Half-Demon's Revenge

by Lina J. Potter

  We had to make some arrangements, and one night, Farne and I were sitting next to a campfire, while our soldiers were roasting meat bought in the closest village. The scent was heavenly. We basked in the fragrance, relaxing and enjoying the silence while regretting the absence of wine and girls—after all, alcohol was strictly forbidden during the expedition.

  “Here, we’ve caught someone sneaking about...”

  Strong hands pushed a short man into the circle of light emanating from the campfire. He did look like a ruffian, that’s for sure.

  His clothes were ill-matched, the weapons seemed put together at random. They weren’t exactly low-quality, but all three knives were different. Usually, people bought such things in the same shop, not in different ones. And then there was his mug, which would stop a clock, and a clipped ear.

  “And the biter gets bit,” I purred without bothering to take my mind off the twig with pieces of meat dumplings. That piece had seemed good enough to eat already. Yum!

  “Alex, stop eating raw meat.” Farne had long since forgotten all of my titles, not surprising after all that time we had spent standing under enemy arrows, fighting, and covering each other’s backs.

  “What?”

  “Look at that guy. What do we do with him? Hang or quarter?”

  “Hmm,” I paused to think. “Hanging requires a rope, plus a suitable ledge or a tree. And then, the stench—they always crap themselves after a hanging... Quartering is easier. But you’d have to clean and sharpen your sword afterward, and drag the remains as far away as possible, or all the local flies would come flying, attracted by his rotten blood—”

  “Please don’t!” the man shrieked. “I didn’t do anything! I swear!”

  We allowed him to kneel but didn’t let him crawl to us and drool all over our feet. I didn’t order my expensive boots to get fouled by some wretch.

  “What did you do, then?” Farne was surprised.

  “I came to you to tell you everything!”

  “Tell us what exactly?”

  As we discovered, there was a good tale to tell. Six bandit gangs had combined their efforts to create a well-prepared ambush for us.

  There was a bridge ahead, a flimsy thing made of rope. That was where they had planned to surprise us. When half of the regiment crossed the bridge, they would ignite it with flaming arrows. The chasm was wide enough to prevent us from getting to the other side by other means. They would arrange a few landslides, shoot some of the soldiers with arrows, and cut down the rest...

  It could have worked, too, but thanks to Comber, it didn’t. Comber was an unpopular guy. His own crew had never liked him and often beat him due to his bad temper and creepy demeanor. They would have killed him a long time ago, but nobody had wanted to soil their hands.

  He would have killed them as well, that was quite in-character, but he was no match for them. Ratting out his buddies to their enemies, however, was a piece of cake. They’d cut them down and let me go, maybe even gimme some money, and the more, the merrier...

  I was itching to snap his neck—and make it as painful as I could—but I settled on waiting. He’ll get his, in every sense of the word. In the meantime, I put Comber in a cart, assigned a soldier to watch him, and started arguing with Farne, while drawing pictures right on the ground with a twig and cursing in such words that my uncle probably would have died of outrage if he ever heard them, and then order his men to execute the culprit for disrespecting the royal bloodline.

  But the next day, everything went without a hitch.

  Fifty people separated from the main regiment: a score of light infantry and thirty archers—those who should be kept away from the front lines. Half of them were commanded by me, and the other half, by Sergeant Truf. We ventured out directly through the mountains—right where an ambush had been waiting for us. The main regiment went into the ravine which led to the bridge, and we were already on site. We already saw where they had arranged to throw the rocks and cut us off from the passage, saw the people who would do that, and we prepared.

  We picked just the right time.

  Only two brigands were next to the piles of rock—ridiculous. But what would those bastards fear, in their own mountains? Us.

  We crushed them without them even noticing and moved on to firing at the rest of the ruffians, almost point-blank.

  They were getting ready for an attack, clustered in a hollow, while the rocks were piled up above. We were standing next to the rocks and shot at them to our hearts’ content.

