Chapter Nineteen

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain woke up to a cold touch on her back. Her eyes sprung open to find the hell-hound staring at her, panting, its tongue hanging out of its tooth-filled mouth. So close, and for a moment Krissintha held her breath, laying on the ground under the warmth of the canvas sheets she’d wrapped herself in, waiting to see if this was going to be her last moment. But … she had been given food, she had slept and she woke up alive. She knew this meant — or must have meant — that the hell-hound and its master, the evil spirit, weren’t going to devour her and take her soul to hell. They would have done it already if they’d wanted to. But the pitch dark, red-eyed beast was terrifying, the unseen entity and the occasional flashes of pale blue power even more so.

She moved her head, flicking her eyes up and down to see what was going on, why the spirit had decided to wake her. The sun was coming up, and she wondered if it was time for an evil-spirit-breakfast already. Was that why the spirit had woken her? Then she felt again that cold touch on her back, tapping rhythmically. She wasn’t sure, but she sensed some sort of urgency in those taps. Then she heard the rustling of shrubs and branches, not too far from the makeshift camp. Wild animals? Or the sailors from the Dalar’s Heart? Was the the spirit warning her of danger?

Krissintha clambered to her feet, untangling herself from the canvas sheets, brushing her tattered, blue dress down.

‘Told ya to keep followin’ the smoke, din’t I?’ the voice of a man came to her.

Krissintha turned to look in that direction just as three men appeared between the weirdly shaped rocks and trees.

‘There she is. Ain’t that somethin’?’ the bearded man with the cuirass said.

The man was supporting himself with his spear, one of his legs bandaged with dirty canvas. The other two were sailors: one of them bald, wearing simple trousers and a shirt, holding a dagger in one hand. The other was a young man with short hair and a stubble, holding a long, almost straight sharpened stick as if it was a spear.

The men looked around, eying the fire, the few crates and barrels from the ship, Krissintha herself, their gazes finally settling on the dark, growling creature standing next to her.

‘Boss, is … is that a … hell-hound? From ‘em stories.’ the younger sailor asked, his voice shaky.

‘Dunno,’ the bearded man said. ‘Some kinda wolf.’

'Boss, maybe we should …’ the older, bald man started to say, but the bearded man lifted his arm to hush him. He looked straight into Krissintha’s eyes.

‘We found your retainer,’ he said, glancing at the hell-hound, then back at Krissintha. ‘Beast will go killin’ us all, you included. It’s servin’ an evil spirit.’

Krissintha took a deep breath, the leftover spleepyness leaving her in a hurry. It took all her willpower to keep herself from trembling and to keep her face expressionless. This was bad. Three men. Armed. Coming to take her, to take away this small measure of freedom she’d just found. And what did she have? Oh yes. An evil spirit. And ... the men seemed wary of it, not taking another step, but would that be enough to keep her safe? Would they attack the hell-hound, and then her?

‘Step away from the beast, missy!’ the bearded man ordered her, and at the same time signaled to the others to spread out.

The two sailors took a few uncertain steps to either sides of their boss, looking like they wanted to be anywhere but here. Krissintha made insane effort to slow her breathing and hide her trembling hands.

‘You’ll be comin’ with us, and we’ll be protectin’ you,’ the bearded man said, his gaze boring into her, cruel and demanding. ‘Who knows what else is lurkin’ on this island. Because this is an island, missy, did you know? There’s no runnin’ away here. So … what do you say?’

Krissintha forgot to let out the breath she’d taken. She had no idea what to do. Facing and dealing with rough men like these was her father’s area of expertise, not hers. Her father had always known how to deal with the people before him, how to intimidate, how to strike fear into them, how to bend them to their will. She’d heard people call him a cruel man, a tyrant, but she knew her father well, and she knew that if there was anything she could trust, it was the things she’d learned from watching him.

