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

by Liam Reese

  “It’s just...” Joranas began. “When you said about that...volcano spitting fire...” He looked at Besmir again. “I can make fire too.”

  Besmir nodded, recalling what he had been teaching Joranas just prior to him being kidnapped.

  “It’s something I can help you learn to control,” he said, “and we could explore other powers you might have.”

  Joranas looked down at the sand at his feet.

  “I don’t know if I want to,” he muttered. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  “No,” Besmir said. “But what if you hurt someone accidentally, because you can’t control it?”

  “When me and Whint...” Joranas paused, swallowing. “Before. I burned some animals like Teghime when they were attacking him,” Joranas explained. “I still dream about their screams sometimes,” he added. “Why do we have these powers?”

  Besmir took a long breath, preparing to disappoint his son with his lack of knowledge.

  “I don’t know why we have them,” he admitted. “But they’re just a tool, like a hammer or sword.”

  He grinned when Joranas looked at him with a frown of puzzlement.

  “If a man has a sword but has no idea how to use it, chances are he’s going to hurt himself or someone else,” Besmir said. “Same with power, if you don’t know how to control it you might hurt someone else even if you don’t mean to.”

  “So if I learn how to use this fire I’ve got I could choose never to use it at all?”

  “Yes,” Besmir nodded. “That’d be completely up to you.”

  “I miss Whint,” Joranas said abruptly.

  Besmir wrapped an arm around his small shoulders and pulled him in for a hug.

  “Yes,” he said in a kind voice. “That might take a long time to get used to.”

  “It hurts,” Joranas said in a soft voice, as tears welled in his eyes.

  “I know,” Besmir said. “But one day you’ll be able to think about him and the pain will be less. Then it gets smaller and smaller until you can remember the good times you had without much pain at all.”

  Joranas leaned against Besmir and cried softly for a while. Besmir let a few tears of his own flow when Keluse’s shocked, pain filled face came to mind as he butchered her in an abandoned city.

  “Gentlemen!” Tiernon shouted as he entered the conference room.

  He had dressed Collise in a bright green dress with her hair worn up in a matching ribbon, madly pleased with himself that his whole demeanor would confuse this room full of old men. Collise watched from inside her mind as he trotted around the room, many of the men there watching her with puzzled faces.

  “Who are you?” One asked as she passed.

  Tiernon paused dramatically, turning to face the old man slowly with a shocked expression on his face.

  “You mean you don’t know?” He purred in a ridiculous voice.

  “Look this is madness, we have a country to run while King Besmir is away and you’ve called us in here to play games.” The old man stood. “I’m leaving.”

  “Take one step and your whole family dies,” Tiernon said in Collise’s sweetest voice.

  “Just who do you think you are?” He demanded angrily.

  Tiernon reached down and took the old man’s hand. Collise felt the hairs on her arm rise as her father unleashed his attack. He stiffened, his body breaking wind as every muscle tightened. His eyes opened wide and rolled around in their sockets. Wisps of hair on his head began to smoke, curls of flame breaking out as Tiernon pulsed lightning through his body. The smell of urine and cooking meat filled the room as the old man died in silent agony.

  Tiernon stopped and let go of his hand as his body went limp and crashed to the floor, head thumping on the table as he fell. Tiernon looked at the shocked faces of the other men who were all staring back at him.

  “Who do I think I am?” Tiernon asked in a deceptively calm voice. “I’m King Tiernon Fringor and I’ve been given a second chance with this child’s body.” He let the information sink in but could see the looks of skepticism in their eyes. “You’ll all realize I speak the truth when you return home,” Tiernon told them. “I have taken the liberty of having your families rounded up. Currently your wives, children and grandchildren are being herded into stables somewhere should any of you decide to become difficult. I am more than happy to return them piece by piece if you don’t comply with everything I say.”

  Tiernon looked round the room, satisfied that many of the men looked unsure whether to believe him or not. The rest looked as if they believed the words of the girl before them, believing she had their families even if they didn’t believe she was Tiernon.

