Kings and Daemons

by Marcus Lee

  She opened her eyes to see Taran open-mouthed, staring in disbelief, and couldn’t help herself. Quickly she plucked a berry and flicked it toward his open mouth. Sadly, her aim was off, and it hit him on the forehead where it burst to leave a bright red mark like blood, hence the bushes name.

  Maya giggled, and Taran slowly reached up, removed the offending piece of fruit from his forehead, and flicked it back at her, missing entirely. It disappeared into the undergrowth behind her.

  Maya gathered all the berries, and they ate quickly, well aware that discovery would lead to dire consequences. For Taran, it had been forever since he’d tasted anything quite so sweet and tasty and he wondered again at this girl.

  Voices came closer, as Darkon with Rakan stomping behind him came walking down the path.

  Maya closed her eyes and leaned back against the tree, feigning sleep so as not to draw attention.

  Taran, however, quickly realised that despite the bush now being bare of berries, its leaves had turned a bright green and stood starkly out in this grey world. Swiftly he stood up, took his cloak from his shoulders and draped it over the bush then started stretching.

  Darkon paused, and his eyes narrowed as they moved up to Taran’s forehead, where the juice from the berry was still fresh on his face. ‘I don’t care if you get sick and die from an infected scratch,’ he said. ‘But know this. If you slow us down you’ll end up dead before any infection kills you,’ and with a scowl, he walked on.

  Rakan nodded. ‘Best clean it.’

  Taran breathed a sigh of relief. The blood berry was well named, but it showed how close again danger had come, and he resolved not to allow himself to be at such risk again.

  Rakan’s shouted commands were rousing the men, so Taran shook the rope. Maya opened her eyes and smiled up at him, but he didn’t respond. People might be watching, he thought, so he collected his cloak and pack then settled them upon his shoulders.

  ‘Time to move,’ he said, and ushered Maya in front of him. His thoughts were conflicted, and he needed time to find a way to balance this crazy situation he’d made for himself. Getting closer to this girl was not the right thing to do. He had so much to lose, and for what? Making himself feel better over the next couple of weeks while he led her to her death?

  He sighed, and when Maya pulled on the rope as she moved ahead, his heart and feet felt so heavy, that it was almost as if she were leading him to his death instead.

  -----

  Kalas was alive!

  For the hundredth time, Alano repeated it to himself, and his mind reeled. How was it possible? It couldn’t be possible!

  As he sat in his chamber with a goblet of wine in his hand, he briefly recalled the last moments of their final battle together …

  The mocking cries of the enemy turning to terror as they fell in their thousands, the glee of the daemon, as he gave it free rein to wreak havoc. He remembered each of his comrades being cut down as they hacked a swathe through the Witch-King’s ranks toward him on the hill. Mighty Suresh, his head hacked from his neck whilst eight of the enemy pinned him to the floor, or Linden the joker, a lance through his eye piercing his brain, that would kill even the possessed straight away. King Anders, who he’d fought near and was supposed to protect, had gone down, his skull crushed by a heavy mace even as Alano had disembowelled the attacker.

  Then there was Kalas.

  Kalas his brother, his closest friend. He could still remember seeing him pierced a dozen times, dancing through the enemy ranks, his movements slowing as so many wounds finally took their toll. Then as the cavalry charged, he’d had to focus again on the slaughter to hand.

  Alano realised he hadn’t actually seen Kalas die. For one heartbeat, he was there, and the next, he was gone.

  ‘Kalas is coming.’

  Every time Kalas had trained in the duelling pits over those many years long past, the weapon master had uttered those words as he entered. Kalas was the only one Alano knew who could kill so many men at once other than himself, and the only one who would say those words.

  Kalas was indeed alive!

  When the Witch-King had confronted him with those words in the throne room, he knew there was no choice but to answer honestly, for the daemon bound him and made sure he served without question. Yet for the first time in fifty years, it had not only allowed him to lie but had even encouraged him to do so.

