Lesbians Fight the Demon Queen etc. Chapter 10

For a full day, Byron and his companions trailed the convoy transporting Zelle, as well as whichever other poor souls that had been snatched up and sent off to work their sentences away. The escort numbered thirty in total. Twenty-five automatons were supervised by five living, breathing officers: two at the front, two in the back, and one who rode up and down the length of the convoy. All of the prisoners were kept in iron cages, each of which was towed by two horses. With a bit of scouting, Kesh had been able to confirm that Zelle was, indeed, included among the captives.

The road sprouted east out of Geld and snaked across Bhuriel’s rocky coast before forking northeast into a range of foothills that eventually flowed across the border and into the Demon Queen’s land. So as to keep out of sight, Byron, Nina, Thread and Kesh kept off the beaten path, traveling along winding, poorly maintained footpaths. As the day progressed, keeping pace with the convoy proved increasingly impossible, though Kesh remained optimistic that any lost ground could be easily recovered once night fell and the soldiers stopped to rest. Their destination was, after all, a two days’ march away from Geld.

Night fell with little in the way of pomp or circumstance, and, just as Kesh had predicted, the party was able to close the distance on their quarry under the cover of darkness. Camp had been set up in a grassy flat patch just off the eastern road, one large tent had been erected to house the soldiers, and the entire area was under regular, coordinated patrols by the unsleeping, unfeeling automatons. Plans were drawn quickly, crouched on a cliff overlooking the camp, Kesh working off some intricate tactical expertise left unspoken by the others. When he spoke, Nina and Thread listened; Byron decided it was best he do the same.

In theory the plan was to be quite simple: from their overlook, Nina would project an illusion of herself, momentarily distracting a patrol as they moved to turn away the would-be intruder. Using the brief time window this bought, the group would rush the command tent, quickly and efficiently dispatch the human soldiers, then free the prisoners—many of whom were resistance soldiers themselves. With their increased numbers, and nobody to give out fresh orders, the automatons would hopefully pose little threat. Really, the plan wasn’t so bad, not at all. Kesh clearly had a mind for this sort of thing, and he planned the minute details all the way down to which specific patrol would be distracted and just how many hours they would wait before beginning. It really should have gone off without a hitch. Should have.

Things went well enough initially. Nina’s illusion proved a suitable distraction, allowing the four to slip through the patrols unnoticed. Taking the lead, Kesh guided the group across the camp, moving low and quickly from their overlook and toward the tent. A knife was produced, the fabric cut, and everything went wrong. What hadn’t been accounted for was the invisible magical warding erected around the tent’s perimeter which, shortly after being tripped, emitted a quick, sharp, shriek. Before a single throat could be slit, before any of the four could even set foot inside, every last soldier was on their feet and scrambling for their weapons, all while the area surrounding the tent became awash in the encroaching clatter of dozens of metallic joints marching in time.

“Fuck,” Nina hissed, head whipping around at the encroaching automatons.

While he seemed inclined to agree, Kesh was too busy barking orders over the rising din. “Nina, get to the prisoners. Byron, Thread, you’ll need to handle those walking buckets. I’ll deal with the officers.” Without another word, he turned toward the tent as Nina darted off and Thread brandished his cane; it was time. Taking a moment to steel himself, Byron closed his eyes, hoping against hope he could bring forth that same power he’d felt only days before.

Breathing slowly, he attempted to reach deep within himself, and felt nothing. That strength, that ferocity he’d felt, it was nowhere to be found. And the automatons were closing in. Like that, the crushing weight of reality set in. Byron was surrounded on all sides, outnumbered, inexperienced. To call him out of his depth would be to call a child ill-equipped to lift a house. “How the hell are we going to—”

“Figure it out. This is what you signed up for, Byron,” Kesh called. Byron considered arguing, but it was hardly the time for any sort of distraction. Whirling around, Byron stood shoulder to shoulder with Thread and drew his warhammer, eyeing an encroaching trio of automatons on his right flank. Each clattering step brought death closer. Standing in the middle of that fray, the ominous clatter growing louder and more dreadful each moment, his fate felt sealed, his death guaranteed. Mustering as many scraps of shredded confidence as he could, Byron attempted to deflect and distract.

