Jonis - Rowan Erlking (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📗

hall into a narrower hallway, Jonis strolled behind the rather austere-looking man past portraits and curtained windows. But they were going too fast for him to get a really good look. There was something almost unnatural about this change of pace that made Jonis squirm uncomfortably. They walked in silence up three flights of stairs from an open vestibule, past a good number of ornate doors, to a plain door that opened up into a simple room.

The butler stood aside, allowing Jonis to step in. Perhaps it was the last service the butler would give him because Jonis noticed the man’s smug expression when Jonis entered the small chamber. The room was better than Jonis’s quarters anywhere else except for the bedroom Mr. Farren had given him. The bed was adequate. The dresser, more than he needed for his uniforms. The floor had a decent carpet, and the room had an adjoining bathroom. But it was servant’s quarters.

“You will rest here,” the butler said. He turned to leave, closing the door.

Nodding, Jonis went farther in and put down his things on the dresser. With a tired sigh he walked to the bed and sat down. It was better than his closet in Ladis, but he felt just as tucked away.

 

The morning was bright on the tops of the mountains in Danslik. As soon as he was dressed in his uniform, clean and ready to meet the Patriarch to discuss his plans for the country, Jonis hopped down all three flights of stairs much like a child in a new playground. The butler met him at the bottom of the stairway, gaping with disgust.

“Have you no manners?” the butler snipped, lifting his nose into the air.

Jonis blinked at him once and shrugged. “Occasionally. Was I supposed to wait for you up there? You didn’t say anything about it.”

The butler contained his disgust and turned silently towards the hall to the right. They had to pass through the wide foyer from the day before, walking by sentries at every turn. Jonis peered at the stoic faces of each sentry, glancing at their stronger, yet still decorative, military weapons more closely. He ‘hm’ed to himself as he followed the butler into a brighter lit hallway.

Every bit of the capital building exceeded opulent. Sheer silk curtains at stained and frosted glass windows, plush carpets with ornately woven runners going down the middle of each hall to protect from wear, and everything was dust free and in perfect order. Besides those, paintings of the most artistic nudes hung all over the walls. Jonis had to avert his eyes from the walls at times, avoiding the provocative images that set his heart racing. The butler only stopped when they reached a final open door. There, the butler stood snobbishly as a roadblock, waving Jonis in.

This room was smaller but just as elegantly decorated as the Great Hall. The Patriarch sat at the end of the room in a comfortable high back chair, listening to business. His attire was like a military uniform, only made out of finer cloth—clearly not suited for combat. He barely looked up when Jonis entered.

“Wait until he calls you,” the butler hissed low before leaving.

Jonis stood at the back of the room, listening as wealthy merchants discussed business plans with the Patriarch. Hearing their dialogue, Jonis remained silent. It was familiar in an odd way, and incredibly enlightening.

“…Of course you will have your percentage of the profits. I can also ensure that an infected portion will land in the hands of the Underlord in Calcumum.” The merchant looked prepared to lick the Patriarch’s shoes if necessary.

With a generous smile, the Patriarch signed the merchant’s legal papers. “You have my blessing. Go to and make Brein Amon prosper.”

“Next!” called out the herald’s tinny voice. He stood stock still next to the Patriarch, with his horn right under his arm as the day before.

A regal-looking man that Jonis found somewhat familiar stood before him in line. That man approached the Patriarch with a bow. “Your Grace, High Sovereign. I present myself to you, the new patriarch of the town Wingsley.”

Jonis blinked.

Now he knew where he had seen this man. It was in Wingsley that the Night Stalker had killed the patriarch and his new wife. It was Wingsley that the inn waitress was probably still waiting for Lt. Gillway to return and propose marriage to her. This man was one of the magistrates.

“Yes, I heard about your misfortune. A bad patch there,” the Patriarch said.

The new patriarch of the town glared back at Jonis. “It would not have been so bad if they had stuck around to defend us. Not two days after they had left, two Night Stalkers came in and killed our beloved patriarch and his wife.”

“If I may speak in my defense,” Jonis said, stepping forth. Blood rushed to his cheeks, his face growing hot. “I warned the last patriarch of the danger. I told him that Night Stalkers look for murders motivated by avarice. He was in danger as long as he kept that wife of his.”

The Patriarch of Brein Amon stared at him. “Are you suggesting the Night Stalkers were her fault? Demons just come!”

“Pardon my contradiction, Your Grace—but not with Night Stalkers. They are awoken and lured in by avarice and blood. If no one murdered among our people, Night Stalkers would not be a problem,” Jonis said.

A dreadful silence settled on the room. Jonis could feel their stares stab into him.

“You speak out of turn, Lieutenant.” The Patriarch’s look became deadly.

“I beg of you to forgive me.” Jonis lowered his head, stepping back.

The deadly silence was still there.

“I will not see you today. Obtain your orders from General Ulbis,” the Patriarch said to Jonis with a flick of his wrist.

Jonis blinked. Dismissed just like that. Still, standing there, Jonis could not let the opportunity pass by.