  ‘Why?’ demanded Alano of his daemon kin. ‘Why now? Why let me lie about this and force me into obedience over everything else.’

  ‘SSSSSSssssssh,’ hissed the daemon. ‘Our brother is alive, and the bond of blood and hell’s kinship is strong. Whilst the oath that binds our obedience to Daleth still holds us, blood must protect blood.’

  ‘Kalas isn’t my blood brother though,’ said Alano. ‘He is my sword brother.’

  ‘Foolish man, still you do not see. It is not Kalas I am talking about. It is his daemon to which I am kin, and our daemon blood and soul binds us and always will. We cannot betray the Witch-King, yet if we can prevent harm falling upon our last remaining brother in this world, then we shall do so. Now it is time to consider this news.’

  For as long as Alano could remember the weight of the daemon in his head moved completely away, receding to the back of his mind. Yet the daemon was right. It was time to consider how Kalas’ return might affect the course of things, for indeed if Kalas was coming, he might find himself forced to face him, sword in hand.

  Now that was something he would ask the daemon about when it was talkative again.

  Alano lay back on his bed, no terrible thoughts of blood or hunger disturbed him. Instead, he thought back to happier times when he was young, and the Ember Kingdom was bright, and with his whole life ahead of him, anything had been possible. He, the captain of the royal guard and Kalas his brother, his closest friend. At the time he’d thought those days would never end.

  With such bright thoughts, he fell to sleep without drinking himself into oblivion and wasn’t even aware when the maid cautiously came in to tidy his room.

  -----

  Chapter IX

  Maya enjoyed the feeling of stretching her legs as she walked, and even if every step brought her closer to Kingshold, she felt a transient sense of freedom without any bars around her.

  Rakan and Lexis were about fifty strides ahead, not that she needed to see them, for the trail they left through the woods as they passed was easy enough to follow. The Rangers on the other hand, seemed to have considerable skill in concealment and this caught her interest.

  A key skill of any successful hunter was the ability to spot an animal before it spotted you, so Maya began to look for them as if they were her prey, not the other way around.

  Their armour and clothing were black, so they used the shadows in the woods to their advantage, staying within the darkness. But even darkness has its shades, and Maya could often make them out whether they moved or stood still as they surveyed the land around. That two of them carried bows was another giveaway. The soft sheen of the polished wood caught even the subtlest light. So it wasn’t long before Maya was satisfied that she could find them all without much difficulty.

  Now, how to take advantage of this knowledge.

  Maya had surprised herself by promising Taran not to attempt an escape if it meant him losing his life, yet neither did she want to arrive at her destination. She would need to convince him to swap his guard duty with another of the soldiers before slipping her bonds and using her woodcraft to evade the Rangers and escape.

  She was feeling fairly strong thanks to the extra food Taran had provided, and her legs were used to carrying her all day, sometimes with a small deer over her shoulders if a hunt had been fruitful. Yet the question was whether she could get away from the Rangers once the chase was on.

  Rakan, Taran and any of the other soldiers wouldn’t prove a problem. However, the Rangers gave her pause, for even if they weren’t as skilled at moving through the woods as she was, they no doubt exc
elled as hunters of men.

  Maybe if she managed to take one of the bows, not only would it help to provide food following her escape, but as an expert with the weapon, maybe she would be able to kill the Rangers if they ever got close. Maya sighed. To kill a highly trained armoured man was a little different from killing a deer when it was unaware of her loosing an arrow at it.

  Finally, of course, was the one overriding question. Even if the soldiers were malicious or the Rangers evil, could she actually kill them if necessary? The answer was obvious. In her heart of hearts, she knew she wasn’t like a wolf to slay without mercy. But then again, nor was she a lamb either.

  Her heart felt heavy, and she wanted to change her mood. So, she thought of her secret place back at the valley, but found that it wasn’t enough, and once happy memories of her father now saddened her. Then she thought of Taran’s story, so tragic at times, yet also full of humour despite his pain, and she smiled and felt better.

  How strange, she thought, and wondered what he was thinking.

