, Praeker was the impetus of the Demon War two decades ago. She knew very well that if not for the failed quests she never would have met Diminutia, nor have had the notion of happiness personified in the form of her two children. Ten years ago Praeker found a city of scorpion creatures that worshiped him as a god-king, yet he opted to back down as Daedalus and Oremethus assembled their power in the form of twelve enchanted dragons. Thanks to the encouragement of Draymon, Praeker changed his mind and his army disrupted the insurrection long enough to allow Perciless escape. But during the period of his inaction, Diminutia died. When Praeker stepped away from the struggle, she lost her freedom, and her children lost their parents. This monster stole those same things from thousands of other people and their families. Praeker needed to die. But now they were here to beg for his help.

  They waited outside a stone archway completely ensconced in leafy vines. Praeker had built his new home, new country, in the remains of an ancient city, lost to time and forgotten by historians and scholars. Dearborn found this offensive and yet typical of Praeker. Why not share a find such as this? A city no other king of Albathia or Tsinel knew about and Praeker kept it a secret. He did what he had always done—conquer.

  “Mother? What are your thoughts?”

  Ideria and Nevin had been whispering next to her, not to hide their words, rather due to the oppressive feeling the jungle exuded. It made one feel the need to whisper. Even Dearborn succumbed to the environment as well and whispered back, “My thoughts are too grim to share, I’m afraid. Endless loops of me killing Praeker.”

  “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

  Ideria dropped her gaze, her inference mistaken. Dearborn faced her children and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “No. It is I who need to apologize. More than once I let my blind hatred for him jeopardize what matters most to me in my life. I have the most important things in my life in my hands right now and I must never let anything come between me and you.”

  The leaves rustled around the archway and Dearborn wondered if she had to prove her words already. Phyl hid behind Bale and Lapin stood ready alongside the rest of the children. Draymon and Landyr had their weapons ready but kept looking around for any other potential threat. Emerging were half a dozen of Praeker’s followers, scorpion hybrids, led by his general, Lyrus—a creature with a muscled torso of a human male sprouting from the shelled body of a scorpion. Instead of a human face atop its neck, a unicorn’s head sprouted between the shoulders, pale green skin and opalescent horn. All of the creatures were armed but did not wield their weapons aggressively. “King Praeker welcomes you all,” Lyrus said. Dearborn found the way his horse lips rippled as he spoke unnerving. Though he was some form of centaur, Dearborn could tell by his posture that he was little more than a sycophant, proud to be serving his monster. She did not like this creature at all. “He has granted you an audience. Please, follow me,” Lyrus said waving them onward.

  Through the archway was the skeleton of the city. Long deceased and reclaimed by the greens and browns of the jungle, its bones showed through in the form of columns and more archways, some tilted or broken, many still standing as straight as the day they were created. But all of them covered in moss and vines and bushes. Tall trees grew through a few of the buildings, the crumbled walls bowing before them as if they were new gods.

  The road they walked upon was covered by leafy brush and a layer of dirt, but every few steps Dearborn could feel the stones that once paved the road poking through like discontented ghosts.

  Lyrus led them to a grand building, just as consumed by nature as every other shell of a structure. For the entire journey, the denizens of the lost city watched from the shadows. Ten years ago Praeker declared his mission to unite the hidden societies of myth, ones consisting of unique creatures that followed no government other than what the tradition of their tribes dictated. It appeared as though he had succeeded in that mission.

  All kinds of scorpion hybrid creatures skittered about, ranging in size from a human’s finger to a horse’s body. These were not the only hybrid creatures to scamper from one shadow to the next to get a better view of the city’s guests. All kinds of other animal heads grew from snake bodies. Torsos and other parts sprouted from spider bodies. Things with feathered wings and bird beaks rustled amongst the leaves.

  Small pockets of other creatures huddled together, uncertain. A group of rodent faced beasts that walked on two legs, standing taller than any man, congregated among the dilapidated pillars of a building, their tails twitching from concern. Another edifice offered cover for bat-like creatures. The Yullians that accompanied Dearborn and her companions broke away from the group and joined other feline creatures.

  The building had many wide steps. Made from stone cracked by roots, a few pieces moved underfoot, but no one fell. After walking past two rows of columns, they entered what was left of a grand hall. Trees had destroyed the whole wall to the right, while more grew freely in the middle space, no roof encumbering any of them. At the far end was a dais that held a seated figure. No back wall was visible, just crumbled stone fading into darkness.

