The Devil's Influence

by Chris Pisano

  Landyr felt no pain, not even when he fell to the ground. No pain. No noise. Just dread. Paralyzed, he could only stare at the dungeon’s door. It opened and he watched the cloaked man from behind as he descended the stairs. Nothing, but the barely noticeable shift in shadows caused by the flicker of the lit sconce. After agonizing minutes, a werewolf ascended the stairs and grabbed the bodies, collecting them and dragging them down into the dungeon. He saw the cloaked man again as well as the escapees: the werewolf, a Yullian, a hobgoblin, a minotaur, and a human with a skeleton’s arm. As they left the dungeon, the world turned to dust again and Landyr was back in his own body.

  He gasped, inhaling deeply, the sensation of breathing odd after having been absent for so long. He blinked rapidly and turned his head, asserting control of his own body, while he swiped at his own chest trying to wipe away chunks of phantom gore. After he realized that there was no blood on him and no hole in his chest, he calmed a bit. He wanted to kill the crone of a wizard for doing that to him without warning or permission. However, General Zellas leaned against a wall panting and sweating. She had touched him as well and took him on the same journey.

  Landyr assumed that she would have found his reaction amusing. Instead, she stood grim-faced; the eyeballs of the guard shriveling like raisins on the ground.

  “Not . . . happy with . . . what we saw?” Zellas asked in between exaggerated breaths.

  “No. The one who helped the prisoners escape is Qual, a wizard whose magic is so dark that Hell is afraid of him. This is not good.” Millinni turned on her heel and ascended the stairs, a slow and painful process to witness.

  Zellas stumbled to Landyr and placed a hand on his shoulder to steady himself. “I’m happy to hear that we went through all of that to learn that the situation is ‘not good’. I cannot wait to see where tomorrow takes us.”

  Landyr grimaced. He hated the words “wizard” and “magic.” More and more with each passing day.

  thirteen

  The young man exited the inn’s room and shut the door with a certain level of reverence. Bare-chested, he limped along the second-floor walkway with a smile on his face usually reserved for those touched in the mind. In one hand, he held his shirt—once a simple tunic, now so shredded to tatters that it could barely be usable as rags—he needed his other hand to use the banister as a guide, lest he spill over the edge and fall onto the tavern floor below. Not that he would have even noticed. This was the third man to leave that room. As much as he fought against it, this piqued more than a few curiosities within Cezomir.

  With one woman on his lap and the other sitting so close she might as well have been, Cezomir squeezed them both a little tighter. Both women giggled and cooed, stroking his fur with more vigor. He squeezed again, enjoying how they moved against his body, not knowing if he felt their breasts or bellies or hips. He liked his human women more than plump. Humans were such a fragile species that only those with enough padding could survive, let alone enjoy, his form of pleasures. But right now, he was too distracted by the young man walking down the stairs.

  Taking one stair at a time, he hobbled his way down and trundled to the bar with the ginger step that came from riding a horse for too long. He smiled for the entire journey. After a few words with the barkeep, a flagon of water appeared before him. Using two hands, he drank with such vigor that his whole body rattled with every gulp while rivers rushed from both sides of his mouth and flowed from his chin. He finished the flagon by pouring the last few splashes over his own head. After paying for what had been given to him for free, he ambled his way out of the tavern and into the night, leaving his mauled shirt as a small pile on the floor.

  Five hours. Cezomir and his crew had been here, in the city of Bernum, for five hours. Qual had rescued them and created a portal from Hellweb to Bernum. The wizard knew that his newly hired help would not be able to focus on the job if they did not first enjoy what the outside world had to offer after being in prison for three years. Cezomir deduced that gold meant little to the wizard. Even before the portal closed, Qual doled out an equal share of gold coins to the mercenaries, a year’s worth of good earnings for any tradesman. The wizard even gave them extra time to nurse the assured hangovers that would be received when telling everyone to meet at the inn called The Giant’s Den when the Evening Sun was at its highest the following day. As wizards so often did in Cezomir’s experience, Qual then disappeared.