He said, heading towards the door as ordered, “All right then. We’ll discuss having a magister in each village later. Since you, as our supreme Sovereign, care so much about the good of our people—I am sure you will understand the need for magisters around the country.”

He walked out before the Patriarch could shout at him for being insolent.

 

Normally, he would have hurried directly to his commanding officer to get his orders. But after being out and about for so long, Jonis did not want to give up his freedom so quickly. Instead, he explored the capitol building, going up one hall and then another. A few times guards stopped him, asking where he thought he was going. But Jonis was quick to reply with a shrug that he was lost and needed to find the front exit. Pointed in the right way, Jonis followed until he was out of sight. Of course, he would just explore another part of the palace. This was how he found the kitchen.

The kitchen staff skirted away from Jonis the moment he entered the room. The head chef shook, calling out, holding a pan up like a shield. “What do you want?”

‘To explore’ did not seem like the right response in this situation, so Jonis, feeling his stomach rumble said, “I’d like a sandwich. Will you make me one?”

They moved so fast, stuffing an elaborately assembled sandwich in Jonis’s hand, and pushed him out the door. He strolled down the hall, chewing and pondering how interesting it was that people were still so skittish around him. Chuckling, he glanced at the large stuffed bread. In a way, it was handy the reactions he got at times.

 

Eventually Jonis reported in. The general was not too happy with Jonis’s explanation that he got lost in the capitol building. And because of it, he ordered Jonis to file paperwork the entire morning. By three in the afternoon, the general cooled down enough to give Jonis his assignment.

“You are on demon patrol. Specifically, you are to kill Night Stalkers that roam the city streets. We hear you have an impeccable aim.”

Jonis drew in a breath. He knew he might get in trouble for asking the question on his mind, but he asked anyway: “Uh, General, don’t you think it would be best to find the cause of the Night Stalker’s presence? I find that solves the problem entirely.”

“Night Stalkers are simply a fact of city life in Danslik,” the general growled at him. “We make due and kill them.”

“Don’t you know the true nature of Night Stalkers, General?” Jonis asked, leaning near to look his superior in the eye directly.

The general slapped him.

“Don’t you get mouthy with me, Cordril! Do as you are told and….” The general immediately clenched his forehead. His knees almost buckled.

Jonis sighed, rubbing his own cheek. The red mark was already fading. “Uh, sir. Are you all right? I am surprised they didn’t appraise you about skin contact with me. If you have to hit me, you should wear gloves.”

He could hear the general panting. The man was white-lipped. “Get out of here!”

Obeying, Jonis rushed out of the military office.

 

It was strange for Jonis not to have a task to do until the night. Demon hunting in the capital already proved boring. Knowing there was nothing else to do, Jonis strolled down into town and explored the city streets. He bought a late lunch at a delicatessen. Munching on a local snack of fried flat bread with an egg mixed in, wrapped around pickled cabbage and several spices, he meandered a bit. The sour flavor made him mildly ill after a while, and Jonis had to order a mint tea at a local café to ease his stomach. He kept forgetting pickled and fermented food did not agree with the Cordril constitution any more than alcohol did.

“Hey! Lieutenant!” The privates from his old taskforce waved to him, hastily crossing the street.

Jonis smiled and waved back, beckoning them over. “Hi! I thought you had all left already.”

Cpl. Emas laughed. “Are you kidding? We have yet to get another assignment. Besides, Lt. Gillway has not let us know the Patriarch’s decision. Personally, I’d like to know if he is going to leave us or not.”

Snorting, Jonis nodded. “No kidding. I hope he gets permission to move on. Merkam needs to have a life. And I don’t think that girl is going to wait forever.”

The men laughed, agreeing.

They chatted in the café, talked about their plans for that night, and only when the sun started to set did they part ways. Jonis walked back up the hill with his hand on his sword hilt.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the kid,” a familiar voice said up the road after he had a gone a good distance. Jonis had been looking mostly at the flower gardens the uphill inhabitants had planted along the pathways. All of the flowers were white along the main roads. But in the smaller alleys, they were an array of colors that broke up the cloud-like monotony the city had. The smaller paths proved beautiful.

Looking up, Jonis blinked at an unwelcome sight and cringed. “Sisirik.”

The man laughed, looking as roguish as ever. “And you are still disrespectful to your elders, I see.”

“No,” Jonis said, continuing up the hill. “Just to you.”

That did not bother the demon hunter. He watched Jonis pass by, smirking at every tired step Jonis made.

“I find it fascinating that the nation is now murmuring Jonis Macoy, demon expert.” Sisrik followed him up the hill. “I knew the Patriarch had to summon you after that. He hates competition for his popularity, you know.”

“Leave me alone,” Jonis said, casting the hunter one irritated glance.

“Whatever for? Did you not know there is a bounty on your head?”

Jonis heard the man draw his sword.

Pulling his own weapon out, Jonis blocked the attack. Blade on blade, Jonis glared over them into Sisrik’s mocking face.

“I see you got a better sword,” Sisrik said, pushing hard against the weapon.

Jonis batted the hunter’s blade away, jumping back to parry. “It’s from a friend of my father’s.”

Sisrik lowered his blade. “So, Magister