The Demon Hunt

by Kris Greene

  “Nothing, I swear it! It was he who helped us escape the Iron Mountains,” Cristobel explained as the lightning sent jolts of electricity through him.

  “Fools to you we must look like. None escape the Iron Mountains,” Gilchrest challenged.

  “But we have, and it was thanks to the brave Redfeather.” Cristobel insisted. “If you would only release me, I could explain.”

  Gabriel hesitated, trying to measure the truth of Cristobel’s words. After quite a bit of internal conflict, he extinguished the lightning and placed Cristobel on the ground. “Okay, start talking.”

  Cristobel went on to tell them of how he discovered Redfeather and the young witch, then recounted their daring escape from the Iron Mountains. Gabriel was truly amazed at the bravery his grandfather had shown in the face of seemingly impossible odds. His grandfather had always been Gabriel’s hero, but more for his wisdom and love than his swordplay. Gabriel had never been more proud to be a Redfeather than he was at that moment, but as proud as he was he was also saddened by the fact that his grandfather hadn’t made it out with the others.

  “Is he still alive?” he asked Cristobel, trying to hide the dread in his voice.

  “This I do not know,” Cristobel admitted sadly.

  “Then we’d best go and find out,” Gabriel said.

  “Wait, we must first go to my village and tend to the witch.” Cristobel reminded them of Lucy, who was living on borrowed time. “Even with the herbs and our best healers I fear that it will take more than potions to help her fight off the Slov venom. You’re a wizard, so maybe you can succeed where the herbs have failed,” he told Gabriel.

  Gilchrest laughed at this. “Him no wizard, him dead man walking.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, the goblin is right. I’m not a wizard, Cristobel, just someone dumb enough to accept a fool’s mission.”

  Cristobel gave him a confused look. “But the magic you called . . .”

  “It’s not magic; it’s a curse I’ve been forced to carry.” Gabriel absently rubbed his arm.

  “Waste of time to backtrack. Dead by now she must be, death the only cure for Slov venom. Go to the Iron Mountains we will,” Gilchrest demanded.

  Cristobel pointed his ax at Gilchrest. “Hear me and hear me well, goblin. I made two promises to Redfeather before we fled the mountains. I honored one by finding Gabriel and I intend to honor the other by trying to help Lucy. Whether you agree to help or not, I won’t abandon her.”

  All eyes turned to Gabriel. Like it or not, he was the leader of their group, and the decision was his to make. “Fine. Which way to your village?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Cristobel’s second return was worse than the first. The last of his people were marched through the streets in shackles, while whips crashed across the backs of those who were too elderly or weak to keep in step with the others. What was left of the already damaged structures were either in flames or destroyed completely. There were a few brave souls left who tried to stand against the invaders, but their crude weapons were no match for those of the warriors. With steel and arrows they cut the rebels down left and right, laughing mockingly as they did so. As it turned out, the goblins had returned sooner than Cristobel had expected and this time they showed no mercy.

  “No!” Cristobel screamed as he charged down the hill with his ax drawn. The two brave dwarfs with him were close on his heels. Gabriel made to follow them, but Gilchrest grabbed his wrist.

  “Foolish to rush into a battle you cannot win. Let dwarfs throw away lives, you live to fight another day,” Gilchrest suggested.

  Gabriel jerked away from him. “I’ll not stand by again and watch as innocent people are slaughtered, like at Sanctuary.” Gabriel followed Cristobel and the dwarf warriors.

  Gilchrest looked up at De Mona with his eyes pleading for her not to follow the boy to certain death, but he knew it was a useless effort. “Die young and leave a good-looking corpse,” De Mona laughed before tossing the goblin over her shoulder and charging down the hill into the battle.

  The goblin who was leading the line of slaves turned, hearing the battle cries behind him, and Cristobel brought the ax down across his chest, splitting it open. The second swing of the ax removed his head. A goblin who moved as swift as the wind rushed Cristobel from his blind side and delivered a blow with the force of a wrecking ball that sent him sprawling to the ground, knocking the ax loose. Cristobel looked up in horror as the goblin blade came straight at his throat. Before the blow could land, the goblin was incinerated. Standing behind him was Gabriel, holding the Nimrod.

