The Kuscan Demon Read online

  THE KUSCAN DEMON

  By

  Sam Ferguson

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this book are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Dragon Scale Publishing, 212 E Crossroads Blvd. #119, Saratoga Springs UT 84045

  THE KUSCAN DEMON

  Copyright © 2020 by Sam Ferguson

  Artwork Copyright © 2020 Dragon Scale Publishing

  Published by Dragon Scale Publishing

  Front Cover Art by Luciano Fleitas

  All Rights Reserved

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epliogue

  Other Books by Sam Ferguson

  Chapter 1

  It had been a bright, clear day with a warm late spring breeze that stirred up the clover and lilacs growing in the hills to the north. Torgath had spent the day tracking his prey to a valley he would have been happy to stroll through on any other day such as this, but despite the beautiful colors that were splashed across the sky as the sun hung low on the horizon, his heart was not cheered by the site which lay before him.

  A cohort of fifty men and their knight liege had found his target first, and lost.

  The clover was painted crimson. Gnarled hands and pieces of human flesh dotted the grass as Torgath approached from the west. Crows circled above, waiting for the vultures to clear the ground below before moving in to take their fill.

  The orc had seen such savagery before, but this scene tugged at his heart, for this was not the result of a typical battle.

  No. This carnage was the work of Beomuth.

  Torgath sniffed the air, taking in the faint, acrid odor left behind by the demon. Beomuth was prone to use acid and poison, dishonorable weapons for anyone to employ, but especially despicable in this case. Torgath walked by the remains of a man consisting of a mauled torso. The heavy trail of blood below where the waist had been pointed the direction where the rest of the swordsman was lying in the field. The man’s facial skin was bubbling and turning black, with small wisps of smoke rising up as the sinew and bone beneath became visible.

  A yell tore Torgath away from the corpse and pulled his eyes toward the top of the hill.

  An older man was sitting near the top, pulling on what appeared to be a tourniquet above his knee.

  Torgath doubted Beomuth would leave anyone alive, so he glanced around the hill before rushing in to help, knowing that many demons employed magical illusions to draw in their prey.

  The orc drew his sword, gripping the dragon bone in his hands and surveying the ground and skies. Seeing no sign of the demon, he made his way carefully to the wounded man.

  “Get away!” the man shouted. “There is a demon here!”

  Torgath didn’t slow his steps, but he took some comfort in the man’s words. A demon could only create illusions that it could understand. Beomuth could easily project a wounded man, he could make him scream for help even, but a demon could not imitate honor. This man was no illusion. He was a knight.

  As he ascended the hill, he pulled the edge of his cowl low over his brow and drew the fabric mask which hung from it across his face, securing it in place with a pair of metals clasps. Coming near enough to see clearly, Torgath noted a crest of yellow on black with two fighting boars across the knight’s chest. The insignia told Torgath which house the knight was from, but the fact that the knight still held his weapon at the ready to defend an unknown stranger told him even more. This man was honorable.

  “I said go away!” the knight shouted. “Enough men have given their lives today. Flee, before it comes back!”

  Torgath shook his head and bent down to the wounded man. “I am hunting the demon.”

  “Alone?!” the man scoffed.

  The orc surveyed the man’s wounds. “Your leg is lost,” he said. The left leg was barely clinging to the knee, with the flesh torn open and most of the joint ripped free. “You have lost a lot of blood.”

  “I’ll live,” the knight said. He yanked on the tourniquet once more and tied it off, quenching the flow of blood.

  Torgath nodded. “I can amputate the leg and seal the wound, but I have nothing for the pain.”

  The knight nodded. “Do what you can.”

  The orc gathered enough wood to make a hot fire, and slipped his blade into the flames, resting it atop the white-hot embers and letting the dragon blade gather the fire’s heat to itself. While he waited for that, he pulled a few items he would need from his pack; a needle and thread, a hunting knife, and several bandages. The orc also handed a flask to the knight and bade him to drink deeply.

  “Why the mask?” the knight asked.

  “Most people don’t like to see what lies behind it,” Torgath replied. The knight took another big drink from the flask, Torgath reached over to tip the bottom up. “Finish it off, you’ll want to be out if possible.”

  When the ale was gone, the knight closed the flask and tossed it next to Torgath. “You risk much to save a man you don’t even know.”

  Torgath looked up and surveyed the scene with his eyes once more. “You fought the demon honorably. Therefore, I must help you if I can.”

  “He took my wife,” the knight said, his words just starting to slur. “Seven years ago. He took her from my home while I was away. The cowardly cur.” The knight held up a finger. “I vowed to slay the beast for what he did to my Margaret. It wasn’t just that he killed her, you know.”

  Torgath gave a soft nod. “I know.”

  The knight grunted. “So, you’ve lost someone too, then?”

  “Someone very dear to me,” Torgath replied.

  “They keep the souls of their victims. They lock them up in these strange magical artifacts, feeding upon their souls forever. It’s a fate worse than hell.”

