Mercifully, the demon kept quiet after that, helped Pavel sit up, and then placed the waterskin on the Azat’s lips. Sheqer stared at the man for a while and then shook his head. Without saying anything, he carried Pavel to the shelter of a nearby tree.
Pavel’s mind was clearer now, and he noticed that the shimmering which had characterized their surroundings was now gone. The bard went to inspect the bodies. After a while, Sheqer came back carrying a purse and a medallion. The jewelry was evidently magical; the man could sense a muted power emanating from it.
“We’re richer now,” said the bard. Then Sheqer held up the medallion. “But this indicates we might have major problems later.”
“Explain,” asked Pavel, the statement aggravating his headache. It was evident that he needed time and more spells to recuperate.
“These excuses for giant ogres don’t usually practice magic. A few kinds do, but we would have been attacked by fireballs and such at the beginning of the ambush. They’d get rid of their victims and have an already cooked meal at the same time. But this amulet was given to them,” explained Sheqer.
“And?” prodded Pavel. At this point, monosyllabic statements were better for a throbbing headache than complete questions.
“By itself, this is a powerful artifact. The kind you don’t see in stores. It creates area illusions. Such a spell requires a lot of power and only powerful mages and similar magical rascals could come up with this beauty. It was given to those monsters, that’s what I am saying,” said the bard.
“Payment?”
“Possibly. If so, then expect other creatures around. If somebody’s paying with this kind of currency, there would be a lot of takers.”
***
After some time, Sheqer carried the Azat away from the ambush area, reasoning that sooner or later, somebody or something would come looking for the dead trio. The bard selected a small gorge as a hiding place, and Pavel saw it was a good choice. Enough foliage surrounded it and the undergrowth on two sides was thick enough to discourage attempts to pass through them.
Sheqer apparently wanted time for the man to recover, and Pavel thought that if that was the bard’s reaction, then he must look like hell. He felt like it too. As the Azat ate his meal in silence, he noticed the demon was deep in thought.
“A thinking demon. Now that’s a sight I thought didn’t exist,” he joked. He was feeling a lot better, though he had lost count of how many healing spells he had cast on himself.
“For one clad in mortal form, don’t act like a stupid human,” retorted the bard.
Clad in mortal form? It was a curious turn of phrase, but something again prevented him from pursuing the subject.
“You need more killing power, Master. That arcane blade is an excellent weapon, but its effectiveness is limited. And you’re burdened by lack of knowledge and inadequate training,” observed the bard, looking at Pavel.
He knew Sheqer was going to suggest something, so he waited.
“I know you can’t use demon spells because of the nature of such magic. Unfortunate. You could have wreaked havoc with what I could teach. But you have a form of energy within you, one which you could control. I don’t know if it’s a gift or something innate. But it’s there,” pointed out the demon.
“Your argument?” asked Pavel. He was beginning to like his new manner of talking. Short and concise.
“Let’s try the same principle which directs the use of demonic power. Try coursing the energy to your blade, the one Encratas gave you. In your hand, the sword is but an extension of your arm. Nothing prevents your power from manifesting itself through such a weapon.”
“Like this?” said the Azat as he drew the weapon and held it in a high guard position.
A black fog immediately curled around the blade, caressing its sharp edges. Silver apparently didn’t affect it as the sword’s inlay didn’t react to its presence.
“Nice,” said the demon.
15
The Stones of Muraybet
There was once a maiden fair,
With kind eyes and a coy heart
Who met her soul in a dashing heir,
Passion kindled, and the world blushed,
At hope and happiness forevermore.
The duo stayed under the covering foliage for the better part of two hours, with Sheqer venturing out once to ostensibly check their surroundings. Pavel believed the demon probably got bored. The bard could easily detect intruders if he put his mind into it. Pavel didn’t mind. He could still feel the injuries to his body, and even the Azat knew even healing spells had their limit. Bones and muscles needed to recover on their own. Magical incantations merely helped push them in the desired direction.
Sheqer was now back in their shelter and was humming a bizarre tune. It wasn’t loud, but it did make hiding close to being a senseless activity. Anybody within ten feet of the pair would be able to hear the bard. The Azat let the demon be but decided that if any monster showed up because of the noise, then it was Sheqer’s job to take care of the intruder, pack, herd, or whatever form a hostile presence might take.
“Humans. Three of them. Approaching our little hideaway,” the bard said suddenly.
Pavel drew the longsword with a resigned groan. He was a lot better, but the man preferred avoiding combat for a while. The Azat stood up and waited by the crawlspace that served as the entrance to their small area.
“A good day, strangers. We do not mean any harm,” came a male voice. “We followed your tracks. Were you responsible for those three dead giants?”
Pavel stared at the bard.
“I thought you covered our tracks,” he accused the demon, though in a whisper.
“I did. I was magically thorough. But I guess I missed some signs a hunter could follow,” replied the bard. “And don’t give me that look. What do I know about such things?”
Shaking his head, Pavel turned his attention back to the unknown intruder. The pair couldn’t be seen from outside their cover, as the thick bramble and the additional bushes the Azat piled to their front provided sufficient concealment.
