The Kuscan Demon

by Sam Ferguson

  The spider demon twitched a few times, and then went still. Torgath approached once more and stabbed her one final time. Red and yellow flames erupted from the wound, circling around the blade as Torgath let go of the weapon so he could carefully remove one of the fangs and place it on the necklace.

  Torgath then pointed to the apex of the ceiling. “Hand me your crossbow,” he told Kiuwa. The large Kuscan complied and the orc turned and took aim at a strand of web that suspended a red gem high above the floor. He fired and knocked the gem loose.

  The ruby fell, twinkling in the faint light of the cave, and then shattered across the stone floor. A rush of wind surged through the chamber as twenty or so souls emerged from the stone, each cheering and calling their thanks to the trio that had saved them.

  “I don’t know if I can call you Daevek,” Kiuwa said. “But I would be honored to fight by your side.”

  Torgath turned to see Tui nod his agreement.

  “Whatever you command, until our seals are gone.”

  Torgath smiled. Perhaps they wouldn’t be bad company after all.

  Chapter 6

  Three years after their fight at the spider-demon’s lair, the Kuscans waited for Torgath behind a large mountain where their next target had holed up. Torgath, masquerading as a Kuscan, had managed to join up with an army brave enough to storm the demon’s lair and fight against its worshippers.

  Torgath’s sword sliced through the man’s chest before him, cutting bone and sinew as if it were old cloth. The knight fell to his knees, blood spilling from the long, deep gash. He uttered a gurgled cry, but Torgath didn’t stop to listen or offer pity. Servants of Horengar were not to be given quarter.

  Torgath moved through the ranks, slicing and stabbing his way toward the mouth of the cave. To his right a flurry of fireballs crashed into the ground, no doubt summoned by one of Horengar’s sorcerers. A pair of arrows cut the sorcerer down and allowed several other fighters to advance.

  A large, bare chested man rushed toward Torgath, swinging an axe and yelling some profanity in an ancient language Torgath didn’t understand. Torgath answered the man with a quick kick to the stomach, just above the groin, followed by a savage chop that cleaved the man’s left arm at the shoulder. No sooner had the axe man fallen than Torgath stepped on the man’s neck and crushed his windpipe.

  A heavy blow slammed into the side of Torgath’s face, knocking his mask off and revealing his true features. Torgath had no time to replace the mask, so he turned to see his attacker, a strong-looking fellow holding a quarter staff. As the human caught sight of Torgath’s face, he stumbled backward and dropped his staff.

  “ORC!” he cried out.

  Torgath lunged forward and cut through the stunned man’s neck. He bent down to grab his mask, but it was too late.

  Shouts rose up through the ranks on both sides. Torgath grunted, knowing that not all of his company would be pleased to learn they had been working with an orc. It put him in a precarious situation.

  “Traitor!” someone yelled out from behind.

  “Spy!” another shouted.

  “Kill the orc!”

  An arrow zipped by Torgath’s face, fired by one of his allies.

  The orc knew what he had to do. Lowering his shoulder and readying his sword, he charged forward. His blade flipped side to side, lashing out at opponents quick and accurate, but not to kill. No, he didn’t have time to slay everyone in his path. Instead he wounded as many as came near him just enough so he could slip past. A few arrows came after him, two of them sinking into a Horengar fanatic and three more sailing by harmlessly, but no one from his side chased him as he rushed for the cave. One of Horengar’s sorcerers called down more fireballs, but Torgath managed to dive into the mouth of the cave just as the brimstone slammed into and around the cave’s opening.

  The ground shook as dust and smoke enveloped Torgath. Heavy rocks broke loose from the ceiling and fell, collapsing the entrance as the large orc scrambled forward. There was little he could do to let the others in now, but he was sure he wouldn’t want to now. The governor’s men had discovered his identity, and they would be as likely to kill him as Horengar would.

