The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  The streets were no more or less busy than any other day, people moving about their lives, blissfully unaware of the war on the other side of the forest. The war should be here. The buildings should be burning, and the streets should be flooded with blood. Each house had two or more soldiers awaiting the king’s command to attack the invading forces. Instead, the soldiers sat idly at tables, eating the owner’s food, while leering at his wife or daughter. Daedalus cursed Perciless for not behaving the way his council thought he would.

  Yes, Perciless gathered his secret army, but the rebels were far greater numbers than Daedalus or any other advisor imagined. Nor did these insurgents make their way to Phenomere, instead marching for Greengate to join forces with the Tsinel invasion. They marched west toward Phenomere, “liberating” every town along the way. General Perrator had left the city to take a more hands-on approach and sent the fastest riders to advise the troops to pull back to lure Perciless and his armies into the trap within Phenomere. Yet again, Perciless did not follow their plan. He stopped short of invading the city and moved northward to “free” more towns. The bastard was going to conquer the entire country one town at a time!

  The advisors on the council did not believe this was Perciless’ plan. Too many logistical issues, they had said. They encouraged Oremethus to wait, and wait he did, no matter how loudly Daedalus voiced his opinion otherwise.

  With too much frustration pent up within his chest, Daedalus released it the only way he knew how—by smashing his fist into more stone. As the last rattle of gravel came to a stop on the floor, he blurted, “What more needs to happen before we act?”

  Oremethus sighed. “I understand your frustration, brother, but I believe in this plan.”

  Oremethus appeared focused and lucid. Daedalus hated that. Whenever his brother went on about demons, Daedalus could manipulate that conversation, sway the king to his wishes. But when his jaw was set, his gaze firm, Oremethus looked every bit the monarch he portrayed. That did not keep Daedalus from expressing his opinion, though. “We have dragons and wizards that are at our disposal in this very castle. They have one dragon unchecked and two dozen wizards. We have seven dragons and twice as many wizards who are doing nothing.”

  “They are lying in wait. Once Perciless’s armies descend upon Phenomere, it will be the last thing they do. We wait and end the war with one final battle.”

  “We can end the war now with one final battle.”

  “We don’t know that. Right now, it is their entire force against a fraction of ours fighting their way into our trap. If we send everything we have, then we lose the advantage.”

  “It’s only taken them weeks to lay claim to the towns around Phenomere.”

  “Exactly. They will be marching into the city very soon.”

  “Our advantage lies in the number of our dragons and wizards we have, not in swords and shields.”

  “They have been surprising us at every turn, so we have to assume that they have a gambit waiting for our dragons and wizards on that battlefield.”

  “On the battlefield, or right in front of you, dear brother!” Both Oremethus and Daedalus turned to the voice of Perciless yet found themselves looking into the face of a dragon.

  The beast needed only one flap of his wings to remain hovering in front of the turret. As large as any of the seven still in their cages under the castle, its scales were green, fading to yellow along its underside. Upon its back were Perciless and Dearborn, both smirking as Daedalus stood gaping at the two people he hated the most. The dragon flapped once more and opened its mouth.

  Too surprised to move, Daedalus remained frozen. Oremethus leaped into motion thrusting them both through the open door, just as the beast released a torrent of flame, setting the ballista ablaze and reducing the wizard to ash.

  The brothers tumbled down the stairs, each scrape against the wall, each slap against the stone feeding the conflagration of anger blazing within Daedalus’ heart. At the bottom, they disentangled from each other and Oremethus said, “You ready the dragons, I will gather the wizards.”

  Daedalus sprinted to the dragon pens, the beasts on their feet when he arrived, their tails twitching. The handlers fussed about nervously and one addressed Daedalus, “Your Highness! The dragons suddenly seemed discontent. They had all been resting and then for no reason became restless.”

  “I know,” Daedalus replied walking to the cage that held the bone dragon. When Oremethus received his ability to control the dragons with mere thought at their birth, an unintended benefit was Daedalus now possessed the same ability. He awakened the dragons on his way to them. “Open all of the cages.”

  “Sire? It’s unwise to release them all at once. Wouldn’t you prefer we open the cages one at a—?”

  “Open them now!”

  The handlers moved with alacrity, their lives depending on the speed with which they carried out their orders. They had barely finished the final buckles of his riding leathers when he spewed a few final curses at them and mounted the bone dragon. All seven dragons funneled up the ramp and took to the air as soon as they saw sunlight. Daedalus was greeted with madness on the streets.

  Not a spot of cobblestone could be seen under the mass of people. Citizens fought with soldiers. How could the army of Perciless or Tsinel have made it into Phenomere so quickly? But it was neither of those armies, rather the citizens of Phenomere rising to aid Perciless.

  A dozen rippling images of Perciless taller than a three-story building hovered over the rooftops like benevolent specters, announcing to the citizens his intentions, letting them know that his armies were fighting for them, he was fighting for them. This was the only encouragement the people needed to rebel.

  Entire families dragged the soldiers from their homes and killed them in the streets with farming tools and kitchen utensils. On other streets, the soldiers gained the upper hand and running through any citizen in their path, whether they participated in the insurrection or not. Daedalus had no time to bother with this or what wizardry was projecting the multiple images of his brother. He had one single desire—catch Perciless and Dearborn.

