“When it covered you in darkness, I thought for sure you’d be dead when we found you. How the hell d’you get out of its darkness without it killing you?” he asked.
Esselles explained how he had managed the feat, following the beast’s movements by sound and by feel. Before he knew it, they were heading down Dockside Street.
“This is where you live?” Rashel asked. “Is your father a sailor?”
“No,” Esselles said. “My father was a stone mason in Arator. I live here because the rent is low and it’s near the castle. Most of the inns in the inner city charge an arm and a leg.”
“True. But how can you stand the smell?”
“The fish? You hardly notice it after a while.”
Inside the inn were the usual clientele and a few offered greetings to Esselles as he came in. Esselles found Tobias and explained to him that he would be staying at the barracks for a couple months, but wanted to keep his room for when he finished.
Teck fished a gold coin out of his pockets and placed it on the bar. “The captain said he would cover the rent while you were in training as you won’t be getting your guard pay.”
Tobias had scooped the coin off the bar before Teck had said his third word. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed the gold piece.
“You live like an Uranthian,” Rashel remarked when she saw how few his possessions were.
“I wasn’t always that way. Most of my belongings are still back home in Arator.”
Esselles packed all of his possessions into his trunk and Coen and Teck carried it out to the wagon. On the trip back, Rashel asked about Arator and Esselles told her about the rolling hills, wheat fields, and vineyards of his birthplace.
She said her goodbyes when they reached Pike Street. She and her guard continued on Western Boulevard. Esselles sat there a moment, bewitched, watching her ride away.
“You gonna head back to the barracks to unload this junk or you just gonna sit there like you stared into the eyes of a basilisk?”
Esselles felt his face flush with embarrassment. He followed Teck back to the compound, identifying himself to the guards as he went in. They carried his chest into the barracks and put it at the foot of the bunk that had been assigned to him.
He opened the chest and pulled out a thin, silvery iron chisel, once the prized possession of his father. He brushed it with his hands and then tucked it back inside the chest.
“Well, father. I made it. Things are finally looking up for me.”
Chapter Six
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU’VE LOST HIM?!” The air reverberated with Malicar’s anger.
It was the first time Belgar had ever heard Malicar shout and it scared him to the bone. He found it difficult to reply. “He hasn’t been back at the inn in a week.”
Malicar’s disembodied voice, emanating from the air in front of Renamir, returned to its normal levels. “You will find him by the end of the week.”
“Yes, your grace.”
There was a small clap in the air as the spell was severed. Renamir slumped to the ground; the exertion of the spell leaving him completely drained. “Check the door,” he managed between gasping breaths.
“I hate being the one who has to talk to him,” Belgar complained as he looked out the door of the small inn room.
“You think it is easier being the one who has to magically connect to him? You can have it. As soon as you can learn to cast spells, I’ll be happy to be the one who does the talking,” Renamir replied as he climbed onto the bed.
“If we don’t find him, I just might try.”
“If we don’t find him, you or I won’t have the opportunity to try anything. Malicar is not a forgiving person.”
“So what do you think happened? Could he have died?” Belgar asked, pulling a stool up opposite the bed.
“No. Not likely. We would have heard if a guardsman had died. Can’t you get anything out of the bartender?”
“I’ve tried. He won’t tell me anything. I’ve had a friend or two ask as well. He won’t tell no one.”
“Anyone,” Renamir corrected negligently. “He works the castle area. It is time we hired a few extra eyes and began staking out that area. If he’s around, he’s bound to show up.”
*
“Nice to have you back home, my friend. Did you have to sneak out of the barracks?” Tobias asked.
“No. We get one day a week off. Today,” Esselles added with a smile.
“So tell me about your new life.”
“It’s great. So much has happened in the past week, I often wake up wondering if it has been a dream. I keep expecting to open my eyes and find I’m back in my room upstairs. But then I look around the barracks and realize it really did happen. And to think it all started because I was attacked by a grishmagi.”
