The Devil's Grasp

by Chris Pisano

  Ladders were raised against the side of the building, and the onslaught surged up their height. A lightning bolt crackled from an outstretched wizard hand, searing attacker after attacker, hurling bodies to their demise, the ladder exploding into useless pieces. A great deluge of water, created by another wizard, gushed down upon another ladder with similar success.

  As the standoff at the wizard guild drew the attention of more of the aggressors, Nevin led his group of thieves and wizards towards the city gates in an area where all of the buildings had been consumed by guttering flames. Such destruction, coupled with the promise of new violence, led the attackers to abandon this gate altogether. Nevin let the others pass him by as they exited, turning one last glance at the second city ruined by The Horde that they had seen in a fortnight. The gravity of world events pressed in on him, threatening to crush the breath from his lungs as reality forced him to understand how pivotal a role he and his friends would be made to serve if they were to continue to enjoy the freedom that had marked their lives.

  As he stood there looking at the wizard’s tower, a great figure, fully clad in green armor of a bizarre metal, strode towards the town’s last defenders. Spells erupted harmlessly around the figure. With a motion of his gauntleted right arm, splinters of some indecipherable projectiles launched towards the top of the parapet. Seconds later, the final few wizards screamed as one, a death knell that propelled Nevin out the ruined gate after his fleeing comrades.

  Seven

  The late afternoon air was cool and crisp; the morning sun long gone, the day sun beginning its descent. Life in the valley began its routine to settle down for slumber: song bird warbles slowed, predators returned to their shelter sated from an earlier meal, prey, fortunate enough to avoid the predators, munched stray patches of grass or an easily accessible berry or nut.

  Dearborn caught glimpses of these activities now and again, realizing the Elite Troop would need to do the same. They were near Balfourd’s Bounty. However, the afternoon hinted at a pleasant and still evening. She knew Iderion well enough to know that if a glimmer of light existed, so did the opportunity to complete the mission.

  Remaining vigilant, Dearborn enjoyed simple pleasures. When the air remained still, she could feel tiny percolations of perspiration form all over her body, especially across her back and neck. But even the slightest breeze caused a quick evaporation that sent warm chills throughout her body. Unfortunately, there was one grating noise that took it all away and sent razor blades scraping down her spine—the voice of Haddaman Crede.

  Haddaman rode next to Mahlakore, the youngest and newest member of the Elite Troop. Typical viper, Dearborn thought, isolating the youngest, assuming he’s the weakest.

  Guiding her steed closer, Dearborn heard Haddaman’s words, full of vigor, “… I knew something was amiss when the mayor received that cactus. Being the man of the world that I am, I knew the intricacies of such a species. I knew that cactus was a breeding ground for that species of scorpion.”

  “Was there any reason why you kept that knowledge to yourself?” Dearborn asked, hoping Mahlakore did not believe Haddaman’s words.

  “Ahh, sweet Dearborn. I thought you might be interested in the tale I tell. Being the band of experts, you thought you might gain a clue about the dread enemy who besieged my humble town?”

  “My dear Haddaman, I assure you I hear enough flatulence from this band of experts with whom I share my travel.”

  Dearborn saw the sparkle fade from Haddaman’s eyes. It was quite obvious to her that his lily-laden words tickled the fancies of tavern maidens; never suspecting a woman could possess an education to actually decode their hidden meanings. She continued, “However, you have yet to fulfill my curiosity—why did you not share your vast knowledge of desert foliage with anyone?”

  “Have you ever yelled at a deaf man, Sergeant?”

  “I assume you mean that you did mention it to someone, but they did not heed your words?”

  A woman capable of logical deduction, how disdainful, Dearborn thought. That very idea was painfully etched across Haddaman’s face.

  “Very astute. It’s no wonder that you’re the sergeant.”

  “Being astute had nothing to do with it. Your message was obvious. It’s no wonder that you’re retired.”

  With a feminine flip of her hair, Dearborn led her horse away, knowing Haddaman’s flavorful words would no longer taste as sweet to young Mahlakore.

