My Name is Ruin

by Edmund A. M. Batara

  “I doubt if I could manage all of them, Sheqer. Anything to contribute?” asked Pavel casually. “And no soul-taking either.”

  “Ah, that might be a problem. Demonic attacks usually involve the taking of souls or a portion of it anyway. Nor do I have any appropriate weapon, but…” The bard looked at his lute.

  “But what?” demanded Pavel. He didn’t know if the mage could detect them, but if he could, then the more they dallied, the higher the chance their enemies would take the initiative. Right now, their foes were apparently nicely deployed on the other side of the mound, where their numbers could be seen. An attack by their foes would mean a defensive fight, not knowing what was coming from the front and their flanks. No, he’d rather see them all in one place.

  “A weak demonic spell using this,” said Sheqer, raising the musical instrument. “The problem is that mortal music will speedily dissolve it. Let’s just hope they don’t have a flute, a lute, or something similar.”

  “I could just lend you my mace,” replied Pavel. The word weak wasn’t really encouraging.

  “And you forgot it has silver spikes, poison to our kind. But more importantly, even if I could wield it, once I hold it in my hands, it becomes an extension of my being. You know what that means,” said the bard.

  “To the Hells with it, let’s go,” instructed Pavel, moving forward. “If you can’t use that blasted thing, do your best to hamper their movements. Or we could retreat to the woods if it gets too stormy.”

  ***

  When they reached the top of the hill, the Azat saw an arrayed rank of soldiers waiting for them. He estimated it to be a company of spearmen. Some had bows in their hands. In front were eleven mounted individuals. The four on each flank wearing half-plate armor were clearly personal guards. In the middle were three men. One was wearing a dark purple robe, another in fine clothes, and in the middle was a partially armored figure wearing a nasal helm with a flared back and a finely made cuirass. But the light blue caparison with small, golden griffin symbols all over it made it clear to Pavel that a noble led the hostile assembly.

  “It seemed that the governor himself wanted to greet us,” snickered the bard.

  “That’s him?” asked the man. He suspected it but wasn’t sure.

  “Who else would have such decorations on his mount? The bastard’s flanked by a mage and the other man is probably his adviser,” remarked the demon.

  “Greeted by royalty. That’s a first,” replied Pavel, urging his horse forward.

  The leading mounted men moved forward to meet them, the guards positioning themselves in flanking positions. Pavel noted the arrangement and was thankful that heavy lances were absent. They were all armed with swords and short axes.

  The armed company at the back also shifted its ranks, thinning its depth to provide a wider frontage. But the slung shields at their backs now were brought to the front. Spears were still raised, but it would take only a command to lower them to a killing level. Those with bows stepped back and stood between spearmen.

  All that for a couple for vagabonds, reflected Pavel. Amusement and outright laughter battled for supremacy, and he eventually settled for a wry grin.

  The armored retainers kept at a distance of two spear lengths and waited as the three figures made their slow approach to the pair. Pavel noticed that Sheqer had brought out his lute and was adjusting the strings, paying no heed to the armed men around them.

  The man in the court attire walked his horse to the front, raised his hand, and waved it in the direction of the armored noble.

  “By the Grace of His Royal Highness King Armavar the Third, I present His Lordship, the Earl of Constance and the Royal Governor of Turden, the Eastern Border region of the Kingdom of Farel, the Lord of the Five Estates, and the Steward of the Crown Mines in Turden,” announced the courtier.

  Pavel looked at the haughty face of the governor. He wanted to bash it to pieces. The false bravery only came from the presence of his henchmen. But the focused stare of the mage disturbed him. The bastard was scrutinizing him. He didn’t know what a fifth or sixth-level mage could do, but he wasn’t comfortable about it. He glanced at the bard. The demon was smirking.

  “Just say when,” said Sheqer. “Don’t worry about the mage. Idiotic amateur.”

  “And his name?” asked Pavel, addressing the adviser. “So long an introduction, and you didn’t even mention his name or yours. If that’s how the nobility is introduced nowadays, I fear manners have gone down the drain.”

