A friendly view through the eyes of hate.
Inside a dark room, in a tavern called The Broken Arrow, one
of the most obscure taverns in the city of Bernhax, stood a
somewhat damaged bunk. On it, beneath a pile of blankets, lay
a man.
Not a remarkable man at all, allbeit that his face appeared
to have been denied any proper care for quite some time. He
had a soiled brown beard, seemingly about a month of age or
so, in which the remains of his last lunch still lingered.
Ryton didn't care much about it... In fact he didn't care
much about anything anymore off late. If his parents would
have stood beside his bunk they wouldn't have recognized the
honest and friendly young man that had left their homevillage
some ten years ago. This man, who had been their son, had been
fair and kind once, as his parents had always told him to be.
He had always tried to walk the path of justice and valour,
and this had been what had, or at least would soon, become his
undoing.
Ryton hated himself. Ofcourse this hadn't always been so,
not untill very recently, actually. His self-hatred was just
the latest side effect of the blackness that had been growing
inside him for the past few months now. He hated the people he
saw every day. He despised their petty minds and their simple
worries, the futileness of their meager existance and their
meaningless drives. He hated nearly everything he saw nowa-
days, so he just stayed in his bed with the covers pulled over
him to block out the sounds and sights of the world he loathed
so.
None of his former friends would give him the time of day
anymore, now he really needed them. The rage burning inside
Rytons heart had made it impossible for anyone to stay in
contact with him for very long, least they were willing to
risk physical injuries, should his anger lash out towards
them. The only people he might still be able to turn to were
his parents, who, up to this day, were still totally unaware
of the state of mind their son was in now. He hadn't risked
contacting them though, out of fear of alienating the last two
strings that tied him to humanity.
After the enchantment had taken effect, Ryton had tried to
direct the hostility and violence he felt growing inside him
towards the memory of his tormenter, a demonic warlock that he
had known as Spearbinder, but had been known to others under a
hundred different names, and in a thousand different shapes.
At first his attempts had seemed successfull and he could
still live his regular life, even if he had at times seemed a
bit moody to others.
Ryton grinned whickedly as he remembered his own foolish
ignorance. What he had been experiencing then, had just been
the preverbial tip of the iceberg, and he had fallen so very
far since then... So very, very far...
At the time when this story found its beginning, Ryton had
been in his early twenties... Twenty three, if he recalled
correctly. His mental anguish was tearing him apart slowly
these days, and even his memory wasn't what it had been once.
An image of a smart looking young man drifted past his
mind's eye. It took Ryton a short while to realise it was
himself, some six years earlier. He had just enlisted with the
town guard, a mostly degenerated bunch of youths, unable to do
much other than drink beer and harass the people who would let
the "protectors" of the city intimidate them. Not that they
ever really did anyone any harm, their superiors saw to that,
but on a whole, the town guard had been a slacking operation,
unfit to defend a dungheap.
Ofcourse there were exceptions on this rule, as there always
are, and Ryton had been one of them, along with some of his
former friends.
A short flash of pain ripped through Rytons heart as he
thought of his former friends, whom he had all lost now.
Well, all but one, Loim Derta, and that was only because he
had left the town guard and Bernhax before Rytons mental
mutation had taken effect.
A few names popped up in Rytons mind: Robersto Tinadyl,
Freasin Deklinx, Moiryu Herweks, and ofcourse Gininian, the
man without a last name. They had been his close and personal
friends, and they had achieved a great deed, but only he was
paying the price for it, Ryton thought with a sardonic grin on
his face. Only he was suffering beyond the comprehension of
most others, even though he didn't care if anyone understood
his torment or not anymore. His whole world had already fallen
apart, and as far as he was concerned, the rest of the world
could do the same.
The five of them had been the neatest guardsmen the city had
had at the time, and quite frankly, the only ones that had
ever taken the time to see what this job was about, apart from
drinking mede and earning easy money. Their luitenant, a tidy
youngman, a few years older than the newcomers had been at the
time, called Cfyro Aerion, had been beside himself with joy
when he had seen his new recruits. He had immediately begun
training them to become the finest guardsmen Bernhax had ever
seen. And he had been succesfull, against all the expectati-
ons. The lazy, uncaring attitude of the other guardsmen some-
how seemed unable to get a grip on the fivesome, and after a
month of excessive training, in which their days had been so
very filled with running, sword practise and maintenance of
their gear that they literally had no time to do anything else
but be guardsmen, they were full fledged defenders of the
city. Not only so, they excelled far above the others, not
that this had been such a great achievement, but never the
less, the five of them had become, as luitenant Cfyro had
vowed they would, the best they could be, which was quite a
sight indeed.
At first, the people of Bernhax couldn't quite believe their
eyes, as they saw five guardsmen led by their obviously proud
luitenant, patrol the streets again. It had been years since a
complete patrol had actually finished its round.
Oh, there had been groups of three or four guardsmen, led by
a furious luitenant, looking for the other members of the
patrol who hadn't quite felt like patrolling the dark streets
at night, or complete groups of up to seven guardsmen, walking
the streets with a miserable expression on their faces and
looking over their shoulder every few seconds to see if their
commanding officer was still behind them, but never a patrol
that actaully seemed to do what its name implied: Patrol the
streets and look for villains to apprehand.
And they had been quite a sight, Ryton recalled.
The thought was as close to caring as he could come these
days.
Perhaps it had been because they had all grown up in a clean
environment, or maybe it was just fate that had put the five
young men together. Whatever it was, the "demonic six", as
their squad was soon called, brought an unpresedented feeling
of safety to the people of Bernhax, and untold terror to the
thieves, cutthroats, rapists and thugs lurking in the dark
alleys at night.
Ryton whinsed as he remembered this period of his life. He
had been happy then. He would sell his very soul if it meant
that he could once again be happy, even just for a little
while...
Strange as it might seem, their courageous queste against
crime and chaos began to appeal to certain elements of the
young citizens, and not long after the phrase "the demonic
six" was first heard, a few new recruits volunteered to join
their squad.
