The Knights of Sheba, Ep. 9: "Battle" B

 The Knights of Sheba 109 B…Start

 

            Nina waits anxiously at the road, her back turned to the traffic and the elves working around her.  She has an earpiece in now and listens to each update.  Everyone is quiet, tense with expectation.  She is afraid that Geneva will get hurt in the battle, and she is even more afraid that Geneva will die.

            She shivers.  Snow continues to fall and, despite the tension, adds serenity to the night.  The harsh winds die, leaving the flakes to drift lazily in the darkness, to gather at their own peace.  Behind her, the humans grow restless, but she can hardly hear their complaints.

            Staring at the city, she waits and imagines the battle unfolding.  She plays it out in her head, over and over, imagining every potential twist and every potential turn.  Sometimes, she finds Geneva’s body broken.  Other times, she sees Geneva standing triumphantly over her foe.

The latter seems increasingly unlikely as time passes, but the former is too hard for her to think about for more than a few seconds.

            Then, she hears a voice.  It cuts through the night, through the cold, and leaves her breathless.  “Target is down,” it says into her ear.  “Repeat, target is down.”

            Nina waits for the news to settle and, when it does, she smiles.  She is about to take a car downtown when Erak’s voice interrupts.  “Can we get a second opinion on that?”

            Nina holds her breath.

            “I can confirm.  The target is down.  She did it.”

            Silence follows, and then, “Fine.  Move in.  Secure the area.  Get cleanup in there, and start letting people through to safe areas.  We need to figure out a spin.”

            Nina listens to half of the orders before tugging the earpiece out and sprinting toward downtown.  She arrives first, following the carnage to the battlefield.  There, she finds Geneva sitting in the snow beside a very injured, very pale Claude.  Not far behind her elven cars come rolling in.

            Nina kneels beside Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks.”

            “Hey, teach,” Geneva says, and she pushes herself slowly to standing, dislodging snow.  Her armor is cracked in several places, and her nose is swollen and smeared with dry blood.  She is covered in blood.  The enemy’s blood, Nina hopes.  More than anything, Geneva simply looks tired.  “We were talking about you not long ago.”

            “Yes,” Nina says, and she glances at Claude.  Where Geneva looks mostly unharmed, Claude looks like death.  His hand and arm are clearly broken and bone is jutting from the wound.  He has been bleeding and it shows on his clothes.  It isn’t enough to kill, but the cold is.  Nina strips her jacket and wraps it around him.  “Forgive my rudeness, but who are you?”

            “Claude,” he says.

            “Yeah, he’s Claude,” Geneva says behind her.  “He helped me with,” Geneva points, “that.”

            Nina stands and looks.  Andromalius’ corpse is pale and sprinkled with snow.  His head is missing.  “Oh.”  Nina looks back at the two of them.  “Well, very good, then.”

            Claude gives a small wave.

            “Yes,” Nina says, nodding.  She looks at the elves, who are setting up a wide barrier to keep prying eyes away.  “Well, they will be securing the area.  Then, we can get you medical attention.  Both of you.”

            “I don’t need any.  I’m fine, just sore,” Geneva says, stretching.  She winces.

            “Don’t let her lie to you.  She took a beating from that thing.”

            “Yes, thank you for your honesty.  Claude.  I assure you, I will have both of you seen to,” Nina says

            Geneva blows a raspberry.  “Tattle-tell.”

            Shortly after, four dark SUVs pull up onto the scene and park together.  Elven soldiers, dressed in white, scatter across the battlefield and begin collecting parts of Andromalius.  A handful of them gather around his body.  They have a body bag that fits to just about his mid-torso, another in reserve, and a saw for the rest.

            Nina leads Geneva and Claude to one of the medical vans and leaves them there while she coordinates with some other soldiers.  The medical officers set them on the bumpers and begin their examinations.  Both are given painkillers, and Claude has his hand set and bandaged on the spot.