  The adviser was clearly shocked. He didn’t think the reply would be so direct and obliquely insulting.

  “That’s how royalty is introduced, mercenary. Except for kings and emperors. Names don’t matter. Titles do. Now to the point. You are accused of defying a conscription order, and from the latest news we got, refused to stop at a guard outpost despite being given the appropriate warning,” said the man. To his credit, the adviser was able to maintain a calm voice.

  “Conscripting individuals not belonging to your Kingdom. Not even a proper offer of employment. But being drafted into your army just isn’t proper, just or fair,” replied Pavel calmly.

  “You’re not from Farel? The information we received seemed to be lacking,” came the reply.

  “We even paid the border toll when we arrived from Dagorath, looking for better employment. The market there was getting crowded,” explained Pavel, continuing with their cover story. “But we didn’t realize that the atmosphere here would be that disagreeable. It stinks to high heavens, to be truthful about it. I guess we’ll look for employers elsewhere. Right after a visit to Hasuna. We deserve to rest properly after such a long, arduous, and dangerous journey.”

  “The mercenary does have a point.” The adviser looked back at the governor. “The Royal Code provisions on conscription does not apply to foreigners.”

  “I don’t care! These dogs, these peasants, had the insolence to defy my order, my decree! This is my domain, and what I say here is the law! The Capital is too far away for them to care about such legal niceties, and I am the regent of the King in Turden! I have a quota to fill, and I intend to complete it even if I have to clap in chains every rascal who crosses the border!” shouted the governor.

  “When.” The word escaped Pavel’s lips, and a single note filled the air. It was an unearthly sound, not in this reality or as Pavel suspected, in any other material dimension, and though the Azat was unaffected, he could hear it, a monotonous musical note which drilled into the mind of anybody who heard it.

  “You’ve got until the note fades away,” said Sheqer with a grin as the mounted men all fell from their horses, writhing in agony.

  The company at the rear could be seen squirming on the ground, weapons and shields all forgotten. Virtually all of them had their hands to their ears. However, the mage had better resistance than the rest. He had managed to stand up after falling off his horse, though one of his hands kept moving from an ear to pointing at Pavel. The pain was eating at his mind, yet at the same time, his willpower was trying to overcome the mystical, demonic spell and counter with an incantation of his own. The Azat knew who to kill first.

  As he charged the swaying mage, Pavel infused his longsword with chaotic energy. He expected the mage to have magical protections, barriers which wouldn’t be a problem for the chaos-infused blade. The Azat rushed past the suffering man and swung his sword, ending his victim’s pain as the mage’s head was sliced in two. Pavel felt a slight resistance to the blow, a trait which he attributed to magical defenses of his target. But it didn’t matter now, as the mage bloodily toppled into the ground, the top of its head neatly sheared off.

  Pavel quickly turned his mount around, jumped off, and picked up the squirming governor from the ground. He noticed the man’s ears were bleeding as he held the man by his throat. Nice helm, noticed the Azat who quickly unstrapped it from the Earl’s head. He threw it in the direction of his horse. Nice cuirass, he observed again and proceeded to cut the strap
s. The armor joined the thrown helm.

  The man placed the blade on the noble’s throat, nicking the skin in the process. A trickle of blood flowed from the injury. He turned the man so the governor stood in front and shielded Pavel, even as his blade threatened the noble’s windpipe and the other hand pinioned the now unarmored Earl’s arms at the back. The Azat would have stripped off the gauntlets, but from the numerous clasps he saw, it would take up time. He didn’t even consider the armored boots. Pavel doubted if they had the same size.

  The Azat noticed that the bard’s spell had worn off. Soldiers and the Earl’s personal guards were picking themselves off the ground. Vertigo clearly affected all of them as everybody seemed to have lost their sense of balance. Many fell down again. But Pavel knew he had to conclude matters quickly.

