Chapter 5 - The Rightful Ruler

  If Elrin had been anywhere else, he might have missed the cry. Heligsol sat relatively close to the castle of Jotun.

  The boy bolted toward the square, Lancelot racing behind him. From there, the castle was hidden behind a thick wall of mist. After witnessing the devastation of Jotun, Elrin desperately hoped that people had somehow survived the massacre and taken refuge in the King’s castle. Maybe his friend was there.

  With a deep breath, he started up the hill toward the castle, Lancelot right at his heels.

  To Elrin, everything felt like it had happened yesterday. Yet there was no blood and no smoke. And the skeletons—how could there be skeletons already? The only explanation was that far more time had passed than he realized. Enough time for flesh to decay to bone, for vines to claim the ruins.

  But he had survived just fine. More than that, his wounds had completely healed, vanished as though they’d never existed in the first place.

  Mardukai must be responsible. The Demon King had kept him alive, healed him, preserved him somehow. But beyond that, Elrin felt no different. No surge of strength, no physical changes, or at least none he could perceive.

  Before he knew it, Elrin caught sight of the castle, and his heart sank.

  Ruins.

  The main walls still stood, but barely. Their tops completely shattered, reduced to jagged teeth of broken stone. The portcullis had been lowered, but it hadn’t stopped the attackers. The iron bars were bent and twisted outward, as though pulled apart by some monstrous force.

  But Elrin refused to give up. He pushed forward, clinging to a desperate hope, maybe a room somewhere had been sealed off, kept safe.

  He stopped.

  The castle had become a tomb. Skeletons everywhere, piled against walls and slumped in doorways. Craters riddled the floors. Red stained every wall.

  But…why—

  Another cry echoed from far beyond the walls, from the forest that stretched behind the castle. A man’s voice, older and distressed, and then it cut off. Elrin changed course, rushing toward the dense spruce forest at the castle’s rear.

  Meow!

  Elrin turned. Lancelot sat still just at the edge of the forest.

  “Come on, Lance! Someone’s out there—they might need help!”

  The cat remained quiet, his eyes wide and unblinking, fixed on Elrin.

  “Fine. Stay here. I’ll be back.” The boy turned and continued on his way.

  MEOW!

  Louder this time. More insistent.

  Elrin stopped again and looked back. The cat was pacing in tight circles now, his tail lashing frantically in an effort to get his attention.

  The boy stared in confusion. What in the hell does he want?

  Whoever cried out there sounded like they needed help. It could very well be a survivor, and Elrin couldn’t waste time dealing with a cat’s eccentric behavior. He turned and continued through the forest, ignoring Lancelot’s increasingly desperate meows behind him.

  The ground was soft and wet underfoot, blanketed in moss. The fresh, earthy scent of pine and damp soil filled his lungs.

  He heard voices of people speaking somewhere deep in the forest. And it didn’t sound like they were suffering or in need of help. For a moment, Elrin wondered whether blindly approaching was a good idea.

  Could they be survivors from Jotun? Or…enemies?

  Either way, he couldn’t wait helplessly. He had to find out. He had to get answers.

  Slowly, he approached. Along the way, he noticed an unnatural mound rising between the spruce trees. No moss or greenery covered it, only a bunch of fresh blue wildflowers laid across the top like someone was just there. His curiosity begged him to dig it up and see what lay beneath, but right then and there he had more pressing matters.

  The closer he got, the clearer the voices became. Syllables formed into words, but in a language he’d never heard before, harsh, guttural sounds that seemed to claw from the back of the throat. Strangest of all was that the words slid into meaning, as if something inside him translated.

  “...Gunwald will be pleased...dragged us all the way out here for this.…”

  Elrin crept closer, desperate to see who was speaking.

  Moving carefully between the branches, testing each step to avoid snapping twigs, he finally got a clear view.

  That’s when he saw the carriage, more cage than transport. Inside, on a bed of straw, sat an old man. Two figures stood near it, but they looked…strange.

  One of them turned side ways.

  Elrin stumbled back.

  Its head sat directly on its torso, eyes stretched into thin horizontal slits, its mouth split wide with rows of jagged teeth.

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  Demons!

  Which means the foreign language is…Temoni—the demon tongue.

  Shivers ran down his spine, he was close enough that a loud sound would alert them. Should he stay hidden until they’re gone? What if they come his way? Should he run for it now, before they saw him?

  “Yelud,” came a high-pitched voice from behind the boy.

  Elrin’s blood turned to ice. He turned slowly.

  Another demon stood there, but this one was tall and skeletal, with impossibly wide shoulders that made its long arms hang loose at its sides. Its face stretched long, like a distorted reflection in warped glass.

  And at its feet, five creatures circled. Dogs—no. Human faces grafted onto canine bodies, their expressions frozen in silent screams.

  “Great hunt, Baara!” called one of the demons Elrin had been spying on. He whipped around to find them both standing right behind him, grinning. The stench of spoiled flesh hung heavy around them, and their skin felt slick with rancid grease.

  Only one feature distinguished them: one didn’t have a mouth.

  “Oh, it’s a small Yelud! Gunwald is going to love this one!” said the short demon while rubbing his hands together gleefully. “How much do you think he’ll fetch?”