            Geneva stands to the side and watches with a sick stomach.  Then, a tall, thin elf asks her to remove her armor, and she refuses outright.

            The elf sighs at her, giving her a look that says he is having a long night and just wants to go home and rest. He says, “Please, we can’t let you leave until you’re properly attended to.  You could be injured and not even know it.”

            “Yes, but I’m practically naked underneath here.  So, no.”

            He sighs again and puts his hands on his hips.  “I’m a medical professional, and I can assure you that while you may be human, we’re not so different.”

            “And I can assure you that we really, really are.  I mean, come on, you’re a guy.  And a pervert.  Probably.”

            “What does my sex have to do with this?”

            “Considering that I’m still a teenage girl?  Quite a bit.”  Geneva crosses her arms and stares at him. “There’s no show here.  So, move on to someone who actually needs your help.”  She nods toward Claude.  “Like him.”

            Claude lifts his good hand up.  “I’m fine with this guy here.”  Claude nods at the elf attending his arm and gets a smile in return.

            Geneva rolls her eyes.  “Listen.  I have the armor, I’m fine.”

            “We don’t know the impact threshold of the armor.”

            “You don’t, but I do.  It’s high.  Secret’s out.  So, you can go, yeah?”

            “You may have internal bleeding or a concussion.”

            “You might, too, if you keep trying to undress me.”

            “Excuse me, what is going on here,” Nina asks, approaching from behind.  She stops at Geneva’s side, and the elf takes the opportunity to sigh at her, too.

            “Your,” he glares at Geneva, “student refuses to let me give her a proper medical examination.”

            Nina turns to Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks?”

            “I’m fine.  I mean, I think I would know if I were injured.  And I left my dress in your car, remember.”

            “Oh,” Nina says, returning her attention to the elf.  “Yes, I apologize.  Humans are self-conscious over such matters.  If you could, let her stay in the armor, and I will keep watch over her.”

            The elf lingers, giving them both a long, disappointed stare, before throwing his hands up.  “Fine!  I’m just trying to do my job, but no, little girl is worried I might see her underwear.  I’ve been in medicine for fifteen years, seen a lot more than this, but we have to protect her precious, human feelings.”  He slams his kit shut and storms around to the front of the car.  “Want to die?  What do I care?”

            “He seems a little high strung.”

            “Yes, well, he is correct,” Nina says.  “You may have internal injuries.  Be cautious.”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva says, “Man, even when I do it right, I get grief.”

            Nina turns her attention to Claude, waiting for the attendant to finish his work and leave.  Once he does, Nina stands beside Claude, arms crossed.  Claude’s arm is now bandaged, braced, and put into a sling.

            “How are you,” she asks.

            “I’ll heal, I guess,” Claude says, glancing at the injury.

            “We will keep in touch, attend to your needs, whatever they may be.”

            “Thanks,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  “I don’t really have medical, so that is a big help.”
            “Yes, well, you helped us earlier.  It is the least we can do.”

            Claude shrugs.  “I didn’t do much.  She saved the day,” he says, nodding past Nina to Geneva, who is staring bitterly out at the working soldiers.

            Nina glances, too.  “Did she?”

            “Yeah.  All I did was get knocked around.”  He sighs and stands, slipping Nina’s jacket off and offering it to her.  She takes it and puts it back on.  “I should be heading out.  My apartment’s within walking distance, so…”

            “Actually, before you go, could I bother you for a word?”

            Claude looks toward the distance for a moment, and then bounces on his feet.  He stuffs his hand into his pocket and shrugs.  “If you can make it quick, sure.”

            “What exactly were you doing here?  How did you get past the blockade, and how are you involved in all of this?”

            Claude pauses, sighs.  “Listen, those aren’t quick answers.”  He shakes his head.  “Sorry, but I don’t have the time.  I’ve got someone waiting for me, probably worried sick I’m dead.  Just know I’m not a bad guy, alright?”

