Demonkin

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “I suspect any display of magic out here will be worse than Theos trying to enter the village. We must convince him to return to the camp.”

  “Theos already has shields around him,” added Valera. “We cannot use magic to stop him.”

  Kalmar stared at Zynor for a moment and then nodded in agreement. He hurried after the mage from Tyronia. Theos reached the gate and halted. He examined the gate without touching it and then turned to examine the wall surrounding the village. The wall was only the height of a man, and it was constructed of rock and red clay. A simple straw cap ran along the peak of the wall to protect it from downpours.

  The Tyronian mage brought his hand up to the gate and pushed at it. The gate swung open easily revealing a well-beaten plot of ground with several huts blocking further entrance into the village. Narrow alleys led away from the gate to either the left or the right. Theos decided on the left path and stepped through the archway, or rather that was his intention.

  As the Tyronian mage stepped under the arch, his shields lit up brightly with tendrils of energy swirling over its invisible surface. Theos opened his mouth in a cry of pain, but nothing came out. The others watched helplessly as Theos dropped to his knees and clutched his throat.

  “Release your shields,” ordered Fakir Aziz as he stepped into view.

  Theos looked up pleadingly at the Mage as the energy swirls increased.

  “Release your shields!” Fakir demanded louder. “Trust in me or die.”

  Theos’ body twitched with convulsions, and his head was thrown back in a silent scream. Suddenly the shields winked out of existence and Theos collapsed to the ground. Fakir moved swiftly to his side and knelt. The others moved closer and that was when they noticed Crystil. Valera gasped involuntarily at the sight of the old woman, but Zynor examined her with curiosity.

  “Are you Crystil?” he asked.

  The witch nodded silently, and Zynor bowed in respect.

  “I am honored to meet you,” Zynor said.

  Crystil gazed at Zynor with confusion. She was uncertain whether the old man was ridiculing her or not.

  “Is Theos alive?” Kalmar asked anxiously.

  “He is,” Fakir said softly. “Why are you here when I told everyone to remain at the clearing?”

  “Theos could wait no longer,” explained Kalmar. “He was sure that you had come to harm. The rest of us were trying to figure out how to stop him.”

  Crystil knelt next to Theos and examined him. A deep frown furrowed her brow. “This is not my doing,” she declared.

  “Of course not,” Fakir replied curtly. “Your magic would have killed him outright. I modified your spell to one of repulsion, but Theos was too single-minded to act rationally. He thought his shields would get him through the gate, but it was his shields that almost killed him. Perhaps I was in error in including him in this group.”

  “He could have left the group and returned to Ur,” Zynor said softly. “His actions may not have been the best in this case, but it was your safety that drove him to action. Do not judge him too harshly.”

  “I agree,” Kalmar added quickly. “We can all work to channel his anger. Let me heal him.”

  Crystil rose to her feet and clapped her hands loudly. Almost immediately a stream of farmers appeared. Fakir Aziz rose and backed away from the fallen mage as the farmers brought a litter and lifted Theos onto it. They lifted the litter and moved back into the village. Crystil locked eyes with Kalmar as if measuring his worth. She eventually nodded with some sort of satisfaction.

  “All of you are welcome to Smirka,” she stated. “Follow me.”

  Crystil turned and moved to the left around one of the huts. The other mages followed in silence. Fakir Aziz moved with the rest at the end of the line. He was not surprised that the journey ended at the unique building in which he had met Crystil. Theos’ body was already placed on the floor before the desk. The other mages noted that Crystil removed her sandals before entering the building, and they did so as well. Kalmar knelt next to Theos and began to heal him. Fakir Aziz took the time to introduce the members of his little band. Crystil was polite, but she did not speak. After a while, women arrived with bowls of broth and rice for the guests, and when the sun slid out of the sky, mats were brought for the visitors to sleep on.

  Crystil disappeared before the sunset. Kalmar worked into the night with only brief spells of rest. He refused offers of help from the others, as he did not want to take the time to explain what he was doing. When the Koroccan mage was at the point of exhaustion, Fakir Aziz knelt next to him.

