Demons of the Hunter (War of the Magi Book 2)

by Stephen Allan

  It’s your time, Zelda. You have to decide.

  The decision racked her brain and left her with an upset stomach. She’d already defied Roland, but at least she felt that was justified. Disobeying the orders of someone as legendary as Garo felt like slapping a god across the face. Once she broke his trust once, she knew she would not get it back again.

  But the one chance at peace…

  Go. Just go.

  Zelda didn’t think. She shut off her brain. She didn’t know how she’d find Tyus. She didn’t know what she would say. She didn’t even know if she’d find Tyus. But she had to move now, or she would never move.

  She opened the door, careful to shut it without waking Yeva. She ignored the closed door on the other side of the hallway. If Garo or Tetra came for her, she’d run. She had to.

  Even as she walked out of the house and through the streets, though, she felt an exorbitant amount of guilt. Tetra and Garo were as close to parents as Zelda now had. The very idea of disobeying Mama, whether in the past or now, with her dying wishes, was unfathomable to Zelda. She’d try and stop Tetra if she thought it went against her mother’s wishes.

  She passed through the last few magi who wandered the streets before darkness, most of them talking to nearby neighbors about the events of the day. Several sounded distressed that soldiers would spend the night, but they all agreed on one thing—they wanted Kara dealt with. No one spoke of harming her, but they all wanted her gone. It only further invigorated Zelda to find the son of the emperor.

  She came to the docks that, just an hour before, had practically had the entire town present. Now, no one remained. She looked to the right. She thought she saw a couple of imperial guards taking supplies into a small home, but they disappeared inside, leaving that question unanswered. She looked left.

  A lone figure about a foot taller than her stood, looking at the sea. Just enough light remained that Zelda picked out Tyus standing there, his arms crossed, his chest held high, and his eyes wistfully hoping for something she knew he didn’t have at the moment. Go. Talk.

  She took two steps before Tyus turned to face her. She paused, unsure of what to say. Would he want her gone? Would he want her to leave him alone?

  “Hi.”

  It was all she could think to say. Hopefully, it disarmed him.

  “You would talk to me?”

  Zelda was surprised to hear such vulnerability in his words. Maybe she shouldn’t have after his speech at the ceremony and his behavior in the fields against Indica. But he was in charge here. He was the leader of the empire in Dabira. If his father had taught him anything, it was that a leader never showed weakness.

  But here he was, doing the exact opposite. And it made her want to talk to him more.

  “Of course I do,” Zelda said. “Someone has to have a reasonable conversation here.”

  Tyus gave a short, genuine laugh, but cut it short, as if his father had suddenly told him to stop indulging in such small talk.

  “My name is Zelda,” she said.

  “I know who you are,” Tyus said, much to the surprise of the young mage. “Well, I know of your existence and your place in the Shadows. I didn’t know your name before this.”

  Zelda couldn’t tell where Tyus would come from during this conversation. Bitterness? Appreciation? Sympathy?

  “I saw you walking with the Shadows on the day my father committed the most heinous atrocity I’ve ever seen,” Tyus said. “It just… you’re the youngest person in the group, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Something about seeing someone as young as you in a situation that heated made me wonder what we all fought for. And let me swear on my own grave, Zelda, I did not know what my father had planned.”

  Zelda believed him on the spot. She remembered what Tetra had said, but her intuition told her that the young boy before her told the truth. He had no reason to lie here—what would he gain? His personality wasn’t cunning or manipulative enough to play a long enough game to hurt her.

  “Anyways, I imagined myself there. I wouldn’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill. But… I do want to become the emperor someday. So I had to do things that will haunt me for a long time, probably forever.”

  You had to cut off a mage’s head. But when Zelda thought it, rage didn’t accompany it. Just weird, pitying sympathy.

