Chapter 26: The Demon Within Comes Out

Having fire rained on us did make a nice show, especially since it happened at night. We were all tired out and sweaty by the time we got done hauling and stacking hog and dragon carcasses in two separate piles. When the light show started we knocked off for awhile to watch. When we didn’t burn down after about forty five minutes, Mister Wizard gave up again and our people went to work retrieving and butchering the salvageable meat he had given us.

Nevy and I, with the able assistance of Millie and Sigeflæd, designed the exact hex we needed. Our people needed to be able to recognize the place and to enter and exit freely. To all others it would be hidden, even to accidental discovery. Outsiders had to go around it, not through it, nor would they be able to hear anything going on within it. Game animals were excluded from the hex; they were allowed to wander in and out and maybe end up in the cooking pots to give us a break from hog meat. Likewise farm animals, our own and any others, not that there were any. Then we had to work on numbers, based on recent experience. We decided on no more than a half dozen animals at a time, and nothing heavier than three hundred pounds. It took us hours to design, and more uncomfortable hours to implement. There were lots of pieces to it, quite a bit of gunpowder and flung wine, and they all had to fit together.

It was a pretty good hex, if I do say so myself. I don’t know if there were any more attacks. If there were, we didn’t notice them. That was the way it was supposed to work.

Matachena and Laetitia were left in charge of our people. They were allowed to rest and relax within the safe haven. Leaving it would be kept to a minimum. The hex covered a wide area, to include the river for water and for bathing. For most of them it would be their first chance to rest and relax since joining the Wizard’s household. We’d been working them hard as a matter of necessity.

After a bit of figuring and fiddling, I managed to hex the partially burned longhouse as a walk-in refrigerator, setting its temperature at one degree Celsius. That would give them time to work on at least some of that meat, rather than letting it spoil. They could also keep our skimpy supplies of fruits and vegetables in it.

We ate some more pork chops for extra protein before we left. We tried some of the “dragon” meat too. It tasted, as expected, like chicken – about as much like chicken as frogs’ legs do. I’m not really that fond of chicken. It tastes too much like alligator for my taste.

After a quick and meaty lunch, we spread our blankets and loaded up. The warriors took a dozen blankets themselves. They were crowded with their weaponry, war paint, triple supply of arrows, and five or six days’ rations. They looked very scary. There was lots of laughter as they practiced their scowls on each other. Each of the six three-incher cannon got its own blanket, and each four-person crew got its own blanket. The ammunition and powder took a few blankets as well. We were hoping not to have to use them, except for Tekoni, who liked blowing things up. Our “command and staff” group took our Neptune-themed rug that we’d bought in Lugdunum. Nevy complained we were getting it dirty, but she shushed when I suggested she think of a spell to clean it that didn’t involve a beater.

Then we took off, heading toward Castra Taurorum, three covens of witches flying air cover. Millie flew next to our rug for a few minutes, looking like she’d never had so much fun in her life. Chulëntët was next to her, her braid flying board straight out from the back of her head. She waved to me, hollered “Hi, Daddy!” to Nannakussi, and then they sped off. They’d have left us in the dust, if there had been any dust in that clear mountain air. They were both riding brooms. Ælflæda was riding a sheep, enjoying a comfy sheepskin seat. Nevy’s Mom’s cow was chewing its cud and looking uninterested, its udders swaying in the air currents, occasionally it would lift its tail and poop. We were careful to stay above it.

We sped up, though not fast enough to catch them. We didn’t have windshields on our blankets. Even at the forty or fifty miles an hour we were going, running into a bird would hurt. A flock of passenger pigeons or geese could wreck the lot of us.

We caught sight of Via Iulia and I brought us in on the open field at the end of the bridge. There were normally two soldiers on guard there, which was usually strictly ceremonial duty – ceremonial armor, big red plumes, crossed spears, snappy salutes, that sort of thing. When we landed, I saw only one. The other one was hot-footing toward the castra. It occurred to me that they should have a flag or flare signaling system. We put our transportation away, folding the blankets and rolling the rug. Those who had ridden animals put them out to graze. We weren’t finished recombobulating ourselves before we saw the camp delegation leaving the camp to welcome us.

