Chapter 17
Rain bucketed down around Fara in the dead of the night. She pressed herself against the tree trunk but did little else. If she used magic here, she’d give away her position. She stood on top of a tree branch, hiding within the forest canopy.
Far beneath her, a caravan rode into a town. A hundred soldiers ran alongside it. Horses pulled the carts, as magitech wagons were too expensive to use on most trade routes out here. Wheels bounced over muddy potholes. Mercenaries swore as mud splashed over their armor and into their faces.
As the wagons rolled toward the warehouses at the back of the town, the townspeople watched. They peeked out from their windows or from covered porches. Drunks yelled insults at the mercenaries when they passed the inn.
Fara kept a close eye on every wagon, just in case any peeled away. None did. They maintained their breakneck pace.
Privately, Fara was impressed by the drivers. None of the wagons crashed or slid into the muck. Compagnon brought the best.
Bought the best, Fara corrected.
The caravan pulled up outside the warehouses. The moment they did, the doors slammed open and workers rushed out. Despite the awful weather, they loaded up everything they had. Overseers shouted orders at the workers.
More mercenaries joined the caravan, along with several more wagons. Then Fara spotted the man she was looking for.
A mage wearing an ostentatious robe of ivory and gold trim. It glittered even through the pouring rain and terrible lighting near him. His head was bald, but he had a beard that fell almost to his waist.
Robert Hamperstill, a combat magister from Ahm who left his tower for reasons unknown. He was one of Compagnon’s pet powermongers and ruled this town with an iron fist.
Once Rys agreed to destroy Compagnon, he had put Grigor’s plan into action immediately. The first step was to target their allies. By removing the petty powermongers who threatened the towns and villages around Anceston, Compagnon would lose a lot of their ability to project power in the region.
Grigor slew a dozen of them in the first three days.
The result was pure panic from Compagnon. Their mercenaries streamed north. Many of the powermongers fled, returning the stolen land to the people.
But Rys needed to keep the pressure up, and Grigor swiftly ran out of soft targets. Those that remained were backed up by more of Compagnon’s military strength than before. And Compagnon swiftly reorganized how they operated. They tightened their control over the region.
This caravan had rolled through a lot of Compagnon-controlled towns and villages to the south-east of Anceston. Robert’s town was the last stop, as he was Compagnon’s lieutenant in the region.
Each wagon was loaded with artifacts, cash crops, tools, and crafted goods. The rain might damage some of it, but Robert clearly felt that getting the caravan out of the region was worth the risk.
He feared Rys.
Good, Fara felt. He should.
She fumbled for the mindspeak connection with the Malakin. After a few attempts, she found it.
“Taras, can you hear me?” she asked using her mind.
“It’s Tarasu,” the Malakin commander complained.
“That’s a yes, then,” Fara said. “The caravan is almost finished loading. I count nearly over two hundred guards. Robert’s with them and appears to be joining them. He’s brought a bunch of horses, so there’ll be a vanguard.”
“Understood. The Prince-General is in position at the ambush point. We shall see you there,” Taras said, before closing the connection.
“Prince-General” was what the infernals called Grigor. Apparently “General” was too confusing, as that was what Grigor called Rys. And “Prince” wasn’t good enough for some reason. Fara had suggested “boss” but they said that was Rys’s title.
Infernals deeply confused Fara. All her life, she had learned they were the most unreliable and capricious monsters to walk Harrium. Now, she lived and worked with them, and they were the exact opposite. Hierarchy mattered more to them than it did to almost any human she had ever met.
She had thought the Imperial Court of Pharos was bad, given how bureaucratic and hierarchical it had been. Now, she wondered if Hell had been inspired by it, then made it worse.
By leaping across the treetops, Fara reached Grigor and the rest of the ambush team in record time. She took a brief detour to monitor the caravan and spotted Taras in the process.
Grigor stood in the shadow of a tree. If Fara didn’t recognize him, she’d think the woods had summoned a great spirit beast to consume her. His appearance was like a monster spawned of darkness. He towered over the noble demons next to him.
“Fara,” he greeted her. “Taras indicates they will be here in thirty minutes. Be ready.”
He didn’t give her any orders. She assumed that was because he thought highly of her.
There were less than thirty infernals present. Rys had summoned more demons to help Grigor, including a few more noble demons, but they were still massively outnumbered.
Six Ashen grizzled beneath a tree. Fara half-expected them to use magic to smoke, but they obeyed orders. Any use of magic could tip off Robert. He still might sense the demons if he was expecting them, but without any active use of magical energy, it was much harder until he got close.
Close enough to spring an ambush.