  Filling the sky were the wizards of Albathia, almost fifty in number. They propelled themselves through the air, some using arcane magic to fly, others mystical tools. A small herd of horses, both winged and not, galloped through the air, each carrying at least one rider. One wizard rode a snake made from bright white light, while another sat upon a griffon engulfed in orange and red flame.

  Daedalus considered having his brother command them to end the riots in the streets, but thought better against it. He needed the wizards for the larger battle beyond the forest. Once he crushed the armies of Perciless and Tsinel, then the rebellions would end. His immediate need was the death of the dragon carrying Perciless and Dearborn. A wizard levitated Oremethus high into the sky, allowing the gem dragon to take its rightful place as the King’s steed.

  Perciless’ green dragon was slower than the Phenomere dragons. Daedalus gained on it from the right side, while Oremethus closed in from the left. Both of their dragons opened their mouths to release their horrible breaths, but the green dragon dove toward the ground.

  It banked and shot back upward, stream of fire leading the way. Daedalus had started to follow, but adjusted just in time, able to feel the heat passing by. Oremethus altered his attack as well and escaped unharmed.

  Daedalus recovered quickly and wasted no time continuing his pursuit. Oremethus continued as well, but stationed his beast below the other dragons in case the green one decided to try the same maneuver. Daedalus called upon the other five dragons, having them close in on their target from different directions. It was working, the dragons cutting off escape routes, corralling the green one. Now was the moment for Daedalus’s dragon to unleash its deadly breath—had the green dragon remained in front of him.

  A portal o
pened in front of the green dragon and closed immediately, the bone dragon’s breath dissipating harmlessly. The green dragon was now farther ahead of all the other ones. It disappeared again only to fly from a newly opened portal right in front of Daedalus. Cursing, he commanded his winged steed to drop, avoiding the bloom of fire. Another portal and the green dragon vanished once more.

  Daedalus tried another tactic. He knew it was that wizard, Silver, creating the portals, so he must be near, high in the sky above the fracas. Daedalus found the wizard, entrails flopping from his torso. Daedalus commanded the dragons to fly at him.

  There was no hope in catching the wizard, capable of creating a portal to escape through, but Daedalus was happy to keep him off balance, never allowing him more than a few seconds peace after flying out of a new portal. The other five dragons chased Silver, while Daedalus and Oremethus tailed the green dragon. The cohort of wizards behind them asserted themselves with a rogue fireball or random lightning strike. A taller building at the edge of town burst into flinders. The resulting rubble formed into a hand cobbled together of brick and mortar reaching for the green dragon but missed.

  Neither the green dragon nor Silver made any further attacks, content to stay just out of range of their pursuers, while they fled the city. Buildings gave way to farms and fields and then to the forest, so thick that Daedalus was not able to see the fighting until he flew halfway over it. The battlefield was an amazing sight.

  Tens of thousands of his soldiers covered the land. Some marched along in tight formations, regiments splitting into battalions. Many were engaged in combat, cutting down those who opposed the king. They all looked glorious, their armor gleaming, the colors of their king bright. The enemy had double the numbers, though, as well as wizards.

  Fire moved in unnatural ways, burning specific soldiers while avoiding others. Arcs of lightning flashed without the necessity of storm clouds, striking many soldiers at once. Trees reached down to soldiers who got too close and tore them apart. Suddenly the trees exploded into tinder, the lightning was engulfed in darkness, and the fire turned on its masters. Daedalus’ wizards had arrived.

  Colorful explosions filled the air as the sorcerers battled. Creatures made from flame grappled with monsters formed from the earth. Blinding light stabbed at cold darkness. The air crackled and the ground shook. Then it all stopped.

  The clanging metal and screams of the dying continued with traditional battle, but the magic stopped. The wizards no longer manipulated the elements. This had to be Silver’s doing.

  Daedalus flew higher to gain a better view of the battlefield. He could find no sign of the meddling wizard, just that damn void dragon. It was odd that it remained on the ground, wings twitching and flapping as it agitated. No matter. Daedalus had one concern—killing his brother and Dearborn. He found them where he expected them to be, on Castle Hill.

  An ancient king built his castle atop this hill and forbade anyone from building on the lands around it. The king wished for solitude and legends said he died alone. The dilapidated stones were left behind to serve a reminder that no king should not isolate himself from his people. The reminder hardly mattered now as that king was long gone as was the semblance of a castle. Whatever wooden boards and supports might have been a part of the castle had rotted away a long time ago. A carpet of soft grass was kept short by roaming herd animals. Some of the outside walls remained straight, while most of the interior walls lay in jumbled masses of rubble, resting wherever they collapsed from when the floors above gave way. No matter the condition of the stone, emerald coats of moss covered them, while thick vines laced over them all.

  Dearborn and Perciless stood in front of the ruins; her sword drawn and ever ready, he held a scepter in his hands, but undoubtedly hid a dagger or two under his robes. The green dragon prowled among the interior stones, hissing at the sky. Daedalus and Oremethus circled over their targets, striving to imbue them with a sense of dread. When their actions did not yield the desired effect, Daedalus tried a different approach to elicit a response. He decided to bring the other five dragons into the conflict, specifically along the tree line.

