The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  The trees of the forest turned on those who sought solace from them, their branches drawing blood from her allies. Small fires burst forth from random points on the ground. Men and woman ran in disorganized circles, a few right into the paths of the advancing wizards. Their efforts were rewarded by their lungs exploding or their flesh melting from their bones.

  Ideria’s magician ally fought valiantly but was outnumbered by four dark mages. He floated into the air and judging by the way his arms flailed and legs kicked, this was not by his own volition. His struggles were short-lived, coming to an end as he convulsed, followed by all his internal organs flying out of his body from his mouth.

  This was more than Phyl could handle. The satyr screamed, somehow standing out from among the other shouts and screams echoing among the trees and ran.

  “Uncle Phyl!” Rue called out.

  “Don’t worry, boy, I’ll get him,” Lapin said hopped away.

  “Me, too,” Bale yelled as he gave chase.

  “Ideria!” Draymon called out. Standing next to Bale’s children, he waved for her to follow. She wished to help the citizen-built army of Perciless, but so many were too far gone, engulfed in flame, skin melting, limbs being wrenched from their bodies. The only thing she could do was survive. She grabbed Nevin’s arm and they ran to their uncle, but their path was blocked by one of the king’s wizards descending before them.

  Horns sprouting upward from the top of his head made him look like a denizen of the underworld as did the jagged teeth within his nefarious smile. Filaments of yellow energy swirled around his arms as if he was strangling one of the suns and it fought to escape. Floating before them like a god, the yellow light in his hands became brighter. Then as suddenly as he appeared, the energy winked out and he fell. With a sickening crunch, his breaking bones tore through his flesh as he hit the ground. Woe wasted no time in taking flight only to allow gravity dominion over his body, landing on the wizard’s back with both feet.

  No, Ideria did not like the way war twisted and turned before settling on an outcome. Too much relied on the fortunes of the enemy. When running a scam, she and her trusted comrades planned and strategized. If something started to go wrong, then all they had to do was abandon the scam and simply try again after more thought. War was not like planning for a caper at all.

  Many of the rebels cheered and whooped at the good fortune of the king’s wizards losing their ability to use magic. Ideria and her companions continued to follow the path that Bale and Lapin took to chase Phyl, but as soon as they broke from the tree line, Draymon yelled, “Turn around! Back into the forest!”

  Dragons.

  Five of the king’s dragons flew directly toward the edge of the forest. Ideria had more than enough experience with the lightning dragon and wondered if it would remember her. Not wanting to find out, she sprinted back into the trees.

  Other men and women were running about as well with no set destination, desperately trying to escape the winged beasts that breathed death. The fire dragon made the first pass, vomiting its lava. Molten rain poured from the sky, setting everything it touched ablaze. The lightning dragon followed, releasing its bolts.

  It was difficult to run through a forest on a good day let alone with the need to look up. Ideria pressed onward through the chaos, avoiding droplets and puddles of liquid fire as it splashed against branches on its way down. Some of the lightning strikes were strong enough to sheer through the trunks of a few trees, the tops falling in different directions and into other trees, spreading the fires. Cries of pain sounded over the crackle of burning wood but were drowned as another tree fell.

  The ogres were clumsy, unable to effectively run without looking down at their feet. Ideria heard a loud crack from overhead and saw the falling branch separate from the tree. Rue focused on his steps, unaware of what was happening above him. About the same size as she, it took a considerable tackle to move him out of the way. They landed next to the base of an untouched sturdy tree.

  More branches fell as did a nearby tree. Maneuverability was difficult for any creature trying to fly, but Woe impressed Ideria with his deftness as he grabbed Draymon and flew away from the madness. Hope and Nevin needed much more luck.

  Nevin grabbed Hope and pulled her from the path of a burning branch just before it hit the ground. She yelped, but from where she landed, she could see the top of a falling tree coming for them. Wrapping her arms around Nevin, she flapped her wings and guided them both between the moving branches. Not as strong as her brother, she had to touch down once that danger passed, but it was in the way of more branches. Nevin spun as soon as his feet hit the ground.

