Kings and Daemons

by Marcus Lee

  Rakan came over and unlocked the gate at the back of the cage. He reached in and grabbed the chain connecting the manacles on Maya’s wrists and pulled her unceremoniously to the rear of the wagon. He looked at the chains around her ankles then and swore.

  ‘Darkon!’ he shouted, and the captain of the Rangers came over.

  ‘What is it?’ barked Darkon.

  Rakan nodded at the manacles on her hands and feet. ‘We’ll make slow progress if she can’t walk properly on her own,’ he said. ‘The boys can’t carry her even if they take turns. The manacles need to come off.’

  Darkon stood and looked at Maya with those dead black eyes for a while, and she felt her blood turn to ice in her veins. She was sure he was contemplating killing her there and then, but the order had been to bring her to the capital, and until that changed, she would stay alive.

  Suddenly, Darkon moved forward, a wicked blade in his hand and pushed her head back against the cage, the sharp tip of the dagger so close to her eye she didn’t dare blink let alone breathe. He lowered his voice, and it sounded like a serpent’s hiss. ‘My orders are to bring you to the capital, but just try to escape, and you’ll lose this eye. Try again, and you’ll lose the other, along with some other very nasty things you could only likely think of in your worst nightmares.’

  The blade slowly withdrew and the silence that had settled over the camp lifted.

  As Maya’s heart started to beat normally again, Darkon reached into his pocket and pulled forth a heavy key to unlock the manacles. As they fell away, Maya felt as if something more than just the chains had been removed. She couldn’t tell what, but she felt like she could breathe freely.

  Darkon turned to the surrounding soldiers. ‘I will say this just once. If she escapes even for a moment, whoever is guarding her will also feel the punishment of my blades, and trust me, you’ll lose more, much more than just an eye!’

  He moved away, and Lexis raised his voice to Taran. ‘You better keep her close, because otherwise, it’ll be your head that leaves your shoulders.’

  Taran knew he spoke the truth.

  Rakan came forward with some heavy rope and thrust it into Taran’s hands. ‘She’s your responsibility now. You tie her as you will, you lead her. If she manages to escape, however briefly, there will be no saving you. You understand this, don’t you?’

  Taran just nodded and felt cold at the thought. He turned to Maya and asked her to hold out her hands. ‘I need to bind you,’ he said apologetically.

  Maya looked him in the eye. ‘You know, if it means your life, I promise not to try and escape. Just bind the rope around my waist.’ She then held up her arms.

  Taran saw the terrible open sores the manacles had left from the constant rubbing and wondered how much pain she must be in. He sighed and stepped forward, then looped the rope around her waist, idly noting how slim it was under the loose garments as he drew it tighter.

  ‘If I’m ordered to, I might have to bind you properly at night,’ he said, ‘because if I don’t, someone else will, and they won’t care how much it hurts.’

  Maya couldn’t believe his choice of words. Won’t care how much it hurts. Did that mean that he cared?

  She smiled to herself because she was sure there could be no other answer.

  -----

  Kalas had been travelling for several days, and they had not been easy.

  The decision to travel at night, staying out of sight, was a good plan, but it was not to the liking of his newly awakened daemon who constantly distracted him with its demands for blood and life.

  It was so insidious now it was newly awakened, its strength like when it had first possessed him after the ritual all those years ago. Only spilling blood and draining life brought a respite, and it reminded him why they’d all made the vow to take their own lives had they killed the Witch-King.

  Kalas knew that the chance of the daemon taking overall control was a risk, and the more he resisted it, perhaps the more chance that would happen. To keep his mind clear, he had to slake its thirst; kill and commit heinous deeds.

  Was the end worthy of the means? It only took him moments to come to a conclusion ... it was. Whether it was his conclusion or the daemons, he couldn’t tell yet, but once it was quiet, once it was asleep, he would ask himself the question again.

  ‘Silence!’ he shouted in his mind. ‘Today we feast,’ and the daemon reluctantly retreated a little. ‘Today we fight together, dine together.’

