Kings and Daemons

by Marcus Lee

  They rode in silence after that, while the sun rose. The dry summer heat and dust just added to the misery of the rattling and jarring of the wagon as it rumbled along the kingdom’s minor roads and plains.

  Come midday they stopped as they usually did, and the wagon became the focal point for a short while as it carried not only the prisoner but also the water barrels along its side with the provisions and equipment further in the back.

  The men as always threw jibes at Maya, and she curled further into a corner, head down, knees pulled up to her chest, and Taran pitied her. How sad, to be so tormented in her last weeks. There was nothing he could do to stop it without jeopardising himself, but at least he might be able to make her journey less torturous.

  Whoever drove the wagon had the responsibility of giving the prisoner a few sips of water, so Taran waited for the men to move away and to start eating their midday meal, and then took the metal water cup. Instead of the few drops he’d been told to give her, he filled it near to the top.

  He walked around to where she lay huddled. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘You need to drink.’

  Maya thought to refuse, but her thirst was overwhelming, and even a few drops relieved the torment a little, so she reached out ready to take the cup from Taran.

  ‘Careful,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘It’s almost full, don’t spill any and don’t let anyone see how much you have. Drink it while staying as low as you can.’

  How cruel, Maya thought. Making her believe there was enough water to quench her thirst let alone wet her parched lips. But sure enough, as she took the cup, the water was near the top. Her hands trembled at the treasure she held, and she carefully bent forward, and let her hair fall around the cup before she drank deeply. It was warm, but for the first time in days, her thirst dissipated a little.

  ‘More?’ she asked, pushing the cup back between the bars.

  Taran shook his head. ‘If anyone saw me give you more, I don’t know what would happen, but it wouldn’t be good.’ He looked about carefully, and reached into his pocket, pulled out the food he’d saved from breakfast, then hastily passed it through to Maya. ‘Here, only start eating when we’re on the move.’

  Taran then moved away to sit with the other soldiers.

  Maya would have cried then. This simple act of kindness and she was on the verge of breaking. What if this was their plan? To raise her spirits and hopes only to crush them later in a sick game. That must be what this was about, but if only it wasn’t.

  As she watched Taran sit with the men, one of them made a joke, and everyone laughed in appreciation. It was obviously about her and not for the first time. As they looked over, she hated them all for their cruelty, but what hurt the most this time, was that despite his recent act of kindness, Taran laughed with them.

  -----

  Taran had tried to talk to Maya when they’d set out again after lunch, but she’d refused to engage, and for some reason, that upset him. He’d shown kindness, and now she didn’t respond to any of his attempts to talk with her.

  He had to be careful and not look as if he were attempting to converse, so concentrated on keeping the wagon on the dusty track, as he couldn’t exactly force the issue. He tried to read her thoughts a little but found that they were hidden. All these years of being able to read everyone easily, and now he couldn’t perceive the Rangers’ or Maya’s thoughts at all, it was so frustrating.

  What he could see however didn’t require his gift. Sadness, desperation, anxiety and hopelessness was written upon her features as if on a page. He decided to respect her silence and let her start a conversation in her own time, as and when she was ready.

  The afternoon thus went slowly, and by the end of it, Taran’s whole body felt shaken to bits. How must she feel, having endured this day after day? At least he and the other soldiers took it in turns on the wagon.

  Taran heard his name called and looked up to see Rakan gesture to a small clearing. Taran knew it was time to stop for the day and steered the wagon as directed carefully, trying not to shake himself or his cargo any more than possible.

  The other men had started to gather wood for the evening fire as Taran dismounted. Every bone seemed to ache, and he moved to the back of the wagon to help himself to a ration of water. As he did, he looked about and saw everyone was busy so discreetly offered some to Maya who took the cup and drained its contents quickly.

  She looked up then and gave him a small nod of thanks.

  Taran suddenly felt his mood lift, so replied with a smile which made his cheeks hurt, but she didn’t smile back. As he returned the cup and sealed the keg of water, he thought himself a fool. Why should she warm to him, a soldier taking her toward death? Giving her water if only to keep her alive until she met her fate.

