"Felicity, get all their gear," Tristan said. He glanced up, panning his gaze across the skyline and into the expanse above to confirm no more flying foes were heading their direction. Seems like we're in the clear, he thought as he stood up and left the captured Demon Hexblade tied and crippled. But he stopped himself. Ah, right. It can still use spells if it can move its fingers. Even if they were broken, they could still use spells…but maybe the pain will interrupt their concentration. Tristan turned around, grabbed the fingers, and one by one, bent them back against the joint until they snapped. He grimaced throughout the torturous act, not wanting to inflict such pain, but knowing how dangerous an essence-weaver was.

Eloise walked over to him, her cowl up and a cloth drawn up over her face hiding her expression. But her words conveyed her emotional state perfectly well. She was relieved. "The Hexblades are a specialist unit that work under the Nouvax House. I can't believe we survived."

Tristan clicked his tongue. "Tsk. Barely." He stood up after the deed of snapping fingers was finished. The whimpering, crying Demon was mewling pathetically. "It seemed like their weapons were artificed." He glanced over to Felicity, who was stripping the bodies and piling up the armor and weapons. She was also doing some spell over each naked corpse, which Tristan saw the effects of almost immediately. The corpses turned to dust and scattered in the crisp, mid-morning, warm breeze.

Eloise spoke, "You wanted this one alive. Think you can make them talk?"

"I know I can. It will just take a little bit of time for my essence to refill. In the meantime," he glanced at Eloise with an appraising eyebrow raised. "What else do you know about these Demons?"

"Just what I told you. A specialist unit. They are famous."

"How many are there?"

"I don't know. But I do know they travel in squads of six to twelve."

Small blessings that they were a small patrol.

Eloise's voice penetrated his thoughts, "You were able to shake off their spells – how?"

"Seems like fortune spells can negate hexes pretty well," Tristan replied with a satisfied smirk. "Also, it looks like Elf essence crucibles can suppress hexes. I'd imagine it goes the same in reverse – if I tried to use a fortune spell to steal your luck, you could negate it with a powerful enough crucible spin."

Eloise nodded curtly and then grabbed the Demon's shoulder plate, which had a slightly dented spot she could grip onto. "Help me drag this heavy bastard. We should get out of sight."

Tristan waved her off, grabbed the shoulder, and yanked the whimpering, crying Demon after him – the large figure's body carving a groove in the grass that Eloise followed, stomping her feet to presumably make the grassland look like an animal trampled it. He kept dragging the body even after Felicity flew back and landed on his head. She spoke in Elvish. "I dealt with the bodies and got all their gear! Except the stinky smallclothes. I just dusted those." She plopped onto his head, flattening out with an exhausted sigh.

Tristan reached up with his other hand and scratched her head between her antlers. "Good work. Just relax a bit."

She tapped his dented pauldrons with her tail, making a slight clink noise with each tap. "Looks like you need repairs again."

"What I need is a metal elementalism spell that fixes armor back to its usual state."

Eloise got up next to Tristan, speaking in Demon's Tongue. "Head to your left, that small cluster of bushes should do." She led the way over to the large shrubs and the two ducked underneath the lower limbs, the slight scritch of wood on metal bringing pain to Tristan's ears. They reached the center of the bush cluster, and Tristan dropped the body of the dragged Demon. "Help me get this off," Eloise said, pointing to the helmet.

Tristan searched for the latch or buckles that kept the helmet affixed to the gorget, and after snapping those, removed the helmet. The Demon's face was covered with tears, snot, and dribble from their mouth. Eyes were naught but bloody, lacerated sockets. They began to speak, but Tristan clapped his hand over their mouth, gripping the slightly pointed horn on the forehead with his other hand to show just how in control he was. He spoke in Demon's Tongue. "Listen here. I've crippled you. You can't run. The question is, how much pain do you want to go through before you tell us what we want to know?"

The Demon nodded emphatically, sockets still streaked with bloody rivulets, and Tristan pulled his hand away. Speaking in its native tongue, the Demon spoke in a feminine voice; wracked with pain and pleading. "I understand. You won't need to torture me more. A swift death is best-"

Eloise leaned into Tristan's shoulder and whispered. "If you kill her, the soul goes to Duberceix's control. They can inform on what they revealed." She turned to the Demon and performed a complicated spell gesture, whispering so quietly that even Tristan's improved hearing could not pick up the words. A slight, deep yellow glow surged from her hands and dripped onto the Demon, who quieted.

Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Tristan grimaced. So, we either have to haul them along with us, or just leave them here to die. Tristan stood up and walked to the other side of the small clearing in the center of the shrubs. "What do you propose?" he whispered back.

Eloise glanced at the Demon, then spoke quietly in the Standard Tongue. "I have this." She reached into her hip pouch and pulled out a small vial. "I had this brewed up, just in case. A potion, but you can make it into an elixir." She handed it to him, and he swirled it as he looked at it with a critical eye. "This will cause a coma-like state for up to three days as a potion. The body appears dead, but the mind is slumbering. I got the idea to get some when you mentioned your grandfather's comatose state. It's called eversleeping draught. In small doses, it can be used for mundane surgeries when objects are embedded in a body, as rejuvenation cannot remove debris."