Intimidation. She let out the breath she’d been holding, and glanced at the hell-hound. The evil spirit. There was nothing more intimidating in the world than that, and it just so happened that one was right beside her. She wasn’t sure what the spirit would or could do. But it was clever, intelligent: it could draw, it could make food, it had even managed to kill Jevan, a spiritualist, and it had even taken his sword. That was it! Jevan’s sword.

Krissintha bent down to stroke the growling hell-hound’s head and whispered,

‘Please understand me! Give me Jevan’s sword!’

She then straightened herself, putting as hard an expression on her face as she could manage. She had to be like her father: she had to look strong, unrelenting, cruel. She stretched her arm towards the hell-hound, hoping to all the gods and their holy shrines that the spirit had understood her.

Jevan’s sword appeared out of nowhere, hovering in the air, a momentary shimmer of dim, blue power enveloping it. The men facing her flinched, and Krissintha almost gasped with relief. She grabbed the sword by its hilt, feeling its weight as the spirit let go of it. She held it up and made a show of looking over the blade. She then turned the weapon around and slammed it into ground in front of her, the tip of the blade going deep into the soil.

‘I am Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain, heir to the Barony of Sythala, loyal servant of the murdered king of Thyssa,’ she said, making sure her voice was measured and carried just enough of her anger for the men to know she meant what she said. The two sailors looked at each other nervously, but the bearded man kept his eyes on her, lifting his spear a little. Krissintha continued, using everything she had learned from her father. ‘You have seen me at my lowest. In my moments of weakness. For that alone I should execute you, just as I had my retainer, a traitor, executed. From now on you will only see strength and cruelty, this I promise.’

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The sailors seemed like they wanted to make a run for it, the cuirass wearing man the only thing keeping them there. The man scowled, steadying himself despite his injured leg, lifting his spear even more, but not leveling it yet.

‘It was the evil spirit killin’ that man,’ the boss said, his eyes flicking between the hell-hound and the sword stuck into the ground. ‘You think you can go controllin’ somethin’ like that?’

Krissintha smiled at the man, then placed her hand on the hell-hound’s head, hoping neither the beast nor the spirit would take offense. She swallowed her nervousness and looked the man straight in the eyes.

The pact is complete,’ she lied with a soft voice, smiling as if she had nothing to worry about. ‘And you are right. This is an island. There is no running away here.’

‘Listen, Silas, we should …’ one of the sailors began to say, begging, almost wailing, but the large man shushed him.

‘You should listen to your man …’ Krissintha said ‘… while I’m still willing to give you a chance.’

‘Chance, eh?’ Silas growled, showing his teeth. ‘I’m the one givin’ you a chance ‘ere, girl! Don’t you go squanderin’ it!’

‘Silas! She’s got a spirit …’ the bald man cried out, stepping back towards Silas ‘… din’t you see the sword? The power?’

‘Wench ain’t no spiritualist,’ Silas barked at the sailor, and this time he took a step forward, leveling his spear ‘… and that fukken’ beast needs killin’.’

Krissintha used all her strength to keep herself from gulping. This wasn’t working. That damned man, Silas, was way too stubborn. She was suddenly overcome with an urge to turn and run, but she knew if she did that, it would be the end of her: her facade of strength and cruelty would crumble, and they’d hunt her down and kill her, or worse. Probably worse.

Krissintha didn’t know much about spirits, if anything at all. The evil-spirit was playing along for now, but she wasn’t sure if it understood what was going on, or if it really was taking her side or not. She glanced down at the midnight black hound. It looked up at her, its red eyes glistening like fresh blood in the morning sunlight. She smiled at the hound.

‘Please help!’ she whispered, and she couldn’t stop the moisture forming in the corners of her eyes. ‘I don’t care if you’re the king of hell itself.’

The hell-hound took a step forward, and a sigh of relief was already forming inside Krissintha. Then the hound sat down. Krissintha’s relief turned into terror-filled panic in an instant.

