The Devil's Grasp Read online

  The lumbering man-creature bore down on Haddaman. Feeling he had little choice, Haddaman brandished his sword and spun with all the force he could muster. The blade sunk deep within the creature’s arm, but did little damage other than to slow its pace. Having performed such a desperate maneuver midstride, Haddaman fell victim to momentum, then gravity.

  Staring from a prone position, Haddaman couldn’t even escape the waning shadow of the man-creature. Each step it took brought with it a more fetid stench, foreshadowing doom. He guessed the rhythmic gurgling emanating from its wheezing lungs was a putrid form of laughter as it tore Haddaman’s sword from its arm, readying it to strike. Feeling foolish for dismissing prayer for a silent curse about the moisture from the ground soaking through his pants, chilling his haunches, he instinctively raised his arm to protect his face. However, had he been any quicker, he might have missed the barrage of arrows tearing into the creature’s skull.

  Before the creature fell, Glindos pulled Haddaman by the scruff to join him and Barrett behind the tree.

  “Are you daft, man?” Glindos scorned. “You should have aimed for the head! You always aim for the head! Don’t you know anything?”

  Haddaman could do nothing but seethe as he looked over his shoulder to watch Dearborn and her horse fade from his sight….

  Eight

  “Tallon, stop that.”

  Tallia’s voice seemed shrill to her own ear, but only due to the nature of the circumstances, she surmised. She sat upon a rock in quiet repose, while her brother stood a few feet to her left. He had gathered a handful of stones from the dirt and cobbled road at his feet and tossed them one at a time into the woods in what Tallia knew to be a show of indifference.

  “I hate waiting, Tallia,” he said.

  Tallia looked over at her brother, studying his visage. There it is, she thought. His left eye twitched spasmodically whenever he was nervous. There again. At least we share the same distaste on this matter.

  “Tallon,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

  With his back still towards her, he turned his head to indicate that he had heard her and she should continue—the nuances of communicating with a twin.

  “I’m scared. And it’s obvious that you are, too …”

  “I’m not scared,” he said. His voice rang out, startling a few birds into flight from their perch in a nearby tree. Pausing from his stone throwing, he turned to face her. “I’m not scared of anything. Or anyone.” He suddenly looked away from her and rubbed his twitching eyes. “Damn all this dust. Dries my eyes.”

  “It isn’t the dust, Tallon. It’s your nerves.”

  He opened his mouth as if to retort, but she cut him off. “This isn’t a simple case of cloak and dagger anymore. This is for real. If Daedalus finds out we met this man …”

  Tallon picked up the skein of her thought and extrapolated. “But if we don’t meet with Praeker, then he will think it a betrayal …” He lifted his head and locked stares with her. “Look, Tallia, maybe this man isn’t at all like we’ve heard. I mean, isn’t fear simply conjecture about the unknown anyway? Once we meet him and start to figure him out a little bit, he won’t be so alien to us. And nothing that is known is to be feared.” His eye fluttered. He turned from her again and muttered, “And it is too the dust.”

  Tallon went back to tossing pebbles. Those actions he could control. The time passing from seconds to minutes, he could not. Nor, his eye. Another rub, another mumble. “Damnable dust.”

  “Might I suggest that you employ a helmet?”

  Tallon jerked around at the stranger’s words, involuntarily backpedaling as his mind struggled to comprehend what his eyes were seeing. Before him stood what he presumed to be the man they were to meet—and a veritable monstrous one at that.

  For an instant, swirls of dust wreathed the figure before him. Tallon tried to scrutinize him, but his form seemed to be in constant motion, swaying one way, then undulating the other. No, just his armor seemed to move, a repetitive series of clicks coming from it. He was dressed in a full suit of ornate armor fashioned of foreign, green material. Plates overlapped each other, always shifting to hide potential openings, even at the greave.

