Rise of Heroes

Chapter 33 - The Herodin

Reagan shifted when the forest filled with low shrieks and vicious growls, only to find himself in a maddening pain that almost sent him back into unconsciousness. The dim light of the dying day was disappearing through the web of branches, reflecting on the sticky green leaves.

“Bart,” Reagan whispered as he tried to get into a sitting position. At the first hint of movement, the surrounding bushes rustled. Reagan froze immediately, wincing in pain. His eyes examined his lower body only to stop on his left leg, bloody and twisted in a wicked way, leaving no doubt that it was badly broken in at least two places. Besides the overwhelming ache, he could distantly feel the wet, sticky substance flowing out of the wound, causing growing nausea and overpowering weakness.

Reagan turned his head toward the body that was lying not further away from him, but the other person didn’t move at all. His clothes were just as torn and dirty, but there was no visible wound on him apart from a few nasty bruises and cuts.

“Bart, can you hear me?” Reagan hissed. The other man jumped as Reagan’s hand touched his back. His head snapped aside, eyes so wild with fear that he looked like a wild animal, ready to fight for dear life with nothing but bare teeth.

“Bloody hell! Why did you do that?” Bart snapped in anger, glancing around as the bushes rustled again. Reagan tried to hush him, but the other man obviously had no idea what was going on. “I thought I was dead! That we were all dead! When they jumped out of the blue and…”

“Shut your mouth, Bart!” Reagan snarled. “You may not be dead yet, but you’re about to be. Look around! Where do you think we are?”

Bart leaned back on the trunk of the tree they had found themselves next to while his eyes examined their surroundings. It didn’t take him long to see what Reagan already knew — they were deep into the forest, not exactly alone since the low growls and snarls sounded extremely close. There were footprints all around them — imprints of hooves and clutches, even some that no normal animal could leave behind.

“Reagan, something is moving out there.” Bart’s shaking voice was now barely a whisper, but everything around had quieted so much that his words provoked a high, chilling shriek from behind their tree. Both of them turned around, expecting to find a demon there, but all they saw were the surrounding bushes, slightly moving again.

“They’ve been here ever since I woke up,” Reagan whispered, shifting slightly and regretting it immediately after since the blinding pain returned with full force. Bart shot him a glance, his eyes eventually stopping on the wound. He didn’t say anything but nervously licked his lips. “Demons. They are guarding us.”

“Guarding us? Why would you think they are guarding us?” Bart’s voice was trembling almost as much as his body, so he shook his head trying to get himself together. His hand reached for his sword, only to find it missing. Eventually, he found a small dagger hidden in his boot, which made him smile in relief. Reagan watched him with pity, not sure if he should tell him that the petty weapon would be of as much use to him as a broken branch.

“We’re still alive, aren’t we?” Reagan pointed out just as quietly. “This means that they are guarding us. If not guarding, then they are keeping us alive. Just like they thought.”

“That’s not possible!” Bart cried out, then quickly lowered his voice. “They can’t think! They don’t think! They just know how to kill! Whatever, whoever saved us, it couldn’t have been a demon! We have to get away from here, Reagan!”

“Can’t you see them, Bart?” Reagan asked, his voice weaker than a whisper. “Can’t you hear them? They are here and they are waiting. Waiting for a provocation. Or an order.”

“Waiting for an order? Whose order?” Bart asked, turning to look over his shoulder. That was the question Reagan asked himself as well. “What are we going to do? I don’t want to die here, Reagan!”

“We’re already dead, Bart.” Reagan’s words hung in the air like a sad, eerie song, making the man next to him crouch in fear.

Nobody spoke for some time when suddenly, every sound around them ceased. Reagan shook his head to make sure he hadn’t lost his hearing when the man next to him leaned closer, making the grass beneath them rustle. A few more minutes passed in the same heavy, nerve-wracking silence until the bushes in front of them parted, giving way to a pair of demons.

Both of them were taller than an average human, with smooth, glossy skin instead of fur; their hands were so big that they could easily use one of them to grab a human head and squash it with little effort. Their faces were flat; dark, gaping holes stood where their mouths and noses should have been. Their mandibles seemed bigger than their upper jaws, revealing mossy green teeth in front of the thin purplish lips. Their eyes shone with a thirst for blood and death.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Reagan warned him as he pulled back toward the trunk of the tree. Unfortunately, Bart had already found himself on his feet and he fled toward the trees in a desperate attempt to save himself. Before he could even reach what he thought was his salvation, something black and furry jumped from the branch above, landing on Bart’s back and pinning him to the ground. The man let out a piercing scream, fighting the creature with all he got, but the demon, quick as lightning, hit him on the head. Before Reagan could even have the chance to blink, the demon had stuck its teeth in the man’s shoulder, letting out a satisfied growl.

