Of Iron and Devils

by B. H. Young

  A plague of rats rushed from their hiding spots to escape the shrill. Flowing like a wild river of dark fur through the archway. Sylo stepped aside and watched the rat's stream across the bridge. A dreadful moan rose up from the darkness, no sooner than it did, a large hand jutted up from below the bridge. Broad fingers thick with boils it slammed down onto the scurrying rats smashing more than a dozen beneath its palm. Trailing rodents were undeterred and continued to crawl over the cratered hand as it slid off the bridge pulling a squished clump of moist remains below.

  "Jelkin... a distraction," Sylo said pointing to the further end of the trench where darkness waited. He had made sure of the trolls position and now needed it to be moved so that they may cross.

  Jelkin pulled another bolt from his quiver, held it up to his lips, and began whispering an incantation in ancient tongue to it. Transparent veins of black ink began spreading along his face and a fog swept his eyes as unnamable words flung from his mouth. A red aura rippled over the bolt like liquid and then faded away as he finished. The residue of magic left in the world granted the enchantment no fatal use, but its purpose was only of a louder nature.

  He fired the charmed bolt into the end of the trench. A brief moment passed before the bolt hit in the dimness. Warm light bloomed in the shadows and filled the channel with its flare, shattering the air with the snapping of a hundred whips at once. The force thundered back towards the bridge sweeping the dust from the walls as it did.

  Aggravated growls erupted from beneath the bridge and the large troll, concealed in shadow, sprang forth with speed towards the commotion. The beast flickered in the shafts of light from above as it stomped down the trench, startled. Glimpses of the animal's twelve-foot frame flashed in Sylo's eyes as it moved further down before vanishing into the black fog, screeching and smashing at the end walls in a tantrum.

  "Go," said Sylo.

  Chapter 9.

  The small port town of Niset was a blurry speck of brown in the distance from where Lucinda stood. A smoldering of smoke swept in the air as the endless field of deadened grass danced at her knees and she was in no mood. There were many times she found herself in a task at her father's command that was anything but ideal. Never were his errands simple with reliable information that would make such dealings tolerable. A plucked hair for every hollow undertaking of his and she'd be half bald, she thought. Lord Willem would save the worst of the scraps to throw at her. The real pity was that Lestat was condemned to feast on them as well. But he never showed resentment as she did. No, her loving brother was too loyal of a servant to her father and the Eldafienden to even utter a small whimper of annoyance. Lucinda pushed her hair from her face as if to make sure the world would see her frowning contempt.

  The hours had grown under a misting shower while they had combed the outskirts of Niset for the ruins where the Irons body lay. To no surprise of hers, the land harbored many remains of structures from the ancient world. It should have been expected that her father's information would turn out to be vague. The wind burned her obsessed eyes as she stared to the Trident Towers of Skelbor atop the distant range where the sky ended and lingered in a smudge. They were mere shadows at this distance but the towers served as a good spot for her to focus her brewing contempt. The Trident Towers were a place of torture and death, used for the executing of hundreds of pirates in ancient times. She'd like to sit in them abandoned halls, Lucinda thought, killing as many as they could shuffle in to ease her mood.

  An aura of heat evaporated the mist as it neared her skin. It was not hard to lose temper to pestering coincidences and hers had boiled over when by chance at the relieving of himself by some rubble, Lestat found the body. An entire morning wasted searching actual ruins of walls and foundations and roofs. And all along the body lay thirty feet from a road among a patch of a small stone. It was not even enough spare stone to make a proper burn pit let alone call it ruins.

  The Iron was the lucky one she thought. His troubles were over and he was no longer subject to despicable people. The rot had long set in and his body looked as if gnawed upon by every small critter in the land. Of course, a bigger animal couldn't have come by and finished the job, no that would be too simple. Easy as a fire that starts small, you put out one spot only for another to flare up. If an animal had eaten it then they would be here longer, looking with no notion the body had been disposed of. Did the torment ever end she wondered?

