“Where’s Coen?” Esselles asked, not seeing her personal guard.
“What? A city guardsman and legionnaire like yourself isn’t protection enough?”
“Well, I am only a recruit.”
“But a damn good one, at least according to your officers.”
“You’ve been checking up on me?” he asked in mock sincerity.
“No. I just know your commanding officers.”
“So, where we going?” Esselles asked as he readied his horse for a ride.
“A small Elven restaurant, off Coronation, in the outer city.”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve had Elven food. I used to eat it fairly regularly as a child.”
“Really? Where?”
“There were a number of Elven villages in northern Arator, emissaries from the Phlegian Forests. When I’d go trekking in the woods, I used to visit the villages and eat there.”
“You really like the woods, don’t you?”
“It gives you a lot of time to think. And I like the challenge of tracking and hunting.”
“We have a small hunting cabin up near Dussel. We’re headed there in two weeks. Perhaps you would like to join us.”
“I’d love to. But I have training. I’d never be able to get away.”
“Your commanding officer is coming with us. Maybe if I speak to him.”
“You have that much pull with Captain Falconer?” Esselles asked. He mounted his horse and they headed out of the stables.
“Yes, Landir and my father go way back.”
“Who is your father?”
“You don’t know?” Rashel asked in surprise.
“No. Or else I wouldn’t have asked.”
“You aren’t just kidding around?”
“No. I asked Walket, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“Good. I think I like it this way.”
“What way? Hold on.” Esselles dismounted to inform the duty guard he would be leaving the grounds. The duty guard opened the gate to allow the two riders out. Esselles remounted his horse and led Rashel out. “What way?” he repeated.
“You not knowing who my father is. I’m tired of being my father’s daughter. I like just being me. Rashel.”
“So, you’re not going to tell me.”
“No. Maybe later.”
“You know it is going to drive me crazy.”
“It’s good for you.”
“You are truly wicked.”
Rashel merely laughed and kicked her horse into a canter. Esselles followed suit.
“That’s a beautiful mount,” he said as he pulled up alongside her. “She looks Sorvanian, but the lines of her flanks indicate another breed.”
“You have a good eye. She is not full Sorvanian. Her sire was a Sorvanian steed from the pride of Lorbak, but her dam is from the herds of Starlight Valley.”
“Wow, she must have cost a mint. To have a pride of Lorbak alone would command a huge price, but a Starlight mare is even more expensive. The Elves rarely allow outsiders to breed them.”
“You certainly know your horses.”
“You can’t help it growing up in Arator,” Esselles answered with a smile.
“I forget you are not from Ostar. You do not have the Westerner’s accent.”
“Or, as I like to think of it, I’ve picked up an Ostarian accent. My brother mentioned it when he was in town. I noticed my accent really started to change once I began learning Ostarian.”
“Eison abbreong mordar tetrenyufew kort Urandar tetrotain?” Rashel asked, switching to the native Ostarian tongue to ask ‘how are you doing learning Ostarian?’
“And abbrabil tetrenyufew, um eventually,” Esselles answered with a smile. “I don’t know ‘eventually’.”
“How about ‘trin trenerber’? It isn’t a literal translation, but then again, I don’t know if there is one.”
“‘One day’? Works for me. You seem to know your Ostarian quite well. You sound as fluent as a native.”
“On my father’s insistence,” Rashel explained. “When I was fourteen, I spent a year living in a tairn.”
“You lived in one of the clans? Out on the plains?”
“Yes. It was extremely interesting. Their values and culture are very different than the west. A lot of westerners have trouble seeing past their nomadic and warlike nature, but they are very civilized. And unlike the west, the women play a strong role in their society. Contrary to popular belief, they are primarily a matriarchal society.”
“I thought the marhagraves were always males.”
“Traditionally. And I only know of one or two times in history when there were female marhagraves, and even one female suregrave, but it isn’t the marhagrave who runs a tairn. The collingrave is the leader of the tairn and the collingrave is always female.”
“I thought the marhagrave made the decisions.”
“Only externally – military, trade, that sort of thing. The collingrave is ultimately in charge,” Rashel explained, turning her horse onto Coronation Boulevard. “The marhagrave reports to her. And she settles any sort of legal dispute that can’t be settled by one of the many codes by which they live.”
“That’s interesting. Who would think a race could survive that long with women in charge?” Esselles asked with a sly grin.
“Are you looking to get hit?” Rashel asked with mock seriousness on her face.
“Hey, I’m a western male. I’m supposed to be sexist.”
“At least you know your shortcomings.”
“So which tairn were you in?” Esselles asked.
“I was in the Verbum Tairn. At the time, their village was located about a day’s ride west of Rapido.”
“Verbum. They’re in the Clyne Suretairn, right? Rigalli Clyne is their suregrave.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact. Leave it to a soldier to know nothing about the workings of the tairns, but be able to name what military unit and which suregrave protects the clan.”
“Methinks I have just been insulted.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps. But you will have to sulk later. We are here,” Rashel said as she led her horse to a low, wooden building and dismounted.
