Arc 5: Chapter 26: They Who Hunt Demons

Arc 5: Chapter 26: They Who Hunt Demons

The Corpse Moon crested high over the Riven, its cold light catching in the mist coiling through Garihelm’s streets to set it aglow. It was a thin mist this night, doing little to obscure the light of my party’s lanterns as they surveyed the baroque structures around us. Towering edifices of stone rose into the night in a gray maze, blocking out the surrounding township.

The cemetery lay outside the city proper, within the bounds of a dilapidated village on the coast where there was enough soil above hard rock to bury the dead. Even so, this place had not been used for that purpose in a very long time.

“Not sure I like this spot, captain.” Penric drew close to me, squinting as he held his lantern aloft. Despite his age, his vision still seemed sharp. “No sightlines. Anything comes on us, it’ll be on our asses before we can even draw steel.”

Spoken like an archer. I did not carry a lantern, scanning the darkness ahead with only my naked eyes. I could see through it further than the others.

Penric let out a cough at my silence. “So what’s the plan, ser?”

The shuffling feet behind us seemed to grow notably louder, almost as though reminding me of my following. I hadn’t been able to give the lance much of a rundown before heading out, having been wary of my time, and I’d barely paid attention to their conversation in my distraction.

I paused in the square between three mausoleums and turned to the group. Emma had the lead behind Penric. She wore a simple light tunic with short sleeves, red in color, over her shirt of chain mail, along with practical leggings tucked into high boots. Her sword was visible at her hip, concealed by nothing.

The others had also come armed. Penric wore a battered old breastplate over a gambeson, standard archer gear. His long neck had a slight dip in it, as though weighed down by the modest helm over his brow. He carried a crossbow instead of the standard implement of his profession, a more practical tool in the cramped environs of Garihelm. Beatriz had pilfered the Fulgurkeep’s armories for her gear, festooning herself in light armor, a shield, and short spear.

Mallet, true to his name, carried a block headed hammer. It looked more like something a laborer might use than a warrior, but it was heavy enough to crack stone. He wore no armor, only a jacket over simple city-dweller clothes.

Most impressive was Hendry. He had been allowed to keep his Storm Knight gear, minus the crested surcoat and cape, and walked resplendent in brass-colored plate from neck to foot. His antler-hilted longsword hung at his side. He held his bolt-crested helmet in the crook of his left arm, revealing his boyish face.

I’ll see about getting us a proper armory if we survive the next week, I promised myself. My eyes went to the last two members of our band. Emil looked none too pleased to be there, his brown hair worked into a club to reveal his sweating, nervous face. He clutched his auremark tightly.

The second cleric in our group looked far calmer. Lisette had changed in the year since I’d first met her. She looked less like a distrustful, gangly girl and more like a poised young woman. Unlike Emil’s modest amber robe, her layered white garments and tasseled yellow cape were a splash of bright color in the gray night. The white wimple and yellow veil, bound in the rose-gold circlet of a Synodite adept, concealed her blond hair and made her thin features look stark and focused. Her blue eyes watched me, waiting.

Eight of us. Nine soon, when the last member of this initiative arrived. Would it be enough? Was I leading all these people to their deaths?

For most of three months, I had floundered in a growing morass of politics, intrigue, and rising danger. My enemies had eluded me, one way or another. No more. I had resources now, allies, and I would not fail my queen or my homeland.

I was done using half measures.

“Some of you already know this,” I began. “But the Carmine Killer who’s plagued this city for the past year is not a man. It is a monster from the lowest reaches of Hell. A demon.”

I saw a number of reactions. Emma nodded her head approvingly at my frankness, while Lisette just took a deep breath. She had already encountered Yith once, but controlled her fear. Mallet spat on the ground, Penric let out a small huff of breath, and Emil’s face went deathly pale.

Beatriz just frowned, while Hendry squared his shoulders.

“The creature is connected to a larger plot, one I have been untangling for some time. Our task is to track it down and take care of it before it can be used by its masters against us in the days to come.”

Penric leaned forward, propping a foot up on his braced crossbow like it were a cane. “How do we kill it?”

Just the kind of question I liked. Nodding to him, I replied in a similarly professional tone. “Demons are immortal, strictly speaking, but they need to use bodies in order to interact with our world. That means bones, organs, blood.”

I listed those things off on my fingers. Mallet grinned savagely. “Stuff we can smash, you mean.”

“Indeed. Do enough damage and their spirits will come loose. Same rules as most undead, but it’s only a temporary solution, since they can make or steal a new body with time. They are very hard to meaningfully injure with mortal weapons, which is where our two clerics come in.”