  Once her horse paralleled Iderion’s, Dearborn leaned toward him and said, “I have my concerns about bringing a civilian along with us on a mission. First we allow Prince Oremethus to scout ahead, and now this.”

  “First, Prince Oremethus is well trained and so are the soldiers who are accompanying him. Second, are we talking about any civilian, or just this particular civilian?” Iderion replied.

  “I truly doubt he has joined us for the good of king and country. And that is even if he knows the workings of The Scorched Sea, as he claimed repeatedly, to lead us along the best path to get the stone. If the stone even exists.”

  Iderion sighed while a slight smirk crept across his face. “As much as you may wish it so, a man’s intentions cannot be revealed by simply pulling away a curtain.”

  Eyes sparking like a flint strike, Dearborn glared at her superior. “So you’re saying a woman’s intentions can be revealed in such a manner?”

  Iderion let loose a belly laugh that caused his horse’s knees to creak. “That’s why I love having you as my sergeant!”

  “Love … what?” Dearborn all but stuttered as her skin blanched to the color of snow, her heart fluttered like the moth wings in her stomach.

  “Your views and thoughts are so contrary, so fresh! You force me to perform at my best, even when I think I need not.”

  “I … I … was just … I …”

  “What I meant was there is only one way we will find out what his true intentions are. We simply must wait. His true intentions will be known soon enough. He claims to have seen a map to the stone, and I am willing to take him at his word.”

  Scolding herself for getting flustered like a schoolgirl, she regained control of her senses. “But … what if his intentions are simply for his own benefit, becoming ultimately disruptive to our mission.”

  “Dearborn, even the pup Mahlakore knows the sole reason our guest is with us is for personal, financial reward.”

  “That motivation I cannot trust.”

  “Come now, Sergeant. What man … I mean, person … would be fool enough to cross forty specially trained soldiers carrying a small armory?”

  “I still cannot trust him.”

  Dearborn’s last statement was lost on Iderion; he instead paid great heed to the forest line. As soft as a butterfly’s whisper, the mighty general commanded his horse to a firm stop and raised his fist, demanding his troops do the same. He squinted, focusing deep into the forest border; his nostrils flared, drawing in the restless valley air. Every bird flit through the leaves, every rabbit shuffle through the brush echoed like thunder as Iderion concentrated, looking for what set the scenery amiss. There, beyond the first dozen layers of trees, he saw movement, unnatural and awkward. Ominous figures on steeds deemed worthy of further investigation.

  As if Iderion possessed his horse’s very soul, it moved with the grace of a strand of silk floating on a gossamer breeze. Crossing the forest threshold first, Iderion signaled to his troop to do the same. Slow and steady, every member breached the forest with ease, the crunching of leaves nothing more than nature readjusting itself.

  Iderion surmised the mysterious riders were unaware of his troop’s presence. Ten riders, single file, all in various sorts of armor with hoods cloaking their faces. His plan was simple: follow the strange caravan until they strayed off the path. But Iderion unfastened every tie to every dagger, every sword, every crossbow anyway.

  “What are we doing?” Haddaman’s voice shook the tranquil forest with the force of a falling tree. No sooner h
ad the words escaped his lips when an arrow whistled through the air, sinking into the tree nearest Iderion.

  “Scatter!” Iderion barked by the time two more arrows struck nearby trees.

  Training dictated that when ambushed, even if it was caused by an ignorant civilian, the unit should fall back. Dearborn used the environment for protection and tried to keep a solid view of any and all members of the team for an immediate reconnoiter. She turned her mount in enough time to see a barrage of arrows tear through the neck of Haddaman’s horse. With a gurgled whinny, the animal experienced a spasm, its front legs giving way. Haddaman’s fate to fall with the beast seemed sealed, and Dearborn would have loved to leave him with that, except her reflexes forced her to grab his arm and pull him onto her steed. However, she made no attempt to hide her feelings on the matter. “Dolt!”

  “How was I to know that was going to happen?” he replied.

