Fury of a Demon

by Brian Naslund

  “You’re making a lot of assumptions,” said Jolan. “If he’s using Papyrian coordinates, it starts in the south, and moves in the opposite direction.”

  “Ward hates Papyrians, and he was trained as an alchemist in Pargos. No, he’d have used the Pargossian system.”

  “Even if you’re right about that, the control it will take to wind that precise of a loop is incredibly high,” Jolan said.

  Ashlyn pulled off her poncho.

  “I can do it.”

  “But even the smallest mistake will—”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Jolan. That thing is about to die. No time to argue.”

  Ashlyn filled her bands with current, and guided her five lodestones above the injured acolyte. Then she ramped up the bands on her fingertips, which controlled the fine-tuned movements, and started weaving her magnetic strand between the two loops, using the imagined shape of the spiral as her guide.

  It worked perfectly. All the resistance she’d felt trying to barge her way through the dead acolyte spines in the castle was gone. This felt like threading a sharp needle through a piece of silk.

  She wove her way up the acolyte’s spine and into its brain, completing the loop.

  The acolyte jerked upright at the intrusion. Its eyelids started fluttering like moth wings. She felt it attempt to trigger a backfire, but now that she was completely intertwined in the loop, all she had to do was squeeze a little to make the twitching acolyte freeze.

  She smiled at Jolan. “See?”

  “I can’t believe you did that. You could have killed us all.”

  “But I didn’t.”

  If she wanted to, Ashlyn could rip her strand back out, stripping the lodestones of their orientations so she could add them to her arm bands. But now that she controlled the spine, she could feel another lodestone embedded in the acolyte’s brain. It didn’t feel like it was part of a loop, exactly, but there was something odd about it. A level of complexity she’d never felt before.

  Without thinking, she filled the strange lodestone with current.

  The pupil of the acolyte’s undamaged eye dilated. Its body stiffened.

  “Awaiting command,” it said.

  “What the fuck?” Simeon growled.

  “Invalid command.”

  “I’ll tear your head off, you gray-skinned asshole.”

  “Invalid command.”

  Simeon stepped forward. “If you say that one more—”

  Ashlyn pulled back on the current. The acolyte’s pupil shrank and its body relaxed.

  “Everyone except for Jolan needs to leave this room,” she said.

  Nobody moved. Ashlyn pointed toward the door.

  “Right now.”

  Kerrigan shrugged and left. Simeon did the same, but muttered a few curses under his breath for good measure.

  “You too, Silas. I need as little distraction as possible.”

  Silas smiled. “I’d hate to be a distraction.”

  He kissed her on the forehead and left.

  “So, what’s the plan?” Jolan asked.

  “It’s responding to verbal commands,” said Ashlyn. “I’m going to power it up again, and we’re going to see what’s possible.”

  Jolan nodded. “Let’s do it.”

  Ashlyn filled the lodestone with power again.

  “Awaiting command,” the acolyte said.

  Ashlyn tried to think of a place to start. Something simple.

  “Raise your right arm.”

  “Invalid command.”

  She frowned. “Describe your purpose.”

  “Invalid command.”

  Jolan raised his hand to show that he wanted to try something. Cleared his throat.

  “List available commands.”

  “Visual diagnostic. Mobility diagnostic. Remote connection. Manual override.”

  Ashlyn smiled. Gave Jolan a nod of support.

  “Execute visual diagnostic,” Ashlyn said.

  “Accepted.”

  The acolyte blinked five times in rapid succession.

  “Optics operating at fifty percent capacity. Maintenance required.”

  That made sense.

  “Execute mobility diagnostic.”

  “Accepted.”

  The acolyte’s legs jerked and strained, but there was too much damage for it to stand up.

  “Command failed. Multiple fractures detected.”

  Ashlyn figured she might as well try everything. Get a feel for the system.

  “Execute remote connection.”

  “Accepted.”

  The acolyte sat motionless for a moment.

