Several of the warriors and spellcasters looked at her curiously and only one spoke up, “Only minutes have passed, Olivia.” She thought hard about the answer and wondered what happened in those few minutes that she became unaware, and she was surprised with herself for letting her guard down. She looked at Yalta with a very concerned expression on her face.
He raised a hand and said, “I, I am fine.” Then he looked down at the glowing hand over his chest. He showed appreciation to the cleric and started crying from happiness.
Chapter Thirteen
The demon, Maximus, opened his eyes and found himself in a cloth tent covered with a woven blanket. He felt his nose running and wiped it with the back of his claw. His eyes were watery, his body felt like it was floating, and his gut was empty but felt heavy. A feminine voice spoke to him from his right, “Good, good. You’re awake. How do you feel?” He looked toward the figure, but she was blurry. He tried to speak, but his throat was so dry he couldn’t make a sound. Although blurry, he could tell she was looking in his direction. He longed for clear vision and the ability to speak. He felt helpless and despaired. He began to shake. She walked over to him. “Are you cold?” she asked. He nodded his head up and down. The slight head movement made him feel nauseous. He burped and a bit of his stomach contents went into his mouth. The taste and texture was horrible and, seconds later, much more followed.
The blurry figures around him cleaned up the mess and wiped his chin. They cared for him as if nothing unusual was happening. Maximus assumed the blurry figures were healers or caretakers because they were undeterred by his illness or symptoms. Soon after being cleaned up he fell back to sleep.
The smell of hot tomato soup mixed with herbs filled his nostrils and had arisen him from a deep slumber. His vision was clear and he stared at the figure holding a bowl of soup. He recognized the herbs as sage, rosemary, and basil mixed in a creamy bisque. His mouth started to water and he stared into the yellow eyes of the figure holding the bowl. He recognized the figure as female based on the skirt she wore, the bone necklace hanging around her neck, and her curvy features. Her skin was green, tight, and leathery. She had a long lizard tail behind her with purple spots. Although different, Maximus was not alarmed by the lagarto. Her presence gave him a sense of comfort without fear. As a human, Maximus was told scary tales of the lagartos being predatorial toward humans, but what he saw now resembled nothing like the stories. She handed him the bowl carefully with a large wooden spoon in it. He took a sip and started coughing. The herbs were overwhelmingly strong, but it tasted delicious. When the coughing subsided he continued eating the soup. He felt his nasal passages clearing as he gobbled down the food.
The female waited till he finished his first bowl before introducing herself. She pointed her breast and said very clearly in the human tongue, “Osanyin.”
Maximus pointed a claw to his breast and said, “Maximus,” but his “S” was elongated and slurred. He was still having difficulty speaking the human tongue as a demon.
Osanyin laughed and continued, “You have the illness from the swamp, yes?”
“I believe so.”
“We found you running circles in the Great Plains chasing shadows we could not see. Do you remember any of that?”
“No,” he growled.
“The day was hot and giant worms had you surrounded, but they were doing nothing but lying in a wall formation around you. A demon by the name Xero asked us to find you and bring you back. When we found you, you had stripped yourself of clothing and you were screaming loudly. Your screams caught our attention and we separated the worms to get to you. They kept closing the wall behind us, but we found a tune on the ocarina that made them separate. Luckily, we found this tune before you ended up harming yourself. You were going mad and we had to stop you from ramming your head into the rocks. Soon after we reached you, your eyes rolled back in your head, and everything you said from there on was unclear. Our clan carried you back here for you to rest and recover. You have been here fifteen days and we have fed you sips of nourishment little by little all through the days.”
Maximus replied, “I don’t remember any of that.”
“Of course you don’t, my dear. The swamp illness had you. We were able to rid the toxins from your body, but I’m afraid to say that there may be some residual effects. The swamp is no forgiving place, and the essences we found upon you were difficult to eradicate. With plenty of hope and proper care we may be able to cure you completely. Please do try and rest a few more days till you are feeling well and energetic.”
“I’ll try. What have you been giving me?”
“Herbs, flowers, plants, and incense have all been used to rid the poison in your body. As I said before, some of it still lingers and you’ll be weak and nauseated for a few more days. It is time for you to rest now. Lie down and close your eyes.”
Maximus lay back down on the soft cot and lazily stared at the cloth tent surrounding him until his eyes grew heavy.
* * *
Salidon had remained free from battle for several weeks after Lord Emalf’s attack. The buildings that were set afire were in the process of being rebuilt, proper resting places were made for those that were lost, and King Roberts walked through the city to meet his people in person and give them his condolences.
During the fight with Lord Emalf, his guards had escorted him down to the dungeons beneath the castle. Many warriors stood by his side anticipating an attack like no other which never came. They heard parts of the upper castle get torn apart, but it sounded as if Lord Emalf had suddenly stopped attacking the castle after he destroyed the throne room.