  “Tale after tale I had to endure from that filth-pit mouth of yours about one great adventure after another. Surely, a worldly man such as yourself could have understood the actions of our general!”

  “I … I … have never seen such a tactic before …”

  “Staying quiet until we ascertain the threat level of strangers? That is quite the strange tactic indeed.”

  “But …”

  “Haddaman, enough! I have heard more intelligent remarks from the back side of my horse!”

  Dearborn seethed, her muscles tensing, as her ride galloped without direction, weaving among the trees. Haddaman, hands on her shoulders, waited for the slightest ease of her stress before he muttered, “But at least I’m versed well enough in military tactics to know you should never lose sight of your battalion members in situations such as this.”

  She felt his fingers twitch as her muscles transformed from wood to steel. Even though his life was in peril two fold, from the mysterious marauders from whom they fled as well as from his new riding partner, she imagined he felt a mild sense of satisfaction.

  Dearborn pulled on the reins. With a muffled whinny and a few grunts, her steed stopped, awaiting the next command. Spinning the horse, Dearborn peered through the trees, squinting as best she could, but to her chagrin, Haddaman’s statement was accurate.

  Now what? she thought. However, that question was answered by Haddaman, “Sword!”

  Faster than the speed of thought, Dearborn brought her blade to her head, blocking similar steel from cleaving her skull.

  “Again! Again!” Haddaman screamed into her ear. And again she parried another strike. Horses whinnying, attacker growling, and Haddaman screaming forced her to release a dire bellow as well. Manipulating the reins with one hand, she used her other to slash with her sword. Doing a controlled sidestep and a spin, her steed moved far enough for Dearborn to view her opponent in full. Sitting atop a malnourished and angry looking beast was another beast shaped like a man. Dark shreds flapped in the breeze, but Dearborn was unable to tell if it was tattered clothing or the man-creature’s flesh. His skin was clay gray while his eyes were only a shade darker. Inky puss poured from his pores while the stench of death rippled the air around him.

  “Aim for the head!” Haddaman yelled as Dearborn ordered her steed closer. Her sword was blocked as she strove to sever her opponent’s arm.

  “The head! The head!” Haddaman screamed again.

  Blocking her prior attack was exactly what Dearborn wanted the creature to do, allowing her to plunge her sword through the center of its chest—to no avail.

  “Higher! Strike higher!” Haddaman continued.

  Loathing the idea that her detestable riding partner may actually be right, she relinquished her sword, now stuck in the creature’s chest, and brandished her short sword, driving it through the bottom of the creature’s chin, the tip poking through his skull. After a full twist, she lifted the hilt, causing its face to fall free from the rest of its head.

  “Do you not know your anatomy, woman? Or was my instruction too complicated?” Haddaman admonished.

  “One more biting comment and I shall have my sword demonstrate how well I know anatomy,” Dearborn replied as she retrieved her sword right before the dead creature’s steed rode off. “And how did you know stabbing it in the chest would be useless?”

  “I didn’t. I just know to go for the head. You always go for the head when facing an unknown creature. And I thought you were the professional. I can now see why you’re only a sergeant and Iderion’s a general.”

  Iderion? Iderion! Dearborn thought. So worried, she retraced her tracks without so much as an ill thought toward Haddaman’s insult.

  The sounds of fighting came from all directions, but scanning what she could of the horizon, Dearborn was unable to see anyone, friend or foe.

  “Haddaman,” she said, “do you see anything?”

  “Trees,” came the curt response. “Now I suggest you find the largest one and we put our backs to it. I’ll watch one side and you can watch the other. Then …”

  “Haddaman, I am going back to look for the other members of my team. You can either watch for enemies or stay here and hug the tree of your choosing. Which will it be?”

  “And I suppose it goes without saying that you will not be stopping to let me off this horse. Correct?”

  “Correct,” she said as she urged her mount onward. “Now I suggest you hold your tongue.”

  Picking her way from tree to tree, the landscape scrolled around her as if she stood still and the land itself were moving. In her mind, Dearborn failed to draw a breath, but her mount breathed deeply and exhaled in long plumes of steam. The smell of freshly turned loam clung in her nostrils. The waiting was intolerable. Her mind raced and whirled, but one thought was constant, Iderion, where are you?