Cfyro was thrilled, ofcourse, and began to drill the newco-
mers with the same enthousiasm with which he had shaped his
first five law enforcers. This gave the fivesome a little more
time to themselves, as the luitenant couldn't both train the
new arrivals and watch his squad at the same time. Sometimes
the five were also asked to assist in a training or told to
join in certain exercises, just to prevent them from getting
sloppy, which was something Cfyro silently dreaded.
His fear proved unfounded however, as the five young men
felt far too well with all the admiration they were getting
from the public. Especially the young ladies of the town were
quite taken in by the galant new defenders of the city, and it
didn't take long before all of the men in Cfyro's squad had
found girlfriends from amongst the many feminine admirers the
group had. Some of the men deceided to have more than one or
two girls, as there appeared to be more than enough of them to
go around, but most of the Demons, as their honorary squad of
town guardsmen had been renamed officially by the doge him-
self, upheld the biblical virtues to an extend tolerable to
their energetic minds.
Thus, a new era had dawned for Bernhax. The Demons had grown
in number greatly, and the streets had been cleaned out tho-
roughly, and properly. The streets had been safe to walk at
nights again, and crime was reduced by a fair ratio.
Ofcourse, this progress wasn't easy, and the life of a Demon
wasn't at all certain at nights. All of Rytons friends had
been wounded during nightly patrols several times, as had
Ryton himself, though fortunately never fatally, although
Gininian and Moiryu had come close. Gininian had taken a stab
with a dagger in his back, as they were investigating a stran-
ge sound they had heard, which had put him out of action for
over a month and Moiryu now had a huge scar, also on his back,
as they had been caught off guard on another patrol. They had
been attacked by a handfull of armed knaves, equiped with
everything, ranging from axes to broadswords and daggers to
bows.
They had been damn lucky that none of their ambushers had
thought of using their bows, otherwise the outcome of the
fight may have been very much different. But appearantly the
ruffians they saw in front of them that night hadn't been
trained properly in offensive techniques, and thus the fight
had been quick and very fatal to most of the brigands.
This was the way the city had been by the time a most exci-
ting rumor began circulating the city: Mordiga, the powerfull,
agressive warlord that been threatening all off the coastal
cities of Glynshart with his unconcealed plans for domination
of the entire Onidian continent, was appearently ready to sign
a truce. This would at once elliminate a terrible threat for
millions of peacefull people, and remove the black cloud of
fear that had invisibly kept a grip on so many people for
years now.
And, which was probably much more important, it was said
that the peace talks would be held in Bernhax, as it was a
well-known trade center for a wide variety of goods and mer-
chants.
No one had known what to think of these rumors, and all
Cfyro said was:`We'll see what happens. If the rumors are true
we'll find out soon enough, if not, then we'll also find out,
won't we?'
But it didn't take long before the official confirmation of
this news came, and all possible preparations should, and
would, be made. The messenger that had brought this news
furthermore told them that Mordiga's soreceror, a nasty look-
ing warlock called Spearbinder, had travelled ahead of Mordiga
and his horourary guard to personally inspect the preparations
for the negotiations. He was, so said the messenger, now only
a day's ride away from Bernhax, and he would probably reach
the city the next day, or perhaps even this very evening, if
he pushed his horses to the very limit.
King Guininster, the old, slightly baldheaded ruler of
Glynshart, had ofcourse also sent an inspector ahead of him-
self, and he was also said to be expected in Bernhax within a
forthnight. Guininster and Mordiga would, if everything went
well, sit opposite each other within a week, to discuss the
future of the entire Onidian continent.
The logical spot for a meeting of such magnitude was the
Doge's palace, in the center of town. It held sufficient
staff, supplies and accommodation to house the two rulers and
their respective followings. No preparations were made yet,
however, as it was common practise that the inspectors of both
parties had to agree upon a chosen sight for negotiations,
before any concrete steps could be taken. Otherwise one of the
parties had the right to simply withdraw from the negotiati-
ons, leaving the other side without a single positive result
to account for.
This system was believed to help strengthen the bonds of
trust between the two opposing sides, and was always followed
blindly by everyone. It however also caused a great deal of
stress for the organizers of the negotiations, as it left them
with little time to make concrete plans. An historic example
of this had been when Mordiga's father Lamgoz, a cruel and
ruthless man from who Mordiga had inherited his spirit of
conquest, and Guininster's father, king Demagodin, had agreed
to peace. The preparations for their negotiations had been
made in roughly an hour and a half, because both parties had
suddenly seen the benefits of peace, as neither of them had
had much of an army left after the battle of Drinswald, in
which over two million brave men had found their deaths.
The Doge, who would ofcourse be the one held responsible for
the organisation of the talks, could however already arrange
matters that weren't bound to the location of the negotiati-
ons, such as security, without breaking with the custom, and
he hadn't wasted a second. Only a few minutes after the royal
messenger had left, a second messenger arrived at the Demon
barracks, carrying a message from the Doge.
The Doge, who had ofcourse heard of the legendary fame of
his new watchmen, insisted that the Demons would handle the
close personal protection of both negotiating parties. They
were ordered to protect each and every member of both Mordiga
and king Guininster's followings, and to prevent any
actions that they considered might sabotage the meeting. It
had also already been deceided that both inspectors would be
lodged in the Doge's palace, wether or not the meeting would
be held there or not, because everyone silently agreed that it
wouldn't be a very pleasant feeling to have a man with a
reputation as foul as Spearbinder's wander the streets at
night with no one to watch over him. Discretely ofcourse.
`Now this promises to be interesting,' Robersto had said,
with an ironic smirk on his face,`First we'll have two upstart
inspectors wandering around, poking around everywhere looking
for whatever it may be that they want to look for, and then
we'll have a population going insane because of the legendary
reputations of the two powermongers coming here. I don't think
it at all unlikely that they'll nearly throw themselves at
Guininister's feet and trample each other to stay clear of
Mordiga...' He sighed. `Well, at least we're not damn likely
to get bored.' he added with a grin, to take some of the
gloominess out of his words.
Ryton hadn't quite known what to think of the whole situa-
tion at the time. He only knew that, as far as he was concer-
ned, he'd be a damn load happier when this situation would be
over with. He hadn't known why, but he had had a bad feeling
about the whole meeting from the minute he heard about it.
He'd gone to sleep early that night, thankfull that he didn't
have guard duty that night. He had been certain that he would
have worried a great deal, something he hated, which was
probably why he ended up doing it so often.