Bart didn’t scream, which was odd, and Reagan closed his eyes, sending a quick prayer for his companion’s soul. When he opened them, he noticed that the green demons had approached him and one of them was leaning over. He hesitated whether he should try to fight it or not, but his curiosity got the better of him. He wasn’t going to run away or kill even one of them, so he might as well see what was going to happen.

The other green monster headed toward Bart’s body, kicking aside the significantly smaller creature and picking the man by the ankle. Bart let out a loud groan as the demon lifted him in the air with one hand, which made Reagan gasp in surprise, only to turn aside and find himself face-to-face with the other demon. The creature bared its teeth as if about to stick them into Reagan’s body.

The Roderian could feel his heart beating so hard that he was afraid that he may run out of blood before this mystery unfolded. Never before in his life had he thought that it was possible for a demon to execute an independent thought, let alone work with another of their kind without trying to kill each other. The only logical explanation was that someone was forcing them to do it. But whatever was powerful enough to force a demon to do their bidding had to be something really big and scary.

The monster grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him up as if he weighed nothing. The moment Reagan stepped on his injured leg, he let out a cry, stumbling back to the ground. For a few moments, all he could see was endless blackness, filled with nothing but agony, until he vaguely felt a pair of hands lifting him up. The creature’s skin was squishy and foul — it was like touching a gangrenous wound. The smell was even worse.

The demon’s grip was far from gentle or comfortable and every step forced Reagan to bite his lip to prevent himself from screaming. The taste of iron in his mouth helped him get a hold of reality.

They didn’t walk much — no longer than ten minutes — when the trees gave way to stone. The quiet, heavy steps of the monster turned into clear a thud-thud-thud. It became darker.

Reagan could hear Bart’s low whimpers somewhere behind them, but he couldn’t tell if they were going to the same place or not. Before he could even ponder on that thought, the demon dropped him on the ground. The wind rushed out of Reagan’s lungs in one blow, leaving him gasping for breath and almost blacking out from the pain. By the time his eyes adjusted to the dark, Bart landed next to him and the demons left without so much as a growl.

Reagan sat up and took a quick, appraising look at the naked cave. The chamber they were in was circular and with a high ceiling, a few corridors linking it to only spirits know where. There was something shiny on the walls around them, but he couldn’t tell at first what it was. After some more time, he realized that those were writings, words of an old language if he could trust his eyes, and unfamiliar ones as well.

He wished they had killed them on the field with the others. If he had died, then he wouldn’t be in that maddening pain and he wouldn’t be in that wicked place.

“Reagan?” Bart whispered. Reagan turned just in time to see his friend crawling to the place where he stood. “Everything is spinning. What happened? Are we dead?”

“Not yet. Do you have your knife?”

“I think so,” Bart said, sliding next to Reagan. “Why?”

“I want you to kill me, and then I suggest you do the same for yourself,” Reagan grunted while sliding closer to his companion.

“Are you out of your mind? We can escape! They left us!” Bart exclaimed a bit too loud and his words caused an echo to carry through the tunnels. “I will carry you if I have to! We can escape, Reagan! Think of your wife! Your child!”

“We’re not getting away, Bart. Even if we escape, the poison will kill me way before we reach the castle. Please, Bart. Do it. Whatever the demons want with us, I don’t think it’s anything good.”

Before he could receive an answer, a ball of light illuminated the chamber, dispersing the shadows around them and forcing the men to shield their eyes with their hands. As if materializing from the shadows, a figure appeared — one of a tall, thin man with wavy dark hair that fell on his back like a waterfall of black poison. A long, pitch-black robe fell limply around his body, crimson runes sparkling all over it every time he moved.

Reagan thought he looked young at first but quickly decided that despite the smooth skin and healthy body, that man was… old.

“I didn’t go through all this trouble to keep you alive, only to let you die before your time.” His voice was cold and completely emotionless. He held a scepter in his hand where the part on the top had the form of a skull. Reagan felt a chill spreading through his body and this time, it wasn’t from the blood loss.

The stranger glanced at Bart, who was trying to get on his feet, then turned his attention toward Reagan.

“Who are you?” Reagan asked, his voice trembling a little. The stranger seemed surprised by the question for a moment, then the surprise gave way to a repulsion.

