Le Jeune Guilavene

Chapter 2:

The exhausted fighter awoke late in the afternoon. He opened his eyes rather abruptly and stared at the vaguely familiar ceiling. It was not the low angled roof of his little house, but a tall, roundish ceiling with carefully crafted murals of saints and demons locked in battle. He stared blankly for a long time at it, before he realized he was even awake.
He scanned the room without moving his head, taking in the natural light that flowed through the tall narrow windows and into the empty clinic. I must be in the Qurian temple’s medical wing, he concluded. He had only been here twice. Once to have a broken arm set and once to visit his mother when she had been very ill. Needless to say, his memories of the place were not very fond.
The young man remembered perfectly how he got here. He was unfortunate enough to have skipped completely over the moments of confusion and settle right on his harsh reality. His father was murdered by demon. It hurt, but he felt thankfully numb, his despair and hatred muted by his exhaustion. Slowly, he examined his body for injuries.
“Oh, good. You are awake,” a pleasant, female voice said.
He turned his head slowly towards her, his sore muscles protesting even this gentle movement. It was a young woman,moremore than five years his senior, with beautiful golden hair running down her back and large blue eyes.
“Hello, Miss Millerna,” he greeted, smiling a little.
She gave an indignant look and shook her head.
“That is Doctor Millerna to you, young man. I completed my training, remember?” she admonished, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“I wondered why the clinic looked so empty,” he teased.
She gave an indignant squawk, and he laughed until it jarred his shoulder and made him grimace.
“Careful, careful! You will break it open again if you aren’t still,” she said, quickly moving to him and checking the injury with professional efficiency and sisterly concern. Suddenly, the mood became serious and laughter died. The beautiful doctor took a nearby stool and placed it beside him so she could sit.
“You have been unconscious for two days. I was afraid you had slipped into a death sleep.”
She placed her hand on his and squeezed it gently in a comforting gesture.
“What happened out there? Your house was in shambles and your parents are missing. There are villagers who said they saw you fighting a demon, and you were found half dead with your father’s sword nearby,” she said, worry evident in her expressive eyes.
Van sat up abruptly, ignoring the pain that lanced though his body.
“What do you mean my parents are missing?!’ he cried, ‘My mother was
alive when I left her! What happened? What do you mean she is missing?!”
“VAN! Be careful, you are still injured!” she yelped in alarm.
He did not listen, rising stubbornly to his feet and repeating his questions. Giving up any hope of explanations, he covered his eyes with his left hand, allowing his right to hang limply so as not to upset his wound. He paced the room frantically in only his cheap cotton medical pants and numerous bandages, the sting of the cuts on his feet actually comforting as he pondered the fate of his poor innocent mother.
“Please, Van! Calm down!” she demanded. Taking him by the arms, she led him back to the bed.
She sat him down and tried to calm him, but her words held no meaning for him. What words could possible comfort a son whose parents had died for him? Because of him? The despair was suddenly ripped away by rage. No, not because of him. Because of Strategos. H is mother had always saigivegive credit where it’s do’ and she meant that both for oneself and others. He would not blame himself for their deaths, he was not the one to drive the steel through their
bodies. No, it was that damned demon and he would never forget that.
“Millerna, where is my sword?”
She backed away a little, seeing the anger reflected in dark eyes. She hesitated to answer, there were many reasons why she should not respond, but Van did not look like he could be distracted.
“Th- the magistrate confiscated it as evidence,” she stammered.
Her patient sneered, distorting his handsome features. Then he stood, ignoring his protesting body, and began to stalk towards the exit.
“Van! What are you doing? Please lay back down, you need to rest!” she begged.
“I have to retrieve my s bef before that idiot conveniently ‘mises’ es’ it, he explained, I will return shortly.”
“But Van, you can’t! You’re half naked!”
The young doctor watched him storm off, her mouth hung open in disbelief.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The local magistrate, Divcus Milder, resided in the village courthouse, a squat little building made of brick and painted white. Attached to the courthouse was the jail, a tiny space with only two cells and no windows. This was currently where the magistrate could be found, chatting away with the village sheriff and black smith, Jaukus Phrat.
“How much do you think it is worth?” asked the portly magistrate, his watery blue eyes twinkling with greed at the exceptionally crafted weapon.
He was a short, fat man in his late thirties. He was of such a shape and skill that he had not the ability to anything of use, except to study law. And a lot of good it did everybody else.
“To you?’ said the blacksmith and part-time jailer, ‘Not a damn thing. It belongs to the young master Van. You know that good and well.”