  “What would you have us do, sire?” Another man asked, unable to tear his eyes from the dead man beside him.

  “That’s the spirit!” Tiernon chirped happily. “I want you to spread the word among your lackeys and lickspittles, tell them all I have returned and anyone who even thought of opposing me ten years ago is about to die in horrible pain. I also want Besmir. Alive.”

  Tiernon flicked his gaze around the room to each man, holding their attention with a dire stare that was immediately older than Collise’s ten years.

  “Off you go then,” Tiernon said in a sweet voice, flipping his hand. “And,” he flapped a hand at the smoking ruin of a man on the floor, “take that with you.”

  Wit Shull, the Corbondrasi capital, was draped in banners as Besmir and his now enlarged party rode along the banks of the river Shull. People had decorated any and everything they could, including themselves, as a party seemed to be underway.

  Besmir had seen a plume of dust rising in the distance two days previously, a large party riding towards them.

  “Probably come to greet us,” Zaynorth said.

  Yet Besmir had picked up on the slightest hint of nerves from the old man and shared them. For all they knew this could be a group of bandits come to rob and kill them. Weakened as they were by lack of numbers, they could not fight off a larger force even with Besmir and Joranas using magic.

  Besmir rode on tensely as the dust cloud grew larger, the wind carrying it for miles to the east. Eventually he led his small group to one side of the road they were traveling on to let the larger group pass if they wanted.

  “They are dressed in royal uniforms,” Founsalla said as he peered into the distance. “I would guess we have been spotted and his majesty Vi Rhane has arranged an honor guard.”

  Besmir relaxed a little but could not do so fully until he saw them for himself. Leading the group was a tall Corbondrasi with purple plumage who dismounted and bowed.

  “Your royal majesty,” Pira translated for the man. “We are sent to escort you and your party back to the palace. Not too much farther we have supplies, fresh horses and wagons should you wish to rest.”

  “Thank you,” Besmir said simply.

  Weariness and grief had taken their toll on the whole party and Besmir knew he would have to relive the whole story any number of times as ever more people demanded to know what had happened in the strange, deserted country. He let the Corbondrasi captain take the lead, forming his men up around them protectively and guiding them towards the city.

  Now, rested and back in Teghime’s saddle, Besmir stared at the bright colors around him. Every hue seemed to be represented in the streets, with Corbondrasi having colored their already bright plumage. Most of the women wore jewels in their feathers and many people danced in the streets to music played on stringed instruments.

  The party didn’t halt as they passed, merely gave way to the riders, flowing back into the space behind them like water.

  Keluse would’ve loved this. She always wanted to see it.

  Besmir remembered Ranyor telling her about the Corbondrasi celebration. Three days of dancing and celebration to the God Mwondi when even the royal family mingled with everyone else and all gave what they could afford towards the feasting.

  Yet now, both Ranyor and Keluse were dead and neither on
e could ever sing, dance or even feast again.

  “What’s wrong, my love?” Arteera asked when she saw his expression.

  “I killed her,” Besmir said. “And Ranyor died serving me. I’m not good to be around.”

  Arteera guided her daasnu closer and leaned across, taking his hand as people cheered and clapped around them.

  “Look around you,” she said. “All these people, every single one, is alive because of you. You’ve saved the entire world and I, for one, would want to be nowhere but around you.”

  Besmir nodded and rode grimly on, heading for the palace and the embassy where he could get some peace from the endless display of happiness.

  “Your majesty,” Joranas said as he bowed to Vi Rhane.

  The Corbondrasi king chuckled and offered his hand to shake.

  “There’s no need for such ceremony, Joranas, I am pleased to finally meet you. Your father told me many things about you when he was here. Please enjoy your stay and I am glad you are safe now.”

  “Thank you,” Joranas said.

  Besmir watched as he walked back over to stand beside him and whispered.

