Demonified
Hawkblood Chronicles, Book 1
2017 Edition
Stephen L. Schultz
Thanks to Eric, Joe, Pete, and Chris. Without the contributions from the four of you, Esselles’ world would be a much less colorful place.
DEMONIFIED. Copyright © 1996, 2017 by Stephen L. Schultz. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, please contact Stephen L. Schultz, 291 Brooks Road, West Henrietta, NY 14586.
Fifth Rewrite. 91,015 Words. Completed March 14, 2017.
Cover art by Chris Pallace, lead illustrator for Bent Castle Workshops.
www.bentcastle.com
www.chrispallace.com
[email protected]
Maps illustrated by Stephen L. Schultz.
Illustration by Chris Pallace
The City of Tyris Ostar
The Ostarian Empire
Prologue
Malicar lay flat against the rocky crags, his magical cloak picking up the color and texture of the surrounding rock, making him almost invisible to the naked eye. The harsh red sun of the demon homeland was just cresting the horizon, casting long shadows across the hills and valleys below him. Hidden in the inky depths of one of those shadows sat a large, heavily muscled demon, its hide also matching the color and texture of the surrounding rock. Not by magic, but by countless generations of natural selection.
The demon stood about six feet tall, although at the moment it was nearly prone. Its large triangular head was tucked down into its broad shoulders and the crouched position emphasized the hump of its back. Its jet black eyes were focused on a small pack of saurian creatures that were taking turns drinking from a pool of water at the bottom of a depression. To Malicar, they looked like lizards – extremely large lizards weighing in as much as a ton, but lizards nonetheless. Those lizards that were not drinking were scanning the horizon with either their eyes or their tongues. The lizards were clearly on edge. They could sense the danger but had no idea where it was coming from or how immediate that danger was.
Picking the opportune time, when no lizard head was facing his way, the demon slipped from one shadow to the next, scrambling very quickly and silently on his powerful arms and legs. He was now only about thirty yards away. Though Malicar had heard no sound, something had alerted the lizard pack. Their heads popped up and they began to sprint away from the pool at remarkable speeds. Unfortunately for one, it was a split second too slow to leave.
The demon leapt from behind the rock, took a stride forward then disappeared into a vertical black slit that formed in the air in front of him only to reappear on the hapless lizard’s back. The demon plunged its left hand into the lizard’s side. Its dagger-like claws penetrated the lizard’s tough hide and its two opposing thumbs worked their way around a rib, closing like a vise. As the lizard thrashed, the demon swung about like a flail but its iron grip held on tight to the rib. After a few seconds, the demon was able to thrust its right hand into the lizard’s back and work the thumbs of that hand around another rib. Now the demon was splayed across the lizard’s spine, its hands clamped onto ribs and its feet raking the lizard’s back – that is, when they weren’t being flailed about by the thrashings of the lizard. Streams of blood began to stripe lizard’s side.
Through his second sight, Malicar could see that the demon was pumping energy bolts into the rib cage of the lizard. They were beginning to have a noticeable effect on the large beast as its left side was showing the first signs of paralysis. The lizard pushed itself over, rolling onto its back in an attempt to dislodge the demon. The considerable weight of the lizard sent the demon’s breath out in a loud burst, but still it held tight. The lizard thrashed, trying to grind the demon into the rocks, but the paralysis was spreading. Its left rear leg was locked in spasms, clearly no longer under the creature’s control, and its left foreleg was not far behind.
Suddenly, a thin black slit appeared in the sky above the prone lizard and the demon, no longer beneath it, dropped down onto the lizard’s underbelly. It quickly scrambled up towards the lizard’s neck and dug in its claws. Rearing its head back, it revealed rows of razor sharp teeth in its oversized jaws. It plunged those teeth into the lizard’s neck, clamping and twisting at the tendons and ligature of the neck. Blood sprayed everywhere as the demon ripped out a large chunk of the lizard’s flesh. The lizard’s body thrashed a few more times then went still.
The demon wasted little time. It punched through the ear canal and pulled out the lizard’s brains and swallowed them whole. It then leapt to the lizard’s chest and pried open a few ribs. It buried its head into the chest cavity and began gorging. The sounds of tearing flesh and the smell of hot blood filled Malicar’s senses and he had to fight down a gag reflex. Suddenly, the demon’s head popped back out of the chest cavity with what might have been part of the liver trailing from its mouth. It looked to the edge of the depression, its eyes scanning the rim. Malicar followed its gaze.
A large winged demon stood on the rim and issued a challenge. Malicar could hear the psionic reverberations of its mental shout. The gorging demon hissed back defiantly. It stuck its head back in the lizard’s chest and pulled out another large chunk of flesh. It then moved over to the lizard’s shoulder and began wrenching and twisting the lizard’s leg until it had torn the limb free from the body.