  Away from any immediate danger, Hope tightened her embrace. “You saved me.”

  Nevin tucked a lock of it behind her ear and let his hand rest on her cheek. “We saved each other.”

  Backlit by the burning forest, they kissed.

  “Maybe this is something you and I should discuss also.”

  Ideria had forgotten that she was still on top of Rue until he spoke. She was not sure how to take his comment. Did he wish to discuss the romance between his sister and her brother? Or was he suggesting that he and she start one of their own? Neither choice was one she wished to explore any further. She jumped to her feet and scanned the forest for any possible escape from the inferno. “Not now. We have to get out of here.”

  Again, the tide of war shifted without notice or reason. The air dragon flew along the tree line and extinguished the flames with its breath. The gusts were enough to knock everyone off their feet, but not strong enough to cause any harm more than a few bruises and scrapes. This was an acceptable sacrifice to Ideria, who was merely thankful for a chance to get free of the forest.

  The battlefield continued to be a tumultuous sea of flesh and metal. There were no wizards to be seen and five of the dragons flew in a lazy circle overhead. She could not see Bale, but there in the distance was her mother on Castle Hill. She and Perciless were joined by Praeker to stand against Oremethus and Daedalus. Perciless used the Dragon Soul, which explained the change in the behavior of the dragons.

  Then Daedalus rushed toward Perciless and drove him to the ground.

  In the resulting struggle, Daedalus destroyed the Dragon Soul.

  No, Ideria did not like the way the winds of fate shifted during war. She did not like it at all.

  * * *

  Cezomir never knew love. He knew of it and always assumed he knew the concept, but he never understood the need for it. Love meant weakness; weakness led to death. His parents demonstrated this.

  Over a hundred years ago—a specific number, Cezomir could not conjure—when he was a child and still human, his father joined a militia in the name of the king to fight for freedom. His father said he fought for the love of his family. That love led to him getting disemboweled, according to the stories the surviving militia members passed along. The same love forced his mother to take those same soldiers, and later their friends, into her bed for a coin or two over the next three years. Love killed her as it was destined to do when the beast attacked. After it scratched Cezomir, his mother sacrificed herself, sating the creature’s appetite with her own innards giving her son the opportunity to run.

  Love was the reason why a child had to live alone in the forest as he tried to master his new curse of lycanthropy. Love was weakness; weakness led to death. Cezomir fed on weaker animals and had no intention of becoming one of them. He dedicated the rest of his life to be strong. Then he met Lina.

  For the past decade, they spent every day together. And he enjoyed that. At first, he thought it was simply a lack of other options—she was exiled from her kind and he was forever trapped in werewolf form. Very few women could live through his passions and he had no interest in nonhumans. Even if he did, there would be none available, Landyr finding their beds as soon as they entered a new town. L
ina offered a place to put his dick. At first, he thought that was the extent of their relationship, but little by little, he found her to be interesting. The way she thought, the things that made her laugh, the way she hunted. During skirmishes, he always kept sight of her in his peripheral. She was an adept warrior with a blend of confidence and skill very few possessed. But sometimes luck was a factor during battle, so he wanted to be there to shift her fortune in the opposite direction, should at any time it turn bad. Just as it suddenly did now.

  Praeker’s army of lost civilizations started as one cohesive unit, but as with most war situations, the soldiers stuck to what they trusted. Cezomir and Lina found themselves between a battalion of a hundred Yullian and a thousand spider creatures. They had been winning this battle, a few wizards of Tsinel floating above them and raining down pernicious spells to give their unit a definitive advantage. Then Daedalus and Oremethus arrived bringing with them a contingent of wizards and dragons.

