He didn’t expect her to move so quickly, and was shocked for a brief instant as he tried to regain his balance - just before her mace slammed into the side of his head. The blow propelled the man sideways, landing him in a heap on the floor. It also knocked off his black leather hat.
Sandreena had seen many bodies hit the ground; she knew this man wasn’t going to answer any questions. She hadn’t intended to kill him, but her battle-honed reflexes had taken over.
She inspected the body. Her would-be assassin wore a dark maroon tunic, black trousers, and black leather boots. His black cape was fastened with a golden clasp that looked more suitable for a gentleman’s garb than for any sort of serviceable travel wear, so she assumed the man had stolen it.
The side of his head was caved in, blood ran from his nose and ears, and his eyes were set in an expression of surprise. They had once been a vivid blue, but there was something about the eyes of the dead that always made them look greyish to Sandreena, no matter what their original colour.
She knelt down and inspected him. There was no belt purse, no sign of who he might have been, only an ordinary dagger. The other personal item she discovered was a chain around his neck, from which hung a black balled fist made out of iron or some other base metal.
She picked up the man’s leather hat and turned to Enos and his family. ‘A Black Cap, I presume?’
Enos’s eyes were wide with terror and he seemed unable to speak. He merely nodded.
Sandreena stood, righted the table and chair, and sat down ignoring the body on the floor. ‘I think you need to tell me some things,’ she said.
Softly, in a whisper, Enos said, ‘We are all going to die.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN - Upheaval
Gulamendis howled.
A primal sound erupted from his throat as he threw back his head and unleashed his frustration in the only way he could. The pounding of waves upon the rocks quickly engulfed the sound. The Demon Master of the taredhel knew this moment was coming, but had laboured on in hope of seeking the source of the demon signs he had encountered.
An emotional people, the taredhel were restrained when it was required. On the rocky bluffs of this wilderness, miles from any habitation, human, dwarf, or anything remotely intelligent, Gulamendis felt no such requirement. He raised his hand and conjured a seething mass of energy, a writhing ball of mystic black tendrils within a dark purple sphere, and hurled it down at the rocks below.
The ball struck a massive boulder and exploded in a satisfying display of blindingly brilliant pyrotechnics. It released clouds of dark smoke and sent a shower of silver sparks in all directions. When the ocean breeze had blown the smoke away, all was as it had been before. The only sign of Gulamendis’s outburst was a bare patch of rock, now devoid of moss and lichen. Otherwise the ocean and the rocks below remained indifferent.
Gulamendis chuckled at his childishness and sat down to ponder his next move in this terrible and dangerous game. His original plan had been simple: follow the demon sign long enough to establish exactly what kind it was. He was almost certain that he had detected a conjuration, for the lingering residue had held a different quality, or flavour, to that which was left when a demon entered this realm unbidden. He had noticed that fact the first time he had encountered demons along the Diazialan frontier, when the first conflict had erupted in this long and bitter war.
He was intrigued. Who was this summoner of demons? In his travels, Gulamendis had met very few magic users who could order such creatures into this realm, and none who could match his abilities. He would be first to admit that he had also been lucky over the years, but he took credit alone for learning the lessons his luck brought to him. He was as apt a student as his brother.
He sighed and stood up. The demon was across the sea, and while he couldn’t be certain, he suspected that the far shore was a very long way away, perhaps even on the other side of the world. He could conjure demons with the ability to carry him, but none could fly across such a vast distance.
Besides, there were more important matters closer at hand than satisfying his academic and professional curiosities. Finding this other Demon Master would have to wait.
The now faced the task set before him by the Regent Lord, to investigate the elves in the north, at a place called Elvandar. He felt a strange longing at the thought of finding them, for although the taredhel had established their own order, their own view of the universe, they were still edhel at heart, and ancient ties abided.