The Forgotten Queen

by Matt Glicksman

  "Really?" The Prima arched her eyebrow. The scribe candle system was used to convey urgency in messages. One candle was a standard message. Two meant something that required immediate attention. Three indicated that someone's life might be in danger, and four was if the kingdom was in danger. Mashira furiously read the piece of paper before muttering to herself, "Don Millan, what have you gotten into now?"

  Chapter 8

  As the horizon swallowed the sun, the chains wrapped around the demon lord lit up. The earlier meditation had left Erynion disoriented, and so he rested in preparation for the night ahead. He watched as Flinch carried the final piece of wood in his only arm. Erynion had promised him that tonight he would start healing the jester's missing limb, but it would be slow going. He hadn't learned anything related to healing during the meditation.

  With the wood carefully arranged in a nice pile, Flinch stuffed kindling beneath it and stepped back. Eyzora flicked her tail, and a few embers streaked through the air. They landed on the dry moss and softly bounced before resting beneath the wood sticks. The red glow of the embers pulsed as the kindling ignited.

  "The surrounding area is clear." Ojjuk entered the camp and rested on his haunches. "No sign of movement outside Nolka, but I'll be doing regular patrols throughout the night to make sure it stays that way."

  "Thank you," Erynion said. "Do you think there's really any danger of an attack at night?"

  "There's no way of knowing what Candelux may have planned. If they listen to your priest, they'll know where we are. That gives them the upper hand."

  "But they also know we'll be vigilant."

  Ojjuk groaned. "Is the fire really necessary? They may know what area we'll be in, but do we have to give them a beacon to follow?"

  "What are the odds someone will see the smoke at night?"

  "Why take the risk?"

  "Are you feeling better, Erynion?" Eyzora interrupted. "Are you ready to start healing?"

  "Almost. The dizziness is mostly gone. If I'm going to try this without the chains, I don't want to risk losing control."

  "I understand. I'll monitor you every step of the way. How about you, Flinch? Are you ready to get your arm back?"

  The jester didn't answer. He seemed to be staring at something in the woods.

  The red wolf crept up behind him. "Flinch, is everything all right?"

  "There's someone out there."

  "Impossible." Ojjuk sprang to his feet. "What joke is this?"

  Flinch scooted away from the black wolf. "No joke. I saw something."

  "I searched this area thoroughly and found no one within miles. If someone was out there, I would've heard or smelled them."

  "I know some pretty silent assassins. And there are ways around the smell issue."

  Erynion nudged the jester's shoulder. "You think there's an assassin out there?"

  "My gut tells me no. Even though this figure was hard to see, it didn't seem too keen on hiding. It looked like it was walking straight toward us."

  The demon lord addressed the Denhauli. "Any thoughts?"

  Ojjuk snarled. "I told you the fire was a bad idea."

  "What does the Devil's Eye show you?" Eyzora asked.

  Erynion lifted the cloth wrapped around his head and stepped in front of the other demons so their auras wouldn't interfere with his search. He scanned from the ground up to the treetops. Any being in his field of vision should have shown up immediately, but the forest appeared empty. He was about to give up when he spotted a shimmer near one of the trees. The energy was faint, but there was clearly a distortion in the air. The tree trunk seemed to twist for a moment before returning to its normal shape. A neighboring tree underwent the same phenomenon, as if the first trunk had passed on the deformation. "Flinch is right. There's something out there, but I don't know what it is. It's bending the light from the campfire."

  With dagger in hand, Flinch came up beside the demon lord. "Don't worry. They'll have to get through me first."

  Erynion blinked, and any hint of disturbance had vanished. "It's gone."

  "Perhaps there was nothing to begin with," Eyzora suggested. "A trick of the eye caused by fire and shadows."

  "Maybe our brave jester scared it off," Ojjuk said.

  Erynion turned to find a transparent figure standing in the flames of the campfire. Flinch leaped in front of the demon lord and brandished his dagger. The intruder steadily lost its transparency as it hovered in the fire. It appeared to be dressed in clothing suitable for a noble.