  “Command failed. No viable port.”

  Ashlyn wasn’t sure what that meant, but she didn’t want to waste time on it now.

  “Manual override.”

  “Submit access key.”

  Ashlyn felt another pathway in the lodestone open. When she probed it, Jolan’s diagnostic started a rapid series of taps.

  “They’re Pargossian coordinates again,” Jolan said. “But there are a lot more of them. And they’re constantly changing. It’s not a repeating signal, the shape of each spiral rotation is unique.”

  Ashlyn nodded. “I want to try and run it. This may be our only chance. Read them out as they change.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  Jolan started to read off the coordinates, which shifted so fast that Ashlyn was forced to use all of her available bands to keep up. She started to sweat from the heat her arm was generating. Felt her mouth go dry.

  “Fifteen degrees north,” Jolan said. “Two hundred and three degrees east, and, um … hold on, no that’s not right … two hundred and five degrees east, seventeen south, ninety-four west.”

  Ashlyn adjusted her bands to follow his guidance, but she was met with a huge and sudden amount of negative energy.

  “Incorrect key. System purge commencing.”

  “Shit.”

  Ashlyn felt the familiar feeling of a backfire brewing, so she ripped her strand out of the acolyte’s spinal loop, stripping the orientation, and activated her kill switch, which severed the connection between her bands and the dragon thread.

  As soon as the risk of a backfire was gone, she started shifting her bands through the unlocking sequence.

  “We’ll try again as soon as I finish this,” she said.

  “Um. Ashlyn?”

  “I’m going as fast as I can, just give me—”

  “Ashlyn, I think it’s dead.”

  She looked up. The creature’s head was lolled to one side.

  She finished the unlocking sequence anyway and tested the loop.

  Nothing.

  She sighed. “We lost it. Damn.”

  Jolan pulled the diagnostic out of the acolyte.

  “I think I was right the first time,” he said as he coiled the wire. “Two hundred and three degrees east, not five. Sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. Like you said, the diagnostic was never meant to parse that much information.”

  “I wish we’d seen what was behind that last command, though. If Ward put that much security behind the manual override, it might be the vulnerability we’ve been searching for.”

  “I agree,” said Ashlyn. Although she didn’t want to think about how they’d manage to get another living acolyte in such a vulnerable position. Finding this one had been pure luck.

  She glanced at Jolan. Saw the miserable look on his face. He was still blaming himself.

  “This was a huge breakthrough, Jolan.”

  “But we don’t have anything concrete from it.”

  “Not true. I cleared the acolyte’s spinal loop on my way out.” She reached into the acolyte’s neck and pulled out the first lodestone, which had a platinum rod drilled through the middle of it. “That means we can finally add more bands to my arm. I’m interested to see what this platinum rod does.”

  “I’ll start on it right away,” Jolan said, eager for something to do.

  “Let’s get ou
t of this dragon-infested jungle, first. We have a lot of hungry wardens waiting for us.”

  25

  ACOLYTE 799

  Location Unknown

  There was enemy brain matter on Acolyte 799’s hands. He did not know how it got there.

  “Fuck, but I love having an acolyte on patrol,” came a voice. “Seven-Nine-Nine turned those wardens to jelly.”

  Acolyte 799 turned. Saw a man in black armor and red face paint.

  Red faces mean Wormwrot. Wormwrot are tools for victory. Allies.

  The thought came to him from nowhere and everywhere at once. A truth that was core and fundamental to his being. There was no way to deny it. That would be like denying the existence of the sun, or the wisdom of his master, Osyrus Ward.

  Another Wormwrot came around. Peered at him. Lieutenant Pellin was his name. Acolyte 799 remembered.

  “You all right?” Pellin asked him.

  A question. Acolyte 799 hated questions. Questions needed answers. Wrong answers meant pain. He decided to ignore it. Make his own question.

  “Where is the enemy?”

