The Devil's Influence

by Chris Pisano

  The group walked through the jungle, many of them distracted by the sights. Plenty of sunlight filtered through the uneven canopy of leaves, shafts of bright radiance touching everything within the jungle. Ripened fruits dotted the green leaves of dense bushes or smaller trees; their sweet smells cloying in the humid air. A rumble of hunger stirred within Dearborn’s belly as she debated picking some of the delicious looking fruit. She decided against it, fighting the temptation. But someone else had not.

  Wet noises of biting and chewing came from behind her. Tingle. Face slicked with juices, the centaur held a peach-colored piece of fruit the size of his head, his bites pockmarking the soft skin. “Tingle,” she scolded. “Drop that!”

  “Why?” he asked while chewing, a small chunk of fruit sliding down his chin. “There’s plenty of it.”

  “Be that as it may, it’s not yours.”

  Their argument stopped the group. Everyone looked on as Tingle took another defiant bite. “We’re in a jungle. No one owns a jungle.”

  “We’re inside a walled area, implying someone does indeed own this jungle.”

  “Well, if that is true, then I’ll thank them for their generous hospitality.” He took another bite.

  Diminutia stood by his wife and smiled. “I’d listen to the woman and stop eating it.”

  “Yeah? And why is that?”

  “Because the scorpion that’s crawling on it might sting your face.”

  Cheeks puffed by half-chewed food, Tingle slowly turned his hand. A black scorpion no bigger than a thumb skittered from the fruit to his arm. Spraying fruit in various stages of mastication, Tingle yelped and shook his arm, flicking the scorpion away. The arachnid landed by Phyl’s cloven feet. The satyr squealed and scampered behind Bale. “Step on it, Bale! Kill it before it eats me!”

  Bale lifted his massive foot, but before he could release its fury, Praeker said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Wobbling on one leg, Bale asked, “Is that a threat?”

  “No. But the spear next to your friend’s head might be.”

  “Guys?” Tingle gulped, looking at the spear tip mere inches from his face. “Help.”

  Before anyone could move, the leaves and bushes fluttered as if discontent. Then the denizens of Vierennia appeared. Dearborn had fought the very demons from Hell and thought there could be creatures no more nightmarish than that. She was wrong.

  Scorpions. Ranging in size from larger than Tingle to thousands as small as the one he flicked away, they crawled from everywhere, along the trees, on the leaves, blanketing the ground in some spots. Those did not bother Dearborn; it was the hybrids.

  Dozens of them had humanoid torsos sprouting from the bodies of scorpions. Some had arms, some had claws. A minotaur with six arachnid legs and two claws skittered by followed by a lion with similar legs and a scorpion’s tail. Monkeys, dogs, horses, snakes, birds, deer, orcs, goblins, satyrs, trolls. All had various scorpion features; legs, tails, claws, carapace.

  Pressing her back to her husband’s she clenched her fists. He did the same. They both watched as one of the creatures skittered by. It had the body of a scorpion, the torso and arms of a human, and the head of a horse with an opalescent horn. In a cruel joke of nature, Diminutia had been right about the unicorns and rainbows.

  twenty-seven

  The mad prince Oremethus looked to Qual, then turned to the strangers, then to Qual again, then back to the strangers. He repeated this act with jerky motions, cocking his head each time. Mallen would have found the sight comical if he had not known the tragedy behind it. For the last ten years, the prince believed demons were chasing him. Mallen knew very well that was a long time.

  “Qual?” Oremethus asked, his voice a whisper as if the others were not standing next to the wizard. “Did you . . . did you bring . . . demons . . . into my fortress?”

  Folding his hands together, Qual bowed. “No, my master. These are the helpers you wished me to find.”

  Cezomir, Riz, and Bigol took exception to that comment, each of them taking an aggressive step toward the wizard. Cezomir growled, “We are no servants, wizard, to you, to a prince, to no one! We do not serve.”