            “I didn’t think you were.”  She holds his gaze for a moment, stern, serious, and then relents.  “Fine.  I won’t stop you, but more information will be required.”

            “I understand, but that can come later.”  Claude turns, stops, returns.  “Let me give you my address, just in case you need to contact me.  In case something happens.”

            “That seems agreeable.”

            They trade information, Claude giving her his address, Nina her number.  Then, she watches him shuffle away through the snow and down an alley and out of sight.

            Nina returns to Geneva then and finds her waiting, watching the cleanup crew work their way through Andromalius in slow, laborious movements.  Blood stains the snow.  Elsewhere, elves are scanning carefully for bits of him.  Nina touches Geneva’s shoulder to draw her attention.  “You did well today.  I’m proud of you.”

            “Yeah,” Geneva says.  She only glances back.  Her expression is distant.  She keeps her arms tight to her body, like she is holding it for warmth.

            Erak approaches from a few feet away.  He was gathering information from soldiers on the scene and dishing out orders when appropriate.  They salute and run off, leaving him to fix his attention on Nina and Geneva, who turn to regard him.  Nina salutes.  Geneva doesn’t.

            Stopping, Erak folds his arms and rubs his chin and appraises Geneva.  A strong wind whips at his jacket.  “So, the girl got her first kill.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  “It seems all of our training is paying off.”

            “Is it now?  I heard a rumor she had help.”  Erak gives Nina a hard look.  “That’s two now.”

            “I have spoken with him and have his information,” Nina says, and she quickly adds, “I don’t believe he is a threat.”

            “What? Want to give him a ring, too?”  Erak shakes his head.  “And where were you?  It took you nearly thirty minutes to arrive on scene.  We can’t have that sort of response time, not from you.  We’re already racking our brains on how to clean this up, and I refuse to….”

            “Know what,” Geneva interjects, “Just shut up.”

            “What did you just say?”

            “I said to shut up.”  Geneva stares at him, not fearless, but angry.  “I know you think you’re some big badass, but all you do is bully people, and I’m sick of it.  Where was I? Where were you while I was fighting for my life?  You got a problem with Claude helping out?  At least he was helping! And so what it if took thirty minutes? I’m a seventeen-year-old girl, my life isn’t fighting monsters.  That’s your job, and maybe if you were better at it, I wouldn’t have to come in and clean up your mess.

            “No, stuff it, cause I’m not going to listen.  Here’s how things are.  I’m a knight.  I answer to Ms. Olivia, no one else.  I fight monsters that you and yours are either too weak or too afraid to fight.  I don’t take orders from you anymore.”  With an air of finality, Geneva turns to Nina.  “I want to go home,” she says, and she stalks away.

            Nina and Erak stay, standing in the snow and the wind.  Erak is quiet, jaw tight, eyes narrowed.  He reaches for his chest pocket and pulls out a cigarette in a cold fury.  Nina keeps quiet, awaits punishment.

            He pauses with the cigarette to his lips, his lighter poised and ready.  “Well, what are you waiting for, Lieutenant?”

            “Sir?”

            “I thought she had made it all very clear.  The little princess wants to leave and I, frankly, don’t want her around anymore, either.”

            “Yes, sir.”  Nina salutes and turns as Erak lights his cigarette.  She can hear him take a deep drag, and knows he is glaring intently at Geneva’s retreating back.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The ride home is quiet.  Geneva doesn’t speak and feels grateful to Ms. Olivia for doing the same.  She changes back into her dress, briefly seeing the bruises along her back, legs, and sides, before covering them.  They pull up to the snowy street in front of her house, and she exits without a word and shuffles, leaving deep foot prints up to her front door.  Ms. Olivia waits until Geneva is inside before she pulls away.

            Inside, Geneva can hear her family watching television in the living room.  A new reporter says, “We have an update on the trouble downtown.  It seems that during the filming of an unnamed movie, a particularly dangerous stunt got out of control, causing considerable property damage.  It is still being cleaned up, but in an official statement from the company, all damages will be paid for.”

