by Joe Jackson
The only reason Kari could come up with was that he found humans easier to control, and that his own “kind,” as it were, had the potential to be far more corrupt than even him. That thought gave her a laugh as she considered just how despicable one would have to be to give even Kaelin Black pause. While there were many different types of half-demon and they were all unique from the others in some way, she had a hard time imagining many full-blooded serilian demons that could compare to Black. Granted, he was only “suspected” of doing many of the things he had a reputation for, but he did nothing to dispel such rumors, which lent credibility to them and suggested his reputation was likely well-earned.
The northwest gate was a double portcullis, forming a square that extended beyond the normal wall, and the area was comprised of numerous stables and parking areas for wagons and carts. After speaking briefly with the guards, Kari passed through the gateway and crossed the plaza toward the inn. The square was dominated by stables and the smells associated with them, and Kari chose her path carefully, padding across the unpaved dirt grounds, and she headed into the dim interior of the inn’s common room. The guards mentioned that traffic was heavy lately, and their description was apparently no exaggeration: every table and chair in the common room was full, leaving barely enough room for the woman to make her way to the bar. Kari scanned the crowd and saw that the clientele was quite varied: more of her own kind was present than humans, so she figured it was almost certainly a pilgrim caravan. Even a few terra-bengals sat around one of the smaller tables, their white tiger-like stripes standing out among the plain black skin of the other rir present. Engrossed in their conversation as they were, they looked up when the winged female crossed the room, as did most of the crowd.
A young human greeted Kari when she reached the bar, and his chestnut eyes studied her briefly. Once he noticed her dog tags, he smiled. “What can I get for you, officer?” he asked.
Karian waved off the question. “Just looking for information,” she said and he nodded, wiped his hands on the white towel at his belt and leaned forward on the bar so she could keep her voice down. “I’m looking for a caravan or group of travelers headed to the holy city. I’m guessing the bengals over there are headed that way, are they part of a caravan?”
“All of these people are,” he answered. He pointed toward a table where a mixed group of rir and humans sat. “See that rir fella over there with the golden hair? Name’s Nurrik Orndrom; he’s the caravan master for the pilgrimage to the holy city. I’m sure they’d be happy to have a demonhunter with them.”
“Thank you,” Kari said. She moved toward the table and received a few curious stares from Nurrik and those seated around him, but they seemed to loosen up when they saw her dog tags. “Are you Nurrik?” she asked as she came up next to the man.
“I am. What can I do for you, officer?” he replied, sitting back in his seat so he could look up at her face more easily. His emerald eyes were full of a mixture of curiosity and awe.
“I’m looking to travel with someone headed to the holy city,” Kari said. “The barkeep said you were the caravan master; would you let me sign on as a guard in exchange for a ride?”
“Will we have supplies to support another?” Nurrik asked the man seated to his left, an older human dressed in a hooded blue robe, who nodded. He looked back up to Kari’s face with a crooked smile. “We have a couple of half-demons with us, so they won’t let us into the city to re-supply,” he said. “It’s not going to be an issue if you have to travel with them, is it Miss…?”
“Karian Vanador, Shield of the Heavens, by Zalkar’s grace,” Kari said formally, and then she shook her head in answer to his question. “And I’ve no problem with them if they behave themselves.” She realized that much of the common room had gone silent, and she found herself the target of several dozen stares. She wondered if it was the comment about the half-demons behaving themselves, which she had intended as a joke, and she scratched absently at a pointed ear as the silence grew thick.
“Karian Vanador?” Nurrik repeated after exchanging looks with the others at the table. Kari expected a host of questions, but only one came forth. “You served under Brigadier Kris Jir’tana during the War?”
“Yes,” she replied. “We came down from Atrice in the north, through the Barrier Mountains, and weren't far from here when the War ended.”
The older rir nodded his head appreciatively, a muted but not insincere smile on his features. “Yes, the accomplishments of the Warlord and his company are well known around the southlands. Very well, you are welcome to travel with us so long as you are willing to lend your blades should any trouble arise. We were planning to take our leave this afternoon, as they will not allow us into the city to resupply, as I mentioned. If you wish to travel with us, I’ll make room for you in my personal wagon.”