Get ‘em!’ Silas screamed, lunging forward, his spear aimed at the hound.

The two sailors only took a tentative step forward. Krissintha saw all this and she didn’t move. There was no point. Instead, the smile returned to her face: how many people could say that their last meal had been prepared by an evil-spirit? Probably none. Except her. What a strange last thought.

Silas jumped over the firepit. The two sailors took another slow, nervous step forward. Krissintha closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath. She might as well die standing. A small current of air stroked her face. She heard a metallic clang, then a thump, and at the same time felt a vibration under her bare feet, as if something heavy had been dropped on the ground in front of her. She opened her eyes.

Jevan’s sword was no longer in front of her. Silas was on the ground, sprawled out on his back, right over the firepit, the sword sticking out of his chest, piercing his cuirass. The man’s legs twitched as the sword lifted out of the man’s chest with a quick flash of power coming and going around it. Then the man stilled and didn’t move any more, staring up at the sky with dead eyes open. The sword floated over to Krissintha. It had happened so fast that her mind had no time to understand or make sense of the happenings. She reached out to grab the floating weapon without any conscious though, but the sword vanished just as her fingers touched the hilt. She lowered her arm, staring blankly at the space in front of her.

Krissintha blinked once, blinked twice, breathed in and then out, and her mind finally caught up to the events. She was fine. Silas was dead. The spirit … the evil spirit had protected her. But this wasn’t over.

The two sailors stared at her, then at Silas’ body, then at her again. No. This wasn’t the time to be terrified or relived. The spirit had given her a chance, and it would be the biggest and perhaps the last mistake of her life if she wasted it. It was time to play the part, and she knew exactly what her father would have said in a situation such as this. She steeled herself, put the mask of cruel confidence back on and turned to the now trembling sailors.

‘One down, two to go,’ she said in a sing-song voice, bringing her smile back. ‘So? What will it be? Will you fight? Or will you serve?’

***

Krissintha sat on a small crate the spirit had brought to the camp the day before. She could hardly believe how desperately the two sailors were groveling before her. She’d only seen people beg so hard a few times, and those had been people brought before her father to be executed.

The hell-hound let out a low growl, and Krissintha stroked its head — another thing she wouldn’t have believed if it wasn’t actually happening to her. Petting a hell-hound? An evil spirit helping her? She had no idea what was going on here, but she knew better than to start questioning it. After so much misfortune, she took whatever was on offer, and she could worry about the fact that help had come from hell later.

She turned to the trembling sailors in front of her.

‘You made a wise choice,’ she said. ‘What are your names?’

‘I … I’m Quenta, my lady,’ the bald sailor said, kneeling and keeping his eyes on the ground.

‘I’m … uh… Tommi, my lady,’ the younger, short haired man said, keeping his head even lower than his mate.

‘Well, Quenta, Tommi, serve me well,’ she said to them. ‘I will keep you fed, keep you warm, and keep you safe.’

‘Ye … yes … my lady,’ the two of them said in unison.

‘Now. Go collect some firewood,’ she ordered them.

The two men sprung to their feet, rushing away to the forest as if the hell-hound was chasing them. Krissintha stared at Silas’ dead body, some smoke still rising from the extinguished fire underneath him. She turned back to watch the sailors disappear between the trees. Once they were out of sight, Krissintha breathed out long, her shoulders sagged, and she almost fell to the ground from her makeshift throne. She caught herself, and she buried her face into her palms, finally letting out the muffled scream and all the tears she’d been holding back.

‘I’m … still alive,’ she said, almost choking, looking at the hell-hound. ‘Thank you for helping me. I don’t know if you can understand my words, but thank you.’

The hound didn’t say anything of course. The spirit on the other hand, began to draw. Krissintha watched the simple images as they appeared on the ground, her eyes widening in disbelief. She turned back to look at the hound — she was sure the spirit was there, inside, or near it — and she said,

‘You … want to build a raft?’