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The Demon Legacy

  Secret of the Demon: Part Two

  Robert Taylor

 

  Copyright 2013 Robert Taylor

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  Preface

  The rich black of night draped over the deep woods. A mist crept through the trees. The noiseless forest was damp. Along an unmarked path, a traveler moved with stealth and speed. The figure breathed softly, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he hurried. The laughter of drunken souls emerged out of the mist. In the distance, he spotted the light of a lantern through the dense brush. He directed his course toward the light.

  The lantern hung on a post at the side of a road leading into the small trade city of Kanaris. Opposite the lantern stood a log building nestled deep in the trees. As the traveler approached he heard a new burst of laughter from within the log building. The sign over the tavern door pictured mug heavy with ale. The traveler moved to the tavern entrance. The man flung his brown leather cloak aside, revealing a vest of shining black chain mail. He drew an ebony crystalline saber from its scabbord. With a single kick, the tavern door flew open. Several drunken locals sat at the bar and tables. All but one looked over at the sudden entrance. The traveler's eyes focused in one the one man that didn't look over; a tall man with green eyes. He sat alone at a table in the corner. The traveler's heavy steps echoed in the stuffy room. The green eyed man didn’t look up.

  The traveller pulled back his blade and thrust it forward. The green eyed man collapsed across the table spilling over his full glass. No one moved. The traveler sheathed his stained weapon and disappeared out into the fog.

  A loud scream followed him into the night.

  Chapter 1: Mourning Light

  The sun hid behind the thick clouds in the overcast sky. It had been three days now of steady rain with hardly a break. A young man with long spindly brown hair sat looking outside the second story window of the inn. He focus was Whiller's Tavern across the street. Raunst was hot on the trail of his father's assassin.

  It had been a year since the stranger had appeared and murdered his father in cold blood. Raunst hunted day and night for revenge. His constant search had led him to a band of traders moving their wears north about a month back. He had been told in great detail of a recent transaction the traders had with a figure matching the description he provided. A week ago he had overheard a conversation while resting at an inn. A man told of a cloaked character he had bartered with over some feed for his horse. Raunst had conferred with the man and learned the stranger was headed east. He had followed the trail and now he waited and watched the main road through Narkin and its only tavern.

  The weariness of his long ride crept through his muscles. His eyelids fell for a moment, and his frame dropped. The rain came to a sudden halt, he jolted awake.

  At that moment a cloaked traveller appeared down the road. Raunst observed as the figure sauntered into the tavern. The dark leather cloak drifted apart offering a glimpse of a shining black object underneath. He collected his sword and dagger and hurried downstairs. He slipped out from the inn onto the loose stone road. Then Raunst entered the tavern.

  Several people had plates heaped with stewed potatoes and chicken. Others had only a drink. His eyes drifted from table to table.

  They locked in on the cloaked figure. Raunst watched as the stranger removed the cloak. He gasped. Golden brown locks of hair fell down around the shoulders of a feminine figure. He scanned her head to toe. The woman carried a black crystalline saber and adorned a glimmering chain mail vest. If this was not his father's killer, it was certainly an acquaintance. The lady sat, facing away from him.

  Raunst's mind collected back to full reason. He started toward the mysterious woman with a nonchalant walk, as if he would pass her by, but as he came upon the table his body moved quickly and he sat firmly in the chair opposite her.

  "Yes?" the woman eyed him, he could see her sizing him up.

  “You look familiar.” Raunst said.

  “I don’t know you.” Her piercing blue eyes met his straight on.

  “What’s your allegiance?” Raunst was determined to spark conversation.

  The woman looked over her shoulder then back at Raunst. “My allegiance?”

  “Certainly no one wearing a fancy get up such as that does it with a guild backing; unless you are just exuberantly wealthy with poor taste.”

  “Is it local custom to intrude upon a woman’s lunch?”

  “I couldn’t say, I’m not from around here.” He placed his hand on the table and waived over the barkeep. He was a stocky fellow with high cheeks and dark hair. “Two drinks.”

  The barkeep escaped with a nod.

  “I don’t want to drink with you.”

  “I wasn't looking for your permission.”

  The woman’s soft features narrowed. A small smirk crossed her lips as she leaned forward. “It’s not a problem for me to disconnect your tongue if you don’t know how to stop it on your own.” She leaned back in her chair.

  The threat, though hollow in his mind, pressed his impatience. “What do you know of the name Christopher Baltir?” The emotion fell from Raunst's face.

  She gave a sigh. “I don’t know who that is. Can you go now?”