Drusus and I exchanged “Ave’s“ and salutes. “Someone told you the legate and his wizard are both in residence?” he asked me after the formalities were completed.

“They attacked our camp last night,” I told him. “I dropped by to return the favor.”

“Did you sustain much damage?”

“One man dead, a building partially burned,” I told him. “We’ve taken measures to prevent it happening again.”

“And you’re safe?” he asked Decimus.

“I was well protected,” the Tribune claimed, either politely lying like a rug or woefully ignorant. He withdrew a packet of papers from his tunic. “These need to be dispatched to the Ducal offices as soon as possible.”

“Why not just put them under safekeeping?” my lovely Nevy suggested. Have I mentioned she had gorgeous blue eyes, the color of the sky only more interesting? “You can take them with you when we take you back.”

“Good idea,” he agreed. “The important part is on the first page,” he added.

Drusus quickly read the page and nodded. “You’re relieving the legate and sending him back for trial.”

“Yes. You’ll be proconsular governor until a permanent successor is appointed. Do you accept?”

“Of course.” It was a feather in Drusus’ hat. A governorship like that brought Senatorial civil rank with it.

“We were hoping you would,” Decimus said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Good,” enthused Drusus. “And now for the hard part. Who’s to deliver the message to Rægan?”

“That would be me,” I guessed. Anyone else who delivered the message was asking for a hunchback, or a duck beak, or worse. I stood up straight and tall, tried unsuccessfully to look heroic, and we headed for town and the legate’s house. I looked down as I walked, and my shadow was directly under my feet. I looked up and noted that it was High Noon. Now I knew how Gary Cooper had felt.

Nannakussi deployed our warriors in cover, flanking three of the palace’s four walls, but very thinly since there weren’t a lot of our archers. It was a big palace, and we had a very small force. Tekoni deployed her battery facing the gate, her gun captains holding smoking linstocks. Our witches took position to support me from the air, if needed. I wasn’t sure how that was going to work, but it made them feel better. Three full turmae of legionnaires also turned out. I hadn’t expected them, but this was official business. Drusus was in command, a trusted centurion was at their head. They followed about ten paces behind me.

“Halt!” the sentry called through a grid of steel bars. “State your business!”

“Ionius Iacus, with a message for the Legate, from the Dux.”

“Give me the message,” he drawled, sounding uninterested. “I’ll present it to him.”

“I’d rather give it to him myself,” I told him.

“Then we have a problem, don’t we?” he sneered. “The legate’s orders are, no one comes in without an invitation.”

“Fine,” I replied, keeping my own voice bored. “Tell him he’s fired. He’s to present himself to the Tribune of the People at Castra Taurorum within thirty minutes or be considered in rebellion against the Imperial authority under penalty of death. Signed Torquatus, Dux Burgundiae, by Bigodius Decimus, Tribune. Can you remember all that?” To help him out, I passed the scroll with the same information through the grill.

We waited while he went inside the guardhouse. He called for his superior, the decanus of the guard. The decanus called his his officer, the decurion of the guard, et cetera, et cetera and so on up the line. The guard eventually came back to tell me the legate was engaged in important personal business at the moment and could we come back tomorrow at the same time? He didn’t sneer this time. I took the reply to mean either that Rægan was busy with his harem or that he’d be on his way to Sinae or Thule the next day.

I was joined by Drusus and the centurion, who was in full battle dress. So were his legionaries for that matter. “Surrender in the name of the Emperor,” he suggested reasonably, in a voice that probably carried for miles. You could hear the windows rattle.