  “My thanks to you, friend,” Cristobel said as he dusted himself off and retrieved the ax.

  “Thank me when we’re out of this safely,” Gabriel told the dwarf as he turned to face the three goblins who were heading their way.

  A few feet away, De Mona battled two sword-wielding goblins while Gilchrest cowered behind one of the legs of the water tower in the center of the village. The goblins were highly skilled warriors, but De Mona had been born to do battle. The first goblin launched an overhand attack with his broad sword in an attempt to take De Mona’s head. She grabbed the blade in midair with one hand and slammed her other fist into it, snapping it as if it were made from plywood instead of steel. Discarding the broken blade, she raked her claws up the goblin’s chest, spilling his insides onto the ground. The second goblin was more cautious with his attack, dodging in and out as he tried to find a weak spot on the Valkrin. He faked high but went low, taking De Mona’s legs out from under her. When he moved in for the kill, she tossed a handful of dirt into his eyes, blinding him while she got to her feet. With unbelievable speed, she pounced on the goblin and snapped his neck before rushing to help Gabriel and Cristobel, who were being swarmed by the goblins.

  Gabriel and Cristobel stood back to back, dispatching goblins with steel and magic. Gabriel could feel the Bishop’s spirit deep within his soul crying for blood, and he gladly answered, tearing into goblin flesh with the points of the trident. A gangly goblin whose face was covered in warts and tusks managed to break their defense and grab Gabriel in a chokehold. The power of the Nimrod made Gabriel stronger than most, but the goblin’s grip was like steel. Feeling his panic, the Nimrod flared to life. The shaft rooted itself in the ground and began to grow like a beanstalk, carrying Gabriel and the goblin several stories above the ground. The frightened goblin released his grip on Gabriel’s neck and clung to his waist for dear life.

  Gabriel looked down at the goblin with storm clouds in his eyes and a mocking sneer on his face. “Where is your legendary courage now, goblin?” he asked in a voice that was not his own.

  “Please,” the goblin begged.

  “My god is merciful and so am I.” Gabriel placed his hand on the goblin’s forehead. “Be cleansed, my child.” He forced power into his hand and through the goblin’s body, turning it to stone. Gabriel blew on the statue softly, and what remained of the goblin crumbled and was carried away on the wind.

  “There are too many of them,” Cristobel shouted as he struck down yet another goblin with the ax. The invaders had forced him and De Mona back to the water tower and surrounded them.

  “Keep fighting!” De Mona ordered as she tore out the eyes of one of her opponents. A goblin wielding a hammer swung for De Mona’s head, but she dodged and the hammer ended up taking out the leg of the water tower. With loud snapping sounds the other legs began to break and the tower tipped forward. “Move,” De Mona grabbed Cristobel and leaped out of the way to safety. But Gilchrest wasn’t so lucky.

  The small goblin cringed as the heavy tower sped toward him. The goblins had very thick skin but there was no way he would survive the impact. Before the water tower could crush him, it exploded in a flash of light, and the water rained down harmlessly over the village. Gilchrest couldn’t believe the gods had smiled down on a creature as unworthy as himself, but when he looked across the battlefield he realized that it hadn’t been the gods at all,
but the Nimrod.

  Gabriel stepped into the center of the goblin invaders and his voice cut through the night sky like thunder. “Hear me well, godless spawn of the Iron Mountains, for I bring to you the gift of redemption.” He slammed the shaft of the trident on the ground. The village was suddenly lit up like mid-afternoon, bathing everyone in the cleansing light of the Nimrod. When the flash died, all the goblins, with the exception of Gilchrest, had been turned to stone.

  “Dead was I, dead I say,” Gilchrest said, staring at the remains of the water tower in shock. His eyes roamed over the stone goblins and eventually turned to Gabriel. “Slain by my own I almost was. Great debt owe to you I do.” He knelt at Gabriel’s feet. The dwarfs looked on in shock; they had never seen a goblin pay homage to anyone except the goblin prince, and especially not a human. The act sent a wave of whispers through the crowd.