He awoke early the next day, reluctant to get up, but kno-
wing that he didn't have a choise, as he was scheduled for
gatekeeping duty that morning, as was Moiryu. He swung his
feet over the edge of his bunk, almost hoping that the stone
floor wouldn't be so damn cold for once. As he uttered a
muffeled curse because the temperature of the floor always
managed to surprise him, he saw Moiryu taking the gear from
the case at the end of his bunk, and slowly begin putting it
on. Ryton winced, as he imagined how terribly cold the metal
armour plates would feel, even through the few layers of
fabric they were to wear underneath it. He shook the feeling
of, and hastily jumped into his pants, as the idea of walking
through the poorly heated barracks scarsely clothed, as appea-
ling as it may be during the sometimes dreadfully warm Onidian
summer, was a poor idea at best during this particulary harsh
winter.
After some ten to fifteen minutes, the two men had finally
totally encased themselves in their guard tenue, and were
slowly walking towards the main gate, through which both
Spearbinder and the king's emmisary, an old warrior-mage that
went by the name Jamxion, were expected to enter the city that
day. Ryton had silently wished they had both met with lethal
accidents on their way to Bernhax, as he didn't like the idea
of having his quiet life disrupted by an event like this. But
in the back of his head, he also knew the men were ofcourse
only following orders, and even the men that had given them
these orders weren't soully responsible for the war that had
ripped through the countrysides like an invisible dagger.
The two men hardly spoke during their walk to the gate. They
had gotten to know each other fairly well in their months of
cooperation, and they knew, after only catching a glimpse of
the other's face as they heard the news of the meeting, that
they were in silent agreement on this subject. So both men
remained silent, both feeling the invisible clouds of tension
circling around the city, and getting closer all the time.
On their way to the gate, only a very short walk, they made
a stop at the armory to pick up their halberds and then quic-
kly went on to relieve their comrades and friends at the gate,
who'd be dying to go to sleep by now.
A little later, their companions relieved, and the keys to
the city officially exchanged, Moiryu and Ryton had suddenly
found themselves actually growing a little bored. Obviously
the news of the, thus far unofficial, meeting hadn't reached
many people yet, as the vast amounts of excited spectators
that were sure to come to Bernhax as word of the oncoming
peace talks got around, vastly stayed out for the time being.
This was probably why, when Jamxion arrived a few hours
later, he could enter the city relatively unnoticed.
It was plain to see that this was as much of a surprise to
him as it had been to the two guardsmen that there were so
little of a crowd, as was quite obviously displayed by the
chordon of mounted knights that encircled the warrior-mage to
protect him as he entered the city. Naturally a group like
this attracted spectators from within the city walls, and this
was the only argument that could be brought up if one wanted
to call Jamxion's safety precautions anything more than a
waste of time, if not a very foolish one.
Spearbinder arrived an hour and a half or so later, but,
unlike Jamxion, his entrance to the city did bring a rather
extensive group of people to the city gates, but this was only
because Spearbinder had brought them himself. Not that his
party was so much greater than Jamxion's, even though it had a
larger number of knights and soldiers in it, to protect them,
Ryton tried to convince himself, but because of the large
number of chained people that were brought into the city at
swordpoint. Spearbinder claimed they had attempted to ambush
them, which was ofcourse not totally unimaginable if someone
had found out who it was riding throught the country, relati-
vely unprotected.
Ryton took a look at Spearbinder as the man rode towards the
gate. He saw a man, apparently just over the peek of his life,
with a short brown beard, and a determined look on his face.
Ryton realised that this man was used to getting what he
wanted. As the warlock got closer, steadily increasing Ryton's
level of unease with ever foot he got nearer, Ryton had seen
bright, heavenly blue eyes peeking around from under his hood,
which hid most of his face, unless one got real close to the
man, which was something most people would regret greatly, as
Ryton would vouch for later on.
The warlock reined his horse in before Ryton and he had had
a chance to see Spearbinder's whole face. The short beard
covered a willfull jawline and a moustache, the same length of
the beard, decorated the warlock's upper lip. Above the moust-
ache, a long, sharp, eagle-like nose added to the man's aura
of strength, but Ryton was most impressed with the warlock's
eyes. At first, from a distance of some fifteen feet, his eyes
had already seemed to display a great mental power that lay
hidden beneath them, but as Ryton gazed up at the magician,
who appeared unwilling to dismount, the impression of strength
was terribly intensified, magnifying it to unearthly proporti-
ons. A light appeared to shine from those eyes, silently
speaking of an unholy crusade, which was certain to come, if
the owner of these glowing gems got his way.
Ryton blinked and the impression vanished, and in front of
him was just an impressive hooded man on a horse again. Ryton
knew what he had seen however, and he also knew that it had
scared him shitless.
`Guardsman,' Spearbinder spoke,`I hereby turn over these
thugs to your capable hands.' He gestured towards the cowering
group of chained vagabonds. `Do not let them get away, or I
will have your head.' Something in the wizard's tone gave
Ryton the idea that this was more than just a metaphore.
The warlock had then rode on, followed by his escorte,
seemingly trusting that someone would tell him where to go,
and leaving Moiryu and Ryton with a group of some fourty
unarmed, chained men that didn't seem elevated very high above
the status of beggars.
Moiryu gazed at Ryton over the heads of the prisoners, that
just stood there like lambs to a slaughter. Some of them
appeared to be slightly less shaken up then the rest of them,
but only barely. Ryton caught the gaze and shrugged to indica-
te that he neither had any idea what should happen with these
men, but he gestured to his friend to at least bring them
within the city walls lest someone might get the inventive
idea of running away. The only slight drawback to that plan
would be that the prisoners were all chained together with a
very long chain, and they probably wouldn't get a hundred feet
before they were all caught again, but they could cause a lot
of chaos in the proces, which was something that should be
avoided at all costs, both Ryton's instincts and training told
him.
Hence, Spearbinder's prisoners were led away to the city
jail a few minutes later. Ryton watched with a sombre expres-
sion on his face, as the re-enforced gatekeepers urged the
meek peasants on with their halberds, as he was left alone at
the city gates to at least uphold guard regulations somewhat
by keeping all city gates guarded, even it was only by one
man.
