Curse

Unreal Cyn · Mar 27, 2007, 04:20 AM // 04:20

Man you don't need anyone to tell you that this story just keeps getting better, but I'm going to say it anyway. This story just keeps getting better and better!

HezekiahKurtz · Mar 28, 2007, 05:17 AM // 05:17

Thanks. I appreciate that. It's nice to hear from someone.
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Colossus 82, 1275 DR

Today the most unexpected thing happened—and of course, the day after Guel disappeared!

Bruck had gone to his meeting with the general, and I was sitting in a mess hall with Kandra, Wez, and Shenan, eating a tasteless, nasty breakfast of cracked wheat, when a heavy hand fell on my shoulder and a familiar voice said, “Found you at last!”

It’s funny how quickly my mind works—usually against me. It only took an instant to remember something I had previously forgotten: other people from my guild had also come to Istan looking for me. The next natural thought was—I’ve got to get away, which led to the idea that the only way to escape was to overturn the long table we sat at, cause a commotion, and run for the door. It would have worked, too, if it wasn’t for the fact that when I reached the door, a few Kournan Elite happened to be coming in to the room. They grabbed me, figuring correctly that I was the reason for the scene of chaos behind me.

In overturning the table I sat at, I couldn’t avoid injuring the poor people sitting opposite me, and getting food all over them. One of them had fallen backward, into another table with such force that it broke one of the legs, which caused it to fall, and the individuals sitting there quickly stood. It only escalated from there, and a few people even started a fist fight. Over what, I’m not sure. I guess it’s just natural that when tables start breaking, and people start moving quickly, someone throws a punch. I wouldn’t call it a riot or even a brawl, but it did take a few minutes for things to settle down. By then, the Kournan Elite had me outside sitting against a wall, with my feet and hands bound. Honestly, my only thought—even then—was to escape that hand on my shoulder.

The owner of that voice—a stumpy, plump ritualist named Sileman—strode out of the mess hall wearing a wide grin. Laughing quietly to himself, he looked around. I tried my best to hide behind one of the three Kournan near me, but eventually my former guildmate spotted me. With a smile he strode toward my location. Panic rose in my heart with each of his steps, and I tried to crawl away. One of the Kournan Elite kicked me in the side of the head, laying me out flat in the dirt, face down.

“You cause trouble everywhere you go?” Sileman said.

“Get away, Canthan!” one of the guards said, holding the point of a spear at Sileman, who stopped instantly.

“I didn’t betray the guild!” I shouted, looking up as best I could.

Realization dawned on Sileman’s face. He raised his hands in front of him. “Oh—no, no, no, no no! Of course you didn’t! I’m not here to get revenge! I know full well that you didn’t betray the guild. I’m more a traitor than you.”

“Stand back,” the guard said, jabbing slightly.

“All right, all right,” Sileman said, taking a step back. “I just want to talk with my old friend, here.”

As I struggled to my knees, my three party members came out of the mess hall, just a few members of a large crow being herded out by a body of Kournan Elite. Shenan had food all over him, and was somewhat preoccupied with cleaning it off of his shirt. Kandra appeared very annoyed, and was yelling at Wez. I couldn’t make out all the words, but something about being a “reckless, stone-brained, flat-footed Grawl turd.” Wez was the only one that seemed interested in finding me, which he did without delay, and led the others toward me.

“You believe me?” I asked Sileman, blinking at the sunlight in my eyes as I tried to look at him.

“Of course, you fool! I’m not an idiot. Remember—I left the guild just before the match, and joined the Mad Hatz guild.”

“That’s right,” I said, although I really didn’t remember; so many people had left the guild and gone elsewhere in those critical days before the match, that I don’t know if I ever knew exactly who had defected to where. “Did you tell them our strategy?”

“This guy giving you trouble, Hez?” Wez asked. He stood behind the ritualist, clearly ready to take action in my defense.

“All of you stay back!” the Kournan said. He stood with his spear ready, as did the other two with him. They were very clearly nervous with the whole situation.

“No one is going to try and save me!” I said. “You can all relax!”

They did not relax. In fact, they ordered all of the people off, threatening to run them through if they didn’t leave immediately. “Back into the civilian quarter!” the one guard ordered. They looked at me expectantly, as if wondering what to do; I nodded at them and they headed off. Sileman joined them, and I saw him shaking their hands just before they went out of site around the corner of a building. Relief washed through me.

I waited there for a few minutes, rather annoyed at the whole situation, until the guards ordered me to stand—helping me with their spear points—and told me to start walking. Of course, they gave no hint regarding where I should go, except for the frequent poke in the back or side. Before long, I found myself in a small, square room with no windows, and a set of shackles that fit just a little too tightly.

“You’ll wait here until we decide what to do with you!” I was told as they left me alone.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to wait long. Bruck appeared, rolling his eyes and cursing his fool luck for landing him with me.

“I have half a mind to leave you here,” he said.

“You wouldn’t do that,” I said. “I’m the best party member you’ve got.” I meant it as a jest, but it made him pause.

He looked at the guard that had accompanied him in. “Do you mind letting us talk for a minute?”

The guard shrugged. “I’ve been given orders to do anything you want.”

“Well, give me the keys, and leave us.” When we were alone, he stepped close to me and crouched to his haunches, so his eyes were even with mine. Intensity burned in his eyes—a dread resolve to do something terrible. “The general I just met with is an old acquaintance. He gave me some troubling, yet promising information. I’ll give you the details when I give them to the others. But I want you to promise me something.” He did not wait for my promise. “If you have to, kill me.”

I could not believe my ears. Words failed me.

“I think we’ll be going to Gandara, where a demon leads a horde of damned.”

“Like the one back in Istan? In the swamp?”

“He shrugged. Possibly. Perhaps the master of such a being—like my master. But Hez!” He leaned forward, placing his hands on my shoulders, and my face close to his. “We still have no clue as to which side this demon is on. Promise me! If it is on my master’s side, you will kill me!”

“I—.”

“You’re the only one I can ask this of!”

I wanted to say no. I didn’t know if I could do it. “Fine. Whatever you want.”

He looked at me for another few moments, and then unshackled me.

“Guel left a day early, it seems,” he said as we walked back to the Civilian Quarters. “Your friend, Sileman, offers quite interesting evidence that your side of the story is the more accurate one than Korhan’s.” He gave me a grin and a sidelong look. “Not that I didn’t already believe you, of course.”

Sileman and I had not been the best of friends. True, we had been guildmates, but there were too many people in the guild to really become good friends with. However, I did like him, and had always taken the chance to compete in a match with him. I found his sense of humor compelling, and had always like being around him whenever I had the opportunity.

He greeted me with a warm smile and a strong handshake. “I’ve been telling your friends what really happened back in Cantha. At least, as much as I know about it.”

“How much is that?”

“Well, really nothing more than that you didn’t betray the guild. By the time I got to Mad Hatz the day before the match, they already knew what was going on. They swore that no one had tipped them off, that the three others who’d left the guild and gone to them had honorably kept secret your guild’s plans. But it’s not like it was hard to figure it out. You did the same thing almost every match.”

A seething anger, mixed with a pinch of self satisfaction, boiled in the back of my mind. “That was what I told Korhan all along! They should have gone with my plan!”

“It wouldn’t have mattered. They actually came up with a pretty amazing build that would have also defeated your tactic. Either way, you were going to loose.”

“And you came all this way to find me, to tell me that?”

“That, and to find others who had come to hunt you down. It’s not right for them to accuse you wrongly. I’ve found five or six of them, and convinced them to stop chasing you. There may be a few more out there that I haven’t found. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see Vabbi, and went there first. Quite an amazing place.”

“I’m anxious to get there.”

“We’ll get there eventually,” Bruck said, interrupting us. “For now, let’s get going. I want to go far today.”

As we traveled to the South, into the Dejarin Estate, Bruck explained to us what was going on. As it turns out, the new Warmarshal of Kourna—the one that replaced Varesh—quarantined Gandara about two months ago, when it became clear to her that something dangerous was going on with the refugees. For several weeks things stayed relatively calm, but just a week ago the refugees suddenly rioted, and she had to lock himself and all of his shoulders inside the prison to the East of the city. At that point, the leaders of the refugees opened the doors to the city, and all of the damned in the surrounding waters and land poured in.

Unable to do anything, and unwilling to slay all of the refugees, the Warmarshal fled from the prison through a secret passage, and into Camp Hojanu, just to the East. She gathered her scattered soldiers to her, pulled them all out of the city, and sent many off to rally others and anyone else who would come from throughout the countryside.

“Exactly what her ultimate plan is,” Bruck said, “The general didn’t know. But the general made it very clear that the Warmarshal doesn’t want to slay the innocent people in order to take back the city.”

“Are they innocent, though?” Shenan asked.

“Rohnan certainly didn’t think so,” Guani said.

“Neither do the folks from Arkjok Ward,” Chircuck said.

“There seems to be two classes of refugees,” Bruck said. “An aggressive class, and a passive class. The ones in the city are—or were—apparently relatively passive. Only a few thousand were particularly dangerous, according to the general.”

“Oh, is that all?” Sileman said. “And you plan to go on in there and take them out?”

Bruck shrugged. “If the Warmarshal is looking to take the city back, I am up for joining her.”

“It’s the same way up in Vabbi, you know,” Sileman said. “Refugees everywhere. People leaving their cities and homes, their farms in the country side to congregate in a few specific places. I’d even say it is worse up there than down here.”

“Well,” Bruck said. “Once we’re done down here, we’ll head on up there to clean things up.”

We are spending the night in a rather comfortable village. The place is empty. Abandoned. I rather like it.