  The leader didn’t get enough time to issue a command—hard to do that with a pierced throat—and the entire group charged ahead. Some were trying to get at us; some simply wanted to escape. We formed two squads, one ranged—who targeted the most dangerous enemies with precise shots—and one melee to cut down everybody who tried to get close to the archers.

  Do I have to mention that I didn’t shoot? I fought—and when Farne cut through the enemy ranks to us, literally stepping over their bodies, my clothes were slashed and torn, with bloodstains everywhere. They had gotten to me, and some of the injuries were pretty severe.

  Thankfully, half-demons had much thicker skins than ordinary humans and could endure pain much more easily. A couple of sword cuts? No big deal. They didn’t chop off anything important.

  That battle finally earned me the full-fledged respect of my men—because almost all the archers had survived, while I hadn’t been hiding under a cart like Comber had.

  It hadn’t saved him, either. He would have probably stayed alive had he stayed away from that cart. There is no honor among thieves, they say, so when a score of bandits, who had lagged behind, heard the noise—which, granted, had been quite noticeable—they turned on their heels and ran. They were the ones who bumped into the cart.

  The guards stood firm and fended off the attack, but not all of them survived.

  We also lost the carriage of the count along with the count himself, whose throat was cut by some lowlife’s knife, plus a few carts with the count’s belongings that we had to carry around. A tent, some tableware... Those carts hadn’t been well-protected, but the goods had been shiny, and the packages—pleasantly plump. That’s why Comber had holed up there, and that’s why the gang had focused their attention on them.

  I wasn’t angry with the cart guards, even if Farne promised to whip each and every one of them. Thanks to them, I got to keep my hands clean of a murder—even two murders.

  One of them was Comber, and I had really, really wanted to kill him. Sooner or later, I would have succumbed to that desire. The second was the count. Those bandits actually deserved a bonus, which is what I gave them by declaring that we wouldn’t be chasing them; we didn’t need to.

  Farne considered it and agreed.

  At the end of the summer, after considerably depopulating the mountains, we returned to Tyrem. The mayor welcomed us as if we were his family—and I don’t mean cordially, more like annoyed with our unexpected arrival. He might have feigned politeness, but all he could think about was getting rid of us, I saw it in his eyes.

  I informed him about our misfortune and the untimely passing of the count. Oh, and also, you see, honorable mayor, I have a list here. It shows what exactly, how much, from whom... In a word, your part of the plunder. Could you explain this to me?

  The mayor couldn’t and tried to jump out of the window and flee. He failed, and also accidentally hit himself against my boot, after which he started to repent actively. And I didn’t disappoint him.

  Everyone knows that any proper repentance should end with death. Thus, I ordered my men to hang the corrupt mayor on a lamp post right across from the town council, while telling everyone that I knew the same things about them as I did about him. They were to surrender half of their illegal gains to the treasury by the next day, or else.

  Lamp posts were a rare sight in the town, but there were enough trees for everyone. And in case you forget about your obligations, you will be escorted by these wonderful peo
ple from Sir Farne’s regiment. Yes, exactly, Mayor Farne. Or do you want me to remain here and govern the whole province? I could ask my uncle...

  They didn’t.

  Those six who turned out to be particularly tight-fisted were hung. One of them kept on yelling how his relatives at court wouldn’t allow that and would intervene... I wondered how. Will they contact me telepathically right in the middle of the execution?

  Nope, they didn’t. He hung good and proper, upside down, for good measure, and in half an hour, went straight to hell. The other connoisseurs of accounting and inkpots realized that nobody was going to play nice, came to grips with that, and started moving—and at such a pace that Farne barely had time to take inventory.

  Ten days later, I departed for the capital, well-protected, in an expensive carriage, and, for the first time, with fully collected taxes.

  Farne had seen me off misty-eyed; so had the officials, but theirs were tears of joy rather than sadness. At the last moment, I told him the good news: Farne was to send all his reports straight to me, and I would be visiting occasionally. Are you happy? So much you could burst! I know you adore me! How could you not? I’m too lovable...

