The Devil's Grasp

by Chris Pisano

  Every soldier felt their soul turn to ice once they realized their tactical error. The demons weren’t buffoons—they were chess masters. The Elite Troop wasted time, ammunition, and energy on the pawns while the king and his court casually approached.

  Twenty-four

  The trap was set. Daedalus felt it, knew his cousins cavorted with deception, knew they participated in clandestine dealings. With whom, he did not know, but he had every intention of finding out. He stroked the Nessian Valley constrictor slithering across his lap, admiring the black diamond patterns in its tan scales. While it certainly couldn’t be listed as a strong point of his, patience, it seemed, could be counted among his virtues when a long-term goal demanded it.

  Daedalus still felt the adrenaline course through his body—the anger, the agitation—from Perciless discovering his ruse. His brother dug into him like a woodcarver with a virgin block and discovered the truth. Now he intended to do the same with his cousins. Two Southland adders slid over his shoulders and over the constrictor. Daedalus ran his fingers over each as they slithered across.

  The snakes were meant to give him an advantage in the impending conversation. Tallia was the smarter of the two cousins, and Daedalus hoped to diminish that cunning she had with the snakes. He knew what secret meaning the snakes held for her.

  Then came a rap at the door.

  “Enter,” Daedalus commanded.

  Tallon and Tallia strode into the room; Tallon staying at the threshold of the antechamber, Tallia glided to him like the angel he knew her to be.

  As soon as he saw her and felt the serpents across his skin, his mind slipped. His room blurred and melted away to the forest just outside the castle …

  … He was fifteen years old again, holding Tallia’s teenaged hand as he led her through the trees and brush. He held an oil lantern with his other hand to fend off the approaching twilight.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I want to show you something,” he replied. His heart swelled with pride and excitement; he was able to feel it throb within his fingertips.

  “It’s dark and getting cold, Daedalus.”

  “Almost there. I’m … I’m very proud of this. It took me years to create this.”

  Tallia sighed. “Very well. How much farther, though?”

  Just as she finished her question, they stopped. “Here. We’re here.”

  Tallia looked down and saw a large circular pallet. Daedalus bent down and moved it aside to reveal a hole, larger in diameter than a man was tall. Confused, Tallia peered in and only saw movement. Squirming? Then Daedalus moved closer, the light from the lantern showed Tallia what was in the hole. She screamed.

  “What?” Daedalus asked.

  “Snakes!” Tallia shrieked.

  “Yes,” Daedalus replied, puffing out his chest, proud of his accomplishment. “There are over a hundred in there from various nonpoisonous species.”

  “Snakes? Why would you think I’d want to see snakes?”

  “But, my angel, while you were nursing me back to health after my riding accident, you had suggested that if I understood the animals and people lower than me, then maybe I wouldn’t have as much contempt for them. After that, I started with the one animal with which I felt a kinship.”

  Tallia barely heard a word as her eyes refused to look anywhere other than the hole. Daedalus sought the approval of his angel, hoping to win her heart and her love. He had hoped this moment would bring them closer, show her that he wanted her to understand him and love him. Instead, she stared into the pit and mumbled, “Snakes. So vile.”

  Daedalus set the lantern down and realized one thing—if she wouldn’t give him her love, he’d have to take it.

  Tallia watched with rapt unease for what seemed like hours, unable to remove her gaze from the very thing that disgusted her. She finally turned to see Daedalus standing before her naked, his erection pointing at her like a poisoned dagger. The dim lantern flame mixed with the forest’s darkening shadows cast a sinister pall upon her cousin, his skin as white as a corpse. His eyes revealed he was just as lifeless. As swift and quiet as death, he lunged at her, reaching for her, his lips stealing hers. She wanted to scream and vomit, but could do neither as her instinct to back away took over. Too close to the pit, she teetered on the edge. Daedalus reached out to save her. So filled with angst, she recoiled, landing her in the serpent pit.

