Demonified (Hawkblood Chronicles Book 1)

by Stephen Schultz

  “Yes, I do,” Kyell answered. “My tairn was one of the first to pledge support for the Urigrave. It is our belief that Uran sent a new son into the world to deliver our people from Malustreure. And Malustreure certainly demonstrated his parentage when he launched the wars.”

  “I don’t know if Bracconius is a son of Uran or Malustreure the son of Tor,” Carrel said. “But I would definitely label Malustreure as a great foe. So if there was ever a time Uran was going to fulfill his prophecy, this was certainly it.”

  “I’ll agree with that,” Reston said. “Malustreure was a fearsome and hated enemy. I lost two uncles, a brother, and a nephew to Malustreure’s hordes.”

  “You had a nephew old enough to fight in the Wars for Freedom?” Esselles asked.

  “Yes. He was younger than most who fought but he was a young adult.”

  “Are you the youngest brother?” Esselles asked.

  “No. I’m the oldest.”

  “How old are you?” Esselles asked.

  “Fifty-seven.”

  “I forget how much slower Elves age than we do,” Esselles said. “You don’t look a day over twenty.”

  “Don’t insult him,” Carrel said with a laugh. “You’ve just called him a juvenile.”

  “He didn’t mean it,” Reston said.

  “I know. I was just letting him know.”

  The four discussed everything from siblings and ancestry to religion and legends to wars and combat techniques until the wee hours of the morning. Carrel and Reston drifted off, but Esselles and Kyell continued to talk until Clawson stopped the transport to change drivers again. The sky was just beginning to lighten as Landir stepped outside.

  “Why don’t you two get some sleep? Especially you, cadet,” he said. “You have some training to do tomorrow.”

  “Aye, sir,” Esselles said. It did not take much convincing for either of them to go to sleep.

  The day dawned without a cloud in the sky and the sun streamed across the rolling, grassy plains. It was a beautiful day for riding and Esselles and Rashel decided to take advantage of it. They untethered two of the horses and set out across the fields.

  As the wind blew through the grasses it set everything in motion, and with the gentle rolling hills, it gave Esselles the impression of being out on the ocean. The tall grasses parted before his trotting horse like the wake of a ship.

  Beside him, Rashel kicked her horse into a canter and raced past Esselles. He followed suit and the two of them raced across the plains. The grasses gave way to cultivated wheat, but neither slowed down. They raced down the path left by a wagon, each taking one of the tracks ground by the wheels.

  The entire scene seemed surreal to Esselles. His ears were filled with the susurration of rustling wheat and as far as his eyes could see, he was surrounded by an ocean of wheat, unbroken except for a single tall hill rising in the distance.

  As uniform as the surroundings were, they somehow struck him as familiar. Especially the hill. Riding toward that hill, he had a strange feeling of home.

  Upon cresting the next rise, he spied a solitary figure standing upon the hill. Something was vaguely familiar about the person’s stance, even at this distance. He kicked his horse into a gallop, leaving Rashel behind. She kicked her horse to follow.

  As Esselles approached, he was again struck by the strange, surreal feeling. Looking at the man, he felt as if he were looking into a mirror. His periphery disappeared. Soon, he only saw the man ahead of him.

  Though Esselles raced toward him at a full gallop, the man seemed to take little notice. He stood there, straight and still, as if totally absorbed in thought. Esselles reined his horse just a few feet from the man and in a single fluid motion, leaped from the saddle to land at the man’s feet.

  “Father!” Esselles cried out as he threw his arms about the man.

  Rashel slowed her mount and dismounted about ten feet away.

  “Father, where have you been? We thought you had died.”

  “I don’t know,” his father answered, still staring straight ahead. Finally, as if coming out of a stupor, coherence showed in his eyes and he looked down at his son. “I just don’t know. I was on a dark sea. I barely remember it. Just a dark black sea. No moons. Few stars. Water as black as black can be.”

  “I don’t understand. We buried you. Pol dug your grave. I saw it.”

