Heirs of the Enemy

by Richard S. Tuttle

  General Jaar called to the soldiers outside the door. He ordered them to get a healer and then turned his attention back to Lord Kimner.

  “I will make a deal with you,” the general said with a thin smile. “You stay alive to help me, and I will pursue the Federation.”

  The noble’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “What do you need me for?”

  “I am not a negotiator,” answered the general. “I am a warrior, and I can change enough to become an emperor, but I will not accept other countries as the equals of the empire. I need your skills in getting the other monarchs to accept my terms for this Federation.”

  “There are many in the palace who can aid you with that task. Do not pin your hopes for the future on one old man who is dying.”

  “There is no one in this palace that I can trust now. You alone stood alongside my father. You shall be my advisor.”

  “Then take this advice to heart,” wheezed the noble. “Secure your family far away from this palace and keep them hidden.”

  The general frowned deeply. “What are you saying?”

  “It was not soldiers who came here tonight. They were hired assassins. Gaze upon their bodies.”

  General Jaar rose and walked to the black-clad bodies. He already knew that the assassins wore no uniforms, but the significance had not registered with him. He knelt next to one of the bodies and frowned. He reached out and plucked a golden pin off the body’s chest. He held it up and let the torchlight glance off of it.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “A badger,” Lord Kimner replied. “The Badgers are a private band of mercenaries. They have been around for centuries, but they are a secretive group. They are seldom seen in private or in public, and I have never heard of one being captured before tonight. Whoever sent them here today had planned to annihilate the emperor’s’ entire family. They will try again.”

  “Then the soldiers we slew to get in here were not part of the coup?”

  “The soldiers were probably defending the palace. The Badgers would not stoop to allying themselves with soldiers. They would sneak into the palace and eliminate any soldiers that got in their way.”

  A healer rushed into the room, and the general rose to his feet. While the healer tended to the wounded noble, the general walked out of the room and headed for the dungeons. He had wanted the last assassin kept alive to make an example out of him, but now he wanted him more for the information that could be tortured out of him. When the general reached the dungeons, he demanded to know where the prisoner was being kept. The guards directed him to the deepest part of the dungeons where the general found two more guards standing outside the door to one of the cells. The guards stiffened at his approach.

  “Open the door,” demanded the general.

  Clutching the golden pin in one hand, the general snared a torch from the wall with his other hand and stepped into the small cell. He saw the assassin chained to the wall across from the door, and he strode across the room. At first, Jaar thought that the assassin was still unconscious, but his face clouded with anger when he noticed the blue tint to the man’s skin.

  “What is the meaning of this?” shouted the general.

  Both guards rushed into the room. One of them, noticing the general’s gaze, hurried to the assassin’s side. His brow furrowed in confusion as he examined the corpse.

  “He is dead.”

  “I ordered that he be kept alive,” snapped the general. “Which of you will take his place?”

  “No one entered this cell once he was confined,” the nervous guard near the general stated. “No one.”

  The guard closest to the corpse noticed a glint between the assassin’s teeth, and he forced the Badger’s mouth open. Stuck in the back of the assassin’s throat was a small golden pin.

  “He must have ripped the pin off his chest with his teeth,” the guard mused as he reached in and extracted the pin.

  “And choked on it?” scoffed the general.

  The guard handling the spittle-encrusted pin was clumsy. As he was trying to give it to the general, it pricked his skin. The guard’s eyes immediately glazed over, and his body teetered before falling to the floor. The other guard rushed to his partner’s side, but refused to pick up the pin. He stared at it in disbelief.

  “The pin is poisoned,” he announced. “Look at the tint near the tip.”

  General Jaar’s eyes suddenly grew large as he opened his palm and stared at the golden pin in his hand. He dropped the torch to the floor and slowly opened a pouch on his belt. With agonizingly slow movements, the general eased the pin into his pouch. When the pin was safely in the pouch, the general let out a deep breath and then retreated from the cell. Unnerved by his close encounter with death, the general made his way to his own study. He slumped into his chair and called for his guard to bring a particular officer to him. A few minutes later, a colonel walked into the study. The officer saluted and waited for the general to speak.

  “I have a secret task for you, Colonel Jurgon. I want you to assemble a force of one hundred men. Each man must be proven loyal to me, and he must be single.”

  “Single, Sir?”

  “Unmarried. You will have the pick of anyone you want, but no one is to know anything of what I tell you, even the men under your command. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly, Sir. What will be the task for this group?”

  “You will be assigned to safeguard my family. Once the force is assembled, I want you to find an estate far from the city. The estate must be unseen from any road or trail, and once your men are assigned to it, they may not leave. You alone, Colonel, will have leave to travel to Despair, and only for the purpose of speaking with me. Do you understand?”

  “Perfectly, Sir. Your family will be kept safe and hidden. I stake my life on it.”

  “And the lives of the men under your command,” declared the general.

