Demon Quest

by Craig Askham

  “Welcome, gentlemen. How can we help?”

  That confused them. The smaller one stopped waving his sword around, as if the last thing he’d expected to hear from the scary looking man in the dragon armour was a polite greeting. He’d been the one to introduce the two of them as City Watch, and he tried to match his voice to the voice he’d overheard earlier, when he’d been listening to their voices in the alley with Ironshoulder. Durler, then. Which made the big one Ditmas, the new father. It was Ditmas who replied, clearly quite pleased with himself at how he’d reacted to the situation, compared to his colleague.

  “We’ve been sent here to investigate some strange comings and goings that have been reported in the area. Would you happen to know anything about that, dragon man?”

  Rafferty took two steps forward, trying not to grimace every time his hip moved. He couldn’t show any pain; he was part demon, and demons didn’t feel the pain experienced by their hosts. The character he’d created didn’t, anyway.

  “Of course, young Master Ditmas. It would seem that you have indeed stumbled upon the comings and goings of which you speak. Welcome to the Church of Varun Behl.” He bowed grandly, but straightened up quickly enough to see the look of shock on both Watchmen’s faces.

  “How do you know my name?” Ditmas growled, pointing his sword in Rafferty’s direction. “Wait a minute, did you just say Church of Varun Behl?”

  Rafferty nodded, and enjoyed the look the two men gave each other. The look that spoke a thousand words. The one where they suddenly remembered stories told to them as children, in order to scare them into behaving. Stories about the bogeyman, who went by the name of Varun Behl.

  “Are you…?” Durler had found his voice again, although it had a significantly more squealy tone to it than he remembered.

  Again, he nodded.

  “I am, indeed.”

  “Wirio’s Balls!”

  “You’d do well not to mention my father’s balls again, young Master Durler.” He took another step forward. “You must have heard that we don’t really get along?”

  In unison, the two men stepped back. Even Ditmas looked terrified, now. Durler, poor fellow that he was, looked like he was about to lose control of his very full bladder.

  “Varun Behl isn’t real.” Ditmas couldn’t have looked any less sure if he’d tried. Rafferty took another step forward, which was met with another step backward from the Watchmen.

  “Surprise.”

  Another two steps back. Finding some courage from somewhere, Ditmas pointed at Grujo.

  “Varun Behl or not, I’m afraid you’re going to have to untie that man and let him go.”

  “Are you offering to take his place, Ditmas?

  The large man shook his head, harder than was strictly necessary.

  “No!” He waved his hands, then used one of them to push a few locks of straw-like hair from his eyes. “No, no, no. Absolutely not, sir. Sod that.”

  “It’s not too late to leave, you know. While you still can. Tell that Lapworth fellow the place was deserted. In a few shakes of a dragon’s tail, you could be drinking ale at The Salt Mill. Or you could be back at home, Ditmas, in the arms of the lovely Frida.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Your baby doesn’t have to grow up without a father, Ditmas.” He cringed inwardly, wondering if he’d gone too far. It didn’t sit well with him that he’d brought the man’s baby into his implied threat, but it had just slipped out. He was in character, after all. As an evil half-demon, half-god who, in Rafferty’s mind, would actually say much worse than that. And with a smile on his face as he did so.

  “How do you know about my baby?” Ditmas sounded as petrified as Durler looked. He had them just where he wanted them. Suddenly, though, that petrified look turned to one of anger. “Don’t mention my baby, demon hunter. If you mention my baby again, I’ll break you in half.”

  Durler grabbed hold of his arm, and tried to pull him back the way they’d come.

  “Don’t be silly, Ditmas. You heard the man, it’s not too late to leave. Come on. First round at The Salt Mill’s on me. Maybe even the second. Let’s go, Dit.”

  “We have a duty, Durler.” The larger man didn’t take his eyes off Rafferty. Rafferty’s heart sank. He shouldn’t have mentioned the baby. I was trying to be too clever. Why does every performance have to be about chasing an Oscar?

  “I don’t think this comes under duty. I think we’d need to be paid quite a lot more money for that. I’m leaving, Ditmas. I’m begging you to come with me. Please.”

