Along the way, Abigail and Rudolph kept trying to have another heir, or two or three, just in case. They didn't have any luck, and I know why. Henry had finally obtained the necessary ingredients for Martha: a lock of Abigail's hair and a handkerchief with Rudolph's blood and snot. How did he manage this? No idea. But I do suspect that it was via the maids. Women loved Henry and were willing to do anything just to get another look from his stunning blue eyes-even Martha, although they never became more than friends. She loved him as a younger brother, Rick and his wife Mirabelle, as their loving parents, and his children and myself, as her own kids, her kin. That said, she loved me a bit more.
Each time we got a letter inquiring about my health and asking them to deliver me to the capital, my nanny started hissing, as if she were a rabid cat, and cursing them, with strong and targeted curses, all powered by her hate for Rudolph and love for my mother.She went through both pouches with fragments of her enemies and hissed furiously, "Ye want my child, ye scum? Ye'll never have any more of yours!"A good hex, one that would never let you have children, no matter how hard you tried. You wouldn't conceive, wouldn't carry to term, or if you actually did, it would be such a monster, you'd choke it with a pillow yourself.Abigail just couldn't conceive. She never got pregnant, simple as that. As an added bonus, only a necromancer could identify such a hex. And necromancers were killed, thanks to the tireless efforts of thralls and servitors of the Bright Saint. They got burned, crucified, drowned in holy water... And not just necromancers, but their entire families. After hearing about that, Martha cursed foul Rudolph and crooked Abigail. She wished them the same thing again-infertility.Her wish came to life from a necromancer, via a dead fragment of a live body, to the person. No life or mind mage could detect this. And it worked, like a needle, a long sharp needle, which could pierce the rings of chainmail and sink into your throat. Could such a needle kill? Everything could if you wanted it to. Uncle was protected, of course, buried under a mountain of amulets, but a needle could penetrate any armor. That's what needles were for.
Of course, were they to invite a necromancer, he would easily tell them they were victims of malicious intent, but necromancers were the product of the Dark Tempter and had no business being around the court. As for the others, casting a hex was always easier than dispelling it.
Rudolph and Abigail had two children left, Prince Andre and Princess Ruthina. The prince was four years older than me, the princess, two. Both took after their parents, or, more precisely, after their father in looks, after their mother in smarts-both fair-haired, with the same set of features and the same rat-like cunning.
Upon their birth, they had been granted lands, and the generous king had promised that his kids would never want for anything. He kept his word. They never did. They ate from golden plates, wore gowns embroidered with diamonds, and got everything they wanted at first request. And they were slowly but surely turning into scumbags who were completely sure the sun shone out of their behinds.
The king showered his toadies and sycophants with gifts, at the taxpayers' expense, naturally. The lowest thrall of the Bright Saint got a gilded robe and a silk undergarment, while people starved. The king, meanwhile, was getting blessings in all the temples. They collected a tithe, too! Soon, it grew twice as big. And the fee for the simplest rituals, like name-giving, was thrice as big!
They never thought about me, fortunately. Everyone promptly forgot about Torrin and three of its owners-Rick, Henry, and Martha. We didn't produce any income, yet we thrived. But one story at a time.
After the princess died, the three amigos were left with a half-demon on their hands. I had to be fed, raised, taught... How were they supposed to do that?
If not for Aunt Mira-Rick's wife, Mirabelle, who came to him as soon as she was able-I would have probably died. I needed a lot of looking after. I needed food, and nobody dared to find me a wet nurse. Half-demons, well...
Let's start with my looks. My true and original appearance is far from pretty-at least by human standards, as personally, I like it. My skin is ashen-grey in color, tough, and with a light scale pattern. I'm no reptile; I'm quite human-like. But my skin can withstand even a random blow with a knife. My father was scaly, too. I'm slender, tall for a human-almost six feet. I have a high forehead, a long crooked nose, thin lips, and sunken cheeks. Coupled with high cheekbones, it makes quite an impression.
Martha says my face is beautiful, predatory, and strong. If a falcon became a human, he would look like me. I believe her.
My most striking feature is my eyes. They are big, stretched to the temples, with long thick eyelashes, and bright blue, no whites, just the iris and the pupil, black during the day, bright red at night. I can see in the dark as well as I can in the light. I also have long thick hair, white, like my mother's. I grow it out because I like it that way and because it makes it easier to conceal a garrote or a stiletto. Henry taught me that. My eyebrows are white as well, curved toward my temples. In short, I like the way I look, with a long tail with a barb at the end; with double rows of pointed teeth and a slightly forked tongue; with sharp claws that I can retract and hide in special folds on my fingers and toes.
