Kings and Daemons

by Marcus Lee

  He thought of his wife Syan and her boy Jay. He hoped at least that part of his life had been selfless. He just wished he could have saved them, or at least have died alongside them.

  As he moved toward the darkness, he felt sure he could feel the heat of the fires of the nine hells that awaited him growing hotter. Distant voices whispered, and then a bright light grew and grew, and then … nothing.

  -----

  Chapter XX

  Taran, Maya, and Rakan walked from the settlement gates accompanied by several of Laska’s retainers, and surprisingly, Yana accompanied them, with the two surviving men-at-arms as her bodyguards.

  Everyone was armed; Maya with a longbow and quiver full of arrows, Taran a shield on his back and a longsword at his side. Rakan had two shortswords and a throwing dagger.

  There was little doubt that once Daleth knew of this latest failure, he would likely try to hunt them down, and there was no telling how close other troops of his might be.

  Nonetheless, as they left the settlement behind, Maya took Taran’s hand in hers. As she walked, she sang softly under her breath, and her heart skipped a beat as she looked at Taran, to find his gaze already upon her. If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then surely his was shining so brightly, and her own responded as she felt his arm slip around her waist.

  Taran leaned in close, softly kissing her cheek, and then as she turned her head toward him, a further one on her parted lips. As the kiss lingered, she felt his love for her in her mind, as Taran unconsciously projected his feelings, and she took his hand and pressed it to her heart.

  They held each other close then for a moment when Taran murmured. ‘Have you noticed how your stride matches mine,’ and she smiled, for it was true. As they walked, every step they made unconsciously matched the others.

  ‘It would seem we fit together rather well in every way,’ she said mischievously, enjoying his look of surprise, and the sound of his laughter as it rang out.

  The men-at-arms looked around at this sound of merriment, and Maya noticed even they smiled, for despite not having heard her joke, no one could overlook how happy they were together, and it warmed the hearts of all who saw them, except one. Yana’s smile wasn’t so kind.

  ‘How will you go about doing what Laska has commanded?’ enquired Taran.

  ‘If you didn’t just have eyes for me, you would have noticed already,’ Maya responded.

  At this, Taran looked behind them to see the grass looking healthier, and that the trees already stood stronger.

  ‘Now,’ she said, ‘tell me more about your hopes and dreams as we walk, so we forget those around us and enjoy these moments. We’ve been running and hiding almost every day since we first met, and while I fear we shall be running again soon, for today at least I feel safe, especially in your company,’ and she rested her head on Taran’s shoulder.

  Around the settlement they walked. The land as they approached was dank and dark, but what they left behind was transformed. Back and forth they walked, forever pushing further away from the settlement, and occasionally Maya would stop and sink to her knees, close her eyes and focus a little more, turning those places into areas of breath-taking beauty. Every time she did, she would stop and smell the blooms as did Taran, and then their lips would meet. Even if the guards kept an eye on them at a distance, still they felt as if alone and far away.

  They were moving further north than before, with Taran pulling Maya by her hand, occasionally spinning her into his arms, when there was a shout of warning from one of the retainers up ahead. Everyone readied themselves, as the two men-at-arms dashed off into the undergrowth.

  Taran turned to look at Maya as he readied his sword and shield, and despite the impending danger, felt his breath taken away. She stood there; arrow nocked and drawn, perfectly poised, a picture of effortless grace. Even the ageing whiteness of her hair somehow enhanced the youthfulness she also exuded. If he could remember her like this forever, his heart would know eternal happiness …

  Taran’s thoughts were interrupted as Rakan ran to him and Maya, a shortsword bare in his hand.

  One of the men-at-arms returned and came over to report. He bowed to Maya. ‘Quickly, my lady,’ he said. ‘We have found someone who needs your help if he’s not already beyond it.’

  They followed the departing man swiftly, and shortly thereafter came to a clearing. On the far side, the other man-at-arms beckoned them over, and as they approached, they noticed a warrior in silver armour, lying back against a tree, his face deathly pale, tinged with grey and bluish lines.

