The Demon Hunt

Another day, another prison,

Avilia thought glumly.

At least in this one the guards haven't come to molest me.

They hadn't come to execute her either, which was another mark in its favour. Still, given a choice, she wouldn't want to be in any gaol. She'd rather be on Farflier's back, soaring through the open sky. Adventure behind, adventure ahead, and the giant roc's powerful wings carrying her from the one to the other.

Or in bed with a lover, or perhaps two. Strong hands with long fingers gliding over her naked body, teasing her skin until she tingled, finding the sensitive areas that made her gasp. Lips firm but soft pressed against hers, or leaving a trail of burning kisses from her neck to her breasts and beyond...

She dragged her mind away from such imaginings. The beings that held her captive had shown no interest in her body -- had not even shown their faces at all since her capture. But she wasn't going to risk compromising her dignity by being caught with her hand down her breeches.

And so she rolled over on the strange cushion that served as a bed in her cell and tried to sleep some more. This place was strange and silent. There were no windows, and the door was visible only from its blue outline against the unusual white substance that covered the walls. Light had emanated from each of the corners when she was brought here. It had dimmed later, without going out entirely, presumably for her to rest. So she'd slept.

The light was still dim now, but it was impossible for her to guess how much time had passed. She felt rested, so it must have been the better part of the night. Tossing and turning, she lay awake, waiting for something to happen, replaying her capture in her mind.

She'd left Elring Castle in haste, guiding Farflier up in a steep climb. The soldiers below seemed to be distracted by their own fight with Prince Aran's men, but she didn't want to invite a lucky shot from a crossbow bolt.

Sligh had seemed confident that he could escape without difficulty. As annoying as he could be, she had to admit that he'd proven himself capable when given a chance to prepare. If he said he could make it off the tower, and that his lizard would get him to safety, she had every reason to believe he was telling the truth.

She made it to their rendezvous point by early morning. Without any idea of how far a riding-lizard could carry a man, or how fast, she expected to be waiting for a while before he arrived.

So she'd stripped Farflier of his harness and saddle, rubbed the feathers on the back of his neck and sent him off to hunt for breakfast. She'd eaten her own meal, contemplating what she'd do to Sligh if he tried to make off with the gold they'd stolen. Then she'd rolled herself in her blanket, gazed out over the open countryside before her, and fallen asleep.

She'd woken to find three tall, thin beings standing over her, spears pointed at her chest.

Shadowguards!

She knew immediately why they were there.

Black-eyed and grey-skinned, they spent their long lives killing demons. That was as much as Avilia knew about them -- as much as anyone knew, perhaps. It was all she'd ever needed to know. Some months earlier she'd stumbled across a Shadowguard and seized the opportunity. After an encounter with a fear-eating demon, she'd decided she needed its demon-killing blade.

So she'd set up an ambush and surprised it. It had fought hard, but in the end, bleeding from cuts all over her body, she'd managed to drive her spear into its stomach. As it lay gasping and bleeding, the light fading from its eyes, she'd taken the long grey blade for her own and walked away.

She had no idea where she was. A fourth Shadowguard had stepped forward, muttering something unintelligible and raising its hand. Avilia had felt a sudden drowsiness hit her like a heavy blanket. She remembered growing dizzy, feeling her eyes drooping, and the sky filling her sight, and then nothing.

She'd come to in this cell. The pillow and blanket and a bucket, that was it. She'd sat, then the lights had dimmed and she'd slept.

She wondered how long it would be before anyone noticed she was gone. As far as she could tell, it was a day and a night since she'd sent Farflier off to hunt. He'd have returned by now. Not seeing her, he'd fly off again and return later in the day.

Sligh was another matter. She could only guess how long it would take for him to reach their mountain rendezvous. But unless she found a way out of this cell soon, he'd depart again. With her loot.

She found that missing the gold bothered her less than the idea of missing Sligh. Before their hasty departure from Elring she'd almost fucked him -- had his cock in her hand, in fact, only a breath away from taking it into her mouth. If Farflier hadn't cried his warning, if Duke Gharre hadn't suddenly returned with a desire for Sligh's head on a spike...

