by Akella, G.
Passing by the enclosure that I wouldn't forget till the end of my days, I glanced at the local barracks and rounded the corner of the inn with a smile on my face. The smile vanished the moment I sighted a huge and presumably deep puddle, burying any hope I might have had of riding into Nittal on a white stallion. Even a black boar probably wouldn't do after my four-legged companion was done with his mud bath. Hart, why hadn't anyone invented a "mount wash" yet?! As if reading my mind, Gloom nudged me in the back with his snout, looked askance at the puddle and gave a questioning grunt.
"Sure, go ahead..." I waved him away with a sigh. "Shall I have your food delivered right to your quarters?"
The boar naturally didn't answer, the gift of speech still eluding him, but his body language suggested he was one hundred percent on board with my suggestion. Nuzzling me one more time for good measure, he trotted over to the puddle with an air of dignity—as much dignity as you could attribute to a giant heap of caked muck and bristles, anyway. I watched my stallion settle into his bath with affection, then winked to the scowling demon and his scary girlfriends up on the signpost, and pushed open the familiar door.
The day was till breaking, and the roosters hadn't yet crowed, so the inn welcomed me with silence and little else. That made it easy to spot a couple of demons I knew rather well sitting behind a table closest to the bar.
One had a dour, weathered face with a big scar running across the right cheek, and an earring with two crossed bones. Kort was sitting, leaning back against the log wall, hands folded over his chest, and speaking in hushed tones with Gerid. The other demon hadn't changed either, except his tunic was now brown instead of mouse-colored. With a sword at his waist and a pipe in his hands, the two of them looked like a couple of pirate captains plotting a raid against some coastal town.
The demons turned instantly at the knocking on the front door, and did an admirable job hiding their shock as they rose from the table. Sure enough, they must have been notified of my arrival, that I was now a prince and an Elder with an impressive list of accolades that included the slaying of baddies like Nerghall and Yllial. But it was one thing to be notified, and quite another to actually see a familiar demon who had undergone such significant changes in such a short time. One with blue eyes and vertical golden pupils, a sword shrouded in black mist, and quite a bit taller than last you saw him, though I'd made sure to put on the same set of clothes sewn for me by Treis way back when. Despite the stoicism and life experience of these two, I could still see how thrown they were.
"Now listen here," I spoke evenly while holding up my hands, palms out. "Let's dispense with all the nonsense, all right? I'm still the same Krian, the same 'light one' that you know and befriended once. I don't want to hear any 'master prince' crap from you. Let's keep talking just like we used to."
"Sure thing, light one," Kort grunted as he pulled me in for an embrace. "Is that Treis' fare that's responsible for the growth spurt?"
"She did say we mages ought to eat more," I grinned, hugging Gerid. "I know better than to ignore a wise woman's advice. Now, how about a beer?"
"A beer? You insult me," the innkeeper smiled. "I'd set aside several barrels of Lakian brandy for a particular occasion, to celebrate the birth of a certain baby demon. And I was expecting you to pop in and celebrate with us. Sit, sit, let me put out some grub. The inn will stay closed till suppertime to give us time to catch up. Alsuil and his wife will come over soon, but the rest will wait till evening."
"And Treis?" I gave Kort a quizzical look, then glanced at the half-opened door behind the bar.
"She's fast asleep. Krian screamed half the night, demanding boob. I'll go get her later."
"Krian demanded boob, did he?" I took a seat at the offered spot, smiling.
"That's the one," Kort grinned. "They say the louder a baby screams, the stronger he'll be as a man. So we're happy to manage. Well, Treis is managing—I sleep right through the screaming like a log. Nor do I have a boob to pacify him."
"Let them both sleep, then," I conceded, then looked over at Gerid. "And what are you doing all the way out in Lamorna?"
Gerid made a wry face to the question.
"The same light one, you say," he sighed. "You know, few people would dare call me craven, but when I look you right in the eyes, I get chills."
"Right," Kort echoed. "There is that."
"That's not my fault," I gave a shrug. "It just worked out that way. But don't worry, you'll get used to it."
It didn't take Kort long to set the table with two large dishes filled with meat and veggies alongside a barrel of brandy. He then poured its contents into silver glasses, and the three us to drank to our meeting. The flavor was truly exquisite, and I took a few moments to savor it before reaching for my pipe—gifted to me by none other than Gerid—and lighting up blissfully.
"It's a strange story, dar, but nonetheless logical," Gerid began after exhaling smoke. "The day before yesterday I received a couple of eminent guests at the Candle—Tiranus and Prince Ritter, with a retinue of three searchers, of which I only remembered the girl. Daressa Valtar, a pretty dame with short blond hair. They cleared out the inn—not that any of the patrons were dying to stick around with that bunch present—took me into the room where you and I had had our talk, and started pelting me with questions about a certain light one who'd stayed at the inn once before." Gerid waved to Kort to pour the next round, then took a deep breath and continued.
