Devil's Gambit

by Nicholas Woode-Smith

  “Save people? He wanted to cure disease through undeath.”

  “And who said that isn’t saving people?”

  “Me.”

  “Exactly. But what power do you have to make that true?”

  I paused. I couldn’t respond.

  “You have power, Kat Drummond.” I felt an intense authority resonate in his voice as he uttered my name. It was as if my soul had strings and he was strumming them. “Your power is in both your hands right now. You have the power to decide good and evil. But what use are those terms when you can so easily judge them with the point of a sword?”

  “It is more than a sword,” Treth said. He had some of his strength back. “Good is what serves the righteous. It is what serves the virtuous. Power doesn’t determine what is right. It just determines if right wins or not.”

  “Righteous? Virtuous?” The demon pondered the words. “By whose estimation? God? Can your friend, Sir-Knight, agree with you? Or must she accept that, without god, there is no right or wrong. What makes good, good?”

  “History. The collective stories of human suffering and progress,” Treth retorted. “Our gods did not tell us what was right. Our experiences did. We learnt that murder was wrong because of its results. Because of our preferences. We learnt that charity was right, because it made us realise our connection to each other.”

  “Interesting,” the demon said, sincerely. “And something I didn’t expect from the uneducated knight of a dead world.”

  “Treth is wiser than most,” I said, feeling I needed to defend my friend. “And he’s right. Good is not divinely made. But it does exist. It is what makes being human worth it. It is what gives us, or at least me, meaning.”

  The demon bowed his head, respectfully. It looked sincere. An acknowledge of a good point. I had not expected it.

  “I must thank you. Kat, Treth. I did not expect this discussion to be quite so interesting. I am not entirely convinced. Evil, and good…are all so shaded in grey.”

  He looked away, as if ashamed.

  “But, I may be biased.”

  He looked at me and I felt raw power emanate from his every limb. His wings seemed to have grown larger.

  “It was a good discussion, but it must now end.”

  I brought my wakizashi up just in time to block his now clawed hand. It didn’t break.

  “A good toy. Your friend has good taste.”

  I backed away, ducked under a swipe from his other hand, and thrust forward with my dusack. It glanced off his suit as if I’d been trying to stab solid metal. I felt ringing go up my arm. I hated striking hard objects. Always felt it in the morning.

  “Why waste your time?” the demon asked. “Use your power.”

  What power? The light I used against the vampires, and him? I did not even know if it was my power. Was it even a power?

  I rolled away from him. He stared at me and shook his head.

  “I was hoping you would be able to fight back,” he said. “This is not a fair fight.”

  “Do you ever have fair fights?” I asked, to delay him as I caught my breath.

  “No,” he answered, sadly.

  He appeared before me in a blur and I was knocked down onto the floor. I felt my insides cave. I spat out blood. My vision darkened, and my every pore cried out. I was dying.

  “Treth?” I wheezed. “What do I do?”

  He did not reply, but I felt his fear. His shame. The demon looked down at me, his wings crumpled in by the small walls and roof of the house.

  “Don’t feel ashamed, Treth,” I rasped. I felt blood on my chin. “I don’t know what to do either.”

  I felt his tears fall on my cheek, and the warmth of his spectral lap as he cradled me. I’d always thought Treth didn’t have a body anymore. I was right, but not completely. He had one, but it lived through me. Through my sensations.

  I coughed up blood again. I noted that my hands were empty. The demon looked at my discarded blades and lifted them up. He examined them. There was no hint of his previous smile.

  “Go,” I said to Treth, through sputters of blood. I didn’t know why I said it.

  “Where?” he asked. And I saw him. He was sad. Young. Scarred. His armour was blackened with the assault of corruption, rust and blood. His smile was weak, sadder than any weeping.

  The demon walked towards us, slowly. Treth looked up at him and drew his spectral sword. He pointed it at the demon, who considered it, before knocking it to one side with the flat of my own blade.

