But now, the yuyukkhūra had clearly lost interest in pursuing their battle with the wolves. Either they now saw the Azat as a credible threat, were furious at the sudden loss of three of their number or wanted an easier prey. Pavel bet on the last possibility. The yuyukkhūra pack could easily track and hunt the remaining wounded wolves later.
The dog-lions slowly disentangled themselves from the weakened and wounded pair. The predators now shifted to a line abreast formation, with the edges moving ahead of the group. The pack was evidently careful and mindful of the dead bodies of their kin killed by the human. There were still fourteen left, all larger than the wolves and stimulated by the sight and smell of blood.
I could take them. I think, thought Pavel, trying to convince himself, though he could feel his heart sinking. A wolf pack, he could take on. Two would be a stretch. But fourteen yuyukkhūra, magical beasts larger than even the Alpha wolf, was a lethal proposition.
“Damn you, Sheqer! Can’t you do anything to help? Sing them to death, maybe?” shouted Pavel, never taking his eyes off the hunting pack as he also slowly took a few steps back.
“And here I am, thinking you forgot all about me. Now, what do you want me to do, Master?” asked the demon solicitously in an unmistakable sarcastic tone.
Pavel couldn’t say anything at first. He, and he alone, was supposed to fight. But fight what? His mind asked. Creatures of a rising dark, part of his memory reminded him. He stared at the yuyukkhūra. They weren’t creatures of evil. Merely magical beasts with abilities commensurate to their level of existence.
Could he ask the demon to eliminate the beasts without violating the Lady’s edict? deliberated Pavel, the notion being quickly weighed in his mind, though he quickly returned the kattari blades to their sheaths and brought out the ethereal sword. He doubted if the creatures before him had souls. But he knew that even with the arcane blade, he wouldn’t last long if the yuyukkhūra decided to rush him. That possibility and the possible magical loophole in the terms of his sentence decided matters for him.
“You hungry, Sheqer?” he called out.
“Very. Not for their flesh, mind you. Uncooked meat! That would be barbaric. But their magical energy would do nicely,” replied the demon.
“Fine. Have your fill. But not the wolves,” answered Pavel.
“Never entered my mind. They don’t interest me. Non-magical creatures rarely do. So, now?”
“Now,” instructed the man, though he transformed the arcane blade into two short swords as a precaution.
“You might want to close your eyes,” came the demon’s parting statement.
***
Pavel didn’t close his eyes. He wanted to see what would happen. A cloud of thin, black fog suddenly appeared before him and the nearing creatures. Like a ravenous living thing, it swiftly engulfed the yuyukkhūra within its misty folds. Then the terrible sight of beasts being savagely torn to pieces greeted Pavel.
The nebulous threads of Sheqer’s cloud form couldn’t hide the savagery within. The man could hear the agonized cries of the creatures as limb was separated from limb by brute force, heads pulled out of bodies, and some were disemboweled alive.
Then it was over. A smiling Sheqer appeared before him. Pavel looked at the demon’s handiwork, and if there was one thing to be said about the bard, Sheqer was methodical and tidy about how he managed the aftermath of the carnage. Not a drop of blood or piece of flesh appeared outside the confines of where the mist wreaked its grisly task. Before Pavel were fourteen neat piles of bloody yuyukkhūra parts. He stared at Sheqer.
“I thought you didn’t want to eat them?” he asked incredulously.
“I didn’t! Not even a tiny bit of blood to whet my throat!” protested Sheqer. “I may be a demon, but I am not barbaric, as I said. I prefer to have my meat cooked. Rare, yes. But still cooked.”
“And what do you call that?” asked Pavel, pointing to the bloody piles. “You tore them apart.”
“Oh, that. I try to take my meals with some entertainment.”
Shaking his head, Pavel turned his attention to the pair of wolves which surprisingly didn’t leave the clearing. He didn’t know why. It could have been that the two didn’t want to turn their backs on their erstwhile enemies, weakened as they were. The severely wounded wolf could barely stand, but the Alpha was staring at Pavel, as if waiting for the man to make his move. Or decision.
Pavel transformed the arcane blade back into its dagger form and hid the knife again. Facing the pair of wolves, he made a shooing motion with both hands. The leader continued looking at him for a while, then lowered its head for a few seconds. After that, the two turned and slowly walked back into the forest. The man caught the demon staring at him.
“What?”
“You are a mortal. Any other being would have killed those beasts for having the effrontery of stalking him or her,” observed the demon with amusement.
“Could be,” replied the Azat mechanically, barely hearing what the demon said. His mind was on whether what happened was a mark against him.
8
Fish and Assassins
“Spirits, supernatural beings, or any
of your relatives around?” Pavel asked instead.
Then Pavel stared at the demon. Mortal.
The way Sheqer said the word stroked to life something in the man’s memory. A question arose in his mind, only to be suddenly choked by a grip of steel around his throat. He wanted to ask what Sheqer meant by saying Pavel was now a mortal.
A geas? The notion startled the man. He knew he was human. One with extraordinary abilities and knowledge, but still mortal.
