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Ch.7

Captain Maxim Schroeder of the Knight's order of the Crimson Hawk sat upon his horse with his full order knights, five hundred of the Duke's finest heavy cavalry, with a bascinet slung over his shoulder. He took a final look at the orders that had been placed into his hands with disgust, their runes glowing in the moon light, punishing peasants and putting down revolts were hardly a task one could call honorable. Still his Duke's commands, no matter how distasteful, had to be carried to their fullest. Still there was something that dragged at the back of his throat, if their grain was still waiting to be harvested how had they defaulted on their taxes to the Baron, and how had they defaulted the fours years prior with out the baron raising a fuss.

Somber in heart Maxim raised his hand to motion those of his knights who were talented in magic to prepare their spells, he held his hand for a brief few seconds before letting it fall forward. With such a simple gesture a volley of fireballs rained down onto the lumber and thatch building's that made up the majority of River's Bend. Massive earthen bolts were hurled against the village's gates, it's heavy locking beam creaking with each resounding thud until with a great crack the gates swung open unleashing a flood of heavy cavalry. Those who had rushed from their burning homes in panic were crushed under the hooves of their heavy chargers and ripped asunder by their long hafted cavalry axes. Screams of terror filled the air punctuating the thunderous roar of the cavalry's charge, once inside they had to dismount because of the enclosed space, not that leaving their horses made them any less deadly.

I was ripped from my sleep by a number of fiery explosions and screams, a sound so familiar to me that it was almost mundane “mages” I screamed as I leaped to my feet with panic and confusion coursing through my veins. Screams and pounding hoof beats filled my ears as I scrambled to throw on a set of clothes and grab my sword, long before I was ever ready my father burst into my room and hefted over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried me down stairs.

“Put him to sleep” Alric spoke with a deadly calmness and before I knew what had happened a pleasant wave of energy that reminded me of the scent of wildflowers washed over me and the world turned black.

Alric rushed out and strapped his son into his saddle tying him firmly in place so that he wouldn't come loose, with a dreadful sigh he took the ring off of his finger and slid it onto Zamiel's, watching sadly as the ring shrunk to fit. “Aeothir, I release you from my service, return to your true master, farewell beast of shadow and fire” he whispered into the beast's ears as it stomped impatiently. “Be well my son” he whispered as he shed a single tear.

“Layriel, get my wife out of here” he growled while walking over to his shed and tore open the floorboards pulling out a massive obsidian colored zweihander. Gripping the hilt of his long separated companion he took one final sigh of regret, he couldn't slay them all but he could buy some of them time to escape. Reaching up to his neck he ripped the blood red pendant that had been suppressing his power free from his neck, raw unadulterated power began coursing through his veins. Though he was never strong enough to take on his fathers mantle, he was still a demon, rage coursed through his veins and his skin turned black as midnight. Wings like those of a dragon burst painfully from his back and he howled in defiance.

A bolt of black lightning launched from Alric's right hand tearing into the midsection of an unaware knight who was about to hack down a helpless woman, where the bolt struck there was simply nothing causing the still conscious man to scream in terror as he was bisected. Blood and guts spilled out of his perfectly severed mid section, he reveled in the mans suffering as he stepped on the man's head crushing it slowly under his clawed feet. “I was doing so much better before you fools came along” he growled before the mans head gave in with a satisfying sickening wet crunch.

Right and left he dashed cleaving men in twain or crushing their organs through their heavier armor with his monstrous strength, “where are you bastard” he screamed with an all consuming rage in the village center. He had become a terrifying dervish, a hurricane of blood and gore as more and more men surrounded him. Spears pierced his flesh but he felt no pain, flames burned his flesh yet he feat no fear, some one managed to get a sword stuck in his side but it was little more than an annoyance. All of the wounds were but mosquito bites in the storm of rage, “how dare they” his mind echoed over and over again.

Maxim charged into the fray seeing his men being torn apart, with a determined grimace he flipped down his visor and couched his lance, horse and rider collided as one. The lance skewering the enraged demon through the chest the force hurling him from the saddle, the demon with a fierce grimace ripped the fist sized steel lance head from his chest. The large wound gushed with black blood as he stumbled towards the downed knight knowing that his life had become a fleeting thing, lifting the knight up from the ground he tore off the man's bascinet. There was only one question on his mind as tears of sorrow poured down his face from what he done, from what he had been forced to do, from what he had become.

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“Why did you attack our village, was the Baron's greed so great, have we not given him enough our blood, our sweat, our lives” he yelled at the man blood flying from his lips with each word before death took him.