            Geneva strips her jacket and goes for the stairs, but finds her mother waiting for her at the end of the hallway, showing a level of shock and worry that only a mother can manage.  The older woman nearly breaks down as she says, “Oh, Geneva!  We’ve all been so worried!”

            “There was nothing to worry about,” Beatrice says, joining them.  “She wasn’t even downtown, right, Gene?”

            Geneva passes them without a glance.  She climbs the stairs in complete silence and finds her room quiet and dark. Then, shuffling forward, she falls onto her bed and lies there for an hour, facedown, just breathing.

            They don’t follow.  When she has the energy, she gets up and goes to the bathroom.  There, she strips and stares at herself in the mirror, counting her bruises, prodding them gently.  Blood has dried brown on her lips and nose.  It is subtle and at a glance might just look like shadows.

            Her wounds let her relive every punch, every blow she suffered.  She took the arrow and jammed in his eye.  At that moment, there was relief, maybe even joy.  She had won; she had killed.  Emptiness follows.

            Tears come to her eyes.

            She climbs into the shower and curls up at the bottom.  Warm water cascades down her tense muscles, hot steam swirls around her.  She feels warm but only on the outside, only at her skin.  Deep, powerful sobs rock her body.  She hugs herself tighter and rides it out.

            Beatrice knocks at the door.  “Hey, Genie, Kit’s on the phone for you.”  She waits, and when Geneva doesn’t respond, “Geneva, you okay in there?”

            “I’m fine.  I’m—I’ll call her later.”

            Beatrice is quiet for a moment.  She says something onto the phone, and then, “Okay, told her.”  A pause.  “You sure you’re okay?”

            “Yeah.  Just want to shower.”

            “Okay.  Don’t drown in there.”

            “Okay, I won’t.”  Once Geneva is sure Beatrice is gone, she hides her face in her knees and continues to cry.  The water runs until it goes cold, and she stays there shivering and crying still, trying desperately to see it to the end.

            Once she can cry no more, she rises, shivering and wet, and she dries herself absently.  She avoids her reflection because it is too much for her.  Finally, she feels empty, devoid of anything that might bring her more tears.

            With a towel wrapped around her wounded torso, she makes the short walk back to her room and closes the door behind her.  She falls shortly after, and the bed catches her again, and she just lies there, breathing, feeling the ache set into her bones.  She reaches for her phone and decides against it.  It is late, and Kit should be sleeping.

            Geneva should be sleeping, too.

            She rolls onto her back, naked, bruised, and stares up at the ceiling.  Her room is cold, but so is she.  Another roll, and she pulls her blanket over her, and she closes her eyes.  It is late, and Geneva is tired, and after everything that has happened, she feels like she deserves a rest.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Claude runs to the apartment and climbs up the front steps.  The inside smells slightly musty but the warmth of the halls staves off the lingering chill in his bones.  His arm throbs gently as the warmth returns to it, and he remembers the pills the on-site physicians gave him but chooses to wait to take them.

            After climbing the stairs, he reaches their apartment door and feels his pocket, and that is when he remembers that he doesn’t have the key.  Bracing against the wall, he slides into a sitting position and stares at the corresponding wall across the hall, and he thinks about the night and the battle.

            It wasn’t the first demon Claude had fought.  He came to the city knowing that there would be danger.  In fact, it is the very reason he came—to protect the world from such dangers.  He killed one of the first invading demons, a lone creature as lost in the city as he was.  Using an arrow, he slit the things throat and left it to bleed.

            This battle was different.  This demon was different.  And without Geneva’s aid, he could have died.  A lifetime of training, of knowing, and all of his gifts weren’t enough.  Claude is special, chosen, but it didn’t matter.  He still could have died.

            It leaves him feeling very normal.  More than that, however, he feels sore and very, very tired.  The warmth has his skin needling as sensation returns, but he still feels somewhat cold.  It is like the draft followed him inside.  His bow is missing, broken, and he doesn’t know how he will fight in the future.

