Demons of the Hunter

by Stephen Allan

  Garo stood up and walked away. All eyes fell to Roland, who cleared his throat and said in a hoarse voice, “Go home.” The magi around scattered, murmurs of rumor, shock and curiosity spreading like magic through the crowd.

  Zelda, though, remained in place. She saw Roland locking eyes with her, and she felt she owed him an explanation for leaving Dabira.

  “I’m sorry for running away before, Roland,” Zelda said when the crowd had mostly dissipated. “I couldn’t let Caia go.”

  Roland pursed his lips, fluttered them, and nodded. His eyes looked weary, his wrinkles thicker, and his hair grayer from the last time Zelda had seen him.

  “I had a feeling you would go anyways,” Roland said. “The truth is, Zelda, you remind me of my daughter from a while back. She perished six years ago. I could never and have never figured out why she had to die. When you came around, it felt like my daughter had returned to me. So I made every effort to keep you here, even against your own wishes.”

  He bowed his head, took a couple of deep breaths, and looked back up with watery eyes.

  “I suppose you might expect me to apologize myself here, but I’m not sure I regret the decision. You could have easily died and then another senseless death would have filled my life. We all have to act in the interests of ourselves, our loved ones, our friends, and only then the greater good. I cannot invert that and expect us to function well. But by the same definition, I cannot blame you for your actions.”

  He patted his knees and stood.

  “In any case, Zelda, it is good to have you back,” he said. “Get some rest. I am sure you need some after trekking across Hydor with the crew you came with.”

  CHAPTER 14: TYUS

  Weeks passed in which Tyus could do nothing but stew and think of what had happened. He couldn’t forget what had happened.

  He couldn’t forget seeing the old mage in his soldiers’ hands, his father ordering him to decapitate him.

  He couldn’t forget that he had swung the sword, removing the man’s head from his body.

  He couldn’t forget his father’s maniacal, sadistic laughter.

  And more than that, he couldn’t forgive himself for what he had done.

  He remembered spending time in the jail of the Shadows of the Empire, but also how they had helped him and the other hunters defeat Indica. The city would not have gone any further without the help of the magi. Truly, they alone had saved the city.

  And his father thanked them by ambushing them in front of a mass audience.

  How could he?

  Was his father’s love really worth it? That no longer seemed to be the case. His father didn’t have love to offer. He merely had angry outbursts, uncontrolled violence, and rash decisions to give. Love didn’t fit into that.

  But, unfortunately, the only way Tyus would ever inherit the throne was to pretend to love his father. If he did not do that, then his father would return him to the Dragon Hunter’s Guild, a role that he had come to appreciate more in retrospect but one that he still did not foresee leading him to becoming the next emperor.

  He had to do what his father said. It was the only way he could become the leader of the empire, and thus the only way he could bring an end to the cruel tyranny and hunting that his father employed.

  A couple of weeks after that fateful day, Tyus found himself leading two ships, each with twenty men, sailing toward Dabira in an attempt to capture Kara, Gaius and the two girls who had escaped.

  How ludicrous this idea was! Did his father really think the people of Dabira would accept them? Did he really think they would turn in the survivors? Where did his father think they would go? Did he not realize how much bloodshed would come?

  He knew he had to keep his mouth shut, at least close to Caia. He needed to make absolutely certain he had his plan for a coup down before he asked others to join. And even when he had it down pat, he needed to make sure that he had sympathetic ears. He had to study each guard on board the ship to make sure they would be receptive to his ideas. He was one. They were twenty. The odds didn’t favor a bloody overthrow of the old guard.

  But before he could even begin to think of a coup, he had to survive a brutal night filled with torrential rain, wicked lightning, and booming thunder.

  The two boats never went far from each other, but even with their close proximity, it became nearly impossible to see the other ship. Tyus squinted and could see it when lightning illuminated the sky, but otherwise, it just looked like a distant outline, as likely to be a mirage as an actual object.

  A soldier came up to him, his voice as loud as anyone Tyus had heard speak.

  “Sir!” the soldier shouted. “It’s not safe this close to the edge! You could get knocked over! Let’s take you down!”

  Tyus didn’t need the reminder. The last time a storm had come while he was at sea, only the generous act of Eric had kept him from drowning. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “Let’s go,” Tyus said, and he followed the guard.

  He got about a dozen feet from the stairs going to his quarters when he felt a rough bump from underneath the boat.

  “What in the name of Hydor was that?” a guard shouted from afar.

  “I’m not sure, I don’t see anything and we’re not close to land!”

  “Are you bloody blind? We didn’t hit something like—”

  A deep, disturbing growl pierced the night, even overwhelming thunder that boomed at the same time.

  “Prepare your weapons!”

  All of the soldiers held their spears out. Some went below the decks, searching for weapons, but the ships themselves did not have any weapons. They had sent ships with twenty soldiers designed for quick transportation, not naval warfare. If there were—

  A loud crunch came from about fifty feet to the right.

  “Oh dear heavens.”

  “No.”

  “What is that?”

