Christopher Kellen - Elegy

D’Arden could stand no more. He drew his blade and swung it outward, cutting through the unmoving neck of the demon with one stroke. The azure flames burst into brilliant light and consumed the deep corruption of the demon’s body in mere seconds. It did not fight back; it did not attempt to flee, but simply accepted its fate.

Just like the demon on the mountain.

The Arbiter stared as the last flickers of azure light vanished, and a soul-deep chill ran down his spine.

As he walked from the room, he turned to the first soldier that he found, who happened to be the young man who’d greeted him at Calessa’s gate. He sized up the young soldier in a moment – there was no trace of corruption or evil within him. The soldier stared back into his eyes confidently, though there was a small amount of surprise within them.

“What’s your name, soldier?” D’Arden asked him.

“Mayer, sir,” the young man responded.

“By the order of the Arbiter’s Tower, you are hereby promoted to the rank of Guard Captain of Calessa, Liaison to the Tower. Captain Mor has been found guilty of succumbing to corruption and seeking to destroy the city, and has been summarily executed. Aid will be coming in the next few weeks directly from the Tower to assist you in cleansing Calessa Heights and to help with rebuilding efforts.” D’Arden rattled this off as quickly as possible so as not to give the soldier a chance to argue or ask questions. “You will be responsible for coordinating the aid along with the citizenry. Is this understood?”

The young soldier nodded. “Of course, Master Arbiter. I live to serve. But if I may ask…?”

“What is it?” D’Arden asked.

“Exactly what did Captain Mor do, sir? He was the best Guard Captain that Calessa had seen in a decade.”

D’Arden considered lying to the soldier, to tell him that Mor had been a good man who’d simply been overwhelmed by the power of evil. Instead, though, he elected to simply tell the truth in this circumstance. “Captain Mor was a disguised demon.”

Mayer’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

“Unfortunately,” D’Arden said. “I liked the man, too.”

“So did I, sir.”

“You understand the duties that I now require of you?” D’Arden asked him.

He nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”

“Good, then,” D’Arden said. “I leave the city in your hands… Captain Mayer.”

The sun was setting over the western horizon when D’Arden retrieved Elisa from the stables. His great destrier, Tyral, seemed unusually happy to have her aboard, and had nipped at D’Arden’s hand when he tried to take his own saddle back. With amusement, D’Arden had purchased a second horse for him to ride on their way back, since Tyral was so taken with the girl.

Elisa had changed into some of his spare clothing – a breach of protocol, but a necessity, since they had no time for fitting and her fine white tunic was crusted so heavily with blood that it was a total loss. As they mounted their steeds and began to ride towards the gate, D’Arden cast a glance backwards at the inn that stood in the trade square.

In the doorway stood the strange innkeeper, who gave a half-wave and a crooked smile in his direction.