By now, a second and third winged demon had appeared on the edge of the depression. Still, the demon below hissed defiantly. It leapt to the other front leg and began tearing that one off as well. The winged demons jumped and swooped down towards the carcass. As they neared it, they too disappeared into a slit in space and reappeared to attack the gorging demon. However, it rolled and jumped, somehow avoiding all three attacking demons. It collected one of the large lizard legs under each arm and disappeared, reappearing halfway up the depression. It turned and hissed defiantly at the three intruders and then clambered out of the depression with the lizard arms trailing blood as it ran. The winged demons turned their attention to the fresh kill, but Malicar watched the original demon depart.
That’s the one! he exclaimed, mentally. When it had disappeared over the next hill, Malicar climbed down from his vantage point into the protection of a small knoll and began opening the magical portal that would take him back home.
Chapter One
As the early morning sun crested the horizon of the Eastern Ocean, its rays struck the top of the Dawn Tower of Tyris Ostar, Tower of the East, and imperial seat of the Ostarian Empire.
Gulls picked their morning meals from between the rocks that dotted the shoreline, dodging the occasional wave that washed over the long break wall that protected the city and its bay. The creaking of hawsers filled the cool morning air as the many merchant and naval vessels rocked in their slips.
Steel shod hooves echoed through the empty streets as the mounted guard made their rounds through the great city. Metal tipped boots clicked in unison in front of the large portcullis separating the castle grounds from the rest of the city. Merchants began rolling up canvas flaps and raising awnings over their booths in preparation for the crowds that would soon come. An occasional market square greeting carried as far away as the central square. Only a faint breeze disturbed the light fog that clung in places not touched by the crimson rays of the sun.
High above the city shoreline, two mages extinguished the magical fires of the colossal lighthouse that had become synonymous with Tyris Ostar. Farther inland, the great brass bells of the Temple
of Uran rang out the hour, prompting countless birds to take wing. The loud bells startled those merchants new to Ostar, but the majority took little notice.
Nor were they noticed by Esselles Hawkblood, heading home after a long night shift in the city guard. Esselles was a young man, with a lean face and long black hair. He moved with a grace and efficiency honed through many years of martial training. He was not an overly muscled individual, and standing at five foot six was of average height, but his body bore the preternatural strength of his Sorenthian race.
Turning down Dockside Street, Esselles waved a tired greeting to two of the sailors who frequented the Undertow Inn, Esselles’ home for the past four years. He continued past the merchant halls and fisheries and entered the Undertow’s courtyard. He began unbuckling his sword belt, passing from the bright light of morning into the dimly lit hallway of the inn.
Before he could reach the stairs leading to the second floor apartments, he was tackled from behind and slammed into the corner of the hallway. Esselles’ sword clattered to the ground as his unbuckled sword belt was ripped from his hand.
“Don’t move. Don’t even think,” the assailant whispered, pressing the point of a dagger into the skin at the base of Esselles’ skull. “I could pith you just by sneezing.”
Esselles slowly gathered his feet beneath him, but he was pinned against the wall, trapped in the corner, with his assailant’s full weight pressed into the small of his back. Something cold pressed against his neck sending a slight shiver down his spine.
“Do you recognize my voice, runt?”
While Esselles did not fully recognize the voice, he did recognize the appellation. “I know who you are, Belgar,” he answered.
“Good. I should cut your throat wide open for Shingar, but that’s going to have to wait. Right now, I’m just gonna take your purse. I’ll be back for your life later. You can count on that.”
The assailant cut Esselles’ purse from his belt with practiced ease.
Take the damn money, thought Esselles. How much do you think I carry on guard duty anyway?
After pocketing the stolen purse, the assailant struck Esselles on the back of the skull with the butt of his dagger. Head swimming, Esselles slid down the wall. His assailant bolted out the door.
Esselles tried to stand, but his knees failed him. By the time he reached his feet, he could hear the sound of horses breaking into a gallop. The assailant and his accomplice were long gone before Esselles could stagger out into the street. He stared down the street and thought back to the last time he had heard that voice.
The situation was very similar. Exhausted after a long shift, Esselles was walking home late at night. As he made his way from Ringwall Street to Dockside, two thugs jumped out of a hidden alcove and tackled him to the ground.
“How’s it going, pretty boy?” asked the assailant sitting on his back. “Looks like you picked the wrong time to be walking this street alone.” He punctuated his statement by grabbing Esselles’ head and slamming it against the cobblestones.
“What happened to your guardsman’s swagger, runt?” the other assailant asked, kicking Esselles in the side of the head.
“Runt? Oh, I like that better than pretty boy. From now on, it’s runt. How’s that feel, runt?” A blade cut into the side of Esselles’ neck, and something cold and hard was pushed up against the cut.
“Look. He bleeds red, just like the rest of us. And somehow, I thought these guardsmen didn’t bleed.”
“Oh, no. I’ve cut them open before. They bleed just fine.”
“So what do you think? Do we cut him open or do we just take his purse?”
“Good question. One part of me says ‘cut him.’ But the other part says ‘if we let him live, he might fill that purse up again.’”
“Very true. You always were the thinker.”
Esselles felt his assailant’s weight shift as he reached down to cut the purse. With the ease that comes from countless hours of training, Esselles coiled his body and sent the assailant tumbling. The purse flew in an arc and spilled its contents on the pavement. The coins skittered and clinked across the cobbles.