The only thing I regret is that I have no wings. My father had them and still does. I didn't inherit them, however. Oh well. A flying prince would have been too much.
Imagine you get a kid you can't show to anybody. What would you do? Aunt Mira found a solution. I was nursed with goat milk. Mother had the foresight to bring an entire herd of goats and sheep. Unfortunately, the sheep were unable to adapt to the local climate, but villagers started to breed the goats. They are pretty good at climbing mountains, after all. Not picky about food either; they could even eat chopped fish heads. Who cares if milk stinks of fish? It's still milk. Baby goats also gave meat, and adult goats, wool.
Michelle didn't ask a copper piece for the goats she gifted to every house. Still, the villagers were grateful enough. All of them got together to clean the castle of a century of dirt. Five village girls and three boys-those crippled or too sick to go out to sea-were hired to serve at the castle, for twenty silver a year, a fortune, by local standards. Children got work as well. Rick and Henry knew very well that the king shouldn't be allowed to see me in my original form. Thus, they had to learn in advance about any messengers headed for the castle. There were two paths leading there-one road and one hiking trail through a mountain pass. There, Henry arranged watch posts with four boys, also on the weaker side, always on the lookout for travelers.
If they saw anybody, one of them ran straight for the castle. The travelers would have to go around the back, following the road, while the boys went through the mountains directly, so everyone at the castle was warned ahead of their arrival.
Once warned, Rick found me and put me to bed, while Martha prepared an herbal concoction for the welcome guest and enchanted another amulet of glamour. Michelle had bought a dozen of them before leaving the capital. The amulets worked in a curious way: they didn't change my appearance outright, they slightly adjusted features that were already present. A person simply saw what they expected to see. If a messenger had assumed me to be a sick child who looked exactly like Princess Michelle, that was what he saw-not a healthy, if a little thin by human standards, half-demon child, but an ill kid lying in bed. My skin wasn't grey, just too pale because of sickness. My eyes weren't blue with red pupils, but normal blue, a bit red because of lack of sleep or poor lighting. I had the same white hair, the same humanoid shape. My tail could break the illusion, but I hid it under the blanket. Why shock people before it was time? Too bad my claws weren't poisonous.
We didn't fail once. Rick and Henry couldn't allow themselves to fail-it would mean my death. That is why I almost never went to the village and why I was never looked after by the servants. I played with Rick's children-Tom, Marie, and Miranda. They didn't think me a half-demon. For them, I was human. Together, we played, we learned, we misbehaved, and got punished. Nobody made any distinction between a prince and a common brat. That said, Rick always explained to us the reasons for his punishment, and if he was fair, we never argued.
Some things were different, however. Our day went like this: in the morning, while the air was fresh, we trained with Henry. We ran, jumped, did push-ups and sit-ups, learned to use a bow and crossbow, throw daggers, fence... Henry didn't care if we were boys or girls. Marie and Miranda ran and shot together with us.
"In our times, a woman should learn to protect herself," Rick always repeated.
In the afternoon, Henry went to the village. After arriving at the castle, he had decided to make the village boys into a proper garrison, and he didn't give up on that undertaking. Making them listen to him required a real show of strength: he knocked out some local brawlers, threw a couple of daggers, shot a few arrows...
And now, every day in the afternoon, in turn, he trained local boys and girls, the same as us, although our training was a bit harder. A farmer or a fisherman doesn't really need to know the fine art of fencing, with two blades or a sword and a dagger. One sword was more than enough, or an ax, or even a club.
We had our lunch, then three hours for playing and resting. Rick grabbed us at four o'clock in the afternoon and sat us in his office: several languages, mathematics, reading and writing, history and geography, logics and rhetoric, politics and management, military science and chivalric code, laws of Radenor and neighboring countries-everything that could come in handy, everything that Rick himself knew and was learning. The classes lasted until evening. We dined at eight. Afterward, Mira got the girls, Tom ran to the library, and Martha got her hands on me.
I am a half-demon, a natural born necromancer, and also, surprisingly enough, a fire mage. Martha thought I had inherited that gift from mother. Until around midnight, I was with Martha. First, she told me everything she knew herself, and then we took any book on fire magic or necromancy and tried to study. The gift burned me as much as her. It was inside us, it burned in our veins, demanding to be used. And practicing fire magic was easy; you could simply run to the mountains and try setting ablaze anything in your path. That trick didn't work with necromancy.
I realized why necromancers were so rare when I was a kid. Martha was an exception: weak power, strong self-control. What if the opposite happened? It did, all too often, and the magic poured out unchecked. Necromancy was no life magic. Necromancy produced randomly raised corpses, ghosts, ghouls and ghasts, vampires. What parent would let a zombie be their child's plaything? A fresh, recently buried corpse...
