Demonkin

by Richard S. Tuttle

  “Did you actually see anyone in the archives?” asked the emperor.

  “I did.” The king nodded. “I stood in the historian’s home and ordered them to leave. I warned them that the intrusion was against the law.”

  “And they refused?” asked the emperor.

  King Elengal stripped off his tunic and dropped it to the floor. “This was their answer.”

  Emperor Jaar stared at the blackened mass of scar tissue that was on the chest of the elven king. For several long moments no one spoke.

  “I am complaining about this to you,” declared King Elengal, “because I do not think you authorized this incursion. Whatever contempt you have in your heart for my people, I do not think you condone this type of abuse when we are cooperating with you in every way. The result of this incursion was more than just the near death of Legaulle and myself. Four women with royal blood were taken from their homes and removed from Elfwoods. They had committed no offense against the empire.”

  “This makes no sense,” frowned the emperor. “Why would any of my people go to such trouble for four elven women?”

  “To produce demonkin,” stated the elven king. “I believe that the women were taken to produce a very special kind of demonkin.”

  “That is preposterous,” retorted the emperor. “It is hard for me to take your complaints seriously when you mix in such superstition and fairy tales.”

  “Fairy tales?” echoed the king. “Do you expect me to believe that you do not believe in demonkin?”

  “Perhaps the reason the elves are slaves and the Baroukans are their masters is that we do not believe in such foolish things.”

  “And here I thought you were the one in charge of the Federation,” King Elengal said with amazement.

  “What is that supposed to mean?” shouted the emperor. “How dare you come in here and make such accusations?”

  King Elengal was taken aback by the emperor’s tirade until he realized what he had said out loud. “I did not mean that as an insult,” he apologized. “I truly thought you knew the nature of K’san.”

  “What does a priest have to do with this?” snapped the emperor.

  “Those priests are not human,” stated the elven king as he held up his hands to forestall another tirade. “You do not have to believe me about this. It is not germane to our conversation. The point I wanted to bring to your attention is that some of your people are doing things under the color of your authority, and they are doing things that violate your own laws. That can hardly be beneficial to you. I will leave it up to you to discover who authorized the raid on the Heart and where the four women were taken. I have at least satisfied my own curiosity about your involvement in this sad episode. I am pleased that you did not order such a foul violation.”

  Emperor Jaar did not immediately respond. His eyes stared through the elven king as if he were lost in thought. King Elengal bent down and picked up his tunic. He pulled it on and looked to the emperor for permission to leave.

  * * * *

  General Forshire rode into the clearing and dismounted. He let his unicorn roam freely as he waited for the elven thief to appear. Suddenly, Morro appeared right before him. Clint tensed at the sudden appearance and immediately stepped backwards. He swiftly rotated in a complete circle, as if expecting others to magically appear. He ended up facing Morro and noted the thin smile on the elf’s face.

  “Never do that to me again,” Clint said with a sigh of relief. “I knew that you had a gift of speed, but I never imagined that anyone could move quicker than my eye.”

  “I am sorry,” apologized the elf. “I am still experimenting with my abilities. Why do you need to speak with the thieves of Despair?”

  “For many reasons,” answered Clint as he held out a small military patch for Morro to examine. “That is the insignia of the V Corps. They are a small group of prisoners who have been inducted into an army unit under the command of General Garibaldi of Vinafor. I need to have this patch duplicated several hundred times, but I cannot ask any tailor to do it. It is against the law to replicate any military insignia. The emperor alone has the authority to order such emblems created.”

  “And you think the thieves might be able to deliver what you need?”

  “They are my only hope.” The general nodded.

  “I will talk to Scorpion,” Morro promised as he took the patch and shoved it into his pouch. “That will alleviate the need for him to meet a Federation general.”

  “I will also need his help when it comes time to rescue the children,” pressed Clint. “Is there no way for you to introduce us?”