  Upon his head sat a full helm, offering both protection and anonymity. An opening two fingers thick ran horizontally to keep his vision unencumbered, but the whole was covered by the relief of a scorpion facing downwards, the stinger of its tail looping down over his nose. The body of the creature hid the man’s mouth to such an extent that no indication of facial hair could be ascertained. His eyes gleamed like twin emeralds floating in a pool of spoiled milk. “Forgive me if I startled you. For some reason, my presence leaves people … unsettled.”

  “N … no … not a problem, friend,” Tallon said, forcing his words past a jaw that refused to cooperate.

  Tallia rose gracefully from her roost, her lean, supple body swaying in the manner of a charmed snake. She had learned at a young age what power a simple pout, the promise of parted lips, or the display of an ample bosom allowed a woman to exert over the simple-minded male species.

  “You didn’t startle us, sir. Our minds were merely occupied with other things and we failed to take notice of your approach,” she said with breathy tones, her stage fright dissipating once she assumed the role of a character that she had acted many times before.

  As she approached him, she took full notice of his size. Tallon was of average height for a man, and Tallia had only to stand on her tiptoes to look him full in the eye. This man was a full two heads taller than Tallon. The crown of her head would be swallowed within the hollow of this man’s breast, she realized. And of his width … she estimated that Tallon’s chest would need to double or triple to match what this monstrous man offered.

  “Ah, where the brother falters, the sister is quick to assist. As inseparable as light and shadow. I wonder, lass, which more correctly describes you. You both reek of mischief and deception. As false as vanity and as reversed as a reflection. Mark me well. I do not trust either of you. But neither do I worry over it. As liaisons of your prince, you need only speak the requisite amount of fear into his ear. He must never forget that his position is one of fealty to me.”

  “Mercenary rabble,” Tallon said in retort.

  “Your voice returns, bolstered by a false courage. Let this be the last time you ever address me, boy.” With two quick strides the armored man made his way to Tallon and gripped him about the throat with his right hand, casually lifting him clear off the ground with a minimum of motion. “Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yef,” Tallon said amid as much head nodding as he could muster from his restricted position. Trying to relieve any amount of spinal pain caused by gravity’s pull, he grabbed the hulking forearm of his assailant. For a moment fear shifted to pensive bewilderment as he felt the monstrous man’s green-plated armor shift and scuttle under his grasp. He relinquished his grip as he saw a number of scorpion tails arise from between the plates.

  With a dramatic sigh to show his boredom, the armored behemoth dropped Tallon as well as the young man’s ego. “Now, to what do I owe the … pleasure?”

  Tallia slithered her way closer to answer the question. “Simple. To strike a deal. To offer you something you don’t have.”

  “I am Praeker Trieste! I command The Horde! My name alone shrivels the hearts of all men who hear it! What could you possibly have, girl, that I could want?” he asked.

  “What is the one thing that separates warlords from generals? Gods from men? You from the vermin you command?”

  Tallia could see his eyes squint through the slit of his moss-hued helmet, the way a cat’s do before it turns a mouse into dinner. She heard his patience wane through gritted teeth as he growled, “Power.”

  “What topples kingdoms or turns a flailing attack into a mighty ambush?”

  “Information.”

  “Exactly!”

  “I grow weary of your games, girl!”

  Fully compos
ed from his embarrassing indiscretion, Tallon stepped in, adding, “Daedalus views you as a puppet.”

  Praeker clenched his fists, bone and armor cracking, as he turned toward Tallon. “Have you not learned your lesson …?”

  Fighting every urge to run or let loose his bladder, Tallon continued, “You recently razed Balford’s Bounty, did you not? Did your reconnaissance teams meet resistance from the king’s Elite Troop?”

  Stopping in his tracks, Praeker growled again. “They killed a dozen of my soldiers. Continue.”

  “He is playing both sides of the game. Hedging his bet. You see, Daedalus is looking for the stones as well.”