“Fickle are the Fates.”
“I’ll say. If I do well here I can advance through the guard. I didn’t have that option last week.”
“How is the training?” Tobias asked as he filled two mugs with beer.
“Pretty rugged and tiring, but I’m enjoying it immensely. And I’m learning from some of the best swordsmen in the empire.”
“By the way, a number of people have been in to ask where you’ve gone. I didn’t recognize any of them so I simply told them you were no longer living here.”
“I wonder if it’s connected to that Belgar.”
“That was my thinking. That’s why I didn’t tell them.”
“I appreciate it. All my friends in the guard know where I am so I don’t know who else it could be. I wish there was some way I could hang around until they show up again. Did they say what they wanted?”
“A few did, but it sounded like bull,” Tobias said, handing Esselles one of the beers. “One guy claimed to be your cousin, visiting from the Firth. I know all your family lives in the west.”
“Man, my curiosity is piqued.”
“About what?” Andor asked as he entered the bar.
Esselles wheeled around. “Hey, come on in. Tobias, these are my friends from the Legions. This is Andor, Flin and Randol.”
Tobias greeted each of them.
“Walket should be along shortly,” Randol informed them, sitting down at the bar.
“You guys hungry?” Esselles asked.
“Always,” Andor said as he sat down at the bar. “Thirsty too,” he added with a smile.
“Well, I can take care of both those problems,” Tobias said, drawing three more beers.
*
The uruk’s curiosity continued to build. He would take a step towards the prone form of the demon, but then fear would take over and he would hesitate and step backwards.
By now, the form of the demon was barely recognizable as such. Instead, the demon looked very human. Only a misshapen skull and elongated fingers and toes betrayed that it was other than human.
“You’re as bad as Vilnarin,” Pernigin called out.
“I can’t help it. This magic shit is amazing. I’ve been watching all week and this is one of the few times I can actually see a change happening. Come look at this. You can see its claws retracting into its fingers,” Bilgatin said.
“I’m quite happy with watching from back here. You weren’t here when it took over Vilnarin’s mind.”
“Oh, come on. This thing’s been unconscious all week.”
“I don’t give a shit. If it don’t do something nasty to you, the master will if he catches you near the thing.”
Bilgatin moved closer to the demon. “What amazes me is the hands and feet. Last week this thing’s got eight fingers and toes, and now it’s got ten.”
“I know. I was here the day the one thumb began splitting into two.”
“Can you imagine having two thumbs like that? Its grip must have been so strong.” Bilgatin reached toward the remnants of one of the demon’s second thumbs, now the fourth and fifth finger on that hand. It proved to be a mistake.
As soon as he touched the demon’s hand
, it lashed out and grabbed his wrist. Caught by surprise, Bilgatin let out a cry and fell backwards, his scimitar skittering across the floor.
Pernigin took a step forward and then a step back, caught between wanting to help his comrade and fear over getting too close to the demon. The vision of Vilnarin swinging his scimitar at the obelisk ran through his mind, coupled with the sounds of Vilnarin’s cries the next night under the ministrations of Malicar’s torturing.
Bilgatin continued to scramble backwards, trying to pull his hand out, but the demon’s grip held firm. Bilgatin leaned back, reaching with his other hand for the scimitar, but its handle was just out of reach. He flopped onto his stomach and was able to just get his fingertips on the end of the pommel. Digging his nails in, he pulled the scimitar towards him.
When it was close enough to grab hold of, he picked it up and rolled over onto his back. The demon had barely moved, but was still holding firm to his wrist. Bilgatin raised his scimitar to strike the demon, but his blade never fell.
Before he began the swing, the doors to the room burst open and Malicar strode in. Bilgatin froze upon seeing his master, his scimitar held above his head.