  -----

  Taran was in a bad mood.

  He had of late suffered a great deal of darkness, and he wanted to be the type of person who enjoyed life as a carefree spirit. Over the last few years, he’d tried to do this while living life on the road, and even if it was somewhat lonely, he’d mostly succeeded.

  Then over the last few weeks, it was as if the gods had cursed him. Responsible for the deaths of two men, in an army he despised, that was shortly to fight a war that he could only imagine would be full of horror and a grisly death for him. Then there was Maya, and he would soon be jointly responsible for her death when she seemed deserving of anything but.

  He lifted his head. Until now he’d just been following the rope and Maya’s feet in front of him, too engrossed in his thoughts to try and talk or even to see how she was coping.

  Then suddenly, all the darkness in his mind started to drift away like smoke on a breeze.

  Despite her filthy, baggy, hunter's clothing, and the twigs in her hair that made her look like a walking bush, she moved with … Taran searched for the right word, yes, she moved with a grace he’d never seen before.

  He’d fought men who were fast and agile, strong or supple. He’d enjoyed the company of women both tall and short, dark or fair, skilled and otherwise, but as he watched, Taran realised he’d never seen anyone move like her.

  As a fighter, studying the way people moved was a must. His talent helped him to win, but relying on that alone wasn’t enough, and as he watched her, he became captivated. She moved amongst the woods like a creature of nature, a tread so delicate and light that she left almost no mark of her passage. She seemed to place her feet without thought, and yet nothing was stirred by her passing. Branches and limbs that hung across the path she simply flowed under, bending with a suppleness and balance that defied belief.

  He also recognised that while everything around her made noise, whether him with his boots, the other men crashing through the forest like it was a battle, or even the wildlife in the trees and undergrowth, she made no noise whatsoever. As he studied her, he wondered what she would look like once the dirt was washed away, her face and hair cleaned, wearing fresh clothes or maybe not wearing …

  Stop! He berated himself. Here he was taking Maya to her doom, and he was starting to allow himself to want to know her better in too many different ways. He needed a distraction.

  ‘Talk to me,’ he asked Maya softly, repeating her words from that very morning, but as she continued her stride unchecked, Taran wondered whether she’d heard him.

  Yet Maya had heard Taran’s request, and maybe because he’d opened up earlier, or perhaps because she wanted to tell her story, so that when she was gone someone might remember her, Maya talked.

  She told the stories of her birth, how her father had known she was special, how she had saved her mother from death. Then tales of growing up, and how she was kept apart from everyone to help disguise her differences, from becoming a hunter to not seeing any of the men in the village, how this kept her distant and hidden so that nobody ever really saw her.

  She spoke of her father and her mother, different yet so close, and how when her mother had died, her father had filled the void. She told of her love of nature, how she never tired of walking the woods around her village, finding joy in everything around her.

  Maya talked and talked, and the story jumped from here to there and back again, disjointed at times but intriguing, captivating, full of passion, laughter, sadness and pain.

  Lastly, she talked about her special hidden place beyond the settlement walls, how a night out beyond curfew had led to her father’s death, the exposure of her gift and her incarceration.

  Taran felt drawn in with every word and wished he could see her lips and expressions as she talked, to read her emotions as well as to hear them. Nonetheless, he still garnered so much, for her hands constantly moved, expressive, almost crafting an enchantment as they formed and weaved pictures along with her words.

  Why oh why did she have to be his prisoner? He’d done many things in his life, especially of late, that he didn’t want to do, but this, this was so wrong. There was no escaping the fact she was a prisoner whose fate would be anything but pleasant, and he was the one taking her to it.

  He allowed his mind to dwell briefly on thoughts of escape from this situation, the army, but this time not alone. Perhaps having someone along who could turn rotten sour berries into sweet ones, and who could tell stories that gripped his soul, would be a good companion on the road.

  He laughed cynically to himself then. Dreams never came true, and he knew any attempt to escape would lead to his death. There were the Rangers, and even Rakan was scared of them, and of course, there was Rakan himself.