“That’s perfect,” Kari said. “How long do you expect the trip to take?”
“Assuming all goes smoothly, no more than two weeks. Possibly three if we have any problems with the wagons or the mountain passes prove difficult. We should be supplied for four, just in case,” he said, his unspoken question answered by another nod from the human.
“Great, I’ll just get my things from the inn and be back shortly,” Kari said. She bid the man and his companions farewell and started toward the door. She had thought they knew who she was based on their reaction – and everyone else's – to her name, but thankfully, no one asked about her death and apparent resurrection. She expected most people wouldn’t know what to make of such an unprecedented event, and in any case, it wasn't something she really knew how to explain, anyway.
As she left from a different angle, Kari saw the half-demons Nurrik had spoken of for the first time. They were watching her with wary eyes, and she knew that even though her job was to hunt and kill their forebears, prejudice and hatred were things they lived with constantly. Kari tried to stay as open minded as possible: she knew they had certainly not chosen to be born half-demon and that they were as free-willed as any other peoples. While half-demons could be as big a problem as full-blooded serilian demons and many half-demons had fought on the Devil Queen’s side in the war, she had to be careful not to alienate possible allies and friends.
When she passed closer to them, she could see that both were half-elite, their fathers of the elite variety of serilian demon. The serilian demons were the Devil Queen Seril’s creations, the soldiers she had made for her endless war against the rir and the other mortal races of Citaria. The elites, however, had been the first of the serilian demons to break completely free of her influence and choose to go their own way. For the most part the elite demons had assimilated themselves into mortal society in the frontier towns, and even in the major cities in some cases. During the Fifth Demon War, they turned on their creator completely, throwing in their lot with the mortals, and they were one of the reasons the mortals’ victory had been so complete.
Kari smiled at the two as she passed, and they bowed their heads shortly in greeting. No words were exchanged, but it was clear her smile spoke volumes to them. Half-elites were usually the product of loving relationships, as elite demons often took rir females as mates and settled into a mortal lifestyle, at least until war came. When war came, they were fearsome fighters, strong and durable and without a shred of surrender in them. Banded together, they were incredible shock troops, and among the best allies one could hope for. Kari knew from experience: Jir’tana’s brigade during the war had half a dozen elite demons and numerous half-elites among their number. Based on Nurrik’s hesitation, Kari had assumed they were half-brys or half-corlypsi: half-demons of the lesser types that were normally the product of force. Had the half-demon passengers been of those varieties, Kari would’ve had a more guarded outlook toward them.
Kari headed back out into the square, squinted skyward at the sun breaking through the cloud cover, and was thankful for the clarity of her immediate future. She was content knowing that she would travel with
the pilgrims, do her duty as a guard, and once safely in Sarchelete, she would receive orders likely to keep her busy and focused for at least a few months. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she moved out of the way of a couple of people heading into the inn, and set her feet back on the road to The Bloodied Blade in the temple district.
*~*~*~*
Kari stopped in the church to let Master Devin know the approximate timetable for her arrival in Sarchelete so that he could pass the information on through prayer to Zalkar. She thanked David and Millie for their hospitality and left them several gold coins despite their insistence that a demonhunter not pay. She returned to the stable square as quickly as possible and met with the caravan. As promised, Nurrik provided her with a bedroll in the back of the lead wagon. He also welcomed Kari to sit on the driver’s bench with him whenever she wished. His mate, a pretty middle-aged rir woman with the typical white hair and green eyes of their kind, welcomed the demonhunter to their traveling home and let her know to simply ask when she wanted something to eat. Thus her journey to Sarchelete began.