            Leaning back, he rests his head against the wall, and he swallowed heavily.  He focuses on his breathing and on the positives.  He survived the battle, that is the most important thing.  In such situations, the learning curve is steep, and any victory is worth celebrating because it may be his last.  There isn’t time for lamentation.  Only for contemplation and adjustments.

            For an hour Claude waits in the hall, replaying the battle in his head, looking for where he went wrong and where he can improve.  Then Shirley arrives.  He can feel her before she sees him but doesn’t have enough time to react before she shouts his name, drops her things, and rushes to his side.  “Oh, God, I was so worried!”  He barely stands before she hugs him.

            “Ow!”

            “Ow? Why ow?”  She pulls back and looks him over.  Her focus falls on his arm, and she braces against the wall to keep steady.  “Oh! Claude, what happened?”  She tugs gently on the bandage, peeling it back to see inside, and she grimaces.  “That doesn’t look good.”

            “Doesn’t feel good, but it’ll be fine.  It’s already been seen to.”

            “By who?”

            “Some people at the scene.”  Claude rubs the back of his neck.  “I’m telling you, it’s fine.”

            “No, it’s hurt.”  She takes him by his good hand and gives him another, more thorough look over.  “You look awful.  Come on, we’re taking you to the emergency room.”

            “Shirley, we shouldn’t.  I don’t have insurance anyway.”

            “So, what? We’re just supposed to let you run around with a broken arm?  Let it heal up malformed?”

            “Shirley, it won’t.”

            “No more arguments.”  She gives him a hard tug.  “We’re going.”

            “What about my stuff?”

            Shirley stops, eyes him warily.  “Is this really the time to be thinking about that?”

            “I just don’t want it to get stolen.”

            She gives him a long stare.  “You’re just like a child,” she says, and she bends to pick up the things she dropped.  Gathering them in her arms, she says, “We’ll bring it in, and then we’re going to the E.R.  And, no, I’m not letting this go.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            After dropping Geneva off, Nina returns to the quarantine. The path there is clear of cars and, upon approach, she finds the elves still working in the snow.  They move quickly and discreetly, clearing away any signs, blood and bits, of Andromalius’ invasion.  The search becomes more difficult as the snow continues to gather.

            Nina pulls her jacket tight to her torso as she exits the car.  She approaches Erak and another elf talking.

            “And they bought the story,” Erak asks.  He has a cigarette in his mouth.  It is half finished and the tip glows with his breath.

            “Yes, sir. We’ll do extra clean up and pay collateral where necessary, but they believe it.”

            “Good,” Erak says.  He releases a long, smoky breath.  “We’ll keep it that way.  Anything else I should know?”

            “Seems a few people did see the fight, some even tried to put footage up online.  What we’ve found has already been pulled, and it isn’t much.  Just some shaky videos taken on a camera phone.  Still, rumors are out that there are monsters on the streets.”

            “Then spread rumors countering it,” Erak says.  “Discredit anyone who tries to argue, call it conspiracy.  Do whatever it takes.”

            “Of course, sir.”

            “Good.  Then go.  We’ll be back soon enough.”  He takes a last drag on his cigarette and watches the elf go.  Then, he snuffs it out in the snow and collects it in his tin.  Smoke trails from his nostrils as he turns to face Nina.  “You’re back.”

            Nina salutes.  “Sir.”

            He gives a half-hearted salute in return.  “So, what are we going to do about your little pet?”

            “How do you mean?”

            “I mean, how she talked to me, an elf.  We can’t have that sort of disrespect, lieutenant.  You know that, and she should know it, too. So, beat it into her head if you have to, but she can’t be speaking to any of us that way.  Least of all me.”

            “Of course, sir, but with due respect, Ms. Oaks isn’t a hardened soldier.  She is just a girl, and I believe she was simply tired from her encounter.”  Nina watches him sour and quickly adds, “And, I believe she performed admirably, considering the danger she faced.”