  The reactions of the soldiers gave Tyus a deathly feeling as he went to the railing. Lightning only provided him flashes of visions, but he could hear the screams of the soldiers from the other ship—or what remained of it. For when the sky lit up, Tyus could see what looked like a giant serpent—no, multiple serpents of the same color—wrapping around the ship, breaking it and stranding men to sea.

  “Get this ship out of here!” a soldier shouted on Tyus’ ship.

  Tyus watched as he briefly saw a scowling serpent head, displaying teeth as long as swords and as sharp as nails, fins as large as sails, and heads large enough to devour multiple humans. A few of the guards defiantly tossed their spears, drawing blood, but it was ultimately a futile gesture. The monsters devoured the twenty men at sea.

  “Hydra,” a soldier said. “I’ve heard tales of this beast. I didn’t think—”

  “Shut up and focus on your job, soldier!”

  Tyus felt the words were spoken to him. Even though his only job was to act as an imperial representative, he felt he was letting fear get the best of him.

  But how could he not? When faced with a monster that made Indica look like a pigeon, what was he supposed to do?

  Suddenly, the idea of making truce with the magi didn’t seem good enough. To become neutral with them and to make peace with them wasn’t enough. If monsters like this roamed the earth, they didn’t just need to stop war. They needed to join forces and unite.

  His father was right that the enemy of their enemy was their friend. But the magi had made that compromise before, and it had failed. They would not make that mistake again.

  True peace, true alliance, and true forgiveness had to take place. Otherwise, not just the empire, but all of humanity faced certain extinction.

  ***

  In the nights following the deadly storm, Tyus and his men kept a close eye on the seas, always alert for monsters of the deep or the sky that could threaten them, the only ship remaining. The paranoia ran deep, as every bird looked like a dragon and every small fish breaching the surface looked like another hyd
ra.

  But after another three nights, with only about a single day to go before they touched down in Dabira, the imperial ship had avoided any more damage. It hadn’t even had a moment of potential danger. The hydra was not seen again, perhaps satiated with the single ship it had taken down. Dragons in the sky never came within dangerous range.

  To Tyus, the only danger left was what awaited in Dabira. But to the boy, it didn’t have to be a danger.

  Instead of subjugating the town of Dabira, he could employ it. He could come forward and admit what had happened while asking for forgiveness. In turn, this would start his rule as emperor before it ever really began. He would not do anything to the folks in Dabira other than admit his own failing. Humility could help win the day. It would ensure that from the moment he stepped into his father’s place, he would have a massive head start.

  There was just one problem.

  Behind him stood twenty guards who were loyal to his father first and foremost. He controlled them as captain of the ship and a member of the imperial lineage, but he didn’t have supreme command. Or at least, he didn’t at the moment.

  Countless times during the trip, Tyus had gone up to the soldiers individually to gauge their attitude and opinion toward him. Without exception, every guard spoke to Tyus as a man on duty would and not as a fellow citizen of the empire. The answers felt scripted and universal, and whenever Tyus tried to press, the guards deflected. Either they showed an incredible degree of professionalism, or they were told to not engage him by his father.

  He tried to eavesdrop on conversations between soldiers, but even that got squashed by superior ranking men. This trip was all business, not just with the son of the emperor, but with each other. If there was conversation outside of work duties, Tyus never heard it.

  He knew after so many days that he could not appeal to the soldiers individually. So he would try and reach them collectively.

  He ordered for all of the men on the ship to gather before him as he stood at the front, puffing his chest up and projecting his voice so that even over the waves and creaks of the ship, the men at the furthest back of the ranks could hear him as if in a dining hall in the castle.

  “Good evening,” he began. He was surprised by the authority of his own voice. Perhaps this was a sign that he had finally found the thing that he truly believed in—and it sure wasn’t fighting for his father. “As you know, my father has sent us to Dabira in order to capture the escaped members of the Shadows of the Empire—Kara and Gaius and two young girls. We do this after what happened in Caia with the escalation between the magi and the empire.”

  Tyus knew he had to pick his words carefully, for not even choosing the right words was enough—he had to deliver them correctly as well. It would do no good to hand over his dagger if he did so with the sharp side pointing out. His men might have feigned loyalty to him, but he had to earn the right to keep it.

  “In recent times, the magi have terrorized us and have subjugated us to some dark moments.”

  Again, Tyus could scarcely believe his own words. But he reminded himself that sometimes, you had to lie in the short term to get what you wanted in the long term, especially in leadership. Gray area was an injustice to how he felt, but he comforted himself by saying that he would ultimately stop the senseless violence.

  And if that wouldn’t work, he could always point out that such violence carried no real strategic benefit. The magi had no designs on attacking the empire. The Shadows did, but they wouldn’t want to fight anytime soon. The Shadows had only risen because the fires of the empire burned too brightly.

  “I suspect that while we are in Dabira, we will face some resistance. Some verbal, and possibly some physical. However…”

  He paused, holding his head high and quickly glancing at all twenty soldiers straight in the eye, trying to get a sense of any doubts, preconceived notions of this talk, or anything else that could have caused him trouble. As far as he could see, the men remained at attention, watching and listening to the son of the emperor closely. If nothing else, they had learned to listen and pay attention better than even the hunters to Artemia. Their professionalism is impeccable.