  Still, irrespective of what she thought of him, this was about how he felt about himself. He couldn’t let her suffer unduly; orders be damned. He would try and make her last weeks bearable, even if not comfortable.

  As he sat amongst the men, the fire roaring before them as they unpacked the night’s food, the men all started jibing, asking how he felt after a day on the boneshaker. He was about to admit that he wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for a week, when he quickly changed his mind. ‘Hah,’ he laughed. ‘It’s not all that bad. To be honest, I’m so awful at riding a horse. I rather prefer the wagon.’

  Lexis hooted. ‘If that’s the case,’ he said, with a sly grin and wink at the others. ‘Why don’t you take our turns for the rest of the journey.’

  Despite his whole body screaming for him to say no, Taran smiled back, and without a hint of sarcasm said. ‘Sure, I appreciate it. Really I do, thanks.’

  There were howls of glee from everyone then, and Taran saw Rakan shake his head slightly out of the corner of his eye, but he kept his head down as everyone tucked into their food. Taran ate his, but put some aside to keep in his pocket.

  The conversation turned as usual toward women and stories of fighting. Kazad, one of the privates, raised his voice and told everyone that however good their stories were, none of them had ever beaten a giant as had Taran. He stood, raised his voice and retold Taran’s tale in all its bloody detail, at times acting along with the words. As the story finished, he raised his voice. ‘Taran, the giant Snark killer!’ he saluted and lifted his mug.

  The others joined in, but as they raised their mugs and voices in salutation, into their circle of firelight stepped Darkon, and everyone fell into an uncomfortable silence.

  ‘So, here is the mighty slayer of giants,’ he sneered, looking down at Taran. ‘He doesn’t look like much to me, strong yes, maybe even fast, but Snark was twice your size and as strong as five men. So tell me, corporal,’ and he said the word as if it were an insult. ‘Tell me your secret, the secret of your victory.’

  Taran felt a brief urge to tell Darkon the truth, about his gift, to tell him everything, to unburden himself. It was as if Darkon’s words were not a question but a command, and at that moment he realised that the reason he couldn’t read Maya, the Rangers or even the overseers, was that they had gifts too. It seemed Darkon’s gift was to command the truth, yet just like he couldn’t read them, neither could Darkon coerce him.

  He stared back up at Darkon as a complete and uncomfortable silence fell upon the circle of men, and without pause, he answered back. ‘The secret,’ he said in a steady tone, not loud, but clear. ‘Is that arrogant people often look down upon their betters without knowing them, and thus underestimate them.’

  Roars of laughter erupted, and Taran shook his head. ‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘I didn’t mean to say it like that.’

  Darkon’s face was white with rage, and his hand went to his sword hilt to answer this perceived insult with blood, but Rakan stepped smoothly in between Taran and Darkon.

  ‘Surely it’s not his fault that he answered truthfully is it?’ he asked, ‘It would be annoying to lose our wagon driver so soon into our journey.’

  Darkon held Raka
n’s gaze and then looked at Taran who had turned away to unroll his blanket. ‘The truth,’ he said, ‘is not always what it seems, and in his case,’ and he nodded at Taran, ‘there is possibly far more to this one than meets the eye.’

  ‘What about you, Rakan, tell me, are you loyal to the Witch-King? Is there anything you desire more than to serve, and can you be trusted?’ asked Darkon menacingly.

  A frown crossed Rakan’s brow as he felt coerced into answering, yet he wasn’t afraid of what he was going to say, just more annoyed that he had no choice in the matter. ‘I am loyal,’ said Rakan. ‘The only thing I desire is to serve in my old unit, the Nightstalkers, and I’d do anything to make that happen.’

  Darkon smirked. ‘Anything, really? Maybe we shall soon put that to the test!’ and with that, he turned away and walked back to his campfire.

