Parasite Soul

by Jags, Chris

  Simon’s impressions were of a town both modern and quaint. Many of the dwellings were built in a contemporary style, but modestly, so that they projected tranquil antiquity. No one appeared to be making any great effort out-do their neighbors; the only large buildings visible were administrative, save of course for the ubiquitous Church of Vanyon. The gate opened onto a spacious square, where benches and gazebos replaced the expected vendor’s stalls. A pool large and long enough to support both a fountain and a small ornamental bridge split the park nearly in two. Glimmers of the river were visible between the surrounding buildings. Unlike similar squares in towns Simon had visited, this was a place of relaxation, not commerce. The only merchants he saw manned small booths squeezed into the alleyways which snaked away from the central plaza, having set up shop as close as they could without defying what Simon took to be a local law.

  Hezben had allowed his visitors to partake of some of the fruits of his forest, enough to keep them alive at least, but Simon was still hungry. His appetite did not, however, manage to distract him from a sudden wave of unease as he swept his surroundings with mistrustful eyes. A scattering of people wandered the streets, clad in the traditional, modest tunics that he would have expected. Several folk had gathered in groups to chatter about the day’s events. A pair of youths chased a distraught duck which had apparently forgotten its flight capabilities. And yet, something about this comfortingly familiar scene didn’t sit right with Simon. He couldn’t put his finger on what was bothering him, but he was justified in his apprehension when several people took on looks of alarm and scurried away, while others began to stare with unabashed and sinister curiosity. The alley merchants didn’t call out to them. People leaned together to whisper to their neighbors. Almost as if…

  “They know who we are,” he said. Even to his own ears, his voice sounded resigned, weary. No panic. Just a dull, oppressive sense of inevitability. The barked command which followed was no surprise.

  “Halt, in the name of the king!”

  Guardsmen materialized as though from the ether, spilling from alleyways, stepping out from shadowed alcoves, ringing them. Simon spun in a tight circle, but there were dozens of men, too many for fight or flight to be viable options. If his curse kicked in, it would kill his friends also, so he had to choke his fear down. Would Sasha choose to attack the soldiers? Despite the fact that she would surely be overwhelmed by their superior number, Simon found himself hoping so. He hated himself for that hope, but she seemed to him to be their only chance of escape.

  Sasha, however, seemed content to simply watch the proceedings, head slightly cocked. The gate guard, having abandoned his cards, was now on his feet and approached them with wary smugness.

  “Not too bright, you lot,” he commented. “’Course, villains like yourselves rarely are. Take ‘em to holding. Inform the general.”

  Oswald’s frame slumped and sagged. Simon had no doubt that the giant could deal some serious damage if he chose, but despite his wild tales of hydra wrangling, he didn’t impress Simon as a fighter. He muttered something despondently under his breath and scratched at his horns. Niu performed a hand gesture that could have meant anything, but Simon chose to interpret it as a signal of defeat. His companions had come to the same conclusion that he had; they could not fight the guards without loss. Although they might have mounted a resistance under regular circumstances, they couldn’t take the chance that Simon would get worked up and unleash his curse.

  Simon Dragonslayer, he thought bitterly as the soldiers closed in, disarming them. Less legendary hero than total liability.

  The speculative stares of Sallingers’ citizens – a mocking parody of the adulation of which he’d dreamed when first he’d slain the dragon – scalded the back of his skull as, his wrists encircled by iron manacles, he was marched off down the street at sword point.

  XVI

  “And these orders, I presume, come directly from the lips of my liege?” General Gharletto scratched his ragged beard and studied Tiera shrewdly.

  The princess sighed with all the impatience she could muster, which was significant. She couldn’t draw her gaze from his fingernails, which were cracked, yellow, and filthy. Standing in the same room as this man made her feel filthy. She could practically hear the fleas rustling about in his beard. “I’ve already told you. My father is extremely ill. He could not be here in person.”

