by Rex Jameson
“I’ve watched you at tournaments,” Ashton said to Jeremy, as they left Corinth.
He turned to Godfrey. “And my best friend and I watched your son win golds three times at Fomsea.”
Godfrey looked west toward Fomsea. He nodded as his plate armor rustled back-and-forth with each step of his horse. Ashton became mesmerized by the rocking motions of these stars of Surdel in their saddles.
“You were a fan of my son?” Godfrey asked.
“The whole kingdom was a fan of your son,” Ashton said, suddenly hyper-aware of his diction and common stock. “He was unrivaled in the joust and hand-to-hand. I’ve never seen anything like him in the ring or on the tilt barrier. The kingdom mourns for him. I mourn for him.”
“Well said,” Godfrey said.
Lord Jeremy Vossen grunted.
“May I ask how he died?” Ashton asked.
“Bandits,” Godfrey said.
“The Grand Champion of Surdel died to bandits?” Ashton asked.
The three rode on in silence. Ashton tried to wrestle with the idea that a man he had seen best two men at once in tournament combat had been killed by the types of men his undead army had torn apart at Mallory Keep.
“I don’t believe it,” Ashton said after a few moments.
“Do you have a gag for him?” Godfrey asked Jeremy.
Jeremy wrapped the rope around his harness and searched in his vest for cloth.
“You misunderstand me,” Ashton said. “I meant no offense. I’m just… Frederick Ross dying to bandits? I thought surely, he must have died in battle. A line of knights on a field somewhere, not…”
“A bunch of nobodies?” Godfrey asked, turning slightly in his saddle to look at Ashton.
The resentment and bitterness clearly shone through the Lord General’s open visor.
“The world is cruel,” Godfrey said. “No one gets the death they deserve.”
Jeremy Vossen grunted an agreement again.
“Was he your friend?” Ashton asked Jeremy.
“He was my best friend,” Jeremy said, the first thing he had uttered since the people had approached Godfrey about his son in Corinth. “I saw him die.”
Jeremy wiped at his eyes and grunted again, apparently disappointed in himself for showing any emotion or empathy in front of Ashton. He jerked on the rope a bit and spurred his own horse to go a bit faster.
Ashton was nearly yanked off his horse, but he corrected himself and his mount quickly. He hadn’t ridden a horse many times before the last month, but he was becoming a decent rider.
“I watched my best friend die too,” Ashton said. “He was dragged under a lord’s carriage. Lord Mallory, not Lord Vossen, of course. It’s what started this whole mess for me.”
Jeremy seemed to grow less agitated with him again, and he slowed down. Godfrey accepted the pace and pulled alongside the other two men.
“When loved ones die violently under your watch,” Godfrey said, “your mind changes. Everything changes. Your perspective. Your ethics and morals. You look at what and who you have left, and you ask yourself if there’s anything you wouldn’t do to protect them. I know what my limits are. Do you?”
Ashton nodded, more out of a need to find common ground with the Lord General than anything else. He wasn’t sure if he and the famous father of a famous son had just bonded or not. The idea that they might have, though, was exciting, and so he thought better of telling this man the truth.
Ashton had not lost Clayton. He had only lost an absentee father to violence. Clayton had come back, and his father had come back as something else entirely. Ashton didn’t feel colder by the fact that they had been taken from him. He felt the world itself had grown colder and indifferent. Thousands had died in Perketh and Dona, and no cavalry came to help until those people had died and been brought back to pound on the gates of a southern lord.
Ashton’s ethics and morals hadn’t changed. His situation had changed multiple times, but not his moral compass. There was still right and wrong, good and bad. Resurrecting the dead of Perketh and Dona felt good. Raising a demon into his father seemed bad, and he regretted it. Perhaps he hadn’t lost someone close enough to register the type of change Godfrey Ross was talking about. He lost his mother and his best friend, but Clayton had come back. Maybe Ashton just didn’t have one or two people who still needed protecting—perhaps that was the reason he couldn’t find common ground with the lords. Whatever the reason, he felt closer to the poorer men and women of Surdel than these two great men, even if deep down, he really wanted them to be his friends.
As their horses diverted from the King’s Road and moved north through the brush, Ashton was reminded that Godfrey Ross and Jeremy Vossen were not and never would be his friends. His people were west in his hometown of Perketh and southwest in Dona where the undead had returned after Mallory Keep. And even east in Corinth where his captors had just left, even if those people might curse his name as the terrible and irredeemable Necromancer. Compared to these two men, even they must be friends by comparison.
Because these two famous men were taking Ashton back to Kingarth, probably to his death. That was the most unfriendly thing Ashton could think of.
Sleeping in a saddle is almost impossible. On a smooth road, maybe. The harmonic rocking and the rhythm of the horse hooves might lull a person then. On the countryside northeast of Perketh, through the hills and potholes, Ashton had a rough time with it. The pace was slow enough. His captors weren’t vindictive or intentionally cruel. Still, every bump and crack of a limb beneath the animals jostled him and set his mind ablaze with thoughts of the underworld, Riley, and the rolling fires along the walls of Mallory Keep.