As the group disappeared into the city, Ryton could hear
cries of dispair coming from the vagabonds, as some of them
seemed to get an idea of where it was they were headed. Soon,
even the cries blended in with the everyday city rumours, but
Ryton knew he would remember the sound of those cries for
quite a while. He knew it was an improper thought for a
guardsman, but he somehow felt the innocence these people had
claimed was truthfull. He sighed. It was at times like this
that he wondered if he had chosen the wrong profession. Fortu-
nately those moments were, up to that moment, fairly sporadic.
He put the thought from his mind. It would be up to the king
to pass judgment upon those people, and not to him, which was
something he thanked God for silently.
King Guininster and Mordiga arrived several days later.
Ryton had been off duty then, so the details of their entrance
to the city eluded him at first, but he could imagine it was,
as Moiryu later put it, eventful. He was very grateful for not
being on guard duty at those moments, because his gut feeling
that these negotiations were a giant mistake had grown increa-
singly stronger, and the tension was getting him edgey at
times. Unfortunately, his luck ended that very night. As he
saw his name on the list of palace guards, he got the uneasy
feeling again, he got every time he was too near people with
power for his tastes. His mother had always told him to steer
clear of people that could make or break you. He had always
taken that advise to heart, and it had worked miracles for
him, as had some of the other things his parents had told him.
Once, it had probably even saved his life.
It was when Ryton was travelling towards Bernhax with his
friends. They had been staying at an inn in a little mudhole
of which Ryton couldn't even recall the name. It had made an
even worse impression on him than some of the pathetic collec-
tions of houses he had visited that had carried the name
"town", and Ryton had wondered what sort of lord could let his
lands come to such decline.
It had been night time, and the dusty group of travellers
sat at an equally dirty table, quietly drinking ale and inten-
ding to get really drunk. At another table sat another group
of travellers, doing likewise, but a lot louder, and a lot
more messy. A few of the local populus had also sat at the bar
and at tables, eyeing the strangers suspiciously and frowning
whenever the noisy strangers broke into a new song, more
vulgar than the previous one. Ryton had smiled as he heard
some of the lyrics of the songs, but hadn't felt tempted to
join in, nor had his friends. One song, about a whore that
charged such low prices that she got visited so very often
that she eventually died of a heart attack, ended with a
comment that she had, as the singers called it in their hoarse
voices, spread too thin and opened too wide.
This caused a fit of laughter from the singers, as well as a
hasty departure of some of the farmers that hadn't been able
to take so much obscene language in one day. None of the
singers ever even noticed.
Thus, the evening had progressed at a calm pase, with both
Ryton's group and the singers growing steadily more and more
drunk, the pub getting emptier and emptier, and the level of
the songs dropping steadily, till it probably couldn't sink
much lower or get much less intelligible
Suddenly however, the tavern door had opened, and a group of
armed men entered the room, followed by a tall man with an
arrogant expression on his face. Even through his blurred
vision, Ryton could clearly see this was a man with power, and
ancient warning bells went off in Ryton's head, urging him to
extreme caution.
All conversations in the room had ceased and everyone si-
lently watched as the man slowly walked towards the center of
the room. Only the singers didn't notice the wall of silence
that had encircled them invisibly. They instead loudly told
anyone that wanted to listen that dogs and women went so well
together because they were on the same level of intelligence,
only women took longer to become housebroken.
`Who's horses are tied to the bar nearest this door?' the man
asked with a plain voice, as he pointed towards the door he
had just walked in through.`This spot is reserved exclusively
for me and my relatives, and I will not tolerate anyone else
placing his horse there. Come forth now and I will be clement,
as it's probably one of you worthless travellers again that
can't read.' Ryton had been quite certain he hadn't seen any
signs outside, which was why he and his friends had placed
their horses there, and which in turn now again was the reason
he and his friends got sober and scared at a rapid rate.
The man had frowned at the drunken debauchers as they conti-
nued their obscene songs, seemingly without having heard a
word of what he had said. This would have been enough to make
any sober man fall silent, only these men weren't very sober
unfortunately. One of them got to his feet somewhat shakingly
and waggled towards the arrogant looking man.
`Hey pal,' the singer had said incoherrently,`Come join us in
a pinte of beer or some great ale! There's enough to go a-
round!'
The other man had taken a step back as the smell of booze
reached his nostrils, and a sharp gesture by him made two
guards rush forward and grab the man before he could get any
closer to him. Another gesture and the inebriate was thrown to
the floor, which didn't require a great deal of force as the
man's legs suddenly seemed to fail him. The arrogant look on
the tall man's face disappeared, and was replaced slowly by a
whicked one as he examined the passed out man in front of him.
`Bring him around.' the man said after a while. The other
members of the debauch had finally become aware that something
had changed in the shadey room, and were now slowly falling
silent as they tried to put their finger on what exactly this
thing was.
One of the armed men, seemingly a sergeant or some lower
officer lifted the man's head from the floor by his hair and
roughly slapped the drunkard's face untill he regained consci-
ousness.
`Hold him like this,'the tall man said, and turning to the
drunken man before him, he said, with a devious look on his
face:`Now you'll see what happens when people make the Earl of
Vrixi unhappy... Because that's what you did, you know, make
me very unhappy...'
Before anyone realised what had happened, the drunken man
was run through, and lying on the floor, dying in a pool of
his own blood. One of his friends made a feeble attempt to
come to his aid and suffered the same fate. The rest of the
inn was totally silent, too overcome by the horror of the
scene they had just witnessed to speak.
Two men who had too much to drink that night, one of the
singers and Freasin Deklinx all of a sudden got overpowered by
nausea and threw up on the floor of the tap-room.
`Now why do ye always do that, Ben?' Ryton had suddenly heard
the inn keeper ask the earl. `If ya must go and kill people,
can't ya do it outside? 'Twill probably take hours to clean
this here mess up!'
The earl looked angrily at the fat inn keeper for a few
seconds. `One of these days you'll overstep your boundaries,
fat man, and then I'll have your hide!' The two men looked at
each other for perhaps ten seconds. `It's your good fortune
that you're the only man in town that knows how to run a
decent inn, otherwise...'
