Brea
The servant’s quarters, as Kozog had promised, unlocked from the inside. She cleaned off as much of the demon’s blood off Kozog as she could, and then the two of them slipped away into the growing twilight.
She hid her trembling hands from him until her nerve returned, after Kozog led them to a cheap and nasty inn near the edge of town and checked them in.
The place was a dilapidated, deserted hole in a wall surrounded by Marcelin’s unwanted and unwashed. She didn’t care; it seemed safe enough, and she flopped down on the diminutive bed at the centre of their tiny room. Was this a room for a halfling?
“Mine,” she said. “You get the floor. Nap time.”
“Actually,” said Kozog, standing in the doorway. “This is where I leave you.” He held up a hand. “For the moment.”
She rolled onto her back, staring at him. “Wait, you’re not staying here tonight?”
“I would, but it’s probably better I don’t stay here. That was a genuine demon, and a powerful one too, all within the walls of Marcelin. I have to report this.”
“Lots of paperwork,” said Brea. “That should make you happy.” She considered, sliding out of the bed and moving out to the doorway. “How will you explain how we got down here in the basement? This building is supposed to be in lockdown.”
“That part will be easy,” he said. “I’ll blame it on some crazy Freelander I saw breaking into my house. This kind of thing should pass magical interrogation as, technically, you were the one who entered first. Clearly I, as a civilly minded priest of the church of Tyranus, who is oath-sworn to upload the law and protect the people from thugs and brigands—”
“Hey!”
“—should, with heavy heart, be forced to violate the seizure order in order to apprehend the suspect and preserve justice.” He smiled. “Unfortunately, the villain got away. However, in doing so I was able to discover a demonic infiltrator in the basement, which I defeated.” He pointed to his missing tusk. “And suffered terribly in the doing so. A humble sacrifice, willingly made, to preserve the peace.”
“Won’t it look suspicious, you finding a demon in your own house?”
“Demonologists often speculate that demons arise in areas of profound corruption with obvious signs of their taint, or alternatively, in areas more pure than others. Honestly, as there are no gaping maws to the Hells in my bedroom, this will work in my favour.”
“This is all okay,” said Brea. “Except it makes a criminal out of me.”
“All elves look alike,” said Kozog. “I’ll be sure to give a vague enough description that nobody can pin this back on you, knife-ears.”
“Bah, broccoli-face.” Typical. She sighed, tossing her hands into the air, and then regarded him. He seemed…sickly. Weak. Tired. Afraid? “Hey, greenie. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” Kozog said, which Brea could tell was a huge big stinking lie. There was that word again. Fine.
“You sure?” she asked. “Because you look like shit. You should get some sleep.”
He laughed and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. When it finally did, the words came from within; she knew he spoke his mind without reservation. “I don’t want to sleep just yet. Sometimes when I sleep I see my mother’s eyes, ten years ago. I see the pain, the terror as she tried, all in vain, to stay the hand of her husband’s executioner. She had spells, connections politically and socially, as well as might in battle; but still my father fell. The pain she felt…I was only nine when I saw it. I cannot put it into words. It is something only an orc feels. Teetering on the edge of madness and terror; of fear and fury. The bloodrage. I felt this today, and now I am afraid that one day it will consume me. I tremble, thinking what the only outcome for me will be.
“For years, my mother was possessed by a hopeless desire to throw her life away for something useless and pointless and incomprehensible: hot-blooded revenge. Yet, for all her passion and desire, she failed. To succeed if I am ever in her boots, I will need power, and in Valamar you have the church or you have nothing. My mother taught me that.”
“So that’s why you joined,” she said. “The church, I mean.”
“Yes.”
Brea would need some time to digest that. “Well, we can talk about it later. In the meantime, what am I supposed to do?”
“Not sure,” said Kozog. “Banehal might have another contract for us. Maybe head back to the Freelands? I’ll meet you there.”
That wouldn’t work. “Banehal didn’t return to the Freelands,” she said. “He told me he had gone hunting slavers around Everwatch.”
Where I should be…
Kozolg hesitated. “You seem uncertain. Do you think Banehal betrayed the Army of the Open Fist?”