  Torgath dusted himself off and let his eyes adjust to the darkness. Unlike the human warriors the governor had sent, Torgath could see decently well in the darkness. His eyesight wasn’t nearly as good as it was in the daytime, but clear enough that he could find his way through the unlit passages of the cave, following tracks and clues left by fanatics in their rush to defend the cave.

  He descended deep into the bowels of Terramyr, smelling the dampness and feeling the ground soften beneath his feet. The cave had changed from a passage of stone walls to one of clay and rock. Roots dangled through like serpentine skeletons. Mushrooms reached out from any crevice large enough to hold their bulbous caps. Some of them even glowed, giving off a bluish-green light.

  Before long, the cave opened into a chamber filled with stalactites. The ground became solid stone once more, only it was flanked by glowing pools of green water. On the far side of the chamber stood a throne made of bones, and atop the throne sat Horengar.

  The demon looked every bit the way Torgath had imagined. A pair of twisted horns, somewhat like a satyr’s, rose from just behind the hairline, accentuating Horengar’s long, chiseled face. Large, claw-tipped feet scratched at the stone anxiously as the demon looked back at Torgath. Black trousers covered the demon’s legs, but from the waist up he was naked, fully displaying his thickly muscled torso and wide, spiked shoulders. Each arm bulged with muscles barely kept within the demon’s gray flesh. Growths of bone that almost resembled scales dotted Horengar’s forearms, and small spikes jutted from his wrists and knuckles.

  “You will not win here,” Horengar said. You would do better to join as one of my--”

  “Save your breath,” Torgath shouted. He strode into the chamber confidently. “I have no interest in working with or for you. Not now, not ever. In the name of Khullan, the First Father, I have come to kill you and claim the honor for my god.”

  Horengar’s black eyes narrowed on Torgath. “Have you now? I should have thought you would know better than to go in against me, or any other demon lord, for that matter.”

  Torgath walked toward the throne, his left hand reaching down for a mini crossbow hanging from his belt. He knew the shot would never hit its mark, but it would force Horengar to engage him, and put an end to the demon’s banter. The orc fired the crossbow. Long before the bolt reached the demon, Horengar leapt from the throne of bone and spread his wings, soaring up just under the sharp stalactites as the missile passed by harmlessly.

  Horengar roared loud enough that the entire chamber shook, and then he dove toward Torgath.

  Torgath leapt to the side just as Horengar tore through where he had been standing. A spiked tail lashed out at the dodging orc, but Torgath was too quick. The orc countered with a swipe at Horengar’s right wing, knowing that he had to keep the demon on the ground if he was going to survive. The blade sliced through the thin membrane and then severed the bone a few inches below the joint, crippling the wing and grounding the demon. Smoke issued from hissing blood that oozed and dripped to the stone below.

  “How?!” Horengar screeched.

  Torgath smiled. It was always the same with demons. First they underestimated him, and then they tasted his sword’s fury. Impervious to normal weapons, and unable to detect the magic in Torgath’s sword, no demon ever knew what they were truly facing until it was too late.

  “The blade is forged in a dragon’s fire, made of dragon claws mixed with Telarian Steel,” Torgath explained as Horengar hopped backward several feet and tried to stymie the gush of black blood issuing from the wound. “The handle is made of dragon bone,” Torgath continued. He lifted his fingers just enough to show the dwarven runes carved into the bone. They didn’t glow as one would expect, but their effect was the same.

  “Impossible,” Horengar stammered. His dark eyes f
lashed then and the demon set his jaw. Holding his hands outward he uttered a few arcane words as swirling black smoke enveloped his hands. A moment later there were two scimitars.

  “Yield now, and I will give you a clean death,” Torgath offered.

  Horengar screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, and then charged at Torgath. The two engaged each other in the dance of death, dodging and striking with a grace unattainable by most. Sparks erupted as the weapons collided over and over again, but neither the summoned scimitars nor the dragon-forged sword dulled or weakened. Torgath kept one eye on the wickedly spiked tail, quick to sidestep its attacks as Horengar pressed the assault. The orc bided his time, knowing that his first hit would prove the demon’s undoing.