  “Now, we come to the crux of the matter,” he told the governor. His voice was intentionally loud. “I let you go; you’ll hunt and have me killed. I don’t, the same thing would happen.”

  “No, no. I take it back!” shouted the nobleman, panic and fear in his voice. “Set me free! Don’t kill me! I swear I won’t hunt or kill you! Just let me live! You want wealth? Money? I’ll have it brought to you! Don’t kill me! By all the gods, have mercy!

  “I do have a slight problem with your modified proposals,” Pavel replied nonchalantly. “Unfortunately, I only work with first impressions and the other fellow’s initial offers. I don’t trust second thoughts made at the point of a sword.”

  With that, the Azat swiftly slit the noble’s throat, the sharp blade cleanly cutting through the man’s windpipe. Blood gushed from the open wound, and the man’s arms went up to the fatal cut, trying to stop the copious red flow. Pavel could hear the futile attempts at breathing. Then he kicked the body to the ground. The governor wasn’t quite dead as his face struck the stone of the paved road.

  “Let’s go, bard. Unless the rest of these fools want more dead on this road,” said Pavel coldly as he picked up the helm and the chest armor. Part of him wanted to deal with the offending force. To crush them until their eyes popped out of their miserable skulls and then grind their bodies on the ground until all that remained was a crimson, nauseous paste. It was only with a great deal of mental effort that he was able to push back the murderously insane thoughts.

  18

  Damned Mountains

  “If you wish. Prepare yourself

  for the consequences then,”

  warned the demon.

  The groggy, mostly prone assembly was shocked into immobility by the suddenness of the gruesomely violent events. A mage lay dead with a sliced head, and their lord was face-down on the ground, already at death’s door sporting a cut throat. Pavel looked over the pale and fearful faces, waiting for one or two brave, though foolhardy heroes to raise their weapons in protest.

  One of the retainers shakily stood up and unsheathed his sword. Raising the weapon, the man staggered toward him at a run, stumbling his way to the Azat.

  “Damn you. His Lordship was a fourth cousin of the King! You’ll pay for this!” shouted the enraged gallant. Pavel could see that the attacker was but a young man and wondered at the reaction.

  “Must be a lover,” came Sheqer’s sniggering comment, “and he moves worse than a drunk.”

  Pavel readied his blade. He would have spared the young man if he could, but that kind of anger was bound to spur a more aggressive hunt for the pair. He wouldn’t put it past the youth to even lead a separate posse against them. It appeared that another lesson needed to be taught.

  As the stumbling attacker came close, Pavel used his speed to close in. When the inevitable clumsy blow came, the Azat deftly moved to one side and tripped the armored man. The youth smashed into the hard surface of the road with a loud grunt, and Pavel’s right foot immediately came crashing down on the arm holding the attacker’s sword. The left landed on the spine of the prostate youth, right in the opening where straps held the chest armor together. Then the Azat’s blade slid vertically through the back of the helm, skewering the man’s head.

  Wiping his sword on the dead youth’s breeches, he stared at the stupefied assembly and then mounted his horse. The two raced back in the direction where they came from.

  “Nice show,” called out Sheqer as they rode their horses at speed. “Don’t tell me we’re going back to that village.”

  “Just putting some distance between that group and us. They would have recovered their wits by now. We’ll enter the forest in a while but do be more careful about erasing our tracks this time,” replied Pavel.

  ***

  Less than an hour later, the pair lay hidden in a forested outcrop at the base of a mountain. The horses were already out of sight in a gully behind them. Their present position was an elevated location which gave a clear view of the road they had left.

  Pavel, now wearing the purloined helm and cuirass, was watching the road and wanted to see how the expected pursuit would behave. More importantly, he wanted to see if Sheqer did a better job of erasing their trail. Now that their foes had an idea of what he could do and how he acted, they’d probably rush to the attack immediately, begin with arrows, or get spare mages if any were available in the nearest town. The assembly that passed by was but the start of the manhunt being organized.