Minutes passed. The rain made a tinny sound as it pattered against the weapons and armor of the demons. Water dripped from Fara’s sodden ears. She looked forward to the long bath she’d take when she returned to Castle Aion.
Despite the awful weather, Fara felt in better spirits than she had for years. If she closed her eyes, she imagined herself back in Pharos. She wasn’t preparing to ambush a caravan of mercenaries, but a group of monsters. This wasn’t a forest in the lowlands of Kavolara, but the dry plains of Hellgate.
And she wasn’t surrounded by the very monsters she had been trained to kill, but instead other mystic foxes.
Fara let out a sigh and steeled herself. One of the Ashen gave her a salute when their eyes met, and the rest raised their hands in greeting. Shortly afterward, something moved above her and she heard Grigor stir.
“Five minutes,” Taras’s voice murmured into her head.
The patter of hooves cut through the sound of the rain. Grigor raised his arm high, and every infernal fell silent. Horses whinnied as the Compagnon caravan approached.
The advance riders rode into the clearing. A few of them appeared to be battlemages, using magic to keep cigarettes lit or the rain off them with protective bubbles. Other mercenaries glared at the mages while rain poured down their coats and helmets.
They were completely oblivious to the infernals lurking in the shadows. Chatter reached Fara’s ears, some of it in an unfamiliar language. A few of these men and women had come from very far away.
Not far behind the riders came the first of the remaining guards. Fara counted maybe thirty riders, and perhaps fifty soldiers in front of the caravan. She relayed these numbers to Taras, who would tell Grigor.
Behind the soldiers came the caravan itself. It moved slower now, as there wasn’t really a path, so much as a suggestion of where to go. Robert had chosen to go this way to avoid an ambush.
A shame he didn’t know about the invisible Malakin lurking in his ceiling when he discussed this in secret.
Speaking of Robert, Fara spotted him sitting on one of the wagons. He didn’t waste energy protecting himself from rain, but he didn’t walk with his mercenaries, and the roof of the wagon kept him drier than most.
The mage had a grim expression on his face. He looked to the side, troubled by something.
He was very close to them. Did he…?
Robert’s eyes widened. Fara mindspoke with Taras to warn Grigor. Robert shot up, one hand crackling with energy.
Grigor roared.
That was the signal to attack.
Fire rippled along both sides of the caravan as the Ashen summoned hellfire into their hands. The demons charged forward, brandishing their weapons but remaining silent. Screaming in the dark would give away their position.
Fara cast two quick arrays, enhancing her strength and speed. Then she darted forward, making a beeline for Robert.
A monstrous mass of darkness flew through the air. It crashed down in front of the caravan. A moment later, Grigor’s axe slammed into the ground and Fara felt a surge of magic tear the ground asunder.
Massive spikes of earth burst from the ground in front of Grigor for well over a hundred feet. Men and horses were sent flying or were torn to pieces. Caravans exploded, sending their contents everywhere.
The clearing filled with screams and shouts as Grigor split the battlefield in half in one go.
That had been another one of his Gifts. The demon prince had gathered several in his long life, Fara had learned. This one allowed him to conjure a line of earth spikes in front of him.
“Demons!” somebody screamed. “They’re fucking monsters! Run!”
The panic grew. Many of the mercenaries didn’t try to fight. They simply ran. Horses charged off into the forest. Many of them slammed into trees or tripped over on the brush.
The demons didn’t care. They cut through every enemy in their path. Their runic weapons sliced through steel plate like butchers’ knives cutting up meat. Hellfire gave the forest an eerie red glow as the Ashen lit everything up.
Fara felt a snap of magic. A spiral of golden light split the air a second later, flying toward Grigor. Fire and ash split apart in the path of the magical blast.
The demon prince raised his axe. The blast slammed into it and exploded.
Looking for the source, Fara saw Robert standing on top of a burning wagon. The mage’s robe was charred and burned, along with his beard. Magic crackled along his arms and his eyes glowed with fury. Several heavily armored knights stood around him, weapons raised in defensive stances.
Fara’s tails moved. All four of them. The number of tails she used to cast an array determined its strength. The power rippling off Robert indicated that she needed to make this count.
Instantly, the mage spotted her. His eyes widened and he scowled.
“Retreat,” Robert shouted. He leaped down from the caravan, then darted away several times faster than any human could possibly run.
His guards attempted to follow him, but he rapidly outpaced them. Fara caught them within seconds. She brought them all down with a series of quick blows, shattering bones and armor alike.
Her array finished, and she sighted Robert in the distance. Focusing her attention, she fired her spell at him.