  As the demon exerted himself, more blood oozed from the wound. It sapped the demon’s strength visibly. Torgath noted Horengar grunting with effort after only a couple of minutes. Next his arms slowed, and finally the demon stopped pressing the advance, and chose instead to stand in one place and fight, his chest heaving up and down for breath.

  Torgath smiled and leapt backward out of reach. Despite his nearly three hundred pounds, the orc was as nimble as a gazelle, nearly hanging at the apex of his jump before gravity managed to recapture him and pull him toward the stone once more. By the time his feet touched the floor, he had aimed his mini crossbow and fired again. This time, he knew the missile would strike its target. Not only was the distance much shorter, but Horengar was bordering on full exhaustion.

  The demon caught the missile in the chest. The graphite tip collapsed on impact, splashing holy water from inside the hollow shaft across the demon’s torso.

  “Gargh!” Horengar shouted.

  It was minimal damage, Torgath knew, but it had the desired effect. Horengar’s affected flesh began to bubble and swell. Puss-filled cysts formed in the blink of an eye only to rupture and leak hissing blood. The demon abandoned his desire to conserve energy and once again rushed for Torgath. The orc smiled.

  So predictable. Torgath sprinted forward, then somersaulted to the left just before the two combatants collided. Horengar swung at him, but missed. Torgath, on the other hand, cleaved Horengar’s right leg an inch below the knee, dropping the demon to the ground in a hollering heap of anguish and blood.

  Torgath regained his feet and spun around in time to deflect one final, desperate attempt to attack him, then he kicked the demon’s damaged wing. Horengar cried out and lurched over, his hands reaching down to steady himself.

  “NO!” Horengar cried out.

  Torgath sliced off the demon’s other wing, spawning a fountain of foul-smelling blood and sapping the last of the demon’s strength.

  Horengar collapsed to the stone floor, his once proud face now buried in shame amidst whimpers and pleas for mercy.

  “I can give you gold!” Horengar squealed. “Power?!”

  Torgath stepped between the demon’s wings and pressed down with his boot so that the demon couldn’t move.

  “Women!? Anything you want!” Horengar cried.

  Torgath didn’t bother responding verbally. He took aim and then swung down across the demon’s neck, severing Horengar’s head from his body. A rush of dark blood gushed over the stone as the head rolled away. Torgath then moved to stab down into the demon’s heart for good measure.

  Smoke started to rise from the body, as Torgath had seen several times before. He lifted his foot from the corpse and approached the disembodied head as black and green flames grew from the stab wound and spread outward to consume the demon’s body.

  The orc seized a fistful of hair and lifted the head. He then gathered his other hand into a tight fist and punched Horengar’s face, dislodging several teeth. Torgath took the most intact canine tooth, and flung the head off to the side. With his left hand, he reached up and retrieved a necklace from under his hauberk. His fingers brought out the familiar silver chain and instinctively he counted the seven other teeth strung on the necklace.

  Torgath took in a breath and unclasped his necklace, then took one end and held it to the side of Horengar’s tooth. The silver metal turned black before his eyes, and the clasp formed itself into a sort of miniature lance and burrowed through the tooth. Once out the other side, the chain shuddered and then resumed its normal shape and color. The orc fastened the necklace in place once more and then turned to watch the last of Horengar’s body burn. A thin, nearly imperceptible trail of silver smoke rose up from the ashes, snaking its way through the air as the last of the flames died out.

  “As the one who slew you, I exercise my right to own you,” Torgath said. The ancient words called out to the wisp of smoke, and it flew through the air to that hole in the side of Horengar’s tooth. It wormed its way inside, and for the briefest moment the tooth glowed as a faint scream emitted from inside the bone.