  “Get up. You’re embarrassing me.” Gabriel tugged the goblin to his feet.

  “Cristobel!” a voice called, drawing everyone’s attention away from the awkward moment between the human and the goblin. Mavis came limping through the village, still wearing the goblin shackles with tears in her eyes. “Thank the gods you made it back safely. I thought the goblins had discovered you.” She embraced him.

  “We are safe.” Cristobel lifted her arms gently and used the ax to cut through her shackles. “Where’s Cassy?”

  Mavis’s face was sad. “Gone. She and the witch were among the first the goblins took when they stormed the tunnels beneath the chapel.”

  “No.” Cristobel’s eyes became glassy. “But how did they even know where to find you?”

  “I fear Alec has betrayed us,” she said sadly. The fact that one of the dwarfs’ own had betrayed them to their slavers was a devastating blow to them all.

  “Curse Orden and his lot.” Cristobel banged his fist against the ax. He glared down at Gilchrest. “I should take your head and send it back to your brother in a box.” He raised his ax, but Gabriel stepped between them, holding the Nimrod.

  “No more blood will be shed here today, dwarf or goblin.” Gabriel told him. Only when Cristobel lowered his weapon did Gabriel lower his.

  “Now that’s a nifty trick.” De Mona came over, still trying to wring the excess water from her hair. Her tunic was soiled and tattered but she still looked stunning.

  “That was no trick, child, but magic. Magic that has not been seen in these parts for centuries,” Mavis told her, staring at the trident in wonder. She reached up to touch it, but Gabriel recoiled.

  “Don’t. I don’t wanna hurt you by accident,” he said.

  “Nonsense.” Mavis ran her hand along the shaft of the Nimrod. “This magic knows my blood just as well as it knows yours.” The Nimrod pulsed softly and returned to its resting place on Gabriel’s arm.

  “What do you know about the Nimrod?” Gabriel asked, staring at the tattoo curiously.

  Mavis gave a weak laugh. “Probably more than you do, young man. It was my grandfather’s hands that crafted the mold for the trident.”

  “Your grandfather made this thing?” Gabriel asked in shock.

  “Yes, he crafted the weapon, but it was the power of another that gave it life. Long ago, a stranger came to our village seeking the greatest weapon smith in all of Midland to help create a gift for King Neptune. For many nights, the strange magician and my grandfather toiled away in his shop creating the trident. The very angels of heaven came down to see the finished project and cooled the metal with their tears of joy, as nothing so beautiful had ever been seen on earth. When it was given back over to the magician to breathe life into it, my grandfather added his own blood to the enchantment so that his creation would carry a piece of him with it for all time.”

  “The plot thickens,” De Mona said offhandedly.

  “Indeed it does,” Gabriel agreed. “So what happened to your grandfather afterward?”

  “He was killed during the goblin wars, as were my father and my son,” Mavis said emotionally.

  “I’m sorry,” Gabriel told her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  “Don’t be, for it was not your blade that slew my family but those of the goblins. My grandfather has been dead for many seasons, but I wish he had been here to see that one of his greatest creations has been entrusted by the gods to someone as noble as you.”

  “I’m sure,” Gabriel said. He was tempted to tell Mavis how he had really come upon the trident, but he didn’t want to ruin her moment. “I wish that your grandfather were still here, because maybe then he could tell me more about the Nimrod. I’m afraid it’s been quite the mystery to us all.”

  “Yes, only my grandfather and the magician really knew the secret of the weapon,” Mavis said.

  “I’m sure the magician has probably passed on too,” De Mona said.

  “Possibly, but I doubt it. Beings as powerful as he are not restricted by things such as time,” Mavis said.

  “So you mean to say that it’s possible he’s still alive?” Gabriel asked anxiously.

  “It wouldn’t surprise me. He stayed with us for a time and helped in the effort against the goblins when the war started, but he disappeared not long after. There were many stories about what happened to him, but the most common is that he retreated topside to the world of men, where he would be free of the constant feuding that has torn Midland apart.”

  The fact that the magician may still have been alive gave Gabriel hope. “Mavis, could you tell me what this magician looked like?”