  “A sorry pair,” the demon said, a hint of shame in his voice. But also…respect.

  “Treth,” I rasped, looking up at my previously invisible companion with wide eyes. He was not the large, statuesque knight that I’d imagined. He was thin. Almost scrawny. His armour was ill-fitting. His dirty-blonde hair was unkempt and dirty. He looked like a teenager who had been thrust into battle. And that was exactly what he was.

  The demon stopped before us. Treth put his arms around me and held me tightly. I couldn’t move. I didn’t try. The tears came. I couldn’t even feel my insides. I only felt Treth’s reassuring touch, and his warm tears on my increasingly cold skin.

  The demon lifted my swords up. Was as fitting an end as any. I closed my eyes.

  Chapter 19.

  Recovery

  I was used to waking up in hospitals. They smelled like medicinal alcohol and musty spell tomes. I was also used to waking up in hospitals in the twilight hours, as the setting sun threw a red tinge on the usually white sheets and tiles of the hospital room. My body clock probably thought it poetic.

  I turned my head and saw a box of chocolates and a pile of polystyrene instant noodle containers. Topping it was a letter bearing Trudie’s handwriting. There was no one in the room. A private suite. Who was paying for me this time?

  “Treth?” I asked. I could no longer see him. I felt a sudden fear that he may be gone.

  “Yes?” he replied, and I felt an overwhelming relief.

  “What happened?”

  “I…I don’t know. I woke up yesterday, when we were already in the hospital. Trudie and Pranish have already visited. Conrad and Cindy had an argument.”

  “Any others?”

  “I don’t know. What he did to you…it also affected me.”

  “Did to me? I was sure he’d killed me.”

  “Seems not.”

  I heard footsteps on tiles and stopped. I looked towards the doorway to see Andy.

  “You awake?” he asked. “I heard you talking to someone.”

  I looked away. Why him? Why now?

  He entered.

  “Trudie had to go help her parents with something.”

  “And you’re still here?” I asked, almost spitting.

  Calm down, Kat. He’s dating your best friend. Be polite.

  He sighed and took a seat. I continued looking away.

  “What happened, Kat?” he asked.

  “A monster,” I replied, avoiding eye contact.

  “Not that. I mean between us.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lied.

  There was quiet. I contemplated the tree just outside my window. It was getting darker. I hoped someone would turn on my light. I didn’t like dark hospital rooms.

  “I couldn’t help Trudie, Kat. And I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry means very little to me.”

  “She’s forgiven me. Wasn’t even angry. Why won’t you?”

  I turned to him, and my face must’ve been a storm cloud, as he flinched. “Because I thought better of you. I thought you were there for me. I thought you were there for her. But you weren’t. And you think everything’s fine after that?”

  His hands tensed on the arms of his chair but loosened. He took a breath before speaking.

  “I wish I could explain it to you, Kat. I wish I could tell you everything.”

  “Why won’t you then?”

  He shook his head. “Because I cannot. Because you wouldn’t understa
nd. Because you’d ki…”

  He stopped halfway through the word. Shook his head again.

  “The world isn’t black and white, Kat. I wanted to help, but I couldn’t. Can’t you understand that?”

  I glared at him.

  “Is it that you can’t, or that you won’t?”

  “Does it matter?”

  I heard a knock, and Andy stood up. Colin was standing in the doorway. I noted his welcoming smile. And I noted Andy’s barely hidden growl and predatory gaze.

  “Goodbye, Andy,” I said. “Please send my thanks to Trudie.”

  He looked at me, his growl turning into a sorrowful pout. He walked past Colin, giving him a nod, before disappearing down the hospital hall.

  “Hey, Kat,” Colin said, advancing into the room, holding flowers and a small box. “How you feeling?”

  “Like a demon ripped a hole in my stomach. You?”

  “A bit better than that.” He took a seat. “These are for you.”

  He put the flowers (don’t ask me what type) in a vase by Trudie’s gifts and handed me the box.

