FIREFANGED: Demon in Exile

by Rory Surtain

  “You know Glenn, do ya?” he replied. “Tell ya what, since you’ve got that moon on your shirt and a small audience up on the hill watching, why don’t you just show us where you belong.”

  Turning away from me, he bellowed for one of his training crew, “Tomkins, front and center!”

  A rather large Sentinel ran up and presented himself, “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “Tomkins, who are the best fighters in this current batch of Summer recruits? I feel like a bit of a training match this morning.”

  “With Gunner laid up, the best in Summer would be Hicks, and second being Griffen.”

  “How about a third too?” I asked Tomkins.

  “I’d pull in Lucas from Autumn company if that suits the Sergeant.”

  “Do it,” said Masterson. “Full kits and weapons. None of this wooden club horseshit.”

  “What would you like me to do with them, Sergeant?” I asked.

  “You’re not here to make friends, Son. Just fight them, but please don’t hurt anyone permanently.”

  “What happened to Gunner?” I wondered out loud.

  “He thought he could take Tomkins. It didn’t work out.”

  “Was he wrong?” I asked.

  “Only on that day,” replied the Sergeant.

  Tomkins returned with the top recruits and lined them up in front of us for introductions.

  I met Brandon Hicks, Jayl Griffen, and Benji Lucas. They were decked out in heavy armor and heavy axes. It seems that the recruit program was more about building strength than expertise and speed. That didn’t seem fair.

  Tomkins ran at least six foot two and had fifty pounds on me. He looked over and asked, “Okay, who do you want to fight first?”

  “First? Why not all three at once, and you can hold my axe,” I said, tossing him the weapon.

  I was feeling like a challenge and didn’t trust myself to swing a blade at anyone.

  Masterson chuckled, “The boy sure knows how to train now, don’t he. Well, let’s do it then.”

  We each took a few steps back, and the recruits pulled their shields off of their backs and drew their axes. Hicks was almost my height, around five-eleven, and his armor looked the lightest on him. Griffen was stockier and would be slower, but harder to put down. Lucas was the tallest and had a long, almost gangly reach. He also had the arms of a woodcutter, and he waved his axe swiftly back and forth in his grip. I was glad that I handed my axe to Tomkins. I didn’t want to damage these fellows. They smelled of confidence and sweat. They were still warm from the early morning run.

  “Begin!” shouted the Sergeant.

  “Anyone here ever seen a demon?” I asked the three recruits.

  Before any of them could answer, I bolted right, moving inside Lucas’ long reach. My left hand reached across and grabbed his shield, pulling it back hard to my left. That put him wide open to my attack while also getting in the way of the other two opponents. My right arm swung around and took him on the back of the head. He staggered forward then dropped.

  Griffen hesitated as Lucas hit the ground. Mistake. I was already inbound, and I caught his shield with my shoulder before he could react or shift his balance. He stumbled backward into Hicks’ path. Hicks was doing his best to avoid the collision with Griffen and wasn’t paying attention to me as I stepped around behind him. Suddenly an axe flashed out behind Hicks, causing me to duck while Hicks followed it around to face me. So, he was paying attention, after all.

  As his axe flew over my head, I shifted back left and moved inside his guard. My right vambrace scored a back-handed hit to Hicks’ temple, and he was down. Griffen was losing his confidence and had taken a step back, instead of counterattacking while I was focused on Hicks. Another mistake. Griffen set his feet and adjusted his balance and, in expert guard fashion, got ready to block the incoming practice demon.

  I smiled, and then I was on him. His block was robust and would have laid me out cold if I had let it land. Instead, it committed him to move in one direction for the moment. I spun to the left and immediately blocked his desperate axe swing before it could gain much momentum with my right vambrace. It was enough to push him further off balance and keep him from getting his shield back into position. I was inside his guard, and my left vambrace careened off the side of his head, pitching him onto the ground.

  I stepped back and looked at Masterson. He looked a bit paler than a minute ago.

