Chapter 48

  Riaret the Severing Strike leaned on the parapet wall, straining her neck and squinting at the enemy camps in the distance. Same as the other sides of the city: nothing. No sign of an imminent attack, hardly any movement in fact, just a few, tiny dots moving here and there among the tents, minotaurs and werewolves going about their business in the camps. She sighed; the siege had become boring since almost half of the enemy armies had left for no apparent reason. The minotaurs still had the numbers to surround the city and keep them inside, but it was unlikely they’d attack again. Riaret looked over and down the wall; the broken ladders, the charred remnants of a few siege towers and the rotting bodies of thousands of minotaurs at the base made her long for the foolish charges of the enemy and the EXP they had been bringing her and her soldiers. Why in the name of all that was cursed had the scum-king decided to withdraw almost half of his soldiers from here? Why? She straightened herself and gripped her halberd; the bonded weapon was freshly cleaned and sharpened, begging for the black blood of the enemy to stain its blade again, but she couldn’t give her weapon what it wanted, because for the last fifteen, boring days, nothing had happened.

  She sighed again; the prospect of just waiting and doing nothing, confined to the city, while the enemy was out there conquering the rest of the Ring made her as angry and frustrated as she’d ever been. Should she try to attempt a breakout? The enemy still outnumbered her army 15 to 1 at least, maybe more, and she was sure the attempt would cost the lives of every single soldier she had, including her own, but … but then she could at least die in battle instead of boredom. Which was a much better prospect, a sentiment she was sure every demon in the city would agree with. Then again, she could feel that Ugrathar’s heir, that clueless little runt was not only alive still, somehow, but had set up her own Seat of Power somewhere. Which meant the Fourth Ring was still in the fight as a whole. Hm. Perhaps she should wait to see what happens. Perhaps the opportunity to fight and win would present itself soon. But the whole idea of patience was … well, revolting. Undemonic. Was it too much to ask for the enemy to do their jobs and attack again?

  General! The voice of one of her captains entered Riaret’s mind.

  What is it, Gharakar? She perked up immediately, spinning around with her halberd in hand. Hope welled up and excitement returned; finally, something. An attack. It must be an attack. Which side are they attacking?

  Attacking? No, no-one’s attacking, general. The captain said, sounding confused.

  Enthusiasm fled her as fast as it had come, leaving her deflated in a heartbeat.

  Ah. What is it then? She asked, hoping it wasn’t another argument between one of the local crafters and her soldiers about the price of weapons, or some other issue her captains should have been able to handle but always ended up calling her over to settle them. Well, everyone had been bored for the last fifteen days.

  Uhm, there is a demon. The captain reported.

  Is there now? In a city of thirty thousand demons you’re telling me there is a demon? What are you going to tell me next, Gharakar? That there are trees in the Wilds?

  No, general, sorry. What I meant was there is a demon in the lake. In the city centre. The captain corrected himself.

  In the lake? Why is a demon in the lake? We drink that stuff.

  He says he wants to talk to you. He says General Kralsen sent him. Gharakar said.

  Kralsen? Are you sure? Are you at the lake? What does the demon look like? She demanded.

  He’s an ice-demon. I can only see his head. The answer came.

  An ice-demon in the lake? That was strange. The few times Riaret had met some of Kralsen’s soldiers, strange was always an accompaniment, and as far as she could tell most of his captains were ice-demons, just like the Dreamer of Pain himself.

  I’m on my way. Don’t let him out of your sight, Gharakar! She said as she rushed down the steep stairs from the ramparts.

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  I don’t think he’ll go anywhere, general; he seems to be enjoying the water.

  ***

  Riaret stared at the ice-demon’s head sticking out of the water twenty or so full steps from the shore. He really did look like he was enjoying himself there; the expression on his face was calm, relaxed, and it irritated her to no end. On top of that, she didn’t recognise him. She didn’t know every demon in the city, but she thought she would have remembered seeing the ice-demon, especially if he was in Kralsen’s army. Had he been here all along, or had he somehow snuck into the city? Well, it was time to find out.

  ‘You! If you have a message from Kralsen, then come out and tell me!’ she yelled, ordering the demon.

  ‘No.’ The answer came.

  The ice-demon wasn’t yelling, but his voice was deep and resonant, and it carried over the water. Somehow.

  ‘No? What do you mean no?’ she growled.

  ‘Come into the water. Let’s talk here,’ the ice-demon said.

  ‘You want to give me the message in the water? Why? In fact, you dare order me around? I am a general and I’ll have your blood on my halberd’s edge.’ She shouted at the ice-demon who didn’t seem to know his place.

