Chapter 18: Chapter 18

He saw the solitary figure approaching from a good distance away. It was the best part of camping beside the road. Nobody using it could approach unseen. And, being a few feet down the slope and sheltered by tall grass, there was a good chance that they wouldn’t be seen. It was a perfect spot for the dangerous times they found themselves in, because it was hard to tell who was possessed at first glance.

Except, of course, when the Infernal was in control. The pale skin, thin frame, and old, archaic clothing gave him away at once. Infernal, no doubt about it. He reacted quickly, coming to a low crouch, and hissing an order at his sleeping comrades. “Get up!”

Johan and Jerik were up in an instant, rolling free of their bedding and exiting their tents. Like Eric, they stayed low but had their weapons out in a second. Eric, too drew his sword, then glanced at the fire, glad that he’d thought to put it out when he’d begun his watch. The comfort of a warm fire had been missed, but it cut their chances of being noticed by quite a bit.

“It’s an Infernal,” he said quietly to the others.

“Just one?” Jerik asked, his eyebrows raised. “Surely that’s not worth all this caution.”

“You’ve clearly never met an Infernal,” Eric replied shortly, still keeping his voice low. He remembered all too clearly how strong Alice was, and she’d confessed to being one of the weaker, younger Infernals. “Get into the grass at the side of the road and  get ready to ambush them.”

Johan complied at once, holding the flat of his short sword against his arm to prevent it from catching any light and prowling toward the grass. Jerik took a moment or two before he obeyed the order, drawing his second dagger with a quiet slithering of metal against leather. Eric drew his second sword and moved to the grass on the other side of the rest area. That would leave a gap just wide enough that the Infernal would see a recently abandoned camp. With hope, they’d enter to investigate, and then they’d strike.

As the Infernal drew closer, Eric could make out that it was male. He was dressed as a mage but had a long curved sword at his waist and a Welsik smallrifle on a sling around his torso. Eric had seen enough of the smallrifles not to be surprised anymore. They were either magical or mechanical, depending on which craftsman made them, but they were essentially low-powered versions of a handgun. At least it wasn’t a traditional rifle, Eric thought. Those packed a serious punch.

The Infernal had just paused at the entrance to the semi-sheltered campsite. Perfect. Yet he made no move to approach and investigate closer. Instead, he drew the sword with his right hand and the smallrifle with his left. Damn. He expected the ambush, then. Which way would he aim first? Eric saw him deliberate for just a moment, then turn to face away from Jerik and Johan. Eric tensed, ready to leap at the figure, but before he could, the Infernal spoke.

“Ogon.”

With a sizzling noise, the barrel of his smallrifle released a condensed bolt of fire. It shot out as fast as a bolt from a crossbow, growing in size as it flew until it was large enough to envelop Eric completely. Hunter leaped out at once to catch the projectile, letting out a snarl of pain as it was struck. But he wasn’t finished, not by a long shot, and went on the attack. He lunged at the Infernal, jaws open wide to bite him.

The Infernal reacted with the speed of a cat, crouching low enough to let Hunter sail right over his head, the large fangs closing on thin air. Then he turned and fired again with a quickly muttered word. There was no bullet that Eric could see, but ice began to grow on Hunter’s flank, quickly spreading until it covered the wolf completely, freezing him in place.

Eric ran forward out of hiding while the Infernal’s back was turned, thrusting both of his swords at the very end for maximum force. It would have skewered the Infernal completely if it had struck. But his blow was intercepted at the last second as his target spun to the side, swiping the curved blade up. Eric was staggered by the lack of solid resistance and stumbled slightly before finding the barrel of the smallrifle aimed directly at his face.

There was a moment, just a second or two when Eric was sure that he was going to die. The smirk on the Infernal’s face seemed to hint at that fact as well. He knew that he had Eric within his mercy, but before he could fire, a spinning disc of metal slammed into the smallrifle, jolting it out of his hand. He let out a shout of surprise, and Eric recovered quickly, spinning into a low kick that knocked his enemy’s legs out from under him.

It was Jerik who’d thrown the knife. His accuracy was uncanny, as he’d only had a small fraction of a second to line up the target and throw. He was out of the tall grass just as fast, reaching the Infernal before he could recover from the shock of the surprise attack. He lunged for the target but didn’t bother to attack with the knife. Instead, he pinned him down with one knee on his chest, pushing all the air out of his body, then raised the knife to strike.

The Infernal shifted, revealing a fair-haired young elven man that was considerably shorter. The knife struck the ground an inch or two above his head, and he twisted violently, unseating Jerik and throwing him to the side. When Eric came in to attack, he flicked the sword away with a graceful parry. The motion was so smooth, so effortless, that Eric felt a stab of doubt in his mind. This man was clearly a master of his weapon and of martial combat in general.

He had to jump back as the elf slashed back, narrowly avoiding beheading. Now it was Johan’s turn to jump in. He had his shield up and ready and advanced with calm purpose, jabbing at the elf. Even with the three of them, they couldn’t trap the man, who danced away with ease. He switched the sword to his left hand and attacked Johan, forcing the man to use his own sword to block. Then the elf lashed out with a high stomping kick that knocked the shield aside and got inside Johan’s guard, slashing at his exposed ribs.