Malicar immediately assessed the situation. He raised his arm and pointed at Bilgatin’s wrist. Five pulses of energy pierced Bilgatin’s wrist and he cried out in pain. The muscles on the back of his hand contracted and the scimitar fell to the floor with a loud clank.
Malicar walked over to the demon and reached down, wrapping a bony hand about its wrist. Blue sparks cascaded down his fingers and onto the demon’s wrist. Its hand opened up and Malicar pulled it away from Bilgatin’s arm.
Malicar examined the demon’s wrist to make sure it had suffered no damage then turned towards his cowering guard. Bilgatin pushed himself as far into the corner of the room as he could, a look of abject terror on his face.
Malicar raised both hands, muttering as he did so. A blue glow enveloped Bilgatin’s chest and lifted him off the ground. Malicar closed both hands into fists and every muscle in Bilgatin’s body tensed at once, his face contorting in pain.
Malicar clenched his fists tighter and Bilgatin’s body tensed even more. His muscles bunched under his skin, straining against his bones. After what seemed like an eternity to Bilgatin, Malicar threw his hands downward and Bilgatin slammed to the ground.
Every muscle in his body ached and a number felt as if they had torn. His joints ached and every nerve ending was firing. It was several minutes before he was able to move again.
“Get him out of here and bring in a replacement,” Malicar called to Pernigin. Pernigin carried Bilgatin out of the room.
Malicar knelt down to examine the demon. He was well aware of why it had been able to move. The black streams, originally only intended to last four days, had been forced to function for a week. They had lost much of their ability to drain the demon’s reserves.
Fortunately, the process was nearly complete. Other than an overly large jawbone, the demon looked just like Esselles Hawkblood. Why the spell had taken eight days instead of three, Malicar did not know. Nor did it concern him. He had built enough flexibility into his schedule to cover for setbacks such as these.
Satisfied with the final progress of the transmutation spell he walked over to his shelves and pulled down a magical tome labeled Spiritwrack. He knew he needed to study before attempting the difficult process of breaking the demon’s will. Pernigin returned to the room as Malicar was leaving.
“My good Pernigin. You’ve had the sensibility to avoid the demon. However, you’ve allowed two of your fellow guards to interfere. If a third does, you will share in his punishment.” Malicar closed the door behind him and headed to his study.
*
“Okay, I’ve got one,” Randol called out, holding his mug of beer aloft. “Name the six Sorenthian riders who led the assault that freed Bracconius’ castle in the Battle of Arator.”
“Brien, Waltros, and Sammel of Lorbak, Tarence of Kull, and Pol and Stern of Kranik,” Esselles answered without a moment’s hesitation. His quick answer drew a look of surprise from Randol, but then Walket piped up.
“Hey, no fair! He’s from Arator.”
Esselles grinned back.
“Doesn’t matter,” Randol declared, raising his mug. “We all owe a drink.” Walket, Andor and Flin joined him as he drank the thick beer.
“Okay,” Esselles said. “My turn. Everyone knows the name of Clairhelm’s oldest daughter, Clarressa, Bracconius’ wife. But can you name Clairhelm’s youngest daughter?”
The legionnaire’s faces were caricatures of deep thought. Esselles smiled, knowing he had stumped them again.
Walket struggled for the answer. “Maretta?” he asked.
“No,” Esselles replied instantly. “Drink.”
Randol handed Walket the pitcher.
“Who invited him to our game anyway?” Walket asked as he refilled his mug.
“I think you did,” Randol answered.
“Do you guys play this game often?” Tobias asked from the bar.
“Most nights we aren’t studying,” Esselles answered. “Usually over at Blindman’s Bluff. It’s not too far from the barracks. And by the way guys, time’s up. Any other guesses?” When no one answered, Esselles told them the answer. “Clarrina.”
“Damn, it was on the tip of my tongue,” Randol said as he reached for his beer. “But we all owe another.”
“So who was Maretta then?” Walket asked.