“You’re not worthy of even hearing my name, human. And even if I tell you, I doubt you would have heard it for it’s older than anything you know.” The dangerous spark in his eyes brought Reagan the urge to pull back, to get up, and run away from the man. “But you’re the first one who hasn’t cried in fear in my presence. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know who I am. Not that it matters now.” He stopped his monologue for a moment, no trace of his anger from moments ago. He didn’t look any friendlier, either. “They used to call me Etiash. Does that sound familiar to you, human?”

Reagan didn’t reply, which brought a cold smile to the stranger’s face. In the next moment, the smile was gone and his eyes were full of rage and loathing again.

“I’ve seen things none of you petty humans can even imagine. I’ve been through things so terrible that they would make you want to strip down your own skin and tear your flesh with your bare fingers. And all of this I did for you. For the future. And what did I get in return?” he snorted, shaking his head. “Oblivion.”

He laughed then, a sick and somber laugh that scared Reagan more than the glare he received before. When the stranger, Etiash, pointed his staff at Reagan, the Roderian wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle of his own dagger. The other man didn’t seem to notice that or even if he did — he didn’t think it necessary to disarm him. Even before Reagan could even think of using the dagger, he found himself hanging in the air a whole step above the ground.

Bart launched forward, raising his weapon over his head. Reagan open his mouth to shout for him to stop, but then Bart found himself in the air, hands dropping the dagger and wrapping around his throat as if he was unable to breathe. His face quickly turned red and his legs started kicking even more violently than before. Etiash glanced at him with annoyance.

“It is extremely foolish to attack a spellcaster even if you’re heavily armed, idiot.” His smile turned into a vicious grimace, making Reagan recoil. “And to attack a Herodin is beyond stupid.”

Reagan had no idea what herodin meant, but he didn’t have the time to ponder over it. His eyes were locked on Etiash’s left hand, which moved ever so slightly before a wicked, cracking sound filled the chamber. Bart’s head bounced back as his body fell lifelessly on the stone floor.

“Enough of this nonsense.” The sorcerer stepped closer to Reagan, his face now smooth and hard as stone. “Are there any Superior spellcasters in Roder?”

“There are no witches in Roder,” Reagan replied quickly, trying to raise his knife without the other one noticing it.

“I don’t have the time to concern myself with low-level mages like witches and wizards!” Etiash snapped, a hint of annoyance finding its way to his face. “But how should you know? You’re a mere human. Now answer me! Are there any Superior spellcasters there? Even a human like you should be able to feel the power of a Superior spellcaster.”

“There is no magic in Roder!” Reagan insisted. “Or anywhere else! The magic was long lost centuries ago!”

Etiash looked at him with something that resembled pity, then he shook his head.

“The magic is back, fool. But the fact that nobody had noticed means that nobody knows how to use it. Good. But I can feel them. And there are plenty, one of which is stronger than the others. They are hiding their magic, but they can’t hide from me forever. I need to find this person, they may be the key.”

Reagan shook his head. His hand was almost up to his chest, waiting for the perfect moment. He was still hanging in the air, but this made it easier, not having to worry about his injured leg. He could also look the warlock in the eyes and as long as he kept his attention there, his plan was going to work.

“Tell me, human, how can I get past the gates of your precious city? There is a spell woven in them, and I cannot open them from outside.”

Reagan sucked in a deep breath, his eyes widening. This man was a sorcerer, a spell caster, who could control demons and now he was revealing that he was planning an attack on Roder. Reagan didn’t have the slightest idea what was happening, but he could tell one thing — the stakes were higher than he feared. But he wasn’t going to be the one to betray his kingdom. He doubted he would survive the night, even if Etiash decided to let him die on his own, so he sure as hell wasn’t going to sell his people and his king for some extra time.

“I won’t tell you anything,” he said with the last of his remaining confidence. For the first time, he saw a genuine smile on Etiash’s face. It wasn’t nice or pretty, but the sorcerer seemed truly amused.

“Is that so?” he laughed in a way that made Reagan’s blood freeze. Too late.

Reagan’s hand squeezed the handle of the dagger and he lashed with it, forcing the sorcerer to take a step back. Before Etiash could even do something, Reagan stuck the blade in his own chest, deep into his heart, a victorious smile dancing on his lips. The iron grip tightened around his throat and he coughed, spitting blood on the robes of the sorcerer in front of him. Just before the last sparks of life left him, Reagan felt his body hit the ground and the Herodin, Etiash, screamed in rage.