Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2)

by Liam Reese

  Her mind shied away from the sight as Tiernon walked into the room full of dead and dying people, casting another fireball towards the door when he caught sight of a fleeing figure.

  Stop! Just stop this! Collise begged.

  Why would I do that? Now I have a fine, young body I can rule again. Tiernon thought back.

  He stepped from the prison and out into the waning daylight, grinning as the fresh air washed over their face. Tiernon took a deep breath and turned for Kings Avenue.

  Joranas could not hear any of what his parents said to Keluse but he became instantly aware when Keluse turned and screamed at Whint.

  “Kill him!”

  She turned back almost immediately but the damage seemed to be done as Whint tightened his grip around Joranas, easily cutting his breathing off. Panic gripped Joranas and he thrashed weakly, kicking at Whint even though he knew there was no hope of defeating the strong man.

  With each breath released Whint squeezed a little tighter, meaning the next breath was lessened. Joranas weakened as he started to run out of air, his lungs burning and numbness beginning in his fingertips. Darkness started at the edges of his vision and his mind started to play tricks on him as he thought he could hear his mother screaming his name. Joranas smiled knowing she would never do such a thing.

  When the end came it felt more like he was being dropped. The hot ground, baked solid by centuries of sun burning against his back.

  Joranas dragged in a deep breath as his eyes snapped open. Whint stood over him with the stone knife he had been whittling with gripped tightly in his fist. Joranas swallowed as he thought the strong man was about to butcher him like he had done to so many animals.

  “I...” Whint tried but he could not speak.

  Instead he took the stone knife in both his hands and rammed it into his own chest.

  NO! Porantillia thundered when she felt the body she had crafted over centuries stab itself.

  She thrashed helplessly but could not make Keluse’s body obey her in any way at all. Without control of the woman she could not even use her powers. Porantillia fought and pushed and struggled to get the same minuscule amount of control she had stolen to order the boy’s death.

  “She’s too strong!” Keluse said. “Do it now, Besmir!”

  Porantillia grinned knowing the man could never kill his friend. He would see all life falter and wither at her hands and Porantillia vowed to herself he would be the last to die.

  Something gave inside Keluse, some part of her psyche that had been resisting Porantillia snapped and the Goddess shot forward wresting control of her body.

  Besmir watched as his friend’s face fell, her expression showing utter desperation then agony. Keluse bent forwards, her back twitching for a second as she stood up once more.

  The expression on her face told him everything he needed to know. Porantillia’s grin was as evil and hate filled as it had been before.

  “Joranas!” Arteera screamed.

  Besmir watched in horror as she lanced forward, plunging his hunting knife into Keluse’s abdomen and up behind her ribs. His wife peeled her lips back from her teeth as she swirled the blade around inside Keluse, cutting and mincing her vital organs. Keluse’s eyes widened in pain and shock. Her hands flapped at Arteera weakly as her muscles began to spasm. She grabbed Besmir as her knees began to buckle and Arteera wrenched her knife clear spilling a gout of hot blood over him and the floor. Gasping and unable to speak, Keluse smiled at him and then Arteera.

  “Aberhh….” her final breath came out as nonsense and Besmir laid her gently on the cobblestones.

  Joranas sucked in deep breaths savoring the sweet scent of his mother’s skin. Her hair was as soft as it had ever been and her whispering in his ear just as wonderful. He could have stayed there forever, relishing the feel of her soft skin against his, the way she held him tight to her chest.

  Yet he knew something was happening behind him. His father had stabbed Keluse and he was sobbing. Joranas needed to know what was going on. Reluctantly he pulled away from his mother’s comforting embrace and turned. She pulled him back but stared at his father too.

  As he watched his father weeping over the body of his friend he saw the air shimmer. He wiped his eyes thinking it was tears that caused it but when he looked again he saw the shimmering was more intense and shadows had appeared within it. Three shapes formed as Joranas watched, one had antlers, one covered in feathers and the third a woman.