  “Yes, it is,” Torgath agreed. He turned his eyes to the knight just as the man shouted into the air.

  “I’m still coming for you, you blaggard! I don’t care if you ripped off my leg, and killed my men. I’m going to hunt you down!” The knight’s clenched fist pumped into the air as the man let out a string of curses.

  Torgath watched for a moment, and then felt a single tear come to his left eye. “I will find him for you,” Torgath said. “Your fight is over.”

  The knight looked up to Torgath’s dark eyes and knitted his brow. “You? Alone?”

  “I swear, I will kill the demon.” Torgath made a fist with his right hand and leaned in close. “Now sleep.” He launched a punch so swift and strong that the knight was unconscious before he even saw the blow coming. The human’s body fell limp to the ground without so much as a moan. Between the loss of blood and the heavy liquor, Torgath was certain the human would be out for a good while.

  It was time to go to work.

  The orc took his hunting knife and worked it into the raging fire until the blade began to glow. He then brought it out and let it cool before cutting the knight’s trousers away from the mauled leg. “You fought well,” Torgath said as made a cut around the knee joint to separate the skin from the lower leg and the jagged pieces. He then made vertical incisions running from the circular cut up to four inches above the knee. His
hands moved steadily, his eyes monitoring the blood loss while he kept his nerves calm, knowing that rushing might lead to a botched job. Once he had the vertical incisions completed, he peeled the strips of skin back to reveal the meat and bone. He was able to save most of the leg muscles, needing only to sever the connective tissue that bound them to the bottom of the femur. Once the bottom of the femur was fully exposed, Torgath grabbed his sword from the fire and stood over the knight. With one, well-aimed chop the bone was cleaved and simultaneously cauterized.

  The knight winced and moaned, but remained unconscious.

  Torgath set the sword back into the fire and went to work sewing the muscle over the severed bone, followed by the flaps of skin. He pulled them tight so that they overlapped enough to suture together. Then, once the skin was put together over the end of the leg’s stub, Torgath reached for his sword once more and worked quickly to cauterize the skin, fusing it and dissolving the sutures at the end.

  The odor of searing flesh assaulted his nose, but he kept the blade in place, knowing that if the knight was to survive, this had to be done completely. A half-done job wouldn’t do. Even with a perfect amputation Torgath wasn’t sure the knight would live, as the blood loss before had been significant.

  With the work done, Torgath cleaned his sword and knife. The knight woke several times over the next few minutes, but quickly passed out from the pain and general fatigue that had overtaken his body. Torgath also regularly administered additional ale from a second flask he had on hand. He moved to some young trees and cut them down to build a litter with which to drag the knight into a thicket of trees away from the hill. He then covered the knight with his own blanket from his pack and then scavenged the battle field in the gathering dark for additional liquor and other supplies he might need.

  Fortune smiled on him, granting a find of three bottles of brandy, two medicine kits, and several functioning crossbows.

  He sorted the medicine kits first, but was dismayed to find mostly palliative remedies instead of more useful cures and tonics. Still, it was more than he had originally possessed, so he thanked his ancestors. He refilled his empty flasks with the contents of one brandy bottle, but saved the other two for the knight. Similarly, he took one crossbow and left six others loaded near the man.

  The knight awoke when the moon was beginning to make its decent from the sky, and called out to Torgath, who at that time was throwing more logs on the fire.

  The orc, thinking the knight might need his help, hurried back to the man.

  “What is it?” Torgath asked, bending down to inspect the man’s leg.

  “The fire, you shouldn’t build it,” the knight said. “It will attract the demon.”

  Torgath nodded. “I know, that is precisely why I am doing it.”

  The knight frowned, and then noticed the six crossbows loaded near him and smiled. “You are bringing the demon to me?”

  Torgath grinned, despite the fact that the expression was hidden behind the mask. “I am. I cannot leave you here to fend for yourself, but neither can I give up the hunt. Fortunately, we don’t have to go after it. The demon is cunning and greedy. It knows that others might come looking for the first group of fallen warriors. My guess is the demon didn’t go far. So I thought it best to bring the monster back. The scent of roasting meat and the tall flames will be too much for him to resist. This one is a greedy monster, and he will be fattened with the flesh of your men tonight, so his judgment will be lacking.”

  “Roasted meat? When did you have time to hunt?” The knight then looked out toward the fire. The man’s eyes shot open wide, and Torgath knew that the knight had noticed the pile of human bodies stacked near the fire. “I see.” His tone was flat, not exactly full of reproach, but it was clear that the plan did not sit well with the knight.

  “I mean no offense, but as these men have also lost their souls to the demon, I assumed they wouldn’t mind if their bodies were used to lure the demon back.”

  The knight wrinkled his nose and stared at the bodies for a while, then finally nodded. “I’m sure you are right. It is a shrewd plan, but ultimately there is no point in giving final rites to a body whose soul is in the clutches of a demon for eternal torment. Go ahead, do as you have planned.”

