The Devil's Judgment

by Chris Pisano

  Bursts of starlight exploded throughout her vision and her world tilted. Backing away, she held her hands in front of her for balance and defense. Retreat was short lived as she backed into a stone wall. Her world righted and her vision cleared enough to see him running toward her with the fingers of his skeletal hand pulled together, a spear tip made of unbreakable bone. That hand reduced stone to dust, so she knew there was nothing she could do to stop his charge.

  Praeker launched himself in front of her, Daedalus’ hand exploding out from his back. The momentum pulled Daedalus away from Dearborn as he and Praeker tumbled along the ground. Before they came to a stop, Daedalus yanked his hand from Praeker’s chest and backed away.

  Blood pouring from his mouth and chest, Praeker got to his knees and coughed. “Well, Dearborn, you did promise to be my death.”

  The ground shook as the bone dragon landed next to him. Praeker had been many things over the centuries: warrior, warlord, king, god. His life ended as a snack for a dragon. Dearborn had little time to even recognize that he was gone let alone muse the cruel joke of fate bestowing such an inglorious death upon one of its longest living creatures. Instead, she ran.

  No plan in mind, although one could hardly devise a viable plan against dragons, she ran into the ruins. She, a great warrior, now reduced to vermin like the rats she would chase and corral during her time in the dungeon. Learning from her experience, she did what they had done—run to any space where she could hide.

  Her tactic did not work as well for her as it did for the rats in her cell. There were plenty of toppled walls resting at odd angles for her to hide under, but she could spend little time there as the acid dragon belched a flow of liquid death toward her or the air dragon breathed a tornado to knock away the loose stones. A flow of lava seeped its way through the cracks of the next hiding space she found, forcing her to run again. No matter what ancient doorway she ran through or rock pile she ran around, the dragons would simply climb along the castle ruins to chase her or cut off her path. It was time to try a different approach.

  As she ran up a slope of broken stones, she recalled her daughter’s story about slaying the metal dragon. It was not she who delivered the killing blow, rather the lightning dragon tricked into doing it for her.

  Dearborn slid on her hip down the other side of the slope narrowly avoiding the nebulous breath of the bone dragon and as soon as her feet touched the ground, she ran toward the stone dragon, the closest to her. It opened its mouth but held its breath as she ran past its front claw, toward its tail. It growled a huff of frustration as it shifted about and slammed into the lightning dragon’s blind side.

  The two dragons snapped at each other, wings and tails twitching. The stone dragon swiped a claw at the other and that was enough provocation for the lightning dragon to release bright arcs of electricity. The strikes did no harm to the stone dragon, but the outburst did cause the bone dragon and the air dragon to take flight.

  Dearborn pushed through the pain, actively reminding herself that if she gave into her body’s burning requests for rest, she would die. Her knees felt as if they were made of broken glass, summoning tears with every step, but she refused to give in. She stifled her tears as crying would blur her vision. While she hated the idea, she ran between the acid dragon and the fire dragon. During the confusion of the final battle of the insurrection ten years ago, the fire dragon scarred the water dragon. Dearborn hoped that she could get one of these two to do the same to the other and studied their movements, looking for a primal signal as to which would attack first. The fire dragon exposed its teeth and lowered its head. Perfect! She would change direction and run to the acid dragon. But before she could turn, the stone dragon dropped from the sky in between the other two.

  Dearborn turned to run, but the other three dragons skulked over the ruins behind her. None of them attacked, though, saving that reward for their master.

  Daedalus strode between two piles of rubble, hands behind his back. “This is it, Dearborn. This is it. You will finally get what you deserve. I will finally get my revenge.”

  “Revenge? You speak as if I had destroyed your life or harmed your family.”

  “You embarrassed me in public! You harmed my standing with the nobles and weakened me in the eyes of my father.”

  “We were teens. What I did to you was no different than an awkward kiss. It was a situation that no one else cared about. No one but you.”

  “Because it happened to me! No one else. Me! My humiliation! My shame!”

  Dearborn laughed and spat on the ground. “That is what I think of your humiliation, shame, and revenge.”

  Dearborn had no plan, just the simple knowledge that people never thought properly when they succumbed to anger. And it was so easy to get Daedalus angry. She had no idea what his anger would lead to. Would it pass into the dragons and make them fight each other out of blind rage? Would it make him myopic to the point of forgetting he even had dragons? Daedalus clenched his fists and released a roar to rival any that his dragons could offer, and Dearborn readied herself. She could never have guessed what came next.

  The dragons flew away.

  “No!” Daedalus screamed to the sky. “Nooooooo!”

  Dearborn cared not as to what happened or why. She was merely grateful for the opportunity to dictate her fate. While Daedalus was distracted, she threw her arms about a stone about one-third of her weight and then launched it at Daedalus.

  The screaming prince saw it just in time to strike it with his skeletal hand. The stone exploded into pebbles the force pushing him back several paces. Dearborn put every amount of energy she could muster into rushing to him. He swung at her on the backswing. She caught his arm with her left hand and his wrist with her right. She pushed with her left and squeezed with her right, forcing his fingers to extend.