  “Thee hast done well, my child,” the feathered one said to his father.

  Besmir raised his head, dust washed into strange patterns by his tears, to look at the trio. Joranas saw his face change to anger.

  “Happy now?” he asked. “Now she’s dead and my friend, too?”

  Joranas jumped at the tone of his father’s voice, pain and hate filled.

  “Of course we are not happy,” the woman snapped in a voice like thunder rolling through the hills.

  Joranas dropped to his knees. Not just because the voice had been so loud but because he realized these were the Gods. He panted in frightened awe as he looked upon the images of Cathantor, Sharise and Mwondi, each appearing in full glory.

  “Don’t touch her!” he heard his father shout.

  Before his eyes, the three Gods lifted Keluse’s body between them. His father stood, brandishing his sword at them as a golden light suffused her body. Joranas realized they were healing her body, repairing all the damage the thing inside her had done and he struggled to get from his mother’s clutches. She clung to him tightly, crying out for him not to go but Joranas was stronger now and pulled out of her arms, running to where his father stood.

  “Wait, father!” he shouted, putting himself before Besmir. “They are healing her!”

  “I don’t care,” his father growled. “You don’t know what they’ve done I don’t want them touching her!”

  “It’s what Ranyeen would want, father,” Joranas pleaded. “Let them fix her.”

  Joranas watched the fight go out of his father. The hunter king stared at him as if realizing who he was for the first time and dropped his sword to the cobbles with a clang to pull Joranas to him.

  “Oh my boy. Oh my son!” His father moaned as he lifted him against his chest, hugging him more tightly than his mother had.

  Besmir felt the small body of his son pressed tightly against him, the chasm that had been in his chest for months filling with a glowing love for the boy.

  The three Gods laid Keluse on a stretcher they conjured somehow, intact and beautiful. Her blonde hair framed a face restored, her nose had been put back, her blood cleaned and skin tight once more. Besmir was sure her broken tooth was repaired along with any damage his sword had done.

  Pain grew in his chest when he thought of what he had done. He had his son back but at what cost. Col Trin and Keluse and those were just the ones he knew of. Then there was the dark man that had held Joranas.

  Besmir turned to look at the man as the Gods faded.

  Good. Never bother me again.

  We may have need of thee yet, my child. Mwondi’s voice echoed inside his head.

  Besmir led his son over to the dark skinned man, hearing Joranas sniff. He looked to see the tears flooding his eyes and reached for his shoulder, feeling his burned skin crisp beneath his fingers.

  “Whint?” Joranas asked in a small voice.

  He knelt beside the man who had tried to kill him and Besmir was about to pull him back but Arteera stopped him. Zaynorth trotted over as Joranas shook the man’s arm in a futile attempt to wake him.

  “He was never meant for this world,” Cathantor said, making them all jump.

  Besmir rolled his eyes getting a warning glance from Arteera who bowed, elbowing her husband in the ribs. He ignored her and turned his attention to his son.

  “Porantillia crafted him of herself in the absence. He was a part of her, an extension of her and as such should have obeyed her every word but...” Cathantor looked at Joranas. �
�You managed to show him a better way.”

  “How is this better?” Joranas sobbed. “He’s dead.”

  “Really, he was never alive but what he did, what he gave, was to save you.” The God glanced at Besmir. “There is no greater gift,” he added with a quick look at Keluse.

  “I never said goodbye,” Joranas said in a devastated voice.

  “Maybe there is still time,” Cathantor said as he faded.

  “You are still annoying,” the thing his son called Whint said in a deep voice.

  Joranas leaped at him, hugging his torso but staying far from the knife that jutted from him.

  “Whint!” Joranas cried in joy. “You’re alive!”

  “You’re alive!” Whint repeated, stroking his son’s face gently.