  Torgath pointed to the crossbows. “Try not to drink all the brandy tonight. I don’t want you getting drunk and shooting me by mistake.”

  The knight smiled and stuck out his hand. “Hawking is my name, Gadrick Hawking, knight of the House of Lords, sworn swords to King Esri.”

  Torgath took the knight’s hand. “I am Torgath, my house and origin are of little consequence.”

  “And yet your courage and honor are of great importance. I must know whence you come, so that I may send the appropriate reward.”

  Torgath shook his head. “Perhaps I will have need of a favor in the future. If such a day comes I will call upon you, but until then there is no need for monetary gratitude.”

  “Just as well,” Gadrick said with a grunt. “We’ll likely be dead anyway.”

  Torgath chuckled a bit. “Yes we will fight with honor,” he said.

  “And die with glory,” Gadrick replied. The two of them sat, listening to the still of the night, each pondering on what the morning would bring. “Perhaps Nagé will come to claim the both of us when this is finished,” Gadrick ventured after some time had passed.

  Torgath considered carefully before answering. “I wish that for you, that you may be with your wife once we have freed her soul from the demon.”

  “Do you not wish to be reunited with the one you have lost?”

  “Neither I, nor my kin will be permitted to rest with the souls of the blessed,” he replied, betraying some bitterness, despite his best effort to appear dispassionate.

  “Come man, we all have actions we regret, and doubts which nag at all warriors, but you have behaved honorably. Surely the gods will recognize that. Do not give in to defeat of the mind as battle approaches. It does not suit the moment!”

  “I am ready for battle. I do not doubt my actions, or my honor, but I am not what you think,” Torgath shook his head and rose to his feet, pacing in front of the fire and wishing for the action to begin so that talk could be done with. The eyes of the knight were fixed intently upon him. He tried to ignore it, but it dug at him. At last Torgath paused and wrinkled his nose. “What is it you wish to say?”

  “You found me, nearly dead, and did what you could to nurse me back to health. You amputated my leg, and have refused to abandon me to the night or to the dishonor of not completing my quest. You stand ready slay the demon that imprisoned my wife, and have given me the means to participate. Because of you, she will be free, and I may yet live. I know you refused money, but if you ever need that favor you mentioned, I declare an oath to you, that I will give it.”

  “Indeed, we shall slay this demon, and your wife’s soul will be freed. If I can, I will make sure that you yet live. All this is true, but you should know to whom you offer an oath of assistance before you make it.” He paused for a moment looking for acknowledgement from the knight. When he remained expectantly silent, Torgath nodded and removed his mask. Gadrick drew in a sharp breath as surprise and anger flashed across his face, but he did not speak a word. “I am an orc, cursed by the gods, and unwelcome in Volganor, the Heaven City. I can never be claimed by your goddess Nagé, no matter what I do in this life. It may be that even Khefir, the collector of the damned will pass over my soul at the end of my life. For such is the curse which lies upon me, that I may be found unfit for either heaven or hell.”

  “I see,” Gadrick finally spoke, though his tone was unreadable.

  “As I said, I wear the mask because most don’t like what they see,” Torgath said. He turned to stare into the fire.

  Gadrick sat looking up at the orc. “If I had both legs...”

  Torgath nodded. “You would challenge me,” Torgath finished. “I know.”

  Gadrick sighed and crossed his
arms over his chest. “Then I suppose it’s a good thing I have only one leg.”

  The orc arched a brow and moved to replace his mask.

  “No, leave it off, I want to say this while looking into your face,” Gadrick said.

  Torgath paused and wrinkled his nose. “What is it you wish to say?”

  “I have not spoken amiss. I swear by an oath, that if you find yourself in need of a favor, you will have it of me. Gods do what they must, but I find you to be honorable, and worthy of my friendship. Should we survive, you will find me on the main continent.”

  Torgath hardly knew what to say. “Across the seas?” Torgath inquired breathlessly.

  “My family came from a small town several generations ago. I thought I might go back there.” Gadrick gestured to his leg. “I won’t be much use for fighting anymore, but if you’re ever in Mill Creek, look me up.”

  The orc nodded, touched more than he could express. “I will.” Determined now more than ever to move on to the battle he had come for, the orc moved back to the fire and set one of the human bodies across a spit over the fire after darkness covered the land. The flames licked at it as they would any carcass. Torgath turned away from the sight, focusing instead on propping the other dead corpses around the fire so as to look like a group of warriors circled it. He placed their weapons nearby, and then crept off to another location to lie down and wait.

  He waited there for scarcely more than an hour, until the sun began to peek over the eastern horizon. The scent of roasting meat wafted to him, but knowing what was truly cooking, the odor churned his stomach.

  As he peered upward, something flitted across the sky. A shadow passed over Torgath and then something large and dark dropped from above, crashing into two corpses and spewing acid on three others. Torgath was close enough to feel the vibrations when the beast landed, and he smelled the acrid odor as it poured out its hideous acid.

  Torgath gripped his sword and was about to make his move when he heard the telltale click of a crossbow trigger.