  Chapter 1

  Undiscovered Portal

  The demonkin was tall and handsome, his piercing blue eyes peeking out from beneath his short golden bangs. His skin was bronzed as if he spent his days under the sun tending to fields. His muscles bulged with impressive strength as he shed his fine garments and threw them into the massive fireplace. Feeling eyes upon him, Lycindor turned and saw the noble holding a pile of clothes staring at him. The demonkin’s lips curled upward in a menacing smile. If Lycindor had expected the human to tremble in fear, he was disappointed. The noble stared without emotion and then closed the door.

  “You are very different from what I expected,” the noble stated as he crossed the room and handed a pile of clothes to the demonkin. “Your appearance is as far from K’san as anyone can be.”

  “I am not K’san,” the demonkin replied contemptuously. “I am a Claw of Alutar.”

  “A Claw of Alutar?” the noble echoed with a raised eyebrow. “And what does a Claw of Alutar do?”

  “The Claws of Alutar are no concern of yours,” scowled Lycindor as he pulled on a pair of clean, but worn pants. “Your concern is to see that I have what is needed for my journey.”

  The noble watched as the demonkin pulled on a gray tunic that matched his lowly pants. When Lycindor was done, the noble retrieved a few items from a dresser and handed them to the demonkin. Lycindor wrapped the belt around his waist and fastened it. Adjusting the sheath to his side, he slid a large hunting knife into it.

  “There is a pack hanging from the mantle,” pointed the noble. “It contains everything you should need for a short journey. Check it, and I will supply whatever you feel is missing.”

  Lycindor retrieved the pack and inspected it carelessly. He slung it onto his back and lifted a pair of boots off of the mantle. The boots were well worn, and the leather was deeply cracked in places.

  “I was told that your clothing was to be clean, but also to hold the appearance of belonging to one who has traveled long and hard. I hope everything meets with your approval.”

  “It is satisfactory. Where i
s the portal?”

  “In the closet. Get your boots on and I will show you.”

  Lycindor sat in a chair and pulled his boots on. He glanced up at the noble and waved dismissively. “I have everything I need. You may go.”

  “I am not yours to dismiss,” scowled the noble. “I am the Chosen One of Alutar, and you will treat me with respect.”

  Lycindor rose, the muscles under his tunic rippling the worn fabric. His piercing blue eyes bore into the noble’s eyes as he moved slowly towards his host, but the noble unflinchingly stood his ground. The demonkin halted with his face mere inches from the noble’s.

  “You may be the Chosen One,” the demonkin said, his voice as soft as a whisper yet as firm as death itself, “but I am a Claw of Alutar. My purpose is none of your concern.”

  “Perhaps not,” retorted the noble, “but this is my home, and I will not be ordered around within it. I will remain here until you have passed through to the other side.”

  Lycindor remained in the noble’s face a few moments longer and then suddenly turned away as if some distant thought had demanded his attention. He strode to the closet, opened the door, and stepped into it. On the opposite wall of the closet was another door, much finer than the first. The hidden Door was finely crafted from expensive teakwood. While it would not have seemed out of place within the mansion he was leaving, Lycindor knew that the same could not be said on the other side. The demonkin opened the Door and stepped into Alcea.

  The Claw of Alutar closed the Door and stood in the darkness for a moment to get his bearings. He moved aside a curtain hung to hide the impressive teak door. When he had repositioned the curtain once more, he halted again and listened to the night sounds. The hunter’s cabin was so small that the demonkin could almost feel the walls surrounding him. He strode silently to the front door of the cabin and stepped outside.

  The old hunter’s cabin was situated in the forest five leagues northeast of Southland in the Targa Province of Alcea. It was far from any of the roads leading out of Southland, which made it an ideal place for a hidden Door.

  Lycindor inhaled deeply, letting the crisp night air invigorate his body. After a few moments of listening to the forest sounds, the demonkin turned to the east and strode into the forest. He walked on through the night, and when the first signs of dawn arrived, he caught his first glimpse of the Tagaret-Southland Road below him. He moved down the hill towards the road, but he halted before exposing himself. Again he stood silently and listened. The sounds of distant horses caught his attention, and the demonkin paralleled the road, keeping to the trees for concealment. Minutes later, a squad of Alcean soldiers rode by heading for Southland. When they were out of sight, Lycindor took to the road and continued eastward.

  There was not much traffic on the Tagaret-Southland Road, and those few people who did pass paid little attention to the lone traveler. It was well past high sun when the demonkin saw a farmhouse atop a small hill alongside the road. Lycindor left the road and strode up the hill. A young man and a young woman were toiling in the field near the barn while two young girls played with a dog near the farmhouse. All of them watched curiously as the stranger approached. When it became apparent that the stranger was heading for the farm, the young man straightened and walked out of the field to meet him. Lycindor smiled broadly.

  “Hello,” Lycindor called as the young farmer drew near. “I am on my way to Tagaret, but I could use a few days of rest. Can you accommodate me?”

  The demonkin held out his hand in a friendly greeting. The farmer hesitated only a moment before greeting the newcomer with his own hand.

  “Lloyd Becker,” stated the farmer. “It is a long walk to Tagaret, but I suppose you already know that.”

  Lycindor smiled and nodded. “I couldn’t afford a horse, so a long walk will have to do. I am called Lycindor.”

  “Well met, Lycindor. As for putting you up, I’m afraid that we don’t have the space to house you.”