  “Have you a death wish?” balked the elf. “While I would trust Scorpion to keep your secret, there is no way to meet him without dozens of his people knowing about it. Any one of them might sell you out to the Federation. Such valuable information would make anyone a wealthy man. You have too much to lose to arrange such a meeting.”

  “I have no death wish,” sighed Clint. “I know that I will not make it through this war, but I am in no hurry to die. It is just that we are running out of time. I can feel the day of the invasion drawing closer, and we are not yet prepared to do our part.”

  “Be that as it may, but Alcea would lose more than a Ranger if you died. Your position on the inside of the Federation is incredibly helpful. We must not risk it.”

  “Then I need you to stay in Despair and aid me,” stated Clint. “I require the help of the thieves to free the children.”

  Morro sighed deeply. He wanted to track down Fakir Aziz and learn more about the magical artifact, but he had vowed on his life to free the children. That very task that had been the focus of his existence for over twenty years. He really had no choice.

  “I will stay with you,” Morro agreed. “Tell me what you need from Scorpion.”

  Chapter 12

  Emperor’s Man

  The horrific screams shattered the silence of the Forest of Death. The lingering sounds of the screams rode on the winds in every direction, and every creature living in the Forest of Death stopped and listened. The sky darkened and bolts of lightning flashed over the lava lake. The tall ancient trees trembled, and the ogres moved closer together for protection. Only the demons were not stricken with fear. The host of demons near the altar on the shores of the lava lake were enamored with awe at the power present in the air. D’Artim and D’Wycaram walked towards the altar and strapped the elven woman to the stone. Her cries of pain were animal-like in ferocity, and the air tingled with their volume.

  “It is time,” D’Artim said loudly to the assembled host. “What you will witness today is the future of demonkin. As Alutar has promised, this is but the first.”

  D’Artim had to shout just to be heard by those gathered nearby.

  “Let us all offer praise to Alutar for this gift,” D’Artim continued as the two demons backed away from the altar. “It shall be known as Wycaramor, the seed of D’Wycaram.”

  The words were barely out of the demon’s mouth when a dense fog issued forth from the lava lake. As the demons watched in rapt fascination, the fog wove its way to the altar like a tentacle of some giant sea monster. For a moment, the altar became invisible to the demons as the dense fog solidified. The screams stopped abruptly, and the Forest of Death grew deathly silent. The lightning flashes ceased and the sky lightened. Moments later, a chill wind swept through the forest, sending the unnatural fog back to the depths of the lava lake. When the altar became visible again, an old man was standing in the middle of it. His height was shorter than average, and his head was balding. What hair he had was stark white. The old man’s belly was large enough to obscure his waistline, and his eyes were a dull green. The demons bowed their heads towards the lake and murmured praise to Alutar, but D’Wycaram stared at the demonkin with disgust.

  “This is what I get?” scowled D’Wycaram. “He is old and short. He is fat, not powerful. What has gone wrong?”

  D’Artim turned to face D’Wycaram with a smile o
n his face and spoke softly. “Praise Alutar for Wycaramor’s appearance. Each of the four demonkin will have unique appearances. That is how it should be. Wycaramor will be able to walk among the humans without suspicion. He will appear as one of them. He might have been young, or female. He could have been old and crippled, or even a young child. There will be nothing in his appearance to alarm the humans, but you are wrong about his power. He has the strength of ten K’sans, and his magic will best a host of human mages. Be proud of him, D’Wycaram, for he is the greatest power in the world outside of our own.”

  D’Wycaram’s face softened as he stared at the demonkin. He mulled over the words spoken by D’Artim, and his pride began to take hold. His face split in a broad grin as he extended an arm towards Wycaramor.

  “Let us feast,” he said loudly as Wycaramor emerged out of the altar and walked to his side. “Celebrate the birth of Wycaramor, the bringer of death and destruction.”

