Chapter 2 Des
Des
Keeping to the shadows as he stalked his prey, Destrier Whitlow wondered why people continued to procreate at all. It was
a Monday night, and though he should have been in the barracks with his fellow guards, enjoying his only day of leisure, babies
insisted on being born regardless.
The trouble with creating new life was that it also created demons, and particularly unpleasant ones to kill. Natia, or natal demons, took the form of young children, indistinguishable from their human counterparts except for the lingering
smell of sulfur and ash and their crimson eyes. He gripped the hilt of the iron sword at his hip and continued to follow a
girl with blond ringlets hanging to her shoulders, walking with an unnaturally self-assured gait for a child so young.
“Des,” his partner hissed from across the street, causing the demon to glance behind her and quicken her pace.
Des pressed a finger to his lips, urging the boy to be quiet before their quarry ran. Demons were fast, and Des was still
tired from the two he’d killed yesterday. The commander should have known better than to give him such a green guard as a
partner. Then again, Des was being trained for command himself one day, and this was likely a strategic move on Commander
Yew’s part, not a coincidence.
The boy, Gareth, hurried across the street to where Des stood.
“I told you, never abandon your post unless I give the order,” Des hissed.
“I know,” Gareth whispered, hovering a little too close to Des. It was a well-known fact among the guards that he didn’t like
anyone encroaching on his personal space. “But I think we’re being followed.”
Des glanced over his shoulder, his stomach dropping when he realized Gareth was right.
About a block behind them, a demon peeked out from the side of an abandoned factory, its eyes glowing like hot coals in the
darkness. It wasn’t a natia, at least. He’d need to see it more closely to be sure, but Des was fairly certain this was a somnia, produced whenever a person dreamed of something that had never been imagined before. They were common, of course. Invention
could be controlled; dreams couldn’t. But they were also easy to kill, being somewhat insubstantial themselves.
It was odd, however, that this one was following them. Somnia were typically shy, coming out only at night to feast on whatever small nocturnal prey they could find.
Nevertheless, this was a perfect opportunity for Gareth to make his first kill while Des took care of the natia, which was getting away from them, no doubt searching for her first victim.
Des whispered the plan to Gareth, who swallowed audibly but nodded, gripping the hilt of his sword as he ducked onto a side
street, where he could ambush the somnia.
Putting the two of them out of his mind for the moment, Des searched for the girl, who had done exactly as he’d feared: disappeared around a corner while Gareth distracted him.
She couldn’t have gone far on her child’s legs, demon or no.
He continued forward on silent feet, moving impressively fast for a man his size.
When he arrived at an alley narrowing to a silent dead end, Des cursed to himself. He’d lost the natia, and he’d likely be up the rest of the night looking for her. Natia took on the future attributes of their creators, and this girl was going to be clever when she was older. He ran his free
hand over his short hair, ruing his own foolishness. He should never have allowed Gareth to take his attention off the natia.
He turned and headed back the way he’d come, sheathing his sword as he walked.
Which, naturally, was the perfect opportunity for an ambush.
A passing shadow was Des’s only warning before the natia leapt on him from above and knocked him off his feet. He grunted at the impact, his head connecting with a cobblestone hard
enough that he saw stars. He barely had time to put up one gauntleted arm before the demon’s teeth sank into his neck. Instead,
she found herself with a mouthful of iron, causing her to screech in fury.
It gave Des enough time to thrust her away while he sprang to his feet. A moment later, the demon had recovered, an unpleasant
grin curling her little girl’s lips, and Des took a deep breath as he drew his sword.
His body flooded with the familiar rush of adrenaline just seconds before she attacked. The natia, though disturbingly intelligent, was inexperienced in combat, and she only managed to escape his blade by inches. He rounded
on her quickly and she leapt on top of a pile of refuse, her sharp teeth bared in a snarl.
Why did it have to be a little girl? Des thought as he crouched, waiting for her next attack and keeping a wary eye on her sharp incisors.
The demon’s bite wouldn’t kill him—probably—but even if she didn’t have fully developed venom glands yet, it would hurt like
a son of a bitch and could take him out of commission for a week. A demon had scratched him across the hand several months
ago and it had gotten so infected, the medic had joked that Des might lose his second-favorite appendage. He couldn’t afford
any kind of misstep now, not if he wanted to get promoted.
The girl came at him again, and as much as he was dreading what he was about to do, he needed her close in order to kill her.
She leapt for his chest, her face contorted in a snarl. With his right hand, he caught the demon by the throat, nearly crushing
her windpipe in the process. Wide, watery red eyes stared into his, and not for the first time, he was grateful that her eyes
weren’t blue or brown or in any way human.
That would have made it much harder to do what was necessary.
Des dropped the demon on the ground, not giving her a moment to recover before his sword flashed, lopping her head off in
one clean stroke. Instantly, the body burst into green flames.
It was all over so fast, and yet when Des closed his eyes to catch his breath, he could still see the little girl’s face,
the blond ringlets and pink cheeks.
Why did it have to be a little girl?
A moment later, Des heard a celebratory whoop as Gareth ran toward him.
“I did it!” he exclaimed, so green he didn’t even stop to think that there might be other demons out tonight. If so, he’d
scared them away. Des would be sure to search here tomorrow, just in case. “My first kill!”
Des smiled despite himself, remembering his own first kill: the fear, the thrill, the pride.
All demon-orphaned children were given to the Iron Guard, and when you were raised with the knowledge that your own parents had been slaughtered by the very creatures you were fighting, you couldn’t help but feel that you were righting some wrong, or at least preventing a future one.
He clapped Gareth on the back so hard the boy stumbled, but he was still grinning as he recounted the story.
“You did well,” Des said, trying to convey the same fraternal pride the older guards had showed him when he made his first
kill at age eleven. Gareth was thirteen or fourteen, Des thought, his parents having been killed only a year before. It was
easy to forget that each member of the Iron Guard had suffered something terrible, that they weren’t all merely involuntary
conscripts in service to their kingdom. Or that they’d once had dreams other than fighting monsters.
As they continued their patrol, crossing over the canal and approaching the Iron Fortress in silence, Gareth shook his head,
a bemused look on his face. “It was strange, though,” he said, glancing up at Des.
“What was?”
“The somnia. I understand that they’re not known for being threatening, but this one . . . It didn’t even try to escape when it saw me
coming. It was as though it was waiting for me.”
“Waiting for you to what?”
“I don’t know, exactly. But it held its hands up, almost like it wanted me to know it wasn’t there to hurt me.”
Des frowned down at the boy. “That’s impossible. Demons don’t communicate with humans.”
“I know,” Gareth said, flushing with embarrassment. “Never mind. It was probably nothing.”
“Nice night for it?” the guard in the tower shouted down as they approached the gate.
“Excellent!” Gareth called up. “My first kill!”
The guard whooped in solidarity, raising his sword at Gareth, who hefted his in return. Absently, Des hoisted his into the
air as well, following Gareth through the gates. But even as he removed his armor and settled down in his rack, something
gnawed at him.
Somnia were easy to kill and trap—oftentimes a sprinkling of salt was enough to paralyze them—but they still fled when they were
spotted. They didn’t wait for death as though inviting it. And they certainly didn’t try to communicate with humans.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. What if he’d been wrong, and it hadn’t been a somnia? He should never have risked sending Gareth into battle alone, not for his first kill, not ever. Tonight had ended well,
but it could have been disastrous for both of them.
There were three rules the Iron Guard upheld above all others: never hunt alone; never act on impulse; never underestimate
a demon.
And tonight, he’d disobeyed all three.