  “You move like a demon, boy. Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

  “Just seems to come naturally to me, though I swear I do better against the demons. Well, most demons anyway, tapping my left arm.”

  Tomkins returned my axe. “Those three would’ve wiped me easily if I had to go at ‘em all at once, axe or no axe.”

  “Sergeant, you mind if I help with some of the training, especially with your alphas?” I said. “I promised Warden Hartwell that I wouldn’t mess with his doctrines on fighting, but I think that you’ve got some pretty strong fighters here that could use a bit of advanced work.”

  “You think that those three are strong fighters after that short demonstration?” he asked with plenty of doubt in his voice.

  “Sure,” I replied. “Look at Griffen. If he were a Sentinel in a shield and axe line, I would have been paste. He has the power to hold a shield line together. No demon is going to push him back when he’s prepared. And Lucas, with those long arms, belongs on a horse. He knows how to move an axe; I just didn’t give him a chance.

  “And Hicks knows how to fight, knows where to place his attention and keeps his balance. When I had turned the fight into a two on one affair against him for a moment, he counterattacked with a swing that would have taken the head off most demons. I’d be glad to work with him, um, whenever he regains consciousness.”

  “Well, he graduates on the new moon, you can have him then. Before that, he’s mine,” Masterson replied with a smile.

  I saluted and walked off.

  Chapter 11

  Weapon of kings

  Raven sat across the table, her eyes on a bowl of spicy trout soup and dark bread hot out of the oven. We were both freshly washed and dressed in new clothes. Her appetite was almost as healthy as mine, a good sign, and we made short work of the fare. The meal would fill her stomach, but she carried an emptiness within her so incredibly vast, it echoed with grief. I was concerned that her exhausted body couldn’t overcome her broken heart.

  We spoke little as we ate, and I took the time to admire the young woman before me. Looking past her overly pale complexion, her down-turned lips, and weakened movements, I searched her eyes until I found a glimpse of the fierce survivor that I met on that dark Everest hillside. I knew I could meet her there, one survivor to another, and hopefully build a lasting connection, one that would pull her soul through, back to the side of the living.

  After lunch, we walked the castle grounds, and I gently coaxed out her story. I didn’t want to wear her out, but I was riveted by her tale of sudden exile and fighting her way southward through the Everest range for the past fortnight. The hellish hunting party had picked up her scent about a week ago, and she had been fighting for her life since, with little to no rest, let alone sleep. She was able to gain ground during the daylight hours when the demons became more sluggish. Still, they would increase in strength and speed during the night and eventually find her trail. Besides her injuries and fatigue, the exile and the demons had plagued her spirit, and her smile was never more than fleeting.

  I told her about my life in Lockrun and how the Vigil had recruited me based on my success in killing a single demon. I left out the gorier details of the fight and my injuries and skipped the part where I had been branded as part of the recruitment process. I mean, being marked as someone’s property is probably not the best way to impress a girl. And yes, I wanted to impress her. She was a survivor with a fierce heart. Her long beautiful black hair framed her dusky yet pale complexion while her dark red lips and light gray eyes held my attention.
It’s just that I’m only impressive when I’m fighting demons, and the last thing she needed was to be near more of those damned beasts. So instead, I showed her my horse, Daur.

  It turns out that the dark elves don’t have any horses. Living deep in the mountains, they have plenty of goats, but no horses. Daur was on his best behavior and showing some charm. She was so fascinated by the beautiful animal that I offered to teach her to ride once she was feeling stronger.

  “How about tomorrow?” she asked with a smile.

  “Okay, but only if you promise to behave and rest plenty today. I’m due to ride an afternoon patrol with the Scouts, and when I get back, you better be sleeping.”

  “It’s a deal,” she said.

  We sat on our horses, taking a short rest next to Drake’s Rock. We had made good time, riding quickly up the valley from Berykholt and through the Gap.

  Sentinel-Scout Duncan asked, “How far you feel like going?”