  Cezomir’s crew did exactly as he predicted: Riz went in search of whores; Bigol for gambling; Mallen, alcohol. They would eventually have their fill of all three vices, as would Cezomir, but their prioritization differed. And he was curious about Lina, where she would go, what she would do with such a hefty sum of gold. The answer surprised him.

  The city of Bernum was a large one, tucked between abundant farms and busy ports. The population had swelled, creating busy streets and booming marketplaces. It was easy to get lost in the full streets, even for a large, bristling werewolf. He followed Lina and was satisfied that he needed no disguise. Too many sights and sounds. Even too many smells; if he could not detect her, there was no way she could have detected him. She never turned around once, simply moving through the crowds as if she had a single purpose.

  Was she on a mission? That was what Cezomir needed to know. Fate had thrown them together. Qual was overly quick to toss around coin, so Cezomir wished to complete the job placed before him and see if there were more to be had, to test the depth of that wellspring. But he and his crew only got the job after some coercion; the wizard had come for Lina. The wizard knew who she was. Cezomir did not.

  After a walk along a street full of activity, she turned down a cross street that led to an even busier thoroughfare. Cezomir felt a pang of loss from his time in the dungeons. Bernum had always been a larger town, but he did not remember it being so prosperous. King Perciless had promised growth and abundance after the Demon War, but Cezomir thought it merely political fluff to appease the masses. A king keeping a promise was less likely than shitting diamonds, Cezomir always thought. But the main street of Bernum proved otherwise.

  Two rows of buildings lined the street and continued as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by alleyways and cross streets with archways to cover them. Clean walls of large gray stone and white mortar held them together, four and five stories tall, not dirty eyesores of brown brick. Roofs were made from sturdy planks of wood, not half rotted thatch. Cezomir was so distracted by the uniqueness of the city that he almost lost track of Lina. At the brink of frustration, he caught a glimpse of her walking through a door under a sign that read: The Giant’s Den.

  Cezomir ran to the tavern and stopped in his tracks as soon as he entered, surprised yet again. The place’s name did not disappoint.

  An open room spanned the length and depth of any two taverns. The ceiling was two stories above the ground, supported by tree trunks, still with their bark, and so thick that even Cezomir would not be able to wrap his arms around any of them. People were everywhere: milling about by the sprawling bar with its many turns and corners, sitting at any of the dozens of long tables, dancing to jaunty tunes played by a garishly dressed fool with a mandolin upon the small stage tucked in the far corner of the room. All five of his senses overloaded with stimulation. The excitement in the air stroked his fur as if it were a living thing.

  He caught sight of Lina again as she approached the barkeep. Smiling, she gave him a handful of coins, a mere pittance of what she had to offer, but more than enough to get him to move like an eel through rushing currents. Running, he handed a key to her and then rushed to the kitchen. Still smiling, she went to the stairs that led to the second floor. The steps were made of shaved chunks of wood while the banisters were vine wrapped branches, and the landing wrapped along three of the four walls in the building. The rooms of the inn wrapped around its interior. Lina opened a door and slipped within.

  Wonder
ing why she overpaid for a simple room, Cezomir slipped between the many patrons to the bar, prepared to pay the barkeep the same sum of money for information. However, the information came for free.

  A young man, human with a face and build that would make any woman swoon, exited the kitchen carrying a platter with a ham hock and a pork shank. With all the laughter and gaiety around, no one noticed nor cared that the young man delivered the food to Lina’s room, except for Cezomir. He then laughed as well when the young man stepped into the room and the door shut behind him. At least Lina had good priorities!