  Qual waved his hand, a grand sweeping motion through the air. The werewolf stopped, his words caught in his throat. The minotaur and hobgoblin halted their advance as well. Even Lina seemed uneasy. A weight formed in Mallen’s gut. As it became heavier, he became more nauseous. He dropped to his hands and knees, as did the rest of his crew, uncertain if it was to prepare himself to vomit, or if the mass in his belly became too heavy to support. Either way, it was coming out.

  The burn of an inferno raged through his stomach and chest, and the sickness overwhelmed him. He heaved. Eyes closed, he felt the weight in his stomach flow through his chest and out of his mouth. Panting, he wiped his mouth with his forearm, surprised by what he saw. Instead of last night’s ale or this morning’s meal, gold coins lay in a pile with colorful gems scattered throughout. He smiled and started to laugh, but that led to him vomiting again, riches spewing from his mouth. Finally finished, relieved from the disappearance of the internal pressure, he scooped up the coins and jewels, slicked with his stomach juices, and let them cascade through his skeletal fingers.

  Everyone else in his crew experienced the same unique form of payment. Only Lina looked afraid, quickly standing and backing away until the cavern wall stopped her. The others stared lustfully at their individual piles of riches. “Now,” Qual started, “I think it is fairly obvious that the prince and I can pay well. How you wish to receive further payment is up to you. Either like this, or I could simply hand it to you in sacks.”

  “Sacks would be much more conducive for a practical, working relationship,” Mallen answered as he stood. Wide-eyed, both Bigol and Riz nodded and pointed to Mallen, agreeing with him.

  “You could have demonstrated your power to us differently, wizard,” Cezomir growled, his posturing much subtler this time.

  The wizard shrugged. “True, but I hardly think it would have been more effective.”

  Mallen laughed as he toyed with his pile of gold with his foot. “Effective communication is key.”

  “What do you want?” Cezomir growled.

  Qual frowned as he gestured to the ground. “I thought I made that clear. I want you to work for Oremethus.”

  The werewolf approached the wizard. The beast towered over the green-skinned man with red eyes, his movements meant to intimidate. But Cezomir was smart enough to realize that he would lose any physical contest before it could even begin. Being the aggressor made him comfortable, gave him a sense of balance. “No. I don’t truly believe that. You wanted us to find Oremethus, when you knew exactly where he was.”

  “Obviously, it was a test. A test to see if you could find him, and a test to see how you would react to his name.”

  “Not a test for us. A test for her,” Cezomir punctuated his statement by pointing to Lina. “You came to the dungeon for Lina, not us. Why did you want her?”

  Qual tilted his head and smiled. Folding his fingers together, he turned away from the werewolf and meandered closer to Lina. The whiskers on her feline face twitched with fear, her eyes held anger. She shifted along the wall to get away from Qual. He stopped and turned back to Cezomir. His smile oozed across his face, splitting to expose slimy teeth. “I came to the dungeon to employ all of you. I knew of you all, because I had dealings with you before. Five years ago, you found an item that I sought. Our transaction was cut short by a meddling old fool, but I was nevertheless impressed with your skills. I wanted your services, but I knew the best way to gain them was to tell you I wished for Lina’s and not yours.”

  An echo rippled along the walls of the cavern as Cezomir got louder. “For what purpose? Who or what do you want us to track?”

  The wizard simply smiled, se
emingly amused by Cezomir’s frustration. Finally, before the tension between the two formed into a tangible wall, one word answered the werewolf’s question. “Demons.”

  All eyes turned to the speaker, Prince Oremethus. He looked small, standing between two eggs, each four times his height. The history of regality could be seen in him—tall, broad-shouldered, story-book hero handsomeness behind the scraggly beard and long hair—but more like a statue in a crumbling state of ruin, yet still retaining enough of the muse to know what it once was. For an instant, he looked as if he could assume the throne, but that image shattered quickly enough, returning him to the look of a madman as he ducked and looked overhead. “Demons. Demons.”

