Duel With A Demoness (A Huntsman's Fate Book 2)

by Liam Reese

“I’ve got a good mind to send you back,” Besmir said grimly. “I wanted you in Morantine to make sure everything runs smoothly. What if something goes wrong while we’re away?”

  “Oh Besmir,” Arteera moaned. “What is likely to happen?”

  “Plus, as your apprentice, I should be with you,” Keluse said.

  “Apprentice!” Besmir grunted. “I think that finished about ten years ago!” he looked from his wife to his friend and back. “Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s farther back than forward now anyway. Just don’t trip over that sword again,” he added. “Send Norvasil to me,” he told one of the White Blades as they passed him. “I need to see if he knew one of his soldiers was an impostor.”

  “Don’t be too hard on him!” Keluse begged. “I didn’t tell him and he’s been a little preoccupied with planning and arranging this trip.”

  Ru Tarn felt hot. Her plumage itched and a throbbing need ached in her lower belly. Ignoring the problem had not helped and she had been out of sorts for days, snapping at people with virtually no provocation. She drew in the cool night air, happy to be back in her homeland but distracted by the massive needs her body was demanding of her.

  Years ago, when she had reached the age a woman started producing an egg and her mother had explained it to her, they had brewed the drink that eased the symptoms and she had spent a week in an almost blissful daze as her egg had been taken back into her body. It had been the same ever since. Every year in early fall Ru Tarn would procure the plants and seeds needed to brew the medicinal draft all Corbondrasi women knew and spend a week indoors.

  So why has it come early this year?

  Cold fright gripped her as she wondered if there was something wrong. Some illnesses and diseases could be responsible for disrupting the egg cycle.

  But they halt the egg not make it come early.

  Ru Tarn had no idea what was going on and stuck in the middle of the Boranash out lands she had no one to ask. The Corbondrasi males would be of no use as oviparity was not a subject for discussion in Corbondrasi society and they would be clueless. She wandered aimlessly through the camp, lost in her own thoughts until she reached the edge and stared out at the landscape of Boranash.

  Just two days ride into her homeland and the scenery had changed drastically. Gone were the lush grasslands and prairies of Gazluth, replaced by scrubby, hard plants that needed little water. Patches of dry earth had begun to show through as well, growing in size as they traveled. Increasingly rocky, the landscape had become barren and the temperature had risen significantly during the day. There was beauty here, Ru Tarn knew, and life but it was all a well kept secret, hidden from the eyes until uncovered by a hot wind or someone digging.

  “You all right?” a deep voice asked from behind her.

  A thrill ran up Ru Tarn’s back and she shivered.

  “Ru Tarn is being better,” she said, squeezing her eyes closed and trying to fight the urge to throw herself at him.

  Herofic moved alongside her, close enough for her to feel the heat his body gave off and smell his masculinity. Part of her knew this was all a side effect of her egg, changes inside her body making her want him so badly but that part was powerless to stop the urges she had to mate.

  “Ru Tarn is needing something,” she admitted turning to him in embarrassment. “Ru Tarn is having difficult time with egg and is needing...”

  Herofic gripped her shoulders, turning her to face him and brought his face towards hers. Ru Tarn looked into his eyes and read what he was about to do, pulling back with an almost savage jerk.

  “What is Herofic doing?” She demanded with wide eyes.

  The Corbondrasi ambassador flapped her feathered hands before her face as if to blow away the kiss he had not even put there.

  “Sorry,” Herofic mumbled, backing off. “I-I thought that was what you meant...”

  “No,” Ru Tarn said, still flustered. “Herofic is being good friend but...but no. Ru Tarn was needing to talk, to be occupying mind of Ru Tarn so...urges are not being so...”

  “Oh!” Herofic squealed his embarrassment obvious. “Maybe I should just go..”

