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

the hunted. That is the natural order of things in Brein Amon,” the fop said. “Beware of demons in man’s clothing. And,” he smiled with that charming social delinquent look on his face again, “You don’t have to play it their way. Remember, you are a Cordril, not a human. It is not a curse, but a gift.”

“Is that how you regard being a Night Stalker?” Jonis asked under his breath.

The fop nodded. “When I found out what I was, I was upset at first. But later I learned what I do for our world. I am a cleanser and a guard. Nature chose me to clean up the top.”

“Then what am I?” Jonis asked him.

The fop laughed and moved back. “You are an outsider. Like the Sky Children, you do not belong here. Nature has taken care of that also. Your kind will die out as the Sky Children have. The other demons will thrive until man learns from the plagues.”

“And if they don’t?” Jonis continued asking, as the truth of the fop’s words weighed down on him.

Shrugging, the fop said, “Then the world will be overrun until the demons die out from lack of food. Then nature will start all over again. Personally, I don’t think mankind is that stupid. That is why the Night Stalkers love to try and kill the patriarchs every so often. It gives men the opportunity to choose wiser leaders. You know…those oligarchs don’t dare leave that building of theirs at night for that very reason.”

He turned to go.

Jonis called after him. “Do me a favor.”

The fop glanced back, staring drunkenly at Jonis. The man really had taken way too many drinks, and it was amazing that he could function at all to walk.

“Don’t cross my path again,” Jonis said. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

Grinning, the fop gave him the thumbs-up. “Sure thing. I don’t wanna have to kill you either.”

He stumbled off in his act, heading inside to say good-bye to the hostess.

It was nearer to dawn than midnight when Jonis dropped into bed. That night he had not seen one Night Stalker. But then, they may have all been at the party watching him to see what he would do.

 

Jonis did not wake until after noon. He groggily stumbled down the halls to get lunch directly from the kitchen. They stuffed a sandwich in his hands and shooed him off so they could make a sumptuous meal for the Patriarch and his advisors.

With free time on his hands, Jonis traipsed downhill toward the commerce square to gather news about the rest of the world. Buying a newspaper from a stand on the corner, he picked a quiet café to sit at and read. There he ordered yet another meal. Jonis was finding that Danslik made him hungry.

“Look at that,” Jonis heard one of the café patrons say to another. “That’s the fifth one I’ve seen today. Do you think there is something going on up at the capitol building?”

A woman with him replied in a soft voice. “I don’t know. So many of them together give me the creeps. Having that Cordril soldier around hunting nights is pretty scary. But I don’t which is worse, Night Stalkers or them.”

Jonis folded up his paper, holding back the comment he would have loved to make. He peered over the square. A tall man on horseback rode up the hill. It was not Sisrik, but the man looked like a hunter of similar caliber, armed to the hilt. His sword was not so broad, but he had a full arsenal of other weapons, including a mace with long protruding spikes.

The waitress brought Jonis his baked casserole and sat a tall carrot juice next to it. She walked over to the couple and whispered, “Actually, yesterday I heard someone say that the Patriarch of Brein Amon has called them all in here for a competition. There is a prize of, oh…I think five hundred gold pieces. I hear the Patriarch wants to choose official Brein Amon hunters to replace the roving military teams.”

“It sounds like he wants a corner on the market,” joked the man.

“It most certainly does,” Jonis said, getting up from his chair. He waved to the waitress. “Can I get a carry-out box to go?”

The couple stared at him, their eyes going wide in recognition of the famous demon hunter whose face had apparently been all over the newspapers in their city.

The waitress swallowed and bowed. “Yes, sir.”

In ten seconds flat, he had his boxes and bags. The waitress hastily packed up his meal, handing it to him.

Paying his bill, Jonis stuffed three extra coins into her hand. Her eyes widened, watching Jonis swing the paper bags by their handles and whistle as he marched back up the street with his newspaper under his arm.

Jonis did not take his usual path up to the main building. Instead, he marched around to the wall just below the windows to the servant’s quarters. Looking up, he closed an eye to assess the distance to the top. Despite its fantastic white façade, there were cracks in the stone, which Jonis found useful. Sticking his hands in and pulling himself up the wall’s face, Jonis climbed. It was a good thing he had never forgotten his military training, because his arms ached as sweat poured down his neck and forehead trying to reach the top; but he scaled that wall in quick time until he heaved his legs atop and looked around.

Nobody was inside the front courtyard except for the gate guards. The bounty hunters had not gathered there as he had thought they might. However, he heard distant shouts and cheers on the wind, combined with the clanging of swords, indicating that the competition was near by. If it was, he had to see it for himself.

