Chapter 6 - Felgost

  Bang.

  Came a loud knock on the door, devoid of any politeness. Wildree jolted up straight. He wiped his eyes open, glanced around, the pale sun just spilling over the horizon. Dust motes floated in the air, thick in the corners where mildew had claimed the walls.

  Cursed demons. Can’t they leave a man in peace before sunrise?

  He had aged. Dark bags hung beneath his blue eyes. His frame looked diminished somehow, his belly shrunken, the familiar curl of his mustache gone, leaving his face stark and exposed.

  “Come in.” He managed to say with his groggy voice. The door swung open, forcing dust in the air. A human guard walked in, wearing polished black armor. “His majesty requests your attendance at once!”

  Majesty…you dimwit, I’m supposed to be your Majesty. But he bit his tongue. “I’ll be there in a moment, let me bathe and get dressed.”

  “His Majesty requested I accompany you immediately.”

  A vein throbbed on Wildree’s forehead. “Do you want me to show my private parts to the whole kingdom?!”

  At the shout, two more guards appeared in his room.

  Wildree raised his hands in surrender. “Fine! At least let me put something on, for the sake of mercy!” He got out of bed without waiting for an answer, his privates loosely hanging in front of the three guards in black.

  IDIOTS! You’re humans, we should stand up for each other, not kiss that demon’s arse. He slipped on his undergarments, a clean tunic, and went for his pants—but the guards approached him.

  “Hold on, at least the trousers!” He yanked them up and shoved his feet into his leather shoes. His hair was still a mess, his face unwashed, and he urgently needed to go to the bathroom, but he knew they’d drag him out of there.

  You’re doing this on purpose Asamodeus, you dog! Haven’t you humiliated me enough? Just you wait, I’ll make you pay a hundred times over…just you wait.

  Wildree was led out of his room in the basement quarters of the castle, the smell of wet stone and rat feces hung heavier than usual in the hallway. The hour was early, and the windows were kept shut until sunrise to hold back the cold.

  The stone hallway was narrow—barely wide enough for two men to walk side by side without their shoulders scraping along the walls. They climbed dark stone stairs with no torches to guide them. One guard tripped, his face slapping against a stone slab.

  Wildree suppressed a smile. He had no trouble navigating the darkness—he’d memorized every uneven step, inevitable after living there for the past year.

  They emerged into the servants’ quarters. Even the servants lived better than Wildree had below. The air smelled of freshly baked bread, hot milk, and butter. They passed through a series of rooms, then up more narrow steps, until they reached the main hallway leading to the throne room.

  It was grand. Even if all the legion lords gathered here, they wouldn’t fill half of it. The ceiling soared seventy feet overhead, supported by stone beams and columns—some horizontal, some vertical—lining the walls in gray splendor. Torches flickered along the passage, casting dancing shadows toward the end where twin doors stood: intricately carved, nearly as tall as the ceiling itself.

  Just who would ever need such massive doors? Wildree had always wondered, but deep down, he knew the answer. Ever since the fall of Mardukai, Asamodeus was the first to claim the Red Throne—the seat of power in the demon realm—and his ostentation knew no bounds. Every towering archway was calculated to make newcomers feel small, mortal, insignificant before their ruler.

  After the fall of Jotun, Wildree had expected to be showered with riches and granted command over Humankind, just as the deal had promised.

  Humans were no more important to demons than intelligent monkeys, a truth Wildree had learned the hard way. He was not a partner in their designs, only a counselor, permitted to linger at the edge of greatness he would never be allowed to touch.

  Asamodeus would have disposed of him entirely, had he not felt the need to uphold a reputation for generosity among his subjects.

  Before the twin doors, stood two demon gatekeepers wide as a carriage. They wore black armor that gleamed dully, forged from Black Metal Ore.

  “Wildree Felgost by the King’s command,” uttered the guard to the gatekeepers.

  They didn’t speak, in fact, they never spoke. They simply grunted. Wildree suspected that something had been done to them. After all, a gatekeeper never had a need to speak.

  The three guards stood back as the gatekeepers both opened the gates. One gate alone could have served its purpose, but it would not have inspired the awe the King’s guests were meant to feel. Wildree amazed at the sheer strength of the two gatekeepers, each opening their gate without breaking a sweat.

  He entered the throne hall. Dark, matted stone slabs covered the floor, and a wide blood-red carpet stretched from the entrance towards the throne. The room was as imposing as the hallway, same gothic architecture, and same stone arches continued, but one detail set it apart.

  Three narrow mosaic windows rose from floor to ceiling, overlooking the city of Jindergahm—the new capital of the realm. Their glass glowed deep red, depicting ancient scenes of a demon crowned with horns, snakes spilling from his ears as it devoured screaming humans.

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  The first light of dawn bled through the mosaics, casting a red haze across the chamber. At the far end of the hall stood the throne, massive and dark, raised upon four broad steps. Figures lined the room on either side, misshapen silhouettes of varying sizes and forms.

  Yet Wildree’s gaze was drawn only forward. Someone knelt before the throne.

  “Dismissed,” came a soothing, deep voice.

  The kneeling figure rose and walked toward the doors.

  Sangnuey!

  She was tall. Thick red eyebrows were set permanently into a frown, and knee length black hair trailed behind her like a shadow. Bulging red veins stood out along her neck. She stared straight ahead, utterly ignoring him.

