Farne suggested visiting the bastard and making him shorter by a head. I, however, brushed him off and decided to head to the mountains. Why? All of them were a bunch of vermin! If you got rid of one, the others would scramble to take his place. I didn’t know anyone yet, so whomever I appointed would be no better. No, it was way too early to act. I would do that later, when I got back from our trip.
I also didn’t intend to be ratted out to Uncle too quickly.
I will be the one to tell him everything that I wanted and how I wanted it.
Two hours after dawn, we set out for the mountains.
***
What does mountain warfare look like? Mobile squads. Rangers. And the mountains themselves: majestic, sublime, coldly indifferent to their superiority.
I was so impressed that it made Farne thaw out a bit. He liked the mountains, too. For the first five days, the colonel watched me closely. Eventually, he decided I was one of them and relaxed. I walked with them, didn’t request any golden bowls, ate from the same pot as the soldiers, carried my share of the supplies, trained when we camped, and tried to gain a better understanding of the situation. What else did they need? Nothing, really.
Increasingly, I noticed the other soldiers looking at me with respect; a sergeant, after I fired an entire quiver of arrows into the bullseye while holding the crossbow in a stretched hand; a five-score commander, when I beat him in hand-to-hand combat. I don’t exaggerate my achievements. It’s just that half-demons are stronger and faster than humans. It’s in our blood.
What about Farne himself? I continued to like him. He was smart and serious-minded, a true professional.
And increasingly, I heard people saying that the prince was just like his grandfather in his youth. Wonderful. Just as planned.
We had our first battle on the sixth day of our journey. Upon returning, the scouts told us they had found a bandit camp. They had twenty-plus men, a few horses, likely some captives. There was no question about whether or not we would attempt an attack; we would hit them as soon as we got close. But the captives...
Farne questioned the scouts in detail and found out that there were ten prisoners in total. If the bandits weren’t stupid, they would use them to shield themselves. It’s not like I cared about those people, but I couldn’t really do what Farne proposed and charge, ignoring any potential losses.
No, I needed to cultivate a certain image in the eyes of the people, to be a paragon of light and virtue.
“What if we attack at night?”
“You think they won’t use prisoners as a cover at night?” the colonel asked sarcastically. “Will they suddenly become merciful?”
“At night, they keep the prisoners in the cave. And if we close it off...”
“Who will do that?”
“I will.”
“Your Highness!”
“Alex.”
We had long since dropped formalities while talking. He was still respectful, but saying “Alex” was so much quicker than “Your Highness” wasn’t it?
“Alex, you’re crazy! They’ll tear you apart!”
“They won’t have time!”
The bandits were no idiots. They had set camp in a deep gorge and blocked the entrance to avoid a frontal attack. Our scouts couldn’t get down there from above.
I could—Henry taught me how to climb well enough, and my sharp claws easily held on to any uneven surfaces. But that was me, and in my true shape. Humans were…imperfect.
“What if they do? They have fortified themselves there well enough!”
“Farne, it’s not an issue if I won’t be able to climb down. If I will, I think I’ll manage to hold out against five or six thugs for a couple of minutes, and you’ll make sure their numbers won’t be any higher.”
“But it will be night time! You won’t see anything!”
I removed one of the whole bunch amulets I had been wearing to offset my weaknesses and showed it to Farne.
“I will. And don’t even think about borrowing it from me, it’s been enchanted specifically for me.”
Farne considered my words for a while, but after some more persuasion and an almost direct order, he gave up.
“If you die, don’t come back here.”
I snorted. A necromancer was probably the only person who actually could do something like that—I mean, die and come back for a visit, or get back at the killer. But if I told Farne how accurate his joke was, he’d die himself—of shock.
Anyway, I decided to have mercy on the colonel—it’s not like I had an abundance of capable military personnel—and went on with my preparations. Plain clothes—a shirt and pants, a saber on my back, a buckler, a knife belt, a rope. I didn’t need anything else. The scouts escorted me to the vantage point they used to watch the camp, and after making myself comfortable, I waited until dark, keeping track of the goings-on while I was at it.
Getting down from there wasn’t a problem, at least for me. For other people, however, the slope was steep, and humans generally couldn’t see well in the dark. The rocks could start falling, alerting the bandits and making them fire at will with their crossbows. Anyone would be a clear target on that slope.
Except for a half-demon.
We agreed to attack just before dawn, so when everybody settled down, I slid down the wall, following the sound of someone’s cries, trying not to disturb anyone.
I don’t need to mention that nobody noticed me, do I? The sentry who was valiantly sleeping near the entrance to the cave was quietly sent to meet his forbearers, and I went on to examine the lock.
Picking it would take two minutes, but do I really need to do that? As far as I knew about captives, they never made things easier for their rescuers, always ran around, shrieking and screaming, doing something else completely inappropriate, or just getting caught by some lowlife who would use them to cover himself. Nope, I’d rather leave them safely locked up.
I carefully dragged the sentry’s body away, stashed him behind the rocks, and donned his cloak. The only thing left was to wait.