  “What did you tell him about me?”

  “That you can’t leave the house without staining or tearing your clothes,” Besmir said with a chuckle.

  He heard his son huff and laughed again as Herofic and Ru Tarn came into the throne room. It was all he could do not to gape at the man who he had known for more than a decade.

  Herofic wore an open shirt in the Corbondrasi style. Silken and light blue in color it clung to his muscled torso like a second skin. Light gray trousers, again silken, ballooned slightly as they dropped into a pair of calf length, supple black boots. He had scrubbed his skin and his dark hair had been oiled until it shone.

  “That’s nothing short of a miracle,” Besmir whispered to his wife. “Who is that?”

  Arteera gave him a warning glance but also had a smirk on her face.

  “Apparently, he’s set a precedent for men to carry eggs,” she said. “Su Rhane told me many of the Corbondrasi noblewomen have been swooning at his feet.”

  Besmir shook his head, trying to reconcile the gruff, blunt, battle axe wielding man he knew with the almost debonair gentleman striding along the carpeted aisle towards him. Slung over one shoulder, dropping to the opposite hip and running up his back, Herofic wore a gold and silver sash with the most intricate embroidery he had ever seen. Nestled in the folds the king could just see the top of a light blue speckled egg.

  “Oh,” Arteera gushed. “He’s matched his shirt color to her egg.”

  Besmir stared at his wife as tears of happiness sprung to her eyes, noting a number of Corbondrasi women dabbing at their own as he looked around the room. Zaynorth rolled his eyes at Besmir who tried not to laugh as an incredible fanfare blasted through the room.

  Su Rhane appeared to float through the throne room, her king moving to take her arm as she made her way along the central aisle towards the throne where they both sat. What followed was a number of speeches and congratulations for Joranas’ safe return. Once dealt with the party retired to an adjoining room and so began a formal dance and ball. Besmir watched as any number of Corbondrasi women approached Herofic, asking him to dance.

  Late in the evening Herofic approached the small group gathered around the Gazluthian king.

  Zaynorth pointed at the egg slung at Herofic’s chest.The warrior grinned and stroked the shell.

  “Let me show you something incredible,” he said.

  Herofic rose and dragged a large candelabra across towards them. Carefully he dipped his hand beneath the egg and lifted it out. Besmir could see it was about the size of the warrior’s head and the speckling cover the surface. Herofic held the egg before the candlelight and Besmir heard Arteera gasp as they could all see the child twitching within.

  “Amazing,” Besmir said.

  “I know,” Herofic replied.

  “I mean you’re so old. How has she let you look after such a precious thing?” He grinned as Arteera poked him in the ribs.

  Herofic tucked the egg back in the sash he wore and fixed Besmir with an angry look.

  “Old or not, king or not, I will still kick you into next week, boy!”

  Besmir chuckled and stood as Ru Tarn approached them.

  “Madam ambassador,” he greeted her formally but smiled warmly.

  “Your majesty,” she replied, spreading her arms in a curtsy.

  “Herofic was just telling us how he is in need of a warm drink and blankets to soothe his aches and pains,” Besmir said.

  Besmir laughed at his own joke as he turned to see if Keluse found it as funny.

  “What is being the matter?” Ru Tarn asked in concern when she saw Besmir’s face fall.

  The king frowned and shook his head.

  “Nothing, nothing. Don’t worry, I’m fine.”

  He clapped Herofic on the back foundering with the knowledge he had just forgotten Keluse was dead. Thoughts and feelings whirled in his head as he sat there, guilt and loss the primary ones. He turned when he felt a hand on his shoulder, looking into Arteera’s knowing eyes with a jolt.

  “We need to get this one to a bed,” she muttered, dipping her gaze to Joranas. “Then you can tell me what is wrong.”

  “The same thing that’s always going to be wrong,” Besmir said in a suddenly exhausted voice.