“Are you going to be up for this, Thread?” The trembling weakness in his voice betrayed any notion of selfless concern for his companion. If that weren’t enough, the shaking of his hands and quickening of his breath spoke volumes.

Thread scoffed as he squared himself toward four more approaching from his left. “Trust me, bad leg or no, I can keep up. Now, whether or not any of that matters at all remains to be seen. We are, after all, quite outnumbered.” Byron felt a hand grip his shoulder and squeeze. “We can get through this. And, if not, well. I am a practicing necromancer, when the mood strikes me.” Had Byron taken a moment to look, he doubtlessly would have seen Thread flash a cheeky grin and give a quick wink. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed straight ahead. Byron dared not glance over, lest he betray his fear any further, lest the metal death before Byron bear down upon him during his momentary distraction.

With each passing moment they drew closer. Time seemed to slow; Byron hefted the hammer in his hand, lightly thumping the handle against his palm, familiarizing himself with the feeling of its swinging. And then, almost without warning, they were upon him. Three metal bodies convened, crowding Byron, weapons arcing downward in a well-telegraphed swing. Instinct took over; Byron ducked, sweeping the legs of his first assailant, sending the construct toppling to the ground in an ear-shattering racket of metal on metal. He rose with a powerful upward strike, driving the head of his hammer into the head of a second automaton. The helmet flew as its body collapsed backward lifelessly. He’d barely recovered in time to raise his hammer as the third swiped its sword toward his midsection. The parry caught him off balance as he staggered from the unexpected force of the blow. Reeling backward into solid metal. He whirled about, finding himself surrounded.

Before he could raise his hammer, the automaton before him drove the pommel of its sword into his temple, sending him sprawling as pain exploded in his head. Coughing and panting, Byron groveled, his vision blurred, all awareness eclipsed by the pain in his head. He weakly raised his hand in the hopes of accomplishing something, anything. Then, suddenly, like sunlight peeking through clouds, a familiar feeling coursed through him, energy, power. It emanated from him, arcing outward seemingly at random. The feeling coursed through his body, tingling at his skin, tugging at his limbs, compressing, expanding, writhing, bubbling all up and down his body. Then, suddenly, the feeling subsided, his fear ebbed, and Byron felt calm. That storm of energy swirled around and within him, but he was in control.

For a few moments, Byron lay still on the ground, waiting, expecting a deathblow to come at any moment. It never did. Tense seconds passed with nothing but the heaving of his breaths and the rapid pounding of his heart, but he never felt the sharp pain of a blade in his back, or the crush of a club on his skull. Slowly, the pain in Byron’s head began to clear, though his awareness remained muddled. On shaky legs, he began to rise. The blur in his vision cleared slowly. Vague unformed shadows became proper shapes. Five automatons loomed in a circle around him: still, silent.

Tense moments passed, and the din of combat all around him faded into the background of his mind as he stared intensely at the motionless form before him. He took a step forward; there was no response. He stooped, picking up his hammer; there was no response. Confusion and curiosity consumed fear; cautiously, Byron reached his hand forward and touched the cold metal. Without warning, Byron felt that spark again, the surge of power within him, resonating from within himself and the construct before him. Familiarity, knowledge flowed through him; he couldn’t explain how or why, but Byron understood exactly what he needed to do next.

As though he’d been doing so for years, he shaped, tugged, and guided the energy he felt within, and as naturally as breathing, commanded the automatons to turn on their heels and follow him. A good twenty feet away, Thread was holding his own against five more automatons, a faint ring of light had formed around him, pushing back his foes as he did his best to wrestle an axe from the automaton directly ahead of him. As he approached, Byron casually reached out and commanded the offending constructs to cease their hostilities, and join his side. Wordlessly, they obeyed, falling in line. Though, admittedly, not without more effort this time around. Sweat glistened at his brow as Byron redoubled his concentration, forcing all ten of his newfound allies into line. He managed just fine, but keeping a grip on more constructs seemed to make the task rather taxing. Still, Byron was confident he could handle a few more.