  The daemon started purring, and the world turned a hazy red through his eyes.

  It was still light, and he mounted his horse, leading the other pack animal, and rode out onto the plains searching for one of the many military roads that crossed the kingdom to allow for speed of movement.

  It took him a while as he’d purposely distanced himself from them earlier, but as the horses moved on to the road their pace picked up, and the daemon started to gibber excitedly in his head. Images of him standing bloody and victorious over mounds of dead bodies filled his thoughts. Victory, glory, death to his enemies. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind, and succeeded just enough to deduce from the disturbed dirt and tracks that many soldiers had passed this way not long before.

  ‘Soon, soon,’ he said to the daemon. It receded a little again, sensing the truth, a dark shadow in the back of his mind, watching, waiting, calculating.

  The sun started to set, and as darkness fell, there on the horizon, a glow of campfires gave away the position of the troops.

  Kalas urged his horse forward, even though he didn’t mean to. The daemon had made him spur it to a canter, subconsciously influencing his decision with its hunger. The clatter of the hooves was loud, and Kalas knew the sentries would soon be aware of his approach as he drew closer. From the number of campfires, this was a smallish contingent. Eight fires meant eight tents, ten men a tent, eighty men give or take a few. Eighty men and him riding in alone, this was crazy.

  ‘No,’ said the daemon. ‘You’re not alone, you are never alone my brother,’ and despite himself, Kalas felt energy rush through his veins. Fighting against impossible odds, as a warrior, if he were to die, this is how it should be.

  The road curved, and around the corner Kalas knew the camp would be set, the sentries waiting, arrows nocked to bows. Not that there were any enemy soldiers within the kingdom, but it was standard procedure, so they would be waiting.

  He spurred the horse faster and then leapt from the saddle, rolling effortlessly as he hit the ground, coming to his feet before running off to the side, into the darkness of the trees that abutted the road that had provided the camp with firewood. Now it would give him the cover he needed to approach. They had gained light but at the expense of darkness leading up to their door and yet he could see perfectly well now - the benefit of having a denizen of the nine hells as a personal companion. As he came to the edge of the woods, he couldn’t help but snort in surprise at how close the camp had been set. This would cost them dearly.

  He noted his horses being brought into the firelight. A sentry was crossing the camp to fetch the captain, likely so the man had first pickings of any valuables strapped to the beasts. Other than two sentries at either end of the camp where its sat astride the road, there were no others. Being on kingdom soil, it seemed that vigilance was lax. The men around the fires had divested themselves of armour, and while there were some weapons racked close by, most of the soldier’s weapons seemed likely to be in their tents.

  Kalas, his plan of action set in his mind, simply strode from the woods, hands down, fumbling with his trousers as though he’d just been into the trees to relieve himself. Some of the men around the nearest campfire looked up, but all they saw was a man in the armour of the Witch-King’s army and didn’t even think to question that he wasn’t one of their own.

  First, he wanted to identify where the overseer’s tent was, maybe he was staying with the captain. Yes, it was time to send another message.

  The daemon inside his he
ad urged him to let it have control. ‘Just a little,’ he said to it. ‘Just a little,’ but suddenly, his sword was in one hand, and his dagger in the other, the bloodlust overtook him, and the screams of the men pierced what little there was left of his soul.

  He slew the first twenty before any even had time to lift a weapon, it was butchery. Even after that, with almost none of them wearing armour, they had no chance. His eyes shone red in the night, and the men’s courage left them, those who paused died, those who stood against him died. Soon everyone left in the camp was a corpse. Many toward the end had run screaming into the darkness, and he’d let them go, but not the overseer for he’d foolishly stayed hiding in his tent.

  As Kalas stepped inside, the overseer fell to the floor and grabbed his ankles, crying, pleading for his life, as the blood of the slain soldiers rained upon him, dripping from Kalas’ armour and weapons.