  His eyes opened, fixing on Joranas kindly. Whatever else this thing might be, whether Porantillia created it or not, Cathantor had been right. Whint had killed himself to save his son and Besmir would remember that sacrifice for the rest of his life.

  “Whint!” Joranas said, his voice squeaking as the dark skinned man’s eyes started to shut.

  “Jor...anas...” Whint said as his final breath left his body.

  Helpless to do anything but watch Collise sobbed inside her own mind as her father strode through the center of Morantine ravaging people with lightning and fire. A few of the buildings along Kings Avenue were ablaze, chains of people with buckets trying to put them out as Tiernon walked among them. Few saw Collise’s body walk past them, fewer still knowing it was Tiernon who had passed by.

  “Open the doors!” Tiernon called when he reached Besmir’s house.

  Collise heard marching footsteps and knew any sent against her father would likely die. She also knew he was prepared for the same manner of attack that had seen them incarcerated in the first place and felt the hair rise on her arms and across her back as he erected a barrier around them. She heard the doors open at the same time as a group of heavily armed guards marched from a courtyard to the side.

  Collise felt her father grin at the futility of their efforts and struggled against him when he raised her hand towards them. The lightning that lanced from her fingers leaped from guard to guard, running across their armor and making them jerk and twitch in a horrible parody of a dance. When she felt the power stop flowing, eight men and women lay dead. Tiernon swung to face Branisi whose face was pale with shock and grief as she steadied herself against the doorway.

  “No way to welcome your queen,” he said with a savage grin. “I can do this all night, have you the guards?”

  Branisi shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed on the dead as she stepped aside. Tiernon guided Collise’s body up the steps and into Besmir’s house, looking around with disdain at the simple décor and furnishings.

  What’s the point of ruling a nation if you can’t indulge in the finer things in life? Tiernon thought.

  He marched into the royal family’s private rooms and stood, hands fisted on hips as he looked around the room. His eyes lit on a large painting on one wall, the only particularly expensive thing he could see. His eyes traced over the curves and outlines of Arteera’s face as she stared from the canvas. Collise felt sickness wash though her at the thoughts that raced through her father’s mind as he gawped at the painting.

  “So this is Besmir’s wife,” he said to no one in particular.

  “You know it is,” Branisi muttered from behind.

  Tiernon spun Collise round to confront the housecarl. Branisi looked ill, her arms had folded across her chest protectively and she looked at the floor with a distant expression.

  “This child’s memories do her no justice,” Tiernon said. “I wonder how she’ll take to being mine upon her return?”

  “What are you talking about?” Branisi demanded.

  Collise felt a horrible grin spread across her face as her father smiled.

  “When my nephew returns I shall treat him to the same fate he gave me!” Tiernon grunted with an edge of anger. “Then this little beauty will become my plaything.”

  Collise watched as realization dawned on Branisi’s face. Her eyes came up to meet Collise’s own and her mouth dropped open with a gasp.

  “You really are Tiernon back from the dead, aren’t you?”

  “At your service,” Tiernon replied with a mocking bow. “And now we have a lot of business to get through.”

  “What have you done with Collise?” Branisi asked.

  “Dead,” Tiernon lied. “And gone.”

  Collise felt a warmth run through her when she saw Branisi’s face fall.

  Did she actually like me?

  I doubt it. Tiernon thought back. Let’s face it, there’s nothing much to like. He chuckled.

  Collise could see him rifling through her memories and wondered what he was after.

  “The cook!” He said with a little surprise. “You and she are lovers.” It was not a question and Branisi’s face hardened into something Collise had not seen before.

  “You harm her and...”

  “And what?” Tiernon demanded in Collise’s high voice. “What will you do?” A sneer crossed Colllise’s face as Branisi’s face fell. “Worry not, your little sapphist will be perfectly safe as long as you do as I say.”

  Tiernon walked over and sat by the window, the same place Collise herself used to sit, and watched the mayhem without as people rushed to put out the fires and clear the dead.

  “Come here,” Tiernon muttered, “and kneel.”

