Kings and Daemons Read online

  Antoc nodded, a worried look on his face. ‘It will be the death of you,’ he replied, scared of telling the truth, yet feeling compelled to. He also wanted Kalas to feel fear as he felt it. He felt so weak and just wanted to be gone, get this over with, and sleep for years.

  Kalas nodded. ‘In time we all die,’ he said, ‘it’s always just a matter of time. One more thing, go to your garrison’s overseer, try and get him to send a message to the Witch-King.’

  ‘What message would that be?’ asked Antoc, keen to be on his way. It was a long ride to the garrison, but he would warn them, have them send men to kill this thing.

  ‘Tell him,’ said Kalas, breaking into Antoc’s thoughts of revenge. ‘The message he must deliver is … Kalas is coming!’

  -----

  Maya was furious. Several hours of being pushed roughly around by Seren and Krispen, as well as their constant unpleasantness on the way back to the settlement had darkened her mood. Finally, however, its wooden walls were in sight; guards dimly visible patrolled the gates.

  She knew a harsh punishment awaited, but at least she would be reunited with her father soon. Once recovered from her flogging, things would go back to normal as she was too good to be replaced despite her unpopularity.

  As they neared the gates, Seren called out a warning to the guards. One peered at them closely as they entered the clear ground around the walls.

  Maya saw him turn and call over his shoulder that she’d been found, and felt some small relief that at least they’d been worried about her, even if only because some people had gone hungry. Perhaps this would make them value her more after this, and maybe, just maybe, be more civil.

  Seren and Krispen finally let go of her arms as they walked through the shadow of the wooden gates and into the main square just beyond. It was midday, and it was busy, full of people going about their business.

  Maya kept her head stooped as was her custom and limped, to keep up her appearance of being slightly crippled without even thinking about it. She looked from under the cowl of her hood, to see people point at her, looks of distaste on their faces. Some also started to catcall and voiced their displeasure over having gone without adequate food because she hadn’t bothered to come back the last night.

  Seren laughed. ‘Look how much you’ve been missed,’ she said, barely hidden glee in her voice.

  ‘Oh, and guess who’s coming to greet her personally,’ added Krispen.

  Maya turned to see the overseer with a small retinue of town guard close behind, walk toward her.

  Whereas her limp was fake, his was genuine. He was a twisted man and looked like the land itself, all sharp and jagged, darkness around and in his eyes. Maya shuddered, if she was disliked by most, the overseer was feared by all, for he was the law.

  She’d pondered how best to approach this meeting and had decided that open contrition was the best option, so she knelt as he approached and lowered her head.

  ’I am so sorry,’ she cried, and the fear in her voice was real. ‘I was chased by a wolf and must have dropped my pouch before I found sanctuary in a cave.’ Then she continued into the silence that had fallen. ‘I couldn’t leave, and I fell asleep. When I awoke the first thing I wanted to do was come back. I will work twice as hard to make sure I bring in more food for everyone, and I will go without so others might have more.’

  The words tumbled from her mouth, and then she fell silent. She kept her head down and watched as his sandaled feet moved closer. He dragged his left foot which was turned badly inward, and the soldiers slowed their march behind him.

  ‘Welcome home, Maya, we hoped you would return,’ rattled the overseer, and the sound of his voice was like bones being shaken in a bag.

  She took no comfort from the words, for they held no kindness whatsoever.

  ‘Bring her!’ he commanded the soldiers. Two stepped forward and lifted her to her feet. As the overseer turned away, they followed after, as the other soldiers closed in around her.

  As they walked, a crowd started to follow, and Maya knew they were going toward the justice turf. Her legs felt weak for without doubt she would be flogged, and all these people who normally wouldn’t even look at her were coming to revel in her pain. She wanted to cry, but wouldn’t let them see her weakness, even though she felt anything but strong.

  It seemed to take forever thanks to the overseer's slow gait, and thus, the agony of expectation was drawn out even longer. As they reached the edge of the justice turf, the crowd stopped, not daring to tread further as she was escorted to one of the many thick posts, although she wasn’t bound to one, not yet.