The guards stayed close to King Roberts but sent several scouts above to survey the scene when the sounds of fighting had stopped. All the scouts found was an empty throne room with the roof torn off or still ablaze. The demons had taken everything from the room: statues, scepters, weapons, chairs, tables, jewelry, crafts, and even the throne were gone. When the scouts reported their findings to King Roberts it made him ponder what was so special about the stolen items. Like many of the people in his city he was not a strong believer in the magical arts and did not know about the unique magical qualities of things he once held in his possession.
King Roberts stroked his graying hair when he walked into the demolished throne room. The scouts had reported to him accurately. Everything in it was gone. Even the stone pillars with architectural masterpieces of warriors in battle were crushed or missing. Most of the roof was gone except for a few small wooden parts that were slowly burning away. There were citizens, warriors, and spellcasters trying their best to get the damage under control, but Emalf had struck too hard and too swiftly. The demon lord had purposefully drawn the defenders away from the castle so he could steal something, something that held great importance.
Servants tried to support the king with positive words, but he had tuned them out. He spent much of his adult years planning the castle’s design and having it raised by many experienced craftsmen. Nearly all he had spent so much time on had been demolished. He was saddened over the loss and when he thought about how it happened he became infuriated. “Emalf will pay for this!” he muttered, beard quivering.
The servants heard him and replied timidly to not aggravate their king any longer. “Yes, Your Majesty.” They bowed and took a few steps away to give the king more personal space. His face was beet red and tears trickled down from watery eyes. He pulled off his crown and stared at it for several minutes.
Then he spoke, “How do the people of Salidon fare?”
“We will have a report soon. There are several scouts searching the city as we speak,” said the tall, dark-skinned servant with thick, curly black hair and eyes like black marbles.
“That will do, Marshall.” King Roberts then walked toward the front entrance to wait for the scouts to return. Marshall positioned himself by the door half hidden by shadow from the semi-open roof. King Roberts had an uneasy feeling. He wanted to know what had h
appened in his city and, at the same time, he did not want to know either. He put his crown back on and paced the throne room contemplating his next move. The guards stayed close but gave the king space so he didn’t feel burdened by their concern.
Two scouts knocked on the front entrance door and entered the destroyed throne room. They looked at the damage before acknowledging the king. The scout in a dark brown hood spoke first, “Your Majesty, I am Cognus, son of Marsalomule. My report is of the north and west end of Salidon. The demons struck with unrelenting force and alamours had damaged many of the homes and shops but the wizards and warriors were able to fend them off. Injuries are minor and few. The area is clear now and we have set up posts to guard it if there is to be another attack. There is no sign of the demon lord either. After attacking the castle, he disappeared.”
The second scout dressed in drab and, looking like a poor commoner, introduced himself and began to report of the south and east ends of the city when a group of desperate hunters charged in screaming to the king and fighting the guards. “The betnoirs, the demons, those monsters, they have taken our ships, destroyed our shops, and broken our spirits.”
King Roberts raised a hand to his guards. The little sunlight that shone through the open roof reflected off the many gold rings on his fingers. The guards lowered their weapons and let the hunters take just a few more steps toward the king, but they positioned themselves within striking distance. The archers hidden in several strategic positions in the throne room held their bows tight and loaded. The hunters were not intimidated by the guards or archers for they were battle-worn and had dealt with much worse in their travels. In the past, the demons had stolen their ships, but they were able to commandeer them back. King Roberts knew of their background and the hardships they have been through, but was also aware of the horrors they had caused others. He did not take pity on the hunters.
The one speaking to him directly wore navy blue shoulder pads and hat, a red scarf around his neck, leather gauntlets and knee high boots laced perfectly with several dull-looking weapons hanging at his side. During normal circumstances, the weapons would have been left at the entrance, but during such a crisis certain rules were disregarded even if it presented a threat to the king. King Roberts was not afraid of angry and armed people coming to him. He had dealt with it during his entire kingship. He lived for it.
The king started studying the hunters carefully. The one speaking was the only one who wore somewhat matching clothes with clean boots. The woman to the speaker’s left wore a tight brown vest over a tan, but used-to-be white, blouse decorated with special ribbons that the hunters gave to one another for showing valor during their adventures. She wore them proudly but kept a straight face as the king examined her. She began to blush. Then King Roberts looked at the hunter to the speaker’s right. The speaker continued talking, but the king only half listened.
The hunter to the speaker’s right was a most curious individual sporting a torn, black boot over his right foot, a wooden brace over his left leg, a purple coat with checkerboard patches all over it, and pants that were too short to cover his ankles. The speaker realized the king had his attention on his comrade. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” he said sarcastically. “I did not give proper introductions to my mates. To my left,” he gestured toward her,” is Lady Anne-Marie, and to my right,” he turned to his other side, “is my good friend, Happy. Don’t let his looks fool you, he is always happy but has difficulty expressing it properly.” Happy laughed and all of his two teeth glimmered against the minimal lighting in the throne room as clouds started to cover the sun outside.
King Roberts felt sorry for Happy. He was disheveled but didn’t seem to mind one bit even in the presence of royalty. The king returned his attention back to the speaker for the hunters.