I nodded to Emil and Lisette. “Earlier, you all had your weaponry reinforced by Sister Lisette’s Art, among some other rituals. This will help you hurt the demon’s spirit, and do more damage to its body. They are half phantasm even when fully manifested, so it should help.”

“Should?” Beatriz asked pointedly, while Mallet studied the golden lattice burned into his hammer from Lisette’s threads. She and Emil had performed some other rituals to reinforce our group, pretty much everything I could think of. Holy water, talismans and charms, rites of protection against the Adversary.

“I have been studying some techniques of late,” Lisette told the group shyly. “Weapons fashioned of or reinforced with aura are more potent against many supernatural beings, but demons are most hurt by sacred gold, just like banesilver is best against the undead. I wove my threads while meditating over a golden grail, so they have some of that aspect now.”

She looked at me then. “I remember what happened last time. It should not repeat.”

Her powers had not proven so effective against Yith’s minions the last time. I inclined my head, glad of her foresight. “That will be a last resort to defend yourselves,” I explained. “A precaution. Your jobs are to help me counter the demon’s tricks until I can strike at it directly. I can banish it.”

Mallet sneered, though the expression was more one of skepticism than disgust. He always seemed to be sneering or scowling. “What makes you so special? Ser.”

I didn’t comment on his belated use of my title. I still hadn’t become used to it again, anyway. “I’m certain you have all heard stories,” I told the group. “About me, and the things I’ve done. This is not the first time I’ve faced this kind of evil. I possess abilities that make me more apt at dealing with it.”

Beatriz shuffled uncomfortably. “We have heard stories, ser. That you’re some kind of sorcerer. They say you used magic against the, uh…”

She trailed off, looking nervous. Mallet finished for her. “They say you used dark magic against the Priory. That you can call demons.”

I noted how tight his fist was on the hammer. “Is that what they say?” I asked thoughtfully.

I’d known there were wild rumors across the city about me, very few of them charitable. It did not surprise me to hear the Priory, and perhaps some other groups, had been smearing my name by insisting I used more profane powers to attack them.

“I fought in the war,” Penric piped in. “Several wars, really. Don’t tell me you whippersnappers are all too young to remember? Ah, Beatriz, I guess you’d have just been a lass. Anyhow, you’ve all heard tales of the Faerie Knights and their like. Men and women blessed with the magics of the Sidhe.”

He nodded, while Mallet and Beatriz gave me looks of reappraisal, mixing doubt with something I’d stared into before. Superstition. The Alder Knights had been more rumor and legend than daily fact since well before Lyda’s Plague, known better to great lords and kings than common folk. And recent generations had more than a little distrust toward elves, not all thanks to the Priory.

“I learned my skills from the Sidhe,” I told them honestly. “I do not truck with the occult.”

I saw skepticism, especially on Emil’s face. The occasional eerie whisper from the shadows and the way the mist seemed to swirl around me more thickly than elsewhere did not seem to help in convincing them. Damn ghosts.

Penric, bless him, redirected the conversation to more useful topics. “Why are we here? Is this the beastie’s layer?”

He cast his sleepy eyes around the crypts and temple mausoleums.

“Not exactly,” I replied. “This burial ground has fallen out of use. Back during the war, the Recusant Lords employed adepts. Among them were necromancers. During the siege of Garihelm, these apostates tried to call the dead against the city.”

The group cast suddenly fearful eyes around the graveyard. I think Beatriz might have muttered a hasty prayer.

“I remember that,” Penric said.

“Aye,” Mallet admitted. “I served then, too. The moaners turned on the traitors.”

“They did,” I confirmed. “Even still, many of the graveyards and cemeteries in the city’s surrounding towns were left desecrated and unhallowed. This is one the Church hasn’t managed to reconsecrate. We’re going to start our search here.”

“How will we track it?” Emil asked.

“There’s someone else who’s going to be helping us. Once she’s here, I’ll explain the rest of the plan. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah,” Mallet growled. “Lots. I’ve never faced no fucking demon.”

“As I said, none of you are going to be facing the creature directly. That’s my job. You’re all here because our enemy does not work alone. Do any of you know what a Woed is?”

By their expressions, they all did. Lisette certainly did, at least.

“People and animals turned into monsters by a demon’s influence,” the cleric stated softly, her eyes distant. “Damned souls.”

“There’s a chance the demon might send some against us,” I told them frankly. “It might even use them as guards. I need to focus on their master, so your job is to keep its minions off my back. That is, if you are willing.”