Maxim shook in terror, as the demon lifted him off the ground and screamed at him, pain poured out from the man's soul and into his heart, he knew who was in the wrong this night. With a scream of mental anguish, frustration, and the disgusting corruption of the nobility Maxim ordered a with draw, he had carried out his orders, the damage had been done. The Baron's men would arrive the next day to harvest the fields, he only hoped that those that lived had the sense to flee, there was a small part of him that wished they would set fire to the fields in revenge. He wished he had the courage to do so himself, but he knew that the grain was going to be feeding soldiers on the front lines, soldiers like his. Maxim's only course of action would be to petition Duke, a complaint that would likely be swept out with the morning rubbish by the Baron's blood money.

Aeothir watched from on high, shrouded by ash and darkness in the night sky, with a final sorrowful neigh she dashed forward through the veil into the shadow lands of the elemental plane of darkness. Her corporeal prison giving way to a figure clad in shadow and flames, her mane and feathering blazing bright in the endless black. Each impact of her hooves kicking up clouds of soot and ash from the barren flat-lands as she barreled through the plane carrying her charge, tears of liquid fire dripping from her eyes.

She rode though darkness, fire, and ash from the shadow lands to the edge of the ash-lands before once more stepping though the veil and back into the primaterial plane, her hooves impacting against the paving stones of a great basalt structure. A towering fortress of black stone, surrounded by leagues upon leagues of untamed scrub-lands and arid mountainous desert, a lone structure isolated from the prying eyes of man.

With nervous fear gripping her heart she entered the gates of the star shaped fort, guarded by two goat headed spirits wreathed in flames and wielding mighty axes, their forms thrice the size of a man. It was from ancient spirits like these that the first demons arose, an intermingling of corporeal and incorporeal flesh, beings given birth by the humans corruption, greed, and desire for power. The two Infernals bowed their heads and lifted the portcullis allowing her to pass unmolested through the streets of the fortress city, long abandoned by it's inhabitants.

Awaiting her at the steps of the fortress were four women possessed of other worldly beauty clad in maid's livery, demons who descend from spirits from the elemental plane of lust. They curtsied with regal precision from centuries spent in servitude, they were the personal maids of his Lordship and the future servants of the young master saddled upon her back.

The head maid, stepped forth with a curious expression as she regarded the Nightmare, she remember the young spirit from when the master's son Alric had been born, her brows furrowed in worry and confusion. “Where is master Alric, why have you returned” she questioned causing the pitch black horse clad in fire to settle into a kneeling position.

“My apologies Olivia, but I bare news that is for his Lordships ears alone, this boy is Alric's son, please see to him while I return to his Lordships side” Aeothir telepathically communicated with the head maid.

With a concerned frown Olivia commanded the rest of her sisters in arms to remove the young man from the saddle before allowing Aeothir to advance into the fortress' grand hall. Each step forward caused her limbs to shake with fear as her body began to warp and shift into a more presentable form, her long fiery mane became flowing locks and her front legs twisted and shrank into a pair of human arms. Her bridle and saddle became pulled into her incorporeal form and her torso and face became those of a slim pale skinned woman clad in an inky black dress while her lower half retained horse like features.

Seated upon an obsidian throne inlaid with silver and crimson sat a middle aged man with a wizened appearance, gray hair touched the temples of his otherwise coal black hair and his crimson eyes held a deep smoldering rage. He was clean shaven but had a strong rugged jaw, and he was tall with powerful broad shoulders. The man was a spitting image of an older Alric, but his face bore no sign of his true age, with but a gesture of his hand Aeothir could feel the power of his majestic presence. He stood up from his throne, and her mind shook with each clack of his boot heels upon the stone floor.

“Why have you returned Aeothir, has my son no longer have need of your service” he asked with a soft deep voice tinged with confusion as he regarded her polymorhed form. It was a form that he had not seen the Nightmare take since shortly before his son was born.

“My Lord, your son Alric has passed, he bade me to return to your side baring his only child” she spoke firmly with though her knees shook with fright and her mind trembled.

With a pained sigh the man laid a hand upon her head stroking gently between her equine ears, her body shivered under his touch giving him a reminder of his dark past “I am sorry for your loss, I know you had grown close to Alric when I had bound you to him as a young child, you needn't fear little one. You have loyally served my family for three hundred years, I release you from your binds so that you may return to the shadow lands if you so choose” he whispered somberly to the cowering Nightmare.

Aeothir looked up into his crimson gaze, a mix of burning rage and quiet sorrow were reflected in the man's eyes, how different the man had become since he had abandoned the mantle of the Demon Lord and ended House Draconis. Aeothir shook her head softly “No my Lord, I will stay by the young master's side, if he will accept me” she replied with a somber tone.

“If that is your wish young one” he spoke before turning his head towards the head maid who was carrying an unconscious a boy in her arms. Were it not for the boy's hair color and the presence of the demonic taint he would doubt that this was his grandson. His features were far to Elven, the boy took after his mother and bore little resemblance to Alric, but there was one thing that the boy had in common with himself, he had inherited the Demon Lord's legacy.