Realising that sleep was beyond her, she rose and stretched. Almost instantly, the light brightened. It wasn't long before the blue outline of the door began to glow too, and the surface within shimmered. A cloaked Shadowguard stepped through, followed by two more.

Sligh would probably say it was shadowed by two guards,

Avilia thought sourly.

The first Shadowguard approached her while the other two took up position on either side of the door. In their hands they held spears, on their hips she saw the intricately worked hilts of their legendary swords.

The one standing before her, by contrast, held no weapons. Looking up at it, she felt that it probably didn't need them.

Large black eyes gazed down from a strangely compressed grey face. There was something flat about the creature, as if it had no emotions. When it spoke, its voice was as expressionless as its demeanour.

"You killed Der-Reddenin. You took Der-Reddenin's sword. Der-Reddenin's sword could not take Der-Reddenin's soul. A demon took Der-Reddenin's soul."

It spoke the words awkwardly, as if it had rehearsed the syllables and was repeating them without really understanding the meaning. Avilia felt a premonition well up inside her as she listened. Souls and demons, that sounded like a situation she didn't want to become involved in.

"You will take Der-Reddenin's sword. You will follow the sword to the demon that took Der-Reddenin's soul. You will kill the demon with the sword. The sword will take Der-Reddenin's soul. You will be free."

Avilia rose to stand before the Shadowguard. "You want me to track down one specific demon and kill it?" She laughed bitterly at the thought. "Dream on, black-eyes. How am I going to do that?"

The Shadowguard returned her mocking gaze without displaying any feeling. It was silent, then it repeated, "You will follow the sword to the demon that took Der-Reddenin's soul. You will kill the demon with the sword."

Suddenly its hands shot out to seize Avilia's head in an iron grip and force it back. She gasped and gurgled, then she became aware of something on her face. It felt like a caterpillar, and it began to crawl up her nostril.

She heard the Shadowguard speak again. "The prrrrrt will remind you of your task. You will follow the sword to the demon. You will kill the demon with the sword."

Eyes closed, Avilia tried to fight against its grip, tried everything to dislodge the creature from her nose, but to no avail. She felt it climb higher and higher, then it seemed to nestle inside her head. She held herself still, afraid to disturb it and set it to crawling around again.

After a moment she became aware that the hands no longer held her head. She also felt a breeze on her face, and sunlight. Opening her eyes, she saw that she was standing on the mountain top where she'd been taken prisoner. Before her on the ground lay the Shadowguard sword.

***

Dawn was breaking when Sligh reached the building where he rented an apartment. Tall and hinting at fading grandeur, it stood in a quiet, respectable part of the city. Elegant posts topped with glowstones lit the streets, and the nightwatchman passing on his way home greeted Sligh politely.

It was late in the year, and the city had already been awake for some time. Further away, he could hear shopkeepers crying their wares, carters shouting for passage, passers-by shouting back -- all the cacophony of life in an Imperial city, no matter how small and remote.

Strolmund stood on a hill on the wide plain beyond the mountains forming the border between the Empire and Menia. Despite being far removed from the hubs of authority, its people cherished the freedoms and privileges that came with falling under Imperial authority, without being beholden to any prince or lord of lesser rank.

Autumn was turning to winter. Days were chill, nights were chiller. Damp penetrated everywhere: the streets, the houses, even his bones, it seemed to Sligh sometimes. He'd have to leave soon, he told himself. He'd told himself the same thing a dozen times before in as many days. It was getting urgent now, though. Zretha couldn't stand the cold. They needed to go south, or else she'd face a miserable winter.

He opened the tall door of the lodging house and stepped inside. An oil lamp cast a warm glow that lit the entrance hall and the stairs leading up. Goodwife Merren stuck her head out around the corner as he entered and greeted him with a smile.

"Another late night, Goodman Pover?" she asked. "I have a kettle boiling, if you fancy a hot drink. Bread, too, just out of the oven."

"My thanks, Goodwife," he replied, smiling at her. She'd treated him with motherly affection ever since he'd moved in, despite his late nights and sometimes questionable company. "My host served breakfast before our party broke up. Here," he lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper and handed her a small parcel, "I stole this for you."