And thus, necromancers died. It might have happened to me, too. I have a powerful gift for necromancy. Suffice to say; I don't even need anything to summon a ghost-no pentagram, no spell, not even a drop of blood, just one command. Alas, we couldn't find even one sorry spirit in the whole castle. What can I say, it was a land stricken by poverty.
Hence, for my first ghost, we had to visit the cemetery. Martha and I often trained there. It had a really convenient location-far away from the village, hidden from the eyes of outsiders. Great!
Martha was there a lot. She took me with her when I turned five, a little birthday present of sorts. I didn't need anything else. I wouldn't trade away that visit for all the crown treasures combined.
Martha never forbade me of anything in my life. She just explained there were things above my skill level-for the time being.
"Ye can't lift Rick with one hand, can ye? Not yet. Ye'll strain yourself. But when ye grow up, ye'll do that with ease, right? Right. Then why overload yerself? I swear, in two years, I'll show and explain it to ye myself. And now, let's just stick to theory. Ye'll see that ye just need to grow up a bit. Ye're a smart boy, Alex..."
Usually, this is why necromancers die. They try doing something outside their power, like summoning a demon, and they fail. I had Martha. Her knowledge was enough for me, at least for starters. I also had mountains of books on a wide range of topics. I was taught everything that a proper ruler should know. A good king is a warrior and a manager. Henry and Rick did their best to make me one.
Meanwhile, they took care of Torrin-salted and smoked fish, produce, trade with pirates and smugglers, a pier, hidden harbors. Rick made it clear to the villagers that if they wanted to trade without paying any taxes, he would turn a blind eye to that, but he wanted a piece of the action.
The villagers didn't mind. It was convenient for them as well. Nobody was watching them or guarding them, and they were the ones to get most of the bought stuff anyway.
For instance, Rick ordered the smugglers to get him a large batch of weaving looms-quality stuff, masterwork-or geese, barrels of resin, hemp rope, canvas. Everything was given away to the villagers' homes; the castle got only a twentieth share-sometimes, in money, sometimes, in food. Lazy buggers didn't survive there. Everybody worked their behinds off.
Rick found out that villagers gathered and ate seaweed, which they prepared in a special manner, and discussed it with Aunt Mira. Half a year later, we were selling barrels of spiced fermented seaweed by the boatloads and got silver in return. The seaweed was delicious-we couldn't help but gorge on it ourselves. It didn't spoil for a long time, and some court life mage said it was good for your health. After that, it became all the rage-funnily enough, in Radenor as well since Abigail loved every new fad. And she had no idea about where it was from. In the meantime, Aunt Mira tried more and more recipes.
Captains brought us barrels and spices and carried away our seaweed, fish, and meat. And when Henry stumbled upon a silver vein in the mountains, life became just great.
We found the silver deposit by pure chance. Every once in a while, Henry took Tom and me for a mountain stroll, to hunt and build up our stamina. We took some supplies, climbed mountains, trained, and got back after five days, tired, dirty, sweaty, but completely content. This time, it was the same.I love the mountains. They are eternal. I'd like to think they have been standing here for thousands of years and will last thousands more, with their sharp peaks piercing the sky's heavy underbelly. I'll be gone, as will my children, and the mountains will still be laughing while tearing the skies apart, as centuries pass by, leaving them untouched in their haughty splendor.Their beauty is oppressive, unfettered, untamed, and I feel as if I'm a part of them so strongly that sometimes, I forget myself. Like that time. In many ways, it was my fault.***"Alex! Where are you going again? Come back, or I'll box your ears!"I bent over on a rocky ledge and made a fa
Years slowly passed, and I was ten, then twelve. I became a better fencer than Henry and won eight duels out of ten. Sometimes, Henry, Tom, and Rick all banded together to take me on. I loved that; it was a challenge both for me and them.Martha marveled at my necromantic prowess. She realized very well that I could easily raise all the dead bodies in the neighborhood and put them down without breaking a sweat. Controlling any undead or summoning any demon, whether a war demon or run-of-the-mill succubus, came naturally to me. I felt all-powerful. And one day, it almost killed me.I got a new teacher out of that.***Rene Ghirr urged his horse on until it dropped dead. Then he waited an hour, and the animal recovered. The zombie was starting to smell, but the advantages were obvious: an undead horse was not as fast as a live one, but it never tired and could gallop even with broken legs.Unfortunately, its rider wasn't tireless himself. By the thir