  Rakan waited a moment and then called Taran over, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ‘I’m not sure if you realise how close you came to being killed there, but that was as funny as hell, and since you’re still alive, that was definitely worth it to see him made to look a little foolish like that. I’d heard that some Rangers can always get the truth from their victims, but I had assumed it was through torture, now I know better. He has the gift of truth-saying it seems. I had no choice but to answer. It seems however you did, and I’m glad more than you know. But now you need to be even more careful. He’s got his eye on you, and that means they all do, and the last thing you want is their attention.’

  Rakan raised his voice, looking around at the other men. ‘You better all get some rest, as we’ll be training extra hard in the morning,’ and everyone moaned in concert.

  ‘Another day in the army, isn’t it glorious!’ he said with a malicious smile.

  -----

  Maya had watched the soldiers from the darkness in the back of the wagon, hearing most of what was said.

  They were all so loud, and their stories were so horrible and unpleasant. The tale one of the men had told about Taran killing a man by crushing his skull in a fight made her feel physically ill. She had thought he was kinder than the rest, but apparently there was a terrible darkness in him too. Why were they all like this she wondered?

  She closed her eyes, to try set her spirit free, but failed. It really must have been a dream before, but it had seemed so real. In the distance, a wolf howled, long and mournfully, reflecting her feelings.

  Maya leaned back to look at the sky. Broken clouds gave a glimpse of the heavens, and she wished she were back in her hidden garden, or with her father, watching him cook over the hearth fire.

  Her father had said stars were the eyes of the gods as they looked down upon mortals in judgement of their deeds. They would then decide on a person’s fate, and Maya wondered what she’d done to deserve their enmity.

  As she sat there huddled under a threadbare blanket staring out into the darkness, enjoying the tranquillity as the soldiers finally settled down for the night, she noticed two yellow eyes peering at her from the darkness beyond the edge of the campfires glow, steady and unblinking.

  Initially, she felt a chill rush through her veins, but as she returned the gaze, there was nothing hostile in the look, just a recognition. As the moon came from behind a cloud, there bathed in its light was the wolf. That it was the one she’d saved, there was no doubt. It tilted its head to one side as if thinking, then turned and disappeared silently back into the cover of the trees.

  She waited for a while, but it didn’t return - a final goodbye from an animal she’d saved.

  On the one hand, it made her feel better, but from another worse, as she realised there would be no more goodbyes from anyone.

  Maya fell asleep exhausted then, but was comforted in her dreams by soft yellow eyes, that watched over her while she slept.

  -----

  The next day after sword practice and breakfast, they got underway again. As Taran climbed aboard the wagon, the mocking cheers of his fellow soldiers rang in his ears, and Taran was jealous, for they would all be in a soft leather saddle.

  As the men fanned out, creating a perimeter, Taran cracked the whip, and the cart horse moved into action, to begin a day of bone-shattering bumps that caused Taran to wince from the very first.

  He heard Maya moan in the back as the movement awoke her and turned back to see her eyes open and meet his own. He flashed a quick smile. ‘Good morning,’ he said, just loud enough to be heard. ‘Here, this is for you!’ and he slipped a small package between the metal bars of the cage.

  Maya reached out to accept it and smiled quickly in thanks. She opened the leaf wrap to see dried meat, bread and some fruit and quite a lot of it too. Her hunger which had dissipated during the night, came back in a wave. Saliva filled her mouth as she hunkered down in the bottom of the wagon to stay out of sight then tore into the food. She ate the bread and meat first, even if it was dry, chewing many times before being able to swallow. Last she took the fruit and ate it slowly, savouring the juice even if it was a little sour as it ran down her throat as it helped to quench her thirst a little. Having finished, she felt better than she had in days.

  Taran briefly looked over his shoulder. ‘I’ll give you some water when we stop for the midday rest,’ he said, then turned back to look at the track, guiding the horse and wagon around the largest of the rocks.

  Maya studied him as he drove. His young face was horribly marked, the fresh wounds all swollen, red, and weeping as they tried to heal in a land where everything was corrupted. Here he was again, the man who had revelled in crushing someone’s skull, showing her a kindness.