  Ditmas was facing quite the quandary. Rafferty was impressed by his bravery, but was silently willing him to listen to his friend.

  “Listen to your friend,” he said, for good measure. But Ditmas was already shaking his head, decision made.

  “He knows our names, Durler. He knows I have a child. It’s too late; if this really is Varun Behl, we’re as good as dead.”

  Rafferty laughed, and made it sound as cruel as he could. Was there an opportunity here?

  “You think too much of yourself, Ditmas. I have no interest in either of you, although that may change if you MAKE ME ANGRY!” He kept his tone deceptively calm, and caused everybody in the room to jump when he suddenly switched to an all-out bellow for the last three words. Abandoning what may have been a lifelong friendship with Ditmas, Durler turned tail and fled without another word. Ditmas, proving himself to be quite the stubborn oaf, again held his ground. His face had drained of colour and his entire body shook, but his jaw was set. Someone cried out from the shadows, possibly Durler, and the sound was immediately followed by something heavy hitting the ground. Ditmas spun on his heel, sword pointed into the darkness.

  “Durler?” No answer. “Durler?” Again, nothing. “What have you done to him, monster?”

  Rafferty had no answer for him. He looked to his acolytes, but they were spectators now, almost in a trance. Grujo was struggling against his restraints, not to break free, but to try and see what the hell was going on. It was at this point that he realised the gamer, Idella, was nowhere to be seen. Neither, for that matter, was her guide. Doesn’t that make this whole charade kind of…pointless? Before he knew it, he was shaking his head.

  “I’ve literally no idea.” That was that, then. He’d given it a good shot, but he wasn’t cut out for this. Whatever this was. He was a trained actor, but this wasn’t acting. There was nothing professional about this. It was a farce, and nobody knew what the hell they were doing. Least of all him.

  Ditmas took three faltering steps towards the shadows and then paused, unable to continue. He called out again, and his tone was desperate.

  “Durler?”

  Rafferty stood there, suddenly in the same trance as his acolytes. It was, without doubt, the most surreal moment of his life. What had happened to Durler? Had the guide done something to him? Oh God, had Idella hurt him? What if she’d assumed he was part of the game, and killed him? No. The weapons were blunt, and she didn’t look like the sort of person who could snap a man’s neck with her bare hands. It had to be the guide, in which case Durler was hopefully just taking a little nap. Did this kind of thing happen every day, or had they saved up all the crazy for his first, and last, show?

  Ditmas forced himself forward again, and Rafferty almost begged him not to go. The big man disappeared, and those who remained held their collective breath. Nothing except the sound of his boots scraping reluctantly along the ground. And then…the sound of someone taking a good clobbering, a grunt, a clattering sword, and something large hitting the floor. It was Ditmas, surely, but who had done the clobbering? They waited, all of them, barely daring to breathe. The seconds passed, and nobody came back from the shadows. Rafferty felt something touch his neck, and reached up to brush it away. He was so fixated on the fate of the two Watchmen that it took him a few moments to notice when the something came back again. It wasn’t until he realised he could feel cold steel that a somewhat belated sixth sense told him to investigate. He turned around t
o find Idella Breck standing there, pale faced and scared, pointing a sword at his face. She opened her mouth to speak, realised her lips were too dry, and gave them a quick lick to moisten them. When she eventually spoke, her tone was soft but determined. Her eyes flicked to the altar.

  “I’ve got the demon, Grujo. Any chance you can tell me what I need to do next, please?”

  Fourteen

  The sword was getting heavy in Idella Breck’s hands. She was confused, but intent on seeing this game through to the end. Naz’s body was in her peripheral vision, still in the exact same position that he’d fallen, as if he was really dead. For all she knew, really dead was exactly what he was. And as for the two Watchmen? She was aware that someone else was in the room, hidden in the shadows; she’d seen him moving from the relative safety of her own hiding place. It could have been Tregurtha, she supposed; she hadn’t thought so at the time because, as far as she was concerned, she’d left him in the centre of the room with the others when she’d sloped away. He was gone now, though, and that made her feel a million times less safe.