Rashel was greeted by a tall Elf as they entered the restaurant.
“Reston,” she said, indicating the Elf, “this is my friend, Esselles. Esselles, Reston. His father owns this establishment.”
“A pleasure,” Esselles said as he offered the traditional Elven salute of the open hand on the heart.
They were seated immediately and Reston took their order. After relaying their order to the kitchen, he returned with a bottle of wine.
“I have spoken with Carrel. He is all set for the week after next,” he said as he poured two glasses of the dark red wine.
“I have invited Esselles to join us. I just have to talk Landir into letting him skip a day or two of training.”
“That shouldn’t be too difficult for you. He dotes upon you,” Reston said with a smile.
“I take it you are talking about the hunting trip,” Esselles said.
“Yes. We usually head up to Dussel this time of year to hunt. It is also around the time of the maerling mating season. If they are running we track maerling as much if not more than we actually hunt. Sometimes those years we come back empty-handed. It’s been an annual tradition for five or six years now.”
“I’ve only been going for three years,” Rashel said. “Ever since returning from the tairn.”
“What do you hunt?” Esselles asked.
“Deer, mostly,” Reston answered. “We also trap rabbit. Carrel has to make his famous rabbit stew.”
“I hope you like spicy food,” Rashel interjected, leaning across the table to Esselles. “Carrel adds lots of spices to the stew.”
“I wouldn’t be eating here if I didn’t,” Esselles answered with an exaggerated sniffing motion, taking in the strong scents from the strong Elven spices that permeated the restaurant.
“True,” Rashel said with a
smile.
*
Malicar wiped at the sweat accumulating on his brow. Sitting in front of him was the demon, now completely transmuted to the form of Esselles. Though it was Esselles’ face looking back at him, Malicar could see the look of ancient malevolence burning behind the dark eyes that beheld him. Though neither spoke, they were both heavily intent upon the mental battle between them. The few psionics among the guard were far away from the library.
Malicar could feel the presence of the spiritwrack spell working its magic on the demon’s mind, attacking its thought centers. He was amazed at the resiliency of the demon and had a momentary doubt as to whether he had underestimated the strength of the demon. But he quickly banished the thought, for he knew any doubts were dangerous. If he weakened, it would be he who was dominated, not the demon.
This fact was driven home as he read the memories being invoked by the spiritwrack spell. Another mage had attempted to capture this demon and had failed. The memory of that attempt, though many years distant, was still quite vivid in the demon’s mind and came pouring through the psionic link in lurid detail, complete with sight, sound, smell and touch. Malicar was immediately absorbed in the deluge.
A vortex had opened in the air in front of the demon and it had been sucked through. It could feel itself coursing through the ethereal plane and knew it was being taken from its homeland. When it returned to the primal plane, it found itself in the center of a magical dome.
The dome was impenetrable. Not that the demon didn’t try. But no feat of strength or magic had been able to so much as affect the dome. So the demon merely sat and waited. It knew its captors would make their presence soon.
A small human mage appeared on the other side of the dome. The demon could see the heat radiating from the mage’s body, but was unable to pick up the human’s scent through the dome.
The mage began gesticulating and the demon could see magical energy gathering within the human’s body. A bolt of mana shot forth from the mage, pierced the dome, and struck the demon in the chest. Though its skin was able to shed some of the energy, the majority of it bored into the demon’s chest. It found itself unable to move.
The mage lowered the dome and approached the demon. He began another spell, this one attacking the demon’s brain. The mage started to mentally battle the demon. But he was careless and let his guard slip and the demon’s mind shot out.
The demon psionically blasted the mage’s mind, causing him to lose control of his stasis spell. Freed of the confines of the spell, the demon pounced. With a quick swipe of its talons, the demon slashed open the mage’s throat.
The mage put a hand to his neck to try to halt the crimson flow of blood, but it frothed through his fingers. His face was a portrait of shock and fear. He raised a hand and unleashed magic missiles at the demon.
He was too slow. The demon had already folded space and appeared on the other side of the room. It unleashed its own blast of magical energy, catching the mage square in the back. As the mana coursed through the mage’s body, it caused his muscles to tense, pulling his hand away from his neck. With his hand removed and his neck arched back, the blood sprayed across the room.
The demon leapt across the room and landed on the mage’s back. It tackled him to the ground and rolled him onto his back so it could look into his eyes. It began to slice the mage’s face with its talons.
By now the mage was getting faint from lack of blood. His eyes were beginning to gloss over, but the demon knew he was still very much alive. With an evil smile on its face, it opened its massive jaws and placed its mouth over the mage’s face. It slowly began biting down, just piercing the skin at first, and then driving its razor sharp teeth deeper into the muscle and bone of the mage.
It could hear the pain and agony directly from the mage’s mind and it reveled in it. It increased the pressure on the mage’s skull, and then let go, moving back to examine its work. Twenty rivulets of blood coursed down the mage’s face from the deep puncture wounds. The demon’s tongue lashed out to lick up the blood.