  I raised my eyebrow and opened it.

  “It hadn’t arrived in time for your birthday, sadly. But here it is.”

  It was a silver pocket-watch. Chain and all. There was a card in the box. It read:

  “For wraiths. And, so you won’t always be too early.”

  I felt tears well up in my eyes.

  “Why?” I asked, shoving down an unbecoming sob. The healers must’ve given me some weird anaesthetic. Getting all emotional. “It must have cost a fortune.”

  “Not so much.” He shrugged. “And it was worth it just to make that joke.”

  “Don’t tell me you also paid for all this.” I indicated the private hospital room.

  “I did not, but I did inquire who did. The receptionist said you were dropped off by a man wearing a black suit.”

  My sudden gasp must have shocked him, as he leaned forward, concerned.

  “What is it?”

  “The man with the black suit…” I said, shuddering. “He’s the one who did this.”

  “Why?” Colin asked. I saw his hands tense. He probably wanted to punch the demon. I hoped he’d never get the chance. I liked Colin too much for that.

  “I was investigating Cornelius’ house…the man I killed.”

  “The man who put a curse on you,” Colin reminded me.

  “The demon who everyone thought I’d vanquished was there. Mentioned something about Cornelius’ motivations. Said he wanted to change the world…”

  “And then…?”

  “He attacked me, almost reluctantly. That would explain why he took me here afterwards.”

  “Doesn’t explain why he would still attack you, though.”

  “Demons are odd. They have their own rules, that they don’t even follow sometimes. What I’m interested in is what I found in Cornelius’ house – and why the demon was sent there to stop me from looking around.”

  “Did you find anything?” Colin asked, his tone belied his genuine interest.

  “I did. A crucifix,” I said, after some thinking.

  “Cornelius was a Titan mage, wasn’t he?”

  “Exactly. Which makes the presence of the cross particularly odd.”

  “Not only that,” Colin replied, leaning back and rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But isn’t it a bit incongruous for a Christian to be summoning demons?”

  “Very. But even the devil can cite scripture for his own purpose. Conversely, a Christian can use demonology for their own goals.”

  “Seems a bit heretical to me.”

  “But maybe not for Cornelius…”

  There was silence as we both contemplated what all this meant. What did Cornelius want? Why did he want to kill me? Who summoned the archdemon?

  I was sure they were connected. Cornelius wasn’t the ring-leader. He was a pawn. But, who was the king?

  “The demon said that Cornelius wanted to change the world?” Colin asked.

  I nodded.

  “Any idea how?”

  “I don’t know. But, I’m sure he had something to do with the disappearing Titan mages. Oops…wasn’t supposed to mention that.”

  “Your secret is safe with me. Client confidentiality.” He winked.

  I was still thinking.

  “Cornelius wanted to change the world because he didn’t like this reality,” Treth offered. “Something about this reality.”

  “A Christian…” I said. “Wearing the robes of a Titan mage. Serving them. Being bullied by them.”

  “Perhaps, an ulterior motive?” Colin suggested. “Maybe, he was biding his time to sabotage the Titan Cult.”

  “And risk releasing the Titan?”

  Colin shrugged. “Perhaps, the Titan represents the chastened wrath of God?”

  “Perhaps…but he seemed saner than that.”

  “Sanity and insanity come in many different shades. Maybe he’s right.”

  I snorted.

  “Well, I’m out of ideas,” Colin said.

  “So am I. But I think I know who I should meet for more answers. Another Christian, living in the shadow of the Citadel. He might understand what it is like to be a believer in a world bored of miracles.”

  Colin nodded and stood up. He held my hand and looked me in the eyes.

  “Be safe, Kat. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “I won’t.” I smiled back.

  At least, I’d try not to.

  Chapter 20.

  Left Behind

  I was discharged from the healing clinic in the morning, with all my belongings. The doctors and healing mages told me to take it easy. I didn’t lie to them. I just didn’t say anything other than, “Thank you” and “See you next time.”