“I know these are difficult times for everyone,” King Roberts said, “but our lives must continue on. We shall not let our enemies control us. Chugean has a race planned next week and that race will happen. You,” he spoke to all the hunters now, “are welcome to join the races on behalf of Salidon to try and win some coin. I cannot just give away coin and ships to everyone attacked by the demons. Come join the race. Make the competition interesting and you may just walk away with what you seek.”
“What is the prize for the winner?”
“This competition has a unique set-up. The amount of coin won by first, second, and third place positions will be based on the amount brought in by spectators and competitors. The more guests to come, the higher the prize. What a lovely way to promote such an event.” King Roberts clapped his hands.
“We will be there, Your Majesty,” the speaker replied and turned to leave. His entourage of hunters followed him out.
Chugean had been spared an attack by the demon horde. The city was well-guarded and brought people from all over the world, including seasoned warriors, to buy and trade in the market. The city brought in the strongest metals for weapons and tools, the rarest minerals for jewelry, unique fabrics for clothing, and the most skilled crafters for each trade. Coin was a great motivator for many and it kept the city alive. The royals taxed the people appropriately and were able to fund a large and strong army of warriors and wizards to defend the city. Not only that, the tax money helped maintain the fancy streets, buildings, and plumbing system that only existed in Chugean.
The autumn season brought the city to life more so than any other time of the year. Events and celebrations occurred every few weeks as the air became crisp and the leaves fell from the trees. Shops decorated their windows with themes from each passing holiday. Customers bought items, such as egg nog and cranberries that they typically wouldn’t buy any other time of the year. Bakers were elated at the amount of special orders they received, and even the blacksmiths were flooded with requests to make toys, along with weapons and tools.
Signs were hung on every street corner and building about the upcoming autumn race, a huge deal in the city of Chugean. People practiced year-round to compete in the event that involved swimming, running, and horseback riding. Everyone who competed in the event earned a special medal and those who placed in the top three earned additional coin.
A group of hunters visited a bank to register and this alarmed many bystanders. Those watching thought the hunters were there to rob the bank, but the bystanders were surprised to see the hunters leave the bank with only certificates containing the official seal of Chugean for their entrance into the competition. They had high hopes that at least one of them would place in the top three. A strong wind blew and nearly took the certificates out of the hunters’ hands. They held on tightly and rolled them up when they had the chance.
Chalkboard signs posted in the window of the banks were updated several times a day to show how much coin the top three competitors would win. The hunters watched eagerly as the banker erased the board with a damp cloth, let it dry, and wrote the new numbers down. The sign read:
First- 650 gold
Second- 450 gold
Third- 300 gold
Four days till race.
The leader of the group read the sign enthusiastically. Sӧldner, in his shiny boots and matching clothes, continued in a confident and reassuring tone, “I really do think we can bring home some of this coin. How about you, Anne-Marie? What do you think?”
In her typical underspoken way she said, “It would be nice, but we’ll see.” The hunters grew quiet and let her words sink in. There was a possibility that they could lose and the hunters were not good losers.
Sӧldner sneered, “Why do you have your doubts? You know we could dominate this competition!”
“It is better to be a bit realistic when things are not always in your favor.” Sӧldner was silenced by her response. It gave him something to think about, yet he did not want to agree with her. They left the front of the bank without saying another word but remained deep in thought about the race and what they would do with the winnings.
Chapter Fourteen
Night had come fast that evening. The sun set and the sky turned black. Occasionally, the moons shone down on Palatovia when the clouds broke. Many shops had closed, but the saloons started packing with guests and were lively. In her vibrant blue robe, Sarella entered the main saloon of Chugean, Tips and Cackles, to enjoy some entertainment and card games. The music played loudly and glasses clanked as many gave cheers. Many eyes stared in her direction as she passed the bar and took a seat at a game table. Her eyes twinkled at the sight of shiny coin on the table by the stack of cards. She pulled out a heavy satchel full of her own coin and set it on the table in front of her. The dealer, thin and wiry, with eyes too close together, gave her five cards face down. She placed her soft white hand on them and smiled before lifting them up to look.
As if moths to a flame, people gathered around her. They constantly looked from the dealer to Sarella while the game ensued. Bets were made and rounds went by quickly. Sarella was winning with what the locals called “luck of the hand.” The crowd around her grew louder than the music as bets increased. Sarella showed no fear in betting large although she could have lost everything in her satchel. The commotion echoed from Tips and Cackles and down the lane filling the air with noise other than the music and the soft chirping of unseen insects.
Curious passerby stopped in to see what was going on. Many stayed. Few left. Sarella’s smile did not fade. She enjoyed all the positive attention and the winnings. She felt a rush of satisfaction that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Growing up as a shaman, many people criticized her and called her a witch. In most respects, or disrespects, being called a witch was a terrible insult. A handsome man with long locks, a strong jaw, and eyes as green as grass in a summer meadow, stood beside her and whispered something in her ear. Her fair skin turned a bright red. The handsome man walked away with a huge grin on his face and the laughter around them grew louder.
Rise of Centuria Page 13