Malicar recoiled slightly at the intensity of the psionic connection. He discovered taste was transmitted as well. But the imagery continued on, fully painting the gory scene in Malicar’s mind. He fought against getting swept up in the emotions of the demon’s sending.
The demon continued to lick the blood. It could feel the life force slipping from the mage so it raised its powerful arm and drove it into the mage’s nose, caving in the entire front of the skull. Even after the mage expired, it continued to attack him.
The demon tore off the mage’s limbs. It tore apart his abdomen and proceeded to eat the entrails. Still not satiated, it ate the severed limbs of the mage, bone and all. By the time the demon’s hunger for vengeance had abated, there was little left besides a giant crimson puddle in the middle of the floor.
Sitting in the middle of that puddle of blood, it did not take long for the demon to realize it had no means of returning home. It did not have the ability to cross the interplanar boundaries between this plane and its home plane.
It roared in frustration and anger and went rampaging through the mage’s keep. Within minutes, every one of the mage’s servants was dead and mutilated.
From there, it struck out through the countryside, going through alternating periods of rest and rampage. It took only a few days for the demon to attract the attention of a pair of demon hunters.
The demon battled the hunters with the ferocity of a trapped animal. It disemboweled one before the other was able to throw a magical net around it. Then, the hunter did something that confused the demon. He opened a magical gate and pushed the demon through.
Once through the interplanar boundary, the demon was able guide its ethereal tunnel back to its home plane with little difficulty.
Though the demon’s mind never understood why the demon hunter had done such, Malicar comprehended. He knew it was common practice for demon hunters, when confronted by demons more powerful than themselves, to open a magical gate and push the demon out of the primal plane since few demons had the ability to come back through the interplanar barriers.
Malicar had little time for conjecture. The spiritwrack spell triggered other memories of the demon. They too washed through the psionic link, threatening to carry Malicar with them.
The demon had been pulled to the primal plane on another occasion, this time by a demon lord. The lord had been battling humans on the primal plane and opened a magical gate to draw more of its brethren in to assist it. The demon’s mind had been no match for the demon lord’s. It was compelled to answer the summons.
When it arrived through the ethereal gate, it found that the demon lord had been pinned down via magic and unable to leave. The lord was beset by about a dozen humans with earthmetal swords and was doing everything in its power to keep them at bay. The demon was the fourth of its brethren to respond to the summons.
It folded space to land on the back of the nearest human and with a quick twist of its large hands, snapped the man’s neck. But a second human plunged his sword into the demon before it could leap away. Pain coursed through the demon’s body as the earthmetal blade cut deep into the demon’s body.
It wheeled and grabbed the blade with its hand. The human tried to pull the sword free, but his grip was no match for the demon’s, who wrapped its dual opposing thumbs around the cold metal. With its other hand, it fired a bolt of energy into the human’s face.
With the sword still in its side, it folded space to move well away from the battle. It then pulled the sword out of its body and watched as green ichor spilled from the wound. It pressed the two sides of the wound together and waited. Within minutes the bleeding reduced to a trickle.
It wanted to stay there longer, but the pull of the lord’s summons was too strong. It turned to return to the foray. But as it was mentally extending in order to fold space, it noticed a strong pool of magical energy in the rocks ahead. It crept up the rocks on all fours to gain a vanta
ge point.
There, in a small depression, stood a human, hands wrapped around a large crystal. The crystal radiated an intense amount of magical energy and the human mage was directing this energy through the ethereal plane, toward the battle below.
Malicar tried to steer the demon’s memories so he could learn more about the crystal. But the force of the demon’s mind was too strong. The scene played on, ignoring Malicar’s attempted tampering.
The demon scurried around to see where the magical traces went. They faded out, but he could tell they headed directly toward the demon lord. The demon knew instantly what it must do. It leapt down onto the mage, biting into his shoulder as it landed on his back. The mage wheeled in surprise, dropping the crystal, which shattered in a kaleidoscope of magical energies.
The mage reached for a dagger at his side, but was unable to pull it out before the demon tore out his throat. The mage fell to the ground, his head half severed. The demon reached down and picked up the shards of the crystal. Before it had a chance to examine it, a mental command sounded in its head.
Come, we are leaving.
The demon folded space to return to the battle and found the demon lord had been freed of its magical confines. From where the demon lord stood, three lines of smoking ground radiated outward. In their path lay the charred remains of the humans who had been attacking.
The magical gate was already formed and the demon raced to join its brethren as they passed through the gate. It returned home with the crystal shards and with a wound in its side that took two days to fully heal.
As the scene ended, Malicar noted that one thing connected all of the demon’s memories of humans. It was always a mage who was the cause of its suffering. Even when encountering humans on its home plane, it had been a mage that had inflicted harm upon it.
Malicar used this and twisted it. When the last wave of memories had come and gone, he began to convince the demon that mages were out to destroy the demon’s home world. He tied it in with his own abduction of the demon, convincing it that mages had captured it to try to gain information from it. He distorted the demon’s memories of his own face, replacing it with the face of Baron Toliver.
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 8