“You are permitted in time of great danger to walk with the devil until you have crossed the bridge.”
― Balkan proverb
The lone traveller was making Gunther nervous.
They were far from any town or village worthy of a proper name and the local hunters were the only group who spent any time in these hills. Boredom and poverty meant most were happy to dabble in banditry when the opportunity arose, so outsiders usually curved south for several days to follow safer paths. On the rare occasion a group needed to travel in a direct line from Namburg to Vicetina they did so in large bands. In 40 years he’d never seen anyone walk this route alone.
At his side his eldest son already had an arrow notched but Gunther waved him down. This didn’t feel right. Travellers normally dressed in plain practical travelling gear but this one wore a red silk cloak which danced in the wind like a flag as he gestured and argued with the air. Worse still, as he drew closer it became apparent that the air was arguing back.
“… Clearly don’t give a shit about your promises. We could have hopped in your tower and been there and back in an hour. Any one of your fancy friends could have sent us there with a click of their fingers. But instead I get a front row ticket to watch weeks of Ernie’s-go-fuck-yourself-Tarnik walking tour, just to rub in how little this partnership means to you! At least now…”
“We’ve been over this Tarnik.”
“Well excuse me for bothering you with my petty grievances! If it is not too boring for your worship, can I just say that the only consolation I can see on the horizon (and it is a very small consolation, considering the magnitude of the distain which you are currently showing after I have done so much to help you) is the prospect of upcoming entertainment. There’s a band of losers lurking on that ridge about to jump out and attack us. So do you want to take a break from your relaxing stroll to boil their blood, or do you want me to start ripping off heads?”
Gunther and his sons were already sprinting away from this madman who walked with ghosts. Tarnik spat.
“See how I still have your back in spite of such rank ingratitude? Where would you be without me? Trying to fight them off with a frying pan as you try to wriggle out of your bondage gear.”
“Tarnik prodded the dimaterium chains draped over Ernodal’s shoulders for emphasis.”
“C’mon boss. Enough of the shackles and mud look. The only Navigator of his generation doesn’t need to crawl through this shithole like some brokeass farmboy.”
Ernodal sighed.
“Tarnik, my mind is made up. I am walking to Vicetina to talk to Conan and see what he knows about my parents and the Herald. I have not forgotten my promises to you. This is something I need to do.
I am walking because it is a normal thing for a mortal to do. I need remind myself that’s what I am. I need to feel tired at the end of a long day, feel hungry and foot sore. I need to feel like myself to face the night. I don’t sleep anymore, not really. I just drift through his thoughts. And that’s seeping in.”
“I know you hear his voice, but that’s only for a little while longer. Once he’s gone, no more voices.”
“It’s not his voice. It’s me, thinking like him. You know my first thought when Willem reported on the food shortages? Cull the weak, plenty of meat for the strong.”
“Hey it ain’t pretty but sometimes you gotta…”
“People don’t think like that! I shouldn’t be thinking like that! And it’s not just the thoughts. Do you know that I don’t bleed anymore? I ooze. I cut myself cooking and the blood slithered back in!”
“Oh geez Ernie. Look, these changes you’re going through, these urges you are having, it’s just something that happens to kids at your age. It’s perfectly natural. Well, more supernatural I guess. But perfectly harmless unnatural changes are a part of life.”
“I’m slipping Tarnik. Can’t concentrate. Can’t taste food. The chains stop the minor demons getting through and running riot. They can feel how distracted I am and they’re getting out of hand.”
“Okay, fine. We’ve been working hard, you need a break. But all the way to Vicetina?”
“Truenames are important to demons right? Family is important to mortals. The past is important. Conan might not have all the answers I want but he can tell me something of my parents. Trust me on this. I’ll speak to him and get my head straight. We’ll meet the others back in Namburg and then get back to work.”
“That’s the other bit I don’t like. Why couldn’t your friends come? What am I supposed to do if you have another one of your late night visitors?”
“That’s why you’re here, right? To watch my back.”
The falling rubble from the red moon had buried half of Namburg. Survivors crawled through the wreckage, heads bowed to avoid looking at the ruined palace floating overhead. Black blood flowed in a steady stream from the palace dungeons, polluting the ruined city further. Demons capered in the falling blood and drank from the pools of gore in the shattered streets. At the highest point of the palace a single figure lounged on a throne made from the skulls of gods.
Ernodal’s vision kept shifting. He was huddled in a shattered slum hiding from the demons. He was on the throne, sneering down on the vermin that fled from his gaze. He bled in the dungeons. He hunted through the streets. He writhed in pain, impaled on an iron spike in Wilheim’s throne room. He bowed low to the massive figure of Tarnik, the imp so bloated and swollen from a never-ending stream of sacrifices that he had to squeeze into the throne.
Ernodal snapped awake, disorientated in the darkness. The chains across his chest were red hot. Tarnik flapped around his face in a panic.
“Oh shit Ernie oh shit this is bad you gotta hold him off this is a big one Ernie just hang in there he can’t get through those chains yet WHAT ARE YOU DOING DON’T TAKE THEM OFF!”