"I'm not going to lie—I was scared out of my wits. I'd only seen Ritter from a distance before then, and there he was, alongside Tiranus himself, with the legate looking pretty forbidding, almost like you. I kept wondering what you could have possibly done to cause these people to crash my humble establishment immediately after the battle with Vallan? The mud hadn't even dried on the legate's boots!"
"That's pretty efficient," I grunted, reaching for my glass.
Kort raised his glass and said a solemn toast that he'd learned from yours truly: "Here’s to a long life and a happy one, a quick death and an easy one, a good man and an honest one, a cold pint… and another one!" We drank, and then Gerid continued.
"I told them the truth—there was no sense in hiding anything, anyway. They listened, then shared their story. Or rather, your story." Tossing a piece of ham into his mouth, he chewed it for a while before swallowing with visible effort. "About your slaying of Nerghall and Yllial himself." Gerid took a drag on his pipe and chuckled. "Were it anyone else, I'd kick them out at once for trying to pull a fast one on me, but those two... Firstly, they would sooner kick me out of my own establishment. And secondly..." he paused for a moment. "Secondly, when the chief searcher tells you something, you'd be smart to hearken to the man. Besides, that was the first time Tiranus was hearing of your exploits, seeing as both our jaws were mere inches off the floor. Then Ritter declared that Lord Astarot had assigned Kort and me to serve as centurions in the first punisher legion—to replace two centurions who were leaving to fight under Annat, another friend of yours who had been named the Prince of Zorn. A new legion is forming under his command that requires the most experienced veterans. In the end, he ordered me to close up shop and head out here. And that's the gist of it."
"You should have seen his face," Kort grinned. "He was sent by portal right to my inn, along with two searchers. One of them read out the lord's orders—and loud enough for the broads by the well to hear. Then he congratulated me solemnly, and they headed back. Gerid and I looked at each other—the last time I saw him with that expression on his face was during the Battle of Rhottenum when we got flanked by Lakian getare." Kort gazed at the barrel of brandy contemplatively, then sighed and poured everyone round three. "Only four of us had survived that battle..."
"Where I come from, those who have fought and lost raise the third toast for their fallen brothers and sisters," I raised my glass. "I too have lost a lot of good soldiers in that cursed princedom. So let us drink to them. For your fallen friends, and for mine..."
We drank and were quiet for a while. After staring off to the side, Kort added:
"Let's not dwell in the past. You know, it took a liter of hooch to get Gerid to talk," he snorted, glancing askance at his chewing friend. "The news was surprising, no doubt, but I'd known from the start that you weren't just another light one who had happened to be passing by. Regular folk don't take down Elder Demons as an aside. Anyway, we drank through the night since our service doesn't begin for another week, and decided to wait for you. I knew you'd be coming around. You promised to come visit your namesake, after all."
"But why were you called up? From what I remember you've already served as a punisher for nearly half a century," I peered at the bald innkeeper, then looked around the hall. "And what's going to happen to all this? Who's going to run the inn?"
"How do I explain..." Kort said. "Serving three years as a centurion in a legion elevates you to nobility, and centurion is a very different kind of service. As for the inn, Alsuil and Mirana will take over operations—we've already agreed on all the terms. They should be here any minute now. And besides, what's an inn compared to serving in the first legion—and as a centurion, no less? It is a great honor. My son and my wife will be made noble with me. And it is all thanks to you, friend."
"I'm happy for you, brothers," I smiled. "Even if I don't fully understand Ritter's intentions."
"What's there to understand?" Gerid shrugged. "You've helped defend a province of the dominion, and the lord isn't one to be indebted to anyone. Moreover, you're a mystery, Krian, and that means you may yet pose a danger. You have gods on your side, so the more friends you acquire, the sounder will be Prince Ritter's sleep. He's a wily fox, that one, and he prefers to stay on the gods' good side, what with the state's internal problems aplenty."
"But..." I stammered.
"Look here," Kort refilled our glasses, and nodded toward mine. "Do you even appreciate how patient Gerid and I have been? Drinking and answering your questions dutifully, and you haven't yet told us a bloody thing. Curiosity may be a woman's vice, but not in this particular case. So I would ask you to find your missing conscience and start talking!"
Chapter 14
It took me a while to tell my story, despite condensing it to a more digestible version, omitting many nonessential details. One must never lie to one's friends; brevity, on the other hand, is allowed. There was no need for them to know certain points from my biography, for that knowledge could ultimately cause them much grief. There wasn't any alcohol consumed during the retelling, and anyone looking at the two hardened veterans from the side would doubtless be quite amused. Kort was particularly impressed by my encounter with Kirana. During my last stay in Lamorna, it was he who had shared with me the story of the mad goddess' Wild Hunt, and here I was with proof of the story's veracity. In the end, the only things I omitted from the story were the prophecy, Jaelitte and her mother, and my conversation with Syrat.
"Well, I'll be," Kort said, refilling our glasses with brandy. "You've been through a lot, but I reckon it wasn't all for nothing. Indeed, nothing in this life happens by chance, and you are a prime example of that."
Rising from the chair, he saluted with his glass:
"This one is to you, Krian, Prince of Craedia."
"And to your ultimate completion of your path, wherever it takes you," Gerid added, rising as well.
