The Devil's Influence

by Chris Pisano

  He tread along the dirt worn path that curved around a grouping of arched roots, each as thick as a person. The others followed his lead, doing well at minimizing noise. The path split, forming a full circle around a copse of trees, other winding paths as offshoots like frenzied spokes of a wheel. The tree roots of the copse intertwined with each other like so many rings perpetually linked together, but Silver could find enough openings to see the other side. They were just in time for the exchange.

  One cloaked figure, who Silver assumed to be the buyer, spoke with a group that consisted of half a dozen armed and grizzled men of different races standing by a vardo. The armed and grizzled ones were always the sellers. Three humans, an orc, a centaur, and an ogre. Whatever was in the wooden wagon, large enough to hold two horses, must be what was being sold. Maybe even the wagon itself. Silver assumed that the ogre and centaur were the ones who wheeled the thing into the forest but had no idea how one person would usher it out.

  Turning to those behind him, Silver whispered, “Millinni, you stay here. The rest of us will try to sneak around from the other side.”

  “Is it wise to keep the old woman here, by herself?” the constable asked.

  “If we are discovered, they will try to flee to the direction they came, not this way. Plus, this is a good vantage point for her. When she sees us in position, she cast an illusion to cause confusion. That will allow Chenessa, Hemmer, and me to get close enough to cast slumber spells.”

  The constable snorted, accentuating his dubiousness. “Just that easy, huh?”

  “As long as everyone is patient.” With that, Silver gestured to the two volunteer deputies and Chenessa to circle from the east while he led the constable and Hemmer to circle around from the west.

  As he walked through the forest, careful not to step on too many twigs or patches of dried leaves, Silver watched the transaction. One human talked to the cloaked figure while the other of his party hung back. The shrouded one looked brooding and ominous while the small band of miscreants shifted from one aggressive posture to another. Silver remembered his days of being a seller, but with only a trio it was hard to look intimidating. Nevin, the pragmatic elf, would handle the negotiations while he and Diminutia, another human, would hang back and look disinterested to the point of boredom. That act always disoriented the buyers, resulting in better deals. His pleasant memories were cut short when the cloaked buyer asked to see a sample of the merchandise.

  Silver slowed his pace, extra mindful of his actions while trying to see what was being sold. One of the human sellers agreed and climbed the three small steps to the locked door. A lump formed in the back of Silver’s throat as the man unlocked the door. Over the past half-decade, Silver had been tracking down mystical items, none larger than the size of his head. What could warrant a covered wagon this big for transportation? He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw what was inside.

  Children.

  The man exited, dragging with him two children by their shirts—two crying boys, heads not even reaching the man’s armpits. Realization squeezed Silver’s heart; more children were in the car. His mind raced, wondering if they should stick with the original plan. Could they get into position fast enough before getting noticed? However, one of the deputies rendered the question moot.

  An arrow fired from the deputy’s crossbow whistled through the air and struck the criminal right in the gut. Releasing the children, he tugged at the arrow and fell to his knees.

  The deputy rushed from his position, screaming the name, “Rasptin! Rasptin!” Obvious to Silver, the deputy knew one of the children and let his emotions get the better of him. He was engulfed in flame for his noble effort.

  The cloaked figure exposed himself as a wizard, launching plumes of fire from his hands. The deputy fell to the ground, his remains taking mere seconds to burn to flaky charcoal. The other deputy ran from behind the trees, as did the constable. A pang of frustration pinched Silver behind his chest; non-magic users could be so stupid sometimes. Crossbows and short swords were no use against this type of sorcery. Silver was certain they were running toward their deaths. That thought changed when the dragon arrived.

  Standing taller than a three-story building, the beast coated in blue scale tore through the trees as if they were mere toothpicks. It reared up on its hind legs and spread its wings, releasing a devastating roar so loud that Silver swore he felt it rattle his bones. He knew that it was impossible since it was merely an illusion. Millinni was one of the best, though, and reality was nothing more than perception. Any who saw and heard the magnificence of this creature would swear it was real, smell the vapors emanating from its mouth, feel the ground shake with every one of its great steps.