Upon realizing his fight was over, Thread’s gaze fell upon Byron. He quirked an eyebrow, then grinned, and cast a glance over his shoulder. “Seems they were right about you. How about we help the others?”

Wordlessly, Byron nodded, turning to take in the situation at large. It seemed the remaining automatons were either approaching from the far end of the makeshift camp or tied up trying to stop Nina. Dancing about the tent on surprisingly nimble feet, Kesh played a dangerous, defensive game of life and death with the four remaining human guards. He bobbed and weaved, slicing where he could. It was, however, rather undeniable that he was losing. With a nod to Thread, Byron advanced, sending the automatons under his control to clash with those assailing Nina, and turning his attention to Kesh’s opponents. With each step, Byron felt familiar strength and power flow through him. He knew this feeling, knew this power. It was coming in waves, stronger than ever before. He would not let anyone hurt his friends. With a roar, he flung himself into battle.

- - -

Things ended quickly, though perhaps not entirely cleanly. Once fighting ended, Byron found the power within him rapidly fading, leaving him weary, but still standing. Once Zelle and the other prisoners were freed, the overwhelming advantage shifted rather quickly. It wasn’t long before the remaining human soldiers surrendered, something which they seemed quite bitter about. One in particular kept glaring at Byron, muttering something about bearing “the narcissistic, traitorous mark of Queen Selian the Vain.” What exactly that meant, Byron couldn’t be certain of, but he assumed it had something to do with this Demon Queen he’d heard so much about, as well his demonic ‘taint.’ Regardless, Byron couldn’t keep himself from breathing a soft chuckle when Kesh responded to the man’s remarks with a heavy thump to the back of the head.

With the fighting over, the Geld city guard convoy’s makeshift camp quickly came to life, bringing the bustling chaos of two or dozen or so recently liberated fugitives with nowhere to go all faced with that eternally difficult question: what now? Fortunately, before things could devolve further, Byron’s companions took charge. Kesh found himself a crate to perch atop and barked orders to anyone able to listen, Thread found and tended to the wounded, Nina discussed options with those unwilling to take up arms for the resistance. In the middle of the camp, sitting cross legged on a bedroll, Byron found Zelle, smoking a pipe filled with some fragrant herb. They caught sight of him and waved him over, grinning.

“Decided to stick around, hmm?” They nodded to a space next to them, scooting over to make room. Byron obliged, slumping down. He hadn’t realized just how exhausted he was until he finally sat down.

“You would have done the same for me,” he grunted.

“Would I have?” They grinned, a mischievous twinkle in their eye.

“I think you would,” Byron shrugged.

“You assume the best of people, Byron. I like that about you.” Zelle leaned back onto their elbows, taking another long draw from their pipe. “Thank you, Byron. For helping me. For helping our friends. That was… some kind miracle with the automatons.” There was a pause as Zelle scratched their chin, then they turned to face Byron with a sudden seriousness. “You know we’re going to have to have a conversation about that, right? What you did, controlling them, that’s not normal. We have mages in the resistance; hell, magical constructs are exactly the sort of thing an artificer like myself should understand best. Nobody on our side can do what you can. Nobody.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?”

“I’m saying there’s something different about you. Something we need to understand. And I suspect it has to do with that demonic ‘taint’ of yours.” Again, Zelle paused, seemingly searching for the right words. “You, of course, know that Nina told us about how you were tainted. Now, normally people who are tainted get say, horns, their skin changes color, something along those lines. But with you, you were like a whole different person. You didn’t look like a human with demon traits. You looked like a demon. Your skin, your hair, even your face and body were different. You had claws, a tail. You were also more… androgynous? Kind of ethereal. Not bad looking, either. If I’m being honest, I think you may have flustered Nina a little when she saw you charging in to help her with the cages.” They chuckled, their tension seeming to evaporate instantly.

It took a moment for Byron to process the levity in Zelle’s voice; he was too caught up on their earlier, stranger implications. “Is that so? You’ll forgive me if I’m not in the mood for that kind of talk. I’m still processing everything you’ve said.”

“It’s a lot to take in,” Zelle agreed.