Again, the mage sensed her magic. He turned at the last second. Her force blast struck him at the same moment that a spiral of magic burst forth.
Fara had a moment to react before the spiral struck her. She dove to one side. Her tails tried desperately to deflect the spell. Pain blossomed in her side as the blast shredded her side, as she only stopped the worst of it.
In the distance, Robert bent over double. He vomited up blood and the contents of his stomach. Fara had hit him with a solid blast of force, capable of shattering steel and turning stone blocks into dust.
But the mage rose despite how bad his internal injuries must be.
Fara grabbed her side. It felt warm. Blood, she confirmed. Lots of it. But she was good enough to keep fighting.
A crash behind her.
Looking up, Fara saw Grigor standing over her. His axe practically glowed with blood. As did his entire body. He was a vision of death, standing in front of burning wagons and dozens of corpses.
“Fara, you are hurt,” Grigor said. His maw twisted.
“I’m fine,” she said. “He’s a combat magister. I’ll need to disrupt his magic, then take him out.”
“I am done here,” Grigor said, clearly referring to the caravan. “We shall finish him together.”
His tone brooked no compromise.
Robert ran into the forest. His expression was one of pure determination. He refused to die here and had the strength to nearly pull it off.
Fara raced behind him and watched as Grigor leaped across the trees. Branches exploded as he crashed into them. The demon prince swung using the trunks themselves, as nothing else could reliably support his weight. Grigor didn’t need to use magic to run really fast if he could leap hundreds of feet at a time.
The worst part was the silence. Grigor didn’t scream or roar. His four eyes glowed beneath his mask as he relentlessly pursued his prey.
Not for the first time, Fara was reminded of the immense power that Rys had under his command. Grigor followed Rys without question, and the two were thick as thieves.
Grigor got close enough, so Fara began casting an array. This one was a disruption array, which was one of the specialties of black-tailed foxes. Disruption magic interfered with the magical energy of other spellcasters. It was one of the few things that Fara felt she was genuinely talented at.
With a truly massive leap, Grigor flung himself at Robert. As before, the mage sensed Grigor and turned.
Robert’s magical senses were frustratingly sharp, but that wouldn’t matter this time.
Grigor hurled his axe at Robert as he descended. Robert let out a bloodcurdling shout and slammed his fist into the axe. A blast of golden light nearly blinded Fara and knocked the axe aside. Robert’s hand exploded in a shower of gore despite his spell, causing him to scream in pain.
Then Grigor landed just short of Robert. The mage turned and tried to run, but Fara’s spell snapped into place. The mage ran, but at normal speed as his physical empowerment failed. He tripped, expecting to move far faster than he did.
Rolling over, Robert tried to gather energy for another spell. Fara batted that aside as well.
She watched as Grigor stepped up to Robert and turned him into a stain on the ground with his bare fists. Afterward, the demon prince straightened up and let out a long sigh.
Rain drizzled down Grigor’s body and mask. It intermingled with the blood covering him.
Fara left him alone for a few moments. Then she approached him, her muscles straining as she carried his axe. Her magic helped her, but it was still obscenely heavy.
“You dropped this,” she said, holding it up.
Grigor looked down at her for a moment. She tried not to feel small.
“Thank you,” he said. He reached down and hefted it over his shoulder. “We need to report our success to Rys.” He began to walk away.
Fara bit her lip. “Grigor, I’m sorry.”
“For?”
“I didn’t help much this time,” she blurted out. “You even had to kill Robert.”
Grigor turned and faced her. He stared at her for several long seconds.
“I chose to help you defeat him. But I have faith that you would have succeeded,” he said. “It was your disruption magic that allowed me to defeat him without a scratch.”
Fara looked away. Were those platitudes? She’d waited for the chance to finally fight, and it had come, but was she really necessary?
“Victories should be celebrated,” Grigor said, standing right in front of her. “Perhaps we should join Rys for a drink when we return. He will enjoy hearing you tell him about this.”
Fara blinked. That was a first. Grigor and Rys always drank together, but never with others.
Before she could answer, the demon prince strode away, carrying his axe over his shoulder. The caravan burned in the distance, smoke and steam rising into the air. The cheering of the infernals filled the night.
Maybe they weren’t her kin and this wasn’t Pharos, but Fara supposed she could get used to this.
She ran to catch up to Grigor, and they walked back to the rest of the group. Once they returned to Castle Aion, she had some drinks with Rys and Grigor. Too many, in fact.
But she refused to tell anybody that Rys carried her to bed that night, or that she remembered it. Vallis would never let her hear the end of it.