  “What!” the mammoth warlord bellowed. His armor chattered and clicked, springing to life as a hundred score pincers and poison-tipped tails popped up, preparing to strike. “Even that pompous whelp would not be so foolish!”

  Unnerved by Praeker Trieste’s pernicious suit of living armor, Tallon forced himself to quell his fear. “Our dear cousin views everyone he meets as a puppet. Even us.”

  “Yes,” Tallia said, looking into the forest as if watching a ghostly play upon a phantom theater unfold. She pulled her wrap that lay over her shoulders tightly across her bosom. “We are nothing more than his play things.”

  “Even you, Praeker. Or is it Lord Trieste?” Tallon continued, trying to judge how far to twist the proverbial dagger. “You are but a toy to Daedalus. Is that the deal you made with him?”

  “Far from it,” Praeker replied as his armor’s angry protrusions tucked themselves away. “But how do I know you two view the world any differently?”

  Tallon felt as if his skin moved and shifted the same way Praeker Trieste’s armor did; the many creatures that formed it readjusted themselves, once again making a seamless shell over their master. “You know very well what they say about ‘the enemy of my enemy,’ don’t you?”

  “Aye. But I have yet to hear what you have to offer?”

  “Weapons!” Tallia’s voice held the desire to use them. “Far superior to what Daedalus supplies.”

  “How so?”

  “Daedalus gives you pikes with wooden handles. We will get you solid steel. He supplies you bows, we’ll supply crossbows. Your troops will have broadswords instead of short swords.”

  Praeker Trieste squinted, his mind reeling from the girl’s words. All prior forms of negotiating he had ever done with anyone consisted of him crushing the windpipe of whomever he was negotiating with while holding them perilously close to fire, spike, venomous scorpion tails, or some combination of the three. However, if her words held truth, he doubted that he could procure the goods by threatening her life, or her brother’s. Wondering how to proceed without attempting to rend the siblings limb from limb, he sat upon the very rock she had perched upon moments earlier. The boulder settled further into the ground, groaning from the sheer size of him sitting upon it. Finally, he fought against his every urge and surrendered to logic. “What do you want from me?”

  “What do we want?” Tallia repeated. “The same as you, Lord Trieste. Power.”

  “I do not see where this is going.”

  “If you … when you finally get all the stones, this continent will easily succumb to your mighty grip. And then you will move on to others. I do not know entirely what powers the stones will bequeath to you, but I do not believe omnipotence is among them. You will need assistance managing your affairs. My brother and I simply wish to be in your employ.”

  “I will have armies of thousands by then. Your ‘assistance’ is certainly not needed.”

  “From the tales we have been told, your armies are made for fighting, not thinking. Can you honestly think of one soldier, one general or commander, you would entrust with the governorship of this continent while you conquer others?”

  Even though the warlord was seated, Tallia still needed to gaze upward to look into his eyes. They possessed the warmth of mildewed tombstones while he pondered her question. “Surely, your cousin would offer you the same position if he were to claim the stones.”

  “Surely, he will not.”

  “And you prefer allegiance to a monster than to family?”

  “I assure you,” Tallia said, clutching her cowl, again drawing it across her chest. “There is more than one kind of monster.”

  “Come, Sister,” Tallon said, holding out his hand. “Let us leave him to his thoughts.”

  “We’ll be in contact soon, Lord Trieste. We know that our cousin will soon be meeting with you in this very spot. Remember our words,” Tallia said as she took comfort in her brother’s hand. Without so much as a backward glance, the twins followed the dirt path, awakening dusty specters with every step, over the knoll and out of Praeker Trieste’s sight.

  Praeker Trieste could only savor mere moments, pondering the offer laid before him, before he had to turn his attention to another matter. Daedalus, approached from the other end of the dirt path. There he sat, third born of King Theomann, stick straight and peacock proud, atop a steed that could outrival any of the land. Gifted with such a pristine gait, the creature’s hooves released not a single swirl of dust from the road. Praeker Trieste forgot more battles in the past decade than most generals fight in a lifetime, yet, there was no pain greater than in the pit of his stomach and no wound deeper than that done to his pride knowing he had to deal with the likes of Daedalus.

