Demon Quest

by Craig Askham

  The acolyte swung again. His aim was poor, and she suspected that if she didn’t block it, his blade would miss her anyway. She wasn’t about to put that theory to the test, but it gave her confidence a lift. She dropped her guard and waited for him to attack again, then batted his sword away and thrust her own towards his belly. He was barely dressed, and she felt the blade hit home as he tried in vain to twist his body away from it. His eyes went wide in shock, followed quickly by his legs giving way beneath him. She yanked her sword back before he could drag it from her hand, and yelped when she saw the tip was red.

  “Oh my God, are you okay?” Idella dropped the weapon as if it was hot, and it clattered to the stone floor. She knelt by her fallen opponent, one hand on his shoulder and the other covering her own mouth in shock. Swivelling her head in Tregurtha’s direction, she blinked tears from her eyes as a thousand scenarios flashed through her mind. She was in trouble. Real trouble. Would they leave her here to face whatever punishment was deemed necessary – Sweet Jesus, please tell me there isn’t a death penalty – or would they take her home to face a manslaughter charge? Fear exploded in her stomach, and worked its way up to grip her racing heart. “Medic!” she screamed.

  The acolyte fell forward onto the floor. Idella instinctively looked down at him, tensing her body for the sound of either his forehead cracking on the stone, or his nose clicking as it broke. Having never been in this situation before, she had no idea which would connect first. As it happened, it was neither; one second the dead-or-dying acolyte was overcome by gravity, and the next his descent had slowed just enough that he managed to turn his head and land with a gentle oof. She stared at him through her tears, quite paralysed until rough hands reached down and grabbed her under both armpits. Tregurtha hauled her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a sack of potatoes.

  “Forget about him.” He reached down, scooped up her sword, and placed it back in her hand. He even went so far as to curl her fingers around the hilt for her. She looked around him, and saw another acolyte sprawled on his stomach next to the one that she’d…killed. Thankfully there was no blood. If she saw any more blood, she was going to faint.

  “Can we stop this now?” She regretted the words the second they were out of her mouth. As soon as she looked up at her disappointed guide’s face, she regretted them even more.

  “Doesn’t work like that.” His tone was gruff, but then he sighed and took pity on her. “You’ve got real potential, Idella. Remember when this was fun?” She nodded, and he echoed the action approvingly. “It still is, Idella. You’ve paid for this. Enjoy it.”

  Tregurtha was right. Of course he was right. He did this every day; the only variable for him was her. Idella Breck. The girl with potential. Get it together, idiot!

  Movement behind the guide brought her suddenly to her senses. More acolytes. She took a breath, held it, and ducked under the big man’s arms to come face to face with them. Two females; definitely sisters, possibly twins. Dark haired and beautiful, with plunging necklines that were inappropriate for the violent situation they’d found themselves in, the way they hefted their curved blades seemed scarily professional.

  “Hey there, bitches.” Once again, she regretted the words as soon as she spoke them. Bitches? Really? “Er…put those swords down before somebody gets hurt. And by somebody, I mean you. Both of you, that is.”

  “You need to work on your banter, sweetheart.” The one on the right was already moving to attack her as she spoke the words, and sweetheart came out as a grimace. Her swing was slow, and Idella had plenty of time to step back out of its reach. The acolyte on the left launched her own attack straight away, even as her sibling transferred all of her weight onto her front foot following her failed swing. Idella lashed out with her left foot and swept the back of her leg just as her boot touched the ground, and she toppled into the path of the acolyte on the left. Both fell over awkwardly. Idella grinned, and prepared to kick the first attacker in the face.

  “Nothing wrong with my banter,” she said. A hand reached out and grabbed her elbow, tugging her off balance and forcing her to abandon the kick. Tregurtha again. His face was a mixture of relief and exasperation.

  “Perhaps we’ll refrain from kicks to the head?”

  Idella nodded, wondering what had just come over her. Let’s not go from one extreme to the other, eh?

  “Stop.”

  Idella frowned over her shoulder, assuming that Tregurtha had issued the order to make sure there was no ambiguity concerning his suggestion.