  ‘Deliver this message to the Witch-King,’ Kalas commanded, and the man nodded, eyes wide, looking at this creature above him. ‘Let him know that Kalas is coming. Do you understand? Kalas is coming! Now do it!’ and the overseer closed his eyes for a moment before hurriedly opening them again.

  ‘I, d-d-delivered the message,’ he stammered.

  Kalas knew he told the truth.

  The daemon inside his head while sated with the amount of slaughter still demanded to feast.

  ‘No,’ said Kalas as he looked over himself. Not a scratch to be healed this time. ‘There is no need to feed.’ The daemon screamed in rage, then whined piteously in his head, cajoling, pleading, demanding then begging, going from one extreme to another. Finally, it quietened down, and he looked at the overseer trembling at his feet.

  ‘Who are you speaking to?’ asked the overseer nervously, and Kalas realised he must have been talking aloud.

  He sighed. ‘Should a man keep his promises, strive to keep his word?’

  The overseer, confused but relieved at this sudden conversational turn nodded. ‘Yes Lord,’ he said ingratiatingly. ‘A man yes, a lord most definitely. What may I ask did you promise?’

  ‘Ahhh, I promised to eat, to dine with my brother.’ The daemon inside of him screeched in pleasure, purred, rolled around in ecstasy in his mind, and Kalas drew his blade across the overseer’s neck then dropped to his knees to drink.

  -----

  The Rangers had decided that staying on the track, while quicker, would leave them in the open, and without horses too visible and vulnerable. The memory of the wolf was still fresh in their minds.

  Taran took a while to get his head around that, for he doubted there was anything that made the Rangers feel vulnerable. But they were consummate in their attention to detail and wanted to ensure that Maya was delivered to her fate.

  Therefore, they moved toward the trees. Forests covered much of the land, yet as they passed into the shade of the leafy canopy, the smell of rotting wood was in the air.

  The Rangers stayed nearer now, but still far enough away to scout out any possible danger before it got too close. Rakan and his men were closer still. Rakan and Lexis marched ahead of Taran by about thirty strides, and the other three followed a similar distance behind. This left Taran and Maya quietly walking along in silence as he led her by the rope.

  The silence was strangely comfortable to Taran, despite the circumstances. The wagon had been a horrible way to travel, but in the woods with soft mulch beneath his feet, it somehow felt as if their destination was now so much further away.

  Maya spoke. ‘Talk to me?’ she asked quietly.

  Taran was about to stop in surprise, but didn’t want to draw attention, so he kept his head down and feet moving. ‘About what?’ he replied quietly.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Maya. ‘I’ve never been beyond my village and valley before this. Just talk to me, about whatever you wish.’

  Taran was silent for a while, and Maya waited patiently, wondering if Rakan’s warning to not talk would hold sway over Taran, but all of a sudden, he started.

  What better way to start a story than at the beginning, and Taran started at his. He talked of his childhood, his mother’s love, and his father’s uncontrollable rage. He spoke of his time working as an apprentice in his father’s smithy, making everything the village needed, but more importantly, what the army wanted. He told of growing up using his fists, and how his father used to beat him and his mother. He blinked back tears as he told Maya of his mother’s death at his father’s hands, how this led to an unusual life on the road, then Urg’s death which led to him joining the army.

  He told her about everything, everything but the one thing he had to keep secret, his gift.

  By the time the midday rest was called Taran had been talking since first light and had told Maya things he’d shared with no one else. She hadn’t made a sound the whole time, and Taran wondered if she’d listened to a word he’d said.

  Why he’d chosen to talk to her about such close and personal things he had no idea. Maybe it was because she was not long for this world, or that there was something different about her to the other girls he’d dallied with over the years. Whatever the reason, he felt better for it, even if she hadn’t said a thing.

  There was no need for the soldiers to come together now that each of them carried their own provisions, so they sank to the ground at the midday break wherever they stood, and made themselves comfortable.

  Rakan strolled back down the track looking around, always watching and Taran noticed he was rubbing his arm but didn’t care to ask why.