  * * * *

  Garth and Kalina halted outside the northern gates of Despair. Garth studied the walls while Kalina watched the guards at the gates and how they handled people passing through.

  “I still do not understand the need to be here,” Kalina said softly.

  “It is still too early for you to proceed to Farmin,” explained Garth. “We wanted to see the rest of the Federation, so why not start here and work our way up the coast? That way we will be constantly getting closer to our goal instead of moving away from it.”

  “That is logical,” frowned Kalina, “but I think there is more to it. Have you been having dreams again?”

  “No,” Garth replied with annoyance. “I do not need dreams to guide my life. There are a number of reasons for being here. I am interested in the information that Clint has managed to find. I would like to talk to him about it without having to rely on fairies to pick up subtle hints of meaning.”

  “Plus Fakir Aziz has been sighted in the Elfwoods?” inquired Kalina.

  Garth sighed and nodded. “I would not mind talking to him again. He is up to something, and I worry that whatever it is, it might conflict with our plans.”

  “You must know that he will not reveal his plans,” posed Kalina. “He would not do so even to me. I think I understand why.”

  “Why?” Garth asked.

  “The Mage and the Great Demon have abilities that we cannot comprehend,” explained Kalina. “They both know things in ways that have no logical explanations, at least to mortals like you and me. Egam will not openly express his plans because he fears that Alutar will learn of them.”

  “As if we would tell anyone what the Mage has shared with us?” balked Garth.

  Kalina smiled compassionately. “You are so comfortable with magic that I often forget that you are not a mage. K’san has the ability to rip thoughts out of your mind, and he is but a half-breed demon. You cannot imagine what Alutar’s capabilities are. Trust the Mage in this regard. He will not reveal his plans because he must not.”

  “Perhaps,” Garth conceded, “but there are things that he could share with us. Why enchant our blades and then not tell us of the new capabilities? I was truly surprised when my sword struck down K’san.”

  Kalina noticed one of the guards staring at them. She sighed anxiously. “Let us not deal with these issues out here. We are starting to draw curiosity from the guards.”

  Garth nodded silently and started riding towards the gates. Kalina quickly followed. The observant guard checked their papers carefully, but he began to lose interest in them once he saw their papers. He passed them through the gates.

  Despair appeared to be a large and affluent city. While there were signs of poverty and hunger, most of the people were finely dressed, and the shops appeared to be doing a thriving business. Garth led the way through the city at a leisurely pace. When he reached the harbor area and saw the Imperial Palace, he began the search for an inn. A huge building just down the street from the palace caught his eye. As the Alceans approached the tall building, Kalina brightened.

  “Look at this, Garth,” Kalina pointed. “It is some sort of artisan market incorporated into the inn.”

  Garth nodded, but his eyes were looking upward at the height of the building, wondering if he could get access to the roof.

  “It is called the Emporium Inn,” Kalina said cheerily. “Let’s stay there.”

  Garth nodded silently and guided his unicorn off the street. Kalina followed as Garth took a shaded trail around back to the stables. The Alceans dismounted and left their unicorns in the care of the stable hands. While Garth procured a room, Kalina visited the market. Garth requested a room on the top floor, hoping that there was some kind of access hatch that would allow him access to the roof. He went into the marketplace, told Kalina the number of the room and then headed for the stairs.

  When Garth reached the top floor, he was surprised to see that the stairs continued upward. Without even bothering to check his room, he headed up to the roof. A simple slide was the only lock on the door, and Garth slid it back and opened the door. He stepped onto the roof and looked around. The first thing Garth wanted to see was the view of the Imperial Palace. He moved to the front side of the roof and gazed down the street. After taking a few moments to memorize the layout of the palace grounds, Garth pulled the elven scope out of his pack. He brought the scope to his eye and studied the palace carefully. Before moving on to see the view from the other three sides of the roof, Garth stuck his finger into his pocket and woke up the fairy.

  “Where are we?” chirped Bitsy.