I met each pair of eyes in turn. “Make no mistake, this is going to be very dangerous. I’m taking you into battle. I understand not all of you signed up for this job, or really understood what it might entail when you were assigned. So I’m giving you the option now to return to the tower. I will not lead anyone who isn’t willing to follow.”

Yith would certainly use doubtful minds against me.

Mallet rested his hammer on the grass, propping one foot up on the head. “Beatriz and I were facing the noose before they assigned us to this,” he said darkly. “There isn’t a choice for us, so let’s just get on with it.”

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Beatriz had nervous sweat on her face, but said nothing. She made no move to leave.

Hendry’s plate mail clinked as he stepped forward. “We are with you, Ser Headsman.”

Lisette clasped her hands together as though she were preparing to pray. “Someone must do it,” she said firmly.

They weren’t exactly Alder Knights, but they were what I had. When I saw the other cleric’s distant eyes, I drew his attention. “Emil?”

The holy scribe startled, glancing around at the group before finding me. He swallowed, the bump in his thin neck vanishing a moment. “I am no warrior, ser.”

“I know,” I assured him. “But there was a reason they gave you to me.”

I didn’t think it was just as the Royal Clericon’s eyes and ears. Lisette might be the more skilled, and I could make do with her, but the more adepts in our group the better our chances.

Emil made a show of settling himself. “I will do my duty.”

“Good,” I said. “You know the prayers of repulsion against the Adversary? How to work your aura into them?”

Emil nodded. The scrawny clericon apparently had a talent for wards and rites, from the information I’d been given about him. No true Art, but certain rituals and lesser spell cants could be just as effective in many situations.

“So who’s this other one you’re expecting?” Mallet demanded, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“As I said, she can be trusted.” I turned to him and spoke levelly. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Oh, I don’t think that’s all they need to know. I can also bake a coffyn that’s just to die for.”

Every member of the group except for me and Emma startled and spun toward the voice. There, leaning against the side of a narrow sepulcher, was Catrin. She wore the same outfit she had during the night of the festival the last month, a pair of segmented leather leggings beneath a white waist wrap of almost transparent material, along with a white camisole secured with black ribbons. Her dagger hung from a loop in her belt, and she’d tied her hair back into a lazy bun so strings of it fell around her pale face.

“The fuck?” Mallet asked. The dhampir had appeared without warning, there one moment when there’d been nothing before.

“Everyone,” I said to draw their attention back to me. “This is Catrin. She has a talent that can help us. An Art.” An easier explanation than the reality. Her ability was like an Art.

“Hey,” Catrin said with a twiddle of her fingers.

Penric muttered a friendly greeting, and Hendry a more humbly gallant one, while the rest remained standoffish and wary. Emma turned to me, resting a hand on the pommel of her sword.

“So what next?” My squire asked.

Instead of answering, I turned to Catrin. Her nonchalant demeanor faded away.

“I need a grave,” she said. “Ideally a particularly deep and dark one. The more rotten, the better.”

I let Catrin choose where we would bury her. It seemed only right.

She spent almost an hour wandering around the graveyard, inspecting each sepulcher, lone-standing gravestone, towering mausoleum, and open pit where no coffin had ever been lowered.

I could tell she stalled on purpose, but I didn’t rush her. I had little more desire to go through with this than she did, and all the while I had to fight my desire to convince her not to.

I remember being in my grave, Alken.

She had looked so sad, and so scared, when she told me that.

I followed her as she searched the place, leaving Emma and Hendry to direct the others. They would be spread out across the cemetery square, all within sight and shouting distance of one another, keeping guard against any threat. It gave me time to talk to the dhampir privately.

She must have sensed my distracted mood, because Catrin sidled up to me and let her arm brush mine. “I’ve still got enough of your blood in me to hear how freaked you are,” she said quietly.

“I am scared,” I admitted. “For you. I don’t like that you’re doing this. I don’t like that you have to do this.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” she told me sternly. “I’m doing it because it’s right, and because you need my help.”

If I’d been more competent, either back in Caelfall or a hundred times since, she wouldn’t need to. We were here because of my mishaps.

“We are here because there are evil bastards in the world who keep making themselves our problem.” Catrin had, of course, heard my thoughts. “You’re not to blame for all the world’s troubles, big man.”

“Some of them,” I disagreed.

She nudged me in the side with a bony elbow. “We’re going to squash this bug, you and me. This started with us back in Cael, and we will end it.”

She tilted her head to one side in an almost casual change of mood. “There. That’s the place.”

I followed her gaze to a single lone standing mausoleum. Thinner than the rest, large enough to hold perhaps two or three sarcophagi at most. An angelic warrior perched above the vaulted roof, spear poised as though to hurl at an interloper.