  Everything she ever feared congealed in her heart. An infernal squirming mass moved about her, over her, around her. She lay in a bed of moving scales, blanketed by perverse lechery. Snakes moved through her blouse until it no longer covered her, her skirts and bloomers as well. All her body allowed her to do was breathe, and at that moment, she sincerely wished not to.

  She felt Daedalus squirm about as well; his skin far more chilled than any serpent slithering around her. His hands stroked her hair, but it could have easily been tiny ribbon snakes weaving their way through. His tongue found hers, only to be replaced by a serpent blacker than the looming midnight sky. The snakes crawled across her body just as Daedalus did. She couldn’t distinguish scales from skin, motion from stillness, soft from hard, what was on her or in her. She could no longer differentiate the hissing of a hundred snakes from one lone viper whispering, “I love you. I love you. I love you …”

  “… I love you,” Daedalus whispered, mind back with his body in his chambers. His body slouched down in his receiving chair. Sweat streamed from his forehead, and his tongue dried. His lustful panting was that of sexual release, the same release from his memory, as he stared at Tallia. However, her reaction was not one that he imagined.

  Tallia watched Daedalus’s demeanor and knew exactly what memory he relived.

  And she snapped.

  Like prey turned predator, she strode to him and snatched an adder from his lap. While gritting her teeth, she used both hands to twist the snake’s head. It hissed and twitched, its tail flying about wildly, until its eyes bulged and tongue flopped free. She dropped the snake carcass at her cousin’s feet and returned to her brother, who tried to hide his shock with a stone expression, but couldn’t stop his eyes from widening in surprise.

  Incensed more than ever in his life, Daedalus’s sweat froze and the ripples of pleasure turned to waves of ire. He sat up in his chair bellowing, “How dare you!”

  “Shut it, mouse. Your words are worth less than pig slop,” Tallia yelled, spittle glistening her lips.

  Daedalus stood from his chair. “You unappreciative little whore! I’ll …”

  “Do nothing,” Tallon interrupted, charging into the room from the antechamber, ready to protect his sister. It was now Tallia’s turn to be surprised. “Because you can’t. You can never be king of Albathia, so you pretend to be king of your own little world made of feces and filth. You fancy yourself a great tactician, because you intend to stab your father in the back, however, you have the strategic ability of a four-year-old snit. You’re willing to bring down an entire empire to get Daddy’s attention, because he doesn’t love you as much as your brothers.”

  No sooner than the words left his mouth, Tallon took Tallia by the arm and turned their backs on their cousin, leaving before he could react.

  Daedalus moved from anger and hatred to a primal rage. He could no longer form words, only harrowing howls as he dropped to his knees from his chair.

  Panting, he stared at his door. Had he gone mad? Was this another of his fantastic visions of the past? Foul magic? A temperamental dream? He turned to his snakes, still squirming over his chair, and saw the dead one on the floor.

  The world was a place rife with possibilities. Daedalus reached out with his right hand and picked up the limp form of the dead snake at his feet. He stroked its body at length.

  He rarely knew defeat from any other side other than that of the victor. They were his kin, so Tallon and Tallia should have, by all rights, been capable of such clever trickery. No, not defeat. Tallon and Tallia had just hit him with surprise
, but that was a one-time deal. His plans were still intact and with their trump card played, they could never one up him again.

  Still, he needed to know with whom they cavorted. Who knew what treachery he preached? Who could have emboldened the twins to the point of such blatant spurn? Clearly this person or persons had to be dealt with swiftly and with harsh reprise. Who could it be? Certainly, if his father knew, Daedalus, his status as a prince notwithstanding, would have been imprisoned for the good of the kingdom. That ruled out the king. Oremethus was preoccupied with other tasks and had been gone for some time. It was unlikely that he would have gleaned such knowledge from any of his companions; simple fighters that they were. Perciless … well, he had certainly gone rogue, which was out of character for him. He had, however, shown little interest in their cousins, and Daedalus, to be sure, had monopolized much of their time. It seemed very unlikely that Perciless would have had any opportunity to foster such a surreptitious relationship. Certain parts didn’t seem to fit, though he scrutinized the facts as he spun them to and fro in his mind looking for possible connections. Clearly, though, he could not rule Perciless out. And what of Praeker Trieste? He was an eldritch figure with a largely unknown power base at his disposal. Ahhh, he represented the obvious choice. Daedalus had learned early on never to be too comfortable with the apparent; a fixation that often led to unexpected failure; an acceptance of mediocrity; a pair of blinders that he chose not to wear.