  Collise woke with a start, unsure of her whereabouts. She was cold and laying on something hard in near total darkness. She frowned as a wave of nausea rolled through her, the world around her spinning. Liquid flooded her mouth and her stomach squeezed, spilling its contents to the floor.

  After several minutes of heaving Collise knelt, wiping her mouth with her arm and tried to recall what had happened. It came to her in broken pieces, filled with gaps and hazy memories. Tiernon had thrown himself some kind of deranged party. He had plied her young body with drink and smoked something that made her cough and her throat sore. His entertainments had been based around humiliating people, mostly women. The women and children he had had kidnapped while their husbands were at the meeting had been forced to strip and dance as he drank and laughed.

  Using my body!

  Abruptly it hit her. He was no longer in control. She could move her limbs, turn her head and a squeal of joy erupted from inside her. It echoed around the room and she jumped at how loud she had been.

  Sitting in a puddle of her own making Collise searched inside her mind for any trace of her father. It felt strange to direct a thought at a certain point inside her head but with a little concentration she found she could do it.

  He was still there.

  Like a vicious predator lying in wait she could still feel his presence there malevolent and evil but sleeping.

  Or unconscious. She thought.

  Carefully to avoid waking him Collise got to her feet. Her legs ached as if she had been beaten and she wondered what would possess someone to drink so much if this was what it felt like the following day. Moonlight streamed in through windows high in one wall lighting the old throne room in the palace.

  He must have come here while he was drunk, forgetting it’s a ruin.

  The builders had made a start on renovating the room, Collise saw as she walked across to the old throne and leaned against it. Piles of stone and bits of masonry lay beside mounds of sand and other things she had no idea what they were.

  Collise took a deep breath and sighed, wondering if this was to be her life now. Only able to exist if her father were in a drunken stupor and forced to witness the sick debauchery he enjoyed so much.

  Tears started to roll down her face the more she thought about it and she realized she would rather be dead than have some kind of half existence trapped as a prisoner inside her own body.

  Maybe that’s what I have to do. She thought. Kill myself and my father. At least that way he can’t torture anyone any longer.

  But how should she do it? Climb to the top of the pala
ce and leap? Find a sword and open a vein? The answer came to her in a flash of young inspiration and she stood on unsteady legs, making for the door leading to the Hall of Kings.

  The statues of Tiernon’s ancestors–her ancestors, she thought–seemed to watch her with kind eyes as if the spirits of her forebears approved of her actions. It was not until she reached the far end of the hall she saw what appeared to be an extra statue staring at her. This one, however, was filmy and indistinct as she stared at it and realized she could see through it.

  “Mama?” Collise whispered.

  The spirit of Deremona smiled a more benevolent smile than she ever had in life.

  “Collise,” she said.

  Her voice sounded distant, as if she were calling from down a long corridor and it made Collise shiver to think she was talking to the ghost of her mother, the mother she killed.

  “I-I’m sorry, mama. I didn’t mean to...”

  “Hush now, child,” her mother said. “In case he wakes. I’m the one who needs to be sorry. I should have been a better mother to a sweet girl like you but I was too caught up in my own selfish misery to see what a blessing I had right before me.”

  Collise tried to swallow the lump that grew in her throat but could not stop more tears from flowing down her cheeks. Panic hit her when she felt a flash of consciousness from Tiernon.

  “Mama!” She hissed.

  “I know, child,” her mother said. “Follow me and be as quiet and gentle as you can.”

  Deremona floated a little way along the corridor and turned into the room in which the altar lay. Collise followed, fear pulling her back the other way when she thought of being in the same room as that thing again.

  That’s what put him inside my head in the first place.

  It was unchanged inside the room. The altar stood in the middle, its silver inlay glowing a sick, pale, throbbing light that illuminated the room eerily. Collise stepped gingerly inside and pressed her back against the cold stone to be as far as possible from the hateful thing.

  “Come close, Collise,” Deremona said gently.

  Collise shook her head, crying harder but trying to be quiet so Tiernon did not wake.