There was something else nagging at him. A presence in the forests southwest of Xhonia, just east of Alefast. It felt familiar but foreign. It reminded him of Dona and home. However, after two days without sleep, riding at a decent clip and with a man holding the reins and rope that bound him, leading him without needing his assistance, his mind wasn’t able to process the significance of this pestering feeling.
His head sagged. His eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and a darkness filled his mind.
A woman appeared, and a pillar of light engulfed her in the blackness. Her hair was blonde, and her eyes were blue. She wore a white dress.
“Ashton,” she said. “You’ve been fighting off seeing me for quite some time.”
“I’m dreaming.”
“Of course, you’re dreaming. That doesn’t mean this conversation isn’t happening.”
“Who are you?”
She smiled, and he recognized her. The woman from Dona. The dark goddess. Mekadesh.
“You’re still trying to figure out my name?” she asked. “I thought we’d be past this by now. Besides, you seem to have bigger problems than me.”
In the dream, Ashton saw himself riding on a simple brown horse in the darkness. The image of him and the horse slowly and naturally moved in circles around her. The sound of horse clops echoed in his mind.
“Did you feel it?” she asked.
“Feel what?”
“Orcus is almost here.”
“Who is Orcus?”
“A demon lord,” she said. “The second strongest under this world. Demogorgon hunts him, and he’s fleeing to the surface through Xhonia. He is Lord of the Undead. Where he goes, the dead rise. He doesn’t ask for them to rise like you do. The dead respond to him, for it is his power. You felt them in the forests today. Didn’t you? I think you did.”
“I don’t remember,” he said, watching himself circling her in the vision. “This feels strange.”
“You’ll feel it again,” she said. “Stronger. More intense. He commands thousands, and when he reaches the surface, he’ll command even more.”
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked.
She tilted her head like a cat, watching him. The pure image of white holiness before him was unsettling, given that he knew she was a demon lord. She appeared
to sense his thoughts. Her entire personality and dress changed right before his eyes. Her dress began to shrink and turn from white to gray and then black. It tightened around her form, splitting at her navel and exposing more and more skin. A clasp held her ample cleavage by the flimsiest of metal pieces.
He refused to look at her body. He instead looked at her face as eyeshadow darkened her eye sockets. Her hair turned black like Riley’s and then pulled itself up behind her head. Her lips reddened. She put her hands on her hips, and she again looked at him like a cat. But this time, like a predator about to pounce on a prey mouse.
“Are you happy now?” she asked. “Is this what you want to see?”
“What do you want?” he asked as the image of him on a horse continued to pace around her. His likeness appeared to be sleeping in the saddle. He was dirtier than he realized, still covered in grime and mud from being dragged by his captors. The knots were not as professional and perfect as he imagined them to be. He was sure they would hold, but Jeremy Vossen had obviously been in a hurry.
“I need you to fight this demon lord,” she said.
He pointed to the phantom of him and his horse. “I’m a little tied up at the moment.”
“Say the word, and you won’t be,” she said. “How many of your people have to die before you trust me?”
“You mean like Cedric did?” he asked.
For the briefest of moments, the look of predator turned to one of genuine surprise and curiosity. In truth, it had been a complete shot in the dark. He only knew that Cedric claimed she wanted his soul. He knew nothing more than that.
She smiled and the slightest hint of a grin formed at the corners of her mouth.
“You think you know something about me,” she said, “and maybe something about the paladins. Or maybe you just want me to reveal my plans and desires. I do want you, Ashton, even more than I want a man like Cedric. However, things have to happen before I can share some of my secrets with you. Your mind is too vulnerable. Orcus would sniff you out. Demogorgon would bend you to your knees, and you would reveal everything, whether you liked it or not.”
“What do you want?” he asked again.
She shook her head. “That’s too large of a question. You aren’t ready for that yet. Let’s talk about what the demons want.”
“You’re a demon,” Ashton accused.
She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. She leaned more heavily on one leg than another, and she sized Ashton up with her eyes. His own eyes drifted downward, taking in her outfit. Black, shiny heels. Long white legs peeking out. Stylish black dress that was hardly there.
“Why do you think this appeals to me?” he asked.
“It appeals to all men,” she said. “I’ve spent millions of years doing what I do and learning what I know. Do you want me to take it off?”
He shook his head, but he was, of course, lying. He knew that she knew more about him than he did. She knew he felt something in the forest before he had been able to process it. There must be undead nearby. That feeling was what reminded him of Dona and Perketh. Perhaps her clothes changed in response to his mind as well, before he could even process it. Or maybe she tried to influence him. Whatever the reasons, he still didn’t trust her. She was a demon.
“Why do you need me?” he asked. “What could I possibly have to offer you? I’m just a man.”
“Surely, you know you are different,” she said. “A man who raises the dead has never occurred here, has it?”
“Cedric and Jayden think that it may be because demons are here,” he said. “Jayden says that my powers may come from Orcus.”
She seemed to change slightly. She straightened. There was a noticeable twitch at the mention of the dark elf.
“Not in the way you think,” she said. “I assure you that you’re not a demon. You have not been marked. Not in that way. Orcus has no control over you. Demogorgon doesn’t control you yet.”