Milder sneered.
“’Young master Van‘? You address him like he’s nobility, instead of the son of a forester.”
Jaukus smirked through his bushy yellow mustacand and took up the sword to examine it.
“He is, your Honor. And I am holding proof of it right now.”
He tapped the family coat of arms embedded in the blade, a gold dragon pierced with silver sword against a black shield. Milder’s eyes widen, but his quick devious little mind was quick to come up with other explanations.
“Nonsense. This sword is obviously a gift from a man his father did some service for.”
The magistrate quickly snatched the blade back from the burly man as he suspected he would suddenly steal it.
“Well, it’s not just the sword, sir. That family has always been a... ... Different?”
“Hn. I’ll say. Those people always coming into town, thinking they knew everything about everything. And Gauo, with his temper! Never knew a man who caused so much trouble. And did you notice they were never in want? It could be in the dead of winter with snow up to my armpits, and their little bastard son would come traipsing out of the woods to the village with at least ten sprig geese over his shoulder! I tell you now that I think about it, it would not surprise me if they weren’t witches.”
Jaukus rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“Now who’s talking nonsense? I would think an educated man like yourself would know better. Witches, indeed. There hasn’t been a time when there wasn’t someone this town was accusing of witchcraft. It’s all just rumors made up to entertain people, no one really believes And And as for Van, he lives in the middle of the damn woods, of course he’s going to know where to find the game.”
“That’s the other thing, why do they live so far from the village in those woods? Huh? Answer me that.”
“Milder... Gauo is a forester.”
The magistrate turned red and gave a nervous cough.
“Uh, yes, well... hm. I still don’t think they’re nobility. Why would they live like peasants if they were?”
“You don’t have to be rich to be nobility. A lot of them lose their fortunes, you know. Perhaps their family went bankrupt,” the jailer offered.
Oh, this is silly. It doesn’t matter either way, they’re dead,” snapped the magistrate.
Jaukus raised a bushy eye brow in disdain and the gr lit little man.
Van isn’t. And that sword belongs to him by law,” he pointed out.
“The law is a funny thing, Phrat,” Milder said, grinning mischievously.
“Ch‘. You’re a braver man than I thought,” Jaukus sneered.
The fat man looked to him suspiciously.
“You must be very brave if you are going to try to cheat that boy
out of his inheritance. That sword in particular, which his father held so
dear.”
“Who said anything about cheating,’ he snapped defensively, ‘Besides, what would that little scrap pole do? I’ve seen eight-year-olds with more meat on their bones.”
Yes, and I’m sure you were one of those eight-year-olds,” the smithy laughed.
The magistrate through him a dirty look, but could not deny it.
“But that little scrap pole, as you call him,’ Jaukus continued, ‘has his father’s temper. Also the fact that he survived being attacked by a demon, makes him someone not to cross. I suggest you give that back to him as soon as possible, it belongs to him anyway.”
Milder paled at the mentioning of the demon. Despite living so close to a demon forest, there had been no report of demon sighting in almost two hundred years. That one should appear so suddenly with violent intentions was a bad omen. He did not like to think that perhaps the demons had finally decided to leave their land and visit Fanelia.
“Your honor? You ok, sir?”
Jaukus rudely jabbed him back into reality. The fat man shook the uneasiness from his mind and turned back to the smithy.
“Now you listen, Phrat. This,’ he held up the sword, ‘I am keeping as evidence.”
“Evidence of what? That it’s long, pointy, and made of steel?”
Until I find out what happened and why that demon came. For all I know, that Fresian woman could have summoned that demon and something went wrong. But until then, it is property of the state.”
“That’s Frescan, not Fresian,” Jaukus corrected.
“What’s the difference?”
“Fresians are gypsies, Frescans are the mountain folk of Eastern Austoria. You deliberately mislead people when you say Fresian, and don’t think I can’t see through your petty tricks. You forget I’m your jailer.”
“Just whose side are you on?” Milder snapped, his cheeks red. It hurt his pride more than anything to be read so easily by a man like Phrat, who could not even read.
Jaukus smiled and made an extravagant gesture towards eastern wall of the courthouse at the statue of Phruma, goddess of justice, with her delicate arms holding a sword and peace blossoms woven in her short wavy hair.
The side of justice, of course!” he said boldly.
“You’re an idiot,” Milder spat.