“She’s the daughter of Eskel, the Elven lord from Mar,” Flin answered.
“Okay, next question,” Esselles announced. “In the Tales of the Eldar Unicorn, what was the name of the sphinx that tries to stop Tir on his quest for the Lake of Fire?”
“Where do you come up with these?” Andor asked.
“I don’t know. A good memory, I guess.”
“With a memory like that, you should apply to Balderon’s Mage School,” Walket said.
“Can you just apply?” Esselles asked.
“I think so. I think they have some sort of test to see if you have magical ability.”
“I heard it can do nasty things to you if you try it and aren’t successful,” Flin added.
“I don’t think so,” Andor rebutted. “I knew a couple people who tested back home in Manhindland and none of them were any worse for the effort.”
“Caspel?” Randol asked.
“What?” Flin asked.
“Was the name of the sphinx Caspel?”
“Oh. Leave it to Randol to stick to the game,” Flin said with a smile.
“Close, but not quite right. Anyone remember the whole name?”
“Wasn’t it something like Am-Caspel?” Walket asked.
“No, wait,” Randol interrupted. “An-Caspel. Its name was An-Caspel.”
“That’s it,” Esselles answered. “But Tir’s path was blocked by An-Caspel of the Mountain of Dawn, a sphinx of enormous size, or something like that.”
“Something like that? I’ll bet if we open up the tales that will be it word for word.”
“So who drinks?” Andor asked.
“Randol and Walket got it wrong initially,” Flin said.
“And I owe one since you guys finally did get it right,” Esselles added.
“Why don’t we just finish up and head back to the barracks?” Randol asked.
“Sounds like a good idea. It’s getting kind of late.”
They finished their beers, bid Tobias farewell, and headed out into the street.
“I noticed Rashel stopped by to see you again,” Randol said as they turned up Dockside Street. “Third time this week?”
“Who’s counting?” Esselles answered.
“Randol, obviously,” Andor said.
“She’s a fine looking woman,” Flin said.
“You’re telling me,” Esselles said.
“And rich too, from the cut of her clothes,” Flin added. “Who is she?”
“I don’t know,” Esselles answere
d. “I only met her last week. She was there when I was attacked by the grishmagi.”
“Wait a minute,” Walket said, stopping in his tracks. “Mister Trivia doesn’t know who she is?”
“No.”
“Man, if I had known that, I would have asked it in the game. You really don’t know who she is?”
“No. Who is she?” Esselles asked.
“She hasn’t told you?” Walked asked in surprise.
“Obviously not.”
“Why not?”
“I guess it never came up. So are you gonna tell me or not?” Esselles asked.
“I don’t know if I should. Perhaps you should ask her.”
“Is she the captain’s daughter?” Esselles pressed. “She seems to visit him a lot.”
“Like I said, you’ll have to ask her.”
“Or you could ask the captain,” Randol suggested.
Their voices carried as they passed a shadowy alcove. In it, a young man fingered a coin in his pocket. He knew there would be more just like it once he told Belgar that the guard he was looking for was staying at the legionnaire’s barracks.
Chapter Seven
As Esselles made his way from the practice grounds to the barracks, he recognized a rider waiting near the barracks entrance.
By the gods, she’s beautiful, he thought.
“Good evening, Esselles,” Rashel said as he approached her horse. “Care to go to dinner.”
“I would love to. Let me get out of this armor.”
“And bathe too, please,” she said, smiling and wrinkling her nose.
“Yes, my lady,” he replied with an exaggerated bow.
Esselles headed into the barracks and as soon as he was out of her sight, slumped against the wall, a broad smile on his face. “My thanks to whichever god is looking out for me,” he whispered to the heavens.
He stripped, just throwing his armor on his bunk, bathed, and was dressed again in minutes.
“I would like to take you to one of my favorite restaurants,” Rashel said as Esselles rejoined her outside. “Get your horse. It’s on the south end of town.”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 7