Esselles immediately jumped to his feet. The second assailant lunged at him, but Esselles sidestepped the attack and threw the thug into his partner.
For the first time, Esselles got a good look at his assailants. The first was a large burly man with scraggly blond hair. The second, sprawled across the first, was thinner and taller and had long brown hair tied back in a ponytail.
The taller man jumped to his feet and drew his sword. The other crawled along the pavement to recover his dagger, lying among the spilled coins.
Esselles lunged into action. He drew his sword and attacked in one smooth motion. Hacking and slicing, he forced his opponent to retreat. Esselles worked his way towards the nearest building, driving his opponent back. The unmistakable sounds of swordplay rang out through the empty street, echoing off the stone walls of the granaries.
They picked a good spot for an attack, Esselles thought. No one within easy ear shot.
With a flurry of sword thrusts, Esselles forced his opponent to the left, maneuvering to put his back against the granary wall.
The burly man had recovered his dagger and was now approaching. The swordsman smiled as he parried and moved to his right to allow his partner to move in.
I can’t get caught between them or I’m a dead man, Esselles thought, lunging toward the burly man. He wheeled about and attacked the swordsman from the flank. He beat his opponent’s sword aside and buried his longsword in the man’s abdomen. He gave the sword a sharp twist before pulling it back out.
“Belgar,” the man called in a harsh cry of pain, his eyes wide in shock. His hand clenched his stomach but could not staunch the flow of blood pouring down his breaches.
“Shingar!” the other assailant called back. Then, turning towards Esselles, he called out “Bastard” and charged him full speed.
Esselles dove to the side, dragging his sword across Belgar’s thigh as he did so. He sprang to his feet and held his bloodied sword towards Belgar’s face.
Belgar looked first at his wounded thigh, then at his dying friend, and finally, over his shoulder to where the spilled purse lay on the ground. “Shit,” he exclaimed as he turned and ran over to the coins. He grabbed a small leather vial and turned back towards Esselles.
“You haven’t seen the last of me,” he promised as he turned to run down the cobbled street.
Esselles began to give chase, but pulled up short. A searing pain ripped through his side. Looking down, he saw his uniform was soaked in blood, just over his right hip. Lifting his tunic revealed a three-inch sword wound just above his waistline.
“Damn, he was quicker with that sword than I thought,” he said, pressing his hand against his wound. Slowly, he walked over to the man he had cut down.
The man’s chest was barely moving. He had a glazed look on his face as he struggled to hold his entrails in. Steam poured from the open wound.
Esselles tore a piece off his tunic and handed it to the man. “Here, you can staunch the blood with this.”
The man grabbed it and pressed it to his stomach.
“So, Shingar, who are you and why did you attack me?”
The man whispered something, but his voice was too weak for Esselles to hear. He motioned with his head for Esselles to come closer. The man lifted his head as if to whisper, but spit on Esselles instead. He sputtered a laugh and then his head lolled back. His lifeless hands fell off his stomach.
Esselles wiped the spittle and blood off his cheek, taking a step back to avoid the stench of the man’s releasing sphincters. Holding his side, he gathered his coins and went to inform his fellow city guard of the attack.
The similarity of that attack to today’s attack was not lost on Esselles as he entered the inn.
“Tobias,” he called to the bartender. “I need a clean, wet cloth.”
“My gods, what happened?” Tobia
s asked as he fetched the cloth.
“I was attacked again. By the same thug, Belgar.”
“Where?”
“Right in your doorway. He was obviously waiting for me.”
“There were no strangers in here this morning. And I haven’t noticed anyone loitering in the hallways.”
“I think he knows my schedule. Both attacks have been after long shifts and at times of day when there would be few people around. There aren’t a whole lot of places you can attack someone on Ringwall Street without attracting attention. The granaries are such a place.”
“So maybe you happened upon them. They could have been waiting for any victim.”
“So I thought at first. But now I’m not so sure. Not after today’s attack.”
“Could he have just been out for revenge?”
“Yes. But that’s just it. He didn’t take it. He cut my neck and then he took my purse. He could just as easily have cut my throat and taken my purse.”
“Here,” Tobias said, handing Esselles a mug of his finest mead.
“Thanks. There’s something else. In both attacks, he pressed something cold against my neck. I’m not sure what it was, but it didn’t feel like metal, and it was in addition to the dagger. Also, in the first assault, he ran over and picked something up before running away. It wasn’t anything I owned.”
“Could you make out what it was?”
“I’m not sure. Like I had told the sergeant, it was a small leather covered object, but I never got a good look at it.”
“Have you notified anyone of this attack?”
“No, it just happened. I’ll report it later. I’m exhausted and I need to get to sleep. Pol arrives in town this afternoon.”
“Your brother?”
“Yes. He’s only in town today and tomorrow and I’m on day duty tomorrow.”
“So Brien of Lorbak is in town? When you visit your brother, could you pick up some of those red peppers Brien always sells?”
“Sure. As long as I get the first bowl of the stew.”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 1