  Mallen watched Oremethus, while the others exchanged glances or looked around to see what the missing prince was parrying. The prince ducked again and put a hand out defensively. Nothing to dodge. He stood straight and pressed his back against an egg. Eyes darting around to the other entrances to the great chamber, he scratched at his beard and muttered, “More demons. Demons in the shadows. Demons of the shadows. Lurking. Always lurking.”

  The others looked to the shadows, trying to solve the prince’s riddles. Mallen never took his eyes off Oremethus. Still clinging to the egg, Oremethus continued to mumble to himself as he crept along, slowly disappearing.

  “What happened to him?” Mallen asked, surprising himself at the level of pity in his voice.

  “Madness happened,” Qual answered.

  Mallen whipped his head around and stared at the wizard. No form of anger or aggression, knowing very well he could hardly threaten a wizard, let alone one this powerful. He sighed, his expression tight with weary frustration. He was in no mood for cryptic answers.

  Accepting Mallen’s silence, Qual nodded. Folding his hands together, the sleeves of his robes touched, leaving only his head exposed. His robes barely touched the ground and gave the illusion of him floating as he made his way down the concentric stairs. Everyone followed him, but it was Mallen who did so by his side, without hesitation. When there were no more steps, in the center of the room, Qual and Mallen wandered around the dragon eggs, a casual stroll through a grotesque garden.

  “Why are they so large?” Lina asked. She had whispered, and seemed surprised when Qual heard her and answered, “Because they are almost adults.”

  Riz snorted and Cezomir growled, the throaty rumble of a wary dog. Lina continued, “So when they hatch, they will be fully grown?”

  Qual shrugged a shoulder. “Almost. They will be at the start of their adolescence.”

  “Why? How is that even possible? Why have they not hatched yet?”

  Qual smiled and turned to Mallen, the mercenary looking at the wizard with grim determination, despite Lina being the one to ask impertinent questions. “To answer those questions, I feel I must answer Mallen’s query first.”

  Mallen nodded as if giving him permission to proceed, despite knowing the wizard neither requested it nor needed it. The wizard continued, “The stories you heard about the crown prince going mad because of one of Wyren’s damnable stones are all true. Each of the five stones had a group of demons protecting them. The Shadow Stone had demons darker than the void chasing whoever held it; the Soul Stone had demons who killed your loved ones first, then any associates you have ever had; and so forth. The stone the young prince and his escort of the Elite Troop had was the Satan Stone. The demons protecting the stone were more horrific than any of you could ever conjure in your imagination.”

  To emphasize his point, Qual exposed his hands and waved them about releasing a fine powder. The particulates danced and swirled, not one single mote touched the ground. The nebula grew and shimmered, colors took shape, forming the subjects of Qual’s story. The illusion of Ar’drzz’ur, the demon general, marched across the floor, behind him followed more demons, each more terrifying than the last. Rivers of blood flowed from their teeth and claws as they marched, slithered, and flew. Despite the illusion looking ghostly and transparent, everyone took a step back. Except for Mallen, his gaze still locked onto Qual.

  “Imagine,” the wizard said as he looked upon the macabre legion, enraptured by his own illusion. “Imagine leading the life of a prince, one prepared to take the crown, then imagine him encountering these horrors. Imagine leading a group of people into the direct path of this army. Imagine watching as these creatures shred the skins of people you know like used rags and then feasting on their entrails. Imagine knowing there was a power to control them, and you held a part of that power in your hands.”

  As quick as a blink, the images disappeared, the colorful dust turning gray and falling to the ground. Qual walked to one of the eggs and placed his hand upon it. The beast inside stirred, parts of it pressing against the leathery shell, stretching it. After a few seconds, it calmed, settling back into its pre-birth slumber. “Then he met me.”

  “Why are you helping him?” Lina asked.

  Qual smiled again. “Boredom. Love. A challenge.”

  “You are helping because he has your heart,” Mallen said. “Not figuratively. He reached into your chest and pulled it out, thus controlling you.”

  The creature within the egg stirred again as Qual scowled at Mallen. “How do you know this?”