“No,” said Brea. That wasn’t it. “He was loyal and the defeat was as much of a shock to us as it was to him. I’m certain of it.”
“How can you know?”
“He’s a paladin, and he’s still got a full head of hair. Couldn’t be older than twenty.” She pursed her lips. “There’s an elven saying: Never trust an old man in a profession where the good die young.”
Kozog seemed to accept that. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“So,” asked Brea. “Neither of us have anywhere to go. We’re pariahs. What next?”
“I figure we split up for a bit, and regroup back in the Freelands.” Kozog hesitated, his red eyes flicking away. “If you wanted.”
“Oh,” she said, a whimsical smile playing over her lips. “We have a lot of adventures to share together, yet.”
“Until the end of my life,” Kozog promised.
“What if I die first?” asked Brea. It was a simple question. “What would you do then?”
“I never really thought about it. The alternative seems far more likely.” He absently rubbed at his broken tusk, leaning up against the door frame. “Few people know how long a half-orc can truly live. Misadventure claims us far before that. Our lives are brutish and short; yours are beautiful and long and full of wonder. I have no illusions. You’ll have many more comrades after me.” Something crept into his words she didn’t fully understand. Regret? “If us lasts my life, it must be fleeting for you. As if I were entangled with a half-orc who would be old and withered in five years, dead in ten. No small commitment, but hardly…” he could barely end it. “Important.”
“You are important.” Brea stressed the words. “But you’re far more likely to die from face-punching than you are from being old and grey, warm in your bed. Not at this rate. What are we going to do about that tooth?”
“It will regrow.” Kozog smiled crookedly. “You tell me that knife-ears can live for a hundred years but can’t regrow their teeth?”
“I never really thought about that,” Brea said. “But no, we can’t.”
“An example of how we’re different.” Kozog managed a weak smile, rubbing the wound over his chest. “Okay, time for you to go to bed, you silly little criminal.”
“Brea the Bandit.” She arched her back, closing her eyes. Artfully, employing all she had learnt throughout her life, Brea carefully dropped a hip, inhaling a breathy sigh. “Mmm,” she purred, “I’ve been such a bad girl. Maybe you should come in and spank me for a bit.”
He considered, and then, with a warm smile, slowly extended his hand.
“It’s okay,” said Kozog, patting her on the head. “Everyone makes mistakes.” He waved cordially. “Sleep well. I’ll see you soon!”
EPILOGUE
Heartbreaker
FOR A SUCCUBUS, DYING MEANT a trip home and a year’s banishment in the lower planes.
And it hurt like hell.
Heartbreaker’s body reformed in her spawning pool nestled deep within the pits, surrounded by roaring flames and the screams of the pitiful mortal souls sent to the heat and the dark.
Killed by her own weapon. How terribly embarrassing. She unfurled her wings, slipping out of the black fluid that had reformed into her body. A waterfall of the stuff trickl
ed in from a gargoyle statue’s mouth; the water was waist deep, more than enough for a hundred reformations.
She knew she should be careful. One could only afford to be killed once every generation or so, lest the fluid levels get too low, and some ambitious, lower ranked demons decided to make a claim on it. She had seen such things; such a battle would drain her resources away, as the two killed each other over and over, until one wasted away and the victor claimed the dark for themselves.
In the pit, one’s ability to have power was directly related to one’s ability to hold onto it.
Heartbreaker let the unholy rejuvenation fluid run off her, shaking her wings and wringing out her tail. She had been killed a score of times, or more, and each time was painful, uncomfortable, and distressing.
This time, the death was particularly rankling. She had been killed by someone infected by az’shelas, one of the pit’s more subtle creations. More of a disease than a living creature, the living called it a rotbringer. A foul demon who entered a mortal’s body through a wound, causing infection and decay to spread until they eventually could seize control of the host and use their body as their puppet.
When she had discovered the infection, she had thought az’shelas was in charge of the half-orc, but that mistake had cost her.
No matter. The half-orc would be long dead before her vengeance could be delivered.
Such a shame.
Read more of the world of Shattered Dreams in the novel-length story Ren of Atikala!
Brea and Kozog will return in The Pariahs: Freelands! Preorder now available!
FANTASY AND SCI-FI
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