“You appear to,” he said. “Invading my dreams like this. Watching me. Interfering.”
“I have done nothing to you,” she said. “I have interfered in none of your affairs.”
“But you offer to,” he said, pointing again at the tethered image of him.
“Your death would be a waste,” she said. “I already told you. I want you to fight demons.”
“What if I fight you?” he asked.
“Let that be my problem,” she said. “You have bigger problems to worry about.”
“I’m not worried about dying,” he said. “I would join Riley and everyone else I knew and loved in the afterlife.”
She chuckled, and he grew confused. She laughed again and louder. Her head leaned back, and she laughed wickedly and earnestly. He became very uncomfortable.
“You just don’t get it, do you?” she asked. “Demon lords are here. Demogorgon, the Prince of Demons, is here. Your world’s creator is captured. Any afterlife you might have been promised in the underworld or anywhere else is postponed indefinitely. You die here, you now go to the Abyss. The Void. This world’s already connected to it. The only question is who will end up owning it. Whose plane will this be?”
“And you believe our world should be yours?” he asked.
The darkness became bright instead. Flames engulfed everything around him. Trees burned. Deer, bears and lions rotted away and then burst into flame as they leapt in terror. Mothers carried their burning children and screamed for help as their faces melted. Ashton tried to recoil, but he had no eyelids. He was in a dream.
“Demogorgon,” she said.
The scenes changed to darkness. Naurun roamed the countryside, pinprick sources of light that danced around like fireflies. The sun had gone. Undead fed upon the living, who cried out for aid. Ashton reached down to the ground to pick up something shiny. It was a pauldron from a knight’s shoulders. Part of it had been charred. Everything around him had been burnt and then put out.
“Orcus,” she said.
The land changed again. This time green and blue. Lakes and rivers. Trees. Birds. Perketh’s homes sat peacefully at the edge of the main square where Riley’s pyre was no longer on display. A woman held her child and looked at him. The scene changed to Fomsea, the people’s capital of the south. A tournament was under way, and two knights barreled at each other atop war chargers, lances pointed at shields.
The scene morphed again. Blackness. Mekadesh sat in a pillar of light again, an odd curiosity given that she was still dressed in the black, revealing dress. The effect was less holy, like a pillar of light might otherwise proclaim, and more like a spotlight on a monster.
“And you’re saying you would keep our world the way it is,” Ashton said.
“I don’t want to rule your world,” she said. “I don’t want it burned. I’m not a fire demon. I’m a much older creature.”
“And what do you want?” he asked.
“I’m looking for something,” she said simply. “Long ago, something fell from the sky. I seek to claim it.”
“And then you’ll leave?”
“And then I’ll have what I want,” she said.
“You’ll leave us to fight Demogorgon and Orcus?” he asked.
“Once I have claimed this world as my plane,” she said, “the fire demons and all of their lords will have already left. If they tried to return, I would be obligated to fight them.”
“Demogorgon controls the fire demons,” he said. “Your creations?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Orcus controls the undead,” he said.
“Amongst other things,” she said. “He has his own fire demons.”
“And what do you control?” Ashton asked.
“I’m a woman, aren’t I?” she asked, smiling sweetly. “I control them all. Their thoughts. Their actions. Their knowledge and ambitions. Demons are warped, ambitious things. To someone with the right ambition, I’m a tantalizing thing…”
She traced a hand up her leg and Ashton involuntarily followed it as her
fingertips moved over her knee and between her inner thighs. He cursed himself for being so easily manipulated in his own dreams.
“What good are thoughts and actions against demons?” he asked. “So what if you control such things? They have fought you in the underworld, despite these powers of yours.”
She shrugged. “I hold another realm and have held it since the dawn of time. I have kept it safe without committing a single violent act. Men fight for territory. I fight for something else.”
“Didn’t you say you wanted my world for your own?” he asked. “How is that any different from Orcus or Demogorgon?”
He felt the room grow darker and saw a snarl form on her lips.
“Do not think you understand me, mortal,” she said. “Maybe I fight them so another beautiful world like Nirendia, which reminds me so much of my first home world, does not fall into their hands. Maybe I fight because I’m as evil as any demon lord in existence, and I just want to prove myself to the Prince of Demons. Maybe I just want to chain another powerful creature to my bed posts and make a fool out of him. Maybe I just want to go through all this effort to trick a man like you into pledging himself to me for nothing more than my own amusement. Or maybe, just maybe, I’m not as bad as you think I am.”
He didn’t know how to feel or what to say. So, he just sat there, a drifter in his own dream world.
“Do you want my help or not?” she asked.
He didn’t understand her question.
“I thought you wanted my help,” he said. “To lead your forces. That’s what you told me at Dona.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she said, her hands on her hips again in exasperation. “Do you want me to kill these two idiots?”
He had forgotten about his captivity and his travel to Kingarth to be executed.
“No,” he said. “They seem like good men.”
She laughed again, richly and genuinely. She shook her head and sighed heavily. He accidentally looked at her chest as it inflated and bulged out of her tight top. She caught him staring and raised her eyebrows at him.