  “Well, that’s just it, you see, princess.” Gharletto stressed the final word with just the slightest hint of a sneer. He gestured about the sparse office he’d appropriated from Sallinger’s local captain. “The king, your father, is neither in the habit of delivering his orders in person nor of sending his daughter to do the honors. This is all very unusual.” He waved Tiera toward the seat behind the desk, which she stiffly declined on the ground that it was worn, scuffed, and frankly, insultingly beneath her person. “Furthermore, when the object of your visit is so…” His teeth bared in a disconcerting grin. “…transparent, I wonder whether my duty isn’t to pack you up and ship you back to your father as soon as possible. My lady,” he added unconvincingly.

  Tiera stamped a blistered foot. Several days of wearing riding boots had taken their toll. “General Gharletto,” she snapped, layering her voice with all the considerable frost she could muster, “I could have your head for your insolence! In fact, I am inclined to report your words to my father, directly as you have conveyed them. I’d wager he would not be understanding.”

  “You’d lose that wager.” Gharletto cracked his neck unconcernedly. Even more infuriatingly, he presented his back to Tiera and paced across the office to the third-story window, which overlooked the picturesque town of Sallinger. “Your father and I have an understanding which predates your time in this world, princess.”

  “So I have seen, time and again. But what baffles me is this: how could my father – the king of Cannevish – have any sort of understanding with such a common man?” Tiera was unable to prevent the rising heat in her voice.

  “How can that surprise you?” The General leaned on the windowsill, tempting Tiera to rush forward and give him a shove. “I’ll give you just one example, a pertinent one. You wouldn’t be alive today without me. Your father is a man of honor. He does not forget his debts.”

  Tiera’s eyes narrowed. “What nonsense is this?”

  Gharletto laughed. “Such gratitude from such a well brought-up young lady! Has your father never told you, then? I suppose he prefers to sweep the family baggage beneath the carpet. Your mother began to sicken before even you were born. She was traveling to a monastery for treatment, with myself as her escort, when she went into labor. She would certainly have died there on the roadside, and you with her, had she been at the mercy of her useless, panicky servants. It was I who saved your life in the aftermath of a difficult childbirth, and hers incidentally, although as you are certainly aware that came to naught. Perhaps the day I delivered such an ungrateful little terror safely to her father was a day to be rued. But the king did not see it that way.”

  Flustered – did everybody know of my transgressions except me? - Tiera masked her agitation and confusion with a sneer. “I see. So you were my midwife, then.”

  “Indeed.” Gharletto turned back to her, dark-eyed and grinning unpleasantly. His gaze wandered insolently up and down her form. “And may I say, you have blossomed through the years, physically, if not in character.”

  “How dare you-“ Tiera began, red with mounting anger, but the captain’s hand snapped up sharply and she quietened.

  “Your father, you see, takes his obligations seriously,” Gharletto continued, also angry. He pounded one fist into the palm of the other emphatically. “If not for my actions, he would have no daughter. If not for my silence, he would endure grave scandal. In return for these acts of service, and many prior, he allows me a free hand in planning and coordinating my fulfillment of his orders. This is why I find it strange, to say the least, that he would send an avatar of his debt to
me to give me instruction.”

  “You will address me with respect!” Spittle flew from Tiera’s lips as she hissed that final word, but she was too incensed to care. She thought her veins might burst with fury.

  As she glared venom at the General, the smug smirk slid from his lips and was replaced with something akin to fear. That’s better, Tiera thought savagely, parting her lips to press her unexpected advantage. Instead, she gaped with astonishment as the man groped at his chest, wild-eyed, and began to slide, gasping, down the wall.

  “Gharletto!” she snapped as the old soldier crumpled on the floor, eyes bugging and lips flapping uselessly, like a fish. He gestured weakly with one hand. A plea for help? Indecisive, she hesitated. On the one hand, Gharletto might be useful alive, if she could leash him. On the other, she was enjoying watching him struggle; besides, she had no idea what was happening to him or how she could assist, and she certainly wasn’t going to touch him.

  The General made a final attempt to solicit assistance, but could only wheeze. Stark panic flooded his eyes. His fingers scraped along the stone floor, filthy nails snapping, and his feet began to drum sharply. Moments later, he was dead.