  Lestat had doused the body with Phoenix Oil and set it afire. Phoenix Oil burned hot enough to melt rock so flesh and bone would be of no trouble. But Lucinda was certain the suffering of the day was not over. The perpetual tormenting fingers of Lord Willem from afar not yet tired.

  She stood further away from the flames while Lestat and her guardsmen tended to the smoldering taking care not to set the whole countryside ablaze. Lucinda shook her head in dispute as the flames flickered. A fantasy waited in the fire she saw. One of her father's castle set ablaze, engulfed at the center of a raging sea of fire no more than a charred shadow. But the real prize would be the look on Lord Willem's face when she told him that Dethal was inside when she lit it up.

  The cursing and clobbering of her brother at the smoke broke her tranquility. "You know he does this on purpose, some punishment to enact on me from one of his many ill memories he bears for me," she scowled, no longer able to restrain her frustrations.

  Lestat gave her a spurned look. "How the hell is this punishment for you if I'm here?" he asked in a squealing tone.

  "You're always hear, my caretaker." She threw him a pinched expression, swatted at the air, and crossed her arms. "You're part of my punishment to you know, he sends you so your presence will remind me of his resentment for me."

  "My dear little sister I love you very much but you have got to stop with this bickering and stewing about," he said. Lestat was just as annoyed they had wasted the morning hours. He just wanted to be done with it, back to Riverton Hold to wet his throat with wine and lay with his second cousins, the proper filthy girls they were.

  "Tell me," she said. "Which one of his mundane errands has ever showed simple? Aldred Marti perhaps? He lives in a red-bricked house in Pranhills he said. The stupid ass forgot to mention the whole damn village was shaded in red brick. What about Myles Linster, oh that was a fun one, sailing around Thieves Coast for a full day only to find the shit already had his throat slit by one of father's other Sentinels. Claimed he'd only received word of it long after we'd left."

  "We can't expect everything to go smooth." Lestat pushed at the fire with a piece of shagwood scattering embers up into the air to catch ride on the wind. "Granted ours is a rough patch but what would you rather be doing? Sulking the days away in Riverton Hold?"

  Lucinda tightened her arms under her chest and snickered at his words. "You always defend him," she said and turned away from him shaking her head.

  "I'm not defending him I'm simply saying all this brooding is not good for you. In moments, the body will be ash carried away by the winds and then we can leave this shithole." His face lightened with a reassuring gaze. "So please Lucinda, try to calm yourself."

  "Does it not bother you that father sends you to do such grunt work while Dethal is given more opportunity?"

  "By the gods Lucinda must you now stew about Dethal as well?"

  "It might do you some good to stew once in awhile then maybe you could be elevated in your precious Eldafienden from having to do such peasant work! Or maybe you like the simple jobs reserved for fools?"

  Lestat donned a stern look at her and said, "Careful sister. I know where you stand on your beliefs with the Order and I love you, but be that as it may I will not stand idle by and listen to you express your opinions while trying to make me feel so very small."

  "No, Gods forbid you take initiative and grab what is rightfully yours. No sweet brother, simply stand by and let Dethal reap it all."

  "Dethal, Dethal, Dethal! Who the fuck gives two shits about him. Why must you continue to dwell on
him?"

  "Oh I'm sorry, is my dwelling on little darling Dethal not to your liking? Sweet darling Dethal... how could father value a lover of men and despiser of women above anyone, especially his son is beyond me. You know the bastard grows sick at the mere sight of a woman's bareness, to say nothing about the touch of one."

  "What would make you happy? Shall we pick some poor bastard from Niset so that you may stab them a few dozen times to relieve yourself and better your disposition or perhaps we could find a small animal for you to torture? Wine calms me just fine. Killing seems to calm you," he said.

  "That's not funny." She frowned.

  It was true though she did like to kill and was quick to do so without hesitation. But the implication that it was some form of sickness would always upset her. Such jest would only come from Lestat when she pulled him over his limits. Lucinda loved him very much and knew he did not mean it. Still, there was no denying it saddened her when he would say such things.

  Lestat gave a sigh of regret and said, "I am sorry Lucinda, I did not mean that. It's just this is a conversation we could have in a more calm setting away from the aggravation. Complaining about it will not change it."