  Concerns about him working her, trying to gain her trust for some evil purpose didn’t seem to fit. That there was a conflict between who he could be from one moment to the next was obvious, but in these last weeks, she would take whatever kindness and solace she could.

  ‘Taran. Why are you doing this for me?’ she asked, registering the surprise on his face as she used his name.

  He didn’t reply, and she wondered why, but from the look on his face, he was thinking hard. Perhaps thinking of a lie.

  After a while, Taran looked over his shoulder and smiled as if in apology. ‘I’m sorry. It’s so hard to know who to trust nowadays, to know what you can or can’t say.’ He carried on guiding the wagon around the rocks, and when he started talking again, Maya had to strain to hear him.

  With a sigh, Taran spoke. ‘I’m doing this because while I don’t have a choice around being in the army or taking you to the Witch-King, at least not if I want to live, I do have a choice over who I want to be whilst I’m alive. I want to be the kind of person that can look at their reflection without feeling the need to look away in shame.’

  Maya couldn’t help but say. ‘So how do you look in the mirror when I hear you have killed and mutilated men with your bare hands and revelled in it? How can you like what you see when your very face is marked with the rank of cruelty? How can you ally yourself with killers all around and find peace in who you are?’

  After the angry words had passed her lips Maya regretted saying them, they were hard words meant to hurt, and whilst he and his ilk deserved them; still, she’d never been the type of person to speak so harshly to anyone whether they had it coming or not.

  Taran was quiet then for some time, and Maya thought that perhaps she’d said too much, but then he nodded.

  ‘You are not wrong,’ he continued softly. ‘The story you have heard is true, and yes, I find myself keeping the company of very unpleasant men, most of whom are killers. However, at the same time, the truth isn’t always what you first see.’

  ‘So, what is the truth?’ Maya asked sarcastically. ‘That you are some knight in shining armour who will save me from my fate?’ Even as she said it, there was a small spark of hope inside of her that this might be the case.

  Taran shook his head, and the spark died before it had a chance to grow.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not a knight, and I’m in no position
to rescue you.’ Yet even as he said it, Taran found himself wishing he could not only escape the shackles of the army, but release Maya as well.

  Rakan cantered over on his horse, and his face was dark as he pulled up alongside. He secured the reins to the side of the wagon then leapt onto the seat beside Taran. He put his arm around Taran’s shoulders, yet it was not a friendly gesture with such a cold smile upon his lips. ‘Taran, my lad,’ he said. ‘What in the hells do you think you are doing? If I can see you talking to his girl, then don’t you think the Rangers will see it too. Do you really want their attention on you, I somehow doubt you do!’

  Rakan’s squeezed his fingers hard into Taran’s shoulder for emphasis, yet as he did so, Rakan felt a gentle touch on his forearm. He ignored it, but then the girl spoke.

  ‘It’s not his fault,’ she said.

  As Rakan turned around, he noticed it was the girl's hand on his arm that she’d slipped between the bars. He pulled his arm away from her hand as if burnt. ‘Don’t touch me!’ he hissed, and in his eyes there was such anger, that Maya fell back fearful.

  ‘You keep your distance from me, and from him,’ Rakan said, jerking his thumb at Taran. ‘Don’t let me catch you talking anymore. You think your journey’s bad at the moment? Well, cross me, and I’ll show you how much worse it can be!’

  With that, he looked hard into Taran’s eyes a final time before he vaulted onto his horse, then rode away without looking back.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Maya, keeping her head down low, but Taran didn’t respond, and she wondered if he ever would again such was the power of Rakan’s command.

  Having had this small companionship denied her made her feel more alone than ever before. So she huddled in the back of the wagon and watched the grey landscape move by as tears welled in her eyes.

  -----

  Rakan scanned the surrounding grassland from the saddle. He could see a couple of the Rangers scouting ahead but couldn’t spot the others, and he cursed them for the hundredth time since they’d been assigned to oversee what had initially seemed to be a pointless escort mission.