My Name is Ruin

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  Pavel stared at the back of the bard and the germ of an idea came to mind. He smiled as his thoughts worked around the notion, and the smile became a grin when he realized it was workable. The demon would complain; that, he expected. But it was a small payback for leaving the Azat in the lurch. Of course, Sheqer did it to save his own hide, but the fellow should have been more detailed in the warnings he’d given Pavel.

  That “neither good nor evil” comment started it all, reflected the man. But at least now, he had something with which to ferret out the temple. Hopefully, it would work, though Pavel saw no reason why it shouldn’t.

  Must bean underground temple, he mused. The Oracle did say mountains, but he’d bet Sheqer’s ass it was in a cavern.

  Those evil shrines usually are, he mused. I wonder what made being deep underground an attractive location for such ambitious clods?

  He knew there were exceptions to the underground rule. A dark cult tolerated as a religion, an ancient, decaying church in an isolated location, or even in a place of the blackest worship in a structure disguised as a mansion. But they all had the same prevalent dreary and malignant atmosphere. Almost all of them stank with the prurience of rotting flesh and decayed blood. Add to that the peculiar perfume of malevolent entities if they were regular visitors. And one could never actually remove the metallic tang of blood in the air, especially if human sacrifices were frequent events.

  What’s wrong with a bright, airy, and pleasant place? considered Pavel, as the morbid thought took hold in his imagination. It would do wonders for increasing the faithful, not to mention morale. There’s really no difference between cutting open a sacrificial victim in full daylight and conducting it in a dim space, lit only by flickering candles.

  ***

  A few hours later, the pair took a brief respite. The Azat knew they were nearing the village. He saw the main road when they crested a hill a while back. But the pace the bard set was extremely tiring. It was nothing for an entity like Sheqer, but it was a hellish trek for the man.

  As they rested, Pavel described the events which happened back on the mesa. He even told the bard what the Oracle said. Yet, he didn’t feel any appreciable reaction from the demon who just kept quiet, though the bastard nodded from time to time.

  “What was that about chaos energy? asked Pavel. His mind was vague about the whole metaphysical picture. All he knew for sure was he had a task to do and a time within which to do it.

  “I assume one of the primeval entities of this world. You know – Order, Chaos, and Fate. I know Fate has some avatars walking around back in my reality, Luck, for one. Good and evil are but interpretations of mortals, and they tend to overlap. What might be good for one would be evil for another,” explained the demon idly.

  “And Fate?”

  “The Lady is what you say she is, Master. She keeps the balance. For whom or what, no one can really say,” said Sheqer. “Though I did hear a powerful Prime back in my reality say that Lady Fate was but a caretaker. But that arrogant bastard didn’t know for certain either.”

  “And where do demons stand in that formulation? Mortals equate you with evil, yet that’s not one of the primordial entities,” inquired the man, wondering if demons were but a race, possibly a predatorial one, in another dimension.

  “We are what we are, Master. Like mortals and other creatures, we live from day to day,” replied the bard with mock seriousness. The Azat let the answer pass. It was expected that the demon would try to avoid directly answering questions related to its kind. But the man believed that, through time, he’d get a better idea about their infernal kind. Little by little, bit by bit, Sheqer was bound to let slip precious knowledge.

  “Those weighty matters are too much for this mortal brain. Too many missing pieces. Let’s focus on what needs to be done. Things might clear up as we go along. Speaking of which, I do have a job for you,” smiled Pavel.

  “I don’t like that smile,” reacted the bard. “Even for one such as me, it creeps me out.”

  “A simple one, really. With your affinity, sniff out that temple on the western side of the mountains,” said the man.

  “Now you turned me into a dog.”

  “Not merely a dog. A bloodhound, or if you prefer, a darkhound,” laughed Pavel, overcome by mirth.