  Rakan lifted his hand to his nose. ‘This doesn’t smell good,’ he said, looking around warily.

  ‘He has an arrow in his back which has caused an infection, and a wound in his leg. He is barely breathing and is soon to slip away,’ the man-at-arms offered.

  ‘Is this the man who saved us?’ Maya asked of Taran and Rakan.

  ‘I can’t be sure,’ said Rakan, ‘but I’ve never seen the like of that armour before, so I can only assume it is.’

  Maya went to kneel, but Taran restrained her gently. ‘Remember what healing others does to you. Are you willing to pay the price for healing a stranger such as this, who is so close to death's door? We don’t even know who he is.’

  Rakan chimed in as well. ‘Maya, there’s something not quite right about this man. I can’t put my finger on it. But to survive against so many Rangers, the way he moved. I am sure he was following us, he is not entirely human, he is ...’

  ‘Perhaps gifted like Taran and I,’ finished Maya. ‘He saved us,’ she continued, ‘and if he is that accomplished a warrior, then what better than to heal him. Then hopefully he will join Laska to defend what we have saved.’

  ‘Take the arrow out of his back,’ Maya instructed Taran, and he leaned the warrior forward, almost gagging as he gripped hold of the broken shaft of the arrow and wrenched it clear. The man didn’t make a sound, and Taran wondered if he’d already moved on to the afterworld.

  Maya sank to her knees and felt for a pulse, nodding as she found one, even though it was so faint. Then she placed her hands upon his head and reached for her gift, releasing its power into the fallen warrior.

  As Taran watched, the colour returned to the warrior’s face, the man’s chest started to rise and fall regularly, as his breathing became even and deep. At the same time, the smell of putrescence was replaced by that of blooming flowers as everywhere around them responded to Maya’s power.

  Maya sagged back into Taran’s arms, her head resting on his chest. ‘I’ll be alright,’ she whispered, ‘it tires me so much.’

  Taran kissed her forehead and looked at the new white hair that adorned her brow, then kissed the lines that had appeared around her eyes as well.

  ‘Rest easy,’ he said, and with that, his hands went to her head, and he slowly stroked her hair.

  Maya fell asleep in an instant.

  -----

  The guards moved away, leaving Rakan and Taran watching over Maya and the fallen warrior.

  Rakan took the man’s swords away and several daggers. ‘I’d rather he isn’t armed when he wakes up,’ he said, ‘just in case he isn’t too grateful.’ Taran nodded.

  ‘Look at these weapons,’ continued Rakan, turning them over in his hands in wonder. ‘The sword I gave you for defeating Snark was something, but these, they’re unlikely anything I’ve ever known, and nor is that man’s armour. It looks as bright as the day it was made, I warrant. He isn’t from the kingdom, nor the Eyre, and from what little I know, the men from further east have darker skin and have no craft to create something like this.’

  They sat for a while, Rakan keeping a sharp watch over the fallen warrior while Taran turned his attentions back to Maya. Her head was in Taran’s lap now, and he traced her features with his fingers, running them softly over her eyebrows, her cheekbones, her lips. Featherlite touches which were as much for him as they were for her.

  It was in the afternoon when Maya fin
ally awoke and smiled sleepily up at Taran. ‘I could get used to waking in your arms,’ she said.

  Taran smiled back, then bent to kiss her softly before they rose so that Maya could test her strength.

  Yana came over a look of impatience on her face, with her guards just behind. ‘If I were in your arms, I wouldn’t be sleeping so much, I can assure you,’ she said jealously. ‘Let’s find a few more strays for her to heal, and perhaps you won’t be so dismissive of me then.’

  Taran’s reply was to pull Maya closer to him, and Yana, annoyed at her jibe not having much effect, turned to the silver warrior who lay still, eyes closed.

  ‘What the hell is wrong with this fool,’ she said, kicking him hard in the side. ‘He’s healed now, isn’t he?’