  “Rest,” ordered the Mage. “You have done the work of many this day. Theos will be fine in the morning.”

  “I need to be sure,” objected Kalmar.

  “I am sure,” smiled the Mage. “Rest.”

  Kalmar reluctantly nodded and moved to a mat. He was asleep in moments. When he awoke, everyone else was already awake, even Theos. The Tyronian mage sat staring at Kalmar as if he had been waiting for Kalmar to awaken. Kalmar sat up and stretched, yawning loudly.

  “Thank you,” Theos said softly. “I am not good with such words, but I want you to know how grateful I am for your help.”

  “Anyone would have done as much,” Kalmar said with embarrassment.

  “That is not true,” frowned Theos. “I can not imagine myself acting as you did if you had treated me as I have treated you. I thank you for my life.”

  Kalmar did not know how to react to such words. Thankfully, Fakir Aziz chose that moment to speak.

  “It is time for us to continue our journey,” he declared. “Crystil will be accompanying us. I hope each of you will make her time with us as comfortable as possible. Let us go.”

  Crystil led the group outside and waited while everyone donned their boots. As she walked down the short flight of steps, the villagers assembled. Creating a path from the building to the village gate, the villagers dropped to their knees and bowed their heads to the ground as Crystil approached. No one spoke during the solemn procession and when the last of the mages had exited the gate, one of the villagers closed it. Crystil turned back towards the village and dropped to her knees in one of the fields. She bowed her head to the ground facing the village. When she lifted her head a few minutes later, two damp spots darkened the soil. She rose wordlessly and followed the other mages.

  Chapter 8

  Dangerous Game

  General Forshire rode through the gates of Despair and headed for the Imperial Palace. No one paid any particular attention to the lone general riding through the city. The palace guards opened the gate promptly to admit him, and the general rode directly to the stables to care for his mount. Before he had finished at the stables, Colonel Taerin appeared.

  “Grand General Kyrga would like to see you in his office,” stated the colonel.

  Clint nodded and finished up. He turned and looked into the eyes of the Federation colonel. “How did he know that I had returned?”

  “He seems to know everything,” the colonel smiled thinly.

  “And you seem to be evasive with your answers,” Clint retorted. “Am I under constant surveillance?”

  The colonel was taken aback at such a suggestion. He had taken a liking to the general from Tyronia, and General Forshire had never said a harsh word to him before. “Not at all,” he answered quickly. “Or at least not that I know of. I know that he sent down a request yesterday that he wanted to see you as soon as you returned. I am merely fulfilling that request.”

  “Ah.” Clint smiled and nodded. “I am sorry for my terseness, Colonel. I rode hard and long to get here. Perhaps my manners are a bit frayed.”

  “I understand, General,” smiled the colonel. “I am sure that you have time to clean up before meeting with Grand General Kyrga. I will try to be more explicit in the future. Why do you care for your own mount? The stable hands are quite experienced.”

  “I prefer to tend to my own mount,” answered Clint. “I find it relaxing after a hard rid
e, and it gives me time to get my thoughts together. Has anything exciting happened since I have been gone?”

  “Nothing of note,” replied Colonel Taerin, pleased that the general was treating him kindly again. “Most of the rumors since you left have revolved around the A Corps. It would seem that the visiting generals from Karamin and Vinafor are a bit jealous of your army, even if it is made up of misfits. General Garibaldi is particularly eager for news about you.”

  “Is he now?” chuckled Clint. “Garibaldi wouldn’t know what to do with an army under his command, but he probably wants one just because I have one.”

  “I think you understand him rather well,” grinned the colonel. “Shall I tell Grand General Kyrga that you are freshening up?”

  “That would be appropriate.” Clint nodded. “Buy me ten minutes or so. Where will I find Kyrga?”

  “He will be in his office,” replied the colonel. “I will take the long way back to the palace.”