  ***

  The duo burst out of the forest and into the main road just as a patrol of four guardsmen marched into view. The two looked at each other and walked in the direction of the inn, which, unfortunately, was where the area from which the soldiers came. Pavel wasn’t troubled by their presence. The two had paid the exorbitant border tax, and as far as he knew, nobody had yet learned about the destruction he had wrought on the festival site.

  “You there! Halt!” shouted the leading soldier, an elderly, though strongly built man.

  The pair stopped where they were, and Pavel dropped his pack on the ground with relief. The damned thing seemed to be getting heavier the more he lugged it around. It should be lighter. They’d already eaten about a third of what they’d brought with them. At least Pavel had.

  “You’re the mercenary and his bard?” asked the soldier when they came closer. The Azat quickly examined the speaker and concluded he must be the leader of the patrol. A small gray griffin was embroidered on the upper left side of his tabard. The rest didn’t have such a decoration, nor did the men at the border.

  “I guess the answer to that would be yes,” replied Pavel. He doubted if anybody would be currently walking around armed and armored like him. His magically created appearance did make him stand out.

  “Well, I am sorry, lad, but the governor just issued another proclamation conscripting all able-bodied men found in the border region. That would include you and the bard,” the soldier informed him.

  “Me? I am not even from this Kingdom. Not of Farel. Why would your governor even impose that generous border tax if he intended to conscript those who are not – how do you call yourselves… Farelians?”

  “Farelmen,” corrected the man. “I can’t answer your question, lad. I am just a sergeant following orders. Way down the pecking order.”

  Farelmen? How about the women? thought the Azat.

  “I am really sorry, but we have orders to clamp in irons those who resist,” said the sergeant. Pavel saw one of the soldiers bringing out two sets of manacles.

  “I am sorry too, sergeant. It had been a long day for me. I got ambushed by three giants, who are now scavenger food, if you’d like to know. My trip to this land was bothered by a large wolf pack. I am not in the mood to be conscripted. So, make your choice. Leave me be, or I’ll be forced to add four dead soldiers to my list,” said the Azat harshly.

  The elderly veteran looked at him carefully. Pavel knew he was being assessed for lethality. But the Azat had shifted to a ready stance, his hand already on the handle of his sword. Four armed men didn’t pose a threat, assuming they didn’t have any magical skills. But he doubted they had such abilities. Ordinary soldiers weren’t taught such specialties. Any kingdom worth its crown reserved magical training for a select few. The chances of members of the rank and file deserting, turning to brigandage, or even leading a rebellion was too high.

  Pavel was getting impatient. He wanted to reach the inn and get directions to the western side of the mountains. He had two days left to avert a bloody catastrophe, and here he was, getting conscripted by decree for a war or wars waged in lands he didn’t even know.

  “You know, sergeant. Let me make up your mind for you. A display, nothing more. I would hate to leave more bodies for forest beasts,” said the Azat finally. A wave of force slammed into the three lower-ranked soldiers standing in front of them, sending them flying some distance down the road.

  The eyes of the sergeant widened as he gawked at Pavel.

  “Magic!” he exclaimed, fear in his tone.

  17

  How to be a Wanted Man

  “I doubt if I could manage all of them, Sheqer.

 
Anything to contribute?”

  asked Pavel casually.

  “And no soul-taking either.”

  The patrol let them go, though Pavel reflected as if the group had any other option. Either let the pair go free or be left dead on the lonely forest road. The choice was that simple.

  However, the Azat was puzzled about the reaction of the sergeant when he used magic. For a veteran to react like that, the use of magic must be rare and limited to selected individuals. Mages were known to exist, as Encratas was a battlemage himself, and the High Council of Mages was an actual organization. Individuals with strong magical skills outside that group must be rarer than mages, he surmised.

  It was a conclusion that made him wish he had insisted on a nondescript disguise. Though on the other hand, his identity and reputation as a mercenary would be enhanced by his powerful abilities. Nobody would suspect a sword-for-hire to be an Azat unless they dug deeper into his activities. Though the man reminded himself that when facing human enemies, he had to necessarily limit the number and kind of spells.