Ernodal could barely hear the imp. His ears filled with the bellows of the manifesting demon as it battered against the exit of the Winding Path. It hadn’t expected to find dimaterium chains barring the final step. He could let it scrabble there on the edge of reality until the force that propelled it was spent. But this challenge was the other reason he had come alone to the middle of nowhere. He wanted to break this creature that dared attack him, make it beg under his boot. A few weeks ago he might have pretended to himself that this was vengeance for his village, or the voice of his patron tempting him to disaster. But he wanted this fight just to prove to himself and his rebellious demons where he stood in the infernal hierarchy. After a lifetime of knowing his birth made him inferior the demonic system was darkly appealing. The strong rose and the weak fell.
He unslung the chains, ignoring the searing heat blistering his hands. He hissed a challenge in Infernal words he could barely understand, harsh syllables of contempt and defiance. Something huge erupted from the earth in response, massive horns and slabs of muscle fused with chitinous claws and shell. Grass withered and died as the demon infected the air. Ernodal balled his fists, his lesser demons tense and ready behind him. Before he could move the bull demon spat a word and Ernodal’s vision went blurred. He couldn’t move.
The tip of a huge claw stabbed into Ernodal’s chest and heaved him off his feet. The serrated edge caught under his ribs. He tried to scream but it came out as a bloody cough. The demon’s breath burned his face.
Pathetic. All this trouble from one little mage? So insolent and fragile…
The pain was horrendous but the feeling of helplessness was worse. The demonic element growing inside him railed against the notion of defeat. He welcomed the surge of arrogance, felt it swell into a torrent of defiance. He could not die like this. The world snapped into focus and he spat a command to his choir of demons. A glittering spectral serpent yawned out of the night, swallowing Ernodal whole and dropping him on the ground clutching his ruined stomach.
He rolled to the side as an enormous hoof pounding into the ground by his head. Before the second blow descended he gasped another command, the serpent demon flickering him out of existence for another instant. His wounds were already closing. The Bull demon seared the earth with a burst of hellfire but Ernodal was already behind him, power flaring from his fingertips as a trio of golden demons wearing the faces of dead friends streaked towards the bull demon. Staggering from the impact the enormous demon spun around to face his foe but the half elf was a blur, winking in and out of existence in a widening circle. Snarling golden demons streaked in from all sides, repeated impacts cracking demonic shell and scorching flesh.
The serpent demon slipped away as the spell ended, depositing Ernodal on top of a nearby hill. The bull demon had been battered to the ground but it rose slowly, purple ichor dripping from terrible wounds. His eyes still burned with defiance.
“Run all you want little mage, you might as well try to flee from your shadow. I’ve tasted your blood and will pursue you across all existence if I have to. Mortal magic cannot harm me. Best me now and I will be reborn in my homeland to come for you again.”
Ernodal started to walk down the hill.
“I’m not running. And you will kneel in my presence unless I give you leave to stand.”
A swarm of feathered gargoyles appeared around the bull demon, swooping down to perch on his shoulders and tearing at his wounds with hooked claws. He swatted the first few aside before the flock dragged him to the ground and pinned him there with sheer numbers. Flat on his back he continued his stream of insults and threats as Ernodal approached, lighting arcing around the warlocks’ fingers.
“I don’t know anything about mortal magic. I draw this power straight from the one you serve. I hear his thoughts. Some of his memories too. I can remember him sending you. I can almost remember your true name… but I don’t think I need it to harm you.”
Ernodal reached down and pressed his finger to the struggling demons’ chest. Massive muscles sizzled and dissolved into oily smoke. The demon screamed in pain and confusion. Ernodal ignored him.
“Interesting… It seems I can destroy you here. Not just the shell you wear on this plane, but your trueself. Or I can diminish you. Demote you down through the ranks until you are a crawling maggot for the imps to hunt.”
Mercy great one! Anything but that!
There was genuine terror in the demon’s voice. Even Ernodal’s gargoyles were cowed. Demotion to the rank beneath them was a constant fear for all demons. For a creature like this, losing multiple ranks would reverse millennia of unending toil and scheming to get ahead. It would mean an eternity of torture as thousands of enemies and former servants sought revenge.
“Since you have learned humility so quickly I am inclined to be merciful. I shall give you a chance to consider the error of your ways. You may yet be of use to me.”
Ernodal reached inside his cloak and removed the Chalice of the Void. A dull moan echoed from the cloud of swirling liquid as the trapped spirits struggled in vain to escape. The Bull demon tried to protest but the words slurred as it melted into a greasy stream flowing upwards into the chalice. The moaning from the chalice grew slightly larger as another trapped joined the chorus.
The lesser demons were frozen in place around Ernodal. As his gaze washed over each of them they bowed their heads or slunk to the ground baring their throats in obeisance. This was the moment a demon lived for, servants cowed and enemies destroyed. The sense of complete power was intoxicating. When he spoke his voice was thick and harsh.
“Tarnik.”
“Yes boss!”
“I walk to Vicetina. Then my path leads back through the swamps and on to the Dreadfort. I will learn his truename and I will destroy him with it.”
“Yes boss!”
“Ernodal exhaled and his shoulders sagged. His voice returned to normal.
“But I am still myself. And you, all of you, are free to leave if you don’t want to be part of this. This is a partnership and you aren’t slaves.”
“Yes boss!”
“…At some point you are going to stop agreeing with me and snap back to complaining, right?”
“Yes boss!”
Ernodal shook his head and looked away to hide his grin. Power was still worryingly tempting, but the prospect of demons fawning over him like this made him want to run for the hills. He might be going mad but was nice to know he wasn’t cut out to be a tyrant.