            Erak scoffs.  “Admirably and with assistance.”

            “There is no way we could have predicted that.”

            Erak crosses his arms.  “We should do something about it.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “You know what I mean,” he says, coldly.  “There can be no leaks, lieutenant, and I doubt your little speech can persuade the council a second time.”

            Nina looks away. “I wasn’t thinking that.  But don’t you think killing him would only raise more questions?”

            “So, what, you’re suggesting we let him go?”

            “Perhaps we pretend he is a coconspirator.  We use him, if we can, and if we can’t, we discredit anything he says.  Think about it.  Who in this realm would ever believe demons, in-the-flesh demons, have been here?”

            “The people who saw this,” Erak says, gesturing toward the snowy remains of the battle.  He stuffs his hands in his pockets and frowns the deep, uncomfortable frown of someone in charge. “Lieutenant.”

            “Sir?”

            “You’re dismissed for the night. Go home. Rest”

            “But, sir, I can help.”

            “Clearly you can’t, not with the way your mind is working.  We don’t need you here and, considering how you’re handling everything, I can see you’re already overwhelmed.”  He turns his back on her.  “Go home. That’s an order.”

            Nina lingers and goes, shuffling back to her car and worrying over the future of both Claude and Geneva.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Shirley speeds through snowy streets to the hospital. On the way, Claude insists he is fine but knows his words aren’t being heard.  Each attempt is rebuffed with opposing insistence on going and, after a time, he finally settles into a sulk and watches the city race by in a blur.

            Where Claude comes from snow is on television.  It is his first time seeing so much, and he is astonished at the way it blankets the city.  Upon arriving within the city, he had thought how the buildings were so big, so bright.  From a distance they now look like a snow globe.  Even injured, he feels glad for seeing it.

            They arrive at the hospital and find it packed.  People are gathered from all around, driven into a panic by the sudden snowstorm.  Shirley pushes Claude to the front, where he half-heartedly relays his information to an overworked, tired looking nurse.  She takes it down and sends him to wait.

            They aren’t there long before another nurse, who has more pep and deep lines in her face, shows them in.  She takes his vitals and glances under the bandage before sending the doctor in.

            The doctor, a tall, thin man with a bristling beard and thinning hairline, examines the arm and the sling.  Then, he scribbles something along his clipboard.  “While I can’t agree with home bandaging, the work is very good,” he says.  “The arm should be fine, though I recommend going to a real doctor for a follow up.”

            Claude nods.  “I’ll definitely try.”

            From his side, Shirley says, “And you’re sure it’s fine?”

            “I’m sure,” the doctor says, scribbling some more.  He looks up and adjusts his thin, round glasses.  “What happened to you, anyhow, son?  Don’t tell me you got caught up in that mess downtown.”

            Claude goes stiff.  “No.  What, uh, what happened downtown?”

            “Apparently some big movie stunt got out of control.  Tore up some buildings down there, caused a bit of property damage.”  The doctor laughs.  “Though, if you ask some of the locals, they say it was a battle between a big, green monster and a little girl in white armor.  Kept insisting, even after I told them about the movie.”  He laughs more.  “Some people.”

            “Yeah, sounds crazy.”

            The doctor’s smile lingers.  “You get all kinds around here,” he says, and taps his pen on his clipboard.  “Well, take care of yourself, young man, and don’t forget the follow up.  Wouldn’t want it to grow back wrong now, would we?”

            “Right,” Claude says, easing himself from the examination bed.  Shirley slips his jacket on him and they leave the room together and walk, cautious, around the labyrinthine halls toward the exit.  “I told you I would be fine,” Claude says once they are alone.

            “Sue me for being concerned,” she says.  “So, the big, green monsters, was that true?”

            Claude nods.

            “And the little girl in white?”

