by Chris Pisano
From his perch, Daedalus watched them march out as well. Watched them march to a grim and certain demise, he thought to himself smugly before setting his feet to the task of walking the escape route he had devised for himself.
Praeker laughed as he watched the king’s guard pour out from the castle gates into the city streets. They offered little resistance. However, it never ceased to amaze him that the first of his army to attack were the humans. Nothing hated a human more than another human. Sure, other creatures in his army plunged headfirst into the throng of armor and weapons as well. Most of those creatures ate their kill, toying with it a bit on a primal level. But humans were different, willing to turn on each other for a few coins and shiny baubles, or for immature notions like revenge and a sadistic need to prove superiority. Whatever the motivation, Praeker’s troops had it.
A dozen members of the hellish army, hefting a blend of wooden-hafted polearms and steel blades of high quality, loitered near the gate as the guard spilled forth. Despite the thrills found in their individual acts of carnage, they stopped and unified with the smoothness of flipping a switch. The guards slammed into a wall of flying fists and feral fur. For every strike The Horde felt from a guard’s sword, they delivered three, often more critical, with their hands, teeth, and claws.
At this juncture, though, the guards had numbers on their side, especially since those leading the charge pushed their way into the streets enough to allow the battalion behind them through. However, The Horde reacted in kind. The guards shouted orders to form flanking formations while The Horde issued their own form of commands through barks and howls. From rooftops, from between buildings, from the skies, The Horde’s members lacked the crispness of training, but they congealed nonetheless.
With frothing fangs and terrible talons, The Horde showed the guards that their numbers were meaningless. The creatures of The Horde tore through armor and tossed it aside as a child would while looking for a favorite toy within a filled box. Shields crumpled like foil and pikes snapped like used toothpicks. From fine mists to gushing gobs, sprays of blood painted the streets. The guards were finished.
Whooping and howling, the remaining Horde battle participants crashed through the open castle gate like a crimson-covered tidal wave. A bevy of riches awaited those who desired wealth. Most of the humans in The Horde chose to continue the slaughter of aristocrats and bureaucrats. One group even found the tax collector and chopped him to bits, one inch at a time, using hot coals to cauterize the fresh cuts. Any time the tax collector passed out from pain, he’d be awoken to streams of fresh urine splashing against his face.
Even those who feasted on the flesh and bones of the rich did so with zeal. Some argued that the wealthy offered a better taste. Others argued that since the rich were nothing more than hot air, they were less filling.
Praeker walked through the gate, straight for the castle. He had business to conduct and was less than amenable to the lone figure who stood between him and the castle. The figure displayed a twisted smile that he felt everyone should love, a smile only a bard could possess. “Good day, sir.”
Praeker drew his emerald sword, its blade so sharp it seemed to slice away layers of air with every flick of the general’s wrist. “Shall I assume you possess a litany of reasons why I shouldn’t flay you?”
“Just one,” the bard said with an easy smile. “You need an advisor.”
Nonplussed, the general strode forward, the tip of his sword level with the bard’s eyes. “I appreciate you not boring me with a long list. However, I have lieutenants to advise me, if I deem advice is needed.”
“Oh yes, lieutenants. Would these be the same ones you’ve had in employ for years who have yet to get you a single stone that you so covet?”
The tip of the blade stopped before the bard. Were he to examine it, his eyes would go cross.
With a snarl, the general lowered his blade and glared pure hatred. “If you know where one is, tell me!”
“Not one. All! Better yet, as your advisor, I will guide you to them.”
Praeker raised his sword again. “I don’t have time for this! Tell me …”
“On the contrary, my General … nay, my King … you have nothing but time. Take a moment of it for your conquest. Their king lays dead upon the cold stone floors of your new castle, and now you need to establish your presence here. Promote lieutenants to governors. Divvy up the lucre to your soldiers. Send messengers to the lands letting the sovereignty know who the new king is. With no sleep, it should take but a day. Of course, if you had an adept advisor, the necessary time would be mere hours.”