HezekiahKurtz · Mar 30, 2007, 02:32 AM // 02:32

Colossus 83, 1275 DR

We spent most of the day in the estate, under an angry orange sky and in the shadow of a looming monolith of stone. Other than Hekets and their pets, stone crags and cracked mesas, we didn’t experience much resistance. Bruck marked his map. Guani kept an eye out for her brother. Kandra carefully pointed out each time she engaged our enemies before the Dervish. Chircuck honed his smiting skills. Wez—well, Wez was just his sardonic self. Shenan—customarily—did very little throughout the day, but commented frequently that he was glad to have Sileman along to provide additional healing support. I kept an eye out for a Signet of Amplification.

Really, other than having Sileman along, the day should have been normal. Perhaps for others it was. But for me, a strange foreboding drifted in and out of my mind. A quiet dread seeped into my veins and flowed in my blood. I do not know what is happening—or what will happen—but I cannot escape the feeling that in the next few days something unavoidable and terrible will occur. It may have reflected in my words or face. I don’t know. But Kandra asked me several times in hushed tones if I was okay. Shenen gave me troubled looks. Sileman told me that I didn’t seem like the same person he’d known back in the guild. It’s hard for me to fathom that it’s been under half a year since I was back in Cantha, worrying over a match with another guild.

Around noon, a group of thirty soldiers of varying classes passed us, heading in a straight line toward the Barbarous Shore. They stopped for about two minutes—long enough to find out if we were for or against the Warmarshal.

“We’ll be in the Warmarshal’s camp by tonight,” Bruck assured them, and they continued on.

“I wonder what her plan is,” Wez said. “If she doesn’t want to hurt the ‘innocent’ how does she plan to get her city back?”

“I’m confused about why she left the city,” Kandra said. “If the people are relatively passive, why did she need to leave?”

“I suspect,” Shenan said, “that something is leading the refugees and damned. A demon, perhaps. Something worse. She left to escape it.”

“Like what they saw in the swamp in Istan?” Guani said.

Shenan shrugged. “Or worse.”

“Thanks for making us feel better,” Wez said.

“My pleasure.”

We reached the heart of the Barbarous Shore around dusk. Just as at the Mahnkelon Waterworks, we couldn’t simply enter. Kournan soldiers separated us, questioned us individually in small tents, and then led us one-by-one into a sizeable cove. They tell me that back in the day this used to be a corsair refuge. Now it’s teeming with hundreds of Kournan soldiers, not to mention an equal number of adventurers like those in my group—people of every class and ability, battle-hardened men and women. Overall, there must be more than a thousand people here, waiting on the Warmarshal’s orders. The rumors are that she plans to invade the city on the eve of the new year—seven days away. Bruck couldn’t get in to see her today, to find out if the rumor was true or not, but was promised he could meet with her tomorrow sometime.

After we secured a place to sleep—at least, a spot of ground where we could lay our blankets, I left the cove, headed through the camps in the area to the South. I wanted to be alone, to cope with the foreboding that still haunted me. It was just a short walk, and I soon found myself on a rocky beach to a small bay, sitting and looking out over the water. A full moon kissed the crests of the waves as they rolled in, and sparkled in the spray. Before long, I heard someone behind me, and turned to find Bruck approaching.

“You can feel it, can’t you, Hez,” he said.

“Feel what? What do you mean?”

He sat next to me. “The evil. I’ve seen it in your eyes today. You feel it—just like I do. The others do, too, I think. They just hide it better.”

“I don’t remember feeling like this before. Not once. Not even in the first city when we were near your master.”

“I think the demons can control it. It’s like a light—if it’s covered, no one sees it. If it’s uncovered, people can see it. If they let their evil loose, everyone can feel it.”

“So you think your master is in the city?”

“No. At this point, I am relatively certain it’s not my master. It is our foe.”

“Yesterday you were ready to have me kill you because you thought it might be our master.”

He shrugged. “Something happened since then. I know it’s not him.”

I looked at him expectantly.

He returned my look with steady, unblinking eyes. “I received a message from my master. Beyond that, I’m not going to tell you what happened.”

“Now your task is to kill your master’s foe?”

“For now. Yes. If we survive, it’s back to hunting for the Signet.”

“For some strange reason, that does not make me feel any better.” I was referring to the “if we survive” part of his comment, but in retrospect I think he found the “back to hunting for the Signet” the more important part of his words.

I will never forget his expression as responded. Weariness washed over him. Every line and wrinkle on his face deepened. His countenance darkened. His eyes and cheeks drooped. His mouth turned down ever so slightly. In those moments, he seemed older than Shenan. “You’re young. You’re free. You have not spent your life in the servitude of a demon. You have a chance to stop a demon. You have friends—true friends who travel across oceans and continents to find you.”

“I think most of those were enemies.”

“They only became your enemies because they were your friends—strong friends make for strong enemies. But according to Sileman, many are once again your friends. Hezekiah. Boy. You have every reason to ‘feel better’. Yes—we are all faced with this struggle. And the world may end for us all. But even in the midst of that, there is hope for you if we are victorious. For me, there is no hope. Let that make you feel better.”

I didn’t know how to respond, and eventually he let out a little chuckle. “You probably wonder why, if I feel so hopeless, I don’t just end it now.”

The thought had occurred to me. “If life is so bad, why go on living?”

He sighed and rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. “The last few weeks have jut been rough on me. Really, it’s not so bad, traveling the world. I actually enjoy that part if it. That I am on an evil quest taints it, of course, but that sting is dulled by the fact that I am relatively confident I’ll never find the Signet. It could be worse. I could have joined a PvP guild.” He scrunched his nose and shuddered.

“If you weren’t bound to your master, what would you have done with your life?”

“Tried to have a family, I think—although I don’t know how long that would have lasted. I couldn’t have handled being a farmer or staying put in one place for very long. I enjoy the frequent change of scenery and meeting new people.”

“You enjoy meeting new people? Oh, what a lie that is.”

“Well, you’re partially right. I don’t suffer fools. But meeting a new person of honor and skill—that’s quite a pleasure. Rohnan, for instance. The Warmarshal. My life is better for knowing them.”

“Do they know what your mission is?”

“No. Not many people do.”

We were quiet for a few minutes. I thought about what an interesting person Bruck was, and marveled at how open he’d been with me in the previous few minutes. Eventually, he stood without a word, and walked back toward the cove.

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 04, 2007, 02:55 AM // 02:55

Colossus 84, 1275 DR

In general, today passed without meaningful event. I imagine that is how the next week or so will be, as we sit around and wait for the new year to arrive. I suppose that the time will be passed by others—more important people—making and discarding and recreating secret plans, and I will sit and brood, try not to succumb to despair. If possible, the feeling that infiltrated my heart yesterday has grown stronger.

For just over an hour, Bruck met with the Warmarshal this morning, in a building just to the South of the cove; I am interested to know how he became acquainted with her on such a level that he could spend so much time with her. When he came back, he gathered us all around as we ate crocodile steaks for lunch—the high point of the day—and gave us a few details.

“The Warmarshal wants to wait until the eve of the new year,” he said. “She says that with the celebrating, our chances of catching the damned by surprise will be greater.”

“That’s a lot of people to catch by surprise,” Guani asked.

“Apparently there are two groups in the city. Some are militant—she calls them the damned—and others are not—she calls them refugees. All of us here are familiar with both groups. She does not feel that the passive refugees will be problematic. Only the damned, which make up a relatively small portion of the people in the city.”

Shenan make a ticking noise with his tongue. “That seems unwise to assume something like that. For all we know, they could turn belligerent at any moment.”

Bruck shrugged. “I am just relaying her plans.”

“So are we going to lay siege?” Wez asked. “Like Rohnan did?”

“She didn’t tell me everything, but we won’t have to lay siege. The front gates to the city are wide open. Anyone can come and go as they please, although few people leave and hundreds arrive daily. She has sent spies to gauge the situation, and has found that the city’s new leader resides along the docks, guarded by quite a host of damned.”

“And who might that leader be?” I asked.

“Nobody in this camp really knows anything beyond his name: Crathlav.”

“What kind of name is that?” Wez said.

“A demon name,” Shenan said. He looked grimly over the group. “I have heard that name before. This is a full-grown demon, with all of its powers fully developed. We have come across at least two demons in the past few weeks—the one that you killed, Hezekiah, and the second killed by Rohnan’s soldiers. Those were babies compared to this one—new in this world without fully developed bodies and powers. This one—Crathlav—has been around for quite some time.”

“You seem to know a lot about that,” I said.

Shenan shrugged, but gave me an expression that clearly said, “Well, what do you expect?” But once Wez started talking, and everyone else’s attention moved away from him, he raised his eyebrows at me as if chastising me for the question. I will have to talk with him about that tomorrow—I couldn’t find him at all after lunch to find out what was going on.

“So this little army here in this smuggler’s cove will waltz right in the front gates, storm the docks, and destroy the demon?” Wez said.

“I am not sure,” Bruck said. “I know the Warmarshal is planning on dividing the army into at least two parts. Perhaps three. She has access to an underground passage from this area, into the prison part of the city. Some will enter that way. Others will enter via the front gates.”

“It all sounds very risky,” Shenan said.

“I imagine it is very risky,” Bruck said. “That is all I have to tell you right now. I will be meeting with her again tomorrow.”

We finished our crocodile steaks, and started the waiting process. I am already bored out of my mind. I wonder where Shenan has run off to.

broodijzer · Apr 05, 2007, 10:52 PM // 22:52

This story is just amazing! You certainly have a talent for writing, did you ever think about writing a 'real' book?

