“You’ve got it my friend,” Tobias said with a smile. “Now let me see that neck of yours.” He pulled down the collar of Esselles’ tunic. “Doesn’t look bad at all. Nothing like what you got last time.”
Esselles lifted the hem of his tunic to look at the remnants of the two-week-old wound. All that was left was a thin pink scar that looked years old. “It’s amazing what the healing clerics can do, isn’t it?”
“It pays to be in the guard.”
“In some ways,” Esselles answered with a smile. He dropped his tunic back over the wound and headed out towards the stairs leading to his apartment. “Wake me at three bells?”
“Certainly.”
*
“Let me see the vial,” Renamir said as he and Belgar slowed their horses down.
Belgar reached inside the folds of his shirt and produced the vial of blood.
“Glad to see you could manage this time,” Renamir said, accepting the vial.
Belgar glared back at Renamir’s taunt.
“Come on, it will be dark by the time we reach Malicar’s. We have to get him this vial immediately.”
“Can’t you just send it to him magically?” Belgar asked.
“I wish it were that easy. Folding space or transporting objects is at the limits of my ability and training.”
“So get more training.”
“I’m learning what Malicar will teach me, but where do you suggest I get more training? If you want to learn magic, it’s either here, at Balderon’s guild, or back west in Manhindland. Neither place admits criminals.”
“So don’t tell ‘em you’re a criminal,” Belgar suggested.
“And you don’t suppose they’d be able to read that from my mind? Even I can read surface thoughts. Who knows how much they can probe from a mind?”
“It can’t be any worse than what Malicar does.”
“He does have a way of penetrating your mind,” Renamir agreed. “If you let him see it. But I don’t think you’ll have to worry a whole lot tonight. Malicar captured his demon last night. I’m sure he’s going to have plenty to keep him occupied.”
“Great. As if Malicar isn’t bad enough. Now he’s got a demon, too. Can’t you go and I’ll wait for you here?”
“No,” Renamir answered, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. “You heard him. Malicar explicitly said that both of us were to come.”
“I still don’t see why he needs me there,” Belgar complained.
“Who knows? Maybe just to torture you.”
“I wouldn’t doubt it from him.”
*
Tobias’ knock on the door woke Esselles from his slumber. He checked his wound before getting dressed.
I wonder if Pol looks any different, he thought. It’s been four years.
Esselles thought back to the last time he had seen his brother, their father’s death.
After the Wars for Freedom, Kilian Hawkblood settled in a small village in northern Arator where he raised five children. Pol, the oldest son at fourteen, and Esselles, only a year younger, became members of the local baron’s guard.
By sixteen, Esselles had grown bored. With his childhood friend, Talbot, Esselles journeyed to Tyris Ostar to apply to the Imperial Guard. Both were accepted.
One night, halfway through his Imperial Guardsman training, a courier arrived with devastating news. Kilian had been slain by a roaming band of gromja while excavating stone from the foothills of the Black Mountains.
At first Esselles felt nothing but a vast emptiness and a dull ache that would not go away, but soon he was besieged by guilt. He began to wonder if he had stayed home whether he might have been there when the attack occurred. Had he been able to help fight off the gromja, would his father still be alive?
Though he knew it would be a setback in terms of his career, he decided to return home. It was a three-week journey from Ostar to Arator, so his father had been buried well before he made it back to town. When he first arrived, he avoided visiting his father’s grave, clinging to the irrational hope that if he never saw the grave, perhaps his father would come walking through the door. Eventually, he abandoned the hope and went to see the grave.
After spending six months helping his family get back on their feet, he returned to Ostar to resume his training. Talbot had already completed his training and had been assigned to the outer city guard as an officer. Esselles completed his training as part of the next year’s class and was assigned to the same squad, but as a guard.
Now, at the age of twenty-one, Esselles was still in the guard. Although he had gained seniority, his lack of officer training kept him from advancing very far. He often wondered whether he would have been able to make officer training had he not left to return home.
The central marketplace was well-rehearsed chaos. Hawkers called out their wares and traders ran from tent to tent, trying to get the best deals possible. It took Esselles several minutes to locate the familiar banner from home, a rampaging bull on a goldenrod field.
As Esselles approached the merchant tents of Brien of Lorbak, Pol came forward to help him dismount.
“You’re looking good,” Esselles said as he gripped his brother’s forearm in greeting.
“Thanks,” Pol answered.
“How’s mother?”
“Good. She still tends her gardens.”
“How about Karia?”
“Very good. You have a new niece.”
“Why didn’t anyone send a letter?” Esselles asked.
“She was just born. I was going to put it in my letter, but I decided to tell you in person instead. Her name is Brynne. Come inside, I’ll tell you all about her. And your nephews too. They’re getting big.”
They entered the large tent and proceeded to talk about the family. Eventually, the conversation moved around to Esselles’ recent attacks.
“You don’t suppose they’re doing something magical, do you?” Pol asked after hearing about the strange behavior after the cuts on the neck.
“I was wondering the same thing as I was riding over here. It’s all I can think, but I have no idea what.”
“Have you gone to the mage’s guild?”