  ‘Take off your armour. The water is nice,’ the demon said calmly, but it sure sounded like a demand, which stoked her anger.

  Riaret’s eyes narrowed, her grip on her halberd tightened.

  ‘I am Riaret the Severing Strike, and my army holds this city. You would do well to not anger me,’ she warned the impudent ice-demon; a mere captain should know better no matter whose army he belonged to.

  ‘And I am Rathar. And you would do well to get into the water. It is nice,’ the ice demon replied with deathly calm.

  Riaret didn’t know what to make of this. Was it possible that an ice-demon who was almost twenty levels below her could be this stupid and confident at the same time? And Rathar?

  ‘That’s not an ice-demon’s name,’ she said.

  ‘Rathar-Koren. Now, the water is waiting. Will I have to make you?’

  ‘Tsk! I dare you, you worthless …’ she began to launch a tirade with the intention to follow it up with a few well-placed strikes of her halberd, but the moment she opened her mouth her eyes fell shut as if the weight of all the hills of the Fourth Ring had been placed on them.

  When she opened them again, she was in the Wilds. In her small hands she held a curved dagger, a Saerkhan, instead of her trusty halberd, and she recognised the boy standing next to her, panting heavily over the corpse of a Hungering Flesh-snatcher.

  ‘Irthekar!’ she gasped as she stared at the young demon.

  ‘Riaret! I killed it! I killed it!’ the boy cheered, still panting, but happy. ‘I got EXP. I can level up soon; I can feel it!’

  She looked around; the black trees of the forest were big, the glowing orange veins of lava were bright, the corpse of the wild animal larger than she remembered those to be. She looked down at herself and gasped again; she was … young. And a dagger? Last she’d held a dagger was ages ago as a youngling, barely ten years old, and the fact that Irthekar was here meant … what did it mean? She heard the familiar shrieks of a Flamescythe. Then another and another. Oh no! This was how Irthekar had died. Because they had ran, but her friend had been slower. But he was here, right here, just as she remembered him. What did this all mean? Remembered him? Is this what it was? A strangely vivid memory of one of the few demons whose death she regretted and whished she could undo?

  ‘Would you like to see?’ A deep rumbling voice asked.

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t.’

  She had seen it once. She had felt it once. She didn’t want to again.

  ‘Then don’t resist,’ the voice told her.

  She relaxed her body, her grip on her dagger, and watched Irthekar’s smile as he rambled on about getting new skills and improving his strength. The Flamescythes didn’t come this time, and they walked together, out of the forest, away from the Wilds.

  ‘Good. Isn’t the water nice?’ the voice asked after some time.

  She opened her eyes; she was naked, in the water and a mere arm’s length from the ice-demon who had called himself Rathar-Koren. It was him; it had been his voice just now in the Wilds, in her memories.

  ‘What? How did you …’ She looked around, confused. Her captain was still on the lake shore, watching her. ‘Gharakar! How did I get in here?’

  ‘General?’

  ‘How did I get in here?’

  ‘Uh … you took your clothes of and walked,’ the captain answered, his tone worried and as confused as she was.

  ‘Now, I have a message to deliver. And some instructions.’ Rathar-Koren almost purred the words, the water around him rippling gently.

  ‘Instructions? From who? Kralsen? He doesn’t have the authority to …’ Riaret protested immediately.

  ‘The ruling demon lord of this Ring.’

  ‘What? The brat? Kralsen should know better than to accept that runt as …’

  ‘No.’ The demon cut her short. ‘The heir is still an heir.’

  ‘Don’t tell me Ugrathar survived,’ she said, suddenly worried more than before.

  ‘No. He did not. The new ruling demon lord.’

  ‘A new one? Who? One of the generals? Is it Tarashak?’ she demanded.

  ‘No. Hellfire Lord Hyde. Tarashak is one of his generals already.’

  ‘Hyde? Never heard of a Hyde.’

  ‘He has heard of you, and he’s coming,’ Rathar-Koren said. ‘And he has plans that involve you.’

  ‘What plans?’ she asked.

  ‘You will need to prepare for a fight.’

  ‘Huh. A fight, you say?’ she asked, her mood improving already just by hearing the word.

  ‘Yes. Hellfire Lord Hyde has a war to win.’ The ice-demon nodded. ‘You and your army have a part to play.’

  ‘Alright, I’m listening,’ Riaret said, the dream-like memories, the water, the ice-demon’s rudeness forgotten in an instant. Whoever the new lord was, if there were battles to fight and win, if she and her army could get out of the city and campaign against the Third Ring scum, then she was all ears.