  Action was called for, and he strained to keep himself under control. Anger caused his adrenaline to surge, and his muscles rippled with a compulsion to act. But purposeless movement would only open him up to further attacks. He needed a plan. He could ill afford to be rash, though he relished the challenge of exposing a double cross. Improvisation said a lot about character, and Daedalus loved to dare himself impromptu-style.

  Daedalus wove his way through secret corridors and seldom-used chambers, moving like the spiders skittering along the cobwebs found in every corner. However, the dust and dirt of the unused rooms forced him to pull his cloaks tight to his skin, lest they attract the impurities. Finally, he reached his destination.

  He found the stables just as displeasing, even his own private one cleaned thrice as many times per day as any other. No matter, he had a task to complete. Once he finished preparing his horse, he rode off.

  The bright day sun stung his eyes, such a contrast to his dank world. He cursed the brightness the entire ride, until the sun approached the horizon. Most people would view the twilight reds and oranges as breathtaking. Daedalus viewed them as less annoying. He pushed his steed well into the forest until it began to tire. However, the horse reared and fretted as they made their way deeper into the forest. Frustrated and angered by his horse’s fear, Daedalus tethered the foul beast to a tree and continued the remainder of his journey on foot, cursing the rest of the way. His destination—Praeker Trieste’s camp.

  The motley soldiers sang and shouted, whooped and hollered. Jowls flopped as they ate, or fists flew, trying to steal the food from the neighboring soldier’s greasy mouth. Such conditions repulsed Daedalus, but he flexed his muscles to keep his riling stomach from rejecting its contents and strode to the edge of the madness, finding the one he sought.

  “Praeker Trieste!” he shouted. What was he doing? This was madness! He should turn and leave while he still laid claim to his life. But the words of his cousins echoed through his head. “Mouse.” “Pig slop.” “Snit.” Were they true? No! They could not be! And Daedalus was bound and determined to prove them wrong!

  With the wave on one hand, the monstrous general commanded his troops to remain at bay. The armor made of emerald, shelled scorpions danced and fussed and hissed, their fervor reflecting their master’s mood. His bloodshot eyes beheld the waif-prince and weighed the options of killing him now.

  “How dare you!” Daedalus snapped, spittle spraying from his mouth. “I gave you everything you asked for. Every weapon you needed. Only one road leads to Albathia, and that road goes through me!”

  Mouse.

  Pig slop.

  Snit.

  “Mark my words, General, if I find you’re working with anyone else, it’s over. If you have other dealings behind my back, all supplies shall cease! You will be cut off!”

  Mouse.

  Pig slop.

  Snit.

  “And don’t think for a second that I need you! I’ve been financing your expedition, been paving the way for your destruction for over a year. With no results! This is your final warning!”

  With a final snort of discontent, Daedalus turned on his heel and strode from camp, walking among wide eyes and dropped jaws. All noises ceased, too afraid to announce their presence, save for the chattering scorpions. Once Daedalus made sufficient distance from camp, every soldier turned in stunned silence to their leader. How could he have taken such verbal abuse from such a spoiled fop? And then let him leave with his life? Without so much as a retort?

  “We attack Phenomere in three days.”

  With those six words, Praeker Trieste returned to his tent, leaving behind the throng of celebratory shouts.

  Twenty-five

  Blood sprayed into the sky and rained back down to the ground, flowing like rivers through the forest. Men battled demons—swords clashed with claws while teeth challenged armor. Arrows whistled and bucklers whined. Howls and growls ripped through the trees; the forest trembled.