  “I don’t understand it either. I…I remember seeing the sword plunging into my chest. And then, then it was dark. I remember crying out for your mother. I couldn’t reach her. I couldn’t call to her. I couldn’t tell her how much I loved her.”

  Though his father spoke in a detached and emotionless voice, the words hit Esselles hard. A tear rolled down his cheek. Behind him, he heard Rashel sob.

  “But how did you get here?” he asked.

  “For minutes, hours, days, how long I don’t know, I was on that sea. And then, the wind spoke in my ear. In a voice that sounded like the wind blowing through autumn leaves, I was told, ‘Your son needs you. Go to him.’

  “There was a strange falling sensation and suddenly, my world was no longer black. It was white. Blazing white. It took forever for my eyes to adjust. When they did, I found myself here, lying on my back, looking up at the clouds.

  “The wind whipped through the wheat and I heard, ‘Wait for him.’ So I did. I stood and waited. And here you are.”

  Esselles’ mind struggled with the improbability of it, but he quickly brushed it aside and embraced his father again. “I don’t care how you got here. I’m just glad you are here. I’ve missed you so.”

  He held his father tight for a minute or two before remembering he was not alone. He stepped back and said, “Father, there is someone I’d like you to meet.” He turned towards Rashel. “Father, this is Rashel. Rashel, my father.”

  “I’m pleased to meet…” Rashel never finished her sentence. As she spoke, a hideous creature leaped out of the wheat and onto her back.

  It was over six feet tall, nearly as wide, and more muscled than the grishmagi. It had large shoulders and huge arms ending in clawed hands, each with four fingers. Its head was nearly twice that of his own and its mouth was filled with rows of razor sharp teeth.

  It grabbed Rashel by the shoulders and sunk its teeth into the base of her neck. Caught totally unaware, she barely had time to scream before it tore out the side of her neck.

  “NO!” Esselles screamed, a tortured scream that ripped from his throat as he sat up straight in bed, beads of sweat pouring down his body.

  He looked about in the partial darkness, unable to get his orientation. His heart was still pounding and his head swam with visions of the beast gorging on Rashel’s torn flesh.

  “What is it?” Reston asked, pulling aside the curtains that separated the bunk area from the front of the transport at the same time Kyell leapt from his bunk, sword in hand.

  It took Esselles another moment to get his bearings. By now, everyone in the back of the transport had gathered around Esselles’ bunk.

  “Are you okay?” Carrel asked.

  Esselles just stared.

  “Bad dream?” Reston asked.

  “Very vivid. More real than any I’ve ever known.”

  “What was it about?” Rashel asked, stepping into the bunk area.

  “We were…” he trailed off a moment to collect his thoughts. “We were riding through a wheat field, in Arator, I believe, near my house where I grew up. Anyway, my father was standing on the top of this one hill.”

  “Didn’t you say your father had died?” Reston asked.

  “Yes. Years ago. But there he was. I asked him how he had gotten there and he said he didn’t know. He told me about the last few moments of his life and then said he was on some sort of black sea.”

  “The Sea of Souls,” Kyell interjected.

  “What?” Esselles asked.

  “The Sea of Souls. According to legend, it is where the souls of fallen comrades travel. Nekros, the Lord of the Dead, p
resides over it.”

  “Oh,” Esselles responded, still in a daze. “Well, he said he was on the sea when a voice told him I was in trouble and that he should come to help me. He said he found himself in the wheat field and was told to wait for me to arrive.”

  “Interesting,” Kyell said.

  “We spoke a little more, and when I turned to introduce Rashel, a demon jumped on her back and bit into her neck. That’s when I screamed and woke up.”

  “I can see how that would be disturbing,” Rashel said with a smile.

  “I think your father is trying to send you a warning,” Kyell said.

  “But my father is dead. And what message?” Esselles asked, sitting up.

  “It sounds as if he is trying to warn you of danger. It is our belief that the dead can come back to warn those they love.”