The inn keeper appeared unimpressed. `I know, sir, and I'm
the only one thing that keeps your last few servants in these
lands, and you know it too, don't you?'
The earl grumbled something unintelligible, threw the inn
keeper a last angry look and strode out the inn with long
pases. The inn keeper stood motionless behind the bar, his
head slightly tilted, as if he was listening intensively to
something. Finally, the sound of a large number of horses
galloping away into the night penetrated the tavern walls, and
the fat inn keeper let out a sigh of relief. He then quickly
regained his sences and walked to the strangers.
`Get out,' he said in a voice that slightly trembled with
restraint,`all of you! I don't need your kind of customers. If
I want a couple of drunken reprobates, I can get a few of
these peasants drunk. At least they know better than to bug
the earl...!' He shook his head.
`Heck,'Robersto had said, fairly soberly,`just give us our
money back and we're out of here! We're not exceptionally keen
on getting run through, you know!'
`Like hell!' the inn keeper shouted,`Thanks to you I've got
this mess to clean up, and all the people of the village will
be too scared to come to my inn for at least a week! Be thank-
full I don't call the earl again!'
And with that they had to make do, so they ended up spending
the night in a ditch, a few miles outside the little town.
Ryton recalled dreaming of Leorana, a girl he had had a crush
on in his hometown, but he mainly remembered that he had
gotten out of that town alive, something he had gotten to
think was highly doubtful at best after catching a glint of
the madness inside the earl's eyes.
Ryton had snapped out of his flashback and had found himself
in the barracks again, lying on his bunk, blindly staring at
the ceiling. He suddenly wondered how much time had passed,
and when he walked out, he saw the sun had nearly set, indica-
ting that his shift of guard duty approached rapidly. He
wondered if dinner had already been served or not, so he
deceided to head over to the mess hall and see if any of his
friends would be there. The barracks had been strangely empty,
but Ryton quickly realised that must be because of the mee-
ting, and the special guard duties the Demons had gotten
during that period. He rather much suspected to find the
others that were supposed to guard the doge's palace that
night in the mess hall, something he was proven right at a few
moments later.
When he entered the large mess hall, a new addition to the
regular guard barracks that caused some more tension between
the other guards and the Demons, because only the Demons had
such a large mess hall, he saw Robersto, Moiryu and some six
others sitting at a table at a far corner of the hall. Ryton
had first grabbed one of the wooden bowls and then went to
fill it with whatever it was the giant pot that hung above the
fire in the center of the hall turned out to contain that day.
It was mostly unidentifiable goo with varying tastes and
colours, as it was that day. The dark green bree inside the
kettle seemed to represent some sort of boiled vegetable, and
Ryton could vividly imagine the reddish bits that floated
around in it must have been meat once. He sighed, even with an
extended budget the food was lousy.
He sat down with his comerades, and soon found out that all
nine of them were planned for guarding the palace that night.
The major part of the dinner was spent silently consuming
their food. Somehow, the sight of what the kitchen had concoc-
ked again this time, always seemed to make everyone a little
depressed, if not sick.
Soon after, the nine of them were headed over to the center
of Bernhax, where the Doge's palace awaited them. Like a
spider in it's web, Ryton had thought, not without anxiety. He
hoped, and silently prayed that nothing eventful would happen.
The peace talks were only a day away, and he would sleep a lot
better if there would be no more powermongers in town, or at
least, so he had thougt...
When they finally reached the palace, the commander of the
Doge's personal guard welcomed them warmly, appearantly glad
to have the extra manpower to help tighten security as much as
was possible, and then showed them their posts for the night.
Ryton was, so it turned out, posted directly in front of the
room of king Guininster, together with another Demon who's
name he didn't know. This was quite an honour, and one he
certainly had not expected to receive. He wondered what he
could have done to get entrusted with such an important post,
as well as at the same time realising what a clever system of
organising guard duties it was to keep the guards themselves
unaware of their exact posts till the last minute.
Soon, the Demons had dispersed into the building, and Ryton
and the other Demon, a young man called Griek, who was cursed
with a tendency to stotter, found themselves alone in a
slightly dark corridor in front of a massive oak door. Guinin-
ster was behind that door, they had heard, but they could have
just as easily been guarding a closet. At least that was what
it seemed like to Ryton after a few hours of patiently stan-
ding in front of the thick door. He almost wished he had
patrol duty at a certain point. He knew it could still be
uncomfortably cold outside at nights, but at least you were
constantly on the move, and you had a bit of room to move
around. This post, honourable as it may be, was also one of
the most boring posts conceivable.
At first he had tried to make a few attempts at conversation
with Griek, but the replies he had gotten had taken so long to
become sentences that Ryton had found himself yawning several
times, and since he wouldn't like to fall asleep on duty, he
deceided to delicately break of the conversation and get
through the night as best he could.
At a certain point in time that night, Ryton suddenly heard
a scraping noise coming from the staircase through which they
had gotten to this floor. At first he had thought it was just
one of the many cats that roamed the corridors freely, or one
of the thousands of rats, which where the reason for the
prescene of the cats. But the sound had steadily grown stron-
ger, and persistantly appeared to be headed in their directi-
on. Ryton signaled Griek, to find out if he had heard the
sound as well, and the young man nodded, only taking his eyes
of the shadey staircase for a second, as if he expected hell
itself to come from that dark staircase. In fact he hadn't
been all that far off, Ryton would remember later.
At first neither one of the two men was certain if they saw
something or not, but both of them had become convinced that
something must be in the dark staircase, maybe watching them
at that very moment without them knowing it. Ryton thought,
not for the first time, that he saw movement in the shadows
and shouted:`You there, in the staircase, identify yourself,
or we're coming to get you!'
A familiar voice replied at once, and Ryton shivered as he
realised who it was on the stairs in front of them.
`Please, guardsman,'the voice said in a comforting tone,`I
don't walk as well anymore as I used to, please be a little
patient with me...'
`Spearbinder, this area is strictly off limits to you, turn
back now or-'
`Oh be still, boy,' Spearbinder spoke and stepped out of the
darkness of the staircase,`I have important business to attend
to tonight, and I cannot be bothered with your petty minds.
Just don't struggle too much, and I'll let you live.'
