by Mark Eller
* * * *
Mercktos watched as a slight breeze tossed strands of white hair about Tessla’s shoulders. Frustrated, he growled deep in his throat. He wanted her again. He wanted to break her. He wanted to hold her. Right now, at this moment, she was tired and weak. Better yet, she looked confused. He could take her. He could drag her back to Hell, but Hell was closed to all hellkind until the hook was returned, closed, even, to Zorce’s right hand.
Tessla turned in his direction but didn’t see him. Even disheveled she was exquisite, white hair, black nails, and pale. He remembered her touch, the smell of her skin, the taste of blood on her lips. For one moment, he felt her hands clutching his neck, pulling his mouth down to hers while dark talons sank into his throat.
He mentally shook those memories away as Tessla walked to the dead child and its caretaker. Crying piteously, the caretaker kneeled on the road, holding the child to her breast.
Mercktos scowled. It hadn’t been necessary for the child to die.
Alarmed by the thought, he shook his head and fought back a disgusted growl. Living with a defective heart was difficult enough. Living among these disease-ridden vermin made it even worse. The damned heart had tainted his mind and sullied his soul. Had he actually been concerned about a dead child? What did one mortal child’s death matter to a devil or even the deaths of a thousand children? Humans lived to be killed.
Mercktos ached to return to Zorce so he could rid himself of the heart, but his god had not forgiven him. He was cursed to live and serve on the middle world until the hook returned to Hell.
Well, if he followed Tessla, she might still lead him to the spawn.
Mercktos sighed and watched Tessla lift the dead child in her arms. When he saw tears on her cheeks, once again, he felt a twinge inside his breast.
He growled. By Athos! He hoped the world fell soon. Wearing the damned heart was a horrible ordeal. He couldn’t survive these pains for long.
Tessla saw him, frowned, and then her lips turned in a slight smile. Parting, they formed one word. “Remember.”
Epilogue
Ludwig woke to discover Harlo standing beside his bed. Around Ludwig’s neck was the chain holding, Tirelle, his magical amulet. On each of his shoulders was cradled the head of a naked woman. Both had been satiated to the point of unconsciousness. By his lust, Ludwig would like to have bragged, but he suspected the previous night’s orgy of drugs and booze had more to do with their unconscious state than his passion. Although Ludwig repeatedly used both women the night before, he wasn’t sure either one noticed or cared.
He frowned. Superficially, part of his dream of returning to a life of ease had been realized. During the past few weeks he had eaten only the best food, drunk only the finest wines, and had bedded a dozen different women. Better yet, people bowed when he walked past because he wore clothes every bit as fine as those he had once known.
Unfortunately, the money was gone. Tomorrow he would be back on the trail, living hard. His food and wine would be of poor quality, and he wouldn’t even be a fond memory to his dozen women as they each wrapped their legs around a different man. Worse, the clothes would be gone, sold later this day to help supply Harlo’s bandit crew with trail supplies. Over the next few months Harlo would plan and execute a rash of thefts, all to make enough rugdles so his people could live in luxury for a few weeks more. Once again, Ludwig would have almost everything he craved. Still, even at the height of his most corrupt passion, no matter how much he ate, how much he drank, or how many women he bedded, he could not forget Meliandra’s sweet thighs, Gertunda’s glower, or the fact that every pleasure he experienced came through the misfortune of others.
“Time to get moving, lad,” Harlo said. “Got my sights set on a couple prospects, and there are rumors the city guard is looking for us. The price has increased on both our heads.” He grinned. “Kinda exciting, isn’t it?”
“Like an infected boil,” Ludwig grumbled. “Is it always going to be like this, stealing, killing, and running away, interspersed with a few weeks every now and then of drunken forgetfulness?”
Harlo’s grin grew larger. “Nah. These are the good times. Caravaners are feeling the strain. They’re putting on extra guards and setting traps. Too many bandits like us, too many hellkind running free, and too many rumors of dark times coming. Way I see it, things will be pretty black all over in a couple years, but we don’t have to worry about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ll be dead.” Harlo laughed. “If we see next year, I’ll be surprised.”
“Great.” Ludwig turned his head to look at the woman on his right shoulder. A thin thread of bile ran from her lips. Changing his stare to the other woman, he saw she was mostly presentable. A little drool, some smeared food spread across one cheek, but otherwise, not too disgusting.
Pushing the first woman away, he rolled on top of the other. Still drugged, she only grunted when his weight pressed down on her, proving she still breathed. “Give me half an hour. If I’m going to soon die, I want to take a good memory with me.”
“Fine,” Harlo said, “but don’t get too depressed. I’ve been giving thought to a few, less dangerous endeavors. If things get too tough we might branch out a bit. Maybe we won’t die.”
“Living like this,” Ludwig said as he thrust into slack flesh, “is as good as being dead.”
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