  Maya noticed the overseer look around, and then his eyes seemed to settle on something. As she followed his gaze, a ripple went through the crowd, as someone pushed through.

  ‘Maya, Maya!’ called a voice.

  ‘Father!’ she called, and suddenly there he was, all stained black from the mines, but she’d never been happier to see him. He paused for a moment at the edge of the justice turf but then ran forward to take her in his arms, weeping openly.

  ‘Maya, you’re alive,’ he sobbed. ‘I was so worried, what happened, where have you been, are you hurt? We need to get you home.’

  The overseer nodded then, and two burly guards stepped forward to pull her father away.

  Raising his voice, the overseer spoke loudly. ‘We are here today to see a just punishment carried out. The law is written, and we must all abide by it or face justice when it is broken.’

  Maya held her father’s desperate gaze. ‘I’ll be ok, father,’ she reassured him, seeing tears swell in his eyes. She’d known this was coming, had seen many times the agony a flogging could inflict, and also knew she wouldn’t be able to endure it long. I hope I pass out quickly, she thought. Her father would have to endure in his own way as well, her screams, her bloodied body and then cleaning her wounds, looking after her for weeks to come.

  Her father, worried beyond reason, struggled with the guards, trying to wrestle from their powerful grip to no avail. ‘Don’t father,’ she implored, fearing for him as she saw the overseer approach closer.

  ‘I accept the law, I accept the punishment!’ she called, bringing the overseer’s attention back to her.

  The overseer raised his voice once more as everyone stilled to hear his words. ‘The law states the punishment for staying out beyond dark is a flogging,’ he said, a twisted grin spread across his pale face.

  If the guards hadn’t gripped her so firmly, her legs wouldn’t be holding her up by now. Maya felt faint, but was relieved to see her father calm down, and the guards relax their grip. She turned to the overseer to see him uncoil a long whip, the dark leather of which was stained with the blood of previous victims. He cracked it maliciously, smiling as he did so.

  ‘This was the very same whip that took your mother’s life,’ he said, just loud enough for Maya and her father to hear. ‘Who’d have known she’d be so pathetically weak as to die from a few lashes?’

  Maya couldn’t believe her ears. Her father had never spoken of that day, and then even as she was processing what the overseer had said, her father, whose arms had been released, sprang forward to grab the whip from the overseer’s hand. It was a desperate attempt to stop the same punishment, and possibly the same fate being brought upon his beloved daughter, but as he did so, the overseer fell hard to the floor.

  If the crowd had been hushed before, now the silence was absolute, and Maya felt her stomach turn over at what her father had done.

  The guards recovered quickly and held him tight once again in their grasp.

  The overseer slowly got to his feet, eyes burning with hatred, yet with a satisfied smile across his face.

  ‘However, the punishment for striking an overseer is death!’ he screamed, and whilst those fateful words were still registering in Maya’s brain, he turned to her father, and drawing a dagger, plunged it again and again into his unprotected chest.

  The crowd’s scream’s almost drow
ned out Maya’s as the overseer stepped back and pulled the blade free a final time.

  She stared in shocked disbelief as the blood pumped from the terrible wounds, then her father’s wide, panicked eyes met hers for an instant before they glazed over. The guards either side of him let go of his arms, and he fell lifeless to the floor.

  ‘Father, Father!’ screamed Maya, tears spilling down her face. She struggled with the guards, pleading with them to let her go, while the crowd yelled its approval. They’d come to see a flogging of someone so disliked as Maya, only to be rewarded by a killing instead.

  Surprisingly, the overseer nodded to her guards, who released their grip, letting her run to her father’s body. The roar of the crowd receded in her ears as she knelt by her father’s side. ‘No, no, no,’ she sobbed, ‘you can’t leave me.’ She felt something hard strike her head and glanced up expecting to see it was a guard who’d struck her, but instead realised someone from the crowd had thrown a stone, as more were getting ready to hurl them.