  The cloaked wizard undoubtedly saw through the illusion, but he fled nonetheless. He opened a portal and hurried inside, the rift in the air sealing so quickly that Silver could glean no evidence of where he might have gone. Even if the wizard knew that the dragon was fake, he could surely deduce that the spell was real enough. However, Millinni thoroughly convinced the sellers about the validity of the great beast.

  “Dragon!” one of the men screamed. The five uninjured brigands fled in five different directions, all opting to leave the path and run through the forest. As Silver suspected, none of them went in the direction of Millinni.

  The centaur was too fast, gone in a blink, Silver acquiesced, so no need to make any effort to chase him. He saw one of the humans run toward Chenessa. The orc and other human were within a reasonable distance, so he ran after the human and yelled, “Hemmer! The orc!”

  The human was fast, but unfamiliar with the terrain, needing to repeatedly right himself after a stumble from a root or sudden twist to avoid a sturdy branch. Despite not having been in these woods for over a decade, Silver’s reflexes reasserted themselves as his body remembered how to run through this forest. However, during that time, age asserted itself, leaving his body a little less spry. He did remember how to time his jumps through the hoops of tree roots, allowing him to gain on his target.

  Hearing his own breath come in quick bursts from his opened mouth, Silver pushed himself harder, feeling he could not hold this pace for much longer. Muscles long forgotten reemerged as tight bands of fire. Even his ankles hurt. He cursed himself for being so dimwitted—just because he used to be a thief and was currently chasing a thief did not mean he needed to think like one. With a practiced phrase and a simple hand gesture, a branch swatted his quarry as he ran past. Feet tangled, he fell to the ground with a thud.

  Silver was on him in an instant. The thief tried to get back to his feet, and Silver tackled him, shoulder to ribs. Putting his full weight into it, Silver drove the felon back to the ground. The thief cried out in pain but continued to struggle. Lying across the man’s legs, Silver had enough time to reach into one of his pouches for a sprinkle of sleeping powder. Success! Panting, Silver refused to acknowledge that it would have taken more than two punches to render the man unconscious and convinced himself he opted for sleeping powder because it was the wizard’s way.

  Getting to his knees, Silver placed his left hand on the unconscious man for balance as he took a moment to catch his breath, even though he told himself that he was checking to make sure the perpetrator was down. He started to chuckle, amused by his need to rationalize, even to himself. Any reason to take a few deep breaths to compose himself, to help calm the rapid throb of his heartbeat slamming against the inside of his ears. He would later rationalize that was why he did not hear anyone come up from behind him until a massive hand grabbed the back of his cloak and tossed him away.

  Silver had only enough time to twist so he landed on his back while tucking his face into the creases of his elbows. The impact stunned him, but he regained his wits quickly enough to see the ogre of the kidnapper band charge toward him. He tried to scuttle away, but the ogre was too fast, grabbing two fistfuls of cloak. As Si
lver’s feet left the ground he tried to think of a simple and fast spell, something to distract his attacker with awful breath wafting past rot-yellowed teeth. A breath that somehow possessed a familiarity in Silver’s mind.

  “Bale?” Silver asked, dangling from the ogre’s grip. “Bale Pinkeye?”

  The ogre snorted and shook his head as if trying to shoo a buzzing gnat without using his hands. “Who wants to know?”

  “Bale! It is you.”

  “I know it’s me. I’ve always known it’s me. Who are you?”

  “Has it really been that long? It’s me, Silver.”

  Bale huffed and grunted, tilting his head to one side as if the memory of Silver would pour out so he could get a better look at it. It must have worked because Bale’s eyes went wide and he returned Silver to the ground. His gruff voice sounded rueful as he asked, “Silver? The human thief Silver? Is that really you?”