  “I wasn’t going to…” She broke off, realising that Varun Behl had been the speaker. She looked over in his direction, and he was still smiling. He seemed very pleased with himself.

  “Idella Breck. Yes, I know your name, Idella. Step away from my acolytes, please.”

  He gestured smugly in Naz and Grujo’s direction, and her eyes followed to see that her fellow adventurers had been overcome. Their weapons were gone, and their throats were on the verge of acting as pincushions for acolyte steel. Well, this is a letdown.

  “Idiots!” She scowled at Naz and Grujo, refusing to take her eyes off them even as the two female acolytes at her feet hauled themselves up and relieved both her and Tregurtha of their swords. Naz reacted in his usual, charming manner.

  “Medic!” He screwed his face up as he sneered the word. Colour rushed to Idella’s cheeks.

  “Hey Naz, screw you.”

  As if agreeing with her sentiment, the acolyte holding his sword to Naz’s throat pushed it a little deeper and he yelped like a dog. He glared at his captor, but surprisingly had enough sense to keep his mouth closed. Grujo kept his eyes on the demon hunter, eyes narrowed.

  “To the altar,” Varun Behl reminded his followers, shooing them with a lazy flick of the wrist. Two of them, a man and a woman, grabbed one of Grujo’s shoulders each. He tried to shrug himself free, and received a fist in the stomach for his troubles. His captors wouldn’t even let him double over, so he brought his knees up to his chest in response to the pain. This suited the acolytes just fine; they supported his weight and carried him quickly over to the altar. As soon as they sat him down on the stone, he started to struggle again. More acolytes rushed to help, and together they forced him to lie down. He took several more blows along the way, all to the body, but in just over a minute he was tied so tight to the altar that it looked like he was struggling to breathe. One of the acolytes cut his thigh with a knife, and he yelped in pain. Blood immediately began to drip into the grooves of the altar, and Idella knew it wouldn’t take long for enough of it to gather and start a journey towards the little well at Grujo’s feet. She looked to Tregurtha for a sign they should try to do something, but he watched the scene unfold with his usual lack of expression. He must have sensed her stare, but ignored her. She switched to looking at Naz, to see if there was something she could do to help him instead. He was talking to the female acolyte who had the dagger to his throat. She imagined he was asking for her number; although Idella couldn’t see her face, she could tell by the body language that she was already bored. No. There was nothing she could do to help Naz. He was a lost cause.

  Varun Behl moved closer to the altar. He reached down and patted Grujo’s cheek, and then drew a dagger from a hidden sheath on the armour strapped to his thigh. He taunted Grujo by waving it in front of his face.

  “I know why you’re here, Grujo.” His tone was conversational. Spinning suddenly on his heel, he faced Idella and pointed the dagger at her from across the room. “But you, Idella Breck…why are you here? What have I done to you, specifically, that made you forfeit your life in the pursuit of my destruction? Tell me, and I promise your death will be quick.”

  Once again, Idella looked to Tregurtha for help. Once again, he ignored her. She could almost hear him admonishing her in her head. Stop looking to me for the answers, Idella! Stand on your own two feet. Think, girl!

  “You killed my father.”

  Next to her, Tregurtha’s s
houlders sagged as he closed his eyes. She knew what he was thinking. Is that really the best you could come up with?

  Varun Behl raised an eyebrow.

  “Is that all?” He swung to face Naz, and pointed the dagger at him. “And you? What did I do to you? Did I kill your father, too?”

  Naz laughed, and gave his acolyte captor a knowing wink.

  “Nope. You stole my woman. One look from you, and she runs off to join your cult? No, mate. Not having it. She’s coming home with me.” He stepped back, away from the point of the dagger at his throat, and grasped the acolyte by upper arm. “Come now, Eowyn. We’re heading back to the Shire.” He attempted to pull her, but she didn’t budge. Instead, she turned to face the demon hunter with a look of astonishment on her face.

  “Is this true?”

  The look of astonishment turned immediately to a look of disbelief.