  “You know, I’ll bet that daft and very dead young man was indeed His Sliced Lordship’s lover. Only close kin or a lover would be crazy to do what he did. Must also be a noble. Personal retainers usually are,” remarked Sheqer idly. The bard was on his back, looking up the heights.

  “They are?” replied Pavel.

  “They are in my world. I don’t think there’s any difference here. Fifth or so sons, or those who have no right to inheritance, bastard offspring, they’re all shipped out to the farthest reaches of a kingdom. It avoids embarrassments and dangerous thoughts,” explained the bard. “That means you killed a mage, a governor, and another noble. You do realize we’d be vigorously hunted? By soldiers of this Kingdom and probably by bounty hunters too. Add to that the Council of Mages. But those pallid excuses for men would probably ask their assassins to do the job, so no change there.”

  Pavel didn’t comment. He understood what Sheqer was saying. As if he had a choice. Conscription? He’d rather be dead. Though the only reason he left the adviser alive was because the man spoke in favor of the Azat’s argument. When questions started flying back in the Capital, the adviser would hopefully describe what really happened.

  The assassins, on the other hand, had already been bloodied by him back in the tower. They’d probably hunt him for free. Insulting, thought the man immediately. If a bounty was going to be placed on his head, he’d prefer it to be an enormous one. The notion surprised him. Pavel didn’t know where his arrogant reaction came from. The rational part of his mind told him to keep a low profile, and he wholeheartedly agreed with it.

  “Nice armor, by the way. Especially that piece of metal on your torso,” disclosed Sheqer casually. The demon’s propensity to jump from subject to subject showed how bored he was again. But the comment interested the Azat.

  “What do you mean?” asked Pavel.

  “It’s ensorcelled against poison. Merely ordinary venom, but still useful. His Dead Lordship must have an obsession about being poisoned,” replied the bard. “Wards against arrows or magical blades, I could understand. This is a new one, but it looks decent on you.”

  “Good. At least something useful came out of that throat-slicing,” commented the man, who didn’t take his eyes off the road.

  “Oh, there are magical ones, difficult to counter actually,” continued the bard with his unrequested exposition. “There are also poisons distilled from rare, exotic plants to which the antidote would be hard to make even if one had the knowledge.”

  Interestingly, the bard mentioned that the worst among non-magical venom are those taken from magical beasts and monsters. They were virtually impossible to cure. A special kind of magic was needed to treat those; thus
, the victim had an infinitesimal chance to live.

  “Though the hands of a paragon of Chaos or Order would do the trick,” mused the bard. “Fat chance of finding those kinds of beings in this wretched world.”

  Suddenly, Pavel saw a large contingent of cavalry race past their position. His right immediately clamped over the bard’s mouth. The column, about thirty men, was led by three lightly armored individuals.

  Scouts or trackers, noted Pavel. At least, Sheqer’s magic apparently hid their tracks well this time.

  He nudged the bard and told Sheqer it was time to move. The horses would be set free, but with a spell which would limit them to within the area. The bard could also call them provided the animals were within a reasonable distance.

  “Now, it’s your show,” Pavel told the demon. “Find us that cursed sanctuary.”

  Sheqer glanced at the man with an insulted expression.

  “I know my task, Master,” he commented, emphasizing the title.

  “But we won’t find the entrance up there,” said the bard as he pointed to the upper reaches of the mountain. “It would be an underground one, with a hidden entrance down here. Temples above the forest line are the exceptions. They are hard to reach for old, evil mages and witches. Devilishly hard on the leg muscles, and people walking up a mountain path are easy to spot.”

  ***

  Several hours later, the two were no closer to what they wanted to find. They had the option of using one of Sheqer’s spells. Still, the demon warned that using it to find their quarry would also alert their enemies to the pair’s presence and location. So, the hunt had to rely on the bard’s innate ability to sense energies of his kind. It had a range of about a mile, but so far, their search had not yielded any results. Not even a sign of dark beasts or creatures.