Without the leather armor, he usually wore to protect him, the cut was a nasty one. He reeled away, desperately raising the shield to stop another cut, but it didn’t come. The elf switched places again, and the Infernal dove for the smallrifle where it lay on the ground. Fast as he was, Jerik was faster. The Outsider snatched up the weapon a half second before the Infernal could and jumped away to avoid the angry sword stroke that followed.

“Well, well,” he said with a laugh. “I never expected to see a weapon like this.”

He raised the smallrifle to aim directly at the Infernal’s face, and Eric could see how familiar he was with the weapon. His aim was unwavering, and he gripped the handle with just enough strength to hold it steady, but he also looked totally at ease.

“Do you know how to use that?” Eric asked, careful not to take his eyes off the Infernal.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jerik replied, smiling at the Infernal. It was a very cold smile, the type that left his eyes as expressionless as ever. “He showed me how to do it. Ogon.”

The pistol let out a burst of flames like what he’d used against Eric, but this time it was a perfect shot. With a much shorter distance between the weapon and its target, the flames had less chance to spread, and it seemed like a much more powerful shot. The Infernal was knocked down, his robes alight. Jerik quickly changed his grip, now holding it with two hands. It was very clearly the standard pistol grip used by the military and police back on Earth. Eric wondered briefly which Jerik had been but realized that it wasn’t a good use of his time at the moment.

“Release the elven man you’re bonded with,” Eric said, pointing a sword at the Infernal. “Release him, and we’ll allow you to leave with your life. Return to the Infernal Planes.”

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“I’m never going back there,” The Infernal growled. “And you won’t kill me because you won’t want to kill Kieran.”

He assumed that Kieran was the name of the elven man. He took a step closer, bringing the point of the sword right up to the Infernal’s neck. “If you think I won’t kill someone who’s attacked me directly, you’re wrong. Release your hold on him, and go back to the Infernal Plane.”

They shifted again in the blink of an eye, but Eric was expecting the move. He stepped on Kieran’s sword arm as soon as it appeared and dropped his knee onto the elf’s chest, sword still at his throat. “Don’t try that. It won’t go well for you.”

Now that he had the chance to study Kieran’s face more closely, he could see how young he really was. He couldn’t be much older than sixteen or seventeen. Skilled warrior or not, he was young, and Eric could clearly see the fear in his eyes. He reached up to touch the sword, then the fear increased. Eric let out an unamused laugh.

“Yeah,” he said. “I know what most Welsik people can do. It’s a magical weapon, so you can’t melt it.”

The elf let out a quiet curse, then relaxed his body. He didn’t cry, but he was visibly shaking. “Just kill me.”

“Is that really what you want?” Eric asked, tilting his head. “You’re so young, and you have good skill with weapons.”

“It’s no use if I can’t fight,” Kieran replied. “If I go back to my people and tell them that I lost, I’ll be banished.”

“Your people? I didn’t know the Welsik put such a high emphasis on martial ability.”

“I’m not Welsik,” Kieran corrected him. “I may have been born there, but I was raised in the Scarred Lands.”

Eric understood what he meant. The Scarred Lands was a wide stretch of uninhabitable area in Tyrman, the site of an old battle in which Bora Bora, during his mortal life, fought Tiamat and her champion. The Champion had died, but the Tyrant Queen escaped to live in hiding. When he’d ascended, Bora Bora’s wrath had scorched the land for miles. To the outside world, the lands were inhabitable, but still, several tribes of people lived there, beholden to no laws, thanks to their seclusion. In the Scarred Lands, the only rule was that you could not be weak. If you lost a fight, you were banished or killed.

Eric rose to his feet, lifting the sword and returning it to its sheath. Jerik looked horrified at the action. “What are you doing? Why didn’t you kill him?”

“Because he surrendered,” Eric said. “He has no intention of fighting any longer.”

“He didn’t say he surrendered.”

Johan, grimacing as he pointed, said, “He let go of his weapon. It’s a gesture of surrender among his people.”

Indeed, the curved sword was on the ground, and Kieran had pushed himself up to a sitting position. He eyed Eric nervously. “You Issho-Ni, then?”

“Luckily for you,” Eric replied. “Anyone else would have killed you.”

“I don’t want your pity,” Kieran spat. In spite of his surrender, he continued to glare at Eric with undisguised hostility.

“And I don’t want your thanks,” Eric said. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but the laws of your people now state that I am your Warlord, no?”

There was a long moment of silence, then Kieran nodded. He clearly hadn’t expected Eric to know about that rule. Eric offered him a grin. “Right. So, as your warlord, I’m sparing your life and ordering you to fight for our cause.”

“You want me to turn against the Infernals?” He asked, befuddled. “Netora would never agree to that.”

Then, after a few seconds, his eyes widened. Eric knew what that meant. Netora, who he assumed to be the Infernal, had told him that he agreed to it. “Seems he says otherwise.”

 

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