  “The barn will do well enough for the likes of me,” smiled the demonkin, “and I don’t expect you to feed me out of charity. I can see your woman toiling in the field by your side. I am more than willing to give you a couple of days of labor for a roof over my head and a few simple meals.”

  Lloyd hesitated while he tried to take measure of the stranger.

  “I’m a hard worker,” offered Lycindor.

  “We could get the back field plowed, Lloyd,” suggested the woman as she stepped alongside the farmer. “Goodness knows we will be hard pressed to do it ourselves.”

  “I can handle a plow,” smiled Lycindor.

  “Why are you heading for Tagaret?” Lloyd asked.

  “I want to join the army,” answered the demonkin.

  “There is a garrison in Southland,” frowned the farmer. “It’s a lot closer than Tagaret.”

  “I was there,” lied the demonkin, “but they said that I had to go to Tagaret. That is the only place where the Red Swords are recruiting.”

  “The Red Swords?” balked the farmer. “You can’t just walk into Tagaret and join the Red Swords. They are the King’s Own. Only the best of the army is offered an invitation to join them.”

  “So I heard,” smiled Lycindor. “I fought alongside Red Swords in the Great War. Some of them told me that if I ever wanted to join, they would sponsor me. That is why I am bound for Tagaret.”

  “You must be a great warrior then,” the farmer said in awe as he reappraised the stranger. “Come along and I will get you set up with the plow.”

  “My name is Sophia,” offered the woman as the two men started walking away.

  Lycindor looked back at the woman and smiled warmly. Lloyd led the demonkin to the barn and proceeded to get his lone horse hitched to the plow.

  “I envy you,” Lloyd said as they worked together to ready the plow. “My father said I was too young to fight in the Great War. By the time I was old enough, it was all over. What battles did you fight in?”

  “The Battle of Tagaret. I probably should have joined the Red Swords right then, but I was younger and wanted to see the world first.”

  “You hardly look older than me,” commented the farmer. “You must have started training early.”

  “I have been told that I possess a natural talent for killing,” smiled the demonkin. “I saw a squad of soldiers on the road earlier today. Do they often patrol this area?”

  “They don’t really patrol here at all,” answered Lloyd, “but soldiers come by every week on their way to or from Southland. The squad you saw this morning will be coming back up the road in a couple of days. If I had a spare horse, you could ride to Tagaret with them.”

  “Maybe I will get lucky,” the demonkin responded. “Perhaps they will have an extra mount with them.”

  “I doubt it,” replied the farmer. “I have never seen them ride by with an unmounted horse.”

  * * * *

  Sophia Becker sat up in bed and felt the empty space next to her where her husband should be. She turned and glanced around the room as the distant hammering reached her ears. When her eyes fell on Lloyd standing in the moonlight coming through the window, her brow creased.

  “Why are you up?” she asked softly.

  “Lycindor is chopping wood again,” Lloyd answered.

  “He does that every night. That is no reason for you to leave our bed. Is something bothering you?”

  Lloyd did not answer.

  “Lloyd,” Sophia pleaded softly, “come back to bed. You worry too much. You will not be worth anything in the morning without some sleep.”

  “And when does he sleep?” Lloyd asked suspiciously. “He works all day and chops wood all night. When does he sleep?”

  “I don’t know,” sighed Sophia. “Lloyd, you should be glad that he sleeps very little. He has the back field already sowed, and we have enough firewood to last through next winter. Be happy that he happened along.”

  “I should be,” admitted Lloyd, “but something about him troubles
me. Maybe it is the way he looks at us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Have you never noticed his eyes? He has the look of a fox staring at a henhouse.”

  “So his eyes are strange. So what? I don’t care how he looks at us as long as he keeps working the way he has. We will have a bountiful harvest this year.”

  Lloyd was quiet for a while as he stared out the window and watched Lycindor chopping wood. When he spoke it was barely a whisper.

  “I suppose his unnatural gaze doesn’t bother me too much until he looks at you and the girls. A shiver races through my body when I see him eyeing you up.”

  “Well, there is nothing we can do about it.”

  “Actually,” Lloyd said as he turned away from the window and pulled his pants on, “there is something that I can do. I am going to ask him to leave.”

  “We can use the extra help, Lloyd.”

  “I know, but this farm doesn’t mean anything to me if it brings harm to you and the girls. I want him out of here in the morning. I am going to speak with him now. Go back to sleep. I may be a while.”

  Sophia sighed and nodded. She knew that no one could change Lloyd’s mind once he made it up. She watched her husband leave the room and then put her head back on the pillow.

  Lloyd went downstairs and exited the small farmhouse, gazing up at the full moon as he rounded the corner of the house. Lycindor must have heard him coming because he had leaned the axe against the barn and stood waiting for the farmer.

  “Was I making too much noise?” Lycindor asked.

  “Do you ever sleep?”

  “A couple of hours is good enough for me. If the noise is bothering you, I will find something else to do.”

  “You have already chopped enough wood to last the year.”

  Lycindor nodded silently. Lloyd frowned at the thought of asking the man to leave the farm, but he could not shake the uncomfortable feeling of having him around his family.