“From you, your honor, I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Before the miserable little man could retothe the front doors of the courthouse burst open, slamming loudly against the walls. An enraged young man stalked in and Milder stood frozen in horror. Approaching him very quickly, was Van, dressed only in pair of flimsy gray patient slacks and bandages, many of with had begun to turn crimson from freshly opened wounds. This angry young man who seemingly felt no pain, stormed towards him with unsuppressed malice. At that moment it did not matter if the boy was not even half his size and unarmed, he appeared more fearsome than any demon.
Milder stood frozen as the young hunter stalked right up to him. Jaukus took a few cautious steps back and pretended he was looking some interesting moss growing on the wall. The boy did not even pause, just snatched his sword from the magistrate’s hands and stalked right back outside without saying word. When the doors were slammed shut behind the irate boy, Jaukus turned back to Milder and smiled cheekily.
“Told you so.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The little village of Fanelia had changed little over the last sixteen years. The houses and shops where still all short, round, and handsome. The buildings all made of the same muddy plaster and painted white with thatch roofs. The only exception was the Smith’s shop which was made of imported cement that would not crack under the extreme heat of the furnace and clay tiles for the roof. The uniformity of the buildings was disguised with help of magnificent gardens, stylish wood trimmings, and ornamentation. The result being a quaint, picturesque little town with more beauty than substance.
Van was almost back to the Qurian temple when he began to feel better. He had his father’s sword back and it did not look like that coward Milder was going to have the nerve to try and demand it back. He paused and heaved a heavy sigh, looking down at the family heirloom. It was such a simple thing, really. A sword. Little more. But he would never allow anyone, especially not that fat gibbit Milder, to take it from him. He shook his head and smiled weakly. He was getting sentimental and he really hated that.
He took a deep breath to help settle his emotions and then looked around to distract himself. He was surprised to find that there was a rather large amount of people who had stopped their activities to stare at him. A blush crossed his cheeks as he realized what a spectacle he must make. A crazy boy with a sword running through the town, barely dress and bleeding all over the place.
He swept his eyes nervously over them. They seemed to be a afraid, whether it was of him or not he could not be certain. Many wore religious symbols and red herbs around their necks for protection from demons and evil spirits. The children who would normally be playing in the village square were absent or made to stick close to their mothers. When his eyes fell upon
an old woman, she made a superstitious gesture at him and waddled away.
Finally, Margin, the long time retired forester with his hulking body and grizzled beard limped forward. He stopped in front of Van and peered directly into the boy’s deep brown eyes. The young man did not look away nor tried to provoke the man into looking away either. Margin was trying to determine something, and Van had nothing to hide.
“It was a demon, wasn‘t it?” the burly man finally asked.
Van simply nodded.
A low wailing rose up from several woman at his affirmation. They had hoped against hope that what their husbands had seen upon returning home had been some illusion or half-dream from being awoken so suddenly in the middle of the night. Margin shot them a stare that said ‘shut up, you ninnies’ and returned his gaze to Van.
“What did it want?”
“I don’t know,” the young hunter lied.
He was under no moral dilemma when it came to lying. At least, when it was not used to harm someone. It was none of their business that he was pursued by demon in want of good lay. Frankly, he wished he did not know about it either. Also, he never trusted frightened people, they were the most likely to do the greatest harm.
“Why did it attack you and your family?”
“I suppose because we were easy targets. A small family living so close to the demon woods. Why not?”
They need not know about his father’s bargain with the demon. He had repented of that sin when he gave his life and he would not allow these people to judge him for it.
“What happened to your family?”
Van looked down and away, his hand tightening around his sword and his shoulders shook just a little.
“I would rather not talk about it,” he managed without his voice cracking.
Magrin gave him a sympaic lic look and did not push the issue. Perhaps it was better that no one knew the bloody details anyway. The crowd that had been so timid before had slowly begun to close in, eager to hear and to begin asking questions of their own.
“What did it look like? Was it ugly or beautiful?”
“Did it have any powers? Could it read your mind?”
“How did you get away?”
“Do you know its name?”
“Do you think it will come back?”
Van refused to answer now. It was one thing to be asked valid questions by one person, but he was not going to interrogated by an irate mob. He was fortunate then, that Millerna came storming out of her clinic, dispersing the crowd with a few infuriated words.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY PATIENT?!” Millerna yelled, her soothing voice becoming shrill.
The mob took one look at her and quickly scurried off into different directions, leaving Van standing dazed and alone where they had left him. Even Magrin knew it was time for him to go and hobbled towards the nearest shop. The infuriated doctor stormed up to him, and catching him by the ear she began to drag him back to the temple.