The wall around the Legate’s compound was about thirty feet high and eight or ten feet thick. It had been built originally with an indignant citizenry in mind. It was fronted by an arched oak double gate about twelve or fourteen feet high. “Lay down your arms and no one will get hurt,” I suggested. Except the Legate and the Wizard, I added mentally. If things worked as usual when politicians were caught with a hand in the till, only the Wizard was in any real danger. The politician would get a hand slap and maybe a posting to the upper latitudes of Scandinavia or Cimmeria or somewhere. Archangelus (Arkhangelsk) was lovely this time of year.

To emphasize my suggestion, I turned the gate from oak beams to warm water. “Sorry,” I said to the centurion as the flood nearly knocked us off our feet.

“Think nothing of it,” said the centurion. “Forward! Mind your step in the mud, men!”

“Sorry!” I said to Tekoni, who was in tears. She had wanted to blow the gate down.

With the Magister Militum Drusus, the centurion and me at their head, ninety six troops, plus the praetor and quaestor bringing up the rear, tromped through the mud, making a gooey mess, through the gate and into the compound. We were met by the sound of arms hitting the ground. Rægan had his own private troops, with a military organization that he called a cohort, but they weren’t going to fight the LXII Legion “Germania Occidentalis” to defend him. They were outnumbered and out-gunned. Out-sworded, anyway. And -speared. And their gate needed replaced.

Then the fireballs started and the centurion told the troops to stand fast. I cast a quick ward to stop them from getting incinerated. Then I started sending the fireballs back where they came from.

“A wizard!” Palégos snarled. “Impersonating a demon!”

“Only a couple times,” I admitted, feeling guilty about it. “Well, maybe a few!” He was pretty good with the fireballs. “The demon and I have the same name,” I added, “but I don’t think we’re related.”

He was much younger than the pictures you’ve seen of Merlin or Gandalf or Dumbledore, only a few years older than me. He had a black beard and deep set, deep black eyes, the heritage of his Karankawa forebears. He wore an old-style Phrygian hat and a tatty old belted robe, with what looked like Al Sharpton’s old medallion on his chest. He had fat fingers, a ring on every one, plus his thumbs. I guessed he’d have needed a sixty inch belt if he’d worn trousers.

“Discuss it with him on the other side of the Styx!” Tubby roared, directing a tunnel of white hot fire as tall as I was at me. It did a ninety degree turn about a foot from me, heading up into the Wild Blue Yonder. From there it did a quick forty five degree turn, to rebound onto Mister Wizard himself. The battle was over almost before it had started.

I hadn’t done that, quite. I hadn’t been expecting it so I’d reacted late, sending the column of fire up instead of back. I glanced to my left, finding Nevy was standing next to me, as expected. She was looking smug as the Wizard screamed and caught fire, doing the hideous dance that people on fire do. She had added the forty five degree turn. He hadn’t been expecting that and he hadn’t defended against it. It certainly was a deadly fire bolt that did him in. She sure did have pretty dimples!

“Thank you, sweetheart,” I told her. I’d kept the fire out of my face, but she was the one who finished off the Wizard.

“Don’t mention it,” replied my true love with a becoming smirk.

Palégos would have weighed in at maybe three hundred fifty pounds, even a few more. That’s a lot of lard to lug around. Grease is also flammable. Given enough heat, it’s highly flammable. Ask anyone who’s ever incinerated a kitchen with spilled bacon grease. I figured he would continue burning until somebody put him out or the sun went down.

Imagine my surprise when the burning corpse stood up and split right down the middle, and a demon stepped out.

Damn, he was ugly!

He was shorter than you’d expect a demon to be, and he was just about as porky as the late Palégos had been. His ears were eight or nine inches tall, graced by some massive hairballs sprouting from them. He tottered around on a pair of inadequate-looking but highly polished black pigs’ trotters. He wore a multicolored, belted robe that fell to just above his ankles. It was made up of all the colors anyone’s ever seen, plus a few he invented. His greenish teeth looked like they had all been filed to points. Maybe they’d just grown that way. I don’t know. There was the expected strong odor of brimstone about him, with even stronger overtones of sweat. You could tell he didn’t bathe very often – from forty or fifty paces.