  Lucinda turned away with failed effort. It was a daunting task to try to light a fire under him and stoke ambition. His casual nature made it seem impossible at times but she would not stop trying. He was destined for more; he just needed to be forced in the right direction.

  Their bickering blinded them to the hefty farmer that was making his way from the road towards their fire. He had abandoned his pushcart of crops along the edge of the road to pry. Moving closer, he raised his hand above his eyes and bobbed his head. The man shuffled through the grass in weaved breeches and a cotton doublet of working class with a patched leather cap pulled tight.

  "Hey what's going on over there?" the farmer asked in an authoritative, but annoying, voice.

  Lucinda's startled eyes flared at the pudgy man in disbelief that this day could possibly get any worse. The body lays out here all this time not even thirty feet from the road and now, someone comes along. She gave no thought to the idea that it was their presence and the fire that sparked the man's curiosity in the first place. Father could not have planned for this morning of events to go more awry any better if he had tried she thought.

  Lestat waved the man back wearing a painful smile. "Our dog was killed while hunting we're just sending him off proper good sir." He had hoped to quell the nosy man's inquisitiveness and send him on his way without incident.

  The farmer moved a little closer squinting under his fat cheeks. Memory jogged for him at the color of the two guardsmen's armor. Damson belongs to only one house in the kingdom he knew. He started moving towards them rambling with a contemptuous tongue and pointing his finger like a great sword, pushing against Lestat's kind gesturing hand and cries of a dog.

  "Hey, you're of House Mathayus. What you doing there?" he cried out.

  The fat toads meddling voice burned in Lucinda's ears. Before she was aware of just how annoying the farmer sounded, she was walking with a heavy step towards the approaching man, who was still rambling and pointing all high and mighty. Her hair fluttered over her face like wild snakes and she walked a little faster each time the man yelled. Sly as a cat she pulled one of her wrist daggers, sliding its hilt into her palm. The heckling farmer was too preoccupied with his own voice to notice.

  "Damned Mathayus spawned of filth and foul demon Elves alike!" he yelled, throwing his finger at her. "How's about I go get the guards and see what they have to say about all this?"

  Lucinda pressed right up on him slipping her blade into his pork fat belly. The farmer's face loosened and his eyes stretched wide. The rolls under his chin flattened out as he tilted his head down to discover her hand clenching a dagger run into his gut. He looked back up to her with a wide hanging mouth and a silent tongue.

  Lucinda's face was moped in mockery as she mimicked the motions of his shock-inducing discovery. "Oh, I'm sorry. You're too fat to have felt that," she said glaring a sardonic mask of sadness. "Here, let me try again." She slammed her other dagger into the top of his head and a pop of all the hot air that filled the stupid bastard tapped out atop the grass.

  The man deflated a soft whimper and her eyes widened with intrigue. The slight tingle the kill brought climbed from her toes to her chest. She pulled the corners of her mouth into a sneer, looked into his drained eyes, and gave a final twist to both sunken blades.

  Lestat gazed on cocking his head and shaking it as the man's body folded at the removal of her blades. "Always so quick with the temper. Well, that's just great. We're now going to be out here longer," he said.

  She turned and snapped her fingers to her guardsmen to get the body, ignoring Lestat's tone. The two guards strolled passed her as she took place by the fire. This whole place could burn to ash for all she cared. Let some more snooping fools come along and she'd line them all up to the fire.

  "I had it under control Lucinda, was that really necessary?" Lestat asked stabbing at the fire irritably. "Do me a favor sister and go sit somewhere and count grass strands or something rather. I don't have enough phoenix oil to burn all of Niset."

  With narrow eyes, she pained him a grim look and said, "You always defend him."

  The guards shuffled up beside her and tossed the farmer's body atop the Irons charred bones splashing embers and ash. A glimmer of relief now calmed her but her temper still festered. Her brother meant well but his words were ignored and she was in no mood.

  Chapter 10.