  “I was thinking we head up to where we killed the hunting party, and then start looping back around to the South looking for any activity. There must be some caves around there that need to be checked,” I replied. “If we keep moving, we should be back home in four or five hours, well within the comfort of daylight.”

  “Sure thing, assuming you don’t have to stop to kill something,” he chuckled. “Just mind the rough terrain. At some point, we’ll have to dismount and walk with the horses.”

  Riding with us were Sentinel-Scouts Laird and Tappen. We had decided that a reinforced patrol would be a good idea until we were sure the area was clear of any more rogue hunting parties.

  We continued north, reaching the original hunting party kill site. The blackened corpses were still present though well decomposed after only a couple days. I wasn’t surprised that scavengers had left the bodies alone. They reeked of Corruption and would be gone entirely in less than a week.

  We dismounted and walked northward for another mile. The wind gusted, and the scent of a predator caught my attention. It was less than a mile north of us. It was stalking quietly, not a demon, but maybe a wolf or a lion?

  I signaled caution to the rest of the patrol and pointed to a small bump of a hill nearby that would give us a better view. We led our horses up and waited.

  We had a good view in every direction, but the only threat that I sensed came from the north side of the hill, and it was moving our way. A short time later, a small female figure appeared out of the brush ahead of us. She was dusky dark, with large eyes and sharp ears, and stood about five feet tall. Her hair fell straight and black, and I couldn’t for the life of me guess her age. She was armed with a familiar black blade as well as a long-bladed spear. She offered us a menacing look.

  “Hello!” I said, trying to keep my hands from reaching for my weapons as she approached.

  No need to act all hostile to one little dark-elf.

  “Sentinels,” she said in greeting. “I am Lorna, Daughter to King Ylamil of the City-State of Bastian in Everest. We mean you no harm.”

  “We?” I asked, just as seven more dark elves stepped out of the brush all around our little hill.

  How did they sneak up on us like that?

  “Lorna, my name is Ara, and we are Sentinel Scouts from Berykholt in Colivar. What can we do for you?”

  She had our complete attention. “We have traveled southward through the Everest range, tracking an exile from our city. Their trail ended at the dead demon party just a mile south of here,” she replied.

  “I certainly know of the dead demons, and I can smell their corpses from here. How is it that I can see, but can’t sense any of your escort?” I asked.

  “Our shamans make certain talismans that can hide our presence from the many hunters in this mountain range,” and saying this, she reached into a small bag on her belt and removed a black disc on a leather loop. Placing it around her neck, she was suddenly lost to my senses, all except my eyesight in the bright afternoon sun—a hunter’s amulet. I’m sure that my complexion took on a green hue at the thought.

  “Lorna, you wouldn’t happen to have an extra one of those? I mean from one hunter to another?” I asked shamelessly.

  “Perhaps we can trade. Would you happen to know where our quarry could have gone?” Lorna countered my offer.

  “Exile? Quarry? Would you first explain to me why you would cast out someone and then want to hunt them down?” I said, still noting that our patrol was surrounded by eight well-armed individuals.

  Lorna gave me a look that said she absolutely didn’t want to go there, but for some reason, I really did want to go there.

  “Look,” I said. “You can explain to me your need to reclaim a cast-off, or you can let us continue our hunt for demons before it gets dark.”

  After a long pause, she relented, perhaps having guessed that I must know something, or I wouldn’t be so insistent in my attitude.

  “Our King, with good reason, officially cast the half-breed into exile, ignoring the wisdom and wishes of our shamans,” she finally answered, leaving me just as confused.

  “A little help here, Lorna. I'm not familiar with your King or your shamans, or their differences of opinion,” I responded. “What interest do your shamans have in the exiled one?”

  “The shamans had read the half-breed’s aura and declared that they were a weapon in the making for our fight against the demons that threaten our city.”

  There was a deep sadness hidden behind her words, and anger flared in me at the mention of demons.

  “And how does a shaman make a weapon to fight demons?” I asked, with more than a little self-interest.