  “I do not want us to lose any lives pointlessly.”

  He thought about saying “as my father would” but thought better of it. Even he had his limit for stretching the truth.

  “I am not saying that we go in weakly and submit. The opposite, in fact. But I know many of you from your time in the palace, serving my father.”

  Not true. I barely know your names.

  “I know many of you have wives, possibly even children at home.”

  Tyus could only hope this was true.

  “I do not want to have to report back and say that because violence erupted, your son or daughter is not going to grow up with their father present. So this is what I ask of you. Refrain from any physical action unless attacked and hurt yourself. Even if someone casts a warning shot of magic and it just barely misses us, do not attack. I know this request may seem,” he coughed, “unusual.”

  It was as close as he would come to saying he openly disagreed with his father. He figured it was about as close as he could get without pushing his men past obedience to him.

  “But I do it for you, for the empire, and for my father. I ask this as your commander of this ship. I believe that by temporarily playing the role of ally to the magi in Dabira, we will more easily persuade them to turn over the wanted criminals. And in this, we will not die, and our job will become easier. Is this something that I can trust you on?”

  “Yes, sir!” the soldiers all said.

  Tyus watched closely as the men spoke in unison, their expressions unchanging, their intent clear and their comprehension perfect. Before, the professionalism had chilled Tyus, but here, in response to him, it pleased him. No wonder father gets a kick out of power. Tyus gave a small smile. It was the beginning of his reign, one in which his father would no longer have his way. The beginning of the end was coming for Rufus Syrast.

  “Good. You may resume as you were.”

  With that, the soldiers slowly disbanded back to their stations. Some went and looked out over the deck, observing the gently cresting waves which had died down significantly since the first day of storms. Some went downstairs to relax, the better to prepare for the arrival to Dabira. A couple played a card game near the back of the boat that Tyus did not recognize, but the talk remained at a minimum if it did not relate to work.

  Tyus patrolled the ship some more, trying to get a sense of the men’s reaction to what he’d said. He had expected either surprise or dismissal, but the one thing he hadn’t expected was what he felt he had got—disinterest. Granted, a soldier’s duty was to accept his orders without emotion, to do his job, and to go into battle prepared to follow those orders down to the last moment. But for Tyus to not even sense a subtle change in the energy surprised him. I just told them to not use violence on the magi. How could that not provoke some kind of a reaction?

  He struggled with whether his speech had actually impacted them. On the one hand, why would it? What grown man who had, at the very minimum, gone through months of training to become a soldier and sparred with veteran troops would listen to a sixteen-year-old boy only recently in the good graces of the emperor? Why would they want to hear the spoiled rants of this boy?

  But on other hand, why wouldn’t they? It wasn’t a secret Tyus would become emperor someday, especially as the only son of the emperor. The soldiers had sworn their loyalty to the empire, so wouldn’t Tyus get it?

  He was beginning to understand just invoking his title, or expecting his title to carry the weight of respect, was not enough to earn that. He had to carry himself and demonstrate his skills to earn respect.

  Well, so be it. The first test of his leadership would come the following day, once they reached Dabira.

  Still, Tyus slowly began to realize power didn’t lie in his literal title, but in his ability to persuade the actions of
those with the swords and the magic.

  * * *

  Late in the afternoon, their target finally came into view.

  Tyus had not rested much since his speech to the guards. His mind would not allow him to settle onto a single answer to the question of if he had properly persuaded his men. Half the time, he imagined their disciplined bodies, their rigid postures, their duties as soldiers, and the knowledge that he would become the emperor someday. He foresaw the day folding out as he had hoped.

  The other half of the time, he remembered the gut feeling that they did not respond to him. That they went through the motions, but the motions did not indicate loyalty in their hearts.

  However it turns out, I am ready.

  When they reached Dabira, Tyus observed the group of magi gathering by the docks. Their expressions were a mixture of fear and determination. Their numbers swelled by the minute. Tyus had never seen Dabira before, but whatever idea he had of it being a small, tranquil town vanished when he saw the reactions of the magi. They know. Of course they know. I have to do this alone. I have to face the punishment for the sins of my father on my own.

  He turned to the guards, raising his arms once more, all of them except for the one guiding the ship at attention.

  “When we land, men, allow me to go alone,” he said. “I must speak on behalf of my father without being armed. It is the only way to ensure that we do not provoke an unnecessary battle. You must stay on this ship.”

  “Sir!” one of the soldiers to the front barked. Based on his insignia, Tyus knew he was the highest-ranked soldier on this boat. “With all respect, sir, may I suggest bringing at least one guard with you? I fear that not doing so may leave you open for attack, and I do not wish that upon you.”

  Tyus glanced back. Truthfully, at this point, it would make no real difference if Tyus had a guard or not. It might make him feel better, but with this many magi, the best they could hope for was a quick death if they chose to strike at him. Suffice to say, the odds were not only not in their favor, they seemed guaranteed to lose in a fight. But symbolically…