The old woman took the bundle of silk cloth from him and cooed in surprise as she unwrapped it. A fish emerged, made from spun sugar, its scales shimmering in the light of the lamp. "How wonderful! And so naughty of you, young man," she added in scolding tones belied by her pleased smile.

Sligh made his farewells before she could drag him in for the promised brew and made his way up the stairs. The lodgers on the first and second floors were either still abed or else about on their business, and the house went quiet when Goodwife Merren retired to her rooms.

The oil from the lamps on the second floor barely reached the landing outside Sligh's apartment, casting just enough light to show his door. He climbed the final stairs, key in hand, and stopped.

There was a woman sitting on the worn carpet, leaning against the wall. A long sword rested across her knees and her eyes were fixed on his face.

That makes a change,

he thought.

He stopped, and for a moment they gazed at each other. She looked exactly the same as she had the last time he'd seen her, a month ago, mounted on her roc's back. He knew that he looked different.

"It would have been more dramatic," he said, "if you'd been inside, in a dark corner, waiting for me to relax my guard."

She stood in a smooth motion. "How many traps do you have on this door?"

"Just the one. A mild poison." He grinned. "The good stuff is inside. Come on." He unlocked the door and opened it.

She followed him, still carrying the sword. It was a Shadowguard blade, and she'd used it to kill the demon that had been guarding Duke Gharre's treasury. The way she held it now made him suspect that it had something to do with what had happened to her.

Standing still, she watched and listened as he pointed out what places to avoid. The wide window was trapped with a pair of razor wires. The doors of the tall wardrobe were safe, but the handle of one of its drawers was coated with a poison that would burn flesh down to the bone. Darts with a powerful emetic protected the double doors to the inner rooms of the apartment. "I'll stay away from there, then," she commented with a small smile.

Her scent filled his nostrils. Leather and dried sweat, but underneath a trace of her body's own perfume. He tried not to be distracted by it, but he couldn't help wondering whether they'd find themselves in those inner rooms after all. The bed was large enough for two.

He motioned her to one of the upholstered chairs by the window, and gathered a pair of large stone mugs and a jug of small beer. He filled the mugs, then added a sprinkling of crystals that made the liquid froth and steam. "It's hot," he warned as he handed her one. She took it and sipped carefully, then sighed and sat back in the chair.

"How long?" she asked after a moment.

He raised his eyebrows at that. "More than a month. Winter is beginning. You found my message."

"It was hard to miss." She closed her eyes. "A month. I've lost Farflier then."

"I saw him the other day. He seems to be fine." Her eyes opened again, and he saw the question in them. "Your whistle. All your gear was left on the mountain. I must have missed you by moments. Your blanket was still warm." It had smelled of her.

She closed her eyes again. He continued. "I've ridden out of the city every week and whistled. He doesn't come down, but he circles overhead. Zretha doesn't like him. How long has it been for you?"

"Two days," she whispered. He heard relief in her voice. "A day and a night as a prisoner, then a day trekking down from the mountain. A night to find you here."

He had questions, but they could wait. "I have your share of the gold and silver." Her eyes shot open at that. "I didn't want you angrier than you needed to be when you finally got here." He grinned at her. "Not that I don't like you when you're angry. There have--"

"Let's fuck!" she said suddenly, rising and unlacing her breeches. "Let's finish what we started in the Duke's castle."

He found he was as eager as she was. Reaching out, not bothering to rise from his chair, he grasped her by the arse and drew her nearer as she pulled her breeches down over her hips. He was aware of her kicking them off, but his attention was on the part of her that was level with his face.

He inhaled deeply, savouring her scent, enjoying the warmth of her closeness. She spread her legs and angled herself forward, presenting herself to him. He glanced up to see her fingers busy with the fastenings of her leather jerkin. Her breathing was fast -- his own too, he realised.

She shrugged out of her jerkin and undershirt and tossed them carelessly onto the floor, leaving her naked. Her breasts were small and firm, topped with hard, dark nipples. Sligh watched as she reached up with both hands to pinch and pull them. The skin above her breasts was flushed.

Her pussy was just as he remembered it. A dusting of soft hair above her pink folds. He drew his hands round her thighs and used his thumbs to pull them open. Her button stared at him enticingly, so he stuck out his tongue and licked it gently. She moaned and pressed herself against his mouth.

