Demonkin

by Richard S. Tuttle

“No, sir,” the soldier lied promptly.

  General Blackmoor shook his head in disgust. “Present your weapon.”

  The soldier meekly drew his sword and held it out with the hilt towards the general. Garth took the sword and held it up to inspect it. He shook his head with disapproval as he ran a finger along the edge.

  “Sergeant, I want this soldier punished for failure to maintain his weapon. This sword looks like it has been used to hack branches off of trees.”

  Garth dropped the soldier’s sword on the floor behind him and shook his head in disgust again. The soldier stared at his feet in embarrassment, and the general stepped to the next man in line. The next four soldiers were also embarrassed as their swords were discarded on the floor. Knowing that the farce could only last so long, the general skipped men until he was standing in front of the sergeant.

  “Sergeant, you run the most embarrassing detail that I have ever seen. Your men have obviously been sleeping while on duty, and their weapons are a disgrace. I may just have to rotate this group out of the city to give you all an appreciation of what your weapon is supposed to be used for. It is not for hacking tree limbs, and it is not for poking stone walls. A blade is only useful when it is kept in proper shape. What did you expect to do with your weapons? Were you hoping that the enemy would die from being hit with the weight of it? A blade is supposed to cut. It cannot do that unless you keep it sharp. Everyone, put your swords on the floor in front of you.”

  The soldiers sheepishly complied with the order as General Blackmoor continued to glare at the sergeant.

  “Sergeant, I want each and every man under your command to spend at least two hours every day on his sword. I intend to come back at the end of the week for another inspection. If I find a single dull sword, this entire unit is heading for Sebastian Pass to fight the rebels. Am I clear?”

  “Yes, sir,” the sergeant said loudly.

  Garth saw his men sneaking forward from the rear of the center, and he timed his movement to coincide with their arrival.

  “I will show you what a blade is supposed to look like.” General Blackmoor drew his sword and extended it towards the sergeant. “Feel the edge, Sergeant.”

  The sergeant hesitantly stuck his hand out and ran his finger over the edge of the sword. He quickly withdrew his hand and nodded to the general. At that precise moment, the thieves attacked from the rear. Garth shoved his sword into the sergeant’s chest and then leaped back, pulling the sword free. A moment of shock paralyzed the soldiers, and Garth took advantage of it. He swung his sword in a wide figure eight as he moved down the line. Some of the soldiers dove for their swords on the floor while others turned and tried to defend against the attackers with their bare hands. In moments, it was over.

  “Bacar, make sure that they are all dead. I want the bodies piled at one end of the room and something thrown over them so that the children do not see them on the way out.”

  “What about the blood?” asked Bacar.

  “There is no time for that,” answered Garth. “Be quick. I am going to talk to the children.”

  Garth bent down over the sergeant’s body and tore his key ring off his belt. He wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. While his men cleaned the entry room, Garth moved to the far end of the center and unlocked one of the doors.

  Chapter 38

  Arrows Fly

  General Blackmoor opened the door to the sleeping chamber and stepped inside. He spoke loudly and with authority in his voice.

  “Everyone get up! Move! Move! Move!”

  Two-dozen elven boys rose groggily and stared at the general in confusion. As the general watched, the boys moved to stand at the foot of their bunks. Although each boy had questions he wanted to ask, no one spoke. Garth watched closely to see which boy the others deferred to. When he knew the answer to his unspoken question, Garth signaled for the boy to approach.

  “What is your name?”

  “Syran,” answered the boy.

  “Everyone get dressed,” ordered the general.

  Garth returned his attention to the boy before him. Syran looked old enough to be returned to Elfwoods soon, and that made him someone the other children should look up to. “Syran, everyone is moving out of this center tonight. I could use your help to make things easier on all of us. Are you capable of assuming command?”

  “Command?” frowned Syran. “I do not understand. Where are we going?”

  “That was a yes or no question, Syran. If you are not capable, I will choose someone else, but I think you could be useful in saving lives tonight.”

  “Saving lives?” frowned the elven boy.

  Garth immediately broke eye contact with Syran and appeared to be eyeing other potential leaders.

  “I can help,” Syran said quickly. “The others listen to me, but I was just curious where we were going.”

  “The time for questions is later, not now. It is absolutely essential that each and every child do exactly as they are told. Your lives depend upon it. I do not have time to watch each one of you, so I cannot protect all of you without your help.”

  “I will help,” vowed Syran. “Tell me what to do.”

  “I am going to unlock each of the sleeping rooms. I want you to direct the children to get dressed and ready to leave, but no one is to leave their room until told to do so. Can you do that?”

  “I can,” replied Syran as one of the other boys handed him his clothes.

  Garth waited impatiently while Syran got dressed. Syran ordered the other boys to prepare to leave and warned them to stay in the room until called. Garth noted the seriousness in the faces of the boys, and he knew he had chosen wisely. Syran followed Garth through the corridors of the center. In each room, he gave the same instructions. There were very few questions, and Syran expertly rebuffed them. When they had visited the last room, Garth led Syran into the corridor.

