“I know who it is,” Trenlin said in that otherworldly voice. “What is the news?”
“Hawkblood leaves in four days for a hunting trip near Dussel. He’s the only one of his group going. He’s going there with some girl.”
There was a slight pause before Trenlin continued. “Excellent. Fill me in on the details.”
Belgar told him everything his informant had passed on.
“I want you following him. Renamir will meet you in Point Blank at the Sunken Vessel Inn. And don’t lose him.”
With an audible pop, the connection was broken. Trenlin’s head snapped up. His eyes went wide for a moment before returning to their normal, half-lidded state. He rubbed the back of his neck. Meanwhile, the vapors in the sphere began to subside.
“I don’t know why I put up with that strain. The spell is tough enough, but connecting to him is a royal bitch.”
Belgar tossed the gold coins on the desk.
“Oh, yeah. That’s why I put up with it. Malicar says you are to bring me ten more. I guess you were right. He was pleased about the news. As pleased as he can get, anyway.”
Belgar turned and left the room. He stopped by the hookah room and paid a few silver coins to the bouncer at the door.
Chapter Nine
“Well, this is a change,” Walket said upon seeing Esselles up and dressed before him.
“Today’s the day we leave for the hunting trip.”
“I know, you’ve been talking about it all week.”
“Hey, sleepyhead’s awake,” Andor said as he passed their bunks. “It’s amazing what some incentive will do.”
“I guess the old adage doesn’t apply this morning,” Randol said as he approached their bunks.
“What old adage?” Esselles asked.
“Well,” Randol said, hesitating. “Not old. It’s only been around about three weeks or so.”
“Okay, what new adage?” Esselles asked, noting the big grins on all his friends’ faces.
“It goes something like, ‘If you have to fight Esselles, you don’t have to work on your technique, you just have to challenge him in the morning.’”
“Cute. Who thought of this one?”
“Oh, it wasn’t me,” Randol said in exaggerated innocence.
“I’d love to take credit for it, but I can’t,” Walket said.
“Got everything packed?” Flin asked, joining the other four.
“He’s had everything packed for two days,” Walket commented.
“Almost everything. I can’t find my other buckskin glove or my guardsman’s sword.”
“Did you look in your weapons locker?” Walket asked.
“Yes, but I could only find my practice sword.”
“I wasn’t talking about your sword. I meant the glove.”
“Why would my glove be…oh,” Esselles said, cutting himself off. “The day my gauntlet was being repaired.”
“And you left your sword in my locker,” Randol said. “Remember? You were in a hurry, so you stashed it in my locker.”
“It amazes me how someone who can remember every little detail he has ever read or heard can’t remember where he set down his own sword,” Andor commented.
“Lucky for him they invented the scabbard,” Walket quipped.
“Cute,” Esselles said. “You guys are a barrel of laughs this morning. Have you ever considered joining the Players?”
“Only if you’ll be our straight man,” Walket answered.
The day was fairly routine except that, for Esselles, it seemed to take forever. Every time he looked up at the sky, it seemed the sun was in the exact same position it had been in the last time he had looked. His distractions were usually rewarded by a solid strike from his opponent. Eventually he was able to bear down on the day’s lessons and soon time resumed its normal course.
When Sergeant Drex dismissed them, Esselles was the first to reach the barracks. He shed his clothes as he ran and jumped into the baths. A few minutes later he was dodging legionnaires on his way out of the baths. He threw on his clothing and gathered his gear.
“Forgetting something?” Walket asked, holding up one of Esselles’ prepared bundles that had fallen to the floor.
“Thanks,” Esselles said, taking the bundle from Walket.
“Have fun.”
“You too. Don’t train too hard.”
“Get out of here, bastard,” Walket called to Esselles’ retreating form.
Landir was waiting for him outside the barracks and led him to a large wooden wagon painted with the standard of the Imperial Legions. It was drawn by four large horses and had an additional four tethered to the rear. There were crenellated turrets on the roof at each of the four corners and a hinged shield that could be pulled down over the driver’s seat.