  Through the din, orders from both sides of the battle could be heard: “Flank here, fallback there, press the formation now! Bend, never break! We have trained for this, men! We always knew hell had a place for us, and now it’s here to take us! Brethren, these mortal fools befouled the sacred stone we were meant to protect! Cleanse the world of this filth!”

  Men turned to animals, and demons turned to flesh and bone. The stench of gore turned the air to warm broth, overbearing to any not locked in combat. Every creature fighting wore the blood and the sick and the ooze of their enemy, bathed in the merciless hate.

  Dearborn battled with a ferocity she hardly thought capable. She knew she could rise to any challenge, but protecting an enchanted stone from a horde of hellspawn? Never in her most ghoulish of nightmares. She finished her melee by driving her long sword through her combatant’s chest, and her short sword through his skull, via its jaw. Releasing the carcass, she turned to aid Iderion, but he forbade her.

  “The prince!” he shouted.

  Hating to leave him and the few remaining soldiers in battle, she knew her place, knew her duty, and sprinted to the tent where the prince hid. She slaughtered two smaller demons along the way, but it did little to quell the nausea roiling around like anxious worms in her stomach. Before entering the tent, she scooped up a smoothed pebble the size of her thumb and clenched in it her palm.

  The prince jumped and screamed as she burst through the flap of his tent. He swung wildly with a dagger no larger than a common steak knife. A sight she must have been: her long hair slick, clumped, and matted from various coagulated fluids. Her skin the color of whatever dripped from it. Chunks of meat and strands of sinew clung to her body. A coating of oozing mucus sheened her entire person.

  “My lord, the battle does not fare well. It is time for you to go,” Dearborn said approaching.

  “But the stone?” the prince replied, clutching a small bag in his other hand.

  “That is why you must leave. To protect it.” To emphasize her point, she snatched the bag from his hand and emptied it, the Satan Stone falling into the palm of her hand. The prince’s eyes fixated on it, hypnotized by a beauty only he could see.

  “Yes, the stone,” Oremethus repeated. “Protect the stone.”

  “Prince!” Dearborn snapped, causing him to move his gaze from the stone to her eyes, white islands tipped with blue in a repulsive sea of crimson and brown. She slid the plain pebble into the bag and shoved the bag into his hand. “Go. Now!”

  Little argument was needed to make the prince acquiesce. Espec
ially when the tent wall split in half, replaced by countless rows of gnashing teeth in a vertical mouth. After rending the tent to rags, the demon roared, lashing out with its tongue of squirming snakes.

  Thanking the gods this monster had no more intelligence than that of a field mouse, Dearborn cleaved through its skull with her long sword. The body twitched, and its flailing tongues wrapped around her waist as she wiped its brains from her sword.

  The prince had escaped. Dearborn watched his steed gallop away with every ounce of speed it possessed. Unfurling her fingers, she looked at the Satan Stone in her palm. She wanted one last look at what damned her, her soldiers, and possibly all the lands to hell. It glowed orange and yellow as if it captured the flames of the netherworld itself. Spitting blood from her mouth, she put the stone in a small pocket and buttoned it. The battle for this thing would end now!

  Dearborn raced into the fray. Five figures remained: herself and Iderion, the only survivors of the Elite Troop, and three demons. As she charged, one of the demons confronted her, a serpent hybrid. The creature had the tail of a giant snake, but chest and arms of a human, while its head was of an alligator. With no weapons in hand, it slithered toward Dearborn and attacked with its teeth. She easily dodged the frontal assault, but not the tail. Cracking like a whip, it snapped her across her chest plate, knocking her off balance. Possessing a speed she had never before witnessed, the serpent creature pressed forward. Dearborn avoided its teeth and claws, but the tail proved too much, knocking both short sword and long sword from her hands. In one fluid motion, the creature wrapped its tail around Dearborn’s legs and waist. In an effort to halt the assault, she grabbed the tip of its tail with both hands.