  “My father sent me here to hunt for you, Kara, Gaius, and that one other girl to bring back to Caia. But what he sent me here for and what’s going to happen are two different things. I don’t want to take you back, Zelda. I don’t even want to take Kara back, even though she hates me. I don’t want anyone. I want this peace to begin. I want this war to end. But…”

  “You don’t know how to return to your father empty handed without him judging you?” Zelda asked.

  Tyus nodded. Zelda had no good answers, as all of them revolved around the premise that his father would feel forgiving when he saw his only son. That just wasn’t the case with Emperor Syrast.

  “You can’t overthrow him?” Zelda asked. “Take control yourself?”

  “There are too many men loyal to him in the army,” Tyus said, nodding his head in the direction of the home that the soldiers resided in. She noticed a few circling around the building but turned her attention back to Tyus. “I fear I have very few friends, period. Most of those who know me either give immediate authority to my father, or see both of us as weak and would never follow our bidding. I knew a boy once, Eric Garland, and an older man, Abraham Wallace. Both of them were strong and demanded respect with their actions and words, and I sought to be like them. Better than them. But it just made me an arrogant fool. If I cannot even command respect from those outside the palace walls, what do you think will happen inside?”

  Zelda struggled to find the right words. She certainly wasn’t about to uncover a wonderful, grand solution that would solve all of Tyus’ problems.

  “I’m sorry, Tyus,” was all she could muster. The boys eyes dropped. “I don’t think you’re an arrogant fool.”

  That got his eyes up. Zelda knew she couldn’t give any practical advice. But she could give some encouragement.

  “You came here knowing what your father wanted. And you seek something else. Tet… Kara might say you’re lying, but I heard your words at the ceremony. They were perhaps the only truthful, conciliatory words in Caia. They weren’t arrogant. They sought to unite us. And I know your father undid whatever you said and made things worse, but Tyus, you seem real. You seem genuine.”

  Tyus gave a short laugh, looked away, stared up at the stars, took in several audible breaths, and turned back to Zelda.

  “Thank you,” he said, his voice shaky. “I know when I ascend to the throne, I will make peace with the magi. I swear to it. My father won’t live more than a few more years. And when he dies, I’ll undo everything he did.”

  “I believe you,” Zelda said.

  Their eyes locked, and Zelda noticed Tyus struggling to form the right words. His eyes had widened and the distance between them had shortened. Zelda didn’t quite know what to make of this, but at least she’d accomplished her goal of reaching Tyus.

  “I’ll fight for you, Zelda,” he said. “I’ll fight for this town, I’ll fight—”

  A loud scream came from one block down, followed by the smell of fire, the sight of flames and smoke, and the sound of maniacal laughter.

  “Kill them all! Burn it down!”

  CHAPTER 16: ERIC

  The days passed. The temperature dropped. The mountains became more visible and grew larger as the mirages transformed into reality. The pace of the hunters and the mage slowed as the elements, fatigue, and fear became overbearing. When day came, it marked a hurried morning hunt, a hurried meal, a hasty walk toward the mountains, and a paranoia that anything, even the very ground itself, could strike at any moment.

  At night, the paranoia became even more intense. Romarus resumed his full-time night watch, but it left Eric with l
ittle confidence. It became cold enough for Eric to see his own breath. It was like watching his soul leave his body, replaced by emotions and primal fears he could not control. He shuddered to think of what would happen if a storm struck. Or monsters far worse than what we see now.

  The sole relief they gained as they passed the fifteenth day was that the monsters in the field had not increased in quality of danger, only in quantity. The demons they faced proved deadly, but they were known. Had they come across new monsters—maybe a behemoth dragon or a wolf snake or some other monster that only existed in the darkest depths of the human imagination—Eric worried not what it would do to them physically, but psychologically.

  They wound up taking circuitous routes just to dodge several behemoths. Eric briefly considered broaching the idea of hunting the behemoths for food, but the notion that the three of them could even pull that off wiped that idea out. Even if they emerged victorious, they needed to conserve energy for Ragnor and whatever monsters of the mountain guarded him.