  However much Rakan seemed to like Taran, he was a career army man and would never stand aside, and Taran couldn’t best Rakan completely at swordplay, let alone the Rangers. These dreams would end up with his cooling corpse left for the scavengers.

  Damn, he thought, there must be a way out of this. Now think!

  -----

  Rakan stalked along through the woods, his brow furrowed. He’d been in a bad mood ever since they’d been assigned to this task. There hadn’t even been the time to celebrate Snark’s demise, and while the memory of his destruction at Taran’s hands brought a brief smile to his face, it didn’t cheer him up as he’d hoped.

  His hand absently scratched his arm, but it was out of habit, for the sores hadn’t returned, and his skin was as clear as the first day the girl had laid a hand on him.

  Lexis was next to him whining about the damn girl, their bad luck, the loss of the horses, how far it was to the next garrison town, on and on. Rakan so wanted to plant his fist in his face to shut him up but doubted he would be happy with just the one punch, and he wasn’t sure the Rangers would appreciate losing a soldier simply to calm his frustration.

  The Rangers had decided to get their bearings from the top of a high hill., and Rakan could only agree with the sense it made as they made it to the top. Going off the kingdom's roads helped keep their presence and mission hidden, but it could also mean them missing the next garrison town and refit.

  Despite Lexis’ whining, Rakan could only agree that being back on horseback again would be a fine thing. Get this girl off their hands and get back to one of the invasion staging posts sooner rather than later.

  War was coming, and Rakan wanted these men ready, and he wanted to have a unit to command. Yes, maybe going to the capital might be a good thing. Surely he could find some of the king’s commanders there and use the completion of this mission as an opportunity to find himself a company to take over, or maybe get back to his old comrades in the Nightstalkers.

  One of the Rangers came over to pass on orders that their camp would be made on the hill for the night, and Rakan looked back down the track to where Taran was escorting Maya, although, why she was walking ahead, he wasn’t sure.

  Hmmm,
clever lad. Following behind made keeping an eye on her easier. However, if he didn’t learn to keep his head down, clever lad or not, he wouldn’t last long, especially with these damn Rangers around.

  Beyond Taran, the other three soldiers were following even further down the trail. Rakan felt something looked odd, but couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  Over the next hour, the campsite started to take shape as fires were lit, and sleeping areas cleared.

  ‘Lexis, take three men and get some stakes cut to secure our perimeter,’ Rakan ordered. Lexis started to complain, but fortunately saw the look on Rakan’s face and hurried away.

  That damn wolf, he thought, best be prepared. Just because they were in kingdom lands didn’t mean they were safe, and campfires were easy to see at night, so Rakan approached Darkon which he hated doing.

  ‘Do you want me to post some of my men on watch later?’ he asked.

  Darkon turned to him, and even in the twilight, Rakan could see the anger on his face. ‘What? Do you think we aren’t capable of guarding the camp?’ he hissed.

  Rakan was tempted to mention the wolf, the lost horses and wagon, but thought better of it and just shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he placated. ‘Just seeing if we could share the load.’ With that, he turned away, unpacked his bedroll then pulled a skinning knife to gut the rabbits that two of the Rangers had killed during the day.

  He looked around. Lexis and two others were making a mound of sharpened stakes that would be planted around the campsite whether Darkon wanted them or not, and Taran was preparing a space to sleep by putting fern fronds down for comfort. However, instead of putting his bedroll there, he saw Taran gesture to the girl Maya to take the place, then laid his bedroll beside hers on the hard earth.

  Rakan shook his head. The fool, if he could see it, without doubt, the Rangers would see it. They would use it to hurt the boy, and there was nothing Rakan would be able to do about it. He’d warned Taran once, and now he was on his own. If Taran lived long enough, he’d make a fine soldier and a friend. Suddenly, Rakan realised the enormity of that thought. A friend. Rakan had never made friends, and here he was thinking of Taran becoming one. Or was he one already?