  Clint nodded as the colonel left the stables. He liked Taerin, but such a friendship could turn out to be a problem. He had no doubts about Kyrga’s ability to spy on everyone in the palace, and Taerin might very well be one of those spies. He made a mental note to continue befriending the colonel, but also to remain mindful of what his other duties might be.

  General Forshire moved swiftly to the rear door of the palace. He gained entry to his suite without running into anyone who might ask questions that he wasn’t ready to answer. He quickly washed up and changed uniforms before leaving the suite and heading to the office of Grand General Kyrga. He was immediately ushered into the office and he found Kyrga sitting behind his desk. General Forshire saluted formally and waited for his superior officer to speak.

  “You are back in Despair much sooner than I expected,” stated Kyrga. “Have you raised your army?”

  “I have two thousand men under my command,” replied general Forshire. “Should you come into possession of more horses, I still have enough applicants to expand.”

  “Sit down, Forshire,” ordered Kyrga as he waved at the chair before his desk. “Tell me everything about this army of misfits and why I should continue to let you play with them.”

  Clint sat down with a deep frown on his face. He looked across the desk at his superior as if trying to determine what the real question was.

  “My men may be castoffs from the regular army,” General Forshire declared, “but they form an efficient army. You gave me the task of hunting down rebels, and I have undertaken that task with a dedication seldom seen in the Federation army. In fact, my men have just eliminated three rebels deep in the Dark Forest.”

  “Deep in the Dark Forest?” Kyrga echoed with surprise. “What were your men doing deep in the Dark Forest?”

  Clint heard the tone of surprise in Kyrga’s voice, but the man’s eyes betrayed him. Clint knew that somehow the Grand General was fully aware of what had happened near Camp Destiny. The question in Clint’s mind was whether or not the ruse had been exposed for what it was.

  “The papers you gave me on the rebels were woefully incomplete,” General Forshire said with a touch of anger in his voice. “I do not know whether that was done out of distrust for me, or for some other reason, but I can track down and eliminate these rebels. In those papers was a report that the rebels might be holding up in the Dark Forest waiting for an attempt to get through one of the passes. I decided to investigate and see for myself. Was that wrong?”

  One of Kyrga’s eyebrows rose as he listened to Forshire’s strong defense. He knew that the papers had been abbreviated. In fact, he had ordered it to be so, and the Tyronian was correct. It was a matter of trust, or the lack of it, but he was not going to admit that.

  “How did you determine that the three people were rebels?” asked Kyrga.

  “We combed the forest,” explained Clint. “Each homestead was questioned, not only about themselves, but also about their neighbors. The three people occupying the cabin in question were not Ertakans. They grew no food around their cabin, and they only left it after dark. They were also heavily armed. When one of my men saw the witch light a fire with her fingertips, we knew that we had stumbled upon something. We surrounded the cabin and called for their surrender. We were attacked with magical projectiles.”

  “That does not prove that they were rebels,” retorted Grand General Kyrga.

  “No, it doesn’t,” agreed General Forshire as he placed the melted coins on Kyrga’s desk. “That is why I hurried back here to see you. These coins have the marking of an unknown government on them. Some place called Alcea. I would like to see the rest of the files that have been denied to me. Perhaps I can find some reference to this Alcea in them.”

  “So you fancy yourself a great sleuth in addition to being a great general?” scoffed Kyrga.

  “I fancy myself as someone who completes a task given to him,” countered Clint. “I am doing my best for the Federation, Grand General Kyrga. Why are you fighting me? Have I done something to offend you?”

  Kyrga stared blackly at Clint for several minutes without answering. Eventually he sighed and relaxed.

  “It is not in my nature to be trustful,” Kyrga said. “There are too many forces working against the emperor. You are correct about the coins. There is a country across the sea named Alcea, and some of the rebels do hail from there. You have done well, General Forshire. Your successes surprise me, and that tends to make me suspicious, but even I must admit that you have succeeded where many others have failed. You may keep your A Corps, but it will not grow any larger. Already your competitors are demanding armies of their own, and I cannot afford the horses.”