  ***

  The capital met me with showers, oceans of mud on the roads, and Rudolph’s vinegary smile. Uncle had clearly intended to become one of the only two Radenors left, together with his son, but I wasn’t going to indulge him.

  “Dear Uncle! I’m so happy to see you! And you too, Auntie!”

  “Alex, my son, you’re back! Wait, let me hug you!” Uncle was either really talented at acting or indeed was touched by my return. Abigail, on the other hand, looked like something extremely unpleasant was crawling right in front of her. What else did she expect, though? I had just arrived, all muddy, disheveled, sweaty, tired, and covered in several layers of dust. I made a point not to get changed.

  Rudolph gave me a strong hug, and half of the dust transferred to him. I smirked, caught Auntie’s hand, and bestowed it a steamy kiss, wiping the other half of the dirt from my face while I was at it.

  “Uncle, it was a nightmare! Those bandits! Those mountains! Those peasants! Eww!”

  “Where’s Count Torne?”

  “He died, died like a hero! You did get my letter, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean, died?” Abigail shrieked. “Why did he die?”

  I stared at her with my blue eyes, full of innocence.

  “The count valiantly stood in the way of a bandit force when those ruffians tried to get away. He died in battle! I promise I will tell you everything. Uncle, here’s the report...”

  The report was off-handedly shoved into the hands of the nearest servant. Of course, why would the kingdom’s golden knight need papers? They weren’t exciting in the least!

  “Alex, join us at dinner. You’ll tell us about your trip.”

  “As you wish, Uncle.”

  I planted a farewell kiss on him—and on Abigail as well. It was pretty funny, I had to admit—it’s not like one got to kiss a rat every day.

  ***

  Tommy was nowhere to be found in my chambers. I assumed he was helping Henrietta. I found his stuff, and somebody was clearly living there, but not all the time. It felt more like a guest house rather than home. I decided not to wait for him and went to dinner.

  The evening passed quietly. I was fluttering my eyelashes and exalted the count’s leadership.

  It was all his doing! He was the one who went into the mountains, the one who chased bandits, the one who bit the du— I mean, died like a hero! And also appointed Colonel Farne the mayor. When? Right during the expedition. He said that the colonel was a man truly devoted to the lawful king!

  Rudolph nodded pompously, Abigail was seething with anger, Andre didn’t deign to look at me, but Ruthina...

  Why is that frump staring at me?

  I learned the reason two hours later when somebody scratched at my door. Expecting Tommy, I flung the door open dressed only in my pants, only to discover Ruthina.

  “Alex...can I come in?”

  I really wanted to decline, especially since I had already gotten the hint. I never had a chance. Ruthina stepped forward, pressing herself against me.

  “A-alex... You’ve grown so mu-uch over thi-is summer...”

  I felt like clothes in the process of laundering, that’s how much she was rubbing against me. Did she think that was seduction?

  All I wanted was to grab her by the scruff of her neck and give her a good kick in her bony behind. I would have probably done that, too, but I got interrupted.

  “Alex! Hic! You... Ba-ack!”

  Tommy was dead drunk! It was the moment when you could still stand, but didn’t have to look for a drinking buddy anymore, as even kitchenware could talk. He reeked of wine from across the corridor.

  “Tom! You’re drunk!” I didn’t lower my voice either. Ruthina squealed and disappeared into the nearest passage. Princess Michelle’s chambers were located in a rather busy wing of the palace, and a drunk scandal would quickly attract all sorts of attention.

  “Hic! You’re back! Al-live! Brother! Let me hug you!”

  Tom fell practically on my neck, and I started dragging him inside. After shutting the door, I almost slapped my friend.

  “What are you doing, pulling a stunt like that?” Of course, I saw through his acting.

  “I’m pretending to be drunk. Was I any good?”

  “You did great. The wine—”

  “Henrietta gave me two bottles when we learned that you were going to arrive... That’s vintage, from the baron’s cellar!”

  “And you’ve poured it all on your clothes? How could you?”