  Curious as to what she would do next, Cezomir sat at the bar and washed down a lamb shank with a few tankards of ale. After an hour, he wondered if Lina had eaten the boy as well as the pig and sheep, but the young man finally emerged. Smiling, hair mussed, shirt half missing, the young man limped his way down the stairs to the bar. After drinking his weight in water, he spoke to another young man, not quite as handsome, but possessing muscles rounded from growing up on a farm. Wearing a dubious expression like a mask, the young farmer went upstairs to Lina’s room and knocked. The door opened and in he went.

  Instead of observing someone else feast, Cezomir decided to focus on his own appetites. He wanted to keep an eye on the mysterious woman he had to work with, but watching a closed door was hardly a satisfying way to spend his time. The Giant’s Den intrigued him, and he wanted to experience more of it. He rented a room of his own, but before retiring to it, he found a rowdy game of dice in the corner of the tavern opposite the mandolin player. Cezomir gambled, drank, ate, and found inroads to the city’s underworld. A structure’s only as sound as the ground it’s built on, supported by whatever’s underneath it. And the criminal underground was very sound here.

  Before he was sent to the dungeon, Cezomir had heard of an organization led by a man named Vogothe. He was the emperor of this area’s seamy underbelly, and his influence was spreading. Tomorrow, Cezomir would share what he had learned with his crew and plan to find out more. After all, they needed a backup plan if Qual had no more work for him and his crew.

  Two hours into his rabblerousing, Cezomir noticed that the second of Lina’s toys had exited her room. His actions were the same as the young man before: limp to the bar, guzzle water, find another handsome young man, and send him to the room. That prompted Cezomir to find the local Madame.

  He requested women with great slabs of breasts and meaty rumps and received two. He forgot their names a soon as he heard them but enjoyed their company through rounds of dice, tankards of ale, and plates of food. They amused him, and he charmed them, enjoying the way their flesh rippled when they laughed. Being whores, they had plenty of tales to tell from the mouths of the men who hire them. Cezomir listened and Vogothe’s name came up frequently. Yes, Cezomir concluded, he would most certainly have to learn more about this man. But not tonight. Now, as he watched the third of Lina’s toys leave the tavern, he decided that it was time to take the women to his room and satisfy his needs, but he changed his mind once Lina stepped out of her room.

  The first things he noticed were her chest and the curve of her hips, full and drastic. His thoughts had been lascivious in nature for hours now and well-polished by ale. She wore an ill-fitting tunic, long enough to touch her thighs, but so tight that it did little to hide what was underneath. Soft gray fur, hinting toward blue if the light hit it properly, covered sturdy arms and legs. Amber eyes that were more like weapons of deceit than windows to the soul seemed to dance from the reflections of the light from a nearby oil lamp. And they locked right onto Cezomir.

  “Leave. I have dealings with her before we go adjourn to my room,” Cezomir said to the women without looking at either of them.

  They both pouted but did as he had asked.

  The way Lina moved as she descended the stairs, Cezomir could not determine if she was bent on seducing him or stalking him as prey. He had heard that Yullians were much sturdier than humans, and Lina strengthened the validity of that rumor. Every step, every roll of her hip was a warning of death as she approached. She took a seat across the table from Cezomir. “Any particular reason why you followed me?”

  Cezomir thought about denying it, but that would only lead to a worthless cat and mouse conversation. Instead, he decided to give an answer she would never expect. “I’ve decided to become a clothing merchant and peddle my wares. Shirts have been my best seller.”

  Lina jerked back, confused. When her mind finally absorbed his words, she laughed. A real laugh, warm and rough, just as he imagined her tongue might feel like. Her breasts jiggled and Cezomir shifted in his seat. The laughter faded, but her smile remained. “Shirts you say?”

  “Indeed. The young men here can’t seem to keep them from getting shredded.”

  She shifted her feline face into a pout and shrugged shoulders, her palms upward. “I don’t know how that could have happened.”