  The dragons spent little time with this area of the battlefield; only the acid dragon made one pass, bathing a portion of the mass of spider creatures and dissolving them within seconds. Cezomir would never forget the screams. The dragons instead focused on the army of citizens driving the king’s forces into the forest, burning the trees from above and killing the ersatz soldiers from below. The wizards were a different story.

  The king’s mages worked their magics to alter the terrain; hills and valleys spontaneously forming to keep the army of Yullians and spider-creatures confused. A few pits opened and swallowed a dozen Yullians and then closed again. A roll of ground folded over on a dozen more spider creatures. Cezomir hated wizards for this very reason, they never fought with honor, always hiding behind deception. Then suddenly their magic ceased and as one, the king’s wizards fell from the sky.

  No one paused to question why. They simply adjusted to the new situation and continued the battle. This did not bode well for Cezomir and Lina, who now found themselves in a valley that funneled two hundred enemy soldiers their way.

  They had speed and instinct and a special lust for blood, but the king’s army had weapons and numbers.

  As with everything else in their lives, Cezomir and Lina met the troops head-on. The first few fell quickly because they were not prepared for such a brazen attack. Then their shields came up and their swords came out. Lina cried out in pain.

  Cezomir knew love was weakness. He knew love was death and he accepted that would be his fate. He did not see who wounded her or how, just that one of the soldiers harmed his love. Claws slashed and teeth bit. He unleashed every bit of animal within him. But there were just so many to kill. One, two, three fell and twice as many took their place. Four, six, eight. A sword slashed the back of his right thigh. He adjusted, tried to use the pain as fuel. Ten, fifteen, twenty. A stab to his left arm. His momentum lost.

  Armored fists punched his snout, face, and neck. He felt another cut across his back. He hit the ground and cringed. All he could do was look up and marvel how the many, many soldiers blotted out the suns. He forewent any prayers to gods, who were nothing but fictitious stories at best, and spent his last thoughts on Lina. A prayer of sorts to her, a prayer to love.

  Then he heard her.

  He heard love.

  He had been wrong about his original assessment regarding love. It was no weakness, rather a strength. Love was the strength to tear apart the enemies of love. Love was anger and claws and teeth. Love was death; not accepting death but giving it.

  Cezomir had no strength to move, but he did not need to. He was loved and that meant the fury behind the blood-curdling howls were for him, that every slit throat and opened belly was in his name. This beautiful goddess of death and love answered his prayers. Even when the last of the soldiers tried to flee, Love chased them down and sliced them to pieces.

  Love rushed over to him and dropped to her knees beside him. “Cezomir? Are you still alive?”

  Chunks of meat slid along with the blood flowing over her matted fur. Cezomir reached up and placed his hand on her cheek, using his thumb to wipe away a gobbet of flesh. “I am. Thanks to you.”

  Lina smiled. “You are my husband after all. I need to preserve my possession.”

  This was enough to encourage Cezomir to sit up. “Your possession?”

  “Yes. Since we married under a Yullian ceremony, we should follow Yullian marriage customs. Therefore, I own you.”

  Cezomir frowned despite the pain rampaging through his head to do so. “Let’s not forget the actual ceremony was—”

  Lina laughed and placed her hand over his mouth. “You own me, too. We own each other.”

  She stood and grabbed his arm to help him to his feet. He looked over his wounds, impressive but he would survive. When he saw the piles of dismembered bodies all his pain disappeared. With Lina as his wife, he could do anything. “What next?”

  “We leave.”

  Yellow eyes glowed against the flowing backdrop of deep crimson, haunting islands in an ocean of blood. Cezomir could see that she said her statement with earnestness. “Leave? What about King Perciless?”

  “We’ve given all we can give to him. Look upon Castle Hill.” Perciless struggled with Oremethus while Praeker and Dearborn focused on Daedalus. “We can do nothing more for him now. If he does not take back the throne, then our last ten years will become a crime and Daedalus will want our hides. If Perciless takes his rightful place, then there will be no place for us.”