  “What do you think?”

  Varun Behl sighed, and waved his dagger dismissively.

  “I think I’m offended by his little rat face. Kill him.”

  “Of course.”

  The acolyte turned back to her captive. Naz released her arm, but he only had eyes for the demon hunter.

  “Rat face? Really? You can’t call me that. I’m putting in a compl…”

  The acolyte stepped hurriedly forward and plunged her dagger into his chest.

  “Shut up, Frodo,” she hissed.

  Naz’s eyes went wide, and he stared at her in shock.

  “No!” Idella screamed, and rushed forward. Tregurtha grabbed her and hauled her back. She shoved her hands into his chest, but only succeeded in pushing herself backwards. Trying to sidestep him, she made it three whole steps in Naz’s direction before his arm snaked around her neck and yanked her to an abrupt halt. He stepped forward and restrained her in what was almost a sleeper hold.

  “Stay calm.” His breath tickled her ear. “Complete the mission.”

  Idella watched as Naz stumbled to his knees, one hand on his chest to try and stop the blood from leaking out. Oh my God, he’s actually bleeding! Her own knees buckled, and Tregurtha had to hold her up. Her vision went blurry, everything except Naz’s face. He was genuinely surprised. He looked up at the acolyte, his mouth working frantically but unable to produce any sound. A trickle of blood emerged, and made its way down his chin. He looked over at Idella, his eyes begging for help. His lips formed her name. Idella. No sound came out. He toppled forward, and lay still.

  Suddenly, Varun Behl was standing right in front of her. He grabbed her face, and wrenched it away from Naz’s body. He was squeezing hard, and it hurt. She glared hatefully up at him, but the depth of her anger was nothing compared to his twisted features and the rage in his eyes.

  “Did you think this was a game?” Spit landed on her face, and the menace in his voice made her cry out. Behind her, Tregurtha took a step back and tried to pull her gently with him. Varun Behl pressed his fingers and thumb harder into her cheeks until she cried out again, and the guide was forced to stop.

  “Let go of me!” she screamed. What the hell’s going on?

  Varun Behl stepped closer, and leaned down so that his face was mere inches away from her own. His breath smelled of coffee. She was terrified, despite the giveaway.

  “Watch what I do to your other friend,” he whispered. “You’re next!”

  With that, he let her go. Something snapped inside her as he turned away; Tregurtha was still holding her tightly, so she lashed out with her boot and caught the demon hunter on the hip, letting out a blood-curdling scream as she did. He yelled and turned back again, fist raised. Tregurtha yanked her back and was suddenly standing in front of her, staring the other man down. Varun Behl stood there, fist raised but unsure. Tregurtha was the taller of them, a slab of granite against a red hot flame. Even the acolytes held their breaths, unsure what was about to happen.

  A voice called out from nowhere, a little shaky but with authority.

  “Everybody stop what you’re doing! City Watch!”

  Idella stepped to the right, away from the double obstacles that were Tregurtha and the demon hunter. Both were frozen in position. Behind them, having appeared from an entrance at the opposite end of the room to the one she’d used, two men stood in a fighting stance with their swords drawn. Their leather armour was black, which gave credence to their claim of being City Watch. One was much larger than the other, and his belly strained against the stiff leather of his tunic. His eyes were possibly too close together, and his hair looked like straw. The other was small, his head barely at the larger man’s chest. His hair was dark, and pulled back into a ponytail. They were clearly both teenagers, and already looked like they regretted having walked in on whatever it was they thought they’d walked in on. The smaller Watchman caught sight of the altar with Grujo attached to it, and let out a little cry. He swung his sword in all directions, changing stance as if he expected to be attacked from everywhere at the same time. The larger one slapped him on the side of the head, and cleared his throat. When he spoke, it was with a deeper voice than the one who had announced them as City Watch. He sounded bemused, more than anything else.

  “What, in the name of all that’s holy, is going on here?”

  Sensing her opportunity to act, Idella moved behind Tregurtha once more. Casting a furtive glance around the room, she took a step back and disappeared into the shadows.