  “They capture a soul through ritual sacrifice. The rite would remove the person’s soul from their body and embed it in an ancient elvish weapon,” she answered honestly.

  My stomach was starting to turn in disgust at the thought of ritual murder. “And what is so special about her soul?” I said, realizing my slip too late.

  Lorna’s eyes went wide, but answered nonetheless, “The shamans would say that she has a soul of death, a Kjaira in the old tongue.”

  At that point, I was thankful that we had dismounted, or I might have fallen off my horse. I pulled myself together, using anger as a glue.

  “So, you and your royal guard were sent to capture the half-breed so that she could be sacrificed, imprisoned in a weapon, and used to fight demons?” I said, drawing my war knife in rage at the thought.

  At this, she took a step back. “How is it that you wield such a weapon?” she said. “Your knife is imbued. It is a Weapon of Kings.”

  What the hell? I took a breath, counted to five, and sheathed my fang.

  “The one you seek is under my protection, and she will not be further harmed,” I said calmly. “I ask again, why are you here?”

  “She is well?” Lorna asked, her voice suddenly quavering with concern, her questions now offered me answers.

  “No, not in the least,” I said, rather harshly. “But Raven may yet recover from her ordeal. She is fierce. She survives. Who is she to you?”

  “She is my sister,” said Lorna, offering a small bow, which I would say was done to hide her dark, wet eyes. There was genuine sadness there.

  “Then, I would say that you owe me two amulets, not just one.”

  Chapter 12

  Small gifts

  Soon after sunset, we entered the outskirts of Berykholt. My horse carried a second rider, a Royal Guard from the retinue of Princess Lorna Ylamil of Bastian. The Elven hunting party had turned around and begun their rough trek back home. Besides two silver talismans, ‘gifts’ I was told, I had also been given a dark-elf bodyguard. His name was Andarion, and he was a cousin to Lorna, trusted as blood. I knew little enough of that. He would not be missed at Court outside of the Royal Family. His absence wouldn’t be mentioned to anyone, but King Ylamil would notice and know what it meant, and that was enough.

  Andarion was a talker and did much to assuage my negative feelings toward the dark el
ves and their shamanic practices. It turns out that they were very similar to humans in their emotions and deep personal attachments.

  Raven had been exiled by her father, the King, who knew that if she remained in Bastian, she would be murdered by the shamans in their dark ritual. Though she could never return, King Ylamil had never severed his feelings for his youngest daughter. He had secretly sent his middle daughter on a mission to make sure that Raven survived.

  Andarion had been a young adult when Raven was born and had helped raise her due to her human mother dying when Raven was only a year old. It was true that dark elves often shunned the impure, but that was usually ignored when it came to family, especially that of Royal blood. They valued spirit as the building blocks of their Houses and lives, and their shamans acted as wardens and counselors.

  Raven’s mother was an outsider, a mysterious and beautiful human, and it was suspected that the city’s shamans had begun poisoning her slowly after her baby was born. Others thought that they had simply cursed her with one of their dark rituals and sent her soul onward to a different plane.

  It was true that the demons threatened the dark elves of Bastian and that the attacks were getting steadily worse for them over the years, but that seemed to be the case everywhere. As Snow opined, demons never forget what works and what doesn’t, and unlike the living, their knowledge never ceases.

  Duncan thought that there might be trouble for Andarion walking around Berykholt openly armed. People would have a difficult enough time accepting his race and his exotic looks. We agreed to post him as Raven’s valet, discreetly armed. His glib manner would fit the position well.

  Andarion could also be assigned to run night patrols with the Scouts from time to time and bunk out in the North Tower. His inherent night vision and extensive knowledge of the Everest Mountains would be invaluable to the Scouts. He and Duncan seemed to be of a similar age and had quickly built a rapport. After a few hours of riding together, they had somehow adopted me as their long-lost son and had begun planning my demise. Well, it seemed like that anyway, as I was soon dying for the long ride to reach an end.