The general, soon to be king, growled. The restless scorpions skittered around his body, mimicking Praeker’s fiery mood. He leaned forward, and the stench of death wafted over the bard’s face. “One misstep, Bard … nay, advisor … and I shall feed you to my armor.”
For dramatic effect, the bard placed his palms together and offered a slight bow. “Fair enough, my liege.”
Without further ado, the bard led Praeker to his new castle.
Twenty-nine
The city went up in smoke, fire turning years of labor into smoldering ash. Tallon watched from his window and felt the same thing happen to him. Dealing with a monster, one could only expect the promises made to face a similar demise, he thought. He knew Praeker’s hordes had invaded. But he didn’t know which monster was truly responsible—Praeker or Daedalus?
They should have run away three days ago after their outburst with Daedalus like Tallia suggested. Tallon said to be patient and simply avoid Daedalus for a time. She was right, but there was no time to worry about that. They had to go. Now.
He turned from the window, expecting to see his sister put the finishing touches on their packing. Instead, she sat on the edge of his bed, crying silent tears. Confused, he asked, “What are you doing? Have you finished packing?”
Trying to choke back a gurgled sob, she replied, “It’s over, Tallon. It’s all over.”
Tallon strode to the bed and pulled her to her feet. “No. No, I believe …”
“Believe we can make it out of this with our lives? These castle towers are on fire. Praeker has no intention of keeping his promise to us. And if we make it out unscathed, then what of the streets? And if we make it past Phenomere’s borders, then where? We have no friends, no connections. Daedalus always made sure of that.”
Just the mention of his cousin’s name made Tallon cringe. “We …”
Tallia cut him off again, “Have nothing. Except each other.”
She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, burying her tears in his chest. He returned the embrace, feeling a twisted knot in his stomach over his sister’s emotional malaise. He tried to think of ways to talk her out of this situation, give her hope that they could escape the stifling influence of their cousin. But the mere thought of Daedalus led his memories down a dark and twisted path, to a time when he and Tallia were teenaged. A dreadful night when Tallia had followed the young Daedalus to his snake pit. Tallon watched from his window as she returned, alone and in a staggering stupor, her soul stripped away leaving only a moving corpse. Concerned, he ran from the tower to the back of the castle. Just as he made it outside, he saw her walk to the stables. Wondering what she could possibly want with a horse at that time of night, he skulked over. Then he saw.
She stood in the doorway to the small nook where the stable boys slept. The castle’s stable needed a dozen adolescent men for all the daily duties. Most were fast asleep except for a few exchanging bawdy jokes to fend off slumber. But their tongues fell silent when they noticed a member of the royal family standing in their doorway. Confused, those awake tapped and shook those asleep, hoping someone knew the proper procedure for this. All twelve sat, unsure of what to say to Tallia, just standing there, staring at them with empty eyes. Confident she had their undivided attention, she disrobed.
Still in awe, the stable boys sat frozen. Until one slid off his shirt and shed his pants. Seeing no recou
rse from the young man’s bold move, another followed suit. Then the rest. Certain this was the only way to erase her memory, Tallia threw herself onto the laps of twelve naked, young men.
The stable boys snapped to attention. Some attacked like hungry dogs; some remained more patient, seizing any opportunity that presented itself. All were sated.
Tallia writhed and wiggled, enjoying the ebb and flow of the endless waves of flesh rolling over her, around her, in her. Smiling, she reminded herself that these were examples of men, not that lecherous creature who stole her virginity. She felt Daedalus’s slime within her and prayed that the essence of these young men would mask it, conquer it. Using every man as a scrub, she washed away the dirty memories of her cousin. They filled her with confidence as they filled her with semen, each explosion rocketing her away from her cousin. She replaced the fetid taste of Daedalus with the tastes of satisfied, young men.
Using whatever means necessary, her loins, her hands, her mouth, she took each man twice. Some even three times. And one exceptionally vigorous stable boy five times. She remembered his name for future reference.