Jonis walked along the top of wall until he found the alley between the palace and the outside wall that was narrow enough to jump. Springing with a light foot, he leapt over the chasm to the nearest window ledge, grabbing hold of the bent window frame. It leaned open a little, just enough space to allow a good grip. Catching his breath, he looked up. The roof was just a man’s height away. Searching for more handholds, ignoring the shooting pain in his shoulder from holding on at an awkward angle against the flat surface, he stuck in his fingers and pulled up. Bit by bit, he scaled up the wall cracks to the roof.

Once upon the angled roof, Jonis watched his footing on the slick baked tile and clung with his hands, heaving himself upward. It took a gentle step to cross over the top, listening as the sounds of combat grew louder. Swinging a leg over one ridgepole to the other side, Jonis slid down a gable to where two roofs met. He continued as carefully as possible toward the commotion until he discovered an inner courtyard. It had stone, grass, and fountains. All around the garden courtyard he saw statues of people in amorous poses set in strategic places like a grid for a larger-than-life board game. The flowers draped and bloomed in well-tended plots, each divided by stone walkways and patches of grass. In the center, where the stone statues and tile were all carved jade and marble, gathered nearly twenty different kinds of hunters, two of which competed in the middle.

Sliding quietly down the roof tile for a closer look, Jonis rolled onto his stomach where the roof dipped and flattened a bit. Setting his packaged lunch down on a flat spot, he propped up his head, rested his elbow on the tile. He opened the box so he could eat while watching them battle.

The first match he saw was between two chunky men—more muscle than fat though both seemed to struggle with walking for their own bulk. They wore armor, and the swords they hefted were old. Heirlooms perhaps. They sparred, but did not strike to kill, bruised instead. Eventually one fell down while the other cheered his victory with manly grunts that made him sound even more dimwitted than he looked.

Glancing about the people in the square, Jonis noticed Sisirk among them. Jonis smirked at him as he stuffed another forkful of casserole into his mouth. Everyone, including Sisrik, applauded the success of the winner, though with not much enthusiasm since they would probably have to fight that man in their turn.

Match after match, Jonis watched as the contest wore on into the afternoon. Jonis noticed there were judges standing at the side rating their performance—plus a few magistrates. Some women in puffed up and fairly revealing dresses cheered and screamed at all the appropriate times. The waiting contestants’ conversations echoed in the courtyard with unusual clarity as if the garden walls created a megaphone.

“What about him? Do you think he is tough enough to take on a Cordril?” one of the fighters asked another.

Jonis lifted his head to get a better look at this man.

Sisrik answered. “Is anyone tough enough to take on a Cordril?”

“You’re just saying that because you are a coward,” a fighter with a rusty-looking shield said.

Jonis could see Sisrik flare, his face turning a dark shade. “I am not a coward. But I’m not stupid either. I’ve already met that Cordril. He is not a brainless Gole or a spineless worm. He’s smart. Smarter than all of you.”

That filled Jonis with some satisfaction. It was interesting to hear what that man said about him when he didn’t think he was listening.

“No demon is entirely stupid,” one of the hunters replied. “But none are impervious to harm. All demons have weaknesses.”

“Well, that kid’s weakness is that he still thinks that he was called here to get rid of Night Stalkers,” Sisirk said. “There are plenty of hunters in the city for that. As soon as he figures out the Patriarch paid for you guys to come here, he’s going to spit nails. That Cordril is driven by a sense of justice, and this is not going to sit well with him.”

“No kidding,” Jonis murmured under his breath, not believing what he was hearing. Yet he remembered Sisrik’s warning to him not long after he had first arrived in the city. He was not friendless after all. Thinking a bit, Jonis wondered if he should go tell Lt. Gillway what he knew. Perhaps they could plan a way to sneak out of the capitol.

He scooted to get back up the roof. As Jonis pushed with his foot to get a little higher, a tile fell. Jonis watched it drop down into the courtyard. It broke on the stone. He froze.

“Hey! What’s that up there?” one man called over.

All eyes fixed on the roof and then on Jonis.

Deciding to play like he meant for them to see him, Jonis waved casually.

“Hello. I heard you were all gathering for some kind of contest, and I wanted to watch. Don’t mind me. Keep fighting.”

Sisrik blinked. Then he burst into laughter with a toss of his head.

“What are you doing up there?” a magistrate shouted upwards.

Scratching the back of his neck, Jonis sheepishly said, “Gee, I thought I just told you.”

“Come down from there,” another of the fighters called up.

Still acting bashful, Jonis stood up and hopped off the roof. He landed expertly on the stone with a shrug. “Sorry. I realize I was uninvited, but I was curious.”

“Silly boy, don’t you know what doors are for?” Sisrik said, walking over to him as if to slap him on the back in thanks for a good joke. However, he did not touch him.

Jonis blinked at the hunter. “Sure I do. But I decided to use all that obstacle course training we had at Dalis Camp. It made the trip much more interesting.”

Sisrik took a small step back, noticing the change to the look in Jonis’s eyes. He nodded slowly.

“You’ve grown up.”

The courtyard went silent, echoing only with the sound