“What’s it to you?” asked Pavel.
“Our thanks and gratitude, my friends. Those monsters have been the bane of the hunters of our village for a time. We saw some signs of someone being injured. Maybe we could be of help,” came the solicitous answer.
“You believe that?” the Azat asked Sheqer.
“Quite possible. I don’t sense any taint of malice or evil. Your decision.”
Pavel called out, allowing the speaker to enter their location, but advised that the man be unarmed and his companions keep their distance.
A man wearing light leather armor showed up. True to his word, he was unarmed. He stared at the pair.
“Only two of you? And one a bard?” he asked, the question marked with incredulity.
“Mind his tongue, it’s deadly,” replied Pavel in a light tone, gesturing for the man to sit down.
The hunter gave his name as Advar, and his companions were Barem and Shona. They were tasked with keeping track of the giants. He admitted the village had found it nearly impossible to deal with the monsters, and after losing two of their own, their baksi, or village shaman, advised them to keep away from the band.
Food supplies had been affected, and the most that the hunters of the village could do was keep track of where the giants were at a specific time. It allowed them to do some hunting as the monsters would stay in a particular area for a while.
“What do you mean band? There’s more of them?” asked Pavel. He didn’t relish the notion of tangling with more capcaun. It appeared that two at a time would be his limit. Yet the observation of Sheqer about such creatures being recruited seemed to be true.
“A number. We have not been able to count them all, but not fewer than twenty. New creatures to these lands. Our sagas do not mention them,” replied the hunter. “But we believe you just killed their leader. Whether that’s a good or bad thing, we really can’t
determine.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” piped up the bard. “From the little I know, the rest would be busy fighting each other to determine the successor. The leaders of these capcaun bands tend to bring with them the strongest of the group, who incidentally are now food for worms.”
“Capcaun? The word is unfamiliar. You do have some knowledge about such monsters. We did know one of you had been hurt. Here’s a healing potion. A token of our gratitude,” said Advar as he gave a small glass flask to Pavel. It contained a green fluid, dark green in color.
Quite potent, thought the Azat, who looked at Sheqer. At the slight nod of the bard, Pavel took the gift and hid it inside his pouch. There would be time for it.
***
Much later, the pair found themselves among the three hunters, two men and one woman. Pavel had taken the health potion, and he had to admit that it was far more effective than the light healing spells he had been using. Even the muscles in his back didn’t hurt anymore, and the faint ringing in his ears was gone.
The group agreed to stay in place for the night. Shona had already scouted their surroundings and proclaimed the area safe. But the group kept to the gorge.
From the stories of the three, it appeared that the villagers found it difficult to fight the capcaun because of the area illusions their leader was able to conjure. Against such magic, hunter skills were of no match and even their baksi admitted that the spell was beyond his ability to counter.
Sheqer smilingly volunteered the information that the capcaun band wouldn’t be able to use such illusions anymore. He told the trio that the artifact allowing the casting of the spell had been destroyed by Pavel.
A smooth liar, observed the Azat, keeping a straight face. Damn. Though the amulet could be of use provided we could find out how to use it. Then he caught himself. Of course, we’ll be able to utilize it. I’ve got a Greater Demon to find out how it works. Or maybe Sunor could make it work.
“So, what brings such a warrior to these dangerous heights? I admit the hunting is excellent and would have been pleasant in more peaceful times. But it’s now full of strange and deadly creatures,” asked the man called Barem.
The Azat explained he had been requested by Mihai to investigate the wolf attacks which had greatly affected the village. He told them of his plan of visiting the old ruins to find clues. Pavel didn’t mention that he had already encountered a pack of werewolves.
“We’ve already been to the Stones of Muraybet. We found nothing. I’d be careful if I were you,” said Advar. “We’ve seen creatures who were more than wolves. Such beings and worse have been haunting this area for some reason. That’s why only hunters are now allowed outside the village, and only in groups of three.”
“Stones of Muraybet? That’s what the ruin is called?” inquired the Azat.
“An ancient name. These mountains also bear the same title,” replied Shona.
“Why three?” asked the bard, referring to the current practice of the village.
“Three to fight. If one falls, then one to cover the flight of the other so news could be brought back to the village. We know the legends. Our baksi has warned us about the curse of such wolf-like beings,” explained Advar grimly. “Anyway, we won’t burden you with our troubles. We’ll direct you to the site you want to visit and then return to our homes. You might find something we missed. We do apologize that we can’t invite you to the village. Since our troubles with the lowlanders started, our gates have been closed.”
“Dark times,” remarked the female hunter. “The events predicted in our tales seem to be coming true.”
“Shona.” The sharp tone of Advar startled the female hunter, who turned away in an abashed manner.
“I am sorry,” Advar told Pavel. “Those are but stories and myths coming from a small and insignificant village. Legends and fables.”
Pavel thought about inquiring further about such legends and myths. Still, given the reaction of Adar, he doubted if he’d get any real information. The man would probably avoid answering and attempt to dismiss his query as immaterial and fit for children.
“So, we can’t even ask you what’s the name of your village?” ventured Sheqer.