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 06, 2007, 02:35 AM // 02:35

Thanks, broodijizer. I appreciate the comment. I have actually written several books. Unfortunately, none of them have been published. I didn't really put much effort into getting them published, but I don't know that they were publishable, anyway. One might have been, but trying to find an agent or publisher is so exhausting that I didn't try very long on that one. Several years have passed since I finished it, and looking back there are a lot of changes I could make to improve it. Notably, I could shorten it, and remove some of the melodrama. So it probably wasn't publishable, anyway.

And honestly, I am finding this story much more enjoyable to write than the books I have written. In the end, since I'm not getting paid either way, I guess that's what matters most.

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Colossus 85, 1275 DR

Shenan did not show up today. He is still gone. Now that I think back to how he responded to the Warmarshal’s plans, I can’t help but wonder if he thought better of it and bailed. I don’t see him leaving without saying anything to anyone, but I also remember that first day he joined us of his own accord, and at the end he said, “If I see you in the morning, you’ll know I’m coming with you.” He certainly doesn’t seem tied or dedicated to us, and perhaps he has found a better way to battle the demon that owned his parents. I will regret not seeing him again, if that is the case.

I spent most of the day exploring the area surrounding the cove. Everyone but Bruck came along. We saw another pride of lions, but steered clear of them.

As we returned to the cove, and neared the guards in front of the entrance, I asked Wez, “Why don’t you have a pet? Seems like most rangers do.”

“I never really liked them very much,” Wez said. “I tried them out when I first started my profession. Seemed like they were always dying and I had to bring them back. Just too much of a hassle.”

“Having someone need you is quite a hassle, isn’t it?” Kandra said. Her tone and the look she gave him clearly signaled that the comment held more significance than the literal meaning of the words.

He hurriedly responded, “A pet is a something. Not a someone.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. Her tone was flat and disbelieving. “Uh huh.”

The entire exchange between the two was very bizarre, but I didn’t really have a chance to think anything about it then because at that very moment, as we passed between the guards and into the cove, the subtle, fearful dread I’d been feeling since our arrival at the Barbarous Shore suddenly intensified. The air grew thick and suffocating. From behind us came a quiet, indistinguishable whispering: “Shwshwwweeewshshweeew.” The entire camp, which had until then bustled with activity, fell silent. People stopped still as they walked, silenced themselves mid-word. Every hand went to a nearby hilt or shaft, and eyes looked every direction for the source of the whispering.

“Is that what I think it is?” Wez hissed.

Kandra nodded vacantly, her mouth wide.

“That’s the whispering!” Guani said. “The whispering you told us about!”

I could only nod, hardly believing the strength of the emotions that put dark, deadly thoughts into my heart.

The whispering sounded again, this time seemingly from within the cove, in front of us where a thick body of men suddenly scattered in every direction, crying out in fear as they practically fought to get away from their spot. The voice spoke a third time, and then a fourth and fifth, each time as unintelligible as ever, and each time from a different spot within the cove. In a matter of moments, the place was a picture of chaos. Men and women fled in every direction, shouting and panicking. One woman, a warrior, actually turned to a neighbor and struck him down with her blade. In the confusion, I did not see her again. The whispering continued, now constant and always moving from place to place in the cove. The roar of chaos became deafening, but the whisper was always there.

I looked back at my companions, who stood behind me, each with wide eyes. Chiruck was actually sweating, and Guani looked ready to cry. “Stay steady!” I shouted, holding out my arm wide like wings, my spear in one hand and pointing directly to my side. I started to step backward, and was relieved that they did the same, so that I was able to herd them against a wall. “Just stay calm! It will pass!”

And it did. In just a few more moments, the whispering stopped, and the piercing, black-hearted foreboding gave way to the previous, steady but dull dread. The riot continued for anther thirty seconds or so before it started to settle down, but eventually the churning mass of bodies slowed to a halt, like a stirred pot slowly settling into peace. The men and women looked around at each other and the now disastrous cove. Some shook visibly. More than a handful of the hundred or so I could see cried quietly into their hands or openly into the heavens. One fainted.

When I turned to look at my party members, I found what I had expected—frightened but generally composed faces and stances; they certainly fared better than the others in the camp—especially Wez and Kandra.

“How can we combat such a foe?” Chircuck said, his mouth agape.

“We don’t stand a chance on Melandru’s green earth,” Wez said. “Not a screamin’ chance.”

After today, I wonder if he isn’t right.

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 11, 2007, 02:47 AM // 02:47

Colossus 86, 1275 DR

This evening, after a full day of sitting around the cove and hoping the whispering didn’t return, I sat on the rocks on the quieter—and by that I mean not teeming with nervous soldiers and heroes—eastern side of the harbor, trying to ignore the brooding of my soul. I suddenly heard steps behind me, and turned to see Shenan scrambling over the rocks in my direction. My spirits rose. I stood and turned to greet him.

“Where have you been?” I said, holding out a hand to help him across a deep and wide crack in the rocks.

“I can’t believe that they let you get this far away,” he said. With a grunt he sat slowly on a rock. He looked older than usual, with his hair slightly messed and deep bags under his eyes. “I understand you’re one of the few people who can keep calm in a panic.”

I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “This is going to be a disaster. This attack—invasion, siege—whatever it is.”

“I am not so sure.” He smiled, and a wry twinkle glinted in his eyes. “I am satisfied that it isn’t a suicide mission. We actually may have a small chance of succeeding.”

“Why is that?”

He sighed and looked out over the water. Angry clouds were rolling in from the ocean, and the sun hung just above the horizon. A hard, chilly wind blew into our faces. “How much do you actually know about this war you’ve entered?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“What do you know about our foe?”

I shrugged. “I know there are some demons, and that they somehow control people. That may be about all. But I don’t understand how the demons even control them at all, and if it has a little control, why doesn’t it have more?”

“You know more than most people, but there is still a lot more that you don’t understand.”

“But you do”

He nodded.

“Then why haven’t you filled me in yet? Or the others?”

“Well, to say that they don’t know may not be entirely true. I think most people know—here, anyway. In Elona. I don’t know about in Tyria or Cantha. But people here know it like they know about fairy tales or children’s stories. They heard them at one point, but just don’t believe or don’t really give the story much heed.”

I cocked my head to the side, and looked at him with raised eyebrows and narrow lips.

“I am happy to fill you in, if that is what you want.”

“Please.”

He adjusted his seat on the rock, as if to get comfortable for a long story. He looked toward the setting sun, and said, “Where to start?”

“I don’t—.”

“It was rhetorical, Hezekiah. I know where to start: with the demons. I imagine that you did not know that the demons and other worldly-beings are always around us. They are everywhere. They travel abroad and among people, unseen. Most have no physical form and cannot directly hurt or affect us, although they certainly want to—what control they can gain, they do. You see, while in this physical realm—away from their realms—their voices have power. We cannot hear their voices on a conscious level, but we hear and understand them on a subconscious level. The demons are always around us, whispering and talking and trying to convince us to do evil. ‘Steal this.’ ‘Take advantage of your neighbor.’ ‘Kill that person for gain.’ ‘Lie. Cheat.’ And we obey them—we heed their voices without even realizing it. When we do, their power over us grows. The power of their voice becomes louder to our subconscious, and our obedience becomes more conscious.”

“So you’re saying that everyone is always hearing voices that tell them to do evil?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds rather silly. But that’s exactly true. Now, we certainly don’t always yield to those voices, but when we do, when we pay heed to them, they become louder to us, and more influential. Eventually, when the voices become so strong that all other voices are drowned out, we cannot distinguish them from our own thoughts. The demon’s whisper to ‘steal your neighbor’s cow’ becomes our thought: ‘maybe I should steal my neighbor’s cow.’”

“So the more evil a person becomes, the more power the demon has over him? Because he is obeying the demon’s whisperings?”

“Yes. But importantly—the person doesn’t necessarily have to act on the demon’s whispers in order to give the demon power. What matters is in the person’s heart—how he is in his head, and in his soul. If the person wishes to obey the demon, but does not, he may as well be obeying the demon. Surely, he someday will.”

“Then how does any person ever resist stealing his neighbor’s cow? Is there no hope for anyone, or is there a force for good?”

“You’re right, of course. And I would expect nothing less from you. There is opposition in all things. It cannot be any other way. If there is a force for evil, there is also a force for good. I mentioned that the demon voices could drown out ‘other voices.’ You can be comforted somewhat by the fact that there are more than just demons in the world around us. There are pure and good beings. Some call them angels. They, too, whisper and talk to us, and influence us for good.” He paused and shook his head at me. “Stop that. You’re looking at me like I’m crazy.”

I looked away, trying to clear the disbelief from my expression. “It seems far-fetched.”

“Just because it is far-fetched does not mean it is not true. Shall I keep going?”

“You may as well feed it all to me while you’re at it.”

“Well, there is not actually a lot more. The most important thing to understand is that as people give heed to an angel or demon in their hearts, they loose a certain amount of choice. The opposing voice becomes quieter, so the possibility of making a different choice becomes less likely. In a very real sense, people become slaves to the demon. Eventually, it will no longer be an option to not lie, or an option to not steal. The whispering is so loud that it drowns out all other thoughts and options, and the person no longer even wonders if he should or shouldn’t kill. Killing has become his only option.”

“He is in captivity. He can’t help himself.”

“Precisely.”

“So how does all of this relate to a demon in this world? How does a demon actually gain form in this world?”

He scrunched his nose and shook his head. “I will not describe that abominable scene to you. It is a gory ritual you would not like to witness, in which captives of the demons sacrifice a willing pregnant woman and use dark, dark magic to give the demon form in a fetus.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Only once. It haunts me to this day.” He shuddered, passed his hands over his eyes. “But when a demon gains physical form, it also gains power because its voice becomes one of this world. It is no longer a subconscious thing. We can hear it with our physical ears.”

