The Devil's Grasp

by Chris Pisano

  Daedalus refused to speak, though it wasn’t due to the warlord’s whim. He refused to give the much larger man the satisfaction of hearing him croak from a throat desiccated by fear. He chose, instead, to let this further fuel his anger. In time, after Praeker had served his purpose, he would see that the warlord received his due recompense for his display of impudence. For the nonce, at least he had learned a thing or two about the man’s character and volatility. He could stomach the shame of his seeming servitude as long as these direct meetings were not lengthy.

  By the time his mount was settled back firmly on the ground, Daedalus had regained enough composure, accompanied by the requisite amount of saliva, to allow for normal speech so he could once again address the chieftain before him, though he still refused to dismount. “Quite a compelling display. It must garner an unforgettable respect among your troops.”

  “We have dispensed with the pleasantries, remember?” Praeker growled. “Now, where were we? We were discussing the unauthorized loss of my troops. Since I had to pay a price, dear Prince, so shall you. I need better weapons for my troops. Something fabricated wholly of steel. There will be great resistance from many towns as word of my quest spreads. I require something that will narrow the margin of disadvantage that many of my men will face in the coming months.”

  “Praeker, the majority of our weapons are as I have previously provided—polearms with hafts of stout wood. Have they not served you well that you make this request? Though it may be possible to satisfy such a request, the count on such weapons is closely monitored. It may not be feasible to provide you with them in the amounts that you seek.”

  “Very well. Consider this my display of faith. I shall modify my tactics to compensate for the inferiority of our weapons until such time as I have cause to doubt you. Pray that never happens, Prince.”

  At this, the mountainous man moved off, three strides taking him to the edge of the trees that seemed about ten paces off to Daedalus’s eye. Before entering the obscurity of their shade, Praeker turned back to address Daedalus once more. “Oh yes. And remember to let me know the whereabouts of this Elite Troop of yours. I will allow them one more small victory at your suggestion. In the meantime, you may wish to send the crown prince your farewells if you were close to him.”

  He remained in view for but a moment, then was quickly swallowed amongst the trees with which he shared a similarity of stature.

  “Well now,” whispered Daedalus to himself as he urged his mare towards the area he had designated as a meeting place for his cousin confidants, “I wonder if he is more properly feared as an ally or an adversary? He will need to be dealt with sooner than anticipated, I think. Time to place a few bribes before this game of chance gets too heavily weighted against my favor.”

  Daedalus rode slowly and took a longer route than he originally had planned. It simply would not do to show up in a rush, nor would he allow himself to be seen by human eyes until he was completely composed. The meeting with Praeker Trieste had left him more than a little unnerved, though his calm demeanor returned as he began to outdistance the incident. Having sweat, from contemptible nerves nonetheless, made him feel positively indecent.

  He approached the designated rendezvous point at a controlled cantor. Even over the sound of the hoofbeats, he could hear his cousins engaged in conversation before he could see them.

  “I’m beginning to worry, Tallon. It may be like him to keep us waiting, but this is excessive. Given the situation, I think it best that one of us go to look for him.”

  “Tallia, I just think it is unwise to separate. What if something …?”

  “But one of us should wait here in case he shows up in the meantime, Tallon. How would it look if Daedalus arrived and neither of us was here?”

  “It would look like we simply got tired of waiting for him, Tallia. We can either be concerned for his safety or we can be worried about appearances, but we can’t do both. It simply isn’t practical.”

  “Since when,” Daedalus called out, “have either of you ever concerned yourselves with what is practical?”

  “Daedalus! Your belated arrival had us concerned. We were simply discussing whether one or both of us should go looking for you and …”

  “Your concern is touching, dear Cousin, but as you can plainly see, it is quite unnecessary. I am well. I simply found other matters that required my immediate attention. Those matters have been addressed, and now, here I am,” Daedalus said. “Shall we talk next of the weather, or should we concern ourselves with why we are here?”

  “Ever the diplomat, eh, Daedalus?”

