A Ride of Peril(39)

I nodded weakly, trying to push the worry aside, and focused on the road for the next minute.

Then, on an impulse, I looked behind me again. My nerves resurfaced as I noticed more and more creatures gathered at the gates of the marketplace, more than two hundred feet away.

I engaged my inner-wolf to get a better look. They were all looking at us suspiciously, and some of the incubi in the crowd gripped the hilts of their swords. Shadows darted from the marketplace into the jungle on both sides, and my instinct put me on high alert.

I heard whispers and shuffles through the trees as our horses picked up the pace. The hairs on the back of my neck rose, and I took my crossbow out, loading it with a poisoned arrow and gripping it firmly.


      ///
       
         
       
        

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to follow us.





Aida





I was having a vision. I'd managed to bring myself to a state of focus that allowed me to browse through the present with a little bit more precision than usual. I'd homed in on Azazel and his Destroyers, and I was making progress.

As the darkness dissipated to the outer edges of my visual field, I realized I was standing in Azazel's personal chamber. It was built entirely from obsidian blocks, beautifully polished and stacked to impressive heights, allowing a massive black iron chandelier to dangle from the ceiling. Its white candles burned red.

It was a spacious room. Crimson flames reflected in the smooth black walls. A massive bed was mounted against the wall, covered in red silk sheets. A sturdy round ebony table stood in the middle, its legs sculpted to resemble snakes, their jaws open and fangs ready to pierce flesh.

Azazel was looking at a large map sprawled on the shiny surface. The map was riddled with ink marks defining conquered areas of Eritopia. Joining him were two other Destroyers, one bulky and rough, the other also large but athletic, with carved muscles and softer features. They were engaged in a heavy conversation, constantly pointing at various points on the map.

"Patrik, I do not have the patience to deal with Roderick's clan anymore," Azazel said, running his fingers through his long black hair.

The infinity snake medallion glistened in the semi-darkness, its ruby eyes reflecting the crimson flames from the overhead chandelier. It creeped me out, as if it were sentient and able to see me, so I did my best to avoid looking at it.

"I'm very close to convincing him to join us, my liege," the athletic Destroyer, identified as Patrik, said. "I just need another day or two. That is all. There is no point in spilling the blood of potential new soldiers when I can persuade Roderick to swear fealty to you."

"I'm giving you another day before I send Goren to take care of things the old-fashioned way," Azazel replied, stroking his medallion.

The bulky Destroyer named Goren wore a self-satisfied grin, and his thick arms crossed as he looked over the map.

"I'm happy to fly in and teach that self-righteous incubus what obedience means," he hissed, while Azazel rolled his eyes.

"My biggest concern isn't with Roderick," Patrik insisted. "He can be persuaded eventually. I just need to point out the repercussions of rebellion for his entire clan, including his seven sons and his wife, and he will bend."

"He's had it too good, if you ask me. Seven sons, and he got to keep the mother, unlike most incubus clans. Perhaps you are right. A reminder of how fortunate he is might help him see things more clearly," Azazel smirked. "Like I said, you have one day, Patrik, before we send in the brute force." 

Patrik nodded and pointed at another district further north on the map.

"What about Marchosi, my liege?" he asked.

His snake-like tongue flickered between his lips, and his yellow eyes scanned the territories beneath his large palm.

"What about him?"

"Can he be trusted? You may have finally conquered his district, but his people might still put up a good fight. He might have said yes just to live another day, while his troops prepare to defend the city."

"Do not worry about Marchosi, Patrik. He is under my spell now. The darkness is slowly eating away at him, and soon enough, he'll be forever under my control, whether he likes it or not. The City of White Stone will be mine by the end of this month," Azazel replied, then dipped a quill in black ink and crossed out the entire district on the map. "The last Druid-owned city fell the moment Marchosi said yes. The rest is purely administrative clutter, as far as I'm concerned."

"It's true, though," Goren interjected with the same obnoxious grin, his sharp fangs bared and menacing. "Once Azazel's darkness takes over, it's not just your body that caves in. Forget control over your snake form altogether. It's your will that gets corrupted. The more you fight it, the harder it gets, and the more you suffer. You've seen the bastard hissing and wailing, barely holding on to the walls while he struggles to maintain his Druid form, Patrik. He's almost gone!"