He ran two fingers along her gash, feeling her moistness. She gave another moan, and he looked up at her again. When she glanced down, he stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean. She grinned.

His fingers returned to her slit, sliding back and forth, then he pressed one of them against her entrance. Her body came to meet it, and the tip was enveloped by her soft heat.

He pressed further, and was about to add a second finger, when suddenly she gave a scream and stepped away from him.

He looked at her. Her eyes were wide with shock, both hands reaching up to her face -- no, he realised, her forehead. "What's the matter?" he asked, rising. His cock was pressing against the material of his hose, trying to get out.

The usual state of affairs when Avilia's around,

he reflected.

"That thing," she whispered. "They put something in my head. It started crawling around."

***

He brought a robe of fine green wool for her, and insisted that she ate as well. Bread, only a day old, and honey. Some cold baked curds. More of the small beer.

The robe was warm against the late autumn chill. It smelled of Sligh, and she discovered that she was pleased that he didn't keep it for whatever naked women found themselves in his apartment.

She spoke as she ate. The thing in her head -- a prrrrrt, the Shadowguard had called it -- seemed to have settled down. The feeling had been more unpleasant than painful, and it had been more shock than anything that had made her cry out.

She told Sligh about it, and the entire incident with the Shadowguards. He listened carefully. The bulge in his hose -- some soft grey material, perhaps wool like the robe -- had subsided, fortunately. If it was their attempt at sex that had disturbed her passenger, she wasn't prepared just yet to wake it again.

She finished talking before she finished eating. Sligh was silent for a long time once her tale was completed. At last he spoke, in what she was starting to think of as his lecturing voice.

"Shadowguards. The remnants of an ancient, non-human civilisation. Their last big flourishing was around the time of the First and early Second Empire, but they're quite a bit older. They seem to have been fighting demons for much of their existence, and eventually they lost."

She looked at him, mouth full of bread. Quite a bit older than the First Empire? The distance in time made her mind reel, or perhaps that was the tiredness. "You know a lot. The old Empires, demons, sorcery. And now Shadowguards too."

He waived a dismissive hand. "Common knowledge, if you've studied the Early Empire period. Imperial dealings with the Shadowguards are well-documented. In fact--"

"If you're going to give me a complete history lesson," she interrupted him, "I think I'd rather sleep. All I need to know is how to get out of this deal."

"Ah, that." He turned pensive. "I don't know anything about your prrrrrt, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know. Or perhaps not. But I can make enquiries. We should probably both sleep first, though."

She agreed. "Give me a blanket. I'll sleep on the floor here." Tired as she was, she could have slept anywhere, and she didn't want to wake up with him on top of her and the prrrrrt writhing around in her skull.

In the end he made up a bed for her on the divan in his private sitting room. At her insistence, he brought out her gear first: a sack containing Farflier's saddle and harness, her packs and the sheath that held her bow, arrows and spear.

He also produced a small chest. "Your share of the loot," he announced. "A dual sun token, too. Just like the one we took from the Temple of the Two Suns. The one you said you sold." He grinned, and she blushed, but he didn't probe any further.

"Careful with the box, though, it's trapped." He opened the lid to show two bags and a golden sun-disc. There was a grey pebble resting on top. "Unless you want to run your hands through the gold immediately, I'll leave it for now. I'd rather be fully awake when I remove it."

He left her alone then, retreating into his bedchamber and closing the door. She wondered whether he was going to jerk his cock -- she'd noticed his eyes following her in the robe, lingering wherever she let it fall open to expose skin -- but sleep came over her and robbed her of the chance to listen.

When she woke, the door to Sligh's bedchamber was open and he was gone. Still naked beneath the blanket, Avilia stretched and worked the kinks out of her muscles. She was feeling better about her situation than she had been the day before. Farflier wasn't gone, and Sligh was helping her. Annoying as he could be, the man knew far more than she did about the kind of trouble she was in. She wondered whether he'd let her suck his cock as his reward.

Her body responded at the thought, reminding her that she hadn't had any release in days. It also reminded her of the creature lodged inside her head.

Why did it wake just then?

she wondered.

Was it because of what we were doing?