  “Time is a valuable asset, Tallon, a limited resource and best not squandered. Now, what news do you bring me? Is everything proceeding according to plan? Or is improvisation the word of the day?”

  “After Tallon and I had spent many hours talking with many of the king’s advisors, it seems a safe bet that your father has no idea the capitol is a target of The Horde, Daedalus,” Tallia said with a curtsy. “The path to victory is a wide swath with nary an obstacle.”

  “Excellent. Most excellent. Whatever your failings, Tallia, you do know how to begin a conversation. Pray proceed …”

  Nine

  “Look, Nevin,” Silver said in a hush, slightly louder than a whisper, “all I’m saying is that it seems a little more than coincidental that these wizards appear out of nowhere at a time that was critical to our survival; thus, encouraging us to ask fewer questions out of gratitude.”

  Standing on a bluff a half-day’s walk from Balfourd’s Bounty, the three thieves, finding themselves without wizardly presence for the moment, saw their opportunity to discuss their individual concerns regarding their new companions.

  “They knew who we are. They knew what we are hunting. They even have one of the blasted stones themselves! Then, there has been nothing but trouble since we met them. Not to mention the fact that they allowed those people to die without lifting a finger,” Silver said, all but frothing at the mouth.

  “Silver, we are guilty of the same crime.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Nevin’s face was more scored than lined: the creases seemed like crevasses. Though deep in the heart of discussion, Silver did not allow his friend’s haggard appearance to be lost on him. The elf was normally reticent, but lately he had been flat out uncommunicative. Though Silver and Diminutia had presented Nevin with a form of leadership, he had never willingly accepted any power, and the triumvirate functioned as such. Since Balfourd’s Bounty, however, Nevin had been uncharacteristically dictatorial. Not in a mean-spirited way, Silver thought; it was just so alien to him and Diminutia, who was so laid back that crows would eat crumbs from his chest as he clucked to them. And now Nevin drew a parallel between the thieves and the wizards? Could he not see that the wizards had much more at their disposal to help those people than three ordinary men with a knack for acquiring what was otherwise not for barter?

  “Silver?” Nevin asked. “I am used to that look from Bale, but you generally seem to have a greater facility for the language. Does the blank look mean that you agree and we can end this pointless discussion? All this clamoring saps my spirit.”

  “Um … yeah, I guess. Hey, listen, Nevin. You don’t look so good. Is everything all right?”

  “Of course,” Nevin mumbled dismissively. “But we have to find that stone. At first I figured this was all just a big joke, a silly distraction and a way to stretch our legs until we found a legitimate heist. It was not so long ago that we acquired this map. But it seems like a lifetime has passed. Can’t you feel that, Silver? The world has changed, my friend, and probably not for the better. And those who fail to participate are lost.”

  “That’s exactly my point: we did fail to participate in Balfourd’s Bounty. We could have helped those people and …”

  “Silver, there is honor and chivalry in your conscience, and I admire that. Perhaps we could have saved two or three lives. But if we fail to find this stone, ma
ny thousands will die. It isn’t about us matching wits with an ogre and his band of miscreants anymore.”

  “Nevin, those people were innocent and …”

  “In my experience,” piped up Belhurst, appearing announced and uninvited, “innocence is not a label one tosses about arbitrarily. Most people are anonymous and unknown to us, but seldom are they innocent.”

  “What do you want?” Silver snapped.

  Maintaining a patient tone, Belhurst answered, “It was not so long ago that I engaged in this very same argument with my peers, and I took a posture precisely as you have. Then I was entrusted with the Shadow Stone. In a matter of moments, I had to adopt the same philosophy as Nevin. Since I could not dam the tide of events to come, I had to find a way to divert the floodwaters. It is not long before the deluge, Silver.”

  “Make no mistake, wizard, I am not like you, nor will I ever be. I am along for this adventure solely because my friends are,” Silver said before turning his back to the wizard.

  His head still slightly bowed, Nevin addressed the wizard without looking in his direction. “Before we begin anew in the morning, you should divulge the secrets of the stone that you carry. Forewarned is forearmed, after all.”