“The unintelligible whispering.”

“Exactly. To you—to a person with a pure heart, it is gibberish. But to a person who is already in captivity, it is not whispering. He doesn’t even hear it like he hears another person’s words—it once again becomes his own thoughts.” He paused and gave me a long look. “Think of Guel.”

It dawned on me, and I suddenly felt much more inclined to believe the crazy talk. “He didn’t hear the whispering.”

“He just wanted to go somewhere. To the castle, or to the fortress. He didn’t know why, bet he felt an irresistible urge to do something extraordinarily odd.”

The pieces were starting to fall into place in my head. “That’s why all the refugees want to go somewhere and congregate. The voice is telling them to, and they have no choice but to obey because they are in captivity. That’s why when I killed the demon in Arkjok Ward, the damned scattered—the voice disappeared. That’s why the ones in our siege with Rohnan fought a hopeless battle—the demon told them to.”

“Right. Except the demons cannot be killed. Their physical bodies can only be killed, and they return to being ethereal, unseeable beings. They can still assert influence over their captives, although because their voice is weaker, their domain or sphere of influence is weaker. Fewer people will listen, or will take as drastic of actions.”

“So, as a demon’s physical body grows, its voice becomes stronger, and it can influence more people.”

“Someone who was on the edge of being captive will be a captive under the power of the stronger voice.”

I shook my head in disbelief—no longer at the story, but at the immensity of it all. “That is some powerful magic.”

“People who would never have journeyed to Gandara just because they felt like it, do it now because without even knowing it they obey a demon. But many of them have not become so captivated as to do something like join an army or kill another person—they have only enough evil in their hearts, enough rottenness, that they will obey the easy and harmless orders of the demon. As the demon grows in size and strength, and its voice grows stronger, it will be able to exert more control over less wicked people. Refugees will become damned, so to speak.” He fell silent and watched me for a moment. “Of course, there are many intricacies and implications to this . . . system. Think about them. Think back through your time in Elona. You will understand many more of the odd little things, now that you understand this.”

My mind was already churning and racing. “The Signet of Amplification. If a demon had it, it would use the skill to amplify its voice, and gain more control over more people.”

“That is what I fear. And you see, now, why no demon or other-worldly being can be allowed to have that signet. Not under any circumstances. Remember, there are multiple demons—two other-worldly beings battling it out for supremacy in this world. If one of them obtained the signet, how easy would it be to draw the other demon’s followers? In a battle, all the demon would need to do is use the signet, increase the power of its voice so that it is louder and more powerful than the other demon’s, and it would have instant victory, because its voice would control all of the wicked people within its hearing.”

I did not know how to respond.

With a chuckle he said, “Because of that, I am not sure if I agree with you. The mission into Gandara may not be suicide. The demon doesn’t have enough control over the refugees to make them take up arms—the damned, yes, but not the refugees. He hopes to, as he gains power, but right now he doesn’t.”

“And you discovered this how?”

“Ah, I never answered your question about where I had been. I went into the city. Did some poking and asking around. Most of the refugees are harmless, indeed. For now, anyway.” He patted my knee and stood. “Good luck digesting all of that.” As he started to walk away in the fading light, I stopped him with a question.

“If the demons can take physical form in this world, can the angels, too? Or do they just sit idly by and watch?”

He smiled at me. His face shone a deep red in the last, angling rays of sunlight. “I can only suppose that they are able to take upon themselves a body, but am certain that they are not sitting idly by. They are among us and around us, whispering to our souls and strengthening our hearts. They do not want us to fail. Take courage, Hezekiah. We do not fight alone.”

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 13, 2007, 03:41 AM // 03:41

Colossus 87, 1275 DR

Despite a rather unfortunate encounter with Kandra, today has been surprisingly positive. Not that anything marvelous has happened, but my thoughts have been much more upbeat. Perhaps Shenan’s talk of angels lifted my spirits—or the fact that he feels there is hope for our assault on the castle. Whatever it is, my thoughts had a more encouraging tone than usual, and from time-to-time my heart found an unusual, peaceful serenity. Of course, that is not to say that the dread from the demons is not present—it is. But there is an opposing force, now. A reassurance and general feeling of . . . of being in the right.

I do not think I am imagining it. Today people all around the cove laughed together, and spoke in lighter tones. Not a single brawl broke out. My party members smiled more than they have as of late, and we spent more time together instead of brooding apart. We even played some Gambit of Fates, which we have not done since the journey from Istan. As on the ship, Shenan won very often. I still think he cheats; of course, he denies it.

I have been waiting for an opportunity to catch Kandra alone. In the week and a half since the fiasco with Kandra, my desire to be closer to her, to act on my attraction, did not dim. But since the . . .incident, my desire to be near and with her has been tempered by a fear, a dread that she does not requite my feelings. Now, looking back, I realize that I have never seen a sign that she does, or that she does not. Anything I interpreted as a signal that she was interested in me was simply that—my interpretation. She really does treat me exactly like she treats everyone else in the party.

The day after we arrived in the cove, Bruck somehow obtained for us a good-sized tent, where we are able to keep our things and where we sleep at night. After our afternoon meal, I saw Kandra enter it, and knowing no one else was in there—they were all distracted by a game of Gambit—I followed her. By the time I got in, she was already laying on one of the cots, one hand over her eyes, the other resting on her stomach, and her hair flowing down and over her shoulders and over the cot’s edge. One leg was extended, and another bent. The light was dim and soft. I will never forget the form of her body, tightly outlined by tights, short pants, and a brown smock. The way her chest rose and sunk as she breathed gave me courage—or perhaps just filled me with desire. I stepped to the cot.

“Oh, come on!” she said, hearing me. She did not uncover her eyes. “Not now! I’m too tired.”

I didn’t know what to say. Really, my brain could not think of any words that would not sound ridiculous. I dropped to my haunches, so my face was slightly above hers, and touched the hand on her stomach. It was so warm. It amazed me that such a vicious warrior could have such soft skin. I raised my other hand to touch her cheek, but before it reached her, she removed her hands from her eyes, opened her eyelids, and looked at me.

Then she screamed. Not a blood-curdling, horrified scream, but a surprised one accompanied by such a rapid sitting up that as I jerked my hands back as if I’d been shocked, I lost balance and fell backward to a sitting position.

“Hezekiah!” she said. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

I stammered for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry.” I imagine I sounded like a fool. What I really wanted to ask was who she had been expecting.

An awkward silence followed for several moments as we looked at each other. My chest thumped. I breathed heavily. I do not remember my heart ever beating so strongly, even in the most intense of battles. Then suddenly we both started to speak.

“Hezekiah . . . .”

“Kandra . . . .”

“Yes?”

“Go ahead,” I said.

“No, you.”

Still not knowing how to say it without sounding foolish, I started, “Kandra, I—.”

“No, let me speak. I know what you want to say. Let me spare you. Sit here next to me.” She patted the cot next to her.

I hastily obeyed, my heart already sinking. Nothing good could come of the words, “Let me spare you.” But before she could say anything, Wez appeared in the doorway of the tent, holding the tent flap to the side and flooding the room in sunlight.

“Everything okay?” he asked. “I heard a scream.”

Kandra quickly stood. “Nothing is going on. We were just talking.” She looked from me to Wez twice, and then hurried past him out of the tent.

I heaved a heavy sigh, and scrubbed my face with my hands, then sat forward and rested my elbows on my knees.

“You have no idea, do you?” Wez said.

“No idea about what?”

“About Kandra.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He let the tent flap fall into place, and the room dimmed. He stepped over to the cot opposite me, and sat. “She told me about that night, a week or so ago, when you touched her knee.”

Despite the peace I’d been feeling that day, a true and utter horror gripped me. “She did what?” My voice cracked.

“I think it’s clear to most people in our party that you’re attracted to her. She certainly knows.”

I shook my head. “I’m starting to get the feeling that she doesn’t feel the same way.”

He tried to suppress a smile, but mostly failed. “I—I’m trying to think of something nice to say to you right now. Some way to break this to you without making you feel like an idiot.”

“I appreciate that. Break what to me?”

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, so his face was just a foot from mine. “Kandra and I . . . . We . . . . Kind of . . . .”

Suddenly it dawned on me. “You and Kandra? You two—.”

“Yes.” He sat back, looking relieved that he didn’t have to spell it out for me. “Since before we even got to Kourna.”

“You?” My mind was reeling. How did I not know about this? “And Kandra?”

“Yes.”

I stood, somewhat dazed by this revelation.

“We haven’t told anyone, so don’t feel bad. I mean, Bruck knows, but no one else does.”

“You and Kandra? Secret lovers?”

“Yes, Hezekiah. Don’t sound so shocked or I will find something to say that will humiliate you even more.”

“But you’re so much older than us.”

“Relax, now—only ten years.” He stood and grabbed my elbows. His eyes penetrated mine. “There is no need to tell anyone else. They don’t need to know. No reason for them to know.”

Really, I felt silly for not realizing it. I imagine the signs were there, and that had I not been blinded by my own affection for Kandra, I probably would have noticed them. I felt angry and rejected and humiliated all at the same time. But I could not, in all fairness, blame Wez or Kandra for those feelings. The right thing to do was—is—to be happy for them. “Well, congratulations. I guess.”

He smiled, and left the tent.

So, that’s that, I guess. Kandra and Wez are together. I’ll have to ignore my feelings for her—stuff them down and away and to a place where they won’t bother me. I think I can do that. My attraction to her isn’t particularly developed—it is more physical than anything at this point. Plus, she certainly never led me on, which makes it both better and worse—but easier to let go of. The right thing to do is to be happy for them, and I will strive to do that.