  The grass went from green to a pale brown. They had gotten close enough that they could now identify specific ridges, caves, and even, perhaps, paths along the mountains. Much of the terrain was covered in snow, making it difficult to differentiate between a walking trail and a visual trick, but it gave Eric a sliver of hope. Fight through the last couple of days of walking in the plains. Scale through the mountains. Reach the cave of Ragnor. And then settle my lifelong debt.

  If it is what my family’s soul needs.

  On the nineteenth day, they came to the base of the mountains in the middle of the afternoon. High above, a few dragons flew through the mountains. Eric scanned the mountainside and could not see any behemoths or other dangerous creatures. Which just means they are hiding.

  “We should charge ahead,” Artemia said. “If we wait, we may be beset by creatures from both the plains and the mountains.”

  Eric grimaced at the sight. His legs burned from the constant walking, his stomach growled at the lack of food, he had little energy, and he had to walk through a mountain range now. And he was sixteen and in shape. How in the name of Hydor could Romarus or Artemia continue?

  “Let us proceed,” Romarus said.

  Eric sighed, looked back at the plains, and briefly pondered returning.

  But he could not even see where the grass once turned green, let alone where Dabira was or the sea began. To turn back now all but guaranteed death. He had gone too deep into the depths of this journey to escape alone. As much as he doubted the truth of Artemia and the durability of Romarus, he doubted even more his survival on a solo trip.

  With a grunt, he jogged to catch up to Artemia and Romarus.

  The mountain terrain was unforgiving. The surface on which they walked was either full of awkwardly shaped rocks, making steps difficult and the possibility of a sprain significant, or slick from melted snow, making a fall likely. Each human, at least once per hour, stumbled and needed a second to recover. Even when they walked with ease, their thighs burned, their chests heaved, and they could hear their own heartbeat.

  And Eric knew they were lucky so far, too. A lack of predators meant the only elements they had to combat were the ones in their heads. If external threats came, he didn’t know that they would all survive.

  Once the sunlight ended, Eric looked back. They had scaled probably a thousand feet but were no closer to climbing over the mountains. They didn’t have to go but a few feet in any direction to touch snow. The cold meant that unless they wore everything they owned that night, they would all freeze.

  “I will stand watch tonight,” Romarus said. “But I grow weak and tired. I may wake one of you in the morning to take over, if that is fine.”

  “Do what you need to do,” Artemia said.

  When Eric examined her as she spoke, he felt surprise. She seemed even more invigorated than when they’d started. She seemed so hungry for Ragnor that it gave her strength the closer they got to her.

  Was it the magic in the crystal on her necklace? Or was she just that truly, intensely thirsty for the blood of Ragnor that it gave her fuel to continue?

  “You may wake either of us.”

  With that, Artemia settled down. Eric went down as well, still wearing his thick robes and placing his bag of supplies, which he’d run out of, over his body. He did not anticipate falling asleep quickly, for the cold was noticeable and difficult to contend with.

  But Romarus, the kind soul he was, found some nearby wood from decayed trees and lit it on fire, providing warmth to the two hunters. Before Eric knew it, he had fallen asleep.

  And with being so close to Ragnor, once more, he found himself in a dream involving the great dragon.

  In his dream, he came to an open arena. It was so open, in fact, that there were no mountains in sight. The light blue sky was there, but it did not feature clouds, birds, or even a sun. There was simply nothing above ground level.

  Except for Ragnor, sitting in a snowy white oval, awaiting his challenger. It was a bizarre sight to see, the massive red dragon sitting in a pile of snow, as still as the statue of it in Dabira. What was that monster doing? Wouldn’t it have better belonged in a lava pit? Was it meditating? Was it sleeping?

  But it was also a majestic sight to behold, with the four massive wings, the jaw that could eat an entire building, and the beady black eyes. It roared but did not advance on Eric. In fact, it almost seemed as if the monster hadn’t moved, the sound coming from an indistinguishable source. Eric was so enraged by his family’s killer that he did not compare this rendition of Ragnor to ones from previous dreams.