  Lina’s fingers were long and strong, yet still feminine, but showed no sign of claws. Cezomir’s fingers were long as well, but his claws formed from his nail beds. Faster than a reflex, Cezomir reached across the table and caught her left hand with his right. Lina did not try to pull away. Instead, her smile shifted to that of a person who knew the punchline of a joke before it was told. Cezomir squeezed his thumb into her palm; hooked claws escaped from skin folds between her fingers. He grunted, “Concealed weapons.”

  “I don’t know how they got there.”

  He would have chuckled if he did not believe the words he spoke. “You sure are skilled with them.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Three shirts ripped to shreds during fits of passion, yet not so much as a nick on the skin of the most fragile creatures in the realm.”

  “Actually, I think pixies are more fragile. One well-timed clap of the hands and they’re goo.”

  This time he did chuckle. And squeezed harder. She did not flinch, did not move as he forced the three claws to extend further from her hand. He turned her hand to view them from a different angle. No doubt strong enough to climb most walls, sharp enough to kill a man before he even knew he had died. “You’d make quite the assassin.”

  She laughed again. “I’ve never killed for money, only to save my life. I’m just a tracker.”

  “I doubt that’s your only craft.” He finally released her hand.

  “I don’t care what you doubt.”

  “I don’t trust you.”

  “I don’t care about that either.”

  Cezomir crossed his arms over his massive chest and inhaled a nostril-full of her scent. The extreme bouquet of sex might have been clouding his judgment or masking other telltale signs of lying, but he found no reason to believe her words to be false. That only made Lina’s smile grow large enough to expose her fangs. “Smell anything interesting?”

  “No,” Cezomir grumbled. “You may not be lying, but I still don’t trust you.”

  “It’s not me you should be wary of.”

  “The wizard? Anyone would be a fool to trust a wizard. I plan to keep one eye on him and one eye on his gold.”

  “Not him. Him,” Lina nodded her head to a part of the room behind Cezomir.

  Confused, he turned to see what she could possibly be implying. Mallen was there, standing and talking to another human at the corner of the bar. Even though he had not seen Mallen enter the tavern, Cezomir laughed and shook his head. Muzzle still rippling with the humor of her words, he turned back to Lina. “Him? Be wary of him?”

  Her whiskers twitched as she spoke. “Me, personally, I’d be wary of anyone who says he’s someone he’s not.”

  Cezomir’s eyes narrowed to slits as he regarded the cat in front of him. “I have known him for seven years.”

  “Three of them have been in prison. What of the time before you met him? Has he ever shared anything with you about that?”<
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  “We’re mercenaries and thieves. We all have a past that we don’t talk about.”

  “This is different with him. Don’t you detect the subtle changes when you talk to him?”

  Cezomir did not like how this conversation was going. She had the upper hand. Or did she? Was she just making false accusations to cause friction? He steeled his gaze and growled.

  Lina chuckled. “Okay, don’t believe me. Any time he’s in a conversation, there’s a slight change in his scent, and his heart skips a beat anytime someone mentions his name. That tells me that any time he talks he’s lying, and Mallen hasn’t been his name for long. His whole existence is a fraud.”

  Showing no interest in a response, Lina stood and walked away, back to the bar, right up to a young and handsome man standing by himself. She whispered in his ear and then walked away, exaggerating the side-to-side swing of her hips. While she made her way up the stairs, the young man furiously waved to the barkeep, a matter of life and death. He glanced back to Lina as she reached the top of the stairs; she did not cast him a second look. Panicked, the young man looked around and audibly yelped as a serving wench delivered a roasted bird—whole and on a platter—to a nearby table. He ran to the table and tossed enough coins to purchase three birds, then snatched the platter from the wench and bounded up the stairs two at a time. He made it into the room before the door closed.

  Cezomir felt the beginnings of an erection. His threadbare pants did little to hide it and the two women returned, each sliding a hand between his legs.

  “We can take care of this for you,” the one woman purred into his ear.

  “Take care of it real good,” the other woman whispered.