Demon Singer II (5 page)

Chapter 3

              "Fugue, how are you?" General Sabre shook the swordsman's hand vigorously. "We were glad to find you absent among the dead after the war. I assumed you moved on."

              Fugue's easy smile lit up his youthful features.  Closer examination revealed crow's feet and the burden of years not immediately apparent on the mercenary's face.  The two men sat at a large oak table across from one another.  Sabre smiled in amusement as Fugue checked his phone out of habit then set it on the table in exasperation.  Visitors from outside Markhato tended to forget modern technology didn't behave in the heavily warded city.

              "I got separated from that woman you sent me with to attack Melody. Cadence was her name I think? She was a badass and a half wasn't she?” The general nodded his agreement. The reports he received of Cadence's fighting prowess were the stuff of legend. Fugue continued. “I managed to move fast enough through the fighting to keep things good and confused.  I hid in a tent long enough to steal some different clothes, then came out the other side and joined the hunt for myself." Fugue's grin widened. "By the time the war had shifted and Rondeaux's mind juju wore off everyone, I had been pressed into service in Company Thirteen.

              Fugue shook his head.

              “Bunch of nasty bastards. We were led by this young guy, Connor Lot. It seemed like everyone but him was eager to quit the fighting and go home.  Connor insisted there was more coming. More of what, he didn't say, but he was obviously waiting for something. Eventually this guy showed up out of the blue and offered us more violence and blood. Connor jumped at the chance, so Company thirteen marched east for a while. We made it twenty miles before I was able to slip away."

              “This stranger, what can you tell me about him?”

              “That he almost died, because…”

              Fugue paused, staring off into space. He seemed hesitant to continue. Eventually he said. “I didn't get a good look at his face, general, and you have to believe I have nothing but the utmost respect for you and your men, but he was wearing a uniform of the Milleytes Lux. Connor shouted down the men before they could slaughter him.”

              Sabre immediately recalled the note from the Dwarven King. He knew none of his men had harmed a dwarf, regardless of what the King thought. But Thenso being wrong about a member of the Milleytes Lux killing dwarves didn't mean there wasn't a soldier in a Milleytes Lux uniform killing dwarves. Connor Lot sounded psychotic and dangerous, but he also sounded simple; like an angry hammer. The man wielding him, however, sounded like a potential threat. Anyone with the gumption to disguise themselves as a member of the Lux and murder dwarves in the heart of Markhato had to be taken seriously. He was a threat to the dwarves, and a threat to Markhato herself.

              Of course, after recent events he considered most things to be a threat to Markhato.

              "Can you tell me anything else about this man?"

              Fugue shook his head.   

              "All I know is that he’s taking Company Thirteen along with what's left of Melody's army east and expects to meet no resistance.  Connor has a serious dude crush on this guy, and Company Thirteen does whatever Connor says without question."  Fugue shrugged.  "Truth be told, I was more interested in getting out with my skin intact than collecting information."

              Sabre nodded his understanding.

              "I'll reach out to some of our informants and put together a threat assessment. Thank you for bringing this to my attention."

              "What will you do now, Fugue?" Maddy asked, setting sandwiches in front of the men and joining them at the table.  Sabre glanced fondly at his wife.  She never needed an invitation to be where he was.

              Fugue shrugged.

              "I don't suppose the Milleytes Lux would relax their requirements enough to take on a good sword?" His tone indicated jest, but his eyes were in earnest.  Noale shook his head.

              "I'm sorry. I heard great reports about you and how you fought for us against Rondeaux.  I'd take you on as a city guard in a heartbeat, but the Milleytes Lux is unbeaten for a reason. I cannot afford to make an exception, even for someone exceptional.  You are completely invisible to the second sight. That alone is enough to make the men nervous, and trust is essential in the Milleytes Lux. If you stick around Markhato, I can put a good word in for you with whomever you like, but I can't put you in the corps."

              "I understand," Fugue spoke around a mouthful of roast beef and swiss. "I appreciate the offer, but I figure I'll make my way east myself. Word reached me on my way back here that Gar Lich is headed to town. The truth of the matter is I'd rather face the possibility of running into Company Thirteen again than face that guy."

              "Gar Lich?  The zombie boss?" Sabre asked in confusion.  "He's not welcome in Markhato. Why would he come here?"

              Fugue smiled innocently.

              "Rumor has it, someone absconded with a healthy portion of his work force. He's due to arrive in the morning to investigate."

              "The Polynesians?" Sabre looked at Fugue suspiciously.  "Didn't you bring them here? Isn't that a big part of the reason you landed in the dungeon?"

              Fugue shrugged.

              “You tell me, I was told it was because I glow weird.”

              “You don't glow at all, how did you get them past the main gate?”

              “They were all licensed, so I just came in.”

              “How the hell did you get all those zombies licensed? The limit is two per individual!”

              “I met a guy in Largo that needed a phoenix feather. We helped each other out.”

              Sabre waited for him to continue, but Fugue just smiled and kept chewing his sandwich. The general shook his head, he couldn't police the whole world.

              "He can have them back for all I care.  They're awfully high functioning for zombies. They can't be corralled as easily as the shamblers. But don't have the self control of the sentinels. I have to waste a lot of manpower watching them so they don't try to eat the other workers. The advantages to having zombies around in war time tend to disappear when the war does."

              "I'm sure Gar would love to have them returned. Problem is, he'd also love to have my head... on a pointy stick." The mercenary grimaced at the thought.