  The potent mist clutched at his senses with burning fingers and Godzton squeezed his eyes. The glut of the flowering scent was to mask the more unpleasant reek of sweat-induced bodies that had spent time slapping against one another. Godzton had not been here in some time and forgot the sheer, nearly intoxicating, power of it.

  Strumpets paraded around wearing only long loincloths of silk held up by chain-jeweled belts as their breast dangled freely. The pleated curtained walls of red velvet clashed with the acreage of gold and green pillows cluttering the various floor pallets hidden behind thin veiled drapes. The loud decor was to give the illusion of a high-end noble brothel, but its florid regurgitation failed in achieving the trick. Nobel brothels had matching colors, pristine furnishings, private quarters for their guest, but the Vette brothel had only a corral with stables of thin silken divides determined not to match.

  Few patrons occupied the room engaged in acts of intercourse Godzton saw as he rolled eyes across the melting shades with nauseating feeling. His irritated eyes did find the mingling whores pleasing, though. The Dwarven pirate, Larry, who had accompanied him seemed indifferent to it all. Dwarves only had two moods it seemed, they were either happy or pissed, and their faces harbored the same expression for both.

  Godzton aimed to keep his word to Captain Nimbus. The captain had done his part and hurried them away to Vette and now Godzton would uphold his part of the bargain. He had brought the captain's man Larry with him as a goodwill gesture and sent Laythan and Ginrell to gather information around town while he visited his source. Gayleon Enner, a Dark Elf snake some would say and Godzton would likely agree, but he had always been helpful in the past with his information and knowledge of the unlawful trenches of the kingdom. In that regard, Godzton trusted him to an extent. Three summers back he had saved Gayleon from a pack of raiders looking to relinquish him of his newly acquired stock of whore's. Had he not been in town on other matters the raiders would have likely succeeded in their pillaging, but he made swift work of them. That day Gayleon pledged his debt to him, for a price of course.

  The Morkver woman Godzton had inquired with had returned and waved her finger with a slow curl for him to follow. Maybe it was habitual in her profession to walk with such an enticing sway he thought as she bounced her hips while looking back over her shoulder. It was not a bad view. What man wouldn't want to linger their eyes at the firm hips and slender legs of a woman, even an Elven o
ne.

  Gayleon sat like a king on his throne of blood velvet plush overlooking his court. A large chair that could fit three or more and he never moved from it as far as Godzton knew. Draped roof curtains of gray silk with dark floral outlining swayed around the Dark Elf as he slouched amid three women. A whore lay at his feet while two more occupied either side of the procurer of skin, loving on him with obedience. His skin of blue-gray glistened with sweat through his opened black robe with gold threading while a fat silver knotted loop necklace hung at his chest and darkened silver-jeweled rings fluttered his hands. Gayleon was a flamboyant and jovial man, but he was not much one for taste though.

  "Godzton, old friend I haven't seen you around these parts in quite some time. Come to say hello have we?" Gayleon said. The woman at his side kissed his cheek and strayed her hand across his chest.

  "Stocks looking rather low these days Gayleon," Godzton said.

  "Lord Joffridus Bachelin, secured a lot for his annual banquet up river. The old fool thinks he has the pep of a rabbit." Gayleon grinned. "Kept my prized stash here though, the man's so blind he wouldn't notice and besides he'll likely be out cold as rock before their ready to start with him."

  "Hefty bit of coin for that I'd wager. His festivities stretch for days, with that much coin you could live out the rest your days without worry."

  "I do just fine as it where. Besides, he's only paying in half with coin. The other half pertains to a proper manor on a nice patch of land he's helping me acquire." A slow smile grew on Gayleon's face as he lifted his head back to the playful motioning of the bare-chested woman and then favored a raised brow at the Dwarve, Larry. "Guess the Iron High Guard really has fallen on hard times as of late," he said and grinned.

  Godzton's face curled with disregard. He never took to badmouthing of the Iron High Guard from anyone, but Gayleon was just a playful fool who would joke about his own misfortunes with no weight to his words. "Duty brings me here, Gayleon. I need information on the whereabouts of someone."