  The mage looked around the campsite. Night covered all, save the small portion interrupted by the embers of the dying fire. He gestured to the sleeping forms of their companions as they lay semi-obscured amidst the tall grass or behind boulders. “Perhaps we should sleep first and talk when our minds have more clarity.”

  “Insomnia is not a condition unique to you, wizard, and there will be no peace for me until I can still my restive mind.”

  “Very well,” said Belhurst, casting glances all about him. “Ah,” he exclaimed when he found a stick that was to his liking, and then gestured for the two thieves to join him. The spot he had chosen consisted of a patch of bare ground upon which he could draw mock maps, then cover them up with relative ease.

  “We are here,” he began, using a pebble to indicate the spot. “Beyond this copse of trees to our left is a large expanse of broken lands before the mountain range. Beyond the mountain range is The Scorched Sea. My best estimation is a journey of two nights, assuming the way is clear and we suffer no setbacks.”

  “Does that allow for that damnable cart of yours, or are you finally coming to your senses enough to leave it?” Silver asked.

  “We can expect to pass through the rest of these lands with relative ease of movement. Though the land itself plays to our disadvantage, it is very conducive to sneak attacks,” Belhurst continued, ignoring Silver’s question. “I believe it may behoove us to have you thieves scout ahead.”

  Silver grunted and looked around. He disdained the wizard too much to give him his undivided attention for any period of time. But it was at this moment that a small patch of the sky attracted his interest. It was a clear night, and the stars were visible everywhere. Everywhere except over Belhurst’s left shoulder. With a double blink and a quick rub of his eyes, Silver saw the stars return. Thinking nothing more of the anomaly as his mind’s reaction to his ever-increasing anger, Silver let his thoughts fly. “Let us review your plan. You and your crooked cronies wish to sit back with your cart of great mystery, and even greater uselessness, while us three set off to cross through The Scorched Sea desert with ‘relative ease’ and clear safe passage for you? Does that sum it up all tidy? Should we escort you through Grimwell as well?” Silver shuddered from the word “Grimwell” as soon as it passed over his lips and the horrors that the town possessed.

  Nevin’s muscles tensed as if being cranked tighter by his partner’s very words. He bent his leg, allowing his heel to dig into the ground, and shifted his weight, readying himself to tackle Silver should this heated debate come to blows. When Silver took an ill tone, such as he did with Belhurst, his dagger never lurked far behind.

  Belhurst took things one point at a time. “The cart is hardly mysterious. And its usefulness will undoubtedly be demonstrated before this adventure’s end. The cart merely holds special ingredients.”

  “Ingredients?” Silver emphasized his sarcasm with an indignant snort. “I thought you were magicians, not chefs.”

  “Wizards and chefs are of similar ilk. However, every piece of the world, every word made, every motion of our bodies are all ingredients.”

  “My flatulence holds more meaning than your words! If every word and motion and everything is an ingredient, than why am I not casting a spell now?” Silver mockingly pulled a handful of grass from the ground and threw the loose blades in the air. With all the drama of an actor selling his performance to the balcony seats in a theater, Silver flailed his arms about and wriggled his fingers. A mild sense of discomfort washed through him, thinking his antics might have very well cast a spell, because the stars behind Belhurst’s left shoulder had gone missing again.

  Heaving a sigh that showed Silver was starting to grate his nerves, Belhurst explained his analogy. “Any fool can mix yeast, flour, and sugar into a bowl. But does that make it a pastry? Hardly. It takes training, skill, dedication to learn how to take the measured ingredients and mold them, to take separates and make a whole. And still it does not guarantee that it will be a good pastry, an edible pastry. That is the duty of the chef, the master.”

  Once again, Belhurst went unheard. Silver instead focused on the patch of black behind the wizard. It was difficult to distinguish black from midnight, but the area almost burned Silver’s eyes as he stared at it. Then he blinked, and it was gone. The stars were back.

  “I saw the fireball you used to destroy the spine snake, stopping it from … ahh!” Nevin started, but a prick to the back of his neck interrupted him. Thinking it a mosquito, he reacted with a quick smack, but yielded nothing more than a sting.