  Breathing heavily, Tiera crouched beside his corpse, confused. The same force which had toppled her father had ended Gharletto, and she couldn’t imagine why. Was some guardian spirit looking out for her? Was this somehow Merequio’s doing? If so, her vampiric brother appeared to have no knowledge of it. Had the power triggered when the two of them had come into contact with one another? Staring thoughtfully into Gharletto’s lifeless eyes, Tiera wracked her brains for some solution. Then it struck her like Lesquann’s lightning.

  It only happens when I’m upset or angry.

  Straightening, Tiera considered her theory from all angles. The pieces seemed to fit. She’d awoken from wrathful dreams to find Farrow and her guards dead; her anger had slain her father; and now her mood had struck Gharletto down. Her fury killed.

  As though I was some sort of goddess of rage.

  Heart hammering with excitement, Tiera strode to the door and out into the street. Merequio waited nearby, scuffing the cobbles with one heel as he leaned on an old stone wall, arms folded. Better yet, a young guardsman stood at the door, pale and panting, and it was to this youth that the princess turned her attention.

  “Do you feel unwell, guardsman?” she inquired.

  The youth stared at his boots. “It is nothing, my lady. It is passing.”

  “Your heart perhaps?”

  “I cannot say, my lady. Some pain in my chest. It will not affect my performance, your highness.”

  Tiera shivered with anticipation. Killing like this wasn’t as stimulating as the physical way she and her brother had murdered that innkeeper’s daughter, but it held its own pleasures. “Make me angry, guardsman.”

  Certain he’d misheard, the youth dared to meet her eyes, if only for a second. “My… my lady?”

  “Make me angry.” Tiera repeated impatiently. She didn’t care that her own guard escort were looking on with ill-disguised curiosity. None of them could harm her; if they got any ideas, her very temper could drop them in their tracks. “That’s an order.”

  Flustered, the young guard looked around for nonexistent help as Merequio looked on curiously. “I… I would not dare.”

  “You would not dare obey a direct order from your princess?” Tiera was beginning to feel irritable already, with or without the youth’s cooperation.

  “I would not know how displease you without offending you, princess.” The guardsman shuffled uncomfortably. A sudden thought visibly struck him. “Perhaps you would find the… sentiment… you are looking for by interviewing the prisoner?”

  “Prisoner?” Tiera frowned. “What are you babbling about?”

  “The peasant, my lady. We took him this morning. I thought he was whom you’d traveled here to… interview.”

  Tiera’s eyes flew wide. “Where? Where is he being kept, soldier?” She could hardly keep herself from reaching out and shaking the youth. In her rush of discovery, she’d nearly forgotten about Simon, her flight from Cannevish, all of her problems.

  “He and his companions are being held in Sallinger’s prisons.”

  Tiera’s heart burned with excitement, but her voice retained its chill. “Indeed. Carry on soldier. General Gharletto has intimated that he is absolutely not to be disturbed until further notice.”

  “Very good, my lady.” The youth exhaled audibly as she swept past him, deeply relieved by her departure. Tiera wasn’t concerned that he might disobey her instructions; if Gharletto’s corpse was discovered, she had no doubt that between her newfound abilities and her brother’s supernatural blood thirst, she could make short work of any arresting force.

  Tiera joined Merequio and her handpicked guards by the horses.

  “The local prison,” she said coolly, betraying no outward emotion. Merequio’s lips curled within the deep shadows of his hood but he said nothing. “We will be making a quick stop there before we press on.”

  “As you wish, my lady.” Lieutenant Thornton acquiesced.

  “Thank you, Thornton.” Tiera brushed the man’s cheek with her fingertips. Thornton was what she thought of as a good solider: handsome, capable, and unquestioningly obedient. Certainly, Tiera’s actions since she’d left Vingate had provoked suspicion in the man, but he kept it buried. He certainly anticipated a commendation or promotion. The poor fool hardly suspected that he would likely wind up a meal for Merequio – or, if by some miracle he returned intact to Vingate, that he would surely be hanged for aiding and abetting regicide, no matter how unknowingly.