  “Good day, my great comrade!” Daedalus shouted once within earshot.

  Again detesting the world of diplomacy in which he had found himself, Praeker Trieste fought the urge to rip out Daedalus’s gizzard and bite each of his limbs to crack them like chicken bones. He simply stood from the stone and allowed the milquetoast to approach before saying, “What reason have you for not informing me of the Elite Troop’s involvement?”

  Daedalus remained on his mount. He had done so for every meeting with Praeker Trieste, feeling he needed the horse’s height to compensate for his lack of physical prowess when next to the warlord. “I bid thee fine greetings and this is …”

  Desperately grasping at his patience as it slid down a slippery slope, Praeker Trieste gritted his teeth. “I lost soldiers.”

  “Yes. Well, obviously not very good ones!” Daedalus made no effort to conceal his disdain for someone interrupting him. “I made no mention of it to you, because I had no knowledge of it! My father tells me next to nothing, and my eldest brother, who happens to command the Elite Troop, tells me even less!

  “Not to mention, though I’m sure the thought has already occurred to you, should your army strike with impunity and loose nary a man, then it should quickly become pretty obvious that you are receiving help. That tends to tighten even the most willing lips. I suggest, therefore, that this was not a total loss and that things went splend …”

  “That’s just it,” roared the giant. “If this is to be a joint venture, then I require input as well. I do not doubt the validity of some of your statements. I think you know more than you admit, perhaps. But I, and I alone, shall control the effects of attrition. To my army, a dozen men is but a single tear from a woman suddenly bereft of husband and babe. But these dozen men were mine to march into death, not yours!”

  His emerald eyes blazed with the passion of his words. Though he couldn’t see it, Daedalus imagined spittle running the length of Trieste’s chin. Such unbridled rage made a man stronger but more prone to tactical error in the prince’s mind. Daedalus quickly made up his mind to stay well out of the behemoth’s arms-length during these fits of rage; however, he would not be cowed either.

  “Praeker, in the interest of compromise, I will concede the point. If such knowledge is mine to share, then I will make every effort to communicate it to you; however, you will never again hold me responsible for those things I am not privy to, nor will you ever again doubt me. If I say I do not know, then the conversation is terminated. Are we clear?”

  At this, the colossus that was Praeker Trieste swelled even larger. His eyes sparkled beneath the sheen of hi
s slivered helmet. Daedalus knew the foundation of their alliance was made more of old wood than of cement, but he had been compelled to deal with this man as he would any other. For the first time, Prince Daedalus, third son of King Theomann, knew fear. He regarded it with the same disdain he reserved for all other emotions, though it was difficult to dismiss the physiological changes that accompanied it. He could ignore the profuse sweating, but his throat was tight and threatened to close off completely under the attack of that pervasive stare.

  With nary a word, and a dearth of motion, the warlord moved to the side of the prince’s steed, his arms outstretched towards it. The horse, sensing the seething of emotions, tried to skitter nervously away, but Daedalus, refusing to let go of his pride, rigidly held the reins and the beast proved well-trained, holding its ground. Praeker’s hands slid smoothly under the belly of the beast, stopping only when they cupped the other side. Without so much as the release of a breath, Praeker Trieste lifted rider and mount skyward not stopping until they were both held aloft an arm’s length above his head.

  “By the gods,” swore Daedalus. Incredulity and fear struggled for control of the battleground of his mind.

  “Normally, Prince, I would have centered my efforts on you, but that would have left you dead—hardly befitting my diplomatic mood. As you can surmise, I am not a man known for legendary self-restraint, nor will I ever be confused as a great arbiter of compromises. Now I suggest that we recommence this meeting, minus the exchange of pleasantries since we have already progressed well beyond that point. What say you? And remember, your vote does not count.”