Damned

by K R Leikvoll

  The weather on my trip to the Ruins of Lyra was as balmy as the forest was bare. If I had not stopped in Spinewood, I would have unquestionably perished without sustenance. When I departed, my pack was filled with luxury food, wine and as much water as I could hold. My form was so weak from the journey, poor nutrition, and fractured wrists that I nearly couldn’t handle the weight from my supplies and weapons combined.

  If it had been up to me, I would have departed to my Master’s palace rather than meet with James for a diplomatic task. I cared far too much about succeeding in my trials to let my pain beat me, however. I attempted as hard as I could to focus on the crunching of leaves underfoot instead of allowing myself to think of my recent actions.

  I missed my Master viciously, but I still feared what Illyswen’s fate would be for his crimes. My heart ached, wondering without end if he had thought about me as much as I had thought of him all of those years in the darkness. Even in my amnesia, I knew that I felt greater emotions of love toward my Master than my previous companion. That did not mean alternatively that I did not care for his fate. I could never speak of these things to a single living being without risking my own safety. All I could do was try to avoid the guilt building in the pit of my gut.

  Lyra was an ancient city built from sacred moonstone thousands of years before my Master conquered his homeland. The Dryad citizens – a rare tribe of giant, spiritual owlkin — had fought with such invigoration that it took a specially created plague by Sendrys to wipe them out. In an attempt to keep my Master, James and Sendrys from using the moonstone for demonic purposes, they desecrated their own home. Despite the fact that they all perished in the process, their plan left the fabled stones entirely unusable and incorruptible. The wreckage could never be rebuilt nor dwelled in.

  I must have practically run the entire distance with how early I seemed to arrive. It was only midafternoon; I could tell by how brightly Azra shone in the sky above. James was nowhere in sight. I searched the ruins until I felt fatigued.

  My wrists were pathetic as I struggled to bring food to my lips. My back was braced against one of the previously crystal structures. They were faded, dull gray tombstones for their keepers – hardly eye-catching now. I might have fallen asleep in the shade had crackling in the forest not stirred me from my daze.

  At first, I thought it might be James, but the direction the sound roused from was incorrect. Cautiously, I crept further away from the tree lining, noting my injuries. If I could not defend myself nor uphold my title against robbers and murders, I was not truly fit to be the Warden of Duskwraith. Even if I thought my title may deter an enemy, I would not have risked idle threats.

  I was relieved with my decision to hide; a group of three men exited into the clearing near the border of Lyra, not spotting my location among the rubble. I recognized two of the three from the crowd at the execution; the third was one of the guards that had brought me into the interrogation room. It took a mere moment to calculate that they were loyal to the constable, not Duskwraith, and sought revenge. The Everglade was a teacher to me above all else – I knew better than to assume every person would sit idly placated in fear while I pursued justice. My lapse of judgment in traveling without an escort was on my shoulders alone.

  My first reaction was to flee toward the direction of Eidune, as I was far beyond even being able to fight one challenger with how weak my hands were. I kept a consistent gaze on the men that began to search the ruins—a mistake. When I felt a hard form bump into me as I trailed backward, my heart leapt into my throat.

  Strong fingers dug into my shoulders and spun me around. A man nearly double my size grinned in my face at what he thought was the beginning of my demise. I did not scream, nor attempt to talk my way out of an altercation. My legwork was agile even through my fatigue; I was able to sweep his feet out from underneath him. Unfortunately, his grasp on my almost-skeletal body was too strong to avoid tumbling to the ground as one, brawling mass.

  The man’s arms wound tightly against my form, binding me in a crushing embrace as he rolled over on top of me. With a heavy heave, he bashed us both against the ground as hard as he could, knocking the air from my lungs. I sputtered as my ears rang from the force. One of my limbs frantically wrestled with his in an attempt to keep him from choking me. The other reached for my dagger’s hilt.

  Adrenaline coursing through my veins, I stabbed him in the thigh with as much strength as I could muster. He cried out, but rather than removing my blade, he ripped my hand from my hilt and crushed my wrist in his grip. At this, I could no longer stay silent. I screamed from the pain out of reflex. I recall my vision going temporarily white from agony.

  The man forcefully grabbed me from the ground by my head and limped toward the open, dead field. As much as I attempted to hit his grasp away – or rip my own hair out to escape – it did not matter. Even with an injury he was far stronger than I was, especially caught off guard.

  “I found her!” he called in a mildly anguished tone to his companions. One by one they entered the field from various locations within Lyra, each with a satisfied expression of victory.

  I was thrown into the dirt face first by the brute I had been scrapping with once they got close enough to identify me. The taste of blood was thick and overwhelming; I had to spit to prevent myself from choking on it. My nails scratched at the dirt while they launched steel-toed kicks at my sides. Misery and my quiver were forcibly removed from my back when one of the men decided it was time to flip me over.

  Too weak to deflect their blows to my face, throat and stomach, all I thought of was Vince. I reminisced about the day he saved me from the fire and how I was nothing but a waste of his precious time. My lapses in judgment were frequent on my trials – my mind was far too unfocused on my surroundings. The end they were sure to give me was by my own hands.