  Ojjuk moved in, closely observed the figure, and sniffed the air. "This is no assassin."

  Eyzora joined her mate. "Unbelievable. It's a wanderer."

  Erynion pushed past the jester. "A wanderer? I thought all wanderers are pulled to the Depths as soon as they're dead."

  "More or less. He must've just died, or maybe there's a reason why he wasn't captured yet. I will commune with Verago and find out."

  As the red wolf retreated, the demon lord studied the wanderer. The face was too translucent to make out any details, but the body shape appeared male with hair barely touching his shoulders.

  The wanderer smiled. "Hello, Erynion. It's good to see you."

  "You know me?"

  "Yes, and I understand you now. I'm sorry if I was a pest before."

  Erynion cocked his head. "Who are you?"

  "Don't tell me you've forgotten your old pal, Dulo."

  "Huh. The beggar from Nolka?"

  Dulo's smile widened. "You do remember. I must apologize for my lack of manners when we first met. I wasn't entirely right in the head."

  "I don't recall you being rude at all, but I do know you didn't understand a word I was saying. How is it you know Kisejjad now?"

  "I know how important a demon's true identity is, and so I'll simply say, I was a Brother for many years before a head injury turned me into the beggar you met in Nolka. In death, my soul was liberated from the deficiencies of my damaged brain, and I'm free to take on my appearance as I once was."

  Flinch stepped in between the demon lord and the wanderer. "Wait a minute. If you're a Brother, that means your soul is bound to Verago. He can pull you to the Depths the moment you die. Why are you still here?"

  "Truthfully, I don't know," Dulo answered.

  "I believe I can shed some light on that," Eyzora said. "He's a test for you, Erynion. Verago has bestowed upon you a great gift, a skill that only you and he share. The ability to create demons."

  "You want me to turn Dulo into a demon?"

  "That is Verago's order, yes."

  Erynion looked into the hollow eyes of the wanderer. "And I assume that's what you want as well?"

  "Absolutely. My greatest aspiration has always been to become a powerful demon in the service of the Devil."

  "Powerful? We'll see," Ojjuk said. "As long as he can be better than a fray, it wouldn't hurt to have another fighter around."

  "It will take a few nights to make him a lesser iymed," Eyzora explained. "I would recommend starting as soon as possible."

  "Hey!" Flinch shouted. "What about my arm?"

  "Who cares?" the black wolf retorted.

  The red wolf jumped in. "Erynion can heal it at any time. Meanwhile, it will slowly grow back on its own. Dulo's only chance at becoming a demon is through Erynion."

  The demon lord walked away from the campfire with his hands clasped behind his back. Flinch was a proven loyal subject and had been promised that his arm would be healed. However, the injury wasn't critical, and Eyzora was right. The more it regrew on its own, the less healing it would need. On the other hand, Erynion knew next to nothing about Dulo. The thought of creating a demon without knowing who that person was in life made him uncomfortable. What if Dulo turned on him later, like the Seductress?

  "Please, Erynion," the wanderer begged. "I've suffered for years, unable to help the Brotherhood or Verago. As a wanderer, I fade in and out of this existence. Let me take my rightful place by your side."

  Erynion
rejoined the circle. "I'm sorry, Dulo. I made a promise, and I intend to keep it. Flinch's arm will be healed before anyone is turned into a demon."

  Ojjuk growled and stormed off.

  "If that's your decision, I accept it." The wanderer bowed. "What's another day or two anyway? Just don't forget about me."

  "I won't," the demon lord said. "But I have one condition. You have to tell me who you were in life, before you became Dulo. Verago knows the demons he creates, so I will too."

  "Agreed."

  ✽✽✽

  Hours had passed since Aksilacarn had left, and still no sign of Greggor's men. Millan sat alone in a corner and nervously drummed his fingers on the table. The Laughing Demon was filling up with more people as dinnertime approached. Greggor waited at the bar and kept an eye on Millan. The old man seemed to know most of the patrons, but he spent the majority of his time fawning over Ursula. He was easily double her age.