  “None left. You tore ’em to pieces. We got a shitload of masks to turn in for bounties. All that’s left now is to march ourselves to the extraction point, get home, then collect our coin.”

  “Extraction,” Acolyte 799 repeated. “Right.”

  Pellin frowned. “You sure you’re all right? You seem a little … off.”

  Weakness in front of Wormwrot is not acceptable.

  “Worry about your men, Lieutenant. Not me.”

  Pellin nodded. “Sure thing.” He pointed east. “We’ve been out here for three days, so the extraction is at Greenbelt Knoll. Eleven leagues that way.”

  “Maybe we’ll run into the Flawless Bershad on the way and get a real bounty,” said a Wormwrot private.

  “Don’t even joke about that,” Pellin responded.

  * * *

  They marched. Acolyte 799 took comfort in the routine of walking. One step. Then another. Then another.

  Between each footfall, his thoughts drifted to that name. Bershad. Acolyte 799 had seen him. He was sure of it. But where? When?

  No questions! Questions need answers. Wrong answers mean pain.

  He shook his head. Pushed the thoughts away.

  “Hey, Coller, where’d you get those boots?” asked the Wormwrot private.

  “The fuck you care where I got ’em?” Coller responded.

  “Because yours ain’t soaked through and half-ruined like mine. I want a pair.”

  “You’re screwed on that front, my friend.”

  “Why?”

  “Poor bastard named Rigar made these for me. And he’s dead.”

  Rigar. That name. Rigar. Rigar. Rigar. Why is that so familiar?

  “Too bad. I’d have parted with a lot of coin for some decent footwear. How’d he go?”

  “Ugly.”

  “Everyone goes ugly in this war. I mean how, exactly?”

  “Way I heard it, his whole unit got torn apart by the fucking Skojit who wears white dragonscale armor.”

  Acolyte 799 froze.

  Skojit. White armor.

  “Thought that story was dragonshit?”

  “Naw. The Skojit’s real. Intelligence confirmed it a while back. Think his name’s Sormon or Simon or something like that.”

  Simeon. His name is Simeon.

  Acolyte 799’s muscles clenched. Tightened. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

  Coller paused. Looked back at him. “Uh, what’s up with the acolyte?”

  Everyone looked at him. But Acolyte 799 still couldn’t move. His mind was flooded with the vision of a red-haired man. A head exploding. Pain. Pain. Pain. He knew Simeon, but who was Rigar?

  Acolyte 799 fell over. Started twitching in the mud. Couldn’t stop.

  Coller laughed. “Appears the Madman gave us a dud, Lieutenant.”

  Pellin came over. “I knew there was something wrong with it.”

  “He killed Jaguars without trouble,” said Coller. “How’s it that he can’t handle a march?”

  “You’re asking the wrong person. But we gotta get him to the extraction.”

  “These fuckers weigh more than three men in full armor. Why bother? Let’s just leave it here and get a new one when we get back to Floodhaven.”

  “Because any unit that loses an acolyte and lives to tell about it has to give one of their own to the Madman.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Replacement, you idiot.”

  Coller cursed. Looked around.

  “C’mon. We’ll cut down some of these vines and drag him along. Watch out for snakes.”

  PART II

  26

  VERA

  Balaria, Burz-al-dun

  Vera stayed aboard the Blue Sparrow while Decimar and his men unloaded the rations. She kept an eye out for trouble in the crowd who’d gathered around them, but there were no signs of a fomenting riot or a fight over the food. That surprised Vera, especially given the hungry and gaunt faces that were looking up at her from the ground. Maybe they were simply too weak to fight back.

  When the food was fully dispersed, Vera motioned to Decimar and his men. They all took up positions around the deck where they had clear shots on Garret and the remaining Ghalamarians. When everything was set, she stepped forward.

  “There are two ways that your time in my service can end,” she said. “The first is with an arrow through your heart in the next ten seconds.”