  Just as everything else in the city, the throne was veiled with green growth, the occasional twig or branch poking free. The man on the throne was covered in viridian as well, but not by any kind of plant. Hundreds of emerald-hued scorpions formed a suit of armor. He held a scepter topped with a glowing red stone the size of a fist. Praeker Trieste arose from his throne and extended his arms. “Welcome, King Perciless. From one monarch to another, I, King Praeker, welcome you to New Vierennia.”

  Had Dearborn a spear in her hands, she would have thrown it through his chest. Alas, she had no access to such a weapon, just the short sword at her side. Though thoughts of throwing it tickled her mind, she remembe
red that Praeker had promised an army to Perciless. For now, she would see if this monster followed through with his deal or not.

  Praeker returned to his seat as Perciless approached, climbing the steps of the dais. “Greetings to you as well and a lifetime of thanks for sending your Yullian friends to our rescue. My heart warms at the sight of your success. Judging from what I saw after being invited into your city, you have found many different societies ready to partake in the benefits of liberating Albathia.”

  Praeker chuckled. “Your platitudes are brief and heartfelt; your words are true yet concise. I admire that. You compliment me while referencing our deal. Well, I have altered our deal.”

  “Mother,” Ideria whispered into Dearborn’s ear to capture her attention. Dearborn followed her daughter’s hands running down her arm to her hand. Her palm was moist. She unclenched her fist and a sense of relief tingled throughout her arm. She had been squeezing her fists so tightly that she drew blood.

  “It breaks my heart to hear that,” Perciless said. “How has it been altered?”

  Praeker leaned back and smiled, indicating the conversation was proceeding as he planned. He held up the scepter. “The stone in this staff is The Dragon’s Soul.”

  “The Dragon’s Soul? I thought that was mere myth?”

  Something moved in the darkness behind Praeker. Everyone in the room gasped as the snout of a green scaled dragon emerged. The air in front of the dragon’s nostrils rippled as it delivered a low growl, rumbling through the passages of the great hall. Praeker leaned forward and tossed the scepter to Perciless. “Whoever possesses this stone can control the actions of any dragon. This one stone can take control of your brothers’ most powerful weapons. I bequeath it to you.”

  Perciless came across as a person who could never lose the delicate game of discourse, yet staring at the staff in his hands, he stammered, “This . . . this is amazing . . . a . . . gift of immeasurable value. My many, many thanks.”

  “You and your people may stay in New Vierennia as my personal guests as long as you wish. What travel supplies you require, I will provide, but judging from how you arrived, I assume your journey will a brief one.”

  Perciless did not take his eyes off the scepter in his hands, almost caressing it. “You truly will not lend an army to aid us in dethroning the king?”

  “I have to think of my people. In war, it is the king’s people who die, very rarely the king.”

  “Unfortunately true, but this is not a war I began. It is one fought for the freedom of all. The kings involved are oppressor and liberator, not the typical kings of ego and ignorance. I assure you, this war will end with the death of a king.”

  “You talk of human kings, human freedoms and egos. My subjects and I have no interest in human politics.”

  “Tyranny is not a political notion that is bandied about in a council room. Both Albathia and Tsinel have non-human citizens who enjoy the same freedoms when a benevolent king is upon the throne and share the same sufferings under the rule of my brothers. As long as Oremethus sits upon the throne and Daedalus has access to his ear, you and your people are not safe.”

  Praeker slouched back in his throne and extended his arms as an invitation for all to observe their surroundings. “We reside in a city so ancient that history itself has forgotten it. No matter who rules Albathia, they take no interest in this land.”

  “That’s because my family took no interest in conquest until now. My brothers have designs for the entire world, not just the continent divided by Albathia and Tsinel. They will find you. They will come for you.”

  “It will be years before the likes of any king sends an army here. If they do, then we will fight, and win, by using our strengths and not merely charge forth and hope that attrition ends in our favor. My subjects are insects and birds, scorpions, bats, rats, snakes, and cats. Should they need to turn soldier, they can infiltrate everywhere before the enemy knows they’ve lost. So, no, good Perciless, I shall not offer the deaths of those whom I rule for an outcome that will not affect us.”

  Perciless bowed gracefully, extending the scepter with both hands. “You have spoken Your Highness, and I have heard. I respect your decision and thank you again for this gift.”