Ryton knew it couldn't be the words the warlock spoke, as
they didn't at all seem apt to lure him into neglecting his
duties, but he suddenly found himself falling silent and
stepping away from the door of the king's room to grant the
hooded wizzard entry. He struggled like his life depended on
it to break free of the spell the warlock had cast upon him,
but he felt like a fly trying to fly away from a tornado, and
his control over his body had been lifted from him, just like
some invisible giant played with him like a doll.
By then, both Ryton and Griek had stepped aside and Spear-
binder opened the door.
Just as he stepped into the room, whispering softly to
himself in quiet satisfaction that he had almost completed his
task, a bright flash of light erupted from the walls of the
king's room, and Spearbinder was flung back through the door,
against the wall behind it.
`Well, well,' a voice came from inside Guininster's room,`it
would seem my magical protections paid off pretty well...'
Spearbinder, who was slowly getting back to his feet, looked
up as he heard the voice. He realised that it was not Guinin-
ster's huge bass speaking, but a softer voice, tempered by
years of experience and sharpened by extensive study. The
voice of an old man that still pretty well held his own.
Spearbinder's eyes opened wide as he saw Jamxion emerging
from what he had believed to be king Herloidin Guininster's
room.
`I must admit you are a tough man to kill, Spearbinder,'
Jamxion said, nodding his head,`Most mortals would not have
survived a direct contact with my wall of pure light.' He
nodded again. `But seriously now, you didn't honoustly believe
I would let the king's quarters be known to so many others
when we are dealing with an adversary like you and your mas-
ter? That is why I moved into this room, and see if, and if
so, who, would take the bait, and you have just been caught,
Spearbinder, or whatever name it may be that you are going by
at this moment.'
Spearbinder grinned and took a long look at Jamxion, appea-
rantly estimating what kind of punch this man packed. Finally
he spoke, and when he did, his grin had gotten wider, and the
evil glint inside the warlock's eyes had again become the
unholy haze Ryton had seen there earlier.
`You are a fool Jamxion, to believe you can just singlehan-
dedly take on anyone that tries to assasinate the king. Once
you were indeed the most powerfull wizard of Onidia, but...
times change, and if you don't change with them.... you're
history!' He laughed softly at his own joke and suddenly flung
something at Jamxion. It seemed like a dagger made of shade,
only sharper and more deadly than any dagger could ever be
made by human hands. Jamxion ducked, only barely in time, and
the dagger whizzed over his head by an inch and a half. Behind
him, the dagger tore a piece of wall down, not considering
mere stone to be resistance enough to let it stop it's flight.
Jamxion then made a short gesture with a few fingers, and
behind Spearbinder a purplish wall of magical fire arose.
Another gesture and the wall rushed forward, towards Mordiga's
warlock who stood in the room's doorway.
Spearbinder leaped forward into the room, appearantly just
catching a glint of the purple flames behind him. What happend
then Ryton couldn't tell for certain, as he was still immobi-
lized by Spearbinder's spell, and he was still facing away
from the room. He did however feel like he had a little more
control over his body, as if the effects of the spell were
wearing off. A fragment of his mind wondered if this could be
because the wizzard's attention was drawn towards the dual of
magic he was fighting at the moment, but the main part of his
thoughts went to attempts at breaking free of the spell that
held him here, while behind him, perhaps the future of the
country was being settled.
This thought made him think of his home village and the
people he knew and loved there. He tried to imagine what their
worlds would look like if they would be Mordiga's subjects,
instead of Guininster's. It only took him about half a second
to conclude that their futures would be bleak at best, and
this thought made him furious. What the hell did these people
think?! That they could just walse all over Onidia and pluck
it like a ripe apple and enslave the people he loved so dear-
ly?! The mere thought of a man like Mordiga ruling Onidia, or
his parents bowing before the madness Spearbinder represented
made him realise that he would do anything in his power to
prevent this from ever becoming reality. He mentally drew
strength from this line of thought, and he beat and kicked at
the invisible barriers that kept his mind powerless and his
body a prisoner of a madness he could not control.
And again he felt the power of the enchantment faultering,
but not quite breaking yet. He was very close now, he could
almost feel it collapsing under the pressure he put on it, but
he just needed one more bit of leverage to do the job, and his
mind looked around for whatever it could be.
Suddenly, an image flashed before his mind's eye, and he had
found the one extra reason he needed to break free. It had
been Leorana's face he had seen. The mere thought of her being
hurt or made subject to God knew what kind of savage practices
made his heart almost burst, and all of a sudden he was free
again. He could move again and quickly, unconsciously almost,
he ran his hands over his body, checking if all parts were
still accounted for.
For a split-second, he wondered how it was possible that a
child sweetheart of his could have captivated him so. He had
barely thought of her for a few months, and didn't even know
how she was doing.
He did not have a great deal of time to waste on such, at
that moment, trivial thoughts, as the sound of a series of
loud explosions from inside the room indicated that the fight
between Jamxion and Spearbinder was still going on.
So Ryton drew a deep breath, unsheathed his sword and rushed
into the room, knowing his sudden courage would surely leave
him if he hesitated too long.
What he saw as he entered the room wasn't a totally unfami-
liar sight to him, only the rooms that he had seen in such a
state had been occupied the entire night before by some twenty
young people who had agreed to make this the wildest party
they had ever seen before... Not by two men with smoking
clothes and partly burned hair doing things that the laws of
physics would never be able to explain.
None of this was even close to his attention at that moment
however. All he saw was Spearbinder's back, turned towards
him, and Jamxion's worn face, wrinkeled with exhaustion, and
Ryton knew the old man would not be able to continue the fight
for very much longer. Spearbinder had probably seen this as
well, because he seemed to intensify his attacks, and Jamxion
was getting pushed further and further into a corner, untill a
moment in the not so very far future that he could not move
back any further. That would be the moment he would die, and
all men in the room knew it.
Ryton did not know much about magic, and if he had known, he
might have acted differently, but at that moment all he could
see was that his worst nightmares would appearantly come true.
So he softly stepped forward and drove his sword into Spear-
binder's unprotected back. He could feel the metal breaking
through the wizard's spine and coming out the man's chest at
the front. It was a sickening feeling, but Ryton shivered with
delight as he felt it, and he instantly hated himself for it.