“Ever seen an Imperial transport before, Hawkblood?” Landir asked as they crossed the courtyard.
“Only in parades.”
Standing next to the wagon were four people, Rashel, Reston, and two men whom Esselles did not recognize. Rashel greeted him as he approached.
“Esselles, this is Carrel of Dussel,” she said, indicating the tall, stocky man standing to the right of Reston. “His family owns the hunting lodge.”
“And this is Clawson,” Landir said, introducing the fourth person. “He and I are going to be sharing the driving.”
“Here, I’ll stow your gear for you,” Clawson said, reaching for Esselles bundles.
“Thanks,” he said as he followed Clawson into the interior of the transport. Upon entering, he was struck by the similarity between the interior of the transport and the interior of his barracks. The weapons lockers were arranged the same, the bunks were arranged the same, and the chests for personal gear were arranged the same. It was a barracks hall in miniature, with room for about twenty soldiers.
“It’s amazing how much they can fit in this thing,” Esselles commented after stowing his bow and swords in the weapons locker.
“All the amenities of war,” someone said in a thick Ostarian accent.
Esselles turned around.
“I’m Kyell,” the person said as he too unloaded his weapons into a weapons locker.
“I’m Esselles.”
“I know. We’ve met,” Kyell said, clasping forearms in greeting.
Esselles studied his face for a minute. “You’re one of the drill instructors, aren’t you?”
“Yes. I’ll be working with your class more in a week or two. But that’s not where we’ve met. I met you after you defeated the grishmagi.”
“It seems like everyone and their brother, or sister,” Esselles added as Rashel entered the wagon, “was there or knows about it.”
“It was something to see. I’ve fought them before. They are not an easy foe. Two of them almost took me out once.”
“Two?” Esselles asked.
“You should see him,” Rashel said as she sat down. “He’s incredible. Of course, he ought to be. He’s been fighting since he was a child. He faced a gromja at age seven.”
“A seven year old?” Esselles asked in incredulity. “Against a gromja? Those things are over seven feet tall and all muscle.”
“He had some help,” Rashel said, smiling. “His ten year old sister.”
“Two children took out a gromja?” Esselles asked.
“Two Uranthian children,” Rashel reminded him.
“Uranthian or not, that’s incredible.”
“I think it helped being a child,” Kyell said. “The gromja seemed to have trouble striking us. We were too short.”
A small window slid open in the front of the wagon, interrupting their conversation. Landir’s face appeared. “All stowed away, gentlemen?”
“Aye, sir,” Kyell answered.
Landir’s face moved away from the window. “Stowed and ready to depart.”
“Aye, sir,” Clawson answered from the driver’s seat. “Transport departing.”
The wagon jumped forward with a snap of the harn
ess and a creak of the axles. Soon it was rumbling down Pike Street. Belgar was not far behind.
*
“Is he gonna sit and stare all evening?” the tavern owner asked as he wiped off the bar. “He’s unnerving the customers.”
“What customers?” Renamir asked, looking up and down the empty bar.
“Okay, so he’s unnerving me.”
“He can’t help it,” Renamir explained. “He was wounded yesterday and he’s still on the magical herbs the healing clerics gave him.”
“That explains the glassy stare. It’s a good thing those herbs are so expensive or they’d put us taverns out of business.”
Renamir simply grunted an acknowledgment.
“Even so,” the tavern owner continued. “The regular crowd starts to come in soon. Can you move him to a back room or something?”
“I have no intention of staying the night.”
“No problem. Free of charge. He can have one of the private rooms.”
“Esselles,” Renamir said to the demon next to him. “Follow this man to the back room.”
Esselles-demon’s eyes came into focus and he stood up. Renamir pointed at the tavern owner and the demon followed him down the hallway.
Two hours later, Belgar joined Renamir in the bar.