  "I am looking for someone wearing armor similar to yours; a tall man with dark eyes and a scarred face."

  "And who are you?" Her expressive glance when she asked the question seemed to invite him closer.

  "I am Raunst, Christopher Baltir was my father."

  The woman turned her eyes away, quite bored. "This really isn’t very interesting."

  "My father was murdered by the man I speak of. You must know who I mean." The anger in his voice was suppressed only by his chivalry.

  "I believe it would serve you well to leave your father in your memory and build yourself a life thinking no more of revenge."

  “I asked if you knew of the man who killed my father, not what you believed was best for me."

  "I don’t."

  The barkeep dropped the drinks on the table; ale spilled over of the sides of both cups and trickled across the grainy wooden surface.

  “Now take your drinks and go away.” With a flick of her wrist, she produced a dagger. She held the weapon just above the table with the point towards Raunst. The small object was unnoticed by the other patrons.

  “Fine. Fine.” Rausnt’s chair screeched as he stood. He carried one of the pints off to the bar. He sat there and huddled over it. He didn’t turn around again to look her way.

  Psydra kept her breath even as she watched him from the edge of her peripheral vision. She almost broke out into laughter watching him hold so rigidly in place. It was a simple cat and mouse game designed just as much to draw him in as it was confuse him. Too much information all at once, would drive him the wrong way.

  She took her time finishing her meal and exited the tavern. Raunst gave her a moment then followed out. He panned the street fearing he waited too long and that she had escaped. Then he caught sight of her heavy cloak down the street. She handled a ripe red apple out of a vender’s cart, rolling it in her palm. Raunst kept his distance. He watched her pay the merchant and head away further down the street.

  Tailing her down the main road of Narkin posed Raunst little challenge. The many alleyways and shop carts made it easy to stay out of sight. It was only a short walk before the street opened out into sparse huts. He stayed a great distance back as he followed to be sure he remained hidden.

  Into the depths of the woods he followed Psydra, it was a good four hours before she stopped to rest. He was nearly out of breath. Raunst had not taken the time to fill his water skin. His dry throat ached as t
he sun beat down from overhead. He kept off the trail a small ways in the brush and watched her.

  Psydra sat down in a clearing on a large stone. The cloak came off and she draped it next to her. She produced the apple from the market and took a large bite. Raunst's stomach gurgled expectantly. He had no means to satiate its request. He looked down around his feet remembered having seem some berries along the ground a ways back. Finding nothing of interest he looked back up the path. Psydra was gone.

  At first he expected she had moved off as she was eating to get a different vantage, but she was nowhere. Had she continued ahead? The young man emerged from the woods and marched cautiously but quickly down the path. Raunst froze and scanned the area as he passed through the clearing. The lady had disappeared. She could have never run so far.

  He checked behind, had she seen him coming? He heard a rustling from the trees nearby, he jumped back and reached for his sword. The handle slipped right through his fingers. The sound moved closer, Raunst stumbled to the ground.

  “Who goes there?”

  The rustling paused. Within the secrecy of a small tree a grey squirrel perched and stared back at the grounded fool. Raunst stood up and shoed the rodent with a wave.

  “You must be the absolute worst tracker, ever.” Psydra hovered over him.

  Raunst shook his head. The man hopped up and turned around squaring off with the beautiful woman from the tavern. In the afternoon light, Psydra had an even more radiant appearance than she had in the dark tavern. She stood with one hand resting firmly upon her hip and the other on the hilt of her sheathed blade.

  “Take me where I want to go. I am through being polite about this.” Raunst kept and even tone, despite his frustration.

  “Are you now? So are you going to draw that sword, too?”

  The weapon sheath was slung gently over his shoulder. Raunst thought carefully on her taunt, before accepting the challenge. The blade screamed as he drew it swiftly with all of his force. Psydra drew her sword first. Raunst aimed to extend his blade at her. The armored lady whacked his hand with the flat of cold crystal sabre. The nerves in Raunst's hand shuddered and his fingers went numb. Raunst's weapon dropped. He cupped his wounded hand in the other.

  Psydra smiled. “You thought I was joking around?”

  Raunst’s eyes became slits. The glint of the whites of his eyes showed his annoyance. The point of her blade hovered near his chest as her face revealed her satisfaction. He struck down her blade with his palm. The strike put her off balance. Raunst scooped up his sword of the ground. He raised his sword in time to parry her next attack. The swords crossed right at his face, his grip holding firm as she pressed him. The black crystalline saber came into focus.