  Exhibiting the full range of what he could do, especially after being trained by Sunor, would make him a primary target of the Council. But where there were no witnesses around, Pavel could let loose. And he had to be cautious about the energy described by the spirit as chaotic in origin, even if he knew he was an agent of Chaos too. Though he doubted that all servants of Chaos had the same ability. To Pavel, it could be because he was also a Fated.

  Damn. Overthinking it again, he considered even as the Azat doubted that mages had access to that kind of power, and based on the reaction of the Oracle, it wasn’t liked in this world.

  The sergeant did have the gratitude to thank him for not killing them when the rest of the patrol was beyond earshot. But he warned that they were obligated to report the encounter. He personally would prefer to act as if nothing happened, but he wasn’t sure about his men. The best he could do was to try to delay the return of the patrol to their outpost. That would give the pair a generous head start to flee the region.

  Pavel thanked the man and asked the bard to flip a coin to the sergeant. He appreciated the warning, and it was apparent the veteran didn’t like what the governor was doing. It was the second conscription notice in a year, and the man believed the region’s administrator was flirting with rebellion.

  People were already complaining about the lack of manpower to harvest crops and tend to the needs of the lumber and meat industries. The only businesses excluded by the conscription notice were mining concerns, but that was because those were directly under the Crown.

  The Azat took the information and shelved it at the back of his mind. They had no bearing on the task he needed to do. It was a strange feeling. He was a mortal, and yet he didn’t care about such concerns. Mundane, immaterial matters. Bothersome even, his mind insisted.

  ***

  They reached the inn without another incident and found a frantic Mihai. The innkeeper was beside himself with worry. The patrol had visited him looking for Pavel and the bard.

  “We’ve met them. Something about a conscription,” said Pavel.

  “That’s right! It’s getting to be a major problem. A new conscription! What will happen to us? There wouldn’t be anybody left to do any work!” complained Mihai.

  “I believe that the festival is going to be a massive recruitment opportunity, Mihai. Drunken soldiers wouldn’t make any distinction between young and older men. All they would care about is whether you’re fit to listen to orders and carry a weapon,” advised the Azat.

  “Then Bak would truly be exempt,” sniggered the bard.

  “Unless they need somebody to shovel the shit of their mounts,” countered Pavel. “Listen, Mihai. It’s not only the drafting of men into Farel’s army I am worried about. We ran into some dog-headed giants in the forest. I doubt if they have been seen in this region before. I strongly advise not going to the festival. A huge gathering like that would definitely attract the wrong kind of guests.”

  “Giants? Dog-headed ones? No, no. I don’t think legends of this area mention them. I’ll follow your advice. In truth, I have this feeling of dread whenever the festival comes to mind. But you two need to be gone. The soldiers might come back with a larger force,” suggested Mihai, nervously looking at the door and occasionally glancing outside the windows of the inn.

  “We’re now going west to Namir,” lied Pavel.

  “Good. I’ll let you have two of my best horses for three gold eagles each. That’s a steal at that price. The King’s Highway would grant you much faster movement. You’d be in Namir in three to four days. Bandits are known to infest some parts of the road, though,” said the innkeeper.

  Pavel glanced at Sheqer. The demon was already rummaging through his pouch, now with a sizeable bulge given the contributions of the dead capcauns.

  ***

  “I guess it’s not Namir?” asked the demon as the pair rode their horses along the highway. The condition of the road was better the deeper one got into the Kingdom. Pavel still had to see a crater along the way.

  “Of course not,” replied the Azat. “We’ll follow the road leading to the Hasuna Township, as indicated on the map of Encratas. That town marks the upper edge of the mountains of Muraybet. But along the way, we’ll pass the part where the heights extend the farthest into Farel. And can you do something about the eyes of your mount? It’s obvious the beast is possessed!”

  Sheqer extended a hand toward the horse’s head and the blazing crimson eyes disappeared, replaced by normal ones. Earlier, the pair had a problem with the demon’s mount. It naturally shied away from the bard, frightened beyond reason.