  “There would have been less pain if you had yielded,” Torgath said. “Still, an honorable fight.” He gave a single nod to the pile of ashes, and then retrieved his sword, which of course had been impervious to the flames consuming the demon’s body. The orc then turned his attention to the throne of bones at the opposite end of the hall. With each step he took toward it, he could feel the tooth tremble.

  For Horengar, the seat of power which still tied him to this world was deposited into the throne of bones; bones that had come from his most powerful adversaries, and the most pure. The bones in the throne called out to Torgath, crying for release. The orc stopped in front of the chair and had to steady himself, so deafening were the voices and terrible their pleas. Torgath could discern knights, nobles, great beasts, and innocent victims. All of them called to him, but it was the plea of the murdered children that pierced his heart the most.

  “Dishonorable...” Torgath said, knowing Horengar’s spirit would be able to hear him still. “Abominable.” Torgath wasted no more time. He raised his sword high over his head and brought it down in a single chop. The throne exploded upon impact, spewing shards of bone across the chamber as the spirits of thousands came rushing out in a burst of color as varied as the flowers of the forest. Each of them shouted for glee and then flew out from the chamber, leaving a feeling of emptiness hardly comparable to any other mortal experience one might have after their departure.

  The room darkened, and Horengar’s tooth gave a final shudder.

  Torgath heaved for breath now, overcome with fatigue and overcome by what had transpired. No matter how many times he had released a demon’s victims, the result was always the same. His feet, powered only by the satisfaction of having saved so many from an eternity of hell, compelled the orc toward the rear of the chamber. One of the two armies above the cave would be coming in soon, and neither one would take kindly to finding him here. He slipped out through Horengar’s secret tunnel, and found Kiuwa and Tui waiting for him dutifully, a score of guards lying dead at their feet.

  “Having fun?” Tui asked.

  Torgath smiled and gave a nod. “I didn’t have all the fun to myself, I see.”

  Tui shrugged. “There were only twenty of them, hardly a training session.”

  Torgath gestured to the horses. “The men have seen my face, we must leave.”

  Kiuwa frowned. “Another demon dead, and yet another province we can never return to.”

  Tui shrugged. “I didn’t like this place anyway, the women were too skinny, and the men were terrible at dice.”

  Torgath grunted and mounted his horse. “I should have thought terrible dice players would make for better company, seeing how often I beat you when we play.”

  Tui snorted and the trio escaped into the forest beyond, eager to find their next target.

  Chapter 7

  Still a half mile from town, Torgath stopped to secure his mask in place. Word was that a band of orcs had raided the outlying farms less than a year before on their way to a gathering of their elders on the other side of the river. He didn’t need anyone with an eye for vengeance against his race getting the wrong ideas and slowing him down
. The two brutes riding with him waited impatiently, one chewing tobacco while the other took another draw from a hip flask. Once the hard facemask was fastened, Torgath urged his horse onward.

  The two Kuscans riding with him followed stoically; no one said a word until they arrived at the gates.

  The walls surrounding Mill Creek were much larger than the name might suggest. The town itself was no longer the quaint logging village it had once been, but a sprawling metropolis of thirty thousand people. Guard towers and heavy gates now stood where once only a plain wooden sign had been, back when Mill Creek was disputed territory between the orcs and men.

  Not that Torgath cared for such idle controversies anymore.

  He pulled his gloves and cloak tighter about himself, careful to cover his greenish skin.

  Kiuwa, spurring his horse onward from the position at his left, rode toward the three guards before the gate and offered them a rolled set of papers.

  The officer quickly came and read the documents.

  Kiuwa waited patiently, but Torgath let his right hand slide from the reins to rest on the hilt of his sword. Despite his disguise, there was no telling how any man might react to an orc at their gates.

  “What is this?” the officer demanded, holding the papers up and pointing toward Torgath. “Are you telling me that you ride with an orc?”

  The other guards drew their weapons.

  Tui took in a heavy breath, but didn’t move to respond in kind.

  Torgath grinned behind his mask. It was good to travel with such accomplished warriors. Where they were headed, it would not suit if they startled easily.