  Their dislike of her gave them courage, but the guards drew their blades, and the crowd settled, content to revel in her misery.

  Maya ignored them and turned back to her father, ‘I won’t let you leave me,’ she whispered, and put her hands on his chest then reached for her gift.

  It was a dark day, and everyone watching saw it happen. One moment Maya was on her knees, the lifeless body of her father catching her falling tears on his dead face, and then a glow surrounded her, spreading, moving down to cover his body.

  Maya called upon her gift to flow like never before, and her father’s wounds healed, the gaping holes on his chest closed, yet despite this, he didn’t breathe. So she called upon it even more, and the light shone brighter and brighter, causing everyone to take a step backwards and shield their eyes.

  She was unaware of anything around her, oblivious to the ground shaking, the guards and the overseer stumbling away. She was blind to the bright green grass pushing up from the dusty ground all over the justice turf, of flowers blooming in the brightest colours, of the hard wooden posts that had held countless victims shooting skyward, growing branches and leaves until the whole justice turf was a green oasis of life in a blighted blackened place.

  Maya willed for her father’s heart to beat again, for him to awaken, but despite her efforts, his eyes stayed closed. He remained lifeless. Barely able to keep her eyes open, exhausted, Maya felt something hard strike her again. This time it was the haft of a guard’s spear, and she collapsed on top of her father’s body, breathing, but otherwise as still as he was.

  The overseer, shocked beyond all belief, finally found his voice. ‘Take her and lock her up. She is tainted with darkness, and there is the proof,’ he shouted, and gestured all around. ‘By the orders of the Witch-King, she will be taken to Kingshold as do all those who exhibit a gift, where her fate will be decided.’

  Maya’s body was lifted by the guards and taken away to the settlement gaol, and still, the crowd remained. They whispered, pointed, and looked in wonder at what they now beheld in the midst of their filthy settlement. This girl that they all despised had done this. She had healed her father’s wounds, not brought him back to life maybe, but healed his wounds and healed the land.

  How could someone who did this be tainted with darkness? It was beyond their comprehension. Finally, people were chivvied by the equally shocked guards, and they started returning to their work, their stalls, the mines, but as they did, they kept glancing back.

  For there was now a wondrous garden where once had been the justice turf. A place of suffering replaced with one of unimaginable beauty .., and as they returned, the word spread of what they’d seen and of what Maya had done.

  -----

  Chapter IV

  Later that evening, almost a thousand leagues to the north, the Witch-King sat upon his throne, eyes closed as he breathed steadily in a light sleep.

  At the bottom of the steps leading to the dais sat his general, a drawn sword across his lap. As he waited, the man ran his callused thumb over the blade, watching as it paired the hard skin without any resistance. This sword had taken so many lives, so many. How easy it should be, for him to stand, walk up the five steps to the throne, slit the Witch-King’s throat, or even plunge it into his chest, to watch and revel in the king’s dying moments.

  He stood fluidly, and with every ounce of his will, he tried to take those steps. Sweat broke out across his brow, his muscles bulged with the effort, and he tried, oh how he tried, but he couldn’t take them. He’d been trying for so many years, so why should today be any different, but one day, if not today, then maybe tomorrow. He sat down again, crossed his legs, allowed his breathing to settle and started thinking again … how easy it would be to stand and walk the five steps.

  As he did, the Witch-King’s eyes opened. Those white eyes, devoid of any emotion, pale as a corpse, all-seeing, all-knowing.

  Daleth, the Witch-King smiled, and slowly shook his head.

  The general sheathed his blade. ‘How may I serve you, my king?’ he asked.

  ‘You would have thought,’ said Daleth in gentle mockery, ‘that you would be grateful for your life and for the lives I give you, for the power you have because of me. Maybe one day I will free you and let you choose your fate, but not yet. We are close to launching our attack on the Freestates, and despite your internal conflicts, you have proved invaluable, and I know you are looking forward to the campaign even if you pretend otherwise.’ He sighed, seeing the lack of effect his words were having.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Daleth, ‘I have just been conversing with the repulsive overseer of Angkorian. He advised me of a gifted young woman who is now languishing in the settlement gaol due to a rather interesting infraction of the law. It transpires that she’s the one I discovered spying on us, just the other night.