“Balderon’s? No. I imagine I’d need a bit more to go on than two muggings before I knocked on their door.”
“Well, I think you should. If it happens a third time, you definitely need to go.”
“I will.” Esselles stood up. “Do you want to get something to drink? I won’t be able to see you tomorrow. I’m on duty all day.”
“Sure. But I’ll be back in town in a month, after we return from the Firth. I was hoping to get posted with the merchants Brien is leaving here, but I’m too low on seniority.”
“Will you be here for a while on the return trip?”
“Only for a couple days. Long enough to trade a few items and then pack up to head back west. There are plenty of merchants who work the coast. Brien can make more money taking the goods from the Firth back west.”
“Hey,” Esselles said as they left the tent. “Don’t let me forget to buy some of those Hezien peppers. Tobias gave me a couple crowns to buy as many as I could.”
“I’ll try to get you a good price.”
“Thanks.”
*
The castle rose up high into the night, back lit by a bright moon that was less than a week from full. Built into the side of a mountain, it cast an ominous shadow on the slopes below. A long, winding trail crawled its way up the mountainside only to stop short of the castle, halted by a fissure that separated the southern face from the rest of the mountain. The fissure, though only about twenty feet at its widest point, cut deep into the mountain, being carved deeper each year by the numerous icy streams that plunged with a roar into the depths below. The face of the mountain was pockmarked from the annual crawl of winter ice that worked its way into the cracks in the rock.
The castle’s gatehouse was carved into the rock wall just above the fissure, its drawbridge currently half-lowered to the end of the
winding trail. High crenellated walls extended in each direction from the gatehouse, following the contours of the mountain up to the next minor plateau. A long stone stairwell, lined with walls, climbed from the gatehouse on the lower plateau to a wall on the upper plateau. Sitting atop the upper plateau was the castle – a small keep with four slender towers. The forward tower was the tallest and extended a good twenty feet above the castle roof, ending in a roof reminiscent of the barb on the end of a staff.
As Renamir and Belgar climbed the path to the castle, they noticed there was very little activity on the grounds. The solitary light visible within the castle complex was a bright orange glow radiating from the highest window in the forward tower. Occasionally, the light was partially blocked by the silhouette of a man gazing up into the night sky.
High above the castle grounds, two large saurian beasts were locked in mortal combat, wings beating and talons raking. With necks and tails entwined they would wrestle for control as they fell from the sky, each trying to sink its fangs into the neck of the other.
Time and again they plummeted towards the mountainside, only to disengage before crashing onto the rocky slopes. As they reached the top of their flights, they belched searing blasts of flame at each other.
On what would be their final pass, the smaller of the two drakes veered out of the path of its opponent’s flame and flew in close before unleashing its own fiery breath. The ball of liquid red caught the larger beast square in the chest, sticking to its flesh and burning it away. The smaller beast let out a loud cry of victory and watched its former combatant plummet towards the castle below.
As the ball of flesh and flame neared the courtyard, the silhouetted figure began gesticulating. When the drake was near the top of the tower, a white pulse of light shot forth from the silhouetted man’s arm and struck the falling beast. With a blinding flash, the drake exploded, raining flesh, fire, and ash onto the courtyard below.
“Looks like Malicar is still up,” Belgar said as he shivered in his saddle. Both he and Renamir had paused in their ascent of the trail to watch the mortal combat in the skies above. “Sometimes I think he never sleeps.”
“You are probably right. I’ve known him thirty-two years and I’ve never seen him sleep. Nor eat for that matter,” Renamir replied.
“Shingar was convinced he’s a lich.” A mental image of Malicar sucking the life force out of hapless victims formed in his head.
“Nonsense. If he were a lich, we couldn’t touch him, could we?”
“That’s true. But he sure doesn’t seem human.”
“I never said he was human.”
The sound of rusty chains disturbed the quiet that had descended upon the mountainside following the end of the aerial combat. The two men dismounted and walked their nervous horses across the drawbridge, stopping when they reached the portcullis that blocked the gateway.
A gnarled and bent old man came scurrying across the courtyard, lantern in hand.
“We are Renamir and Belgar, here to see Malicar. Let us in,” Renamir commanded.
The old man held the lantern up to see their faces.
“It’s them,” came a voice from the shadows.
The old man fumbled for his keys as he walked to the side of the portcullis, eventually finding the right key and inserting it into the lock in the postern door. Belgar and Renamir stepped through, handing the reigns of their horses to the old man.
From the shadows stepped a large uruk. Vaguely human in appearance, he had a large, overdeveloped back and was excessively muscled. He stole a covetous look at the horses, the pang of hunger quite visible on his face.
“Come,” he said, heading towards the stairwell that led to the keep.
He led Renamir and Belgar up the stairwell, past the sentries at the keep’s entrance, and down a long, arched hallway lit by oil pots. The dim smoky light allowed them to see well enough, but did nothing to chase away the shadows cast upon the rough-hewn stone walls.
They were led to a large half-oval chamber where two uruks guarded a pair of heavy oaken doors. Their guide continued through one of the oaken doors leaving Renamir and Belgar to face the evil grins of the guards.