  Collise could not see her but she heard Branisi’s slow footsteps approach and the click of her knees as she knelt.

  “Good,” Tiernon said, turning to allow Collise to see Branisi on the floor. “Arrange for builders to start repairing the palace,” he ordered. “I’ll have somewhere proper to rule from. Then get me the highest ranking officials Besmir used to have so we can have a little talk. Bring me the best wine this dump has to offer,” Tiernon grinned. “And get your little wife to prepare me a feast, this girl is hungry!”

  Collise watched as Branisi stood, her head down and hair hanging across her face. Her entire demeanor was one of defeat and she trudged back across the room towards the door.

  “Try to help her escape and I’ll eviscerate her while you watch,” Tiernon said in a dead voice.

  Chapter Thirty

  Besmir smiled as he watched his son play with Teghime. The great cat had accepted his son at first sniff and she doted on Joranas as much as she did Besmir himself. Joranas’s laugh split the morning air as Teghime rolled on her back, nudging his legs so he fell to the sandy earth.

  Joranas had shown them where to get water. Massive stone tanks had been built into the city to trap what rain did fall, storing it below ground in the cool. He also took them to a garden within the city. Overgrown trees and shrubs clung to life here, providing a little fruit and some firewood but Joranas had suggested it might be a nice place to leave Keluse and his friend Whint.

  That had been an odd story. Told in sections as Joranas was grieving over Keluse and his friend, Besmir came to learn of the odd man that had looked after his son when Porantillia had stolen him. It soon became obvious that Joranas had come to love Whint, depending on him for more than food and protection and Besmir was careful not to say anything against him.

  It would take Joranas a long time to recover from what had happened, Besmir thought as he watched the daasnu licking Joranas’s face while the lad squealed laughter. Each night Joranas slept between Besmir and Arteera, holding each of his parents tightly to make sure he was not separated from them in the night. He often went around the group, gently touching each member in turn to make sure they were real before sitting down to a meal or turning in for the night.

  Besmir shared worried glances with his companions when they watched his son carry out his rituals but he chose not to say anything, hoping the passage of time would help heal the scars.

  “Joranas!” Besmir called.

  His son trotted over, Teghime a few ste
ps behind, his face the somber mask Besmir sometimes saw.

  “Shall we take a ride?” He asked his son.

  Joranas’ face changed to one of anticipation and he nodded eagerly. Besmir mounted the great daasnu, offering his hand to his son and hauling him up to sit before him. With virtually no encouragement the large cat was off, galloping across the desert sand with long strides.

  Besmir felt the warm air hit his face and reveled in the feeling of just having his son there. He thought it odd the mere fact of having Joranas back could change so much in him, but it did. Now, when he looked at Aristulia, he saw beauty and life where there had only been a cursed wasteland before. The range of rocky hills to the southeast glowed as the morning sun climbed into the air, orange and red shimmering in the desert heat while the slumbering giant Mount Ashod belched smoke into the air.

  “What’s happened to that mountain?” Joranas asked as he stared in wonder at the immense tower of smoke.

  “It’s called a volcano,” Besmir said, ruffling his son’s hair. “Sometimes liquid fire explodes out of them,”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea,” Besmir said. “None at all.”

  Joranas fell silent as he stared at the landscape before him, Besmir could tell he was worried or concerned about something but was unable to tell what it was. He slipped from the saddle, waiting for Joranas to drop down then let Teghime free for a while. He picked his way through the rocks and sand until he reached a sheltered area with shade and soft sand. There Besmir sat, swilling water from his canteen as Joranas plopped down beside him.

  They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes until Besmir spoke.

  “You know you can tell me anything?” He asked.

  Joranas turned, squinting at his father with one eye. Besmir chuckled at his face.

  “I mean you don’t have to tell me anything, but if there’s anything you want to talk about...”

  Joranas looked away again, staring off into the distance where the volcano grumbled.