“I thought you said demons don’t sleep,” Belgar said, rubbing his saddle sore backside.
“I did,” Renamir answered, leading him down the back hallway. “He’s not sleeping. He’s in a trance to reverse his normal healing process.”
“Huh?”
“His body magically heals itself, continually,” Renamir explained. “And it sees the transmutation spell as something it needs to heal. So he needs to concentrate on maintaining his transmuted form. When he hasn’t concentrated on it in a while, he sometimes has to reverse some of the healing process. That’s what he’s been doing.”
“Since when have you known so much about demons?”
“I was reading some of Malicar’s books on demon physiology.”
“You wouldn’t catch me reading one of them books.”
“No, I don’t imagine I would,” Renamir said as he turned down the hallway that led to the private rooms.
I don’t think you’d catch him reading any books, Esselles-demon projected into Renamir’s mind from the back room.
You can read him that well? Renamir asked back down the magical link.
His mind is an open book.
I didn’t know demons had a sense of humor. Renamir mentally commented.
We don’t, in your exact manner of it, but I’ve been practicing since Malicar says Esselles has one.
“Which room?” Belgar asked.
“I don’t know, actually,” Renamir answered. “But it doesn’t matter.” He then communicated to the demon. Why don’t you come meet us in the hallway? The transport has just passed through. We must be on our way.
A door opened up behind Belgar. Esselles-demon silently stepped right behind him. “Good day, Belgar,” he said in his ear, causing Belgar to jump. “Shall we head to Dussel?” Esselles-demon flashed Belgar a feral grin.
Belgar stepped back against the wall, his hand moving towards his dagger.
Renamir just shook his head, having seen it all.
That’s an example of a demonic sense of humor, Esselles-demon projected to Renamir.
*
“Well, gentlemen,” Rashel said as she stood up. “You four can play Sargrave all night, but I intend to get some sleep. So I shall see you in the morning.”
“Good night, milady,” Kyell said with the slow bow of his head that was customary of his people.
“Pleasant dreams,” Esselles added, gathering the cards from the table.
“I think they shall be,” she answered with a winsome smile.
Esselles shook his head.
“I agree,” Carrel said, noticing Esselles’ reaction.
“Her smile could knock me out of my saddle,” Esselles said.
“And I imagine that takes some doing,” Carrel said.
“What do you mean?” Esselles asked.
“Well, you look Sorenthian. I’ve never met a Sorenthian who wasn’t born riding a horse.”
“I have Sorenthian blood, but I’m not part of the clans. I’ve ridden most of my life, but not like the people in the clans,” Esselles explained. “Most of the people in Arator have Sorenthian blood. They used to rape and pillage our area for hundreds of years.”
“And your people don’t hate them?” Reston asked.
“I imagine there are those who resent them. But most of the enemies of the Sorenthians were wiped out. All that was left were the bastard sons and daughters. And if the Sorenthians didn’t get them, then Malustreure did. A lot of the population was killed in the wars, especially in the Battle of Arator.”
“I, too, have Sorenthian blood in my veins,” Kyell stated.
“You do? I would have thought you were pure Uranthian,” Esselles remarked.
“It was on my father’s side, three generations removed. My great-great-grandfather was in the Lichen tairn.”
“I always thought you were in Verbum tairn,” Carrel said.
“I am. My great-great-grandmother was in the Verbum tairn.”
“Uranthians are matriarchal,” Esselles said.
“All these year’s I’ve known you and I didn’t know that,” Carrel said.
“Neither did I until a couple weeks ago,” Esselles said with an inward smile.
“I never really talk about it,” Kyell said. “Why discuss it? It just is. It is as Uran ordained.”
“I take it you believe in the All-Fatherer,” Esselles said.
“Yes, as do all my people. For he created Uran and Urvona, from whose womb my people spring.”
“I’ve heard the tale of the All-Fatherer before, back in Arator,” Esselles said. “But I’d love to hear an Uranthian tell the tale.”