  “It really is, Bale, however, I’m a wizard now. It appears that you are the thief.”

  Bale stepped back, placing a hand over his chest to protect himself from the sting of Silver’s words. “I’m no thief. I just help make deliveries.”

  Silver had known Bale in his past life when he was a thief himself, more as a persistent rash than a true rival or nemesis. Often, they were at odds and they rarely got along. A decade ago, they fought side by side in a war against demons where Bale—the most dimwitted creature to tread upon these lands—saved the continent, if not the world. No matter the label of “friend” or “foe”, Silver had never known Bale to be wretched enough to resort to kidnapping. “Do you not know what’s in the wagon?”

  With a snarl of his thick lips, Bale said, “No. I never asked.”

  “Children, Bale. You were selling children.”

  Bale took another clumsy step backward as if the further away he was from the words, the less meaning they would have. He shook his head, his tuft of hair swaying back and forth. “No. No, that . . . that can’t be. I would never do that, Silver. Never.”

  “I believe you, Bale, but someone did. Who is this man?” Silver pointed to the thief he subdued, still splayed upon the ground.

  “I don’t know. I just met him today.”

  “And the others? Did you know any of them?”

  Eyes wide with horror, Bale continued to shake his bulbous head. “No. All I got was a place to meet. When I got there, the wagon was waiting with a note telling us where to take it and how much to collect.”

  “Then what? What were you to do when you got the money?”

  “Take it back to where we met at the wagon.”

  “Where was that, Bale? And who gave you the information? Who told you about this job?”

  Bale held his hands in front of him, shielding himself from Silver’s words, and backed away. “No. You’re confusing me, Silver.”

  With the calm tone of talking to a frightened child, Silver said, “It’s okay, Bale. We’ll figure this out together. Let’s just start with . . .”

  “No,” Bale snapped. “No. I’m sorry, Silver.” With that, Bale turned and ran.

  Silver was in no condition or mood for another foot chase. He would have to be satisfied with the man he caught. But, Bale was involved and he was obviously being tricked and manipulated. Silver had to find him, had to find whom he was working for and if he was somehow involved with the disappearance of rare artifacts. Now that his past was thrust on him, he felt there was no other choice than to delve into it. There was only one person he could turn to, a man he had not seen for a decade.

  three

  Dearborn loved the sound of her children’s laughter. What mother would not? she mused as she watched through the window, washing this morning’s breakfast pot. They kicked a ball back and forth, in the grass between the horse stables and the cow fence.

  She especially loved the laugh of her daughter, Ideria. The nine-year-old girl knew nothing but joy, and it could be heard in that laugh of hers. Dearborn loved her son, Nevin, very much, too, but being only seven with such a strong and effervescent older sibling, many of his reactions were merely copies of hers. His happiness came from her happiness; he laughed because she laughed.

  Smiling, Dearborn went back to scrubbing and thinking about the nightmare she had last night, the one where the world had no children. A world where the demons had won. It had been ten years since she fought the demons of the accursed gemstones. Ten years since she had lost everything she had known. Her home. Her king’s castle. All the men in the army’s Elite Troop. Even though she had to leave the only path that she had known for all her life, she found that the new path led to more opportunities. More possibilities. Happiness. Because of the adventure that the gemstones thrust upon her, she had met Diminutia. Then, a rogue; now, her husband.

  A warmth bloomed within her chest just thinking of him, thinking of how, back then, she had zero hope of finding a suitable partner, but then fate bequeathed to her a man. A perfect man. Not perfect, for he certainly had many faults, but perfect for her. He loved her wholeheartedly. She could see it in his eyes every time he looked at her, even after a decade. He loved her for who she was, which was not an easy thing for a man to do considering she was bigger than almost everyone that she had ever met.