Tallon watched. His sister was lost in a sea of sweaty sinew. He knew he should run to tell someone, but his legs refused to move. To his surprise, he watched, with his hands down the front of his pants.
Tallia’s sobs, rather the cessation of her sobs, snapped Tallon back to reality, back to a crumbling world, trapped in a tower under siege. Wondering why she stopped crying, but not wanting to ask, he continued to hold her. Then she shifted in his arms, her thigh purposely rubbing against the erection he was not aware of until now.
Still unsure of what to do, he kept his arms around her, his heartbeat quickening. Then his vision blurred as he felt her hands slide between his thighs and gently fondle him. She pulled away and looked into her brother’s eyes.
Just outside, a weapons cache of oil and alcohol exploded, strokes of fire streaking the air. Neither sibling needed to look out the window to know what happened. They didn’t need to watch the fiery fingers tickle the rooftops leaving trails of flame in their wake. They knew these were their last moments. And they knew of only one way to spend them.
Their lips rushed together as their tongues tussled in a fit of primal urge. Hands clawed at clothing, desperate to reveal hidden treasures. Stripped clean, Tallon pushed Tallia away, to look at her. Tears trickled from his eyes, enraptured by the beauty before him. His body begging for release, he rushed to her again, his lips devouring hers as his initial thrust lifted her from her feet. Holding her buttocks with a death grip, he secured her on him and thrust again. And again, faster, harder, as twenty years of desire he could never act upon, twenty years of hating nature for such a cruel prank of loving the one person he shouldn’t, coursed through his body. The explosion from within him, into her, rivaled yet another eruption from a compromised weapons cache outside. But Tallon didn’t stop. He couldn’t.
With three forceful strides, Tallon guided them to his bed, both bodies flopping on the fur blankets. Again, he pumped hard and fast, her hips moved in rhythm with his every thrust. Tallon climaxed again. And again, he couldn’t stop, still showing his sister how much he loved her.
The heat in the air was palpable, moving over both of their bodies. Were either of them able to tear away from their kiss, they would have seen vapors rippling through the room. And smoke. The heavy curtains caught fire, spreading to nearby chairs and wall tapestries. The ceiling creaked and groaned, attacked by the blaze in this room as well as the inferno in the room above it. The fire spread.
Tallon broke the kiss, shifting Tallia’s ankles to his shoulders, allowing for a deeper embrace. They looked into each other’s eyes as he pounded into her, her body quivering with spasms.
The bed burst into flame, but all either of them saw was love. Embers drifted through the air like searing little moths, landing on their skin. The fire spread to their feet while burning chunks of ceiling fell onto Tallon’s back.
Unable to sustain the weight of the falling rooms above it, the ceiling screamed and collapsed. Tallon leaned into Tallia for one final kiss as crushing planks of burning wood blistered away his skin, eating deeper. The wooden floor shared a similar fate as the ceiling. Weakened from the fire, it too gave way, falling into the room below. Yet Tallon still thrust into his sister for one final release.
Across the courtyard, Daedalus watched his cousins’ tower fall. The roof caught fire from a weapons cache explosion and collapsed, undoubtedly taking every floor with it, gutting the structure from within. He sneered, hoping that both of them were still inside when it happened. Let those who would betray him be taught the lesson of their lives. Or, more aptly put, with their lives. It was obvious that their betrayal led Praeker Trieste to invade the capital ahead of schedule. Not being inflexible, Daedalus shifted his plans as well. He knew that if Praeker had attacked ahead of schedule, then whatever contractual obligation he believed they held was now rendered void.
After Daedalus had offered his brave posturing on the castle parapet, he fled back inside, disposed of his armor, and sought out his father. The old king slouched in his throne as withered as a sun baked prune, gasping for breath after dismissing his council with orders to be completed with haste. Daedalus went to his father and held him, gliding his fingers over his stringy hair. Leaning in, the youngest son whispered into his father’s ear a rash of obscenity-laced words of disdain, ignoring whatever blathering his father attempted, and then slit the old king’s throat. As Daedalus walked away, he actually felt he might have done his father a mercy.