  “So you’re saying my father has returned from the grave in my dreams to warn me about some threat to my life?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or,” Carrel said, “it is possible that Esselles’ own mind is trying to warn him about something. Kyell told the tale of Uran and the All-Fatherer last night. Doesn’t the concept of the father returning in Esselles’ hour of need sound awfully familiar?”

  “Yes, it does,” Kyell answered. “However, there are many parallels between our lives and the lives of those who have gone before.”

  “I don’t know if the answer is within the confines of Esselles’ mind or within the demesnes of the Sea of Souls,” Rashel said, placing a hand on Esselles’ arm. “But I do know that we need to let Clawson get some sleep. Let’s move up front and talk about this. Or better yet, climb topside and talk about it there.”

  “I wonder what this means,” Esselles said. “I wonder if it could have something to do with my recent attacks.”

  “What attacks?” Kyell asked.

  Esselles explained the recent attacks, including his suspicions that magic might be involved.

  “It sounds like magic might very well be involved,” Kyell agreed. “You may want to talk with one of the mages at Balderon’s guild when we return.”

  Chapter Ten

  The transport was rumbling past Dussel when the temple bells rang four bells, meaning the early evening had arrived. The sound of the bells carried across the foothills and elicited a grumble from the stomachs of the soldiers, conditioned as they were to their daily schedule.

  “I agree,” Esselles said upon hearing Kyell’s stomach. “In fact, it sounds unanimous. I don’t suppose we could talk Clawson into pulling off for a quick meal. I could go for some hot soup right now.”

  “You mean you are tired of the breads, meats and cheeses?” Rashel asked. “I hope the person who went through all the trouble to bake and prepare them doesn’t hear you. You might hurt her feelings.”

  “Oh, no, not at all. What I meant was the hot soup would take out some of the chill the air has put in me. And what could possibly go better with that hot soup than some of the delicious bread we have been blessed with on this trip?”

  “He’s quick,” Reston said with a laugh. “I’ll give him that.”

  “It won’t be long before we reach the lodge,” Landir informed them. “We’ll make a nice hot meal then. I’m sure your stomachs will survive for three or four more hours without a hot meal. And if it is the cold that is bothering you, I could always have you run alongside the wagon.”

  “You know, all this talk of hot food has me feeling warmer already.”

  “I think you have been with Walket too long. You are starting to sound like him when it comes to work avoidance.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind extra work. Not as long as I can complain about it,” Esselles answered with a smile.

  “Marvelous. Just what the Legions need.”

  “I can just hear it now,” Carrel chimed in. “‘Soldier, take that ridge.’ ‘But sir, don’t you think that’s a little far to run?’”

  “I’d have sworn this was a military transport. But it sounds more like one of the Players’ wagons. What a bunch of comedians,” Landir said.

  “Have to do something on this long a trip,” Esselles said.

  “Long?” Landir asked. “This is nothing. Try going from Arator to the Valley of Pelikan.”

  “I assume you are talking about after the Battle of Arator. I can’t imagine what that was like,” Esselles said. “I used to try to get my father to talk about the wars, but he didn’t like to. He said the nightmares from that war never left him.”

  “What unit was your father in?” Landir asked.

  “He was part of the Arator militia, but he later got assigned to the Fifth Imperial Legion under Captain Pelsin.”

  “I remember Pelsin. He was a good man. The Fifth bore heavy casualties in the Battle of Sarahaltan. Your father was a lucky man to be alive.”

  “That’s what he always said. He said there were two times he really didn’t think he was going to make it. The first was when they were overrun in the Battle of Arator and the second was during two of heavier assaults into Sarahaltan.”

  “I take it he was in the southern militia during Arator,” Landir said.

  “Yes, he was. It wasn’t until after the battle that he was assigned to the Fifth. You were in one of the northern castles, weren’t you?”

  “Yes,” Landir answered. “And like your father, I too thought we weren’t going to make it. My castle was one of those breached by Malustreure’s hordes before the Sorenthians had arrived.