  A woman entered the restaurant and took the direct path to Greggor. Millan didn't pay her much attention until the old man whipped his head around. The woman's lips were inches from Greggor's ear as he glared at the priest. Millan shifted his eyes to the front door. He had considered many times about making a run for it. His assumption was that he only needed to get out of the slums, and he would be safe. But, there was no way to know for sure if they would stop chasing him once he made it past the golden line. When he glanced back, the old man was approaching the table with a wooden cup and a small plate.

  "Thirsty?" Greggor placed the cup and plate on the table, then sat down. The plate was filled with little brown balls, sized perfectly to fit in the mouth.

  "A little."

  "You should try this too. Pork balls. A little on the salty side, but I actually like them that way."

  Millan picked one up and bit it in half. His hand shook as he lifted the water to take a sip.

  "Look, you can relax. I'm not going to hurt you. I told you before, what I said to Aksil, that was just for show. I wanted to see if he'd actually come through for you, but I guess you two aren't really friends, are you?"

  "No. I just met him today, like he said. He ran into me right outside the restaurant."

  "And you're not missing anything from your pockets?"

  Millan shrugged as he popped the second half of the pork ball into his mouth. "They were empty. I borrowed these clothes from a friend."

  "What happened to your clothes?"

  "They were dirty. Really dirty."

  Greggor pushed the plate. "Eat. Eat. Take as many as you like. My treat since you were a good sport and waited here all day. You must be starving."

  Millan shoved two pieces in his mouth in attempt to appease his empty stomach.

  "So you came to Light's Haven with only the clothes on your back?"

  The priest chewed through the meat-filled balls of dough and took a swig of water. "Mm-hmm, I left home in a hurry."

  "And by home, you mean Nolka, right?"

  With another pork ball in his mouth, Millan simply nodded.

  "But you're originally from Nesinu."

  "Yes, we had to evacuate." He had told Greggor the same story he'd told Aksilacarn.

  "That's really brave, coming all the way from Nolka to make a new start. Not many people would do that."

  As the conversation continued, Millan felt more at ease. He talked about his parents for a bit before asking Greggor about what happened between him and Aksil. Smiling the whole time, the old man was very open with Millan. Eventually, the Nesinu priest finished the pork balls and the water. "Thank you so much for dinner. It was delicious."

  Despite holding the priest hostage for a number of hours, Greggor didn't seem all that bad. "You're very welcome. It was the least I could do."

  "Well, I really should be getting back. My friend will be wondering where I am." Millan went to stand, but he found himself a tad dizzy and gingerly lowered himself back in the chair. His head felt funny, as though a headache was coming on.

  "Nonsense," Greggor said. "He'll understand. This friend of yours. He nobility?"

  "What?"

  "Your friend. Is he a noble? Count? Baron? Anything?"

  Millan winced as he struggled to sort his thoughts. "Uh, no. I don't think so."

  "Then how do you plan on becoming an acolyte?"

  "I…I don't know. I hadn't really…thought about it." Millan brought his hand up to support his head. It felt as if his skull were filled with rocks.

  "Summa Arcana makes you pay to join. Candelux doesn't. You ever considered being a priest?"

  "No."

  "Really? Why not?"

  "Because…" Millan couldn't fabricate a reason. Of course he'd considered being a priest. What a silly question.

  "Because?"

  "I don't know."

  "So, maybe it's not a bad idea," Greggor said.

  "What's that?"

  "You joining Candelux."

  As Millan fought the illness, he tried to distance himself from his own guild. "No, I'm not part of Candelux."

  "You're not? You just said you were."

  "No, that can't be. I did?"

  "Sure, you're a priest, aren't you? From Nesinu?"

  Millan leaned back in the chair and relaxed his mind. "Yes."

  Greggor's figure was blurred. "And you were at Royal Oak during the attack?"

  "Yes."

  "What are you doing in the slums?"

  "Looking."

  "For what?" Greggor pressed.

  "Golden line."

  "That fangling line. Did you really only meet Aksilacarn this morning?"