  “Please do not,” Ru Tarn said in a small voice. “Ru Tarn is having difficult time and is needing Herofic like Herofic was saying. To talk to.” The Corbondrasi made sure she spoke the last three words as slowly and clearly as she could.

  Herofic smiled, still a little embarrassed and cast about for a comfortable spot to sit. He curled his legs beneath him and cleared his throat.

  “Shall I tell you about how I met King Besmir?” He asked.

  Ru Tarn sat a few feet from Herofic, facing him as she nodded then listened to his deep, somehow melodic voice as he regaled her of far off lands and sea voyages.

  Hot wind blew in their faces carrying the smell of dry dust and empty lands as the small party trudged north through the increasingly desolate land. There was little opportunity for conversation as the wind snatched the words from their mouths and the sun threatened to desiccate them alive if they had their mouths open.

  The Corbondrasi led them to a set of caves in the side of a hill where they all dismounted and started to shake the dust from inside their clothing.

  “I will have to remember to empty this when I go home,” Herofic said. “I have a great deal of Boranash in my navel.”

  The Corbondrasi laughed when Ru Tarn translated and one of them beckoned to Herofic who followed him to the back of the cave.

  “You’re my new best friend,” he said clapping the feathered warrior on the shoulder. “Hey! There is a large pool back here, we can have a wash.”

  Herofic started to strip but the Corbondrasi stopped him, waving a canteen before his eyes.

  “Ah, yes,” he said a little sheepishly. “We should fill our drinking vessels before I get in.”

  With the horses fed and watered and all their canteens filled, Besmir, Arteera, Keluse, Herofic, and Zaynorth stripped, entering the cool water. Everyone in the pool fell silent, plagued by their own thoughts until Zaynorth chuckled.

  “Remember when Joranas was about five and he asked that Ninsian woman if she was going to grow up one day?” he said. “I thought she was going to have a fit.”

  Besmir smiled and put one arm around Arteera who leaned into him.

  “She was about the same height as him then,” Besmir said. “It was a fair question.”

  “Yes, but she was almost a century old!” Zaynorth added and they all laughed.

  “I remember when he and Ranyeen were going to run away together,” Keluse said. “I forget why, but it was something I’d told her she couldn’t do.” Keluse smiled, looking down at her folded arms. “She went straight out, found Joranas and told him what an evil mother I was. He convinced her they should run away, do you remember?”

  Besmir nodded and felt Arteera do the same.

  “When we found them, they had two apples in a bag and were wandering up and down King’s Avenue,” Keluse carried on. “Said they were going to run away but they weren’t allowed to go any further than the end of King’s,” she added in a sad voice.

  Besmir felt something hot on his skin and looked down to see Arteera’s tears running down his chest. He pulled her in close but she pulled away, turning to Keluse.

  “We had better get this muck from your hair,” she said sniffing. “I expect it has already stained.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” Keluse said as Arteera made her way round the pool towards her.

  “I want to,” the queen said. “I need to take my mind off the fact I’m never going to see Joranas again,” she said in a matter of fact tone.

  “Of course we’re going to see him,” Besmir reassured her in a gentle voice. “I promised, remember? I said I’ll do anything to get him back safely.”

  “But what if you can’t?” Arteera sobbed as she rubbed the strands of Keluse’s hair in the water. “What if this shaman refuses to speak to us or cannot help?”

  “Then I will find another way,”
Besmir said squeezing her shoulders gently. “I promise,” he added, looking at Zaynorth with a pained expression.

  “As will I, Arteera,” the mage said.

  “Me too,” Herofic added in a sad voice.

  Once they had all stripped the water from their bodies and dressed once more Besmir made his way farther back in the cave. Lines wandered up and down along the walls, reminding him of a stack of parchment that lay on his desk at home. Home. The word felt alien, foreign to his mind. Where was his home now? Gazluth? How could he ever return if they did not manage to get Joranas back? And if he did, would it ever feel like home again. Hate grew briefly in his chest, he hated Zaynorth forever seeking him out. If not for the old man, Besmir could be living a life of freedom in the wild forests of Gravistard, the land he had grown up in.