  Praeker placed his palms together and nodded his head. Perciless turned and descended the stairs of the dais. Those who had been following him continued to do so as he aimed for the exit. Except for Dearborn. Statue stiff, she glared at Praeker.

  “Mother?” Ideria called for her.

  Dearborn heard her daughter and debated following Perciless out of the great hall, leaving Praeker behind. But her feet would not move. She could not leave, pass up this opportunity. This monster orchestrated nightmares. Even if she could live a life without him in it, she would not be content, always wondering when he would return. How many other lives he might be destroying. Every death that came from his hand would be no different than as if she made the kill herself. Her children might have to watch her die, but they would eventually understand.

  “Mother?” Ideria asked again.

  Dearborn ignored her daughter’s words, lest she soften her resolve and convince her to pass up this opportunity. She walked up the stairs of the dais. “You will not aid us?”

  “No.”

  “Fine. Then I’m going to kill you.”

  Praeker laughed. “I don’t doubt that you want to.”

  Dearborn was tired of her present melting into her past because of this tyrant. He had devoured it, consumed her hope because of his actions. He sat on a throne made from futures stolen from innocents. Dearborn strode up to the throne and spat at the feet of the man occupying it. “I’ve beaten you before but kept you alive at the behest of others. There is no one to stop me from killing you now.”

  Praeker stood and Dearborn had to crane her neck back lest her part of the conversation be aimed at his sternum. His scorpion armor shifted, the hard shells of the many living pieces pulling tightly together. His face remained free from encumbrances as he looked down upon her and said, “You had the help of two other warriors and a machination that spewed fire.”

  The tone of her voice calm and even, Dearborn spoke only truth. “If you’ve failed to realize this, then I will let you take a moment to notice that those same two warriors are with us now, among others who would be more than happy to join me in killing you. It is true that I do not have any machine to spew fire, but my hatred for you runs so deeply I have no doubt that should I need to, I could call upon that vitriol within me to spew flames from my own mouth. But I do not require the assistance of other warriors or war machines. If you do not join us, then you will die. I will kill you.”

  Praeker puffed out his chest and a wave of scorpions flowed over his head, forming a helmet. “I believe you may want to rethink your words. This is your last warning.”

  Dearborn found nothing about his action intimidating. “Then those will be your last words. I will kill you. There is no truer fact in this world other than the suns will set and rise again. Except, when they rise tomorrow, you will not be here to witness them.”

  Praeker’s helmet split in half and then the pieces skittered away. His scowl faded, his expression shifted into confusion. Dearborn assumed that over the centuries Praeker faced down foe after foe, each undoubtedly attempting to intimidate him through red-faced anger. Every one of them attempting to show him the possibility of a future if things went their way. Dearborn displayed no anger, no rage burning her face red, no spittle spraying from her mouth. Her eyes held the truth, one that Praeker saw with perfect clarity. After a moment, he whispered, “I believe you. I am looking upon death, inescapable, unavoidable.”

  “You can simply prolong your execution for the length of time it takes to get the rightful king Perciless back into his throne.”

  “Death has never been a concern of mine, but now that I’
ve seen its face, I prefer to stave it off.”

  Praeker’s words had been for Dearborn only. He walked past her and down the steps to address his to his guests and his followers. “I have changed my mind. King Perciless surrounds himself with those who display great levels of bravery, dedication, and loyalty. He promises a bright future for all. Judging those who follow him, I believe him. We will lend our numbers and desire to build a better world for our true king of Albathia.”

  Everyone cheered.

  thirty-one

  Daedalus watched the raging battle from the turret, men scurrying about like insects on a once green field, now brown from mud and blood. Armored soldiers in matching colors carrying swords and shields clashed with waves of men in plain clothes carrying pitchforks and clubs. Just as the two forces met, the air behind the organized soldiers rippled and a flood of more men in plain clothing rushed through the newly formed portal. With the element of surprise, pitchforks and clubs were deadlier than swords and shields.

  Every rib in his chest rattled to the beat of his angry heart and Daedalus slammed his skeletal fist against the top of the turret’s stone wall reducing a span to rubble. “Damnation!”

  The wizard showing the watery images of a battle happening miles away jerked at the outburst, just as he did every time Daedalus watched his soldiers fail. Oremethus considered the same view while leaning against the castle wall, arms crossed over his chest.

  Daedalus ran his other hand through his hair as he paced around the ballista. The open-air turret was the tallest point in Phenomere and often a place of solace for him, the best vantage point to see the city and the streets below. The greatest view of his minions below.