  Gravity forced the tip of the sword down an inch or two, and it took almost too much effort to bring it back up. Would it be unprofessional of me to rest it on his shoulder? Just for a minute or so? Her left palm was starting to get sweaty, and the ring she’d confiscated from Grujo felt as if it might squeeze between her fingers in a bid to escape its duty. She couldn’t let that happen. Without the ring, there was nothing she could do to defeat Varun Behl. Without the ring, it was game over. Squeeze it tighter.

  Speaking of the demon, he looked less sure of himself now. As he should, of course, what with her sword hovering by his throat. Well, it was more like his left nipple, now. The damn thing weighed a ton. And desperately needed sharpening, she realised suddenly. Would that even puncture the soft skin of his throat, if required? It certainly didn’t look like it, but she was no expert on swords.

  Varun Behl slowly reached up a hand, and scratched his hairy chin. His facial hair was slightly darker than the hair on his head, and his skin looked too youthful to have such a large amount of grey sprouting from it. He looked calm, but she was close enough to him to see there was turmoil in his eyes. Was Varun Behl, the infamous demon hunter, afraid of her? She knew it was unlikely, but perhaps she needed to stop being so hard on herself. Stranger things had happened, and she had made it this far pretty much by herself, after all.

  “The ring, Idella. You need the ring.” It was Grujo, answering her question finally. He sounded tired, as if all the thrashing about on the altar had taken it out of him. The only thing his efforts had managed to accomplish was to pump blood out of his thigh quicker than if he’d done the sensible thing and stayed still. She held up her hand with the ring in it, and grasped it between her thumb and her index finger. She couldn’t help but grin at having predicted Grujo’s advice. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t see the ring from his compromised vantage point; she was showing it to the demon, really, and the look of panic that evaporated his formerly calm mask confirmed that she was on the right track.

  “I have the ring, you idiot. I need you to tell me what to do with the ring. Do I need to say some sort of spell?”

  Varun Behl lunged for the ring, almost too quickly for her to react. She snatched her hand away, took a step back, and slapped his outstretched knuckles with the flat of her blade.

  “Give me that!” he screamed, and then shook his hand vigorously as the pain kicked in. Instinctively, he crammed as many knuckles into his mouth as he could fit, before letting out an involuntary and almost incomprehensible “Sonofabitch!”

  “Get back!” In the renewed excitement of the situation, her voice raised an octave or two.

  “Don’t do this, Idella. Think about what we could achieve together. You and I. We could rule the world.”

  “Sounds boring. I want to see the world, not rule it.”

  The demon took a step forward, so she took a step back, determined to keep enough space between them. He held up a hand in an attempt to placate her.

  “Fine. I have money, then. Name your price, girl. How much for that ring? You’ll be able to buy yourself the finest dresses, and sleep in the softest beds. See the world in style, Idella Breck.”

  “I want to sleep under the stars, Varun Behl. And I don’t want dresses, I want riding gear. The kind I can wear every day for a week.”

  He raised an eyebrow at this.

  “Really? A week? What is wrong with you, young lady?”

  Idella had heard enough. He was edging closer, setting himself up for another lunge at the ring. Did he think she was stupid?

  “Grujo! The ring! What do I do? Stay with me, Grujo. I need you.”

  “What?”

  It wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness. Her heart started to beat faster as the panic rose to her chest. Before she even said the words, she knew they were going to come out as a screech.

  “What do I do, Grujo?”

  It worked. She heard him grunt, and hoped he was trying to fight the urge to keep his eyes closed.

  “Put it on.”

  Of course. Fairly obvious start, if she was honest. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t thought of that herself. She took another step back, forcing her sword arm up again to discourage the demon from attacking. He looked desperate, possibly weighing up his odds. She carefully manoeuvred the ring onto her wedding finger, using only her thumb and little finger. It was too big for her slender digit, and nearly slipped straight back off again. She held up her hand so that the tarnished band dropped all the way down to the base of her finger.

  “Done, Grujo! What next?” No answer. “What next, Grujo?”