“Why that one?” I asked in curiosity. I didn’t understand this magic she was employing.

“I just like how it looks,” she said with an apologetic smile. “The angel kind of reminds me of you. See?”

She pointed at the figure. The seraph had been carved muscular and tall, with intricately detailed hair and a stern face, but I didn’t see much of a resemblance.

Perhaps in how weathered it looked. Time had not been kind to that warrior angel.

The front door had been broken down, either by would-be necromancers during the siege or grave robbers after. We stepped up the short set of stairs to peek inside. A standard design, with a spacious room and vaulted ceiling. Cobwebs and dust choked the space, and I might have heard rats scurrying about somewhere. A rafter had fallen near the back along with a bit of the roof to form a craggy pile.

Of most interest was the pit. It had been carved into the floor for a single stone coffin to be lowered down, and the slab that would have covered the hole was gone to show the empty space.

“Perfect,” Catrin said. “Mouldering, dusty, and disgusting. Check, check, and check.”

I felt a sudden, intense surge of panic. “Catrin, I—”

She turned my face down by the chin and stood up on her toes to kiss me. My surprise chased the thoughts out of my head.

“What was that for?” I asked her as she sank back down.

Catrin grinned, revealing her sharp, crooked teeth. “I’ll be all gross later, so I wanted to do it now. Besides, doesn’t a knight always kiss his lady for luck?”

“Usually only when the knight is the one going into danger,” I noted.

“Well, that’s just not fair.” She patted my cheek affectionately and spoke in a more serious voice. “This needs to be done. No chickening out, alright? I need my torch to be steady.” Then in a more subdued tone, “You know where I’m going, right? Where Yith is probably hiding?”

We had discussed the information I’d been passed by the crowfriars, about Yith’s whereabouts. I nodded grimly. “The Undercity. Didn’t you say you weren’t able to use the shadows down there?”

“I just don’t like doing it,” she admitted. “But we can’t track the fly down there, it’s too big and too twisty. So I have to lead him up here.”

She started moving to the pit, but I grabbed her wrist and held her.

“Don’t take any risks you don’t need to,” I pleaded. “I’ll be here, waiting for you to come back.”

She grasped my wrist back. “I’m a big girl. Don’t worry, alright?”

Despite her assurance, I could feel her fear in the tightness of her grip. Even still, I helped her down into the cavity. Her body vanished into the darkness until only her head and a single arm remained illuminated by the pale moonlight spilling through the hole in the roof.

“I’ll be right here,” I told her. My heart thumped in my chest, giving the lie to the calm in my voice. I cursed myself for feeling so afraid, knowing she could feel it too.

“Just like swimming,” Catrin said with a nervous laugh. “Is it a bad time to mention that I can’t swim?”

Her fingers, still slightly warmer than normal from the blood she’d taken the last night, slid from mine. When she sank into the darkness of the pit, it was like she’d gone underwater. Her presence faded completely from my senses. I stopped hearing her breaths, no longer felt her furtive movements at my side.

I am a terrible knight, to have let her go into this danger in my place. I hated myself for it.

I knelt there above the burial cavity for more than ten minutes, waiting. The darkness around the patch of moonlight I knelt in writhed with ghosts, eager for my attention now the dhampir had left. I gave them none.

I didn’t know how long this would take, or what I should do in the meantime. I only stirred from my brooding when I heard movement at the door of the mausoleum.

Rising from my kneeling position, I walked to the entrance to find Mallet outside. He tried to peer around me, no doubt knowing I’d gone inside with Catrin. When I just stared at him pointedly, he shuffled up close and spoke in a lowered voice.

“You got rid of Kenneth.”

I didn’t answer him at first, instead studying the man. Mallet was of average height, but solidly built — he reminded me of Markham, more stocky than anything, though the militiaman was younger and more broad shouldered.

“I did,” I said in a neutral voice.

“Why?” Mallet’s manner was accusing, hostile. Or was that just his normal demeanor? I couldn’t tell.

“I found out some of the things he’d been doing with the city guard,” I told the man. “I did not approve.”

Mallet stared at me hard, blocking the mausoleum exit. His stare only averted when a voice murmured in the darkness behind me.

“Is there a problem, soldier?” I asked, drawing his attention back to me.

The legbreaker turned militiaman did not seem cowed by my eyes like many were, or by the atmosphere of threat exuded by the shades he could certainly feel, if not see. He glared into the darkness, but when he couldn’t see anything he looked at me. “You should have killed him. That’s what you do, yeah? Kill big folk who deserve it?”

His voice hardened. “That bastard deserved it.”