  The feeling disappeared as soon as it had come. If not for Zaynorth he would never have met Arteera, never had Joranas or met his own father, even if it had been in a Hell dimension. He would never have become king or helped save thousands of people.

  Leaning his head against the wall Besmir let his eyes follow the lines that made up the layers of rock as they flowed back into the cave. His eye picked something out and he looked up to see something jutting from the rock. Walking towards it, his mind refused to believe what his eyes were telling him and he reached out for the object, almost afraid to touch it.

  Its head was the same size as Besmir himself. A mass of teeth as long as his fingers lined its jaw and his fist could have fitted into its eye socket. Wonder and awe pulled at him as he examined the skeleton, thanking all the Gods the thing was dead.

  “Sand Loper,” Ru Tarn explained when he mentioned it. “There is being complete body at palace, Ru Tarn will showing it to you.”

  “Are there any living around here?” Besmir asked, afraid for them all.

  “No,” Ru Tarn shook her head with a hiss of feathers. “They are being all dead for long time now.”

  “It’s incredible,” Besmir said to his wife, “how anything that big could have lived.”

  “How long until we reach the capital?” the queen asked, uninterested in the immense beast.

  “Ru Tarn is thinking we will be reaching Wit Vosad four day time,” she said. “Wit Shull is being three day, but we can be taking boat up Shull river.”

  Arteera nodded and lay down on the cold floor, wrapping her blankets around herself and facing away from the group.

  One of their Corbondrasi guides said something to Ru Tarn who translated.

  “There are sometimes being bandits on road to Wit Vosad,” she muttered quietly. “Army is killing some but they returning.”

  “I hope we run into some,” Besmir said darkly. “I could take some anger out on them.”

  Chapter Nine

  Almost a century of torment had twisted his already damaged mind into something that was unrecognizable as the man he had once been. He crouched naked at the base of the rocks, the only landmark for miles in any direction, and laughed until his ribs ached.

  “Free!” he chanted. “I am finally free of you all.”

  Standing he stared out into the acid wind that scoured everything here bare, unblinking as the grit and dust blew into his eyes, uncaring that the very air ate at him. His mind did not register the searing agony that lanced up into his feet as he took his first steps here.

  They gathered, always hungry, always ready to feed but he could hurt them now. After they had fed on his soul for nigh one hundred years, he was finally able to hurt them.

  Flame exploded from his hands, ripping and burning the Ghoma who screamed and ran. His laughter echoed dully from the rock as he chased their fleeing backsides.

  “Come back!” he screamed. “Come back, my friends. Do you want to play no more?”

  A trail of devastated, burned and damaged bodies lay in his wake as he made his way through the gray landscape. Something tickled the back of his mind, some memory from another life but he could not remember what it was. Even had he recalled it with crystal clarity it would have made no difference whatsoever. The damage to his psyche had been so extensive that self preservation had long since been abandoned.

  He trudged through the sharp ash, his feet cut to ribbons but instantly healing, wandering aimlessly. On the rare occasions he encountered something that lived he burned it to a crisp, laughing madly as it screamed and writhed.

  Eventually he came to an end. The grayness just stopped being and blank, black nothing lay beyond. He approached the nothing, feeling its cold touch pulling at his fractured mind and recognition flooded him.

  “Mother!” he wailed, smashing his face into the shards of ash at his feet.

  A single word echoed from the blackness. A name he had not heard during his century in Hell.

  “Tiernon.”

  Joranas felt stronger than he had in days. Whint had been gradually feeding him with cooked meat and cold water. Joranas had wondered where the strange creature had managed to get hold of cold water in this dead, arid city but found he did not really care. The strange man seemed harmless enough and was happy to look after Joranas while he recovered from their trek through the desert.