  “Grab a stone. Let’s finish this,” one of my attackers told another. He nodded, happy to oblige and began to rummage through the long grass. The pause in their beating allowed my vision to clear, though I could hardly hear his words. When the lesser of the group held up a heavy rock relative in size to my skull, I closed my eyes.

  Sweet, sweet Vincent. Forgive me for my foolishness.

  Something warm coated my exposed face. The sound of gurgling caused me to hesitantly peek upward. The stars stared back curiously – not the sight of my death. I turned my head to the side. Another man falling to his knees by my crippled form confused me.

  An arrow cut through the sky above, striking the man to my left. A spray of dark, red blood drenched my clothing. With a dense thump and a few yells of confusion, the other two men were taken out with ease. The arrows were peculiar and handmade. It struck me as odd until I glanced up at the figure making their way from the tree lining.

  It was a fiery-haired Naadean woman in a wrecked state. She wore a mixture of armor, prisoner garb and foliage to cover herself. Her face was caked with dirt likely in an attempt to blend in with the forest. The bright green of her eyes pierced my soul. With a calm and steady hand, she pulled another handmade arrow from her leaf-quiver. The bow was made of a spare branch she had found. It appeared as if it were seconds from snapping with how tight her scavenged twine was tied.

  Alexandra Ash.

  “I should kill you. I should do it right here and now.”

  Somehow, I picked myself up off of the ground. I may have nearly stumbled to my knees, but I stood and faced her.

  “You’re alive,” I said matter-of-factly.

  “I could say the same to you.”

  I hesitantly observed the damage around us, not eager to take my gaze off of the person pointing an arrow at me. They were all expertly hit; she was very gifted with her weapon, be it mediocre or not.

  “Why did you save me?”

  Her face grew furious with my words.

  “I have not saved you yet.”

  “If you wanted me dead, you could have waited for them to crush my skull.”

  Her e
yes fluttered. Her grip relaxed slightly.

  “You still have a chance, Lazarus. Please. Come with me to Femora. I can show you the truth once –”

  “If my life rests upon betraying my Master, then I will die by your hand,” I interrupted. Though one might think I would have been relieved I was not going to be crushed by a stone, I was still backed into a corner. If I had to bleed, I would have rather it been by Alexandra – an enemy – than by Vince.

  With fury, she let out a yell and released her arrow. I did not flinch, but it flew past my face, not intending to hit me remotely. Our intense stares of hatred were all that existed for an eternity it seemed.

  “You are lost, truly.”

  Alexandra threw her bow around her body and started to return toward the tree lining from which she arrived from. Every part of me knew better than to let her leave. Even to my current agitation, she departed knowing I would not shoot her in the back. Whether it was from the gruesome executions I had ordered that morning or the undeniable fact that I would have died without her intervention, it is not clear why I did not take advantage of her trust in me. Though I will never deny she was and still is an admirable rival.

  “Who is that?” a calm voice asked from behind as I gathered my bow. It startled me nearly to the point of drawing my own arrow on James.

  He was on a demonic katoma, though it differed from all the corrupted I had seen. It was albino – snow white, but with bright purple eyes. It had custom, silver blades adorning each of its massive claws. The armor it wore was that of the most esteemed guards – dragon scaled and impenetrable. With a yawn filled with multiple rows of teeth, I was unnerved to be so near.

  “My savior,” I replied in monotone, giving clear indication I was being sarcastic no matter how true my words were.

  James, appearing neat and polished in his ebony armor, put a hand to the giant, red and gold hilt on his back. He unsheathed his sword slightly and nodded his head in Alexandra’s direction.

  “Shall we pursue her?”

  At the time, I had no idea why James asked me for permission to cut her down. She peered over her shoulder at us before hurriedly disappearing into the dense woods. It was likely that she trusted James far less than she trusted me, though perhaps it should have been the opposite.

  “You are the Warden and I am the Ambassador. It is not my call to dictate whether she should or shouldn’t die,” he told me when I looked confused by his words.

  “Will you tell our Master?” I asked, unable to smother the slight fear I felt of the possible repercussions for allowing her to live.

  “I see no reason why he needs to know of this,” James replied, gesturing around to the expired bodies. “What matters is accomplishing your task, even if you must use unfavorable methods. It is far better to pick and choose what conflicts you wish to be a part of. If you say that you murdered these men by yourself and that her presence was nonexistent, I suppose I would have no choice but to believe you.”

  I had no reason to think that James was being trustworthy, especially because he was demonic. Nevertheless, I trusted his words and it was to my benefit. James may have been a demon, as old as almost five thousand years, but he never went back on his word to me about anything. We may have had disagreements throughout the ages. We may have fought and argued for what felt like a millennium, but it never changed that aspect of his unusual personality.

  Comforted to know I would not have to see more violence, nor spend another moment on my feet, I allowed James to help me onto the cat-beast. My body almost groaned audibly from the relief. His katoma did not seem to notice my presence anyhow. James climbed on behind me and kicked at its sides, sending us in the direction of the border city Eidune.