  Millan rolled his head to the side and observed two people at a nearby table. Their words were unclear. Fingers snapped in front of his face, and his eyes moved back toward Greggor.

  "Hey, pay close attention now. Did you really only meet Aksilacarn this morning?"

  "Yes."

  "Did he mention anything to you about the Death Gods or what he was looking for."

  Millan's head flopped side to side. "No. Can I go now?"

  Greggor frowned. "I'm afraid not. You're going to be a guest of mine here for a few days. Then, when you're ready, we'll send you back to the Sanctuary."

  There was a commotion at the entrance to the bar, but Millan had lost the will to keep his head upright. His eyelids drooped and the back of his head struck the wall behind him. Someone grabbed him by the arm, but after that, everything went blank.

  Chapter 9

  With his shield resting on the ground, Eriph marveled at the alabaster statue before him. The life-size figure was of a crowned woman sitting on a throne with an attentive posture. Her right arm was extended, as if she had been holding something, but the hand had been broken off. Eriph was reading the engraving beneath the statue's feet when he sensed a presence behind him.

  A man with blond hair—slicked back so not a strand was out of place—and a goatee to match stood in the hallway. A bow and quiver were strapped across his back. "Hey there. You're the new guy, right? Mortis is your sponsor?"

  "That's me. I'm Eriph," the priest said.

  "Rizen. Hmm, everyone keeps saying how you look like me, how we could be brothers. I don't see it."

  "Maybe it's the hair color."

  "Maybe. Well, welcome to the palace. Mortis have you doing anything around here yet?"

  "Right now I'm playing mediator between Light's Haven and Alovajj."

  "So you're acting as Candelux's ambassador?"

  Eriph tossed his head side to side. "More like the Death God's ambassador to Candelux."

  Rizen nodded. "That's good. Don't forget whose side you're on now. So, what are you doing here? You lost?"

  "Uh, no."

  "It's all right to admit it if you are. The palace is pretty big."

  "No, I was just admiring the sculpture while I wait for Brahawee. You know, I've found three statues like this and the right hand is broken off on all of them. Do you know what that's about?"

  "No, sorry."

&nb
sp; "Do you know if there are other statues?"

  "No."

  "You know this is Queen Ezmirelda, right?"

  "So?" Rizen's tone seemed disinterested.

  Eriph pressed on anyway. "The first and last queen of Alova?"

  "None of my ancestors were from Alova. She's not my queen."

  "But you live in Alovajj."

  "So?"

  "Not a fan of the history, are you?"

  "Look, buddy. My job is to put arrows in things and make sure those things don't get up again."

  "Yeah, I figured you were a scorcher."

  "Captain. I'm the scorcher captain."

  "Apologies," Eriph said. "I meant no disrespect."

  Rizen patted him on the shoulder. "They were right about you. Fangling polite. Don't sweat it, buddy. I was just telling you where I fit in here. I report to Diyel now, but one day, I'll be a founder."

  "Oh, so Diyel's your sponsor?"

  "Ha! Sponsor. That's a good one. No, I'm a lemniscate."

  "What's that?" Eriph asked.

  "Just means I don't have a sponsor. Look, I have to get going, but you're sure you're not lost?"

  "I'm right where I need to be. Thanks."

  "Have a good one." Rizen trotted off.

  Eriph focused his attention back on the alabaster figure. Over the past few days, he'd frequented the palace library to learn anything his schooling had omitted. When Alova fell to the demons and was renamed Alovajj, thousands of books had been trapped in the city. They survived for centuries while under demon control, for what good are books to a demon? Time had taken its toll, and the bindings were fragile, but the texts were mostly readable.

  "I see you met Rizen," a voice said behind him.

  Eriph turned to greet Brahawee. She was tall with broad shoulders, second only to Diyel in size. Her presence was imposing, but her personality was gentle. A former archdon from Light's Haven, she no longer wore the black robe, but opted for a dark-blue tunic and pants. A small circular shield peeked out from behind her back.

  "Yes, he seems nice," Eriph said. "Not big on history, though."

  Brahawee snickered. "You just have to find the right history. Ask him about bows next time."