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