  “The next part is trickier. There is danger lurking on the streets of the city, and it is quite foggy tonight. What I want you to do is organize the children so that no one gets lost. The older children may have to carry some of the younger ones, but each of the children must remain physically attached to each other, whether that be holding hands or clinging to the back of someone’s tunic. This is important, Syran. If any of the children get separated, they will be left behind. I am sure you do not want that to happen.”

  “No one will get lost,” promised Syran. “Can’t you tell me where we are going?”

  “Not yet,” answered the general. “There must be no talking during the journey. Stress that to the children. No talking, crying, or any sounds that might alert someone to our presence. This trip must be accomplished in secret or some of the children will die. Can they be trusted to do that, Syran?”

  “The babies might cry,” frowned the boy. “There is no way to tell them to be quiet, but the others will do as I say.”

  “Good,” replied Garth. “Go and organize the children. We leave here in five minutes. When you are all assembled, lead the children towards the front door.”

  Syran turned and ran back to the room with the older boys. Garth tapped his pocket lightly and Bitsy stuck her head out.

  “Follow Syran and keep an eye on him,” ordered the Knight of Alcea. “Also, keep an eye out for troublemakers, and put any crying babies to sleep. Even with the fog we are going to need some luck to make this trip undetected.”

  Bitsy nodded silently and flew off after the elven boy. Garth turned and strode towards the front of the center. When he reached the entry room, his men were just covering the pile of bodies with a large carpet from one of the offices.

  “Where are the children?” asked Bacar.

  “They will be here soon,” answered Garth. “A boy named Syran will be leading them. I want the six of you to roam along the column of children and keep an eye out for stragglers or troublemakers.”

  “What do we do with troublemakers?” asked Bacar.

  “I don’t know,” sighed the general.
“I cannot put blind trust in the thought that every one of these children feels the Federation is their enemy.”

  “So you can’t tell them that they are being freed.” Bacar nodded with understanding. “Where do they think they are going?”

  “I refused to tell them,” answered Garth. “As far as they know, the Federation is moving them because of some threat to their lives. I would like to keep it that way until they are safely on the ship.”

  “We will not tell them anything different,” promised Bacar. “If we encounter any troublemakers, we will separate them from the rest. You can decide what to do with them then.”

  “That will do,” agreed Garth. “One other thing you need to be aware of. There will be a dense fog when we leave this building. It will last all the way down to the docks, so move carefully. If we encounter any hostile troops, we must drive them away from the children.”

  “We’re not likely to encounter anyone sober at this time of night,” replied the thief.

  “Anything is possible,” Garth replied as Syran appeared in the doorway. “Are they all ready, Syran?”

  “They are,” replied the elven boy. “Everyone is attached to two others except me and the boy at the other end. What do we do now?”

  Garth moved to the door and slid the window open. He peered out, but he could see little. A dense fog had settled over that section of the city. Garth unlocked the door and swung it open. He nodded to his men and they filed out of the building.

  “You follow me, Syran,” said the general, “and let the others follow you. It is foggy, so step carefully.”

  Garth led the way out of the center and handed the keys to one of his soldiers.

  “Wait until the last of the children are out of the building and then lock it up.”

  The soldier nodded, and General Blackmoor led the long line of children into the streets of Farmin. Syran reached out and took hold of Garth’s back sheath. The group had not gone more than a block when Garth felt eyes upon him. At first, he thought he might be sensing the children watching him, but eventually he knew better. His ears picked up the snick of a boot on one side of the street, and his eyes saw a shifting shadow on the other. Without slowing his pace, Garth silently drew his sword. Syran immediately let go of the sheath.

  “Try to keep me in sight,” Garth whispered. “No matter what happens, do not panic the other children. If I get into battle, continue going straight for as long as you can. I will try to catch up to you.”

  “I understand,” Syran whispered.

  Garth continued on warily and put some distance between the children and himself. As his eyes strained to see in the fog, a shadow up ahead separated from the buildings and moved into the center of the street. Garth prepared for battle, but his opponent walked openly towards him. As the man got closer, Garth recognized Juggler. Garth sighed with relief, but he did not sheathe his sword. Juggler turned and walked alongside Garth.

  “Do you have other men out tonight?” Garth asked softly. “I have been detecting people off to the sides of the street.”

  “You are good,” Juggler replied with a grin. “I have my people lining your entire route. While I cannot guarantee that no one will get past my people, they will not do so in a surprising way. You will have fair warning.”

  “You are a good man, Juggler,” Garth smiled as he sheathed his sword.

  “That makes two of us then,” replied the thief. “By the way, I had my men remove some garbage from one of the alleys tonight. I hope that meets with your approval.”

  “More than you can know,” Garth replied gratefully. “You are wasting your skills, Juggler.”

  “Perhaps,” shrugged the thief. “I would say that my skills are helping a worthy cause tonight. Perhaps I can use my position to do more of this in the future. I will leave you so that you can hear what is happening around you. I just wanted to let you know about your safe corridor.”