            “That, I’m not so sure about.  I was going to tell you later, but…”  He pauses to speak with the nurse.  She gives him some paperwork and tells them to drive safe.  Outside, in the wind and snow, they walk back toward the car together, and Claude continues, “Anyway, it seems like I’m not the only one out there fighting.”

            “Wow.  So, what, she can do what you can do?”

            “No, it’s not the same, it’s different. She has this armor.”  Claude sighs, shakes his head.  “It’s all kind of hard to swallow.”

            “Considering what I’ve seen you do with a blade of grass, no, no it’s not.” Shirley shrugs as they reach the car.  “Makes sense to me that there’s more than just one of you in the world.”

            “She’s not like me,” Claude says, frowning.  He gets in with her.  “And she’s young.  Like, still a teenager.”

            “So were you, once.”

            “Anyway, it was the girl’s friends who helped to bandage me up.  They looked like military, but I didn’t recognize the uniforms.”

            Shirley starts up the car, adjusts the heat.  Then, she pulls out of the parking lot and back onto the snow-covered streets.  “Ooh, maybe they’re some top-secret government organization.”

            Claude stares ahead, his mouth tightening into a grimace.  “You think so?”

            She shrugs.  “What else could it be?”

            “I guess.”  He stares out the window, ignores the itching in his arm.  “Though, it’s strange that they got someone so young involved.”

            “You’re young, too.  Still in your early twenties,” Shirley says.  “When fighting monsters, you take what you can get.”  She squints out the windshield and into the snowfall.  Normally the city glows with nightlife.  Tonight, it is obscured.  “We need to get back.  It’s getting bad out there.”

            “Yeah,” Claude says.

            “Oh, and by the way, thanks for coming back.”

            Claude looks to find her smiling and smiles in return.  He looks ahead, trying his best to look cool for her, and says, “I told you I would, didn’t I?”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            The battle was short. Both armies converged on the city walls and together crashed through the gates.  Like a force of nature, they swept through the streets, slaughtering all those who refused to kneel and sparing the rest.

            Without Andromalius to lead, his lands were in chaos.  They couldn’t repel the invading forces and so surrendered.  In under an hour the city fell and, shortly after, with organized strikes and colorful threats, the rest of the county followed.

            Dantalion and Seere meet at Andromalius’ throne.  Each has an escort that followed them like shadows, an assortment of guards and attendants.  As always, Ruka stays close at Seere’s side.  Dantalion’s own group is made up of men in dark robes and iron masks, much like their lord.

            Seere wears a traveler’s garb, with a loose vest, loose pants, and boots crusted with mud.  He wears a dark cloak made of soft, sturdy fabric that is frayed with age.  While the entourage watches, he walks a small circle around the throne and then sits on it, his legs crossed, hands folded, and smiles.

            After a moment, he huffs and stands to regard it.  “Really, who crafts a throne from rock?  Well, no matter.  It was far too large for someone such as me anyhow.”  He turns his smile on Dantalion.  “We have done it, my lord.  We’ve taken the lands, and, as per our agreement, shall divide the them evenly between us and share the city and forest, yes?”

            “That was our intention,” Dantalion says.  “Shared control.”

            “Yes, yes, just wanted to make sure,” Seere says.  “It will be nice, using the tree without asking permission.”

            Dantalion glances around the room, at all those watching, or so Seere imagines.  It is difficult to tell with the mask. “What are you looking for out there, anyhow, Viscount?”

            “Our future,” says Seere.  “Now, I have other matters to attend to.  As do you, I imagine, but first, a request.”

            “Of course,” Dantalion says, wariness showing in his tone.

            “I would like, if at all possible, to maintain a united front.  There are demons—other demons—who would take this opportunity to strike.  Separate, we are but minor lords with withered legions at our call.  Together, however, we may yet hold the far south reaches, perhaps even take the entire south itself.”

            “Ambitious,” Dantalion says.  “Cooperation is not in our nature.”