  ‘It seems that on top of keeping her gift of spirit travelling hidden until now, she has also concealed a far more remarkable one. She tried to heal her recently deceased father and in doing so healed the very land that had already given me much sustenance. What advice would you give your king?’

  The general looked up, considering. ‘You should have her killed, my king,’ he said. ‘You are a drainer of life, and she is apparently a gifted healer, the direct counterpoint to your power and thus possibly dangerous. We are about to launch an invasion, and we do not need distractions when everything you desire is on the other side of the border. Better to have her killed now, don’t take any risks, however small.’ The general fell silent.

  ‘Is there another option you would care to share?’ asked Daleth again.

  His general pondered further. ‘Another option would be to let her live, have her brought here to restore life to the land and then see if you can drain it again. If so, this would provide you with a renewable source of life, at least until her mortal body perishes. However, you need to consider that if she heals the land, the peasants who farm it will be happier, and thus you will feed less from their misery and pain. You will gain with one hand but lose with the other.’

  ‘Good advice and very insightful,’ mused Daleth. ‘We are so close to invading the Freestates, and our lands and its people are drained, with the life they give diminishing as do they. Oh to feel the surge of new strength run through my veins again.’

  The Witch-King leaned back in his throne, eyes closed, contemplating for a while before they snapped open, his mind made up. ‘I have decided to have the girl brought to me, as her gift may be invaluable in years to come.’

  He picked at some fruit as he sat there, then smiled. ‘Where are my manners?’ he asked in amusement. ‘Here I am eating, and you haven’t eaten properly, for what, weeks? Loyalty and service should always be rewarded, even if it isn’t always entirely freely given.’

  He clapped his hands, and shortly the doors to the throne room opened. The guards outside ushered a serving girl through the doors, and they closed behind her. She walked a little nervously toward them,
the two most powerful men in the kingdom who had reputations that could scarce be believed.

  Moments later, she stood before the throne. ‘What can I get you my king?’ she asked, head lowered in deference.

  ‘My general here is hungry,’ said the Witch-King, smiling without a hint of kindness. ‘I want you to feed him.’

  The serving girl turned ‘What would you like, my lord?’ she asked, then stepped closer for the general’s head was down, and he seemed to be saying something she couldn’t quite hear.

  Suddenly his hand shot out to pull her roughly to him. He opened his mouth as his eyes shone a terrible red. Before the girl had a chance to scream, his teeth closed on her neck, biting deep, and as her struggles grew weaker, he began to drink noisily.

  ‘Why do you still endeavour to kill me after all of these years?’ asked the Witch-King, as he watched the feast. ‘Didn’t I show you mercy those many years ago when all around you had died?’

  But his general didn’t answer, nor could he, for the insatiable hunger of what lay within consumed him.

  Daleth yawned then rose to his feet, turning toward his chambers; it was time for him to sleep. He looked over his shoulder as he walked away. ‘Good night, Alano,’ he said.

  -----

  Taran sighed as he lay on his bunk, looking up at the ceiling. He was resigned to never getting out of this mess, for now it seemed inevitable he was destined to live and die in the army.

  He’d hoped Rakan would discreetly let him go his own way once the furore over him still breathing had died down, but it seemed Rakan had decided that full-time army life was the only way to save him.

  ‘Listen to me, lad,’ he’d said, that first night while stitching Taran’s face. ‘That brand of banishment on your arm means you’ll never be safe, never have a home or respect, and next time you hit someone too hard, it’s unlikely anyone will be there to pull your sorry self out of the fire. Take the uniform, swear the oath, wear the amulet of the Witch-King, and your worries are mostly over. Your only concerns after that, are not being killed during training or getting stabbed in the back by one of the other men. Oh, and not forgetting the war we’ll be fighting with the Freestates now the army is ready.’