  The other one raised three fat fingers—

  Elrin bolted. There was no reason for him to stay and try his luck. The two short ones didn’t look too agile. Only the tall one, behind him, the one they called Baara with his canine creatures could pose a threat.

  But before the boy had taken his third step, the demon dogs were already at his ankles, their human faces contorted in savage hunger. Sharp pain flared across his ankles as their teeth sank deep into his flesh. He crashed face-first into the moss.

  “Baara—you idiot! Don’t damage the legs!” the short demon barked.

  But Baara didn’t seem to care. He simply watched, savoring the scene with cold enjoyment.

  “Hey! Did you hear me, knuckle-head?” continued the short one, his face turning a light green from anger.

  Baara clicked his tongue once. The creatures released Elrin immediately, their human mouths dripping with blood. The boy tried to push himself up, but his ankles were mangled, torn muscle and exposed bone. He couldn’t even get his knees under him.

  “This idiot just cost us a fortune,” the demon muttered under his breath. He turned to Baara. “Take him to the carriage. We’re leaving.”

  Baara seized Elrin by the arm and dragged him across the dirt.

  “Let go of me, you hideous creature!” Elrin screamed, swinging a fist at the demon. It landed uselessly, as though striking stone.

  “Let go! Let go!” the boy shrieked again and again, flailing wildly. He pushed, punched, kicked, anything to break free of the demon’s grip.

  Baara had enough. He lifted the boy and slammed him into the ground. Elrin felt a rib break with a loud crack.

  The demon’s fingers clasped around Elrin’s jaw, crushing until his mouth was forced open. The boy tried to scream, but only a wet gasp came out as his arms thrashed uselessly against Baara’s grip.

  Slender fingers reached into his open mouth and the sharp nails closed around his tongue. The pressure built slowly, unbearably, every nerve lighting at once as his body bucked in instinctive refusal. Just like plucking grass from the earth, his tongue was torn free.

  Baara tossed it away like garbage and the dogs descended on it at once, snarling and tearing at each other as blood sprayed the dirt.

  A fountain of red poured from Elrin’s mouth and the boy went limp.

  The demon grabbed him by the hair and hurled his body into the carriage. Then turned, his gaze settling on the two short demons, daring them to speak.

  They said nothing. They knew better than to complain when their lives hung so thin. Baara moved to the front of the carriage, lifted the shafts onto his shoulders, and started pulling.

  The two demons climbed onto the coach seats and sat in silence.

  Elrin woke to a sharp bang as his head struck iron.

  He lay inside the cage, his hands bound to the metallic pole behind him. Opposite sat another man, also tied, his head slumped forward in sleep. With every bump in the road, pain jarred through Elrin’s mangled ankles, his teeth clacking uselessly as the carriage rattled on. The hay beneath him had darkened to red, soaked through with the blood seeping from his wounds.

  A numb, pulsing pain filled his mouth as he tried to move his tongue. He could not feel it against his teeth—could not feel it at all.

  Terror crept up his spine as understanding settled in. They cut my tongue. Those cursed demons cut my tongue!

  He thrashed, testing his bindings. The ropes bit deep into his wrists, unforgiving. There was no space to maneuver. No escape, at least not for a Commonborn.

  “You should have stayed quiet, kid,” the old man said.

  Elrin flinched as the man opposite him stirred and opened his eyes. Wisps of thin white hair clung to his scalp, framing a face etched with exhaustion and long endured grief.

  “I did not think you would survive,” the man continued calmly. “You bled without stopping. I am impressed.” The man shifted slightly, the ropes creaking. “If they had no use for you, you would already be dead,” he said. “Relax. You are fine.”

  Just how can someone be so unbothered by his circumstances, Elrin couldn’t understand.

  The boy stared at the man for a long moment, trying to remember if he’d seen him anywhere in the city. Not that he would recognize everyone from Jotun, but a look like that, he would never forget. His beard ran long, all the way to his waist. Such a man would undoubtedly get nicknamed on first sight in Jotun.

  “These cursed demons,” murmured the old man. “Who would’ve known how the world could turn upside down with the death of one man.”

  Death of one man? Elrin’s mind raced. Johanne the Graceful….

  Elrin glanced around the carriage. Baara pulled without pause, his canine beasts pacing alongside them, while the two demons sat at the front.

  Demons…I should have known. What happened at Jotun made no sense without them. With King Johanne gone, no one was strong or fearsome enough to keep the hordes at bay.

  Wildree had his hand in this. He had to!

  A memory struck him, King Johanne had said it to Wildree in the cave that day: You came for a crown…You Struck a deal with the demons, haven’t you?

  A flash of understanding lit up his mind and everything finally made sense. Wildree, that cowardly excuse of a man—he wanted the throne—he wanted to be king!

  Maybe that was why Johanne never destroyed the Demon King. As long as Mardukai lived, bound or not, the crown could not sit easy on any head.

  They meant to kill Mardukai with that red blade. And they failed.

  With their Demon King bound inside me…does that make me their heir? The realization slowly set over him. Then his blood ran hot and wrathful. The anger wasn't his alone anymore, it was older, deeper, hungrier.

  They will pay. Every one of them.

  In that dreadful carriage, as the road jolted beneath him, and the agonizing pain overwhelming his senses, Elrin thought he understood his place in the world.

  He would soon learn how wrong he was.