  Usually I was uncomfortable being touched by anyone beyond my Master. After a long stretch of riding at full speed on James’ cat, the evening brought me lethargy I was unable to smother. Without his intervention, I would have fallen from our mount and been crushed underfoot. He noticed my repeated nodding and slouching forward, followed by several startled reactions when I caught myself. I allowed him to hold the reigns tighter so his arms could support me while I slumbered uncomfortably.

  “Lazarus,” his voice said softly in my ear.

  When I opened my eyes, we were finally on the outskirts of Eidune. I had never seen the city before, naturally. The tales of the peculiar border town were very accurate – something I had not expected.

  There was a wall made of dark stone that wrapped around the inner city while many gray, wooden houses sat outside. Most were farms, though the land was so rocky it was hard to pinpoint what they were growing. An inn and a bar sat on the outskirts, likely to keep the throng of tourists inside to a minimum. Even outside the walled-off section of the town, it was bustling with more people than I had seen since my departure from Evya.

  James helped me off of his exhausted katoma while we waited for a guard and steward to approach us. He held my arm the entire time to keep me from falling over as my legs desperately wanted to do. I wished to go home – being the palace – more than anything as I glared at the maroon clouds in the sky. It was likely to rain and I wished to be in my bed, or perhaps my Master’s embrace instead of traveling to the Zaarian capital.

  A steward and a guard captain, both bearing Vince’s sigil, hurried to our side. The steward had an anxiety ridden expression that made his youthful face hang. It was likely because he did not desire to keep James waiting. The captain, on the other hand, appeared pressed to speak with us.

  The steward hesitantly took the reins for James’ armed katoma, who was looking rather hungry now that she was around easy prey. With a pat from her master, she narrowed her purple eyes and reluctantly followed the poor boy. A shake from her wings nearly knocked him over.

  “Five more fights on the border since you left. Damned fools think there’s food on this side. I am half tempted to let them all in without documentation just to prove to them how thick they are,” the captain said to James, who responded with a sigh.

  “They are trying to avoid the impending rebellion. It is not over something as simple as food,” James explained.

  “Be that as it may, I won’t be able to stop a massacre led by Lord Vince’s forces if they don’t let up. The soldiers are itching for a fight.”

  We started as a group of three into the deeper, walled-off section of the city. Though the guards, soldiers and loyal citizens alike did not know I was the Warden yet, they still bowed to me after James. He was very well known in Eidune; I could tell by how every single person recognized him. Even the tourists and displaced Zaarians.

  It was far wealthier inside the walls. Wealthier than Spinewood and the Everglade combined. The buildings were all made of wood, but the structures appeared newer. The shops were bustling with activity – from the local herbalist to the military blacksmith. Half of the population wore fine clothes in comparison to what I had seen in other regions of Duskwraith. They were all connected to my Master through employment and trade for them to be able to buy clothing from Runera.

  The other half, however, were an eyesore. Peasants, Zaarian refugees and orphans littered the main street of the city. No matter their reasoning for being displaced, they all begged the passersby for food or coin. I clutched the Ortos carving I had hanging from my belt, recalling the child I had purchased it from. I felt sickened to see how frail the children were with cracked horns and boney bodies. It was saddening to know so many on the other side of the border thought there would be some sort of respite in Eidune.

  At that time, the easiest way to get into Duskwraith from Zaar was to swear fealty to my Master and our country. Not many knew the laws that would prevent them from leaving Duskwraith if they desired to. Only ranking officials and traders were permitted to cross the borders – not those that had come seeking some sort of asylum. Because of how inhospitable both the Empire of Zaar and Duskwraith had become, there had been a food shortage for many years. Most of those that had fled their homelan
d for a new one would be disappointed to find out that the conditions were not much better on the other side.

  It was no matter. They would be freed from their suffering soon enough.

  James led the way to the largest structure in the center of the city. It was made of dulled, white stone and stood out among the gray and plum colored wood of all the other buildings. That did not mean it was beautiful or particularly well built. There were hardly any windows, and only a singular wooden door that led inside the front. We had to cross a bridge to pass over the river that cut through the nearly barren land. While many sat at the water’s edge to do all manners of tasks, it was only populated by guards and military on the other side.

  Nearly every single person greeted James as we passed through the threshold of the building, many asking if he had heard that the Zaarians were not keeping their recent promise of peace. Each time, his face grew more downcast. It was difficult to tell if he was worried about the situation, or if he was merely irritated that so many felt the need to relay the same rumors.

  The captain made a promise to see to having James’ katoma tended to for the next stretch of our journey before departing. I was relieved to hear that we were taking time to rest instead of continuing immediately over the border. My wrists were still far from healing and had grown worse since the fight in Lyra. I was positive my right was broken from the force of the brute’s grasp.

  We traversed through the crowded hallways until we reached the southern quarter where James slept. His bedroom was bigger than what it was back at the palace. He had a full lodging: a section for his bed and bath, a dining table with a nearby cooking fire adjacent to an open window, and armchairs next to full bookshelves.

  “You can relax now. Master Vince does not intend for you to do anything other than observe the land and take mental notes of possible vantage points. The hardest part is over,” James said, holding my crippled hand and guiding me to his bed. I did not have to be told to rest.