Koross · Apr 18, 2007, 04:25 AM // 04:25

Oh man. An older man held the advantage over a younger guy! Heh.

The story is getting interesting now. Will we see more of the assassin in the future? What will happen when the group finally attacks?

I CAN'T WAIT!!!

creelie · Apr 18, 2007, 06:15 PM // 18:15

I didn't see that coming! Very original!

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 20, 2007, 02:20 AM // 02:20

Thank you for the comments. They're always welcome.

Sorry for no update on Tuesday. I have no excuse other than I am an airhead.
__________________________________________________ _________________
Colossus 88, 1275 DR

I am not sure how much I trust Shenan at this point. Well—I worded that wrong. I trust him completely, but I just don’t know how much he isn’t telling me. He knows more than he’s letting on to—or is more than he’s letting on to. Today he exhibited quite an interesting bit of power. Oh, he denied it, but I’m pretty sure I saw what I think I saw.

We were sitting on the ridge above the field just South of the cove, playing a game of Gambit. Well, most of us we were watching. Sileman and Shenan were playing; the former is the only person that stands a chance against the elemntalist, and has actually won him twice at this point. In the field below us, the a captain led a training session for the less experienced of the group. Our ranks have grown day-by-day. Soldiers, heroes, and average people have arrived in groups or individually, all ready to help the Warmarshal save the country. Many of those people are untrained average Kranks and Brennas; to prepare them for the assault, the Warmarshal has ordered that they take basic weapons and skills training.

I was sitting there above the training field, between Bruck and Chircuck, half watching the training and half watching the game. Kandra and Wez were sitting next to each other, opposite the game board. Guani stood over them.

“I cannot believe the guts you have,” Sileman said to Shenan. “Some of the moves you make are simply reckless.” He grinned and placed a Heket card face up on the board, next to one of Shenan’s Grawl pieces.

Wez laughed. “It looks like the old man’s going down again!”

Shenan gave him a level, sarcastic look. Turning his gaze to Sileman said, “I take calculated risks.” He took an Adrenaline card from his hand, and placed it under the Grawl figurine.

This time, Bruck laughed; he always sides with the old man.

“Now,” Shenan said. “Roll the dice, and let’s see how reckless my move was.”

Before the ritualist could pick up the dice, the air suddenly thickened and grew oily. Dread flooded into my heart. The whispered gibberish penetrated my mind. Instinctively, I reached for my spear, but remembered it was back in the tent. Before I could even curse my stupidity, confusion erupted throughout the area. Sileman bolted to his feet, turning the board over on top of the elementalist. The trainees down in the field started to scatter in a deafening clamor of shouting and mishandled weapons and shields. A few of them turned on the people near them, cutting them down. Bruck bolted down the hill, toward the confusion, healing spells lighting his body.

And then, without warning, a sublime comfort and peace rushed into my body and mind. Thoughts of panic and killing and revenge created by the whispering were replaced with clear, calm thoughts of victory, righteous justice, and unstoppable valor. I won’t panic. The whispering will pass. The voice cannot harm me. Darkness cannot coexist with good—and I am good. There is no place in my mind and heart and soul for this darkness. Pay it no heed.

Stunned, I watched as most of the scattering trainees came to a standstill in a matter seconds. Their screams of terror silenced. The few that did not calm down, that continued to scream and run about mindlessly, were struck down by calmer, quieter trainees. Unexpectedly, everyone in the area stood in silence. The whispering was still there, moving around the field randomly, pushing its slime and fear on everyone present. But no one paid it any attention. I do not know if they felt what I felt, or if they were having the thoughts I was having, but I can only assume they were. The voice is one of weakness. Its wickedness only seeks to pull me down, to destroy me. I will not listen to it, and will not let its fear touch my heart. Instead, I will cry out in indignation at its unwelcome presence.

With that last thought, I shouted, “Victory to the just!” But I was not the only one. Every person there—as far as I could tell—cried out identical words at the exact same moment, as if we had rehearsed it a thousand times. Again! We shouted out again. The sound echoed off of the rocks of the cove, drowned out the endless sound of the ocean. Again! As I repeated my cry in unison with the rest of the gathered host, I looked around in disbelief. Each of my nearby party members grinned into the sky with triumphant eyes. All except for Shenan.

He still sat on the ground, cross-legged with his back as straight as a tree trunk, the game pieces and cards scattered around him. His hands covered his face. But as the encouraging thoughts sounded one last time in my mind, I could see his jaw moving in time with the words in my head.

One more time!

I tried to fight the thought, the urge. But it proved irresistible, and for the last time, everyone present shouted out, “Victory to the just!” Before the echoes of our anthem faded, the whispering and its temptation to despair evaporated. Only the sublime, peaceful thoughts remained. Once again a rumble of many simultaneous voices erupted in the field—but this time it was the rumble of a surprised and joyful crowd, not of a surprised and despairing mob. People clasped each other’s hands, and hugged. All around me my party members embraced and laughed. I knelt to Shenan and put a hand on his shoulder. His entire body trembled, and he groaned in quiet agony. He lowered his hands from his face. A film of sweat covered his skin.

He gave me a weak smile, and said, “I’m too old for this.”

“What did you do?” I asked. “Are you an angel?”

He shook his head weakly. “No. I . . . .” His body started to shake more violently. His eyes started to roll and his eyelids to droop. In a voice so soft I almost couldn’t hear, he rasped, “We’ll . . . talk . . . later.” And he fainted, falling backwards. I caught him, and laid him gently in the grass.

It is late, now. Nearly midnight. Shenan regained consciousness a few hours ago, but declined to speak with anyone. He is sleeping in the tent. Tomorrow night we begin our assault on the city. I hope he is strong enough to join us. He may not be an angel, but he’s something that I’m sure we’ll need.

Vince_Jadefrost · Apr 20, 2007, 06:43 AM // 06:43

Whoa! The story turned out better than I thought it would be.
Kudos to you!

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 25, 2007, 02:46 AM // 02:46

Colossus 88, 1275 DR

Today, New Year’s Eve, I actually woke up before everyone except for Bruck. He was gone before I arose, and as I left the tent I witnessed the early dawn, the rising of the Eastern sun into a cloudless sky and a mild breeze. The camp bustled with activity. People everywhere shined their armor, shields, and weapons. In the bright golden sunlight the Kournan soldiers gathered in their ranks to practice formations and run through drills. People spoke to each other with eager eyes and voices. Excitement nearly crackled in the air. I could practically taste it. At last, the waiting will end tonight!

I didn’t get five steps out of the tent before Bruck approached, practically running.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

I motioned over my shoulder, to the tent behind me, with my thumb. “Still sleeping.”

He paused for a moment, confusion knitting his brow.

“I know. I can’t believe it, either.”

“Well, wake them up. The warmarshal wants to see us now!” He turned, muttering something about a “lazy party” and strode away.

I had quite a good time waking everyone up, for a change. I wonder if I look like them when I wake up, all droopy-eyed and confused for a few seconds. I imagine so. I did take a little extra care with Shenan, but he actually got up with a speed that surprised me.

“I’m fine,” he told me, probably seeing concern on my face.

I wanted to ask him about the day before, but the look in his eyes sent a clear message that I should keep my questions silent, for now. I had not told anyone what I’d seen the day before, and no one else gave any indication that they’d seen him speaking those words in our heads. They had questioned why he’d passed out—especially Bruck—but I claimed ignorance. It turns out that they, along with everyone else in the camp, had experienced the same thing as me—the flow of positive thoughts and emotions, and irresistible urge to shout out. They marveled at the experience, and wondered how we would all yell at the same time, but they gave no indication that they knew it all stemmed from an angel.

Bruck was waiting outside, and hurried us off toward the Warmarshal’s tent. At that point, the opportunity presented itself to walk in the back of the group, with Shenan.

“I’m not what you think,” he said before I could even bring the topic up.

“Then what did I see?” I whispered.

“I am just a conduit. The angel comes and goes at will, as it sees fit.”

“It . . .possesses you?”

“It uses my body as it sees fit. I let it.”

“An angel possesses your body?” I could not—cannot—believe it. Well, I can—and do—believe it. It’s just very surprising. I have heard tales of evil spirits possessing bodies, but not angels.

“Don’t tell anyone! You must not!”

“I won’t,” I promised.

Before this morning I had only seen the Warmarshal from a distance. She is a striking woman, with chiseled, hard features and eyes like stone. I would not characterize her as beautiful or attractive in any way, but I would say that her appearance is irresistible and strong. With her elite elementalist armor and the imposing, carved staff she keeps at her side, she looks as powerful as anyone I have ever met. Her voice never wavers; she speaks with perfect confidence and poise.

We gathered under her spacious war canopy, around a large table with a map on it. Others stood outside the confines of the canopy, guarding our meeting in solemn duty. She stood at the head.

“I don’t know how much Bruck has told you. I imagine not much, knowing him. I also imagine that he is under-exaggerating your skills when he says that you’re a ‘tolerably talented’ party. Yet he was unwilling to leave any of you in the assault, saying to me that he would rather, ‘chance it with that rabble than your rabble.’” She looked over us with amused eyes. “Rabble, yes. Tolerably talented, I doubt it. You must have something special about you for Bruck to patently deny what I asked of him. So, I am asking something else of him. And of you.”

She leaned over the map, and pointed at it as she continued. “You see here the Moon City. Here is the prison just to its East. Here are the docks. Even as we speak, my fleet of ships is harassing the docks. They’re armed with trebuchets that throw boulders of ice. Their purpose is to distract them and soften their defenses; by the time the may army gets to them, the damned should be very tired of falling walls, and somewhat harried.