  Daedalus sprayed obscenities and spittle, but Dearborn had one opportunity, her last. If she failed now there would no second chance. She kept pushing, guiding his bone fingertips. The timbre of his screams changed, shifting from anger to fear. He grabbed her left shoulder and dug in his fingers.

  The pain radiated through her whole chest. She flexed harder to fight against his grip, moving the bones of his skeletal fingers closer to him, to his jaw. Daedalus fought, but could not stop her progress. He stopped screaming as the tips of his phalanges made their way up under his chin.

  His eyes still held rage, but he had descended into whimpers. Dearborn’s heart was devoid of any pity. The tips of his fingers drew blood.

  Daedalus tilted his chin back as far as he could. Dearborn wanted to end this, to rid this world of the worst thing to ever happened to it. She wanted to tell him that she was doing this to save her children, but she would say nothing. No words could ever convey what was in her heart. Words would simply waste time. She had already wasted too much time with him.

  Dearborn released his wrist to grab the back of his head and shoved it downward. The noise of his bones grinding around inside his own skull would forever be heard in her dreams. It would bring a smile to her face every time.

  * * *

  Perciless stood, the shattered remains of the Dragon Soul by his feet. The best way to end the war with the least loss of life, gone. Now thousands upon thousands would sacrifice their lives following one king or another, and that was even if they knew what they were even fighting for. Some were fighting because they simply knew no other way to live. “Oremethus, please stop.”

  “Is this your surrender?”

  Perciless considered those words. He had thought about those words again and again over the years. People would no longer have to die in his name. But they would still die, nonetheless. Either Oremethus would kill them thinking they were demons or Daedalus would turn them into those horrid skeletons of his to fight in the war with Tsinel and wherever else his lust for conquest might take him. No.
He could not surrender. “It was my offer for you to surrender.”

  Oremethus laughed. “Even though Daedalus was the dourest of us, it was always you who had the least amount of humor. You should try it since your joke is rather amusing.”

  “It is no joke, brother. You are not well. Neither is Daedalus, in much more sinister ways, I’m afraid. Neither of you should be on the throne.”

  Oremethus’ face went taut, skin pulling tight from his scowl. “This is what you’ve always done, brother. You belittle. You never rise above anyone, you simply push them down lower than where you are standing.”

  “Not true. You allow Daedalus to kill without reason because you see demons where there are none.”

  Sweat beaded along his hairline as he ground his teeth. “Do not tell me that demons don’t exist simply because you can’t see them. I have visions, brother. So, does Daedalus. We travel to the past to see where fate went awry within the confines of certain events so that we might change our future.”

  The sting of tears played about behind his eyes. Perciless hated to see his brother like this and wanted to help him. “I have those visions, too, Oremethus, as did father. But that’s all they are—just visions. Intense memories that sometimes take over our senses.”

  “No!” Oremethus stormed and strode nearer stopping close enough for Perciless to feel the anger on his hot breath. “Your mind is too small to understand what they are. Right now, this is nothing more than a trip to the past from a future you can’t comprehend. A future where I sit upon the world throne and Daedalus is by my side.”

  Waves of heat from Oremethus washed over Perciless as beads of sweat turned into streams. “Oremethus, there is no world throne. No king has ever conquered more than his fair share.”

  “My fair share is the whole world and I shall be the first king to take it. I have the dragons. Daedalus and I control the beasts and we shall ride them far and wide, conquering everything we fly over!”

  The dragons. The one weapon Perciless could no longer stop now that the Dragon Soul has been destroyed. Or . . . could he? He heard the stories from Landyr and Silver. An ancient wizard used Oremethus’ blood to bind him to the dragons. Daedalus was not a part of the ceremony, yet he could control them as well. If Daedalus could control them, then that meant . . .

  Perciless looked behind Oremethus to the gemstone dragon, crouched down and ready to strike.

  Then the command was given.

  The dragon turned and whipped its tail around, the tip connecting with Oremethus. His body flew through the air and struck a stone wall, coming to rest in a shattered heap.

  Perciless wiped away tears as he walked to where his brother lay. Broken bones created odd shapes within his limbs. Perciless knelt and pulled his brother to his lap. He wiped away the blood from his face. Oremethus had always had the face of a king, even when they were children. Oremethus was born to be king, his looks, his demeanor, the very air he breathed lent itself to the inevitability of him ascending to the throne. The broken man in Perciless’ arms, however, was no king.

  Oremethus’ whole body shook with every hitch in his breathing. Perciless smoothed his brother’s hair. “I’m so sorry, brother. I let you down. I know Daedalus resented me for abiding by father’s rules to a fault, but as a child, what better way was there to garner a parent’s love? My fault was not in following father’s rules, but in wishing for the wrong person’s graces. I always treated you as a colleague when I should have treated you as a brother. I should have done more to garner your love.”