I didn’t have to wait long.
***
Tyen Claymore cursed quietly. Saliah’s weeping had woken him, which meant that he wouldn’t get any more sleep before morning.
He did feel bad for the girl, but he felt much worse for his own self. At least she wouldn’t get killed, maybe just used, but his prospects were much grimmer.
That had been some truly epic bad luck: riding through the mountains, accompanying the baron’s children to the capital—and getting ambushed by bandits, of all things. What could a harmless scholar of ancient languages do with bandits?
Die. He could die.
They hadn’t let him, though. The bandits had knocked the dagger from his hands and knocked him out with a blow to the head. He had regained consciousness in the cave, inside a cell with enough space for a pig, not a human. Anyway, judging by the smell, they really had kept a pig there, until it had died in terrible agony.
The scumbags were fair, in a way. They had offered to spare everyone’s life in exchange for a ransom, informing Baron Avris about his children being captured. They were waiting for the money.
Tyen noticed his students and felt a little bit better.
They were good boys; smart, serious, but like their father, better suited for books than fighting, which was why they hadn’t been able to beat the bandits. To each their own.
What would happen next?
Tyen was really scared: for himself, for the boys, the peasant girls who were crying in the cells next to him... Those bandit scum deserved death, if not more!
The sentry’s shadow jerked a bit, then became blurred, Tyen heard a groan, and everything fell silent. He had probably choked on something or gagged... Whatever. Oh, how Tyen wished for all the bandits to die! A noise broke out from the entrance to the ravine, attracting Tyen’s attention.
Was someone attacking these slimebags? But who could do that? And what...
“Where are the hostages?” he h
eard somebody yelling. “Bring them here; we need to throw a couple of heads at the royal soldiers!”
Then some swearing.
Tyen froze, realizing it was the end. In a few minutes, he was going to be dragged from his cell—he was the closest one to the exit—and beheaded. He wondered if he would feel anything when he died.
But Tyen never got to learn that. A short man appeared before the cell bars.
“Back away, you filth!”
The man stopped in his tracks, peering into the darkness.
Had someone decided to stand up for them? Who could it be? He needed to see that man. He absolutely had to!
And that sight surpassed all of his expectations.
***
When those scumbags rushed to grab the hostages, I had to leave the shadows. Holding on to my shield, I stood right in front of the door.
The soldiers were breaking through the barricades, the bandits were running toward the hostages, and I was killing.
It was brutal, and it was merciless. All I had to do was keep my ground. Behind me, I was safe, and the bandits had no other way than to go through me.
And they tried. Roaring like a bull, and just as gracious, a brute charged at me. He was twice as tall and twice as burly as me. I stepped aside, letting him pass and elegantly evading his blow, and finished him off with a blow to the back of his head.
My buckler was something special. Henry had ordered it personally. It was a single-piece plate with sharpened edges and facets. It wasn’t big but managed to completely cover my wrist and my arm all the way to the elbow.
Such shields were loved by nomad tribes, and for a reason—they were especially good for mounted combat. However, the steppe-dwellers tended to prefer plated edges, using their shields mainly for cutting; my buckler lacerated.
I wasn’t fighting, not really. I was killing. Anybody I touched fell and never got up. I slashed their throats with my shield; their veins with my saber. Their death cries joined together in a symphony of pain and horror. I reveled in the screams of the dying men, licking the drops of blood as they splattered my face. I fended off thrown daggers with my shield, parried sword blows with my saber and counterattacked. I was destruction incarnate, and I felt happy. I was killing, and the demon blood sang in my veins.
Death, death, death to my enemies!
Another parried dagger, and suddenly, only one opponent remained in front of me. He was short and lithe, and I steeled myself. That was no backwater lout; that was a dangerous enemy.
He started moving around me. I couldn’t step away, and I remained firm, following him with my eyes.
He was the first to lunge. I parried his attack, pretending to be clumsy, and he followed up with a dagger.
Not so fast... Huh, interesting! He was ambidextrous!
I fended off the throw, but he charged, twirling his short sword and long dagger so fast that if anybody else was in my place, they would never be able to keep track of his blows.
I wasn’t anyone else, however. I was myself. I countered his dagger with my buckler, his sword with my saber... Oh, crap!
Fighting a bandit turned out to be quite different from an honorable duel. When you fought a bandit, you could expect every trick in the book. A dagger flew toward me. I repelled it, but the distraction was enough for me to miss a cowardly kick to the knee. I fell on my back.
“Die, sucker!”
His smile will forever stay ingrained in my memory, disgusting, wicked, frustrating... You scum!
Everything happened despite my will. The transformation only took a split second. I turned a bit, his blade sliding down my scale, leaving a deep red cut. Spurred by pain, I lashed out with my tail, wrapping it around the ruffian’s ankle and knocking him down—right in front of me.
I didn’t dodge. I pulled him closer and sank my teeth into his neck.
Blood. So much salty, delicious blood; on my tongue, on my face, on myself... I howled—or maybe roared—scaring people away, and only came around when I heard Farne screaming, “Alex! Answer me!”