“I also have quite a bulk of soldiers traveling back through an underground passage that will take them to the prison. In the late afternoon, as the rest of my army is marching out of here, they will make an effort to take the prison before noon. If they succeed, excellent. If not, they will retreat back through the passage to the camp, and try to join the rest of us. They are simply a diversion. A distraction, really, from the rest of the army that will march on the front gates.”

“You don’t think they will close the front gates?” Wez asked.

“No. Even if they tried, they could not. All gates and major doors in the streets operate based not on physical strength, but on magic. Even if they knew the magic to close the doors—which they don’t—we know the magic to open them. That is why they haven’t closed the city gates at all. They can’t.”

“Every gate is open?” Guani asked, clearly surprised.

“We left them that way, so we can march right in.”

“Surely we won’t catch them by surprise,” Chircuck said. “Not by just marching your army right up to the door.”

“No. In fact, I imagine that the demon knows in great detail what the plan is. But we are not relying on surprise, just as they will not be relying on fortifications.”

“What are we relying on?” Wez asked.

“The same thing as them. Brute strength.”

“That’s not so good, in a city like that,” Bruck said. “They will have set up defenses and traps.”

“Yes, you’ve said that before,” she said, giving him a dry look. “And you are right. But our primary strength is our magic—we’ve got so much of it on our side. Under no circumstances can they attack us when we cannot attack them. They may try to stop us at any number of choke points, but our magic can get behind them, just as theirs can get behind us. It is really quite a fair fight, even despite their holding the innermost parts of the city.”

“So, what are you asking of us?” Shenan asked.

“I want you to assassinate Crathlav.”

“The demon?” Sileman asked, his voice cracking.

She nodded.

Silence settled over the table.

“No offense, Warmarshal,” Wez said, “but how in the flaming mists will we do that?”

“You will depart in one hour’s time for the city, and you will enter the gates long before us. Spend the day there, try to find where the demon and its center of power are. Once the battle starts, hopefully the demon will deploy most of its guards, and be relatively unprotected.”

“Sounds like a terrible plan,” I said. Really, that is how I felt. That is how I feel.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Bruck said.

“I am not banking on you,” she said. “You are my wildcard, a shot in the dark. The battle will be sore, and victory is certainly not assured. But if your group can accomplish what I want you to—and I do not think you can—the victory will be assured.”

“Let me get this straight,” Wez said. “You’re just sending us in to the center of the storm, without a plan or any support, on the off chance that we can assassinate a demon?”

She nodded, a satisfied look on her face. “Exactly.”

“And you don’t care if we perish or not?”

“Oh, I do care. That is why I am sending your group. I know that no one else would survive. Just knowing Bruck, and knowing what he’s said about you all, I think you have the best chance not only of assassinating the demon, but also of surviving.” She looked around us, the smile on her lips belied by the hardness of her eyes. “Any questions? Very well. Good luck.”

I’m here in the tent, now. We’ll be leaving in another ten minutes; I thought that perhaps I could calm my nerves by writing our mission down, and while it doesn’t sound any less dangerous, I do feel a little better. Really, this journal has been quite a boon for me. Hopefully I will write more in it soon.

Koross · Apr 25, 2007, 06:40 AM // 06:40

Oh man! This is awesome!! I bet they are sweating bullets now.

HezekiahKurtz · Apr 27, 2007, 02:40 AM // 02:40

I am sorry to say that I have no update to post today. I usually do my writing at lunch, but due to a simply marvelous lunch meeting, I couldn't today. Therefore, I could not finish the next entry.

Instead, I have posted a story I wrote a few years ago. It's on my website at this page: http://www.gwcartographer.com/transference.html.

If you take the time to read it, I'd be interested in hearing what you think.

Unreal Cyn · Apr 27, 2007, 03:31 AM // 03:31

That Transference story was a brilliant piece of writing man. Right up there with the best fantasy short stories I've read by people like Gaiman, Silverberg and Elizabeth Haydon. It had just the right amount of humour (the whole pissing concept) and deep underlying tones that I thought were fantastic. I had figured the dog would get it in the end, but the way that happened was unexpected for me. But that snapshot of the world in which the story was set really made me interested in its history and events! Perhaps you should have a separate section on your site where you post up other shorts like that? Absolutely fantastic writing once again bossman.

Wish Swiftdeath · Apr 28, 2007, 09:02 AM // 09:02

wow excellent story, i just can't get enough. One of the great things about it is that if you read carefully you can see everything making sense, you drop plenty of clues in the text without making it too obvious. I cant wait for the next one!

HezekiahKurtz · May 02, 2007, 03:59 AM // 03:59

Glad you liked the story. Here is the latest from Hezekiah.

Unfortunately, I am unable to post a journal entry on Thursday. If there is interest, I can post another short story on my web site.
__________________________________________________ ______________
Zephyr 3, 1276 DR

New Year’s Eve has come and gone, and we survived! Well. I survived. Some of my companions were not so fortunate, for which I sorrow. Our only comfort is that they perished in vanquishing a great evil, in winning a mighty victory.

We left the cove as scheduled, traveling as fast as possible and arriving at the gate near noon. About the time the city came into view, as we crested a ridge just outside of in the Pogahn Passage, I noticed the faintest hint of whispering gibberish and the expected, corresponding dread. By the time we reached the gates, I could hear and feel them distinctly, and wondered if that is how the entire day would go.

As the Warmarshal had promised, the gates hung open, although gaining entrance was not simply a matter of waltzing right in. Hundreds of troops lined the walls, bows and spears held ready. Behind them, crews worked on no fewer that a dozen catapults and trebuchets, building some, testing others. Several rows of barricades, with spikey-side out and a few narrow openings every few hundred feet, lined the area in front of the city. A mob of heavily armed damned guarded the entrance, interrogating anyone that sought entrance to or exit from the city.

As we navigated the field of barriers and neared the walls, Sileman voiced what I was thinking. “The Warmarshal sure seemed confident. But I am beginning to wonder about her plan. How will she even get her army through the gates?”

Bruck shrugged. “We will just do our part, and let her worry about the rest.”

A group of damned stopped us at the city entrance, trained their arrows and spears on us as they demanded to know why we sought passage. Bruck spouted some rot about us just wanting to visit the city, about feeling like it was the right place for us. They asked us a few more questions, about where we were from and why we felt it was the right place. Bruck mumbled the kind of thing I’d have expected a refugee to say, and after several minutes the damned let us through, giving instructions on where new arrivals to the city were supposed to go.

“I’m surprised they’re letting anyone in,” I said to Shenan once we were through. “If our attack is not coming as a surprise, why would they let anyone in? Over the last week, the Warmarshal could have sent hundreds of people into the city.”

“I suspect she has,” Shenan said, “And that is a primary weakness of this mish-mash army of demon followers. They obey the voice in their heads blindly, and cannot tell when others are not doing the same.”

“Why doesn’t the demon whisper a password into everyone’s head? Or subconsciously teach them a secret handshake? Anything that could be given as a sign? Surely the demon isn’t that stupid.”

He paused to think for a moment. “That’s a fine point. In fact, what you’re suggesting rather worries me.”

That didn’t make me feel any better, especially coupled with the now distinct whispering and the throbbing fear it inspired. “I don’t know if I can handle this all day. Can’t you do your angel thing and make me feel better?”

“I have no control over it. It comes and goes as it wills. Besides, do you really think it would be worth it to betray us by whispering right now?”

We—the party—ignored the instructions the gate guards had given us, and did not go to that particular part of the city. We spent the early afternoon wandering the dirty streets, looking and watching for any sign of the demon or where it might be. A distant, deep grumble of gigantic collisions sounded consistently through the air, minute after minute, hour after hour.

“The siege ships seem to be doing their job,” Wez commented quietly to me and Kandra

“Well, they’re hitting the docks, anyway,” I said. “But does that mean they’re wearing on the nerves of our enemies? All they have to do is retreat from the docks, and it won’t matter much.”

“It’s wearing on my nerves,” Kandra said. “Even this far away.”

I felt the same way. Coupled with the whispering, I felt somewhat numb, even that early in the day.

“I wonder if they ever plan on coming ashore,” Wez said. “If the damned have cleared the docks, what’s to keep our people from coming ashore?”

“I really feel like the Warmarshal didn’t give us much information,” I said. “Seems like there’s a lot of holes in the plan she told us about.”

Throughout the afternoon, we failed every time we tried to get near the docks. We also never reached the prison to the West of the city. Each time we tried to gain entrance to either of those places, a sizeable group of damned blocked our passage and ordered us to turn around or be killed. The repeated rumbling grew louder whenever we moved toward the docks—and the concentration of damned grew thicker the closer we went to the prison. It surprised me how many of the damned there were. Thousands, it seemed, armed with swords and clubs and axes, or staffs and spears and bows. In a crowd, I could always tell the difference between a refugee and a damned. The damned watched everyone—even their peers—with suspicion and spoke in short, curt sentences and angry tones. The refugees just always looked either confused or simply content.

Eventually we decided it would be best to find a high place—a tower or roof—where we could gain some kind of view of the prison or docks. Bruck also suggested that we might discover a more obscure way into docks, perhaps a very narrow alley or a series of connected rooftops. He assured us that there were no ways to the prison other than the bridge that crossed over the water between the city and the prison.

So, we focused our efforts on the Southern part of town. As with other parts of the city, the streets teemed not only with the damned, but also with all manner of refugees, most of who seemed to have set up camp next to a building or wall. Many of them looked malnourished and tired, and in sore need of a bath. Some appeared disoriented, while still others appeared quite at ease and very comfortable in their surroundings. Really, after the many places we’ve been in Kourna, it was a familiar sight, and I really didn’t pay it much heed.