His parents had always thought him that it was wrong to hate
others, and he knew they were probably right, but he could
think of no other word for what he felt for Spearbinder.
He quickly withdrew his sword with some effort, and turned
the dying warlock over. The man still looked the same, but the
light in his eyes was dying rapidly. His face held an amazed
expression, as if he couldn't quite comprehend what had happe-
ned yet. Finally, he looked into Ryton's eyes, and a glimmer
of recognition flashed over his face. Blood was running down
both corners of his mouth by then, and Ryton knew that this
man would not live to see another day, not even with the help
of the most powerfull healing magics around. Suddenly, the
warlock's hand grabbed Ryton's wrist and he spoke a single
word:`Why?'
Ryton was starteled by this question, and didn't immediately
have a reply ready. Nor was he exactly sure what the wizzard
ment by this question, but he answered it anyway, as it seemed
the thing any civilized person would do if a dying man asked
him something.
He thought for a little while, and then replied:`Because I
care about the world.'
An ironic smirk krept on Spearbinder's face. He coughed up
some blood and spit it out with a despicable gesture, almost
as if he didn't care much about it. Just for a second, as
Spearbinder held Ryton's hand, and he looked into the man's
eyes, the inferno was there again, brighter than he had ever
seen it. It flashed like a volcanic eruption, nearly visibly
lashing out towards Ryton.
Ryton felt and saw it, and he wanted to dash back, jump up
and run away from the horror he had witnessed there, just for
a second. But the warlock, even dying, had an iron grip on his
wrist, and Ryton couldn't move away.
Then, Spearbinder spoke his last words:`Then, my foolish
young man, you will never care about anything again. You shall
feel the power of hate, just as you have felt the power of
love.'
He laughed and let go of Ryton's wrist. The laughter ended
shortly thereafter in a small flood of blood, and then, final-
ly, the light died completely in Spearbinder's eyes.
Looking down at the dead warlock, none of them had quite
understood what the man had ment by that last remark, but to
Ryton it had become clearer and clearer in the days that
followed. Mordiga left town, claiming that the assasination of
his inspector was an act of war on it's own, and Ryton's scary
hunch that the peace talks would come to nothing was sadly
confirmed.
The first few days thereafter, Ryton had been a little
cranky most of the time. He had thought this may perhaps be
because of all of the tension that fell off his shoulders, and
that the reason for his tension had been so very futile, but
he wasn't at all concerned yet.
His concern first raised it's head a few days later, as his
mood got darker and darker still, and he didn't have a good
reason for it at all. He would have expected his spirits to
rise, now that his life could return to it's previous regula-
rity, but the exact opposite was closer to the truth. He got
downhearted, wondering what use his entire existence had. And
it was then when the anger first arose.
It wasn't very clear at first, and highly unfocused, like an
unpleasant smell floating through a room. More felt than
actually experienced. Initially, his growing anger confused
him, and made him take a lot of time to himself to ponder as
to what the source of this sudden hostility could be. He
concluded that it must be some erratic mood swing, and decei-
ded to let it go with that, but a slight worried feeling still
lingered, not yet put at ease.
After two weeks, Ryton's anger had grown in strength incre-
dibly, like a tornado growing at sea, waiting to hit unsuspec-
ting lands and unleash it's full destructive force on them.
Ryton felt it. The blackness grew in him steadily and unstop-
ably, and sometimes it got too strong for him to control,
despite his entire upbringing and nature. He sometimes felt
the urge to just hit someone over some small reason, or for no
reason at all. The beast had been grown in his head.
And one night, some two and a half weeks after Spearbinder's
death, it broke loose...
It was in a tavern, Piggy Bar, late at night. Ryton had been
sitting alone drinking all evening, trying to find oblivion
for his troubled mind in alcohol. Unfortunately, none of his
worries left him, only his self-control.
There were, as is not quite uncommon is a bar, more people
there that night with the idea of getting bummered. Such as
the man sitting next to Ryton that night.
He had entered the bar a few hours after him and had also
begun drinking at a steady pase. But, as steady as the man's
drinking habbits appearently were, his resistance to alcohol
appeared to be less well developed, as the man eloquently
displayed that night by breaking into some obscene songs, some
of which could rival with the songs the young men had sung in
the little town before two of them had been run through.
Ryton had sat next to the man for a while, listening to the
man's drunken singing without much interest. All of a sudden
however, the man broke into the song of the whore who charged
such low prices, and something snapped inside Ryton's mind.
He once again saw the debauchers singing their dirty songs,
he once again saw the earl enter the inn, and he also saw two
bodies laying on the floor again, their two puddles of blood
blending together on the floor. He saw the first man walking
towards the earl again, and again he saw him and his friend
getting run trough again in his mind, over and over again.
He jumped up from his stool at the bar so fast it fell to
the floor. With his one hand, he grabbed the man's vest,
pulling him so he faced him and with his other hand, he hit
the man in his face as hard as he could. The man fell to the
floor, with a surprised expression on his face, where he lay
for a few seconds as he slowly gazed up at Ryton.
`You fool!' Ryton had shouted at the man,`Keep your filthy
tongue under control! If you want to die, just keep this up
and, for certain, you'll get your way! I can guarantee this
much to-' The rest of his words would never be heard, as the
man had jumped up from the floor, remarkably sober all of a
sudden, Ryton had noticed in a flash, and had rammed his fist
in Ryton's stomach.
It had ended in the city guard rushing into the bar and
breaking up the bar brawl that had eveloped from their fight,
as bar brawls always do, and arresting the two of them when
the inn keeper identified them as the trouble starters.
The walk to the city jail, as uncomfortable as it was,
battered as Ryton had been, became a rightout torment as some
of the guardsmen recognized him as a Demon, and began throwing
all kinds of insults and downputs his way. Ryton had no choise
but to take them all silently, as he was clearminded enough to
realise that anything he said now would only make matters
worse for him.
The next morning, some of his friends came and got him out
of jail, appearently some of Ryton's superiors had wanted him
released, as it was clearly a setup to frame the honour of the
Demons, Moiryu told him as they walked back to the Demon
barracks. Ryton only sighed and didn't respond.