  “Something wrong?” Belhurst asked, the tone of his voice contained a trepidation unbefitting the situation. “What happened?”

  “Mosquito,” Nevin replied, examining his hand, wondering how he could have missed.

  “Are you certain?”

  Before Nevin could answer, Silver yelped as he ducked forward, surprised by tickles under each earlobe. His hand so close to the hilt, he brandished his dagger and sliced at the emptiness behind him. He missed. Growling, he said, “There was something behind me. Something … touched … me.”

  “Me as well,” Nevin said.

  Panic washed over Belhurst, hoping he did not know the answers to his questions, “What was it? Were you able to see anything?”

  “I don’t know what it was. I can’t see anything,” Silver replied.

  As did Nevin, “I was stung, but I swatted no insect.”

  “Oh no,” Belhurst mumbled. Unable to pull his gaze from the blackness of night, he stumbled back, his hands franticly searching to arouse his slumbering partners. “Not so soon. They’re finding us faster. Our spells aren’t keeping them at bay.”

  “Who, you daft old man?” Nevin asked.

  “Nevin. Look. The sky …,” Silver whispered. His words started as a shout, but trailed off as uncertainty and fear clogged his throat. He even tried to point, but his limbs had gone numb.

  The stars disappeared, giving one final wink as they left, as fast as anyone could have noticed. The surrounding brush and bushes turned to fine ebon mist and thickened, black skeins unraveling to form a blanket of dark horror. The tree canopies turned to shadow and reached to each other, looking like a murder of ravens flapping blindly, merging into each other until all that could be seen was black.

  “Manulittim!” broke the silence. There stood Follen, no longer a frail, twitchy, old man, but a diminutive warrior in drab clothing, his right hand on fire. Swinging his arm with the grace and precision of a swordsman, he used his flame ensconced hand to cut through the swarthy air. Undulating as if reeling in pain, the blackness pitched a spastic fit and retreated from the fire, everywhere the flame touched.

  Belhurst launched his own attack. A practiced sentence and specific gestures turned
the dying embers of the campfire into a raging inferno. The living darkness backed away more, but still surrounded all sides of the small, lit perimeter.

  “What manner of madness is this? Please tell me I’m still asleep,” Diminutia said, scrambling to his feet as fast as his body would allow. He ran over to his partners as they stood next to the campfire, now spewing impossibly large flames.

  “As nightmarish as this may seem, this is real,” Nevin replied. “Belhurst! What is happening?”

  Ignoring the thief, Belhurst assisted Moxxen and Grymon with the cart, moving it closer to the protective fire. Once in place, Grymon clutched the contents of one of the drawers and whispered to his hand. He unfurled his fingers to expose worms, glowing with the cool, white light of the moon. They floated free from his hand into the air. Each spilt in half, then again, and again, dividing themselves with every heartbeat until they were a dissipating cloud of fine, luminescent sand.

  The darkness screamed and spiraled, unable to avoid the caustic touch of the glowing and growing nebula. The stars returned, unveiling the forest. The darkness tore itself asunder into many creatures the color of pitch, scurrying for cover, fleeing, or occasionally lashing out in desperate frustration, hoping to do some parting damage. They did.

  Confused by the swirling madness, Moxxen lost his footing and stumbled too far from the campfire’s protective embrace. An angry tendril of blackness latched onto the wizard’s back. Tentacles bound his arms and squeezed his throat, forbidding him from using magical defenses. He opened his mouth, gasping for air, but the squirming blackness forced itself inside. Unable to resist, Moxxen swallowed the creature, ingesting it until it was no longer to be seen.

  Belhurst and Grymon bellowed and wailed, remorseful at their loss. Follen extinguished his hand in mournful silence.

  “What is going on?” Diminutia yelled. “One minute it’s dark, and the next it was blacker than … black, like the darkness was alive! Now everything’s back to normal? And what in the name of all that is holy and unholy is happening to Moxxen?”