  “Huh?” She’d disturbed his beauty sleep.

  “The ring is on my finger. What. Next.”

  “Right. Yes. The ring. Er….”

  Varun Behl darted forward again. She stepped to the side, and hit him on the side of his head with the flat of her blade. He stumbled to his knees, and she decided she’d quite like it if he stayed there. She approached him from behind, and jabbed the sword into his neck. Now she had the height advantage and the blade was pointed down, she felt as if she could hold it there for hours.

  “So much as a twitch out of you, and I’ll open you up.” Had those words really just come out of her mouth? In the form of a growl, as if she was some kind of cold-blooded killer? Apparently so. She was learning a lot about herself today. Which is probably the point, numbskull.

  “Repeat what I say,” Grujo interjected, suddenly a little more with it. “Word for word. Got it?”

  “I’m not stupid. Get on with it.”

  “Hear me, Kiplogat.”

  “Wait, are you serious? You want me to pray? Grujo, are you about to make up a bunch of gobbledygook and make me dance naked in the rain, or something?

  Silence. Then…

  “Hear me, Kiplogat.”

  Idella sighed.

  “Fine.” Pause. “Hear me, Kiplogat.” As soon as the words escaped her mouth, Varun Behl’s body went stiff below her. “It’s working, Grujo! What’s next?”

  “The soul of Varun Behl is released, and powerless against you.

  “The soul of Varun Behl is released, and powerless against you.

  “No!” The demon’s squeal was so unexpected that she instinctively jerked away from him. He sounded like a pig, and it chilled the blood in her veins.

  “Take it now, and bind it to this vessel.” Grujo’s voice sounded stronger now; it contained the smallest hint of hope. She took a breath to steady her nerves.

  “Take it now, and bind it to this vessel.” She held up her hand, assuming that the vessel being referred to was the ring on her finger. The demon seemed to sink further into the ground, as if it was opening up and swallowing him. He pressed his forehead to the ground, and clamped a hand over each ear.

  “Stop!”

  “Let your name be on his lips for every second of every day!” Grujo sounded excited, fighting against h
is restraints again. How much longer is this damn prayer?

  “Let your name be on his lips for every second of every day.” Varun Behl started to growl like a feral dog, and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. “Hurry up, Grujo!” She placed a boot on his backside, and pushed him back down. Not taking any chances, she surged forward and placed the same boot on his neck, trapping him between it and the cold stone floor. He gasped, and hit the floor three times in quick succession like a wrestler tapping out. She increased the pressure of her foot, and he gasped again. He may have been trying to say something, but whatever he said was suitably unintelligible.

  “And his curses go unheard for all eternity!”

  “And his curses go unheard for all eternity!”

  On eternity, the demon went limp. Without thinking, she lifted her foot slightly. As soon as she did, he spasmed and flung himself onto his back, sending her sprawling to the ground. She landed hard on her coccyx, and for a few seconds that was all she could think of. Her sword flew from her hand and landed several feet away, just out of reach without having to make a mad scramble for it. Stunned, she sat there and watched Varun Behl contort his limbs in directions that were surely only possible if they were attached to strings being pulled by a sadistic puppet master. He screamed and threw his head back, cracking it against the floor.

  “Get out!” he screamed, and began to sob. “Get out, get out, GET OUT!”

  That was enough for the acolytes. One of the men looked at one of the women, and they passed a silent communication between each other that both instinctively understood. Run. In unison, they dropped their weapons and did exactly that. The rest followed, melting into the shadows like ghosts. Varun Behl went limp again, and started to whimper. From pig, to rabid dog, to scared puppy. In under a minute. He rolled onto his side and curled up in the foetal position, rubbing the back of his head and possibly wondering why it hurt so much.

  “You did it, Idella.”

  Grujo’s voice tore her concentration away from the awkward scene in front of her. Did I? Are you sure? She craned her neck around to look at him, and couldn’t believe the amount of blood that formed a red border around the entire altar. How was he still alive? She hauled herself to her feet and scurried over to him, fumbling clumsily with his bindings.