  “Garibaldi and Fabio?” asked Clint.

  Kyrga sighed and nodded. “Those men are fools, but they are your contemporaries. Perhaps it would be best to keep the A Corps away from Despair for a while.”

  “Anything that would make your life easier,” Clint smiled thinly. “I doubt the rebels would dare come this far south anyway. May I have the rest of the files?”

  “The files were only abbreviated to remove any reference to Alcea,” replied Kyrga as he rose to his feet. “There is no need for you to be bothered with them now. Thank you for stopping by, General Forshire.”

  Clint stood as Kyrga came around the desk and walked towards the door leading out of the office. It appeared as if Kyrga had somewhere to go, and he was in a hurry to get there. Clint hurriedly followed, and the two men left the office together. Before they had gone a dozen places, Clint stopped suddenly. Kyrga turned to see what the matter was.

  “The gold coins,” said Clint. “I left them on your desk. They may come in handy when I interrogate others.”

  Kyrga looked towards the door guards and sighed as he nodded permission for Forshire to retrieve the coins. Kyrga turned and hurried away. Clint smiled embarrassingly as he returned to the door to Kyrga’s office. A guard opened the door and held it open as Clint ducked inside. Instead of approaching the desk directly, the Ranger walked around the desk. The guard watched as he bent over and picked up the coins from the desk. When the guard looked away for a moment, Clint deftly unlocked the window shutter behind him and hurried towards the door. He nodded thanks to the guard and moved swiftly to his suite.

  Clint remained in his room until it was time for the evening meal before heading downstairs to the dining room setup for the visiting generals. General Garibaldi of Vinafor was already seated at the head of the table, and General Fabio of Karamin sat on his right. Clint took the seat across the table from Fabio.

  “The Commander of A Corps graces us with his presence,” scoffed General Garibaldi as Clint sat down.

  General Forshire smiled thinly and nodded to General Fabio. “Pleased to meet you again, General Fabio.” Clint turned his head towards General Garibaldi with a broad smile on his lips. “And you, too, Major. What is on the menu this evening?”

  Garibaldi’s face reddened, but he did not storm out of the room as he had previously. “You will not ba
it me again, Forshire. You may think yourself better than the rest of us, but we know better. Anyone can get a bunch of prisoners and throw uniforms on them. That does not make an army.”

  “Anyone?” grinned General Forshire. “I understand that you are having trouble getting such authorization for yourself. Do you suppose that maybe you cannot even be trusted with prisoners?”

  Garibaldi’s hands clenched in rage, but General Fabio’s interruption saved the Vinaforan from making a complete fool of himself.

  “How did you manage to convince Kyrga to give you an army?” the Karaminian general asked. “We have indeed requested the same, and he has steadfastly refused. What is your secret?”

  Clint turned and studied Fabio for a moment before answering. “I made the case that I could turn wasted lives into valuable assets,” General Forshire stated. “What puzzles me is why you would seek to duplicate what I have done. The last time we met both of you were quite happy spending your days in idle luxury.”

  “It does get boring,” shrugged general Fabio. “Besides, now that you have started it, we do appear to be inferior without an army of our own. That is not an easy thing for any man to handle.”

  “I assure you,” Clint said earnestly, “that was not my intent. I truly could not stand being cooped up in here all the time. I love commanding an army. It is what I was born for. I will leave the trappings of royalty for others.”

  “Do you suppose you could put in a word for us with Kyrga?” asked General Fabio. “Our armies would not have to be as large as yours, but command of any unit would raise our prestige around here.”

  Clint glanced at Garibaldi and saw that the rage had fled from him. He looked back at Fabio and sighed heavily.

  “Perhaps we have gotten off on the wrong foot here,” Clint said. “There is no need for strife among us. We belong to three different countries, so we are not competitors. I cannot convince Kyrga to give you armies, but I do have some advice if you want it.”