  Bloody foam frothed from the corners of Oremethus’s mouth and slid down his chin. His tremors intensified and he grabbed Perciless’ forearm with his right hand, his left bent in such impossible ways that it had been rendered useless. “Do . . . do not fear . . . Perciless . . . for this . . . this is merely a . . . vision. I shall . . . shall have another one . . . and come back from the . . . the future to correct this.”

  Oremethus’ death was a mercy, a turbulent mind now allowed calmness.

  Perciless closed his brother’s eyes and gently slid him from his lap.

  The gem dragon approached and sniffed the air around the king and his deceased brother. It then curled up on the ground near Oremethus. Perciless let it mourn.

  The other six dragons stalked through the remains of the ancient castle. Releasing a roar or flapping their wings or breathing their deadly breaths. Dearborn was still alive. Perciless commanded them to fly away.

  Daedalus screamed, angered at their sudden betrayal. As Perciless approached the castle, his brother’s screams intensified, changed and then ended. Perciless stopped in front of what remained of the castle’s entrance, knowing very well that he needed to go no farther.

  The war was over. He and his kingdom would finally know peace.

  thirty-four

  Ideria cried. She hated crying. It made her feel young and weak. But she was saying goodbye to her mother, so there was nothing she could do to stave off the tears. However, her mother was sobbing, too. And right in Ideria’s ear as she felt the life being squeezed out of her from Dearborn’s hug. “Mother, for being the world’s greatest warrior, you cry a lot.”

  Dearborn loosened her embrace and laughed, still gripping her daughter’s shoulders. “When you turn me into a grandmother, you will understand.”

  “I’m not leaving forever. I will return.”

  Dearborn cupped Ideria’s face in her hands. Ideria wanted to tell her to stop because it felt too nice, too comforting. If her mother’s hands stayed on her cheeks any longer, she might change her mind.

  No. Staying was not an option. There was nothing here for her.

  Ideria knew just about any citizen of Albathia would run a knife through her belly to have the opportunity to live in Castle Phenomere with the king as she had for these past two years. But castle life was not for her, nor was the fame.

  A hero’s welcome awaited Ideria after her mother and Perciless liberated Albathia from Oremethus and Daedalus. Within one week, everyone in the city knew Ideria’s name. It felt that way to her, at least. Strangers kept coming up to her on the streets thanking her and singing her praises, telling her stories she had no desire to hear. It took almost a year before she could sneak to a pastry shop without being accosted. Then Perciless announced “Dearborn Day,” the new annual festival celebrating the return of Albathia to its people.

  Prosperity created smiles and happiness. The festival was spectacular, bringing in people from all over the country, even many from Tsinel. What surprised everyone was when the seven dragons, once controlled by Oremethus and Daedalus, returned. People assumed Perciless commanded them to do so, but he insisted that all he did was ask. The citizens greeted them with trepidation at first, but little by little a trust was formed. They simply flew over the city in lazy circles until Hope and Woe took the opportunity to fly with them. Other flying races took a chance as well and opted to join them on air. Perciless kept his promise to Praeker and assured the lost tribes of unique creatures that they were citizens of Albathia with the same rights as everyone else.

  After the celebration, Ideria became popular again, the stories of her bravery refreshed in everyone’s minds. The irritation of needing to greet strangers while walking along the street paled in comparison to the boredom that had taken root in her heart and bloomed into restlessness. Everyone else fell easily into this new way of life except for Ideria.

  Lapin became a Sergeant in the king’s new army, but specifically for individuals less than two feet in height. He still enjoyed winning bar bets by drinking competitors under the table.

  Phyl enjoyed living his life as his true self, savoring the company of many different men from many different races.

  Bale dedicated himself to being nothing more than a father. He even attended school teachings with his youngest. He did poorly with his studies but enjoy
ed the effort.

  And her mother . . . she surprised Ideria the most. Finally releasing Ideria, Dearborn said, “I know you will return, and then you will leave again. And return again. And leave again.”

  “I vow I will return as many times as I leave.”

  Ideria’s heart melted at making a promise that might be difficult to keep. Her mother knew better, knew it was a questionable oath but did not push the issue. She simply smiled. “I know.”

  “You could always leave after Dearborn Day,” Uncle Draymon said. “The children are very excited for it and they love having you around.”

  The children. Dearborn and Draymon had dedicated their time to rehabilitating all one hundred of Daedalus’ bastard children. At first, it was difficult, especially for the older ones, to undo the teachings of a madman. But Daedalus’s influence was unnatural and hateful. After a few months of giving them unconditional love, while showing them all that the world had to offer, the children came around. The younger ones even took to calling them Mother Dearborn and Father Draymon.

  “It does warm my heart when the children have fun,” Ideria started, “But Dearborn Day is tomorrow. I feel I must depart before the celebrations start.”

  Draymon nodded, contemplating her words. “You are a wise woman. Please be wise enough to know when to use my quarterstaff.”

  Ideria had the weapon in her right hand. She tapped it against the stone floor of the hallway. “I will. I promise.”

  “And please don’t be too proud to ask for help. I still have resources out there.”