  Mallen knew of this because he knew of Qual before the dungeon. Five years ago, Qual had removed Mallen’s arm to steal an item he should have paid for because some old, fool wizard named Belhurst shoved his ensorcelled nose where it did not belong. After the deal fell apart, he was missing an arm, Cezomir was trapped in wolf form, and Bigol lost a tongue. And no one got paid. This was unacceptable to Mallen. He wanted money or revenge from Qual.

  Over the years, Mallen did his research. The rest of his crew thought he drank and bedded whores during their downtime. He certainly did his share, but he researched, hunted, learned about Qual after discovering his name. He knew that Qual’s heart was gone from his body, and whoever controlled that heart, controlled him. But no one needed to know that now, so he simply lied, “Who does not? As children, we hear bedtime stories and winsome tales of fantasy. Often a character controls a wizard by stealing his heart. I just never believed it to be true until now.”

  Qual squinted as he continued to glare at Mallen, silently weighing the validity of his words. Even Mallen’s crew looked upon him with dubious eyes. There were no such stories, but none of them called Mallen’s bluff. “Yes,” Qual confirmed, “Oremethus does control my heart, and my heart is being used to create this.”

  Qual extended his hands and walked backward, among the eggs. The others took it as an invitation to follow. Only Mallen kept his focus on the wizard, while the others watched the eggs as if danger could burst from them at any moment. “What exactly is ‘this?’ Why keep them unhatched all this time?”

  “Because they’re not ready yet.”

  “Ah, more cryptic nonsense from a wizard. Ready for what?”

  Mallen enjoyed getting a reaction from Qual. A frowning wizard meant that he had some bit of control. “The twelve World Builders.”

  That statement demanded everyone’s attention. Lina was the first to piece the puzzle together. “No. Impossible. Twelve dragons, twelve World Builders.”

  A rumble developed deep within Cezomir’s chest. “Is this why you want to hire us? To fetch mythical items?”

  “Do not forget that behind all myths is a shred of truth. They do indeed exist, as evidenced by my possession of eleven of them.” Qual concluded by gesturing to the floor.

  More gasps, even Mallen could not stop himself. A smaller egg with transparent skin rested at the base of each dragon egg. Within eleven of the eggs were the items of myth, sources of great power that, according to legend, shaped the world itself. The Heart of Inferus, the fire god with lava for blood. The Tongue of Dellious, the bejeweled serpent who lived underground and left pockets of gems wherever he r
ested. The Crown of Frell, the ice king responsible for winter. Mallen knew of the World Builders, knew them all; saw them all except for one. “The Eternity Seed is missing.”

  “How very astute,” Qual said, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Do not worry, I will remedy that.”

  “That brings us back to our original question,” Cezomir started as he made his way closer to Qual. “If you do not need us to procure the World Builders, then what exactly do you need us for?”

  “Demons,” the prince’s voice echoed among the eggs. He remained unseen as he repeated, “Demons. To find and kill demons.”

  “He cannot be serious,” Cezomir growled. “He wants us to be demon hunters?”

  “There must be hundreds. Thousands,” Lina added.

  Qual smiled and moved closer to the group, whispering as if to other conspirators. “I know it is born from madness, but think about it. Even if you bring him a demon carcass once per moon cycle, you will still have the freedom to do as you wish. Other jobs, bed whores, drink, gamble, wallow in any immoral filth you choose. The riches would be endless and your work easy.”

  “Easy?” Lina asked. “You believe hunting demons would be an easy life?”

  “No more difficult than hunting and tracking anyone else, do you not think?”

  “As much as I hate to agree with the wizard, he does have a point,” Cezomir said.

  Mallen grew weary of the debate. Hunt demons or not, that was not why he was here. He was here for Oremethus.

  As the others bickered, Mallen moved among the eggs and looked for Oremethus. As quietly as possible, he circled every egg he came to, stopping only long enough to take note of which World Builder was attached to each egg. The prince was no longer here, was not among the eggs. Where? He then heard a noise. A woman’s laughter? As impossible as that was, he looked up, to the perimeter of the room, to the doorway. There was the prince.