Kyell sat back and his voice changed subtly as he began to recite his people’s history. “For many years, the All-Fatherer roamed the barren Earth. He watched the rain fall from the Heavens to fill the Oceans. As He roamed, He drew forth Lifeblood from the Earth, and with it, created plants and animals.
“And from the spirits of His surroundings, He drew forth Brothers. From the fires in the bowels of the Earth, from the depths of the Oceans, from the darkness of the Night. He drew seven Brothers in all. They lived with him on the young Earth and helped Him shape it.
“But one Brother, he that was drawn from the Fires, coveted the Earth for his own. He betrayed the All-Fatherer and battled him for dominion over the Earth. And when he found himself beaten and unable to win possession of the Earth, he smote the ground with his mighty scepter, destroying much of what They had made.
“For this desecration, the All-Father, with the help of the remaining Brothers, drove the Fire Brother from the Earth, banishing him beyond the Night.
“From the wound in the Earth, seven drops of Lifeblood spilled forth, and from each drop arose a man. Wanting good to come from the desecration, the All-Fatherer struck the Earth himself, causing seven more drops of Lifeblood to spill. From each of these arose a woman.
“The seven men and women paired off and spread out across the young Earth.
“Uran and Urvona traveled north, along the mountains, until they reached a plush green valley. There, Urvona gave birth to many sons and daughters, who in turn gave birth to many of their own. They learned to hunt and raise crops and build houses to shelter them from the elements. They made tools and weapons to aid in the harvest and hunt.
“One day, while Uran and many of his children were on the hunt, a large group of the children of Tor swept through the village. They stole many of their weapons and tools.
“Uran traveled to Tor’s village and demanded the return of the weapons and tools. ‘They belong to those who made them. Not to those who stole them,’ he decreed.
“But Tor refused him, and his people drove Uran out of the vi
llage.
“Upon his return, Uran gathered his children and weapons and marched on Tor’s village to take back their tools by force. A skirmish broke out and many of Uran’s children died in the battle. Many of Tor’s children as well.
“‘Mourn not those who die by my side in just battle,’ Uran said. ‘For by dying as such, they forever reside with me.’
“Uran and his children had recovered their possessions, but Tor’s people proved to be too numerous. They sent continual raids against Uran’s villages and many of the people were killed, including Urvona. Uran and his children were forced north in order to escape the constant onslaughts.
“They followed the mountains further north until they reached the sea. There they once again set up their villages and began hunting and farming. But now they also continually trained and practiced in the art of war so that they would never again be defeated by Tor or anyone like him.
“After many years and many generations, Uran tired of seeing his sons grow old and die and decided to journey to find the All-Father. He vowed to return should Tor, or any great foe, once more invade his people.”
Kyell completed his oration and bowed his head slightly for a moment or two.
Esselles waited until he looked up again. “I’ve always found theology interesting. The Sorenthians tell a similar tale of the Fire Brother’s desecration. But of course, their history follows Soren.”
“I’ve heard their tales told at Lichen Keep,” Kyell said. “I do not believe their claim that the All-Fatherer favored Soren above the other seven and bestowed him with the gift of the horse.”
“I would love to hear the tales of the descendants of the other five couples,” Esselles said. “The only other descendants I know are the Kalrinthians, in Manhindland. But a friend of mine from that area said the Kalrinthians there are an off-shoot and few know their people’s old histories.”
“I, too, would like to hear some of those tales,” Kyell said. “Except from the children of Tor. They, I would strike down before they could utter their first words.”
“Be careful,” Carrel warned. “This, I do know. When you get on the subject of the children of Tor, he becomes very adamant. You don’t want to get him going on this subject.”
“I’ve heard that some believe Malustreure to be a child of Tor and that Bracconius’ return is the fulfillment of Uran’s vow to return in,” Esselles said. “Do you think he is?”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 10