  At her touch, Thornton straightened perceptibly. He issued some commands to his men, one of whom offered his services as a human stepping stool as Tiera mounted her nickering, uneasy steed. Perhaps the animal sensed her power, or her mood. Either way, the beast was agitated, which amused Tiera, as it dared not resist her.

  Even creatures of instinct fear me now, Tiera thought with some satisfaction, as a new fantasy – evolving to include her powerful new abilities - began to formulate in her mind. If I return to Cannevish, it will be as an unstoppable force with an army at my back, and no one will be able to stand before me. Us, she amended with an affectionate glance at her brother, mounted silently beside her. He smirked back at her, as though guessing her intentions. But first, that insolent peasant. At last he will learn what it means to spurn a princess.

  Navigating Sallinger’s quaint cobbled streets at an eager pace, she surveyed this rustic outpost of a kingdom she would one day own – and not by marriage. She would create her own traditions. She would send that foppish outlander Anton Stallix packing, with or without his head, then raze his kingdom to the ground. Queen Tiera Minus would be nobody’s pawn.

  XVII

  Simon paced relentlessly in his cell. Tiny and narrow, unfurnished save for a stone bench and a latrine bucket, his prison was woefully inadequate for the nervous energy animating him. Across the narrow, crooked hall from him, Niu sat still and quiet in her own cage, reluctant to attract the attention of her famished cellmate. Despite having professed her growing hunger repeatedly, however, Sasha hadn’t shown any sign of turning on Niu. The bruxa seemed content to stand in one corner of her cage and stare vacantly up the stairs which led to the guardhouse above. As for Oswald, he largely filled his cell, his horns scraping on the ceiling, so pacing wasn’t an option.

  “You’re certain you couldn’t bend the bars?” Simon asked the giant for the fifth time.

  “At least have the courtesy to rephrase your inane questions, lad,” Oswald muttered moodily, without making eye-contact.

  “What about Hezben? He’ll get worried about us – well, about you – and then he’ll…”

  “You know Hez has no power where there ain’t no trees worth speaking of,” the giant interrupted with a dismissive gesture. Simon frowned and resumed his tight circuit. It couldn’t end like this, not with a noose about his neck, or
whatever tortures Princess Tiera would devise for him. And worse, for Niu! The handmaiden was certain to suffer mightily at the hands of the petty, spiteful princess. With one simple act of thoughtlessness, he had condemned Niu to what would surely be an excrutiating fate. He could easily imagine Tiera violently defacing Niu to appease her own vanity, after which she was certain to kill her. The thought was unbearable.

  “Sasha,” he said, a note of pleading in his voice. “Surely you could overpower our captors?”

  But Sasha was still gazing at some fixed point between the foot of the stairs and the door above, and did not appear to hear him.

  “Sasha?” He tried again.

  “Leave her be,” Niu said wearily.

  “Why?”

  “She is concentrating,” Niu explained, voice low. “She is extremely hungry. Blood is a primal, constant need for the undead. She is focusing on not forgetting herself and eating me.”

  Simon blinked. “Oh.”

  “Yes,” Niu agreed. “I would like her to be successful in her endeavor.”

  Simon nodded fervently. He studied Sasha with new respect. Sharing your body with a vampire could be no easy curse to live with, but she had the courage to wrestle with her nature. He needed to draw from her strength, to rail against his own damnation.

  Sinking down on the hard, bare stone bench which provided him a bed of sorts, he cupped his head in his hands. Despair threatened to overwhelm him. He had to fight it consciously. This was no easy task, and he noticed that occasionally Oswald’s hand stole toward his enormous barrel chest. Was he experiencing heart murmurs? Worse, was Niu? The thought of accidentally killing Niu agitated him even further, until he was certain he wouldn’t be able to control the cauldron of emotions threatening to bubble over.

  “Stay calm,” Niu said quietly. She was watching him closely.