Moiryu looked at Ryton suddenly, and shook his head.
`Ryton, I have no idea as to what is happening to you, but
you're not doing at all well, are you?' He didn't get a reply
and actually he didn't really need one. `Maybe you're overwor-
ked or something,' he suggested,`I've heard that people can
get this way when they're under a lot of tension.'
Ryton nodded. `I don't know what is happening to me, Moi-
ry,'he said softly,`I really don't feel like myself lately,
that's for sure...' He had let out a sigh, again wondering
what was happening to him.
Moiryu had looked at him concernedly `I think you should take
a vacation, man, you're falling apart! Just get away from all
this for a few weeks and return to us a new man, doesn't that
sound like a good idea?'
Again Ryton had nodded, not at all convinced that this
solution would be the answer to his troubles, but very much
willing to give it a try.
So Ryton had gone on vacation to Gwerles, a city some fifty
miles out of Bernhax. There, he had visited beautifull parks
to help soothe his troubled mind, he had consulted the best
psychiatrists there, as well as psychics, oracles, mediums and
fortune tellers.
He had even, after none of these things appeared to put his
troubled mind at ease, visited wizards, withces and sorcerors.
One of these had told him, after a lot of impressive light-
shows, that were probably mainly meant to impress the common
public, that there was a spell on him. The particular spell
was called, so the wizzard had told him, the Doomsday Gaze.
It was a very unique enchantment, and hardly ever used, as the
risks that were involved with casting it were extremely high,
and a wizzard may easily get killed casting this enchantment.
If, however the caster managed to fullfill casting the en-
chantment, the victim would be in for extreme suffering and a
world of pain as the effects of this spell were said to be
irreversable, and usually quite fatal in the long run.
Ryton, who already again felt the anger rise inside him
because the sorceror hadn't told him what he wanted to know
most: what this enchantment's effects were, had suddenly, as
by some revelation, not needed to ask that one question anymo-
re, he had known... It was this enchantment that had installed
him with this anger, this pointless rage and this unfocussed
hate! This enchantment was driving him out of his mind! This
was Spearbinder's way of getting even with him from the grave!
He had jumped up and grabbed the shoulders of the man's long
robe and had shook him franticly. But no matter what he did,
the magician hadn't known how to lift the curse, and neither
had any of the others he had asked.
So three weeks later, Ryton had returned to Bernhax, not
cured as he had hoped to be, but more troubled than he had
ever been.
Soon after his return to Bernhax, he had only walked a few
routine patrols, he handed in his resignation, as he couldn't
work with his former friends anymore. He had told them about
the enchantment, but they hadn't understood. There was somet-
hing about all of them that he suddenly found resentfull, and
he had more and more fallen back on seclusion to prevent any
accidental contact with the rest of humanity, he had gotten to
hate, just as he had begun hating himself for what he had
become. Even through his misery, he admired the slyness of the
enchantment. It wasn't something as direct as suddenly immola-
ting and dying on the spot, but a slow decay of his mental
health, driving him insane day by day and finally leaving him
to die allone and forgotten, which was probably a thousand
times worse, as the victim was fully aware of the entire
process, step by step, day by day and week by week.
And this way, he had gotten to be what he was now, the
filthy shadow of a human being, lying on a dirty bunk, in a
dark room, beneath a pile of dirty blankets to block out as
much of the outside world. The blackness had fully engulfed
him now, and the part of Ryton's mind that could still think
straight knew that he was sure to die within a month, if he
kept his self-neglect up the way he had.
Suddenly, the darkness that had been his world for the past
few days, was broken in an explosion of bright light, as
someone had appearantly entered his room and pulled the sheets
off from him. He jumped out of bed, raging, and struck the
person that had dared to break into his sacred solitude, the
only place he felt safe and at ease these days: his bed.
Suddenly his vision cleared a little, and he saw it was a
young woman he had hit. It was a pretty girl, with very long
black hair, deep brown eyes and a proud nose, from which a
drop of blood dripped now. She was lying on the floor with a
strange, somehow pleased expression on her face, which made
him even more furious at her. He hit her again, with his flat
hand this time, and yelled at her:`What the hell do you think
you're doing in here?!! I paid the inn keeper to let no one in
here; I need to be alone!'
Against all odds, the girl's smile widened, and she slowly
got back to her feet again.
`No you don't...' she spoke softly in a mysterious tone, as
she walked up to him. Ryton slapped her again, the anger still
controlling his body, knocking her head hard to one side. She
didn't fall to the floor again however, as she seemed to
expect the blow and when she looked at him again, she was
still smiling broadly.
This woman is crazy, was a thought that shot through Ryton's
head as he watched her smiling face, but since he considered
the entire world insane at that time, it didn't bother him any
more than anything else.
`I like men who play it roughly,'the girl whispered, as she
bent over to kiss him.
Strangely, Ryton found himself returning the kiss, and soon
after they were making love, totally and perfectly connecting
to each other, both forms of insanity blending together to
produce a bizarre and extreme passion that had never seen it's
like in the history of the world. This way the day, and most
of the night went by, and Ryton directed all of his emotions
at the girl who's name he didn't even know. Both his love, of
which he didn't have much to give anymore, and his world of
hate, he spilled out in her time and again, and when they
finally did fall asleep, Ryton felt better than he had in a
long time.
He awoke early the next morning, well rested and revived in
a way he had never thought he would feel again. Somehow the
world seemed different, more real. Suddenly he realised he
could think straight again, without the rage blocking his
thoughts and clouding his judgment. Somehow, the night of
passion had cured him!
Ryton got out of bed, got dressed and looked down at the
black haired girl. He wondered what had happened to her to
make her this twisted way. He pittied her for looking for love
in a way like this, but he also felt sorry for her, something
he hadn't felt for a long time.
He shrugged, too exhilarated to feel any other feelings
except the feeling of being alive again.
He walked out the room and within an hour, he was well on his
way towards a better future in a world that was far from
perfect, but to Ryton seemed like paradise.
Maybe he would go back to his home village, see how his
parents were doing, or drop in on Leorana to see what would
have become of her. Anything was possible, and Ryton let out a
cry of pure joy as he rode through the grasslands, on his way
to the future.
The end