The morning hours passed quietly. Nurrik was busy passing orders to get the caravan moving steadily and all together. After lunch, Kari’s traveling companions became more talkative. Kari did her best to dodge personal questions, and the Orndroms seemed content to listen to stories about her career as a demonhunter, apparently unaware of the fact that the things Kari told them of had happened two centuries before. It was just as well, since the tale of her return from death was one most would be hard-pressed to believe or even understand – as it was, she could hardly believe or understand it herself. Based on Nurrik’s and the rest of the tavern’s reaction to her stating her full name, she had expected many to recognize her the previous day, and in a minor way was thankful that such had not been the case.
“So you’re a Shield of the Heavens?” Nurrik asked. “That’s rather high up in the ranks, isn’t it?”
“Twelfth rank,” Kari confirmed with a nod, unsure if the caravan master was aware that there were sixteen total ranks in the Order. “I advanced pretty quickly since my work was all I really ever did. No family or anything to divide my time with.”
“Did you train with Jason Bosimar, before his unfortunate death in the War?” he asked.
“I only ever met him at the war camp up in Latalex,” she said. “And I only got to speak to him for a few minutes, which was too bad. Seemed like a really good man. A lot of times reaching the rank of Avatar of Vengeance has a tendency to change people: to harden them and make them a lot less open. I could tell that wasn’t the case with Jason. He was a friend to nearly every man and woman he spoke to up in the war camp. A leader like that is a rare thing.”
“Indeed,” Nurrik said. He spared a glance around the side of the wagon to inspect the train behind them. When he returned his attention to the road ahead and his conversation with the demonhunter, he asked, “Does your Order have a new Avatar?”
Kari shook her head and picked up her canteen to take a careful sip of water. By all accounts the caravan had plenty of supplies despite being turned away at Barcon, but Kari’s time in Jir’tana’s brigade taught her to conserve even when it didn’t seem necessary. “No, no one is even close to attaining the rank,” she said after a moment. “Right now Lord Allerius is the head of the Order, at least admina…” She paused again, her brow furrowed.
“Administratively,” Nurrik prompted as she stuttered, and she nodded.
“Yea, he’s the administrative head of the Order,” she finished. “But he’s only a rank above me, still several ranks below becoming an Avatar and true head of the Order.”
“So you’re in line to become an Avatar sometime in the near future?” he asked with a raised brow and an impressed smile.
Kari shrugged but couldn’t suppress a smile of her own. “It’s always been a dream of mine, but I have a lot of work ahead of me to reach that point,” she said. “And sometimes, I still have doubts…the Avatar has to be above such feelings.”
“Hogwash,” Nurrik said, his declaration echoed by a giggle from his mate in the back. “Everyone has doubts. Don’t ever let anyone tell you any different. Nobody’s faith is perfect.”
“You have doubts, even though you’re making a pilgrimage to the holy city?” the demonhunter asked curiously.
Nurrik took his eyes from the road to fix Kari with a steady stare for a few moments before he swung his gaze back ahead. “Our creator died at the end of the War,” he said, and Kari’s stomach dropped at his words. “I go to the holy city to see what direction our people go from here, what his will was for us prior to his destruction. We all have doubts, young lady.”
Kari swallowed uneasily; how could she have forgotten such an overwhelming truth? Gori Sensullu, the creator of their world and all of its indigenous peoples except the serilian demons, was destroyed along with his evil counterpart at the War’s conclusion. How did such a thing slip her mind, that her creator was dead? It was almost unfathomable, and she realized that she was far from being alone in her doubts and confusion: likely the entire world was suffering the same uncertainty she was. Though their creator’s son, Kaelariel, had assumed leadership of the pantheon, the faith of the people was still shaken at best, or completely torn asunder at worst.
“I hadn’t really thought about it,” she said. “I’ve always followed Zalkar, but I’ve never really worshipped him. I’ve always served him and I love serving him, but I feel…apart from the pantheon for some reason, as if something else drives me, but lets Zalkar steer my course.”
Nurrik put a hand reassuringly to Kari’s shoulder. “Perhaps you’ll find more than just orders in the holy city,” he said. “Even with Zalkar guiding your career, it’s not unusual for you to still have questions or even doubts. Maybe in the holy city, you’ll find your answers.”