  “We had been under siege for twenty days. We had been forced to cut rations twice. Morale was extremely low. On the twenty-first day, a large army of gromja came to join the standing siege army of uruks. Included was a group of gromja-rin. Picture a gromja, but even more heavily muscled, about eight or nine feet tall, weighing around a thousand pounds. On top of that, they can draw magical energy, much like a grishmagi.

  “They rolled all their siege engines to the front of the castle, including a number of large rolling barricades. Then they sent the hordes of uruks charging the front gates, unleashing volley after volley of arrows. We cut thousands down, but more kept coming.

  “Gromja carried battering rams, trying to reach the front gates. We fought them off, and kept all but one group from even reaching the gates, and that group we killed off rather quickly. But they turned out to be just a diversion.

  “To the west of the gates, the gromja-rin pushed the barricades in close. We thought they would try to storm over the walls, but they didn’t. Under the protection of the barricades, they pressed up to the walls and began to channel energy through them.

  “We realized what was happening, but it was too late to do anything about it. There were too many of them and their combined magical strength was too great. With a thundering explosion, the wall came down.

  “We fought tooth and nail, but they managed to take the outer bailey. We knew the castle was finished – it would only be a matter of time before they took the inner bailey and keep. We decided we had best try to get the women and children out. Captain Steram was to lead the defense, and I was to lead the evacuation. We rounded up the remaining three transports, the rest had been damaged, and filled them with the women and children.

  “By now, the castle was utter chaos. Fighting was everywhere. The entire front of the castle was controlled by the pack of gromja-rin and was overrunning with uruks. Prairhorn, my second, and I climbed to the upper wall to plan our course of action. From there, we could see down into the courtyard. And through the open gates rode Kurich Dahle on his hellsteed.

  “Immediately, the complexion of the fighting changed. He called out and drew some of his units back, defending their flanks while he and the gromja-rin made a direct assault on the main keep. Gromja use whips and swords and are barely able to keep the uruks in line. Dahle just uses his voice and his presence. And everyone listens.

  “Dahle and the gromja-rin returned to the courtyard moments later with Captain Steram in tow. Two of the gromja-rin dragged him and forced him t
o his knees in front of Dahle.

  “Prairhorn, being Elven, had exceptional hearing and told me what Dahle was saying. He was trying to get Steram to surrender. He told him he would spare all of the women and children if he would give him the coordinates for the castle Bracconius was in. He was referring to magical coordinates, something necessary to open a magical gate to a specific location.

  “Prairhorn also told me Dahle was probing Steram’s mind with psionics. Ruthlessly, he had said, if he could feel the mental blasts at that distance. ‘If Steram knows the coordinates, Dahle has them now,’ he told me. But either Steram didn’t know them or he was tougher than Prairhorn thought because Dahle never did get those coordinates.

  “Dahle then told Steram that if he would not surrender, he would make sure no one left the castle alive. Not even the women and children. ‘I’ll kill them first. In front of you. After I rape and sodomize them first,’ he told him. Steram spat in his face. The gromja-rin pummeled him for his insolence.

  “Another group of gromja-rin entered the courtyard hooting and hollering. They had three or four individuals with them, including Steram’s wife. Dahle walked over to her, wrapped one of his hands around her neck, lifted her off the ground, and carried her over to where the gromja-rin held Steram. There, he grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it open.

  “Steram became enraged and tried to break free of his captives. He swore and spat and kicked to no avail. Meanwhile, Kurich Dahle was working on pulling off her entire dress. She kicked and clawed and scratched, but Dahle simply ignored her strikes, tearing her clothes off and pulling her to him. He forced his mouth over hers.

  “As he pulled her back away from him, she managed to draw one of his daggers. Dahle threw her away. A gromja-rin caught her and she slashed its arm. Its eyes went wide and it bit into its arm, spitting out a huge chunk of flesh. Everyone gave her a wide berth. They all knew the blade was poisoned.

  “She held the blade up towards Kurich Dahle and demanded he release her husband. He merely smiled, raised an arm, and unleashed a blast of energy that burnt into her abdomen. She crumpled to the ground, the deadly knife falling from her open hand.