"Thank you, friends," I got up with them, and we downed our glasses just as the front door creaked open.
"Kort! Out in the yard! There's a puddle with a huge..." literally running into the inn, Alsuil didn't finish his sentence, freezing like a pillar of salt.
"Don't tell me you didn't recognize Krian, mage? The very light one who had helped us hunt down the karriga?" Kort smirked.
"L-light one?" the mage forced out of himself, still flummoxed. "But this is an Elder!"
"The world is full of wonders," I smiled encouragingly at the poor demon. "How are you doing, Alsuil?"
"Is that really you, Krian? But how..."
"That sure is a good-looking boar," said Mirana, walking into the inn after her husband. "Looks an awful lot like Kirana's boar, actually. Is the Goddess of Vengeance a regular at the inn, Kort?" the demoness asked cheerily.
She looked stunning: no older than twenty five, with thick red hair pulled back in a pony tail. She wore a fitted jacket of dark brown leather with matching high boots, and tight beige trousers accentuating her long shapely legs tucked into the boots. And the greatest wonder of this world must be the elixirs, I thought while admiring this beauty, then replied aloud:
"That's him, all right. The boar, I mean. Only he's mine now. A gift from the goddess."
"Krian?! Dark One?! A prince?!" Mirana exhaled, stupefied. Then she looked above my head, and her eyes flashed with horror.
What happened next shocked just about everyone. The demoness dropped to her knees and bent her head as low as it went.
"I am at your service, Mistress," she spoke somberly.
"What mistress? Mirana, you must be ill," Kort's voice broke the silence hanging in the inn, but then I gestured for him to stop.
Walk over to her and put your hand on the back of her head, Jaelitte said to me. Her eagerness to serve merits encouragement—there's a good chance I'll have need of this woman yet.
I wasn't going to argue, so I simply stepped forward and did what was asked. I felt something like an electrical current pass through my hand as purple sparks ran down the woman's hair. The whole thing was over within seconds.
"Thank you for this generous gift, Mistress," Mirana whispered.
She's pretty powerful for a village witch. Tell her that I've heard her, and she can get up, Jaelitte said contemplatively, and was silent.
"Get up, Mirana. She heard you," I shook my head with annoyance. "When I bring my wife here in the flesh, the two of you can talk for as long as you want."
Hart! Hart! Hart! Mirana was a witch, and one capable of spotting the Elder Demon hiding in the ring, or in me, or wherever she was. I didn't see this coming at all, and now I was going to have to explain... Looking around the stunned faces of the demons and the witch's beaming face streaked with tears of joy, I drew a deep sigh and said in a resigned tone:
"That's right, fellas—I'm a newlywed."
The rest of the story took some improvisation. The gist of it was: I found a ring, slipped it on my ring finger, and a beautiful maiden appeared before me. She looked into my eyes and said, "Rescue me from bondage, my prince, and I shall be yours forever." And, being that I was a noble hero with a good heart, I agreed. Kort and Gerid listened intently and gave the occasional affirmative grunt. Alsuil kept shifting blank stares between me and Mirana, clearly struggling to grasp what was happening. Join the club, buddy, I thought with a chuckle. The witch's face was radiating such pure, childlike joy and wonder that any observer from my former world would be instantly dialing a psychiatrist.
You sure know how to spin a tale, Jaelitte sniffed. Even I got lost in the story.
I wasn't lying—I was just improvising on the classic fairy tale whence I came, I replied mentally. Why don't you tell me instead what exactly you've done to her?
Oh, nothing special, my wife said. This lower one has a drop of the true blood flowing through her veins, but she's also more than five centuries old. She had grown old without finding a partner with whom to have children. In regaining her youth with the help of the potion, she lost that ability for good, while simultaneously falling in love. Such foolishness ought to be expected of lower ones. I simply gave her back the ability to give birth—it was easy enough.
What's so foolish about falling in love? I asked.
I keep forgetting that you're half human, Jaelitte replied after a moment's pause. Your kind has this reverential attitude towards love. You've even concocted a love goddess for yourselves who's just as big a fool as all the fools in love. After losing her man, she goes and prohibits sex for everyone one day a year to honor her grief. As if there aren't e
nough men in the world. Instead of finding a few—better yet, a dozen good men—and enjoying herself, she—
That's not exactly right, I objected, interrupting her. Married couples can still sleep together on the day of her grief. I don't find the story particularly interesting, but I know the gist of it.
I'm even less interested in the story. And I don't give a rat's ass about love or about your Lata, Jaelitte said curtly. And Mirana is a fool because for all her power she proved incapable of preserving her youth. Shall I tell you how it's done?
Spare me the details, I chuckled mentally. I presume a succubus siphons her partner's life force in some way after seducing them.
You're right, more or less. But don't worry, there's no risk for you—Elders restore their life force pretty much instantly. Anyway, now you know, so let me be for now. I must save my strength, Jaelitte concluded and fell silent.
"As you say," I replied out loud to no one in particular.
Everything is too damn complicated, I thought. Interesting, but complicated.