  A knot tightened in Wildree’s stomach as Asamodeus spoke his name.

  “Felgost,” said Asamodeus. He sat with one leg crossed, his head resting on his slender wrist. The light streaming through the towering windows behind the Red Throne swallowed his features in shadow, revealing only his glowing—yellow eyes and the glint of sharp teeth.

  “You asked for me, Your Highness?” Wildree bowed low as he approached, his steps slow and measured. He had expected another useless summon, another hollow display of power.

  But Sangnuey’s presence changed everything. And that could mean disaster.

  Whispers spread through the room around him.

  “Why are you entering my hall dressed like a street Yelud?”

  The shadowed figures erupted into giggles and cruel amusement.

  “Your Majesty, I was asleep,” Wildree began.

  “Enough!”

  The Demon King’s voice thundered through the hall, rattling the windows, silencing the laughter of his courtiers.

  Wildree’s knees trembled as though death itself stood right before him.

  “The Front needs more power,” Asamodeus said, his tone calm once more. “You promised me you would deliver.”

  “Your Majesty, I have always advised against the massacre of the Bloodkind. I warned that we would need them to win the war.”

  “Are you implying this is was my oversight?”

  Wildree kept his head low. He hesitated for a moment, for he knew risking his head for the truth wasn’t worthwhile. “No, your Majesty.”

  “We are close to victory, my dear Yelud adviser. Rally your people, and we shall emerge triumphant.” He spread his arms in grand display.

  Clapping rippled through the hall.

  You’ve been repeating that for the past nine months…

  “Your Majesty, we’ve sent over a hundred thousand men and women to the Front, there aren’t many left—”

  “Felgost,” Asamodeus said softly. “Your duty is to govern the filthy Yeluds—if there aren’t any left, why are you here?”

  You vermin! After everything I’ve done—everything I’ve sacrificed. I made you what you are!

  “Is there something you wish to say?” the Demon King asked, noticing Wildree’s clenched fists and tightly shut lips.

  “No, your Majesty, your word is my command.” He bowed low enough to smell the dust off the carpet.

  “Dismissed.”

  Wildree bowed again and was about to leave the room.

  “Felgost,” called Asamodeus.

  “Yes, your Majesty?”

  “What do you know about Sangnuey?”

  The question struck deeper than any blade. Until that moment, he had thought himself safe. Her presence had weighed on his mind since she left the hall, but this…this was different.

  How does he know? Did she….No! She couldn’t betray me, she has as much to lose as I do.

  “Nothing more than your Majesty knows.”

  Silence.

  Wildree kept his head bowed, but the silence gnawed at him. He could feel Asamodeus’ gaze boring into the back of his neck. Had he revealed something in that vague answer? Had the Demon King already uncovered the truth and was merely testing his loyalty? His thoughts spiraled, racing through a thousand conclusions, few of which ended with him alive.

  “Get me soldiers for The Front,” he finally ushered.

  “As you command my lord.” Wildree bowed lower, and walked backwards until he was far enough he dared turn and leave.

  The twin doors closed behind him with a heavy finality. Only then did he realize he had been holding his breath. His lungs burned as he gasped for air, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand.

  He moved quickly through the wide hall, careful not to appear rushed. Panic drew attention. And attention was death for a conspirator.

  Wildree was not safe. That final question had been no idle curiosity. It was suspicion. He could not risk meeting Sangnuey now, not even in passing.

  The dark stairway swallowed him as he descended, and at last he reached his door.

  There was still another problem. How in the hells am I supposed to find more soldiers for The Front?

  Wildree made his way back through the corridor and down the stairs to his cave-like room, opening windows along the way—hoping the stench would dissipate soon.

  He opened his door to find Sangnuey sitting on his bed. His mouth hung open. His body froze mid-step. Wha—

  Wildree shut the door behind him with an immediate urgency. “Are you out of your MIND?!” The whisper came out strangled, too loud.

  She gently pressed a finger to her lips.

  “We can’t meet here—not now, not ever!” He paced, hands pulling at his hair. She was a Halfling, powerful enough to take his head before he could blink. He couldn’t force her to do anything.

  “Don’t worry, Wildree,” her voice remained calm and soft. “I made sure nobody was observing you.”

  “Sangnuey, he’s unto us, I could feel it in his voice—”

  “No, he’s not.” She stood, nearly hitting her head on the low ceiling. This room wasn’t made for demons or halflings. “He’s shaking the tree to see what falls. Make sure you don’t fall. But, we’ll need to move fast, his instinct is telling him something’s going on, and trust me—Asam never rests until he finds answers.”

  Wildree paced, hands clasped behind his back. “He’s making a mockery of me. In front of all his chancellors.” His voice tightened. “I’ve worked hard to earn their respect. Now no one wants anything to do with the filthy Yelud.”

  Sangnuey watched him pace, letting his fury spill out.

  “Can you believe him? After everything I’ve done?” His hands gestured wildly. “I should be King! I killed Mardukai! I killed Johanne! Not Asamodeus, not any other demon—me! Without me, none of this would’ve—”

  “Wildree!” Her voice cracked like a whip, snapping him from his spiral. “Focus! You promised me Asam would be at the Front, and I have yet to see any plan for making that happen.”

  Wildree’s fury melted into a sly smirk. “I have just the plan…though it may cost more than you’re ready to pay.”