  Garth nodded silently, and the thief drifted off into the fog. Syran moved forward and grabbed Garth’s sheath again. After a few more blocks, Garth turned to the right. He glanced back to look at the line of children, but the fog was too dense to see it for long. He continued onward until he came to one of the ramps leading down to the waterfront. He turned onto the ramp.

  “Pass the word back for the children to watch their footing,” Garth whispered to Syran. “This ramp goes down for a long ways, and I don’t want anyone rolling down it.”

  “We are elves,” Syran whispered back. “We were born sure-footed.”

  Garth chuckled quietly. He was starting to take a liking to the elven boy. “Pass the word,” he repeated.

  Garth heard the repeated whispers, but only for five or six children. After that, there was silence, and Garth sighed with satisfaction. As they progressed down the ramp, the sounds of the sea became audible, and the smell of the sea swept up to meet them. Kalina waited at the foot of the ramp, and Garth noticed some more of Juggler’s men lurking some distance away. Kalina fell in step alongside Garth and whispered to him.

  “Any problems?”

  “Less than I expected. I found a leader among the children, and Juggler’s men lined our path.”

  “There are some good people in Zara,” Kalina smiled. “We only need to find them.”

  “Time is running out for that. Let’s get these children onto the ship so we can leave. We need to be near Giza by tomorrow night.”

  Kalina nodded and guided the column to the proper dock. When they reached the Skate, Garth halted and pointed to the ship.

  “Get the children onto the ship,” he said to Syran. “They are to go below deck.”

  “I must know where you are taking us,” protested the elven boy. “I did not expect to be leaving the city. Are we being moved to another center?”

  “Get the other children onboard,” demanded Garth, “and I will tell you.”

  “You will tell me first,” countered Syran. “I do not think you are a real general.”

  Garth stared at the boy. He looked back into the fog and imagined the long line of children standing on the wharves of the city. A shiver ran up his spine.

  “Why do you think I am not a real general?” asked Garth.

  “Because you walk like an elf,” replied Syran. “Not all the time, but when you think danger is near. I noticed the change immediately when you drew your sword up in the city.”

  “What?” frowned Garth. “I am quite sure that you do not remember anything about Elfwoods. How would you know how an elf walks?”

  “I am an elf,” declared Syran. “We are different than humans. The way we walk does not have to be taught to us.”

  “Well,” smiled Garth, “I am not an elf. Do you think maybe I was born with your special ability?”

  “No,” replied Syran, “but I think you have lived among the elves for a long time. Where are you taking us?”

  Garth sighed anxiously. He was afraid to tell the boy for fear that some might not want to leave, but he could no longer afford the time to argue, and he could not even think of trying to force a couple hundred children onto the ship.

  “Will you promise not to tell the others until you are at sea?”

  “I will.”

  “You are going to meet your parents,” Garth declared. “I know that the centers are meant to indoctrinate you into the ways of the Federation, and I am aware that some of the children might not want to leave. That is why the secret must be kept until you are at sea.”

  Syran turned and waved the line of children onto the ship. He stood alongside General Blackmoor as the children walked by.

  “You are partially right,” Syran said softly to the general. “There are some among us who despise the thought of returning to Elfwoods, but I do not think they would squeal on the rest of us. I think they would just run away once they reached Elfwoods.”

  “Why would they despise going home?” asked the general.

  “The Federation paints the Dielderal as a weak people. Most of us refu
se to believe that, but some do, and it makes them ashamed to be elven.”

  “Those children are in for a surprise,” smiled the general. “The Dielderal are a great people, and they will prove it to the Federation soon enough.”

  “Really?” brightened Syran. “Do you live with my people?”

  “No,” answered Garth, “but I have spent many years with elves. You were right about my learning to walk from them.”

  “So you are not really a general then?”

  “No.” Garth shook his head as the last of the children boarded the ship. “I used the uniform to get into the center to free you and the others. Get onboard, Syran. The ship must leave immediately. I will see you in the future.”

  Syran waved and hopped onto the ship. As soon as he was onboard, the sailors untied the lines and stepped onboard. The Skate slowly drifted away from the dock and was swallowed by the magical fog. Garth turned towards Kalina and found Juggler standing beside her.

  “You have made a new friend,” smiled Juggler as he nodded to where the ship had just been. “What now?”

  “Now we must leave Farmin,” answered Garth as reached out and grasped the thief’s hand. “Thank you for everything, Juggler. Stay safe, but prepare for the coming storm.”

  * * * *

  General Harford snapped orders to the officers gathered before him, and one by one they saluted and left his office. The Ertakan general sighed deeply when the last officer was dispatched. He did not look forward to reporting the escape of the elven children to King Harowin, but it was his responsibility, and no one could relieve him of it. The general straightened his uniform and stepped out of his office. He marched through the palace hallways and soon arrived at the king’s office. The guards stiffened at his approach, and one of them cracked the door and announced his arrival. The door opened immediately, and the general walked to the king’s desk and stood before it.

  “I have seen soldiers running all over Farmin this morning, General,” stated King Harowin. “Is someone finally going to tell me what is happening?”

  “I apologize for the delay in reporting,” the general replied with a bow. “I felt it necessary to take direct control of the situation and not assign it to a lesser officer.”