  Standing a full head taller than the average man, Dearborn acquired her height and broad shoulders from her father. Long, hard days working in his blacksmith shop added muscles equally long and hard to her frame. The army sculpted those muscles, making them larger and fit for fighting. They educated her, too. If a man could look past the fact that she was larger and deadlier, he had a nearly impossible time accepting that she was also smarter. But not Diminutia. He adored her for all those qualities.

  So caught up in the loving thoughts of her husband, she glanced up to look for her children—she no longer heard their laughter.

  At first, she could not see them. Dire thoughts flooded her mind, her heart racing. She dropped the pot and it clanged to the floor as she ran out the door. “Ideria! Nevin!”

  Another bizarre twist of emotions wreaked havoc on her insides. Relief washed through her as she spotted her children, but then a wave of fear crashed against her heart when she saw they were in danger. A danger they put themselves in, but one she inadvertently exacerbated.

  They were behind the cow fence.

  Ideria, her sapphire eyes peeked out from behind a curtain of blonde hair—both traits she received from her father—and held fear, both from getting caught breaking the rules and from what her mother just did. By screaming out her children’s names, Dearborn had woken the bull.

  Ideria was deep into the fenced off field, close to the ball while Nevin huddled at the base of the gate, worry twisting his little face. It was obvious to Dearborn that one of her children accidentally kicked the ball over the fence and Ideria took it upon herself to fetch it. Asleep, the bull was as harmless as the four roaming cows content to spend the afternoon cud chewing. However, the bull was now awake and stood between the gate and Ideria, eyeing the little girl as a threatening interloper. Flattening its gaze, it lowered its head and clawed at the dirt with its right front hoof. Ideria screamed and ran.

  The bull charged. It was a young bull, not grown to full maturity, but it still had horns designed for skewering. Ideria made it to a corner of the fence where the thick wooden planks convened too tightly together for her to squeeze through. She could have easily climbed her way out had she the time. Instead, she dropped to the ground against the corner post and curled into the tightest ball she could.

  Soldier reflexes bolstered by a mother’s instinct, Dearborn sprinted to her daughter. She leaped the chest-high fence with ease just as the bull finished its charge. Its horns slammed into the fence planks on either side of the corner post, its face almost touching the crying girl. It snorted and drew back for another attack.

  “No!” D
earborn screamed. Her shout gave the bull pause, just enough to be confused as Dearborn slammed into it. Driving her shoulder into its side, she wrapped her arms around the base of its neck and pushed the animal away from her daughter. The creature bawled as it stomped its hooves, trying to find purchase. As the bull regained its balance, Dearborn adjusted her grip, moving her hands to its horns. Finding her footing, Dearborn muscled the bull’s head away from her body and pushed down. The animal snorted and tensed, readying itself to fight back. Dearborn pressed her chest against the bull’s shoulder and put her full weight and power into it. The bull scuffed the ground with its left hoof a few times but submitted. Dearborn felt the animal’s muscles slowly relax.

  “Ideria! Get out. Now!” Dearborn shouted to her daughter.

  Cheeks muddied from the dirt mixing with her tears, the young girl followed her mother’s command without hesitation. Once her daughter had safely run through the open gate, Dearborn released the bull. Shaking its head, the animal snorted and trotted away from the woman who put it in its place, deciding it would rather investigate what the cows were doing. With a dull look in their eyes, they showed no signs of caring about or even noticing the recent events.

  Dearborn rushed through the gate, shutting it behind her, and dropped to her knees in front of her daughter. Cupping Ideria’s face in her hands, Dearborn wiped away the tears and asked, “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Ideria whimpered. Her chin and bottom lip quivered as she attempted to cease the crying.

  “Oh, thank all the known and unknown gods you’re okay.” Dearborn’s eyes stung with tears as well and she hugged Ideria.

  “I’m okay, too, Mommy,” Nevin said, voice small and unsure.

  Dearborn laughed and extended an arm, inviting him into the family hug. Squeezing both until they made exaggerated coughing sounds, she said, “Well, thank all the gods for that as well.”