  “Do you really think the priest will have a lead for us?” Treth asked.

  I was walking to Digby’s church, the warm morning sun on my back. It was nearby and, I felt like the exercise after being bedridden. The marvels of modern magical medicine had me fully recovered, for the most part. It must’ve been expensive. Healing of this calibre required extreme risk on part of the wizard or astronomical spark usage by a sorcerer.

  “He’s a priest of a dying religion. The dying religion that Cornelius evidently followed. He may have some insight into what drove Cornelius to act the way he did. Cornelius may even have been a member of his congregation. Not a lot of churches in the area.”

  I felt Treth’s presence as I normally did but could not get his image out of my head. I had seen him. His sadness. His scars. His youth. He didn’t fit my expectations but, the experience accomplished so much more. I felt now that my spirit companion was more than just a voice in my head. He was truly my companion. My invisible friend and not merely an imaginary one.

  I arrived at Digby’s church and took a break in the shade of an oak tree. Despite my refound energy after my healing, I’d still walked a few blocks to get here, during the heat of the day. It didn’t help that my coat kept me toastier than normal. I felt I needed to wear it, though. It had a habit of keeping me safe.

  “Shouldn’t we be in class?” Treth asked, as I listened to the birds. They sounded prettier than usual. Calming. Now that I thought about it, every sound was better than it was before. The wind in the leaves, the distant hum of traffic…

  My close brush with death, twice, left me appreciating life. But I couldn’t let it change my behaviour. I was too far down this path to stop. Both Treth and me.

  “It’s nice to be alive,” I said, with a sigh, leaning my back against the oak and closing my eyes.

  Treth didn’t respond.

  “Oh, sorry…” I apologised. “Didn’t mean it that way.”

  “No, no. I am just glad you’re okay…”

  I didn’t respond and Treth didn’t continue. We sat together in a pleasant half-silence, with only the ambience of the suburb to fill our ears.

  Finally, I stood up, groaning just a bit from my post-healing aches.


  “Let’s go see the priest,” I said, unable to hide a bit of discomfort.

  “You don’t have to,” Treth replied. “He probably doesn’t know anything.”

  “He’s all we have left in this case. May provide some insight. I need to understand what drove Cornelius to try kill me.”

  “And who is still trying to kill you?”

  I rubbed my chin. “I don’t think anyone else is. That demon has had plenty of chances to kill me. But he never does.”

  “Perhaps the demon is disobedient?”

  “Perhaps,” I said, with a hint of finality.

  I pushed the double-doors open at the same time, unable to resist a dramatic entrance. The wind followed me inside, causing candle flames to flicker.

  The church was as quiet as last time. I considered sitting on a pew to wait for Father Digby, but decided to rather stand near the altar, under the statue of the Virgin Mary.

  Digby entered as I was contemplating the statue. His face registered surprise for a few seconds, and then changed back to the impassive expression of a man too old to maintain any sort of emotion for long.

  “Good morning, Ms Drummond. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Morning, Father,” I said, still looking up at the statue, only glancing down to register him in my peripheral vision. His hands were clasped behind his back. “I have come with some more questions.”

  “Answering questions is my job, child. Would you like to take a seat?”

  “No, thank you. I have been bedridden for a few days and would prefer to stand.”

  He nodded, not inquiring why I had been bedridden.

  “I…did something that I am still deciding if I should regret,” I said, hesitantly.

  “Would you like to make a confession?”

  I looked at him pointedly. He didn’t alter his impassiveness.

  “I do not need to confess anything yet, Father. I need to know if it is worth regretting.”

  “And then?”

  “And then I shall seek redemption in my own way…or try to move on.”

  Digby approached me and put his hand on my shoulder. His touch was uncomfortable, but the coat didn’t burn him. That made me let him continue the gesture that must be aimed at comforting a distressed ex-congregant. I reminded myself that, while I may have problems with the religion, I shouldn’t have a problem with this man. My parents had liked him.