Daedalus wound his way along a seldom-used path away from the wreckage. Never one for superstition or prayer, he did count his blessings since his escape route was ignored by Praeker’s conquerors. Even though Daedalus controlled a lot within the castle walls, he had no friends, only tenuous allies at best, and they were few in number as well. As he skirted from the castle walls, he followed the refuse gulley all the way out of the city, thankful no one else had thought of the idea. As he used his robes to cover his nose and mouth to ward off the stench, he came to the sudden realization that all of his plans would come to an end once he hit the nearby forest. Until a voice came from behind, freezing the blood in his veins. “Fine day for a stroll, hmmm?”
Daedalus spun, wielding a knife he procured from his robes. He looked around seeking the source of the voice, catching sight of a portly man in tattered robes. The man paid no heed to the weapon Daedalus brandished, nor the feral manner with which he was regarded by the prince. Like Daedalus’s knife, the man seemed to appear out of nowhere. “Who are you? State your business!”
Holding his palms out to signify he meant no harm, he took a step forward. “I am but a humble bard, here to help you.”
Daedalus squinted. Never thinking himself one who succumbs to base notions such as fear, he did feel a certain unease from a man smiling in front of a backdrop of a city engulfed in roaring flames and billowing smoke. Daedalus could still feel the heat from the fires, yet the bard’s smile was so pleasant that it seemed he had no inkling as to what was happening behind him. “You know who I am, I assume?”
The bard chuckled so demurely it could be mistaken for a titter. Even though his voice was as soft as rose petals, his words cut like thorns. “I know who you are, Prince Daedalus. I know all about you. I know your dealings with Praeker Trieste. I know your desire to posses the stones.”
“Humble bard, indeed! Even though I have been banished from my home, I would rather no one know of such things. Prepare to lose your tongue, or worse if you struggle,” Daedalus growled as he advanced with his dagger.
Unflinching, the bard simply cleared his throat. When the dagger was close enough to his face that he could fog the metal with his breath, the bard said, “I know where the Sun Stone is.”
Daedalus froze in his tracks. His eyes flitted back and forth, weighing the validity of the statement. Tensing his arm as if to strike, he asked, “Where? Where is it?”
Again, discomfort touched his senses. He sneered as he stepped back and lowered his weapon. “You jest.”
“I do not.”
“Why tell me? Now that I have the information, I could still kill you.”
Smile never once wavering, the bard took a step forward. “Because you need me. Do not forget, I know you have no friends. Do you see that large fir tree?”
Daedalus looked behind him. “I do.”
“Go to that tree. From there, head north fifty paces. You will find a boulder that looks like it does not belong in these woods. A faint footpath from it will lead you to a safe house of mine. Use it as if it were yours. Clean yourself. Eat whatever jerky and jarred foods you find. I will meet you there a half day from now, and we will begin our journey together.”
Confused, Daedalus looked back to the bard. “A half day?”
“I have one last bit of business in the burning city.”
The prince didn’t care to know, so he asked, “What if I don’t wait?”
“No one knows a better path to Grimwell than me, I assure you.”
“Other than being a concerned citizen doting upon his prince, what is it that you seek?”
The bard chuckled again, this time with more substance. “Power, My lord. After you get the Sun Stone, you will be able to retake the kingdom and be its king. I merely wish to be your advisor, enjoying all the riches and accoutrements that come with the position.”
It was now Daedalus’s turn to chuckle. The rewards of power. He wanted the entire nation, but the cretin only wished for finer clothes and richer foods. Even though Daedalus wished not to enter into yet another allegiance with a dubious character, he did feel there was some substance behind the bard’s promises, and the price was but a pittance in the prince’s mind. He also yearned for a cleansing from all the sweating he had been as of late. “Very well, advisor. I agree to your terms.
The bard smiled and bowed. “Thank you, Your Highness. Now, off with you. Be on your way. Just because there are no members of The Horde here now, doesn’t mean there can’t be at any moment.”