              Sabre nodded, unsurprised that Lich would seek retribution.  The zombie boss had a reputation for what he liked to refer to as “public displays of correction”.  Noale didn't like Fugue's chances if Gar got his meat hooks into him.

              "If I see him, I'll make sure he knows you're on your way south, hunting chupacabra. Want me to send one of the Lux to escort you?"

              "I appreciate the offer," Fugue answered, "but I intend to disappear. Once I hit the east coast I think maybe I'll head across the pond for a while."

              Sabre made use of his napkin and folded his hands in front of him.

              "So then, what can I do for you, Fugue? I assume you didn't seek me out to share sandwiches and travel itineraries."

              "Gar is many things, general, all of them awful, but stupid is not one of them. He won't trust your information, he'll have sources here in the city that will help him find me much quicker than I'd like. I wouldn't object if you found a way to slow him down."

              Sabre nodded and stood, offering his hand.  Fugue shook it as he stood as well.

              "I haven't forgotten your service during the war.  I'm sure I can manage something.  Travel safe."

*   *   *   *   *

              Trytohn sat on the bank of the boiling  river Acheron, the hellish manifestation of his favorite demoness where she ran along the border of Hell and the Verge. He quietly caressed the burning waters with his fingers. Genuine sadness plagued him over having to handle his beloved Acheron so roughly, but gentler means had yielded no results. She wouldn't last long in her current form without her magic, so he was confident he'd have her back soon.

              He admired the tree he was leaning against.  He'd only just grown it. The Thunder Monks who had delivered Acheron's magic to him hung from its branches, gently swaying back and forth.  

              The Fairy King had guaranteed their safety. He would be annoyed that Trytohn killed them. Oh well, part of the thrill of doing business with the Prince of Darkness was knowing at some point he'd surprise you.

              It didn't matter. By the time the Monks  learned who they were bringing the magic to it was too late. Trytohn was expecting them and didn't give them an opportunity to escape.

              The king of hell wasn't worried about reprisals. The offer Oberon had made them was too sweet to pass up, even at the cost of their brethren.  A cure existed for their daughters and he had it.  No longer would they father girls who died before seeing sixteen years.  They could keep their dancing as well as their children.

              Then there was the deal Oberon made with him. Oberon himself, who for centuries had avoided significant involvement in celestial politics, promised to remove Acheron's magic and deliver it to Trytohn. All he asked for in return was a few runes from Trytohn's personal alphabet.

              Trytohn was no fool.  He knew the Fairy King would use his runes to attempt some foolishness down the road.  He was also quite certain it would fail as had countless others before him.

              Trytohn had weathered so many attempted coups he considered them mere exercise these days. Though he had to admit he didn't see this current attempt by his lovely Lisian coming, it was more a disappointment than a surprise.

              Everyone seemed to think replacing him would make his power their own. In truth, even if he could be beaten, his powers weren't transferable.

              His generals, the Nychta Polemistis, were all very aware of how his magic worked.  Lisian knew that defeating him was not only impossible for any hellion, but pointless. He was protected by the Composer's will and couldn't be killed until his appointed time. Yet she was fostering a rebellion that possessed no grace, no discretion, no strategy.   

              Her puppet goddess, Melody, and her army threw all their might at Markhato and failed.  Now they were taking the tattered remains of that debacle and preparing to march through the Verge and into hell itself, that is, if they could find an entrance that wouldn't kill them. Getting onto and off of the Verge was impossible for most creatures. Angels, demons and a precious few supernaturals could come and go at will. For everyone else though, travel to or from the Verge was problematic at best.

              Trytohn chuckled, silly children.

              If Acheron were the one to make an attempt, it might be unsettling.  She still wouldn't win, but at least she was sneaky and smart.

              Lisian was nothing more than a blunt object. On the very slim chance she got her army to Hell's gates, she would be deeply saddened to find him well prepared.

              His thoughts drifted lazily back to his beloved Acheron.  It was unseemly, this ridiculous business of a hellion latching onto a Soul Singer.  He had watched the whole thing happen from his scrying bowl, shocked that it was even possible. Lisian, as always, was ready to do her sister grievous harm and sever the tie before Acheron could leave the Verge, but he wouldn't let her. Why pass up a chance to study the Soul Singers Guild in their natural habitat? He could learn what he needed and then destroy them at his leisure. It was brilliant.

              So he let Acheron go, watching from a distance as she followed the tie to the crossing point where the Guild lay. He saw her fight with Cadence, the warrior Queen, who had apparently grabbed the same tie. That was an interesting development.

              Cadence was one of the few on the Verge strong enough to pose a challenge to the demoness. Rumor had it she was trained by Michael himself.  That was one of the reasons Trytohn allowed her to be queen.  He needed someone that his generals, the Nychta Polemistis, respected.  
Especially
Acheron. She respected no one.

              From Trytohn’s perspective, Acheron tying to the Soul Singer was a huge win. He had felt the weakening of the Guild in recent years. They were fat and lazy and ripe for destruction. As the Power of Destruction, Acheron was certain to bring any young Singer to his knees. The poor sap would enjoy every second of it too. All the way up to the point he surrendered his life to her.

              But then came the ugly shock.

              Acheron's tie to this human completely blacked out Trytohn's ability to tap into her power.  It was irksome; as though a limb had been severed. Worse, he grimaced, one of his favorite limbs.  He had not foreseen this particular wrinkle, and immediately regretted letting her go. By then it was too late.  Acheron had been pulled into the Soul Singer's Guild and was beyond his reach inside those walls. All he could do was wait and see how she fared.