Who could have done such a thing? wondered Pavel. Quite powerful too to leave no traces or memories of what it was or what it did. It could be Fate, but that part is hazy in my memories. Does that almost omnipotent being hate me? Is this a punishment?
At that point, the man found that the more he tried to consider the mystifying issue, a series of headaches started to burn their way through his head. The harder he tried, the more severe they became, until the pain became unbearable, with no clarity or insight in return for the agony.
It was a useless exercise, the Azat decided. Whoever or whatever closed doors to parts of his memory meant them to be shut. What remained at the forefront of his recollections was the intense drive to move against creatures of the dark and a deep-seated belief that he had a decade to do what he could. All he could hope for was a return of some of his lost memories. But Pavel accepted that such a matter was beyond him. It was up to the mysterious entity to restore what the Azat desired.
“So! Shall we go gut a fish?” asked Sheqer jovially. The words of the bard were barely heard through the throbbing, though mercifully decreasing, pain in Pavel’s head.
“It’s to defang, not gut,” replied the man as he gathered himself together. He was still in a gloomy mood. “We’re not supposed to kill it.”
“Semantics, Master. Though I really can’t see how we could get a fang from the assuredly angry owner without killing it,” observed Sheqer thoughtfully.
“We’ll think of something when we get there,” answered Pavel. He started to move deeper into the forest, leaving behind mangled and bloody carcasses of wolves and yuyukkhūra.
Scavengers will have their fill this day, thought the man as he gave the small clearing a last glance.
The pair followed the river as they made their way through the land. Game was plentiful, as attested by several roasted wild chickens in their bellies and packs. More importantly, water was readily available. The abundant life in the vast gorge was a bright contrast to the barren plain above it. Pavel momentarily wondered about the difference, but a quick glance at Sheqer reminded him that the demon also knew nothing about this region, except for what was told them and what the maps of Encratas showed.
But keeping to the riverbank made the journey longer. Pavel was sure that they had already covered more than twenty miles by the time the sun went down.
The lake was still not in sight, and the bends and turns of the canyon didn’t make it easier. Their only consolation was no further attack happened.
As it became dark, Pavel knew it was futile to continue. He could conjure a light orb, but that was a bad idea. The more dangerous predators came out at night, and a bright glow was equivalent to ringing the dinner bell. The tired man had enough fighting for the day. Following the contours of the river with its meandering and sometimes treacherous banks while watching out for natural and supernatural hunters took its toll on him. Sheqer would serve as the guard as the man carefully made his way through marsh and bog, but somehow, the Azat couldn’t bring himself to fully trust the demon. Finally, he halted just as the sun sank out of sight.
“Time to retire for the day,” said the man.
“Where would you sleep?” asked the bard.
Pavel pointed to a tall conifer.
***
It was nearly midday when they finally saw the lake the battlemage mentioned. The body of water looked deceptively small, but parts of it were hidden from sight by the forest and little islands dotted with thick vegetation. The pair walked to the mouth of the river they had been following, taking care to avoid attracting the attention of large beasts which water readily attracted. There were none in sight as of the moment, but that could quickly change.
“You plan to swim out for that one measly tooth?” asked the bard abruptly.
Pavel didn’t answer. He was too busy looking at the lake and watching out for predators.
“I really wouldn’t recommend it,” continued Sheqer. “I don’t know where that critic of the arts got his information, but there’s more than one snake-fish in there.”
Pavel slowly turned and looked intently at the demon. He didn’t expect what the bard said.
“I could sense them. Them. More than one. Scores actually. Large ones, small ones. I wonder why you couldn’t – they’re magical beasts. Maybe your skill isn’t high enough to perceive water creatures? Does it stop at the water’s edge? Or is it afraid of taking a bath? For a warrior on the road to hunting the dark, such a limitation is worrisome. There’s a lot of voracious magical entities which prefer water habitats,” came the bard’s barrage of comments.
“Maybe,” answered Pavel in a low voice. The bard’s comment was a revelation, but at that moment, the man refused to be drawn into a discussion on the limitations of his abilities. But the truth of the tirade was galling. The demon had a valid point.
“Oh, and there are also some familiar creatures, large ones, and unfamiliar beasts too. Magical and ordinary ones, all happily hunting each other,” added Sheqer. “But they’re not close by.”
“Spirits, supernatural beings, or any of your relatives around?” Pavel asked instead. He’d try to avoid surprises as much as possible.
“Not close by, that’s for sure. I would have felt their presence,” replied the demon, ignoring the man’s ribbing about other demons of this reality.
“I’ll need bait. One which would provide a lot of blood, and a volunteer to catch a fish,” the man said finally.
Sheqer stared at him, disbelief in his eyes. The bard immediately knew what Pavel intended.
***
He couldn’t sleep. They had just come back from the lake bearing a snake-fish fang. Encratas never did give the name of that subspecies. The only information he had was that it was one of numerous kinds found all over the world. But that blasted hermit never said the entire lake was full of them.
What made the trip back to the tower worse was the bard’s litany of complaints. Pavel admitted he could be blamed for that, using Sheqer to stun and bring in the snake-fish. Transforming the arcane blade into a barbed trident and then using a doe as bait was the best idea he could come up with, short of swimming down among those slippery forms and dangerous teeth.
