The Nine Shadows: Chapter Eleven

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By Christopher Mitchell

Eleven

            The Blue King raged. The whelp had proven to be more cunning than he thought possible; his queen would not be pleased. He paced in front of the mouth of the cavern, the large one laying still on the other side of those damning flames. He could smell the blood, sweet in the giant man’s veins, enough of it flowing through him to glut himself and the remaining handful of his children.

He took back his prior statement; the boy’s death would be slow… painful…

Intricate.

He continued to pace, watching the flames slowly descend from their inferno to a sinking flicker. They died, and the Blue King smiled; the large one would do—for now.

A whistling scream came from behind him, and he ducked. An arrow took one of his remaining sons in the back, and the boy collapsed dead. He had enough time to turn and witness the young one loose another arrow, sending it howling into the chest of another of his children.

The Blue King roared his frustration and raised his hand to halt the last three of his children from advancing.

“Nie, meh hess.”

No, he’s mine.

The Blue King unsheathed his sword from its place at his back. He’d changed his mind; he would kill this buzzing fly quickly, then take the large one back to his queen to turn— as peace offering for his failure.

It would be a small consolation for the lives he’d wasted today in his hubris.

Peck drew the bow, aiming for the center of the Blue King’s heart. He’d taken the other two with ease, now he would—

The bow snapped with a wet crunch, the branches of the rowan tree unable to withstand any more stress. He let it fall from his hands, unfazed. He knew it was coming; he just wished it would have broken after he’d been able to take the shot.

The Blue King laughed. “It seems your toy has broken, little fly.”

Peck drew Tiberius’ sword. “I have more, you putrid leech.” The Blue King’s eyes widened, and Peck smiled; the Blue King hadn’t expected Peck to understand him, let alone hurl an insult back at him.

Behind the blue paint, the demon reddened in rage. He roared, then lumbered towards Peck in blind fury.

Peck waited, ready to take his final gambit.

Thank you, Marcus.

The Blue King brought the sword up, closing the distance.

Thank you, Tiberius.

The demon brought the sword crashing down.

I’m ready…

Peck sidestepped, catching the blade with the guard of Tiberius’ dagger, just as Tiberius had done. He heard Tiberius’ voice in his mind echoing the phrase he repeated at Peck’s every attempt to beat him while dueling.

Dead.

He spun quickly to the back of the Blue King, plunging Tiberius’ sword—his sword—through the demon’s heart and out his front, feeling the blade stick in the dirt and pinning the monster in place.

The Blue King stilled, his final breath coming out long and ragged, and Peck heard the Maraughin’s raging scream permeating the air around him. The remaining children fled in that moment, racing toward the hills in fear and panic, rushing in the direction of their mother’s beckoning, angry howls. Peck screamed after them, raising his sword in defiance as they ran, then collapsing as exhaustion finally caught up with him. He was overwhelmed with emotion; he’d survived, somehow, against all odds. He’d become the shield, protecting Marcus from the hands of the Blue King. He’d become the spear, destroying those things that had taken countless lives in the name of that vile witch who now held Tiberius in her dead hands.

He was so tired…

“Peck?”

Peck spun to that voice, so familiar and welcoming at this very moment.

Marcus leaned wearily against mouth of the hollow, using one hand to keep his balance and the other to rub near the gash on his head. He shook his head and shut his eyes hard, opening them wide to assure what he saw was indeed reality.

Peck’s laughter turned to racking sobs as he rushed to Marcus, holding him tightly and releasing the flood of emotions he’d held at bay the entire afternoon.

“It’s okay, my boy.” Marcus stroked Peck’s hair, letting him process those feelings that came at the conclusion of a hard-fought battle. “You’re okay.” After some time, he pulled Peck away from him. “Now, tell me what happened.”

Peck relayed the events of the day, starting with tunneling into the mind of Tiberius and the Maraughin’s corruption of his soul. Marcus’ face grew red with fury as Peck told him of their intimate coupling and sung his praises when hearing he’d fought against her in the vision. He was stunned when Peck told him of his plan with the alchemical oil and looked on with proud eyes as he told him of the snares and traps he’d used to reduce their numbers to a manageable size.

“And then you used the trick Tiberius taught you with the dagger?” Marcus looked past Peck, toward the still-propped body of the Blue King in the smoldering clearing.

Peck nodded, and Marcus wiped at the red paint on the boy’s face, leaving a streak in the sweat-ruined designs he’d painted on himself.

“Who is this man…” He put his hands on Peck’s shoulders. “…and what did he do with the boy I called Peck?”

Peck’s eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but he managed a wan smile. Marcus thought he’d drop from exhaustion any moment …

“Rest now, Peck.” Marcus looked past the boy once more, out to the dead body kneeling in prostration, staring sightlessly beyond the hills towards its furious maker. “Kingsbane…”

Peck looked up, confused.

Marcus smiled. “Your new title: Peck Kingsbane”

Peck shook his head. “No, you said rest. Aren’t we going after Tiberius?”

“You need sleep, boy; you’re in no shape to go after anyone.” He pointed to Peck’s bedroll. “Go and rest, I will check on the horses and keep watch; I’ve slept long enough.”

“I hid them in the woods to the east of here, away from where I ran when I lit the fires.” Peck yawned and stretched his arms above his head. “They should still have some food left and a little water.”

Marcus smiled. “Aye, Kingsbane.” He stood to leave. He made it to the mouth of the hollow and halted as Peck called his name. “What is it, Peck?”

“My name isn’t Peck.” The boy looked sheepish. “Well, not my real name, at least.”

Marcus raised on eyebrow. “Is that right?”

Peck nodded “Tel gave me the name Peck. I was named for my grandfather, as he was named for his grandfather before him. I felt I had not earned the name, being a slave to others and a student to you and Tiberius, but now I feel I’ve earned it.”

Marcus nodded. “I agree. What’s this name, then, Peck?”

Peck beamed, a look Marcus had never seen etched into the boy’s face, a look that could have been regal, worn in the eyes and squared shoulders of chieftains. “Falbreth.”

Marcus bowed his head approvingly. “Very well.” He grabbed Peck—now Falbreth— by the arm and raised him to his feet. He then clasped Falbreth’s forearm with his large hand and urged the boy to do the same to him. “In the name of Rome, and in the name of the wilds of Caledonia, I—Marcus of House Cassius—do hereby rename Peck, slayer of demons, to Falbreth Kingsbane.” He looked Peck in the eyes. “Protector of the free peoples of this realm, and the protector of the innocents of the aether. Do you, Falbreth Kingsbane, accept your new role as a Primacy Legionnaire, enforcer of the terms and defender of the aether?”

Peck… Falbreth… nodded. “I do.”

Marcus smiled. “Then rest now, Falbreth.” He released the boy’s arm.

“Tomorrow, we hunt.”

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