Cassandra was offered the choice of two widowers, one a father of eight, the other of five, and a young man her age, who was especially pious, and, as a result of that, afraid to even talk to girls. She suspected that if she were to marry that boy, she'd remain a virgin forever. He probably had no idea that babies weren't brought by a stork. Moreover, he was half a head shorter than her, possessed the narrow shoulders of a man who had never in his life done any physical labor and had disgusting white plaque on his lips. The girl always wanted to spit at the sight of him. If he were her brother, she'd pity him, but as a prospective husband, he made her nauseous. She wasn't desperate enough to resign herself to that marriage.She had to act so cold and stiff that the poor guy first started to stutter in her presence and then just disappeared for good, informing Hermann that his niece was as hard as granite and adamant in her faith.Widowers weren't especially attractive
Rene, who already knew about her pregnancy-he was a necromancer, after all, and any experienced necromancer could easily detect the number of souls next to him-realized that logic was powerless against Cassie, and started to comfort her. It took him two hours-and very pleasurable ones. Yet Cassandra didn't want to go even after that. She was convinced only by her husband's promise to come to her after the epidemic was over.Rene wasn't fooling himself. He knew he would last a moon, while the epidemic was in its height and the others still needed him. Then his fate would be sealed. They would try to kill him. As long as you had a necromancer, finding a stake to burn him on was simple enough. So after fending off the disease, he would need to leave. But first, he needed to sell all of his things to get established in his new home, and his dearly beloved Cassie would have to be sent away from the city with all the money he could gather.So Rene set out to find a family wh
I went for my routine mountain hike, planning to spend a couple of days there. Rick and Henry went to a fair in the neighboring county, and I was bored out of my mind in the castle. So I just ran away. It's not like they will do anything worse than scold me when I get back. At least I'll spend a few days alone with myself and the wind. Why don't I have wings?I had strayed pretty far from home and stumbled upon the idea of meeting Henry and Rick instead of going back. Prepare a surprise for them, so to speak. The most important thing was not to fall into my teachers' hands in the first twenty minutes. Afterward, they would cool off.I had already spent a whole day hanging around the road. Typical-you'd have to be completely bonkers to go visit Torrin. It wasn't just a backwater place; it was the ultimate middle of nowhere. There was no way to leave, either by land or by water, nothing to gain except for fish. As for the silver, we and the locals kept our mouths shut, a
They showed up in two hours.Twelve riders, all dressed in capes-once white, and now smeared in dirt. Three Punishers with their heads shaven, the same look of obsession on their faces, flashes of light in their auras. That was not good at all.Darkness dissolves matter, and light burns it all. A normal person is balanced, but these... But who am I to say that? Demons are parts of darkness, and sooner or later, it will claim me, unless I manage to remain human.They stopped at the scene that I had carefully prepared for them. A dead horse and a man in a black cloak lying on his back. Of course, there was nothing under the cloak, but who would check?So, who'll go first? Ah, too bad I don't have a crossbow. Whatever. I'll manage. Especially since they stopped right where I wanted them to.I sized up the situation for the last time. All right, here we go!A daring leap into the center of the squad, and I landed right behind one of the pursuers
The gathering consisted of me, Rick, Henry, and Martha. It didn’t concern anyone else. They still lived here, they were my family, but it was those three who were there in the beginning, with my mother. Princess Michelle. My mother. Mom. I was so sorry that she had died, but alas. Any woman would die after giving birth to a half-demon—it’s the law. We take too much of their strength, not leaving anything left to continue living. It wouldn’t happen with a quarter-demon, the mother would live, but all half-demons were orphans. There were some exceptions, of course—incubi, vampires, all that riff-raff, but they weren’t true demons, just low-level rabble. Michelle would never have chosen one of them as my father. No, she picked the strongest one. No matter how her friends tried to talk her out of that, she gave it her all. They knew Michelle’s wish and funneled all their energy into her plan. Ric
In a week, after I had enough time to process everything, we gathered the family council, Rick, Henry, Martha and I.We didn’t invite anyone else. Cassandra and Mirabelle didn’t really want to be there, anyway. What could they do? Take pity on me? Please. Neither Rick nor Henry had ever lied to me. Sometimes, they hadn’t told the whole truth, until I was old enough to hear it, anyway. But I had never heard them straight-up lie to me.And now we had to decide on what we were going to do. I couldn’t leave the kingdom in Rudolph’s hands. A king? A crowned oaf sitting on the throne!The Saint only knows what part of his body he uses to think. I know I didn’t want to know.Rick was the first to speak up. “Have you seen enough?”I nodded. Enough? I was stuffed to the brink! For that chaos in his kingdom, uncle should be more than just killed!“So, what will you do?”That made me pa