Except for one thing I did overhear, which at the time I thought was important, and which proved correct very soon afterwards. We were in a bazaar, taking a short break and looking for some suitable food to eat; prices for even the smallest morsel were outrageous—it bordered on extortion. It actually surprised me that the market wasn’t more crowded—not every foot was packed with a person. Carts lined the wider-than-usual street. Colorful canopies hung overhead, shading most of the people below and filtering the sunlight into colorful hues. I had stepped away from the main body of the party for a moment, attracted to some rather tasty looking bread. A woman stood at the cart, arguing with two men who were purchasing some loaves from a merchant.

“We need to leave the city and go home!” she said. “There is no reason to be here, but every reason to leave!”

“No!” he responded as he handed the cart-owner some coin. “I can’t leave! I just . . . I don’t know why.”

“You’ve heard the soldiers talking! The city is already under attack from the sea, and will be attacked from the land by the end of the day. We’re going to get killed!”

For the tenth time that day, I wondered how the Warmarshal’s plan to attack the prison went. Perhaps it had flopped so badly that no one had even heard about it. Or, perhaps it had been a raving success, and that is why no one had heard about it.

“It’ll be fine,” the second man said. “There are enough soldiers around to protect us.”

“I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” she said. “You trust those soldiers? After they took Thayla and those other people? They just herded them off and you didn’t do a thing about it.”

The man shrugged. He nodded politely at the merchant and picked up a sizeable sack of bread. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Let’s go.” They started walking away through the bazaar. I followed, keenly interested in their conversation.

The woman continued the argument. “She’s been gone for over two hours. And why? What did she do wrong?”

“She didn’t kneel when she should have,” the first man responded. His tone clearly indicated that she should have understood this.

“And why should she kneel? I only did it because you told me to.”

“And if you hadn’t, you’d be gone too.”

“Where, and why?”

At that point, they entered a crowded, busy street, and I could no longer follow them at a close enough distance to hear their conversation. I returned to the bazaar with my mind racing, and found my group. We retreated to a dead-end alley just off of the bazar, and I quickly told them about what I’d heard.

“That must be it,” Shenan said. “The demon whispers instructions suddenly, and whoever doesn’t obey is clearly not in league with the demon. Then they take away the people who aren’t obedient.”

“But if we do what everyone else does, we’ll be fine,” I said.

“If we do it fast enough,” Bruck clarified, giving us all poignant looks. “We need to be even more aware of what’s going on. We’ve got to find Chircuck and tell him.”

I hadn’t realized that the monk was gone, but now I saw that he was. And, as chance would have it, at the moment we stepped out of the ally in search of Chircuck, a flood of damned entered the bazaar from both ends and from several side streets. It was clearly a concerted effort, because in a matter of moments they blocked off all exits and even pushed a few people back toward the carts. Strangely, not a single person objected. Panic did not break out—not visibly, anyway; my heartbeat certainly hastened. Every person present simply looked around, as if this were a completely normal and expected occurrence.

A few moments later, the whispering—which had been constant since before entering the city—intensified, became louder and more rapid. Despair flooded into me, and before I’d even had a chance to react, the refugees—merchants, customers, men, women—fell silent and dropped to the ground. It was eerie, in the same way it had been exhilarating the day before when at the cove everyone had shouted out at the same moment. Without any spoken words, people shut their mouths and dropped to the ground. It was one, fluid motion, done in near unison. There were a few people that were slower, but nearly all of them dropped to their hands and knees, stopped speaking, and then rolled onto their backs. Only the damned and a few others did not.

We did—my party and me. I imagine the damned noticed us drop a little more slowly, or roll with a slightly delayed action. They may have even thought to look at us a little more closely. But if they did, their attention was immediately drawn to the dozen or so people that actually remained standing. One of them, at the far end of the street, standing right near a dozen damned, was Chircuck. He turned several times, looking around in confusion.

It all happened very quickly, in only five or six seconds since the damned had secured the bazaar. For another moment or two silence reigned.

“Get down!” a woman hissed to a man who still stood. “Get on your back!” She could have been saying my thoughts, although mine were directed at Chircuck. Other than her, no one in the bazaar spoke.

The man hesitated. “What’s going on?”

“Just do it!”

The damned surged forward, seizing the man and all the others who remained standing. Any of them that cried out in objection or resisted were quickly silenced with blows to the head. In the confusion, I could not see how Chircuck reacted, especially since all of the damned headed in that direction with their new captives. They out-numbered those who’d not fallen to the ground by ten-to-one, and herded them out with ruthless pushes and shoves. A few of the captives fell limp in their captor’s arms as they were dragged away and out of the bazaar.

When the last one had disappeared, and only those of us on the ground remained, the whispering and its dread faded to normal levels. In all, less than a minute had passed.

People started to stand.

“We’ve got to get Chircuck!” Guani said.

“I’m afraid it may be too late,” Bruck said. “If we pursue, we may give up our identities.”

“We can’t leave him,” Wez said.

“Who knows what will happen,” Kandra said.

“And we may also learn something important,” Sileman said. “They may lead us to the demon.”

Bruck considered the comment for a moment. I glanced around at the group, and based on the anxiousness on their faces, I surmised that just as I, they wanted to go after Chircuck. He was our party member, after all. We could not abandon him to the damned.

“Very well,” Bruck said. “But when I say we turn back, we do it. Everyone clear on that?”

We nodded in agreement, and then set off through the bazaar, practically sprinting.

Wish Swiftdeath · May 02, 2007, 02:22 PM // 14:22

damn! i read this already on your website, i was sooo excited too :P

As i said cant wait for the next one...

HezekiahKurtz · May 09, 2007, 04:07 AM // 04:07

I posted another short story last Thursday. It is here: http://www.gwcartographer.com/notthatkindofgod.html

Here is Hezekiah's latest entry.
__________________________________________________ _______________

Zephyr 4, 1276 DR

Of course it was New Year’s Eve, and the refugees in the city—whether haggard, comfortable, or confused—were in preparations for that night’s festivities. As it turns out, the Kournan have a tradition similar to that found in many parts of the world: they burn effigies of the previous year. The idea is that as the effigy is built, the creators mentally stuff the dummy with memories of and thoughts about the bad things that happened throughout the year. Four hours before the new year arrives—one hour for each season—the effigy is hung by the neck, and then beaten with a stick continuously until midnight, at which point it is burned. In that manner, the new year arrives without all of the baggage and evil from the previous year.

At that point, as we left the bazaar in a hurry, I had totally forgotten of the festivities that would go on that day. Refugees hindered our path at every step. Wez suggested splitting up, thinking we could search in multiple directions and move through the throng more easily alone than in a group. But Bruck would have nothing to do with the idea.

“How will we get back together, even if we do find Chircuck?” he asked

So we wove our way through the crowd. We moved slowly at first, until Guani stepped to the front of the group and started to push and shove people out of her way. Some objected, but most did not. It occurred to me that perhaps they thought we were damned. Guani certainly looked like one, with that frown and the eyebrows angled deeply towards her nose. Before long, people saw her coming and parted before her, as if she were the tip of a wedge they did not want to meet. Our speed increased notably, and in only a few more minutes we managed to see the group of damned at the opposite end of a street. Before long, we had practically caught up with them.

“Now what?” Wez asked.

“They’re definitely taking them toward the docks,” Sileman said.

“We won’t be able to follow them forever,” Bruck said. “Just a few more blocks and we’ll be as far south as they’ve let us go at any time today.”

“We can’t fight them,” I said. “There must be a hundred of them.”

“And I can’t even see him,” Sileman said. “They’re keeping their prisoners in their center.”

We followed them along for a time in silence.

In those minutes, as we neared the street where we’d been stopped before, the hour arrived for people to hang their effigies. The dummies started to appear seemingly out of nowhere. Every tenth or eleventh person carried one, and so the streets became much more crowed that they’d been. It did not help that circles of cleared space opened up as the refugees looped ropes around their effigies’ necks and hung them on makeshift gallows; people needed room to swing their sticks, after all. Individuals of all ages and of both sexes shouted profanities at the stuffed bodies as they beat them. The unfortunate, puffy bags with lumpy arms and legs swayed back and forth. One or two burst open to a bevy of cheering and scrambling to rebuild the figure for continued abuse.

One especially brutal blow by a hefty man separated an effigy’s head from its body. As the surrounding crowd cheered, the torso and arms and legs crumpled to the ground but the head sailed through the air and landed just in front of me. I had to jump directly over it, in order to avoid kicking it, but in the process I noticed something about the face on that head that sent chills down my spine.

“Did you see that?” I said to Shenan. “That face looked just like yours.”

He furrowed his brow at me. “What are you talking about?”

“That effigy looked just like you. Its face was painted to look just like you!”

“Ridiculous.”

But I knew what I had seen. It had the same long face and oversized nose. The same large eyes and droopy, aged cheeks. As we continued on, I tried to get a look at the faces of other dummies. In only thirty feet, as a dummy spun in reaction to a blow, its face turned to me, and then turned away. My heart skipped.

“Look at that one!” I said, grabbing his arm and pointing at it. “That one is Wez!”

My voice had gained the attention of a few party members, who looked where I pointed. They exclaimed their surprise, and in a few moments we found ourselves slowing to a halt and standing in the center of the street, turning to look at the several dummies close to us. Our mouths hung open. Sure enough, there was Wez. Nearby, another was Kandra. The one I’d seen first, now a little ways back, was back up and taking a beating—there was no doubt it was Shenan, as was a nearby fourth. The dread in my heart deepened. Fear pricked my heart. I looked for one of me, but no others were close enough that I could make out their faces.

“This is not something I ever expected to see,” Wez said. He looked slightly worried.

“Crathlav knows we’re coming,” Bruck said.