  Mihai was surprised at the reaction and went back to the inn to get their provisions. The innkeeper merely thought it was just unfamiliarity. Some horses did react in a bizarre way to certain individuals, but they would also calm down after a time. Pavel doubted that would happen.

  The animal could sense the demon. Even the Azat’s mount kept a healthy distance from Sheqer, neighing its fearful protest at the bard’s presence from time to time.

  “Do something,” Pavel whispered to the demon.

  Sheqer murmured and pointed at the two horses. The mounts immediately calmed down. He then walked to his mount and pressed a finger to its forehead, and then a red film appeared at the edges of the eyes. It got worse when they got moving, and the point came when the mount had blood-red spots in its eye sockets, with the pupils gone.

  ***

  The two made good time until they reached another outpost guarding the place where the road branched off toward Hasuna and the City of Constance. Pavel could sense something was wrong when he saw the guards immediately grab their spears upon sighting them.

  “Don’t stop!” he warned the bard, and then let loose a small amount of force in the ground in front of the guards, enveloping them in a minor dust storm.

  Amidst the ensuing confusion, the two made their escape and veered away from the main road. Pavel thought about their reception and wondered how the guards knew about them. The pair didn’t dally at the inn and made with all speed along the highway.

  “Messenger birds,” blurted Sheqer. The bard apparently knew what Pavel was thinking.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, pigeons and such. I don’t know what they use here, but it’s a fast way of delivering information. Especially about two individuals who didn’t want to join Farel’s army,” explained the demon smugly.

  “In short, we’re hunted men,” retorted the Azat with disgust.

  “You got it in one guess, oh Great Master,” came the bard’s sarcastic reply. “That means the soldiers in Hasuna would be waiting for us to give them a show.”

  Well, at least he’s still enjoying this, thought Pavel.

  “There will be soldiers ahead, waiting for us,” reminded Sheqer as the pair let their horses rest. They had stopped beside a small bridge, and the brook provided their mounts with water.

  Pavel
answered that he’d heard it the first time and expected it. Birds could travel faster than horses and the outpost they passed would have flying messengers.

  “Not only that,” said the bard. “Notice there’s no traffic on the road? For a main thoroughfare, one would have expected a wagon or two.”

  Pavel grinned. He’d missed that clue. The man had been used to traveling in the wilds with only the bard as his companion. Even during their arrival in Farel, humans were along the road even if they were aloof, distant, or outright hostile. Only Mihai provided a typical conversation.

  “No choice, Sheqer. There’s a guard outpost at our back, now probably reinforced, and our destination lies ahead,” replied the man.

  “I know. Just a reminder in case you missed it.”

  “Warn me when you sense them. I hate surprises,” said the Azat.

  He preferred to know when and where the reception would be. The only thing which worried him was what kind of obstruction awaited them. Pavel was sure that the report on them included a warning that he knew magic.

  The mountain range was on their right and was looming larger as the road approached a low mound. They were nearing the farthest point of the Stones of Muraybet, if Pavel recalled the map correctly. Not that the Azat had any plan of proceeding to Hasuna even after exploring the mountains.

  “Men and horses ahead,” said Sheqer suddenly, pulling at the reins.

  “How many?” asked Pavel as he followed the bard’s lead. He looked around and then remembered the map. The place was a natural chokepoint.

  “Quite a number. There’s a mage with them. Not that high a level; I’d place him at the fifth or sixth rank. I guess his aura is interfering with my ability to scry,” replied the demon irritably.

  The Azat considered the opposition and their options. The pair could just turn right and enter the forest, continuing on with their journey and avoiding their pursuers. But the presence of the mage posed a problem. They could be swiftly tracked and Pavel didn’t want a forest ambush. With the number of their foes and the mage in tow, searching the waiting heights would be an impossible undertaking. Facing all their enemies on open ground appeared to be the lesser evil.