Kari nodded but remained silent, and the caravan rolled on into the afternoon. The journey was quiet and uneventful; the serilian demons knew to stay far from the Barrier Mountains, where they’d suffered defeat after defeat at the hands of Jir’tana and his brigade. The warm front that had come in while Kari was in Barcon did little once they headed up through the mountain passes, but the weather remained mostly favorable nonetheless. There weren’t many things in the wild that would attack something the size of a caravan, so they passed harmlessly through the mountains and onto the coastal plains on the far west side. Just as Nurrik had promised, they came within sight of the holy city after two weeks, and as they crested a hill, Kari stepped down from the wagon.
From the hilltop, Kari looked out over the massive city. Its north end was dominated by the towering white marble temples of the pantheon and capped by what was the most holy temple to Gori Sensullu, the rir peoples’ lord and creator. She looked over the temple, and even from such a distance she drew one of her blades, placed it tip-down to the ground and knelt, and she bowed her head in silent prayer. She prayed for the unity of the pantheon, and that Kaelariel would be as strong and benevolent a leader as his father. Others climbed down from their wagons and followed in Kari’s example, and began their memorial before ever setting foot in the city itself.
Kari rose, caught up to her wagon, and climbed back up into the driver’s seat. Nurrik fixed her with a curious stare but said nothing. By the end of the day, the procession reached the gates and began the long and tedious process of checking in with the city watch. While pilgrim caravans were common, the holy city was particularly careful not to let large bands of potential assassins or terrorists within its walls. It had been ages since anyone dared attack the city in any way, but Kari assumed the guards knew that complacency was the seed of disaster.
“You won’t be mad if I enter the city on my own, will you?” Kari asked her benefactors.
Nurrik shook his head lightly. “Not at all,” he said. “You obviously have more pressing concerns than filling out paperwork or answering questions for hours. By all means, go.”
Kari shook the hand offered to
her and thanked the rir couple for their hospitality. She made her way to the gates where she was stopped only briefly. The rir guards there saw her dog tags and waved her through without question. Kari stepped into the city and found herself in the eastern quarter, which she remembered housed mostly military personnel and city watch. The process of entering through the busy east gate took most far longer than it took Kari, and for a moment she was thankful that being a demonhunter tended to let one avoid thorough questioning. With a deep breath she took in the scent of the city: dusty and heavy with the smell of wood fires as the weather began to turn colder, with the slight smell of salt water from its western side. Avenues ran along the inner wall to the north and south with another main road leading toward the center of the city. Kari headed down the middle road.
Sarchelete was the seat of rir civilization: the very first city their people had built with bare hands when they were created over three thousand years before. The city was much smaller then, when the species was young and still getting its feet beneath it. Once the attacks of Seril’s demonic servants were turned back more steadily and the rir began to thrive, the city began to slowly expand, and the walls gradually moved outward as more and more homes and workshops sprung up throughout. After several centuries, when the pantheon likewise began to grow with those handpicked mortals Gori Sensullu promoted to deity status, the lone temple to their creator was joined by more and more marble temples to his helpers.
The central square was a massive, sprawling plaza with a titanic fountain in its center. In the heart of the fountain was a flawless marble statue of Kris Fletcher, a human paladin more commonly referred to as the Ghost. The statue commemorated his victory over a squad of brys during the third century, when the assassin demons were newly created and sent to infiltrate the holy city in an attempt to destroy it from within. History spoke of Fletcher fearlessly facing the demons, calling upon his lord to protect him and turning aside their every attack. He was well known as a master with a two-handed sword, and made short work of the faster, deadly demons. In the end, he had won not only the battle but also the adoration of the rir people as a whole, and had been named Lord Protector of the holy city. He served that post with honor and courage throughout the remainder of his life, and upon his passing he was anointed the patron deity of paladins and the god of honor and purity. Despite the fact that he was human, many rir who took up the sword to follow the path of the knight or paladin took easily to the Ghost’s service, and he quickly became a very popular deity.