Belgar felt as if the guards were privy to some evil joke he and Renamir were not. His fear of Malicar only reinforced that belief. He shifted in discomfort, eliciting a chuckle from one of the guards. Belgar was saved from further discomfort by the return of the guide who signaled for them to follow him through the open door.
The half-oval room beyond was the mirror of the first. At the far end, a fire pit sectioned off a portion of the room. A stone dais, raised three feet off the floor, with a marble throne upon it, stood beyond the fire pit. A small bridge across the fire pit allowed ingress to the dais and throne.
Flanking the empty throne were colonnaded exits, cleverly designed to take advantage of the shadows cast by the fire pit so as to appear as simple niches.
As Belgar was examining the room, the red light of the fire pit began to grow in intensity, chasing the dark shadows from the throne. A cloaked form began to take shape out of the shadows. Seated on the throne was a large man in a flowing black robe, a hood hiding the features of his face except for the flames’ reflections in his eyes.
“Good evening, Renamir,” Malicar said in a voice that sounded like the blowing of crumbled pieces of parchment in a dark and haunted mausoleum. “And my good Belgar, how nice of you to stop in and see me this evening.”
Belgar swallowed hard and nodded towards the robed figure.
Slowly and deliberately, Malicar raised an arm. The guide moved away from Belgar and Renamir, his eyes cast down to the floor.
“The vial?” Malicar asked.
Renamir produced the vial from a pocket in his robes and held it up.
Malicar raised an arm and the vial lifted into the air, floated across the room, and settled into his hand.
“Excellent,” he said, examining it.
“We’ve also been observing his daily routine. We have a couple of potential abduction points picked out,” Renamir added.
“Very well,” Malicar replied, bringing his hands together above his lap. “You will be rewarded for your services.” He lifted a hand and an uruk came forth with a small leather pouch, clanking of gold. “I trust this will be sufficient until the day when Baron Toliver lies dead.”
“Yes, your greatness,” they replied in unison. Renamir tucked the pouch within the folds of his robe.
“Good. Now if you please, gentlemen, I have much work to do and must get at it. My servants will show you to your rooms. Have a pleasant sleep,” he said with an edge in his voice. There was a brief burst of smoke under the throne and the black hooded figure slowly dissolved into nothing.
Their guide looked about the room nervously for a moment, and then proceeded to lead Renamir and Belgar out of the room.
“He always did like spectacular entrances and exits,” Renamir mumbled quietly to Belgar.
“So what do we do now?” Belgar asked.
“We go to sleep.”
“Here? Are you crazy?”
“You care to leave?”
“Shouldn’t I head back to watch Hawkblood?”
“That is Malicar’s decision. It is his money,” Renamir said, shaking the purse of coins for emphasis.
“Sometimes I wonder if this is worth the money.”
“Oh, it will. Believe me, my friend. It is going to mean a whole lot of money if we succeed. Besides. When this is all done, you’ll be able to kill off Hawkblood.”
“There is that,” Belgar agreed. “He’s gonna pay for killing Shingar.”
Chapter Two
Weak moonlight leaked through the shutters as Esselles staggered out of bed to splash water on his face. Still struggling to wake up, he threw open the shutters and breathed in the early morning autumn air. A gentle breeze carried the taste of salt from the ocean. Through the masts in the harbor he could see the horizon just beginning to lighten with the coming da
wn.
“Finally,” he sighed out the window. “A day off.” He gathered a few provisions and headed down to the common room for breakfast. After eating, he went to the stables to brush off his horse and put on his saddle and reins. He rode north, towards the lighthouse.
Its face was shear granite and it looked as if nature had carved it from the surrounding rock by wind and rain. High atop its slender tower, Esselles could see the magically augmented fire shining out over the harbor. He often wondered what it would be like to be an apprentice at the guild with the duty of keeping the fire lit.
Passing the lighthouse, he made his way towards the Dipper Street gate. His mind continued to wander as he rode, wondering what the city must have looked like during the Wars for Freedom when the entire city consisted of what is now the inner city. Since the wars, the city walls had expanded twice and even now the population was exploding beyond those walls as people flooded to the capital of the new empire.
“Good morning, Hawkblood.”
It took Esselles a moment to orient on the voice that had snapped him out of his mental wanderings.
“Greetings, Batine. How did you pull gate duty?” Esselles asked the young officer who had stepped out to greet him.
“Volunteered, actually. I’ve got some family business I need to take care of before the baron conclave. So I’m trading duties with anyone who will cover for me.”
“Where are you working the conclave?” Esselles asked.
“The main castle gate. I hear you’re working the conclave as well.”
“I actually pulled baron escort.”
“Do you know who?” Batine asked.
“Toliver. Know anything about him?”
“Yes,” Batine said smiling. “Pretty strait-laced. His seat is northwest of the Bracken Woods. His father was one of Bracconius’ top officers in the war, killed in the battle of Sarahaltan. He only had one son, the current baron. Nothing like his father. Too much like his mother. But I guess his father was off fighting the war during his childhood and of course, never came back. He picked up a lot of his mother’s traits, including her lack of a sense of humor.”
“That doesn’t bode well for me, does it?”
Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1) Page 2