  Rakan nodded at Taran, giving the rope a passing glance to ensure it was in his hand, and carried on toward the men further down the track, to check they were vigilant despite the rest.

  Taran could have read his mind, but there was so much darkness in his head, and strangely he didn’t want to intrude on Rakan’s thoughts unless he had to. He wasn’t shy about using his gift, yet he didn’t use it that often either. Sometimes reading people’s minds wasn’t as pleasant as he thought it might be, and Rakan, well, he hated to admit it, but there was something about Rakan that he almost liked on occasion.

  He looked down to the sword at his waist, the gift Rakan had given him after he’d killed Snark, and sighed at the memory of how Rakan had used him and how often he hated him too.

  He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. It would be foolish to talk to Maya when everyone was settled, even if they weren’t too close, and he was glad she’d perceived this even without being told. That or she was bored out of her senses by his ramblings.

  -----

  Maya sat, observing Taran through the veil of her hair. It was thick, dark and unkempt, and after so long without washing, she knew it looked like a bird’s nest, all frizzy and likely full of twigs.

  She laughed to herself, realising how ridiculous it was to think about looks in such circumstances, but then realised to her surprise it was because she didn’t want to look so dishevelled in front of Taran. Her hair was but one of many worries though. The clothes she wore were also filthy, and Maya could smell her own odour, and it wasn’t pleasant. Then again everyone on this journey had been without bathing for quite some time now, so she was in similar company.

  Taran opened his eyes, and she lowered hers, finding herself unable to meet his gaze square on. He passed over his water skin, and she took it, drinking, enjoying the water despite its tepid warmth.

  He also took out some leaf-wrapped food from his pack and slid some across to her.

  As he did so, Darkon stepped from the underbrush a dozen steps down the path and moved toward them. ‘What are you doing?’ he snarled at Taran, indicating the food parcel.

  Maya felt a chill run through her veins.

  Taran got to his feet and saluted. ‘Sir, I thought it best to feed the prisoner so that she didn’t slow us down on our mission. It pains me to give good food to the likes of her. Should I have not done so?’

  Maya held her breath as she looked at her feet, not daring to look up.

>   Darkon searched Taran’s face and nodded, although not in a friendly way, then stalked down the path shouting Rakan’s name angrily.

  Taran sat down again, and Maya felt her heartbeat slow a little as Darkon’s figure receded.

  She reached out and took the food and started eating. The bread was stale, and the meat was tough, but her stomach appreciated it nonetheless.

  As she chewed, she thought back over the morning and Taran’s tale.

  Initially, she’d expected him to talk about his army life, his fights, his victories, a chance to boast. But instead, his tale had surprised her, for it was a story about what had made him who he was: no excuses, no apologies, almost a tragedy yet one which he faced with stoicism.

  More surprisingly was how quickly she’d become enthralled by the story. The emotion with which it was told had her hanging on every word, and she’d heard many times in his voice the pain he’d endured over the years. Yet there was more to his voice than just emotion. It was a voice that was smooth and easy to listen to, a storyteller’s voice from the mouth of one of the Witch-King’s soldiers. That he’d missed something out of his story was obvious, yet it didn’t feel like he’d lied, and this omission only served to deepen the intrigue.

  Maya was still hungry after their small lunch, and she heard Taran’s stomach growl at the same time as did hers. She was leaning against a tree, and next to it was a small blood berry bush. Like everything here, it was covered in grey dust, the green of its leaves dark and sickly and the berries it bore were withered and spotted.

  Taran saw her looking at it. ‘Don’t bother,’ he said softly. ‘They’ll only make us sick. They’re not fit to eat.’

  Maya looked around and spied Darkon and Rakan in a heated discussion with the other soldiers in the distance and reached a decision.

  She reached out her hand and gently wrapped it around the base of the bush, closed her eyes and summoned her gift. It came so quickly, almost as if it had waited impatiently to be called forth after being dormant for so long, and within moments the tiny bush was heavy with ripe succulent berries.