  “We are in Despair,” answered Garth. “See that building over there? That is the Imperial Palace. Somewhere in there is Clint. I want you to find him and tell him that I am staying at the Emporium. I would like to talk with him at his earliest convenience. Our room is the first one on the left of the stairs on the top floor. Do not get caught.”

  “Get caught?” the fairy echoed with offense. “I am no Newt. I will find Clint and deliver your message.”

  Bitsy leaped into the air and disappeared. Garth watched her go with sadness as he remembered Newt. Fredrik’s fairy had been discovered at Sarac’s castle and had been obliterated by a fireball. It made Garth reflect on how much danger the fairy people took upon themselves in serving the Bringer.

  Bitsy soared high into the sky and gazed down upon the Imperial Palace. She banked into a lazy circle as she scanned the outside areas of the palace before seeking a clandestine entry into the building. It proved to be a wise decision. Seeing Clint sitting on a bench near the waterfront, Bitsy dived downward at a dizzying speed. Her tiny wings flared outward at the last possible moment and she landed softly on the Ranger’s shoulder. Clint immediately looked at her and held his pocket open.

  “Inside,” Clint said softly. “There are far too many eyes in the Imperial Palace.”

  “I am too small to see,” chirped Bitsy as she slid into the pocket, her blue head gazing up at Clint’s face.

  “Take no chances here,” warned Clint. “This is the enemy’s seat of power. There are no friends here. What news do you bring from Garth?”

  “Garth and Kalina are staying at the Emporium,” answered the fairy. “He would like to see you at your earliest convenience. First door on the left of the stairs on the top floor.”

  “You may report back that I will be along as soon as it is dark out,” stated General Forshire, “but I request a favor from you first.”

  “And what might that be?” questioned the little woman.

  “Morro is also in the city,” explained Clint. “I think he should join in the discussion. I am afraid that I do not know where in the city he is. Can you find him and extend an invitation to join us?”

  “I will do that before I return to Garth,” promised Bitsy.

  The fairy leaped out of the pocket and soared into the air. Clint remained on the bench for an hour and then went to the dining room for the evening meal. He ate quietly while General Garibaldi bragged about his new army. Clint mechanica
lly smiled and nodded without paying a great deal of attention. When he finished eating, General Forshire excused himself politely and headed for his suite. He was halfway there when Colonel Taerin found him.

  “The emperor has requested that you join him in his private dining room,” stated the colonel.

  “The emperor?” Clint replied in surprise. “I did not think anyone got to see the emperor except Grand General Kyrga.”

  “It is most unusual,” agreed the colonel. “I would not speak of the invitation to anyone.”

  “Why do you say that?” Clint asked with suspicion.

  “The emperor told me to offer the invitation privately,” answered the colonel. “I can only assume that he does not want others to know about it. Perhaps he fears that General Garibaldi or General Fabio would expect the same treatment.”

  “Perhaps,” frowned Clint as his stomach suddenly became unsettled. Clint was aware of the rumors that ran around the palace about what had happened to previous generals who displeased the emperor. Some of them merely disappeared, but some of the rumors held a hint of being summoned to the emperor’s presence just before their disappearance. “I have already eaten. Perhaps I could dine with him tomorrow?”

  “That is not an option,” declared the colonel. “Your presence was not merely requested. It was demanded.”

  “I see.” Clint nodded. “Lead the way.”

  Colonel Taerin led General Forshire through a maze of narrow corridors that were used primarily by servants. He managed to deliver Clint to the emperor’s private dining room without running into anyone. He knocked lightly on the door and then held it open for Clint. General Forshire stepped into the room. Emperor Jaar sat at the head of a lavish table set for two. Clint bowed respectfully and marched to the table. The emperor silently waved to the chair nearest him, and Clint sat down.

  “I have heard a great deal about you, General Forshire,” opened the emperor. “How are you enjoying your stay at the palace?”