“If I might ask, one of the guards was shouting at me about Selian the Vain, or something like that. I’m presuming that’s this Demon Queen we’re after?” Part of Byron almost felt foolish to ask. As much as he himself understood that he could hardly be held responsible for not knowing, he imagined his lack of basic knowledge regarding the world around him could be quite a burden for those around him at times.

If that were the case, Zelle’s tone made no indication. “You would be correct,” they answered.

Nodding, Byron continued. “Right. And it seems that, by way of this taint or whatever you wish to call it, I’m connected to her in some way. Or at least, connected to her kind. And, since it seems my fate is inexorably tied to hers, I was hoping you could tell me about this queen of ours? Why is she called that? What’s she like?”

“Inexorably tied? I didn’t realize I was speaking to a man of letters.” The sarcastic bite to Zelle’s tone was undercut by a soft chuckle. They paused for a moment, collected their thoughts, sighed deeply, perhaps begrudgingly, then continued. “It honestly depends a lot on who you ask, and where they happen to come from. Take Thread, he’s from the north. I’m sure he would give you a much different—and, admittedly, a much more detailed—answer than what I can give you.” If Byron didn’t know better, he’d think Zelle was asking him to go bother someone else.

“I’d rather not disturb him while he’s patching people up,” Byron pointed out.

“And you think that’s more important than letting me smoke in peace, hmm?” Zelle cocked an eyebrow, then grinned. “Well, you’d be right. So as I said, it can vary a lot, but the story as I know it—and let me be perfectly clear, it very much is a story, fuck if I know what really happened—goes as follows: some hundred fifty odd years ago, this group of traveling saints was on pilgrimage. I wish I could tell you their names, but I never paid attention to the finer details of the story, nor did I ever particularly believe it.” They waved their hand dismissively, then continued.

“But anyway, these saints go out on pilgrimage to this barren, lifeless desert where some ancient tomb of import is located and encounter this ancient evil spirit. It offers all of them wealth, power, all that. None of them are swayed except our dear Selian. She trades away her humanity for eternal life and eternal beauty, becomes ‘the Vain Queen’ of a new demonic race and, depending on who’s telling the story, may or may not place some curse on her former companions. The whole thing reads like some cautionary church tale, which is why I’m certain it’s horseshit.”

“So if that’s all a story, what’s she really like?” Byron asked. “It would be nice to know what I’m getting into.”

Zelle gave a non committal shrug, and thought for a moment before answering. “I wish I could tell you. Though, personally I think all this nonsense about corruption by an ancient evil and the like is just that. I’ve met plenty of tainted folks, like yourself, who can be as kind as anyone. If you want my best guess? Selian is the leader of a country, so she’s probably pretty awful, but no worse than our own leaders. Frankly, I don’t really care. I’m not interested in judging her moral character, I just want her to help us overthrow Bhuriel’s government. And I’m hoping we can convince her that that’s in her best interest as well.”

Put simply, Byron was out of his depth. He was amazed by how well his companions could keep their composure in the face of their own goals. “So, we have me uniquely tainted, with a special form and the ability to do magic nobody on ‘our side’ can do. And somewhere out there, there’s a powerful monarch whose motives are as enigmatic as her origins. It’s a lot to take in. I mean, what am I even supposed to make of all this?” Byron asked.

“Personally, I’m not sure. But I intend to learn as much as I can. What I do know is that you’re different, Byron. I’m uncertain how, but I’ve never seen someone like you. If you’re up for it, I’d like to try and study you. See if we can’t figure out what’s going on. Of course, the only way to do that is if you stick with us. It’s your choice. As for our ‘Vain Queen,’ well, I guess we hope she’s not as evil as our enemies want us to believe.” Zelle’s words weighed heavily on Byron. They said it themself, it was his choice.Still, it was hardly a simple one. And yet, if he were honest with himself, he’d already decided.

“Truth be told? I’m not sure that at this point I can let you all go without me in good conscience. I don’t know or understand much. But, like you said, something is going on. I want to know what, and I think you’ll need my help,” Byron said.

Zelle smiled, and gestured to a pile of bedrolls. “Well then, I suggest you rest up. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow.”