  Just when she was sure she could bear no more, she made out several figures from the corner of her eye. Ahead were two men, lying on the ground and taking up a defensive standpoint behind several fallen trees, in the joint of the crossed trunks. Closing on their position, Dearborn made out that both men wielded crossbows. The Elite Troop boasted several fine crossbowmen, and much to her relief, she recognized the two men as her own. Barrett was the closer of the two, and from this distance she wasn’t quite sure who the other member was, but she could discern the crossfire they were laying out.

  And aren’t I quite the target, she thought, mounted on a horse and tall as I please.

  “Haddaman,” she whispered. I am going to maneuver behind that tree about forty feet to the left. I need you to watch behind us.”

  “Yes,” he replied.

  She would have liked to make comments regarding his sudden terseness, but no time for such foolishness now. Our lives depend on our stealth, she reminded herself, and then let her warrior instincts take over. She knew she needed to dismount the horse if she was to make herself a less obvious target, but she was loath to give up the speed it promised. And she still needed to find Iderion.

  From behind a tree, she waited and observed the projectile exchange taking place. Her horse was bred for combat and stood still as if sensing what was required of him. Nervously, she patted its neck as she watched Barrett and Glindos, another newer recruit, work their crossbows.

  “Make sure you keep a sharp eye on our flank, Haddaman. It would not do to have someone circle around us,” she whispered.

  “I am quite aware of that tactic. Rest assured my eyes are never still. Since we’re not hiding like I suggested, then at what point do you intend to join your comrades there? I’m assuming your hand could help turn the tide.”

  “I possess no ranged weapons, Haddaman. And I would bear more quills than a porcupine before I ever got close.”

  “Then you simply plan to stay here and wait? Sounds like we’re hiding. Like I suggested,” he said, his voice rising a little too loudly for her liking.

  “Well, Haddaman, it seems your little display of elocution got us noticed,” she hissed as Glindos threw a worried look in their direction. He gave a slight wave and h
eld up a few fingers briefly, indicating the number of attackers with whom he and Barrett dealt. The distance between them and the brevity of the movement caused her to miss the number, though it was clearly five or less. Having made his display of information, Glindos turned his attention back to the task at hand, though Dearborn could see him lean slightly towards Barrett conveying information to the other man.

  “Haddaman, we need to move. The enemy probably already noticed our little exchange and this spot won’t stay safe for much longer.”

  “Sergeant, do you mean to say that you are deserting those men?”

  She turned full to face him. “Not at all. I am going to drop you off over there and you can follow that line of trees right over to that edge of their barricade. You do know how to load a crossbow, yes?”

  “Of course! One does not live through as many adv …”

  At this, she instructed her mount to move in the direction she indicated.

  “Good! They seem to have things pretty much under control, but you can load the weapons for them and allow them both to fire. That should be all they need. Oh, and Haddaman, don’t forget you have a sword at your hip, if you know how to use it.”

  “Where will you be?” he asked as he slipped off the horse’s rump behind a very stout and majestic looking oak.

  “To take stock of the rest of the situation. Someone else needs me. I can just feel it,” she said as she let her heels tap her mount’s flanks. “I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Delightful,” he smiled and then focused his attention on his surroundings. After several long seconds, he pushed himself from the oak tree and, starting from a crouch, began a winding series of dodges and loops, whirling from one tree to the next as if in a dance for his life. He slowed his hectic pace and slid behind a tree not fifteen feet from his final destination. As he rounded the small maple, he bumped into the back of a horrible creature. Haddaman gasped as the beast turned to confront him. It was bipedal and had two long arms, but its skin was a pasty green and covered with hundreds of tiny holes, much like oversized pores. The eyes were solid black and sunken, and they disappeared behind their lids as the creature’s entire body began to swell and puff up like a blowfish. Haddaman did a tuck and roll around the tree with what little grace his out of shape body would allow, but with a speed that even he did not quite believe.