  She swung her foot back to kick him again, but as she did, the warrior moved with astonishing speed. He twisted, so his legs hooked under hers, spinning her to the ground where she hit her head hard, then rolled to his feet in an instant. As Yana’s guards started to draw their weapons, he jabbed one in the throat, and as the man’s hands went to his neck gasping, he spun and elbowed the other in the face, knocking him unconscious.

  Rakan was on his feet now, raising the warrior's own swords against him, but as Rakan moved forward, the man turned, his eyes glowing red and he moved like quicksilver to the side of Rakan’s thrust. It was as though Rakan was a novice, for the warrior reached forward with both hands to somehow twist the blade from Rakan’s grasp, before shoulder charging him to the ground.

  Taran stood between May and the warrior. Maya knelt, and was trying to summon her gift but seemed too exhausted to draw upon it. Having seen the man’s speed, Taran knew he had no chance. He reached out to the man’s mind to try and read his thoughts, but the images that flooded his mind stunned him, and the next moment Taran was on the ground as well, head spinning so wildly that he wondered if he’d been mortally wounded.

  The warrior stared down at Maya, the tip of his sword under her chin.

  ‘I’ve waited for this moment for a long time,’ he said, eyes shining so bright that Maya could feel the heat radiating from them. Then his eyes flickered, becoming normal for an instant, and he staggered back, dropping the sword, then fell to his knees. ‘Kill me quickly,’ he beseeched, ‘before he retakes control,’ and his eyes flashed from red to green as he first grasped and then cast down the sword.

  Rakan, having recovered, rose and drew his other sword before bringing the flat of the blade down, knocking the warrior unconscious once again. ‘Quick, help me bind him,’ he said.

  Taran, despite the nausea, pushed himself to his feet, and together with Rakan, bound the warrior as the other retainers came running to the sound of the disturbance.

  A voice was raised in concern, and Maya saw the two men-at-arms kneeling by Yana, who was making a terrible noise as she rolled on the grass. ‘We need help,’ called one, and Maya rushed over.

  There was Yana, face deathly pale twitching with blood running from her nose and ears, eyes wide open. She looked up at Maya, hand raised like a claw, and Maya didn’t hesitate.

  She knelt and reached for her gift. It came slowly and with great effort. She’d never had to use her gift this frequently to save lives and could feel hers being drawn from her.

  ‘Enough!’ she heard, but still she continued, knowing that to stop too soon would be to lose Yana. ‘My princess, enough,’ she heard again, and then she felt Taran’s arms enfold her in his strong arms as the world around her went black once more.

  -----

  Daleth sat on a camp bed inside his tent, listening to the sounds of the men outside settling down for the night.

  He felt invigorated as he contemplated recent events, a benefit of moving toward the borders of his kingdom where the land still had some life left to give, and also because he now shared a twisted feeding ritual with the daemon, Alano.

  Daleth now organised for a victim to be brought to Alano every night on the understanding that their death would be slow. He would then watch, feeding on the pain, fear and anguish, before Alano finally drained the victim’s life.

  The aged husk Alano left behind was gruesome to behold, and was wrapped in a burlap sack before being cast onto one of the many campfires that burned every night. Their unholy alliance seemed unbreakable because of this, and Daleth felt his trust in the daemon’s oath as strong as it had ever been.

  But now, other matters filled his thoughts. Progress had been slow the last couple of days as unseasonably heavy rain had fallen. The wagons carrying the heavy equipment bogged down, churned the roads to mud, and made keeping a reasonable pace impossible. In the greater scheme of things, it mattered little, but every extra day of delay taxed his patience.

  The other concern was Brandon. He’d been unable to reach the Ranger’s mind to hear the detail of Maya and her companions’ deaths, but now having recovered sufficiently from his previous spirit journey, he’d be able to go and see for himself.

  Daleth lay on his camp bed waiting impatiently for sleep to take him, the noise of the camp frustrating his attempt, so he took a small amount of sleep weed and chewed it while wondering how much better he’d feel if he got his army to take it instead. That way, they could suffer the resulting headache. However, as he pondered he fell asleep, and willed his spirit to free itself.