  “Come on!” Eric shouted.

  It never occurred to him in his dream that he could not fight the creature by himself. He just kept advancing closer toward the monster. He threw his sword at the monster, but the dragon did not strike. In fact, aside from breathing—Eric saw its breath in the cold air, but its throat or mouth did not move—the dragon didn’t do much of anything. It just squatted there, observing Eric like a human might disinterestedly observe a small rat.

  Eric was now close enough to stab the dragon. But the confusion came from the fact that the dragon did not attack Eric. It didn’t even move. It was… motionless. Not dead. But it couldn’t possibly be this way.

  “Why won’t you fight?!?” Eric demanded.

  It had to be a trap. Ragnor wasn’t even breathing any longer. Wasn’t even blinking. He just… Was he even real? Was this an illusion within a dream?

  “Eric.”

  The voice was recognizable immediately, even though he had not heard it in six years. Not in real life, anyways.

  “Mom?”

  He looked around. He was alone, save for the dragon in the middle. The dragon had certainly not spoken. That was an assertion that bordered on the ludicrously impossible. A dragon talking to a human made about as much sense as the emperor deciding to make peace with the magi.

  “Eric.”

  Once again, his mother only said his name.

  “Mom!”

  “Eric, why are you fighting?”

  The words sounded… not accusatory, but not exactly inquisitive either.

  “I… for you. For Rey.”

  “For me?”

  It didn’t sound grateful. Now, it sounded accusatory.

  “Yes! This dragon killed you!”

  “Perhaps so,” his mother said. “But why do you fear this dragon?”

  “Fear?” he asked, even though he knew it was a legitimate question. “Fear? I don’t fear this, mom. I just fear not avenging you.”

  “Son,” she said. “Are you sure Ragnor is what you should fear? Do you think you should fear some other—”

  “Eric!” another voice shouted.

  “Mom!”

  “Eric!”

  Suddenly, Eric awoke with a jolt, sitting up and grabbing his sword instinctively. He rushed to his feet, got into a fighting stance, and scanned his surroundings, his sword in his right hand. Ahead of him, Romarus had his ar
row nocked.

  It took Eric a few seconds to gather his bearings, but when he followed the path of the arrow, he saw a dragon circling about fifty feet above. It didn’t look particularly big—maybe the size of he and Artemia put together—but he knew Romarus would not have awoken them without reason.

  “The dragons here have magic,” he said. “Instead of just flames, they fire flames endowed with magic. It burns and damages in other ways. Ragnor has provided these creatures with some sort of power.”

  Behind Eric, he heard Artemia approaching, her sword out and her necklace clinking against her uniform.

  “Get ready,” he said.

  He lined up a well-timed shot at the dragon above, hitting it square in the chest. The beast lost the ability to fly and crashed to the ground. Eric charged the not-yet dead beast, but had to roll to the side at the last second when the dragon fired its flame.

  Romarus was correct. It was not just fire. It was a fire coursing with lightning, a fire far deadlier than even the most dangerous flames that Indica had produced. And that was supposed to be a legendary dragon. What sorts of monstrosities…

  Fortunately, Artemia saw an opportunity and struck the beast down, decapitating it in one swift chop. Eric rose to his feet, catching his breath as he looked to Romarus.

  “You have actually slept a significant portion of this night, and I have not had any danger before this creature,” he said. “However, this is only the beginning. The dangers that lie beyond are like this, I am sure of it.”

  Artemia raised her sword, still burning from a fire spell she had given it, and sheathed it.

  “If we have slept, then we should continue walking. We are but a day or so away from Ragnor. There is no need to wait if we do not have to.”

  Eric agreed with her to a point. He sheathed his sword and followed Artemia and the weary Romarus.

  But after yet another dream with his mother and Ragnor, he just needed a moment to rest. A moment to consider what in the name of Hydor had just happened. Some time to analyze and reflect on why he fought if his own subconscious raised doubts to him.