  “I’m sorry, but this I do not know. Even the eldest of us don’t remember much about the magician except that he had hair as white as the clouds and eyes as blue as the morning sky.”

  For reasons that Gabriel was unsure of, his mind went back to the old man he had seen smiling at him in Queens. He was about to question Mavis further when the two dwarfs who had been with Cristobel at the tavern came over.

  “We’ve picked up the trail of the goblins who’ve taken our people. They’re headed for the Iron Mountains,” the blond dwarf informed him.

  “Then so shall we,” Gabriel said.

  “Sounds like a plan. Any idea how we’re going to get in? I’m sure we can’t just roll up and knock on the front door,” De Mona pointed out.

  “Know of a way I do,” Gilchrest spoke up. “Enter through the sewers we can. Not most pleasant route, but least guarded.”

  “And we’re supposed to just take you at your word on this, goblin? For all we know you could be marching us to our deaths,” Cristobel accused.

  Gilchrest sneered at Cristobel. “No love lost between goblins and filthy dwarfs, but not dwarfs I do this for.” He looked at Gabriel. “Save my life you did, so in debt to you I am. Gilchrest ensure you make it inside the mountains, but after that we even and our business done, human.”

  Gabriel nodded in agreement. “Fair enough. We’d better get moving,” he told the rest of the group.

  “Before you go I would like to give you something.” Mavis waved Gabriel down to kneel in front of her. She took his hand in hers and looked at him seriously. “Were I still young enough to wield a sword, I would go with you and take as many goblin heads as I could. But since I can do nothing for you physically, I send you with my blessings and my wisdom.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “The weapon you carry is more powerful than any of us truly understand. In your darkest hour it will serve you well.”

  Gabriel smiled at the kindly old woman. “Thank you, Mavis.” When he turned to address his group his face was as hard as stone. “Let’s go get our people.”

  “Five against the goblin army—I’d love to hear what Jonas would have to say about this suicide mission.” De Mona shook her head.

  “It’s only suicide if we die,” Gabriel shot back. “Besides, the yoga master is too busy with his meditations to worry about what the hell we’re down here doing. I doubt if anybody has even noticed we’re gone yet.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Jonas’s private chambers were far
less modern than the rest of the high-tech facility where he made his base. There was a small twin bed, a writing table, and two chairs. The only light from the room came from candles mounted on the wall. Not so much as a spark of electricity ran in the room, which some might have thought was odd, considering how technologically advanced the rest of the complex was, but the wiring tended to disrupt the flow of power from the spindle when Jonas needed to consult the ancient thing.

  The Medusan sat in the middle of the floor with his arms and legs folded. His eyes stared unblinkingly at the wall, but he saw nothing in the room except the strands of time in the spindle, which was resting on the floor a few inches in front of him. For several hours, Jonas’s subconscious mind traveled the length of the strands one by one, plucking through now and yesterday in an attempt to come up with a solution to the problem that threatened the worlds of men and the supernatural. The mystery of the Nimrod was an elusive one, but he could not be denied the truth with so much at stake.

  Between Jonas and the spindle sat a piece of bloodstained rubble that had been recovered from the remains of Sanctuary, which he used as a focal point. The deaths and lives of those who had been lost flowed in a reverse stream through his mind with the screams of the dying scraping across his brain like nails on a chalkboard. Cracking the particular block of time surrounding events during the Seven-Day Siege that he wasn’t there to see for himself, was like solving a Rubik’s Cube. Jonas spent a great deal of time trying to approach it from several different angles, and just when it seemed like a hopeless case he heard the telltale click of progress.

  These strands were darker and much harder to weed through than the rest had been, but Jonas was both patient and persistent. In the strands he saw Titus standing over the fallen body of the Bishop while both Knights and demons looked on in shock. Concentrating, he crawled back farther along the strand and saw himself when the bargain was struck between him and Titus. Had he truly had mastery over time he would’ve undone the past, but that was outside the realm of his power. Focusing on the Bishop, he crawled back farther still. The strand’s image became fuzzy, and when it cleared again he thought he had made a wrong turn because he saw the warlock king, Dutch, standing in the center of a massive crypt.