  Of course, Tom was as sober as a judge (at least, the judges before Rudolph’s reign—I wasn’t so sure anymore), but had had no idea how to get rid of Ruthina. Thus, as soon as he had noticed her, he uncorked a bottle around the corner, splashed himself with wine, and started yelling.

  “Never! I still have a bottle and a half, plus some sausage and cheese. Want some?”

  “You bet!”

  “What did that hag want here?”

  “I don’t know. I think she wanted me. Weird.”

  “Weird? Alex, have you looked at yourself in the mirror lately?”

  True, after a summer spent in the mountains, I had become tanned, my hair was white as snow, and my eyes shone with the deep blue color of the sea. Pretty dreamy, all in all. A girl could fall in love with that.

  “Yeah, Ruthina’s already noticed that. Just you wait, the others will, too.”

  I needed that kind of attention as much as snow in harvest, but it couldn’t be helped.

  The king’s nephew, even if not exactly his favorite and illegitimate, was still a great catch. Hunting season was open.

  And then, Uncle got his hand into that. Crap!

  ***

  It all started when Uncle decided to hold a joust in honor of my return and in Count Torne’s memory.

  I would have offered him two barrels of moonshine for the latter, but nobody had asked me. Instead, Uncle told us the good news in a rather cringe-worthy tone.

  “Andre, Alex, there will be a joust in ten days. I hope you won’t disgrace our family’s honor?”

  “Of course, Father.” In public, Andre played the role of a dutiful son.

  “As you command, Uncle.”

  “Come on, boys. Doesn’t it make you happy?”

  “We’ll be overjoyed,” I said passionately.

  Both Tommy and Rene reacted the same way to the news about the joust—by swearing like a sailor at my uncle. Fair enough; a joust required a set of armor, a weapon, a horse... Getting them just ten days before a tournament, when half the capital was doing the very same, seemed impossible.

  Could one participate without that? One could. But judging by Abigail’s warm smile, there was going to be another attempt on my life, and I had no desire to simplify their job.

  On the other hand...

  I grinne
d. A horse? I already had one, and we were already accustomed to each other. That will do.

  Armor? Humans needed armor. Chainmail would be enough for me, with the scales I was hiding under my clothes.

  Weapons? I was born with them; I examined my claws, thinking. They might not be sharp enough to cut through chainmail, but they could crack open a cuirass.

  At the joust, everyone was shocked at my appearance. What a clown!

  How does jousting work? Two mounted knights, after spurring their horses, strike each other with their spears. If one of them falls down, he’s either considered the loser or he stands up and demands a swordfight. Then his opponent fights him to first blood, and voila! The one who cuts the enemy first wins.

  Therefore, during jousting, all valiant knights resemble lobsters—or crabs.

  They wear cuirasses, helmets, gauntlets; even their horses are armored. And I dared to enter the arena without even a helmet! What do I do? I can’t even see with this pot on.

  Even Rudolph himself seemed worried. He asked me if I was in my right mind and suggested I change. I refused, of course. Auntie, however, was happy as can be.

  Shrew. Don’t count on that. I am not planning on killing myself. I had a weapon—my saber. It was thin-bladed, with a tip sharp enough to cut a feather in flight.

  “Baron Taramar!”

  The baron had the full package. Naturally, he gathered speed and galloped toward me.

  I had my horse step aside, steady and calm, and my opponent corrected his direction. I have to say, the sight of that pile of flesh encased in metal was somewhat unnerving. A moment before we clashed, I spurred my horse sideways, and the baron missed me. The momentum carried him forward, however, and ducking below the spear, I cut his saddle strap with the tip of my blade.

  Boom! The rumble of the crowd was nothing compared to the thumping sound of the baron falling down. He hit the ground with full force...and never got up.

  Why not? I had to knock him out of his saddle, didn’t I? That’s exactly what I did. And how I achieved that was my concern. Why would I want to use a spear? Spears were heavy and unwieldy. Yes, they could kick me out of the tournament, but first, I didn’t really care about winning, and second, they could only do that if I injured an opponent’s horse. Now, that was truly unprofessional.