  Raunst thrust his weapon, throwing Psydra off. He retreated two steps back into the road. Psydra readied herself to defend his next attack. Raunst hesitated, considering whether to further engage the lady. The edge of her mouth twitched, it was a subtle clue most would have missed, but Raunst’s careful watch would not be outdone twice.

  The ready youth sidestepped as her blade came at him. His sword struck just above Psydra’s hilt. Pivoting in on his right foot he disarmed her and closed the distance in a single motion. The lady put up her arm and he seized it in his hand.

  “Gotcha!”

  Her other hand came up on top of his twisting his hands with a powerful vengeance. The force dropped Raunst to the ground face first. She threw her leg over his shoulder and straddled his neck. Raunst’s arms flailed for a place to dislodge his attacker. The lady held firm as his vision started to spin. The air became thick as his lungs slowed down. His hands struggled to reach beyond his own throat.

  Just as he felt he was slipping into blackness, Psydra stood and released her stranglehold. Raunst hacked and coughed as the air rushed deep inside his chest. Psydra picked up her sword and prodded him with the point as he rolled on the ground. Raunst waived her off with his hands.

  “Fine, don’t help me.” He wheezed as he spoke. “Go. I’ll find him myself.”

  “What if I did help you?”

  She showed a disciplined, but genuine look on her face. Raunst clamored to his knees. His chest rose and fell with heavy breathes as his body resettled from the defeat. He began to digest his confusion with the woman’s offer.

  “I don’t understand.”

  The armored female forced the crystalline edge back into its sheath. She extended her black gauntlet covered hand to him.

  Raunst stood on his own without aide. His hands brushed loose the dirt on his pants. “And you are?”

  “I am Psydra.” The lady righted her cloak and tossed her blonde hair back into place. “Do you know of the man named Xero?”

  “What does this have to do with my father’s killer?”

  “Much.”

  Raunst thought on the subject a moment, he had heard the name a few times in his travels, but never in relation to his own father. Xero was a revolutionary in the southern lands; story was that he led substantial rogue force and carved out a new country there. Merciless, but so had been many kings over history.

  “What about him?”

  Psydra stepped closer, her voice dropped in volume. “The man is a witch demon, he commands a black power. This man, Baltir, was one of his allies.”

  Raunst frowned. “I don’t believe you, better try another story.”

  “I speak the truth.”

  Raunst weighed the information in his mind, thinking back over his years with and without his father. Raunst had often spent spells with his grandparents, but he had also spent much time with his father. The boy’s mother was around even less, and she passed away when he was just nine. It changed he and his father both to lose her. After she died, Christopher rescinded from life. He and Raunst spent less and less time together. There was always a bond there Raunst felt, and love. Raunst knew his father didn’t deserve to die.

  “What made this allegiance worth his life?”

  “I believe I can answer that,” the voice came from behind him. Raunst spun about but no one was there. Psydra drew her sword. The young warrior scrambled after his own blade, scooping it up. A whisper in the wind grew steadily. The air filled with a dusty smell . Raunst steadied his sword as his eyes panned back and forth across the still forest thick.

  “It’s him.”

  The roaring wind changed to a low gurgle, then louder to a hint of a chuckle. At once an eruption of maniacal laughter echoed all around. Raunst backed up a step at a time, his head spinning round and round with no one in sight. Up the road, in the clearing, a shadow appeared.

  “It’s a specter.”

  “What?” Raunst watched as the shadow materialized into the form of a man. The conjured colossus had black short hair that rose into small pointed peaks. The pupils in his eyes swirled with a faint red light. He was broad and tall, wrapped in a dark cape. The man was a good twenty paces off. Raunst glanced at his companion; she was completely fixed on the man.

  “I am so pleased to finally meet you, boy.”

  “How do you know me?”The young warrior tightened his grip on his readied sword.

  “As Psydra has already explained, I was acquainted with your father. He and I were good friends. Your father was a tremendous ally to me. He would have been my equal someday, as could you.”

  “Don’t listen to him; his words are spoken directly from his black heart.”

  “Come with me Raunst, I will help you avenge your father’s murder.” Xero said.

  Xero’s form moved closer, floating above the ground.

  “Ki-yah!” Psydra threw a small glass vial. It bounced against the ground at the shadow's feet and lodged in the loose sand. Xero paused and looked at it. “Frivolous waste.”

  “Jump!”

  Psydra was already off the road in the trees as she spoke. A sudden burst of light appeared within the shadow. Raunst
felt a great heat as the light approached. It cackled like a raging blaze. The explosive wave overtook him as he sprang to dodge. He toppled over, headfirst into a tree. Raunst collapsed. His body lay at the edge of the road, silent and motionless.