“We may as well abandon our mission,” I said.

“I vote we find a safe place to hide,” said Sileman. “Re-evaluate our plan.”

“I agree,” Bruck said. “I don’t know what we can do for Chircuck right now, anyway.”

We retreated back down several streets. They seemed more crowded than before, as if even more people had come out of the buildings to celebrate. Music played in the distance—probably a street or two away, just out of sight—heedless of the continuing, thunderous pounding on the docks. People danced in pockets of churning bodies surrounded by onlookers who clapped and sang. Others congregated around the effigies. Every single one of them looked like one of my party members. Their faces were painted to look like one of us, with string or paper for hair. An unsettling tingle tickled my spine the first time I saw myself get a stick in the face. A feeling of claustrophobia and entrapment settled in around me as we looked for a relatively quiet place to talk.

Eventually, far to the Western edge of the city, we found a thin alley between two relatively quiet streets. The alley was narrow enough that one person could nearly touch the buildings on each side just by reaching out both hands. We crammed ourselves into it, near the middle, and stood huddled closely together. Some other people walked up or down it, but after a few moments of us hogging up most of the width, they departed, and no new ones came in. Dark shadows made the air cold. A slight breeze made me shiver.

“We need to get Chircuck,” Guani said.

“What do you propose we do?” Bruck asked.

She shook her head.

“I don’t know, either,” Bruck said. “In fact, I’m pretty open to any reasonable sounding ideas at this point.”

We looked at each other with raised eyebrows, shaking heads, and shrugging shoulders.

“Shouldn’t the siege begin, soon,” I asked. “It’s getting near dusk.” I motioned overhead, at the purpling sky.

“Any time, now, I’d say,” Bruck said.

“But even then, what?” Wez said. “There are simply too many damned everywhere. We’re purely outnumbered.”

“I don’t understand something,” Kandra said. “How do the damned tell who is one of them, and who is not? They generally look just like everyone else. They have no special uniforms, no badges or anything that I can tell sets them apart from the rest of us. Why can’t we simply pretend that we’re some of them?”

“Perhaps you have forgotten,” Wez said, “But our faces are up all over the place, taking beatings as we speak. I can’t imagine the damned don’t know exactly who they’re looking for.”

“Then why haven’t they taken us yet,” I asked. “Many of them have looked us right in the faces, and done nothing.”

“We’ve been waiting for the right chance.”

As a group, we looked to one end of the alley, where a man stood with his hands on his hips. He smirked at us and took a few steps forward. As he did so, others flooded into the alley from behind him.

“Run!” Shenan said. But we turned to see that, at the opposite end of the alley, damned were also filled with men and women bearing swords, spears, shields, and other weaponry and armor. They did not look like typical damned, although the fire in their eyes clearly marked them as such. From the way they carried their weapons, and stood ready in preparative stances, they had received more training than the average person. These were soldiers.

I suppressed an intense, rising panic, and readied my spear and skills.

“We’ve been instructed to watch you closely,” the man said, drawing a wicked, toothed blade. He continued to walk toward us, tilting his head down and looking at us from under heavy eyebrows. The alley behind him continued to fill with a seemingly endless supply of soldiers. “We were told to take you when we had the chance—once the effigies were brought out.”

“Those were a nice touch,” Bruck said.

He cast Protective Icon on himself, and backed toward the middle of the group—not out of cowardice, but simply because it was the right place for a monk. I took my place in the front of the group, next to Guani. When the fighting started, there would only be room for one person to fight; she would move forward, and I would throw over her head. Behind me, I could hear the others moving into place. I imagine Kandra stood in the front facing the other end of the ally, with Wez behind her. Sileman, Bruck, and Shenan would work from the middle of the pack.

“Our master is no fool,” the man said. “Unlike yours.” He stopped his advance, and his soldiers stepped past him, weapons ready. As the first leapt forward, shouting a mighty battle cry, I heard the sounds of metal clashing and spells charging behind me.

In the following minutes—as many as thirty, I imagine; it was hard to gauge time as that endless flow of soldiers crashed up against us—I learned several things about lopsided battles.

First, no matter your numbers, bring a monk. Preferably a good one. Better yet, several good ones.

I don’t know what those damned were thinking, or if monks are in very short supply in their ranks, but as far as I could tell they did not bring any. While it would have been difficult for them to save many of their co-warriors from the spikes we hit them with, they could have at least resurrected the dead, and perhaps overcome us. As it was, their soldiers fell in waves when Sileman’s Sprit Rifts were timed perfectly with his Destructions and Shenan’s Marks of Rogdort and Meteor Showers. The damage just the two of them dealt in a matter of seconds was simply unbeatable. The Sprit Rift cast an eerie white glow on the ally for several seconds until it exploded, and the meteors hit in rapid, burning succession. Fire erupted in the ranks of our enemies—at least, in the ranks of those whose bodies did not simply disappear, incinerated by the heat, or those who flew apart like a poorly-crafted doll being struck with a club. Any that survived those volleys were quickly met with a scythe, sword, spear, or arrow, and easily finished off. The firelight and raining meteors lit the ally in angry red and orange, mingling with the white light of Bruck’s constant Healing Rings, Healing Whispers, Divine Spritis, and Healer’s Boon. I don’t know how he did it, but he managed to keep us alive. I suppose I helped some, with my Arias, Finales, Songs, and Ballads of Restoration, but I know that he really did most of the work, and keep us all alive as we took down the foes in front of us.

The first thing I learned: bring a monk.

After each spike offered up by Shenan and Sileman, another wave of damned would come, leaping over bodies and limbs. During those minutes, someone must have taken the time to pull the fallen away; I cannot imagine that the meteor showers completely decimated so many bodies. Someone must have cleared the way in that narrow alley, so that more of them could advance—I simply didn’t see it happening—which relates to the second thing I learned: strategy and skill beats quantity.

Wave after wave of warrior came. Perhaps it is easier to train warriors en masse. Perhaps the warrior class is simply the one that the damned prefer. Although, now that I think about it, I remember seeing a lot more variance in class in the ranks of the damned once we reached the outer wall, later on, so perhaps they simply wanted to focus their variety on the main battlefield. It is only a guess; I am not sure. But I do know—I did learn—that nothing but warriors—and an occasional dervish or assassin—against a well-balanced party, do not fare well. Especially if those warriors are minimally experienced and face our very experienced, coordinated party. The strategy of bringing a homogonous rabble of melee is a poor one. Their sheer quantity could not tip the scales in their favor—our coordination and strategy simply could not be beat by their numbers.

Third: have an ace up your sleeve. Ours was Shenan. Rather, it was Shenan possessed by an angel. Almost immediately after the fighting began, he started to shout. His cries drowned out the dread, nonsensical whispering we had endured the entire afternoon, filling our hearts with hope and assurance, victory, and righteous strength. With each shout, our foes flinched. I saw at least five simply stop in their tracks, their faces stricken with guilt and disbelief before getting a scythe through the neck, or a spear in the chest. In those minutes, I did not fear. I did not despair. I merely fought with a calm assurance of eventual victory, whether it was in thirty minutes, sixty minutes, or six hours. My limbs did not weary. My heart did not falter. Even through the din of the battle—the smashing of meteors, the clashing of steel, the cries of death and killing—the angel’s words came loud and clear, and penetrated my soul.

Yes, it is good to have an ace up your sleeve. Even better if that ace is an angel.

The last thing I learned in those minutes was to have a good leader. Bruck did nothing unusual or extraordinary, but he had prepared us, disciplined us in many previous battles, and taught us how to time our attacks and skills to land at the perfect time. It was not only his healing that kept us alive, but the warnings he called, the shouts of encouragement, and the reassurance that he could pull us out of any mess.

The leader of the damned, on the other hand, did nothing for his soldiers. He stood back and watched the slaughter, urging his men on with demeaning shouts and angry looks. He did not coordinate anything. He did not participate in the attack. He just issued the same order over and over, “Kill them you worthless pigs!”

And in the end, he was the last one standing. Smoke hung thick in the dark air, the only moving thing in the sudden stillness, rolling over the piles of charred corpses. The reek of burnt flesh stung my nose. Other than sound of sizzling flesh and the heavy panting from me and my companions, the alley was silent. The lingering hope of Shenan’s last words lined the numbness in my head, eased the soreness in my arms and legs. The leader of the damned stood silent at the end of the valley, his sword still drawn, but not bloodied or dented.

Bruck stepped forward. I have never heard him boast or ridicule anyone in the tone he used then. “Your master may not be a fool,” he said. “But he is either a terrible mathematician, or a very poor strategist.”

The damned started to turn, but an arrow buzzed by Bruck’s head, pinning the land damned down. Guani sprung forward and cut him down. He cried out pitifully under her slicing.

Bruck turned to look at Shenan, his eyes glinting in the dark alley. “I think you have some explaining to do.”

“I am exhausted,” Shenan said, collapsing to the ground. His face was drawn and pale. He looked older than usual. Meteor shower will do that even to a very healthy young person, I understand.

“How did you do that,” Bruck demanded.

Before Shenan could answer, a cry rose long and clear, echoing through the city streets. In the same moment, the sound was both piercing and rumbling. It shook my bones and pricked my ear drums. The very walls around us shook. A pile of bodies collapsed from the vibration. I yearned for the angel’s voice to banish the fear it inspired.

“You don’t have time to demand answers,” Shenan said, the strength back in his voice, the hope back in my gut. Despite the exhaustion that no doubt consumed the old frame, Shenan stood faster than I’d ever seen him stand. “You have a demon to kill.”

The sound came again, like a challenge. At that time I did not understand who the demon challenged. Only now, in the bitter victory, is everything clear.