He couldn’t imagine what the demon’s problem was – Sheqer couldn’t die from mere animal attacks, and he still doubted if the bard’s flesh was palatable for any natural predator. Pavel wouldn’t be surprised if demon flesh turned out to be poisonous. No matter that they had to forego the first four creatures they caught. They were all monstrous in size, and he doubted Sheqer could handle them with a mere club.
Another matter which disturbed him was the observation that the Alpha wolf had made an appearance during the return trek. Even Sheqer had noticed it. Though the animal appeared alone and kept its distance, it was enough to keep the pair on their toes. It was only when they neared the encampment that the wolf left them.
“Either you’ve got an admirer, or he wants his dinner,” observed the bard with amusement as they entered the palisade enclosure.
“That is strange,” replied the man, involuntarily glancing back. “But at least he’s survived.”
Sheqer didn’t answer though the demon shook its head dramatically. Pavel overheard a disgusted, weird humans! comment as they approached the transportation platform. The apprentice merely gave the bard an amused, wry smile.
***
Encratas and his assistant had left the tower, a decision that resulted from the information that he had encountered yuyukkhūra. According to the battlemage, such creatures had never been seen in this part of the canyon before and speculated it had something to do with a sudden, yet potent source of magical energy he had sensed from the far side of the gorge.
For the aftereffects of such power to reach the tower, the hermit claimed it was an energy locus which must be investigated immediately lest it grow even more. If it proved to be of malignant origin, then something had to be done before it consumed the valley below them. It was a scouting mission, but it also meant his tutelage had to be suspended.
The battlemage didn’t waste any time. Encratas, with his assistant, set out early the following morning, leaving Pavel and the bard behind. However, the departure was marked with instructions to practice and study a thick tome the hermit brought out. He might have been gone, but the battlemage clearly intended to continue Pavel’s training in his absence.
It was now evening, and the weighty volume lay open on the desk. It was an ancient work dealing with arcane symbols, their uses, and effects. Pavel never thought that runes could be the subject of such erudite and eye-watering boredom. The language, though familiar, was archaic in construction, and the numerous authors who contributed to the writing of the book had distinct perceptions and interpretations.
It wasn’t unusual to find two, and even three, different statements and recommendations on the origin, meaning, and use of a sigil. He wondered how that could be so; unless the so-called wise and learned authors didn’t have the balls to test their theories. Most of the contested entries did involve hazardous effects.
Suddenly, he sensed Sheqer at the door. The demon did knock, but it was more out of courtesy. As if the door was an obstacle for the creature. The bard already had appointed himself as Pavel’s assistant. But only in matters chosen by the demon, and that included waking the man up for his daily training and other chores which gave Sheqer free rein over the room.
Pavel didn’t mind. The only material object worth protecting was the arcane blade and the bard couldn’t even touch it. He did have the option of just killing Sheqer. The entity was a demon, after all. But something held him back. It wasn’t the vow of service, that much he knew. It was a one-sided undertaking, and Pavel was careful enough not to include a proscription against removing Sheqer’s head from its body.
Wondering about that curious hesitancy, the man reflected it could be because he found a fellow lost being, stranded on a strange world. Even if that individual was a demon. Yet he knew he wouldn’t have any compunctions about hacking the bard to very tiny pieces if he betrayed Pavel.
And this world is an unfamiliar one, thought the apprentice battlemage. I am even beginning to think I don’t belong here in the first place. No memories at all of places and faces. Or I really have severe amnesia.
“What is it now, Sheqer?” he asked.
&nbs
p; “I have been thinking, Master, since we’re both alone in the tower. A little look-see of the chambers above us?”
“Which are undoubtedly protected by traps and spells,” Pavel finished the sentence of the bard. “I don’t want to spend my time waiting for Encratas to turn me back from being a petrified statue.”
“Aren’t you a bit curious, Master?” replied the demon’s silky voice.
“No. And stop that kind of tone. It won’t work with me. Go to bed or wherever you go at night. Work your dung-headed temptations elsewhere,” the man answered gruffly.
As suddenly as the bard appeared, he was gone.
***
“Master,” a whispered voice called to him as he was gently shaken awake.
Pavel immediately recognized the voice. A half-opened eye told him it was still dark. By the looks of it, it was midnight or a little past it. The stars yet shone brightly through the opening in the wall. He gave a low growl in reply. It had been a tiring quest, followed by a day of practice and a night of making sense of the convoluted tome. Pavel didn’t take kindly to being awakened for the demon’s entertainment.
“Humans stealthily approaching the tower. A mage or two might be with them,” reported Sheqer with urgency.
The news should have galvanized Pavel into wakefulness. Persons who tried to sneak into other people’s towers at night obviously didn’t mean well. But the man suddenly felt incredibly sleepy. His eyelids didn’t want to open, and a strange malaise of drowsiness crept into his head. In that instant, his bleary senses detected a magical flow surrounding the spire.
“Why am I so darned sleepy?” he murmured drowsily.
My Name is Ruin Page 8