  As he floated upward through his tent, he looked around, noting his guards alert outside, and he nodded in satisfaction. He flew across the vast sprawling camp, pleased with the discipline he saw, with tents pitched in neat rows, and sentries set throughout.

  Some of his commanders had asked if this were strictly necessary while they were in friendly territory. Daleth then suggested that he would let Alano drain the life from any one of them if they were found to be unguarded in the camp. There’d been no need to discuss the point further.

  Alano was proving useful in a multiple of ways, and that was even before they got to the battlefield.

  He headed east, surveying the land and checked on his scout’s reports. Fortunately for them, the estimates they gave were accurate. If they resumed a good pace once the ground firmed, then they were around fourteen days or so from the pass.

  His citadel had been wholly dismantled now. The enormous blocks of stone stacked in readiness for his siege engines. Beyond this point was a grey fog, and Daleth cursed the limitations of his skill. He was neither fast in travelling nor had the strength of will to push the boundaries. He so wanted to see the Freestates citadel with his own eyes and berated himself for not having previously taken the time to visit personally.

  He turned south over a land blighted by his years of rule, and as he looked down, he saw something ugly to be left behind. Daleth could still appreciate beauty, but differently from most. A lithe maiden or a verdant landscape were both vibrant and full of life. But he saw it as life and strength that would one day transfer to him.

  The mountain range to the east was covered in fog, so he didn’t fly too close, the headache he would get from even touching its fringe just wasn’t worth it.

  Excitement mounted as he flew. It was unlike Brandon not to contact him through spirit talk after a mission was completed. Yet, Daleth had been exhausted, so likely the issue was with him, as opposed to Brandon overlooking his responsibility to make contact.

  Flying as fast as his gift allowed, he crossed withered forests, and dying grassland, then followed the white river which he knew would bring him close to Laska’s settlement. He had a feeling Brandon might have gone beyond the boundaries of his mission, and taken it upon himself to cause mischief with Laska and his people. Daleth would usually be furious if someone went beyond the instructions they’d been given, but Laska and his ilk would have died along with the land in time anyway.

  He slowed now, floating down toward where he knew Laska’s settlement and lands lay, and then stopped, eyes open wide in dismay. For there in front of him lay a bank of fog over not just Laska’s settlement, but much of the lands surrounding it.


  How could this be? This was his land, he’d been here, he should be able to see it, and not only that, to fly down and look upon Laska’s old decrepit face as he lay sleeping or dead. Then realisation hit him. It could only be that damned girl! She must have healed and changed the land so much that it was no longer recognisable.

  So what had happened to Brandon and his men? Surely not more casualties in the hunt to bring this girl and her companions to justice. Yet that would explain why he hadn’t heard from him and this debacle below him.

  Daleth was furious, yet he didn’t allow his anger to cloud his thoughts. There was no point wasting more time here now. He couldn’t change the past, he had to focus on the present and the future.

  He turned back toward his encampment, studying the land below him as he flew, and wondered whether he would see a pair of red eyes looking up at him. Perhaps fortunately, the only movement was from the night animals, and there weren’t many of them as this land was soon to perish and everything with it. Laska’s settlement would seem to be the exception, as that was now likely to flourish.

  He returned to his body, merged, and awoke with a groggy head. He sat up in his camp bed and reached for a pitcher of water. As he turned to pick it up, there were a pair of red eyes in the darkness, staring right at him.

  Kalas was here!

  Daleth threw himself backwards and rolled across the floor to rise with a blade in his hand, heart hammering, as he prepared to face his killer. He was about to shout for his guards if only so he would die in good company, when Alano stepped forward into the dim candlelight and bowed mockingly to him.

  ‘What in the nine hells are you doing in my tent?’ growled Daleth. He hoped his heart wouldn’t burst out of his chest as he walked back to the bed, then picked up the dropped pitcher, to rescue the last few drops of water to assuage his thirst.

  Alano spoke, and shivers ran down Daleth’s spine. The voice was always dripping with evil, and he never got used to it.