  Twelve

  Yooku Sangari looked down at the mess that was unfolding below her, hands clamped to her temples in dismay. The warehouse had a mezzanine level that spanned two of its four walls, high enough above the light cast by the candles in the room that, for all intents and purposes, it was invisible to those on the ground. Jida was on her right, leaning precariously on an iron rail that was only just preventing her hunched body from falling into the dim debacle that was both of their fading Stillwater careers.

  “Rafferty. Bloody. Barnes.” Yooku whispered the three words, to herself more than to Jida, but Jida straightened up anyway and took a step back from the rail.

  “Yes. I see what you mean, now.”

  It was Yooku’s turn to move forward and lean over the rail. Being significantly taller than Jida, it was even more precarious for her. At least if she fell, there was a chance she would land on top of Grujo. Good for her, not so much for Grujo.

  “Hit him, Rafferty! For the love of God, hit him! It’s the only way to recover the situation! Don’t just stand there like a lemon!”

  She’d meant the words to come out as another whisper, but they ended up being more like a hiss. A desperate one, at that. Down below, on her stage, the so-called demon hunter had nearly just punched a gamer square in the face. Only the guide’s quick-thinking had prevented it from happening. Barnes had lost the plot, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. The fate of the game was in Tregurtha’s hands now. At least that was something. Tregurtha was dependable, and amazingly clever. He had to be, to do his job; he always had to be on his toes, making sure nobody got hurt too badly.

  Jida moved closer to her, and jabbed her sharply in the ribs. Before Yooku could react, the smaller woman pointed a long finger down towards the other end of the room.

  “Who the hell are they?”

  Yooku looked where her finger was pointing. Two men had appeared from nowhere, carrying drawn swords. With a sinking heart, she guessed those swords were way too sharp to be from the props department. She groaned.

  “Seriously? What else can go wrong today?” Looking up at the ceiling, she raised a finger and wagged it. “No. Do not answer that.”

  “I think we’re in trouble, Yooku. They look like City Watch.”

  Right. Game over, then. Time to lower the safety curtain, and run for the hills. Yooku tore her gaze away from the ceiling. Only problem is, there is no safety curtain. It’s time to stop thinking of this as a performance that you have any kind of control over, Ronnie. This is real life. The thought made her feel sick. She was a director. Directing was al
l she knew. I can’t give up. What’s the worst that could happen?

  “It’s time for damage limitation, then. We need to get everybody out of here, and safely back through the portal. Let the professionals deal with the fallout.” She paused. “We’re going to need a new theatre.”

  “Wait a minute!” Jida was excited. Yooku wished she could be excited. Once upon a time, she probably would have been. As long as there was the slimmest of chances a bad performance could be pulled back from the brink, she would never have given up. This was the kind of thing she’d thrived on. Not exactly this, obviously. In her previous career, though; the one that mattered.

  “What is it?” She tried not to sigh with it, but failed. I want to go home to my children.

  “I’m not sure, but I think your man Rafferty is either about to save the day, or make things a whole lot worse!”

  With a nod that was her way of saying Ah, of course, Yooku looked down from the gods to watch what happened next.

  Thirteen

  Rafferty turned to face the newcomers, distracted by the pain in his hip. Idella had caught him on the bone, right in the gap of his armour. He’d need at least a week off to recover, at this rate. And what was going on now? Where had these Watchmen appeared from, and why had nobody warned him about this extra layer to the show? He caught the eye of the nearest acolyte and raised his eyebrow; she shrugged back at him, seemingly as in the dark as him. This was a bad sign. Surely they couldn’t be locals?

  There were two of them, one large and one small. Oh my God, it’s the two idiots I had to hide from earlier. Definitely a bad sign. What had they called themselves? Durler and Ditmas. They were real life members of the City Watch and, despite their double act routine, clearly not here in the capacity of comic relief. The smaller one was panicking at the sight of the altar, and the larger one actually slapped him on the side of the head as if he was a misbehaving child. He needed to do something, and quickly, as it seemed everybody else here was at a complete loss.