  Trained in combat, the soldiers of the Albathian army were familiar with the disciplines of hand-to-hand and weaponry. The rebelling citizens knew this, so at the western end of the battlefield, they used the tree line to aid them, launching what projectiles they had from cover and taking advantage of the terrain to ambush the soldiers anytime they entered the forest. This was the area Daedalus deemed his army needed the most help.

  The fire dragon spewed lava, setting the trees ablaze in an instant. Jagged bolts of electricity crackled from the lightning dragon’s open mouth, the strikes hot enough to start fires. Anyone trying to flee the forest was either pushed back in by the winds of the air dragon or melted by the spraying vomit of the acid dragon or shredded by the rock particulate from the stone dragon’s breath.

  This was what Oremethus should have done since the beginning, used the dragons as weapons of war, not as servants for his demon hunts. They were pure power and Daedalus vowed never to use them for anything less than destroying his enemies. The wizards had stopped their little tricks for reasons unknown, but Daedalus and his dragons would single-handedly win this war. Then he could rule the continent and consider his designs to seize the entire world. His fantasies were cut short as his dragon lurched to the side.

  Tugging the reins was more of a ceremonial act since he nary controlled his steed by such means, but his connection with the dragon felt weaker, as if moving from a full embrace to a mere handshake. His dragon descended, despite his commands to stay sky-bound and landed upon the top of Castle Hill. It shook Daedalus from its back and took flight once more. Oremethus stood next to him, the gem dragon circling overhead.

  “What manner of madness is this?” Daedalus cried skyward after his traitorous pet.

  “I do not know,” Oremethus replied. “But I fear our brother will tell us soon enough.”

  Perciless stood by a stone archway, Dearborn by his side. “Greetings my beloved siblings. I believe it is time to put an end to this war and find a more peaceful solution to our problems.”

  “What have you done to my dragon?” Daedalus shouted, spittle streaming from his erubescent face.

  Perciless raised the scepter over his head and pointed toward the forest. “This staff is crowned with the Dragon Soul, a mystical stone, which allows the possessor to control the actions of all dragons. Indulge me a moment to demonstrate, if you will.”

  The other five dragons stopped their attacks and then flew in harmless circles above the battlefield. The air dragon’s wings stiffened as it broke from formation and dropped from the sky. Staying low to the ground, it flew along the edge of the forest and used its breath to blow the flames away.

  “Well done, Your Highness,” came from behind another wall. Applauding, Praeker Trieste walked out from behind the wall and stood next to Dearborn.

  Growling at Praeker, Dearborn said, “You have no other place to be?”

  “There are three kings on this hill, awaiting the fate of the country, if not the world, so where else should I be?”

  “Far away from me, or do I need to remind you that no matter which of these other kings remain standing, you will surely die.”

  Smile broad and bright, Praeker replied, “I do not doubt your intentions.”

  “No!” Daedalus shouted. This was not how he was going to lose this war. He was not going to be outwitted by his brother, this most loathsome man. Every advantage Perciless had as a child, every rule he had ever followed, flashed through his mind. “No!”

  Daedalus used his anger to fuel his muscle, the rage rushing through his blood. He charged at Perciless. Dearborn and Praeker rushed to intercept but were too late. Daedalus threw himself at Perciless.

  The brothers rolled along the ground until they slammed into one of t
he walls. Perciless extended his arm with the scepter as far from the conflict as he could, while punching Daedalus. Completely focused on the Dragon Soul, Daedalus took the blows, fighting through the pain and blood streaming from his nose and mouth. Only the damnable stone mattered. Daedalus stretched and kicked, getting closer to it. One lunge and he had the Dragon Soul with his skeletal hand.

  And squeezed.

  The stone shattered.

  Daedalus felt his connection with the dragons return.

  thirty-two

  Ideria’s experience with war could be measured in weeks, almost as long as she had been exposed to fatal violence. She did not care for it.

  For more than half her life she had been trained for combat, so she bested even the most seasoned veterans of the king’s army. The look of utter surprise was the same on their faces as she ran them through. How could a young farm girl be skilled enough to kill me? must have been their last conscious thought. She understood how others could come to crave the rush of battle, the excitement of victory, the euphoria of beating death by meting it out. This was not the discipline she wished to dedicate her life to. But battle was the only way to end the war. She fought and killed now, so she would never have to do it again.

  She hated the way the tides of war ebbed and flowed. Advantage and disadvantage danced with each other, taking turns leading the footsteps of the participants. She was with her brother, uncle, and lifelong friends in the forest now, accompanied by over a thousand rebellious citizens. A wizard was with them, giving them an advantage over the two thousand soldiers loyal to the king trying to storm their position. Those skilled with the sword stayed at the front, while those who lacked the fighting prowess remained farther back using bows and slingshots to create a fusillade of arrows and pebbles. Should the soldiers advance too far into the forest, the wizard ended their crusade with a pernicious spell or two. Their advantage ended when the king’s wizards arrived.