I decided not to mention I almost had killed the nobleman. Instead I just said, “He’s not going to be hurting anyone else.”

Between my dismissal and the scandal Kenneth had caused between the nobles and the merchant class, I doubted he’d ever be given a post of any means again.

Thinking that was all, I turned to walk back into the crypt. But Mallet wasn’t done.

“Who’s the woman?” He asked. “Some kind of witch? We have two priests, why do we need her?”

I drew in a deep breath. “Mallet, I gave you the option to back out of this already, and I’m not going to explain myself further. Now go do your job.”

He stalked off, muttering darkly. Emma wandered down the grave rows to replace him before I could retreat.

“They’re all scared out of their brains, but I don’t think anyone will bolt.” She considered a moment, then corrected herself. “Except that priest, Emil. He seems ready to vomit.”

“If you see him, tell him to try vomiting. It often helps soldiers before action. How are your legs?”

Emma’s turn to look annoyed. “I must admit, that choir girl’s magic is no joke. I barely feel my injuries anymore.”

I paused at the mausoleum door and scanned the cemetery. Quiet, misty, softly touched by the lesser moon, it seemed almost picturesque.

“Catrin’s gone into her shadows?” Emma asked.

When I nodded, my squire ascended the stairs to stand at my side.

“Any luck calling Qoth back?” We had both agreed it would be best to call on every resource we could for this.

Emma sighed. “No. He hasn’t answered my summons since the chorn. I think he was more injured than we thought.”

“Demons leave wounds that don’t heal easily,” I told her in a soft voice. “Sometimes, they don’t truly heal at all.”

Her eyes went to the scars on my face, then quickly looked away.

“How’s Hendry?” I asked. He’d returned from greeting his father barely moments before we set out. I had nearly left him behind.

“I’m not sure,” Emma admitted. “He’s never been a chatty boy, but he’s especially terse tonight. Then again, I don’t think any of us are well rested.”

She gave me a once over and added, “Speaking of, you look pale.”

Her smug tone annoyed me. “I’m fine.”

“Having a vampire lover must be difficult,” Emma mused. “And exciting. Perhaps I’ll try it one day? Make it part of my legend.”

In a more serious voice she added, “I don’t want to intrude into your private matters, but you really should avoid letting her drain you to anemia before we battle demons. It seems ill advised.”

I turned toward the door. “Is that all, squire?”

Before Emma could respond to that, a piercing whistle filled the air. We both looked toward the center of the cemetery, where I caught sight of Penric. Despite his advanced age, the man had scrambled onto the top of a steep sepulcher like a monkey. He was waving, and pointing.

I followed his gesturing with my eyes. He pointed down, but I couldn’t see what he did from where I stood.

“I need to be here,” I said.

Emma nodded. “I will go investigate.”

She sprinted off, leaving me to fret. The moment I stood alone again, the shades gathered close. I tuned their voices out, focused on other worries.

In truth, I did not know what form the threat would take. The goal was for Catrin to lure Yith here through the spaces they could both travel, but how she intended to draw the demon’s attention and get it to fall into our trap I did not truly understand. I could only be here, ready to pull her back out and punish the fly for showing his face.

For that, I would need my weapon. Closing my eyes, I reached into the shadows inside the mausoleum. Clearing my mind, I let my thoughts linger on the same sensations I had in that room inside the Manse Laertes. I recalled Catrin’s cool skin against mine, her encouraging whispers in the dark. I focused on the image of her eyes, both warm brown and full of humor and red with hunger.

And just as she’d showed me, the darkness gave way, and what had been just empty space and an absence of light transformed into something deeper. The illusion of a stable, sensible world rippled, and I reached into that ripple.

When I pulled my hand back out into the moonlight, I held my axe. Gray shadows cascaded off it like steam off ice under sunlight, soon revealing the gold-inlayed steel and oaken branch. The cold inside that place I’d reached stabbed at my hand, but it faded soon enough.

In a similarly abstract place inside of me, the aureflame stirred. It felt something drawing near, and its warning was not gentle. I winced at the lance of angry heat in my chest.

The shades had vanished, scared off by whatever approached. The scars on my face began to itch. I could hear something.

Looking down, I soon realized what it was. The damp soil of the cemetery moved. It writhed and rose with a subtle motion I had to focus on to make out. A growing mound near the mausoleum stair suddenly burst like an overfull boil, and small, skittering things emerged, scattering in every direction as though desperate to escape their earthen prison. Some of them crawled up into the crypt, and I had to move my boots to avoid their manic path.

The whole cemetery boiled with that ascending migration. Beneath my feet crawled thousands of insects.