  “I’m going to explore the city,” Joranas said as Whint returned from one of his little trips.

  “I’m going to explore the city.” Whint echoed.

  Joranas smiled, he had come to like the fact Whint repeated almost anything he said for some odd reason.

  Joranas took a few shaky steps out of the house they used and started to stretch his aching muscles. He had been working on a plan for a little while now and was about to put it into practice. His feet crunched on the sandy cobblestones, the wind brought sand from the desert one day and scoured the streets clean the next. With a skin filled with the water Whint had found he crossed the street and entered the tall tower he had seen when he first arrived.

  The bottom floor had several doors leading deeper into the building but Joranas dismissed these in favor of the steps that led upwards. It was dim inside the stairwell but his eyes picked out every detail clearly. A wonky step here, a cracked stone there, all easily avoided. His breath came in great gasps, his legs aching from lack of use as he pushed on, climbing up floor after floor until his legs finally gave way, dropping him on a flat floor.

  There was no way he could climb any further even though the stairs continued so Joranas made his way into one of the rooms at the outer edge of the building. Within sat a similar set of items as in the house he and Whint had been using. A stone table with benches either side grew from the floor but as with the rest of the city, anything not made of stone had disintegrated long ago.

  A large hole split the wall, rough edged and circular but Joranas could see it was not one of the windows. The edges appeared melted, the stone had run down to set again like ice. He reached a finger out and traced its smooth surface before his eyes were drawn outside.

  The city stretched for miles!

  He stood far higher than any other building and stared down at the dark maze below. Streets ran off in all directions, apparently at random, all lined with a multitude of buildings that must have been homes and shops at one time.

  Why did everyone leave?

  His hand rested on the cold stone but his mind wondered what could have made the hole.

  Was it a war? Was that why they all left?

  He squinted outside again and saw similar holes had been blasted in other buildings. Others had collapsed out into the street, a single wall the only sign a building had ever been there.

  Joranas made his way through to the other side of the building. There was no hole here but the window allowed him to see a similar picture as the other side. The place had been vast. It must have been home to millions of people.

  Where did they get food from in the middle of a desert?

  Sadness overcame Joranas when he realized his plan to escape was a futile one. If he even managed to make it through the city without getting lost he would have the desert to cont
end with and with no idea where he was, which way would he even go?

  He leaned his back against the wall and slid down it, the cold stone refreshing against his back. He sipped the last of his water and fought back the tears that threatened to come.

  Crying is a waste of time.

  His mind turned back to what could have melted the hole into solid stone a foot thick.

  Magic. It had to have been magic.

  The same kind of magic his father had been saying he could do. Maybe he could do it now.

  But he’s not here to show me. Plus he said it uses up your soul or life force or something.

  Yet Joranas was young and realized he had years to live. Using up a little of his life could not hurt, could it? Especially as the time would come from the other end of his life when he was old and he was forced to eat soft foods because his teeth were gone.

  But how?

  Joranas concentrated, delving inside his own mind. It proved to be difficult as whenever he thought he might be getting somewhere an image would come into his mind. His mother’s face or Ranyeen with her smile and head tilted to one side.

  I wonder how she’s doing?

  No. He had to concentrate. Had to discover how to use the magic that flowed through his veins.

  My veins. My veins.

  In his mind Joranas pictured the fire he wanted to make flowing through his veins, trying to burst free. He held his hand out, seeing it in his own mind, the flame pouring from his hand.

  A scream tore from his throat when his fingers caught light.

  Joranas leaped up, shaking his hand to get rid of the flames. Once extinguished he looked at his hand in wonder. A little red, but not burned, a few singed hairs on his arm but there was no pain, no burned skin and his hand had been on fire.

  Joranas smiled.

  Let Crallan come for me now.

  Joranas thought again, wondering if this was how he was meant to do it. If his father had had time to teach him, how would he do it? He had no idea but this was working. He could make fire come out of his hand!