by Duncan Pile
Sighing heavily, he placed the letter on one side and reached for the other. He looked at the flowing script and the heavily decorated envelope suspiciously. The Mayor of Arkright’s last words to them had hardly been positive, and he wondered what unwanted message the letter might contain. Sliding his finger under the fold, he broke the wax seal and pulled out the parchment within. Unfolding the single sheet, he read the florid script with growing disgust. It was a formal announcement that due to the disruption of the tournament, no-one would be crowned Champion of the Measure that year. It went on to say that, due to his part in that disruption, Gaspi would not be welcome to compete in future stagings of their ancient and noble tradition.
He tossed the letter to one side in disgust. It wasn’t that he cared about winning the Measure anymore. Who cared about a stupid tournament when Everand had died? It was just the pettiness and injustice of the mayor’s response. He wasn’t responsible for what happened – Ferast was! And as for announcing a winner, they could have given the title to Everand. It would have been a good way to honour him. The mayor’s decision was cowardly and unfair, but on reflection, perhaps that was all you could expect from life anyway. Ferast was alive and Everand was dead, and if that wasn’t unfair, then nothing was. Falling back on his bed, he stared at the ceiling, wondering if he’d ever feel like he used to, or if some of the colour had been leeched out of his world for good.
…
Shirukai Sestin stood at the door to the Darkman’s cell, scrutinising the demon for any last vestige of rebellion. It had stopped resisting his dominion over a week previously, but Sestin was cautious and had taken his time testing if it was a ruse on the demon’s part. Over the last seven days, he’d removed layers of binding enchantments, tempting the Darkman to break free of its bonds and attack him, but it had not done so. Only one enchantment remained to remove and, once it was done, he would be at risk if it chose to attack him. He could bind it up again if he had to, but he’d have to be quick. Very quick. He’d have preferred to take longer testing the demon, but the boy had failed him and was serving his punishment even now in his own cell. Sestin needed to act quickly if he was to seize the advantage.
Feeling the thrill of adrenaline, he reached out with his senses and called the Darkman to attend him. The demon’s head lifted, its blazing eyes staring at him balefully, but Sestin could tell the difference between murderous hate and grudging servility. It was time. He delicately severed the last binding enchantment, tensing in readiness in case the demon attacked, but the Darkman just stood there, awaiting his instructions.
Awash with satisfaction that could only came from the utter domination of another being, Sestin implanted the knowledge of Helioport’s location into its mind, along with an image of the Nature Mage. The Darkman’s eyes focussed, hatred distorting its feral features once again. But not hatred of Sestin - hatred of the Nature Mage.
“Destroy him and no-one else,” he whispered to its receptive mind. “Return to me when you have done it, and I will release you back to the underworld.” The demon growled its assent and Sestin stepped to one side, gesturing towards the open doorway.
“Go,” he said, and in a burst of frantic motion, the Darkman sped from the room.
THE END