  That got everyone’s attention. She saw a few men’s throats bob with rough swallows. Hands moved to swords, but no farther. They’d seen the longbowmen work. At this range, and this outnumbered, drawing steel was an obvious death sentence.

  “Think we’re all a bit interested in the second version,” said a blond-haired man. Vera had never learned his name.

  “All of you disarm and get off this ship. Then you head home to Ghalamar. You do not identify yourselves as soldiers ever again, and you do not ever speak of what you saw in the Dainwood.”

  One man with a thick black beard winced. “How many times am I gonna drop my fucking weapon this week ’cause o’ some cunt’s command?”

  Decimar drew his bow. Aimed it at the bearded man.

  “At least once more, if you want to see the end of this week at all,” he said.

  The blond man took a long breath. Spoke loud enough for everyone to hear.

  “Seeing as our officers have both had their skulls hollowed, I believe we’re all obliged to decide for ourselves on this.” He moved his hand from the grip of his sword to the cross guard, then pulled the weapon out of his belt without unsheathing it. Dropped it on the deck. “Personally, I am going the fuck home. Never wanted a part in this war, anyway.”

  With that, he threw a leg over the gunwale and hopped onto the ground below. The rest of the men took a varying amount of time to come to the same conclusion, but they all got there.

  All except for Garret, who stayed motionless near the middle of the ship.

  Decimar shifted his aim. “You choosing the first option, Hangman?”

  “I would like to speak with Vera alone for a moment.”

  “No chance,” said Decimar.

  Garret ignored him. Kept his gray eyes on her. She saw more emotion in him than she was used to. And she knew from experience that if he meant her harm, she’d have seen nothing there at all.

  “It’s all right, Decimar. We’ll speak.” She motioned to the cabin at the stern of the Sparrow. “In there.”

  * * *

  The royal cabin of the Sparrow had changed since they’d used it to escape Burz-al-dun last year. All the plush sofas and lounge furniture had been replaced with fletching stations for the archers to make new arrows. Garret moved to a simple bench. Sat down.

  “You saved my life back in the jungle,” he said. “I would like to know why. Given what you’re planning to do, it would have been easier for you if I was dead.”

  “The trut
h?” Vera shrugged. “Instinct.”

  “I see.”

  “Disappointed?”

  “The opposite.”

  “Are we back to that whole pride-in-my-skills thing?”

  “Not exactly. I owe you a debt, Vera. I would like to settle it now. Somehow, I think it’s unlikely you and I will meet again. Not as allies, anyway.”

  “You plan on returning to Almira?”

  “As I said, I have unfinished business there.”

  Vera knew that Garret was a murderer by trade. But so was she. In that moment, Vera found that she had no desire to kill him.

  “Well, if you leave the ship without a fight, we’ll call that square.”

  “I need to do that anyway if I don’t want Decimar’s arrow through my skull.”

  “True.”

  “But I do have something that will settle our debt.” He paused. “Seven years ago, there was a job floating around Burz-al-dun that was offered through a broker. It didn’t take much investigation to learn the actual client was the Royal Engineer of Balaria.”

  “Osyrus Ward.”

  “Yes. The task he wanted done was simple. Travel to Pargos and murder a woman named Caellan.”

  Vera’s stomach dropped. “You killed her.”

  “I didn’t take the job. There was something a little more challenging on offer at the time.”

  “But she might still be dead.”

  “Maybe. Although I ran into the man who took the contract a few months later. He went looking for her, but never found her.”

  “Where did he look?”

  “The contract directed him to a little village in southern Pargos. He said it was all olive trees and clear lakes.”

  “Garret. Where is Caellan?”

  Garret smiled. “In all the work we’ve done together, that’s the first time I’ve seen you lose your composure. Your feelings for the empress weaken you. Watch out for that.”

  Vera didn’t say anything. Maybe he was right, but if killing all your emotions was what it took to survive, Vera didn’t see a point in living at all.

  “The village is called Nisena.”

  “Nisena,” Vera repeated. “Thank you.”

  Garret stood.