“I am sorry, but no. It’s better this way. But if you do meet other hunters from our tribe, our names would suffice to grant you safe passage through the forest,” offered the hunter.
“Mihai told me your people have been here long before settlers from Farel arrived. Is that true?” asked the Azat.
Barem was the one who answered Pavel. They were a tribe of the Altai, a vast nomadic collection of tribes from long ago. As the Altai made its way through uninhabited lands, various groups settled in places that appealed to them. And of the multitude which established itself in the region, only a few villages remained, and their population had greatly diminished. Most perished during the Great War which left the Plain of Shinar a barren wasteland.
Must be a spectacularly terrible conflict. Only enormous amounts of magical energy could devastate such a land, reducing it to dirt, reflected the Azat. But he held back on questions about the topic. He doubted if any of the trio would be willing to share stories from their sagas about it.
“And the ancient ruins? Mihai told me you consider it to be holy ground,” asked Pavel. The fact that the hunters offered to show him the way the following morning indicated the site wasn’t quite what the innkeeper said it was. But more information would be welcome.
“Holy in the sense that it formed part of our people’s history. A legacy of the past. Leaders and baksi from the various settlements used to gather there for matters of import. And for the Kingdom to treat it as a mere festival site, a place for drunken revels, was an insult to our people. You can look around for clues there; just don’t deface or destroy anything. We end up cleaning the place after every festival. Added work to the insult and injury. But it’s apparent you’re not from Farel, so I don’t mind telling you these things,” replied Advar with a grin.
“Maybe the bard could grace us with a tune before bed?” suggested Shona.
Pavel started to speak, trying to find an excuse to prevent Sheqer from singing, but the bard was quicker. Suddenly, the demon was already sitting before the small campfire, lute in hand.
Oh, shit, thought the Azat. He had no idea what Sheqer would sing.
“A love song I shall sing, my friends, but my apologies in advance as this is the first time for me to try my poor skills for such a sonnet,” said the bard, as he strummed his lute.
A love song? From a demon? Pavel was suitably apprehensive, dreading Sheqer’s attempt. He consoled himself with the thought that, at least, the demon was taking his role seriously.
Then Sheqer started on his song with a surprisingly musical voice and a hauntingly, bittersweet melody. The sound of the bard’s voice was eerily captivating and irresistibly drew its listeners into the imagery and pathos of the tale being told.
There was once a maiden fair,
With kind eyes and a coy heart
Who met her soul in a dashing heir,
Passion kindled, and the world blushed,
At hope and happiness forevermore.
Alas, love and marriage were not in the stars,
For foes of blood, fortune and time had damned their clans to be
But hearts entwined would find a way, as lovers do, when the cat’s away
Oh, the joys of young love, of forbidden trysts
Satiating lust and obsession for a time, for a while
Yet came a season when doors were locked,
The gates shut, and windows bolted, and the world crumbled
Tearing twin souls apart, in a painful cut of hate,
A flood of tears flowed, and the cries raged,
But love denied were high walls and a shut cage
As time passed, and yearnings grew, a plan was hatched,
And a desperate desire flared, against the bars of unfeeling night.
Woe was theirs, th
ose who find love, yet still beyond their reach,
If fate would not bring them their hearts’ desires,
Then to a cruel world would poison and blade bade farewell.
Then on a night of feasting, when kith and kin of one and all gathered,
The two lovers met, and pledged love forevermore,
In this world and the next, come what may, though the heavens may fall,
Vows were made, and a solemn oath pronounced
Sealed with a chaste kiss and a shameless moment
As the clock struck midnight, the dark hour, the time of doom
All their kin lay dead, brought to hell by love’s envenomed delight,
Slitted throats and opened chests greeted the morning dawn
The maid to the groom’s blood, and the heir to the bride’s kin,
Now passion has found a means, to love and happiness forevermore
We find our lovers well on their way, with bloodied daggers
Thrown away, and vials of poison buried deep,
On a journey to a land far and removed
Where memories of family and blood could be rinsed,
With the glitter of taken gold and riches
In the name of love and happiness forevermore.
As the last note faded, a dumbstruck trio of hunters stared at the bard. Even Pavel found himself trying to find words to say. If that was a love song, then the rest of the demon’s repertoire looked interesting.
“That was positively… demonic,” Shona said slowly.
“It’s a love story alright, but nightmarishly so. I don’t mean to insult, but you need to polish your skills, bard. A lot,” added Advar solemnly.
“Bad dreams,” Barem concluded.
***
To Pavel’s pleasant amazement and the bard’s disgruntled disappointment again, nothing tried to attack, bite, or eat them on the way to the ancient stone formation.
The Stones themselves were massive, weathered boulders half-buried in the ground. The entire age-old arrangement was on top of a large mesa and gave an imposing, overlooking view of the whole countryside around the site. The place itself was in a cleared area surrounded by thick woodland. It was a quiet spot, and even the breeze was soft and pleasing. He didn’t think any predator was around. Pavel even caught sight of a fawn as it bounded away when they reached the location.
My Name is Ruin Page 15