I had just enough self-control left to transform back into a human.
***
Farne, of course, let me know exactly what he thought about my actions.
He was yelling, brandishing his fists, and screaming that if the bandits hadn’t gone crazy and turned tail for some unknown reason, I’d be dead as a doornail.
I had a pretty good idea why exactly they had gone crazy, but I was in no hurry to confess it to the colonel, and thus, I kept poking at the ground with my toe-cap and making an innocent face. When Farne finally realized that winners couldn’t be judged, he stopped pestering me. They still had to release all the captives, help the wounded, interrogate everyone, get them home, hang the bandits, and sort out the loot. Compared to all that, I was practically sitting on my hands, other than pouring another dose of moonshine into the noble count, affectionately telling him that incorrect wake-up juice led to a bender.
I calmed down.
Too bad.
In five days, a shadow slipped inside my tent.
His name was Tyen Claymore, and he was a tutor who had been teaching a baron’s children. He was short, slouching, with a sunken chest, narrow shoulders, puppy brown eyes, and long eyelashes.
I remember him well.
Staring at me with those brown eyes, he told me everything he had seen. I didn’t understand him straight away, but looking me in the eyes, he informed me that he knew I was a demon.
I didn’t want to correct him or tell him about my pedigree. I simply asked him what he wanted.
Apparently, Baron Avris—I remember him, a typical bookworm—had kicked Tyen out. Everything was simple, really. He didn’t have enough money, he wanted to eat, and demons belonged to a bonfire.
Or...
“You could pay, Your Highness, and remain a prince. Or even better, put me to work at the royal library. They say it’s a well-paying job.” I stood there, dumbfounded for a few minutes.
He seemed so calm, so self-assured—confident that I was in his debt until my death simply because I was a half-demon. It didn’t matter to him that without me, he would have died thrice; it was of no concern. He firmly believed that to keep my secret; I would become his cash cow.
Yeah, right.
His death was quick. I simply pierced his throat with my claws and watched him bleed out. It felt...indescribable. As if I, my thoughts, and my feelings were all covered by dirty grey ice, and I was looking at the world from beneath it, while my hands acted on their own. As if something inside of me commanded me to destroy that man, wipe him out of existence, so he would never rat me out. Knocking him down or persuading would never have been enough. I had to destroy him.
And for the first time in my life, I murdered someone. It wasn’t a kill in the heat of battle or to save my people. It was done only for my own personal gain, practical and cold-blooded. As if my blood was coated with that grey ice.
I stuffed the body inside one of the count’s chests—nobody would ever look inside; I had thought it through. Later, I got rid of both the chest and the body by dumping them into a mountain river before it could start stinking.
All of that taught me one simple truth. You could rescue people as much as you pleased, but never give them a weapon that could hurt you. People were ungrateful creatures.
I saved him and a load of hostages; he owed me his life...and what? As long as I was a half-demon, it didn’t matter. After all, we were unholy spawn! With me, one didn’t have to keep any promises or obligations. It was all right to betray me, blackmail me, or even kill me. Honor? When dealing with a half-demon? Come on!
Finally, I understood what Rick had told me. If they ever learned I was a half-demon, they wouldn’t kill me, but I would never become king.
Secrecy was the only policy.
***
I lost the count during a scuffle with the local ruffians. We had already spent two months wandering the mountains and wiping out all the bandit gangs we
came across. We didn’t have enough numbers to take prisoners and drag them with us.
The simplest way was to capture them, interrogate them to our hearts’ content, and kill them. Written statements signed by me, Farne, and the count had the same legal force as our word in person. I winced as I read them.
As we had suspected, some of the gangs were generously bankrolled by the local landowners, which made my policy very simple: after defeating each gang, we visited the castle of the count or the baron who had been sponsoring them. If I saw that he had acted out of desperation, I forgave him, only leaving some dirt for future use.
If not...
I won’t forget anyone. I promise.
It happened one fine day, something that Farne and I had long since expected. The bandits had grown tired of constant defeats and decided to join into several large groups and ambush us. Their plan was to loot us—we had to carry our stuff with us, it’s not like we had a place to stash it—take our weapons, armor, regiment’s treasury, cut and run through the mountains, and become respected subjects of the neighboring country. They would even earn a reputation with their new home. Weren’t they great? Screwing over their former fatherland pretty much merited a reward from the new one.
I didn’t really object to the second part of their plan; I was even ready to fix them up with a parting kick in the rear and wave a scarf in farewell. I’d use it to wipe my boot afterward.
Did you really think we needed those scumbags?
You could change your name, but you could never change your nature. With only a few, almost no, exceptions, a whore would always remain a whore, a thief would keep stealing, and a murderer wouldn’t stop killing. If a man got used to robbing here, it was highly likely he wouldn’t abandon that business in another place. Therefore, they’d ruin our neighbors’ economy as effectively as they had ruined ours. And let them!
But they didn’t want to escape our clutches quietly. They wanted to kill us first, which decidedly didn’t sit well with me.
Half-Demon's Revenge Page 15