            “Maybe it is time for someone to change that.”  Seere extends, and Dantalion regards it blankly.  “What do you say?”

            Dantalion remains still for a long moment.  Then he nods, barely, to his attendant, who shakes Seere’s hand in his place.

            “Strange, but I’ll take it as an accord.  That done, I could use your services one last time—and offer compensation, of course.  Yima, if you would be a dear.”

            Seere’s entourage parts and Yima steps out from the group, dragging a man after her.  She wears her dark hair up in an intricate braid and a muddy, worn travelling cloak hangs wet from her body.  The man wears a t-shirt and jeans and has a bag over his head.  His hands and feet are bound.

            “Another?”

            “If you wouldn’t mind,” Seere says, and he looks over his shoulder to a group of soldiers.  They produce a large, heavy chest filled with shimmering relics and gemstones.

            “What are you using all of these languages for?”

            “The preservation of our people, nothing less, nothing more.”

            “For some reason I doubt you.”

            “Please, my lord, even I wouldn’t be brave enough to insult your intelligence in front of your army.  Now, if you would grant young Yima the gift we seek, then we can be done with the matter, and you can return that much richer.  After all, we are allies, aren’t we?”

            Dantalion contemplates quietly.  “Fine but not here.”

            “Of course.  Wouldn’t want anyone to learn your secrets.”

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            Seere departs, leaving Yima and a small number of troops behind him.  He returns to the forward camp, where he speaks with his generals and congratulates them.  They offer him drinks, and he refuses, citing a county to run.  They laugh it off and insist, and he tries a touch of alcohol.  It burns greatly as it goes down.

            Later, Seere finds Yima in her tent.  Two large, stout demons stand guard outside and bow at his approach.  Inside, Yima is crouched over the body of the man, who is bent over her knees, with blood oozing down his chest and arms, pooling in the grass beneath them.  She is biting from his throat while he gasps, chewing at the flesh bit by bit.  He tries to scream but is unable to speak anymore.

            Seere steps around them, grimaces.  “Hungry, are we?”

            “Not nearly so much as you might think.”  Yima looks up at him, fresh blood spread across her chin, running down her neck.  It is splattered across her chest and torso, too.

            Seere throws her a cloth.  “Wipe your mouth, dear.  You’re a mess.”

            Yima drops the now lifeless body to the ground and grabs at the cloth.  She wipes her mouth and fingers and offers it back to him.  Seere politely refuses, so she shrugs and tosses it onto her bedroll.

            Seere taps the body with his boot.  “How much do you have to eat exactly?”

            “Enough to kill them,” Yima says, “My father was never clear.  Only said I need their life’s blood.”

            “I see.”  Seere turns to her.  “And did it take?”

            “Let’s find out.”  Yima looks at her hands, flexes them.  They are slender hands, with long fingers, calloused by war and life.  They are not the hands or fingers of a lady but a survivor, shaped by tragedy.

            In the darkness of the tent, those hands change.  They grow pink and soft and smooth.  The rest of her changes, too, growing fair, her hair receding and brightening into a short, stylish boy cut.  Her face develops angles, while she shrinks and grows stocky.

            When finished, she is a human man standing before Seere in a bloody leather vest and leather pants, and when she speaks, it is in the voice of a human man, the same human man who just died, but using demonic words.  “How do I look?”

            “Repulsive,” Seere says, grimacing again.  “And weak.”

            Yima examines her body, her arms, her chest.  “Yes, they are soft, aren’t they?”

            “Though not nearly so soft as the elves, I imagine.”

            “You’re wrong about that.  Elves are,” she pauses thoughtfully, “sturdier than you might expect.”  She looks at the body on the floor, kicks it over to reveal the open wound at the neck.  Seere glances at the body, too.

            “And what Dantalion did?”

            Yima smiles, her teeth stained with blood.  In perfect English, she says, “Oh, I’ve learned, and I am ready whenever you need me.”

 

The Knights of Sheba 109 B…End