  “I’m sure he would be thankful enough to allow us to reside within the castle.”

  “Then what? We while away our days staring longingly into each other’s eyes? We join aged soldiers telling our tales of battlefield glory over and over and over? Or worse, Perciless asks us to be members of his court, or advisors, or ambassadors. We would have respect only within the castle walls.” Lina pointed to the Yullians at the top of the one hill that formed the valley. “They will not accept me back into the tribe, even though I fought to save the world.” She then pointed to the top of the other hill, to the spider creatures. “And they are how the rest of the world would view us. Just creatures. Ugly. Frightening. Unwelcomed.”

  Placing her hands on his shoulders, Lina looked into Cezomir’s eyes. “No matter who is king there is no benefit to us, so why should we wait around to see whose ass ends up on the throne?”

  Cezomir had been wrong about love. It was not weakness. It was strength. It was the courage to walk headfirst into the unknown, away from what was known. Without another word to the contrary, he took her hand in his and they walked away without ever looking back.

  * * *

  Bale ran to keep pace with Phyl, his cloven hooves leaving tracks easy to follow in the battlefield ground. He cursed his friend for running through the thickest part of the battle. Bale had to dodge sword swings from just as many allies as he did from enemies. Sprays of blood painted him. A freshly severed head bounced off his shoulder. Men locked in hand-to-hand combat caromed off Bale. Screams of both victory and pain were so loud that Bale never once bothered to call out to Phyl, knowing the Satyr would never hear him. Where was Phyl running to?

  There were stones at the base of Castle Hill, toppled walls that had fallen down the slope. Phyl hopped behind the broken walls. After fighting his way through a small contingent of soldiers, Bale made it to the stones to find his friend crying. “Hey, little buddy. What’s wrong?”

  “All of it, Bale. All of this is wrong. We’re always somehow in the middle of world-altering events.”

  Bale shrugged his shoulders. “So?”

  “So? It’s too much! There’s constant war. Constant death. Constant fear. Fear of getting caught, getting tortured, getting killed. I’m so afraid, Bale. I’m afraid that my fear will get me caught or tortured or killed. I killed a man recently. Me! I’m a poet and a lover, Bale. Now I must live with that. My min
d won’t allow me to think of anything other than that. Usually, I’m trying to find ways to hide the fact that I like the affections of men from everyone, but now I have to reconcile myself with killing a man.”

  Phyl stopped crying and went wide-eyed, suddenly aware of what he had just said. He followed with, “So . . . what do you think of that?”

  “Killing someone is difficult. I’ve done it, too. I’ve done it a lot. This is a world where sometimes to stay alive or protect your friends and family, you need to kill someone else.”

  “No, not that. I mean . . . the part where I said I like men.”

  Bale shrugged his shoulders again. “So?”

  “So? I was worried that it would change how you view me, that it would change our friendship.”

  “Why? You didn’t change. You’re still Phyl. You’re still annoying and somehow smell like vanilla and wet dog fur. I don’t care what you want to put your dick into, as long as it’s not me. I’m far more concerned that you referred to yourself as a poet.”

  Phyl’s eyes glistened with the onset of new tears. “Oh, Bale. Your heart is so sweet it must be made of candy.”

  “Are you sure you want to call yourself a poet?”

  “What? Why not? That was a perfectly used metaphor.”

  Bale rolled his eyes. “I have no idea what a meta even is let alone what one is used for.”

  Phyl laughed. “You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Now let’s find your children and figure out what to do next.”

  “I agree with both of those things you said.”

  As they exited from their hiding spot, Bale was expecting to step once more into the horrors of battle. He could not have imagined that, instead, a half-giant was waiting for him.

  “My name is General Perrator.” Even though men hacked at each other with swords and shields and the sounds of battle roared, Bale could hear the general as if he stood next to him. The half giant approached, swatting away would be attackers like flies until it was just he and Bale. “I have heard a great deal about you, ogre.”