Tristan removed the cork on the vial, detecting the whiff of a fragrant, flowery perfume. Dipping his finger into the dose, he spun his crucible and let the small stream of essence flow down as he spun his finger. He spoke the words for Infuse Elixir in Demon's Tongue. "Increase the inherent qualities of this solution. Imbue this substance with my power. Bring out the true nature of these ingredients." There was a shimmer of silver, and he re-corked the bottle. Walking back to the Demon, crouched once more. "Okay." He held up the vial and shook it in front of the Demon. "This will be a quick death. A simple sip, and it'll all be over. Now . . . tell me everything you know about Duberceix's plans."

"Plans?" the female Demon clarified. "No plans. We were contacted on patrol, and warned about a Demonkin who went flying out from the capital. Told to kill him and anyone with him."

Tristan frowned, no good information then. They don't know anything. Unless . . . "Tell me everything you know of the Demon Realm's military structure, assets, strongholds, fortifications – everything." He moved a hand to the broken elbow joint and rested his palm on the break. "If I sense you're lying, I'll apply pressure, and you'll be in agony."

The Demon spent the next thirty minutes spilling her guts. Every single detail. The sheer numbers of Demon and Demonkin troops at Duberceix's disposal was astounding. Thousands of standard troops, hundreds of specialist units, and even those who had tamed the Demon Realm's beasts to their will to act as a shock troop – the same type of Demon that Tristan had slain back in Maladonia Seasons prior. "Next," Tristan said as they concluded, "I want you to tell me everything you know about threats facing the Demon Realm."

Once more, the Demon held nothing back, presumably anticipating the swift death that Tristan promised. They shared of information about the Parslile House not sending its usual supplies that Season, and the silence from the Dalphatroux House on other-realm relations. Diseases had been cropping up in the capital, but were quickly quarantined and treated thanks to help from the Citadel of Essence.

Tristan looked to Eloise. "Anything else to ask?"

"I have no questions. Give them death."

Tristan uncorked the vial and held the back of the Demon's head, helping her drink the fluid down. Her face relaxed, and her body lost all tension as she went limp. Putting a pair of fingers alongside the neck, he could feel the faintest pulse. "Okay, it worked." He looked at Eloise, "Now what?"

"We can leave her here," Eloise stated. "They don't need water or food while they are in that state." She looked at where Felicity was, atop Tristan's head, and swapped to the Standard Tongue, "Could you-"

Felicity interrupted and spoke in flawless Demon's Tongue, "I can understand everything you say now!"

Eloise blinked a few times, her eyes revealing her shock. "How did you learn so fast?"

"That would be me," Tristan replied as he reached a hand up to scratch Felicity, who rolled over so she could get tummy scratches. "I made a permanent change in the Fey Realm – all the residents know any language I know."

Eloise raised an eyebrow, impressed. "Well. Felicity, would you mind using transmutation and creating a stone shell around this one? Leave them a few holes for air to get in. They will sleep, for at least three days but probably longer as Tristan enhanced the potion to an elixir. When they do wake, they will still be severely injured, and will eventually expire."

"On it!" Felicity said as she rolled off Tristan's head, seemingly slithered down his arm, and dropped to the ground.

Tristan walked away, ducking out of the brushes, not wanting to see Felicity condemn the person to a slow, agonizing death. It made him feel disgust, yet he knew that it was the correct choice. Eloise joined him a moment later. "What was that dripping spell you did?" Tristan asked her.

"Enchantment spell," Eloise replied. "Just making them more pliable, is all. They probably thought you really did mean to give them death. It will be a rude awakening for them in however long that elixir takes to process."

There was a deep thump noise from the copse of bushes, and then Felicity flew over and landed on Tristan's head. "Earthen tomb done!" she said with pride, before flopping flat on Tristan's head again. "Now I want to nap."

Eloise turned to the southwest. "Let's get going. It is going to be a bit of travel to the Alphinaud House territory. Brightmarch awaits."

Tristan kept apace with her, "We can do my pseudo-flight once I get my essence back. Speed up the pace a bit."

"We'd risk being spotted by more patrols," Eloise replied. "Best to get to a road and appear as a few travelers. Speaking of – use that Disguise Form of yours. Shift your gear's appearance."

Tristan did so, spinning his crucible and pouring the essence into the Anorox Family Crest. His body was covered with the appearance of a large traveling cloak that did not bely the bulk of his armor beneath. "Better?" he asked her.

"Yes."

Felicity grumbled, "Now I've got brown fabric in my face." Tristan felt her grab the small, Demonkin horns, and then she cackled. "Oh my gosh!"

"What?" Tristan asked.

She giggled, "I need to use Alter Form on you in the bedroom! Give you a pair of antlers like me. Something I can hold onto and really use to control your head. I can call them love handles!"

Eloise snickered, and Tristan groaned internally.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.