“Just what were you thinking, storming off like that? And to Milder of all people! He could have thrown you in jail and then what would have happened? I’ll tell you what would have happened. Your wounds would gefectfected and swell with puss until you died a slow horrible death! And look at you! You’ve already torn your shoulder open again! Honestly, can can’t men just do what the doctor tells them? They think we are just trying annoy them?” she began ranting on and on.
Van grimaced. It was rather painful to be dragged in this manner, but he had no intention of interrupting her to tell her so. Millerna, much like his father, did not like to worry. So when she began to worry she changed that feeling into anger so she would not feel so helpless.
When they were back inside the clinic, she laid him down and eedeeeded to strip him of his bandages. He remained still and let her do her job, swallowing groans of discomfort as she applied alcohol to his innumerable scratches and shoulder. After she had dressed the wounds with clean cloth, she gave his some bitter tasting medicine and told him to rest.
He feigned sleep until she was out of the room, then opened his eyes to stare at the ceiling. Far above the unmoving, unending battle of saints and demons continued.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Van,” a smooth accented voice whispered into his ear.
He could feel breath against his skin, and a hand on his arm, but he still feigned sleep. Lying still on his side, with his arms curled around a pillow, he listened to the rustling of chain mail and leather as the demon laid down beside him on his bed. Carefully prying the pillow from his strong slender arms, the albino tossed it aside and turned the boy over so that he curled into his chest.
Van did not resist, resting his cheek against the cool metal ringlets of his vest and curling his fingers in the velvety material of his cloak. Powerful arms wrapped around him, followed by ebony wings to keep him warm.
And now he was safe. Safer than he had ever been or ever felt. Wrapped in the arms of Strategos, nothing could touch him. Nothing could harm him. Not swords. Not arrows. Not monsters or men.
Not even his parent’s murder.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Van sprang from his bed, sending the sheets and pillows flying. His chest heaved up and down as he stared wide eyed at the empty bed. He ran his hands over his body and nothing seemed out of place except where he had dreamt he had been touched it felt warm.
It had been no dream. The hunter knew this with every fiber of his
being.
It had been a message.
And it was not the only one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When morning broke the next day, Van was quick to learn that he was not the only one Strategos had visited. Perhaps he was luckier in that the demon had only effected his dreams, because the messages he left for the villagers were far more sinister.
From the steps of the Qurian temple, he listened to the news of strange events happening throughout the town. The first day, all of the livestock in of Auden’s field- the very field he had done battle in with the demon- had been found dead. Drained of all their blood and ravaged by scavengers.
The second day they learned what happened to all that blood. had had filled their wells and rendered the drinking water useless. The stench had become so over powering that many of the wells had been sealed. It just became worse after that. Not just for the villagers, but for Van as well. The dreams became more disturbing, more threatening. Mostly it was seduction. The beautiful creature took advantage of his disorientation during dreams to touch him in ways he would never have even considered allowing a human woman, let alone a male demon. Other times it was right out threats. Threats to himself. Threats to those around him. Angry words and violent gestures, until Van forced himself to wake- trembling and damp from sweat.
By the fifth day, the scraw had begun to carry about human remains around the village in their ebony bills. Fingers, toes, an ear, and one man said he had seen a hazel eye. Van had a sinking feeling his gut that these belonged to his father and possibly his mother.
The villagers had had enough. It did not take long for their fear and paranoia to overwhelm them and they were quick to turn their sights on someone to blame. The most obvious choice, of course, was Van.
But the boy had been expecting it. He had prepared.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Van sat on his neat little bed, running his hands over his bow shaft reverently. He was no longer dressed in his dull gray medical clothes, but in his typical khaki pants, scarlet shirt, and boots already laced and ready for travel. Jaukus and Magrin had braved the Fanelian woods to gather some things from Van’s home, whicwhich he was eternally grateful. Amongst the retrieved items were his clothes, some camping supplies, and his new bow and arrows.
They had found one of his mother’s pendant, a polished dragon heart fragment inlaid with gold on a golden chain. It was a religious symbol. The Frescans of his mother’s town had them handed out to all the children of her village on their twelfth birthday so they could pray to the native god Mushow, God of the Mountain. Presently, Van wore it.
Now he had something to remember both his mother and his father by. He had all he needed.
“Van? What are you up to? Why are you dreslikelike that? You are not well yet,” Millerna asked from the door way of the clinic.
She strode towards him, a look of concern crossing her delicate features. He looked towards he and smiled reassuringly.
“We both know I’m fine. Even my shoulder is fine, if I am careful with it. See?”
He lifted his sword with his right hand and held it level. It remained still and unwavering, and he felt nothing but a mild ache in the wound. Strategos had very skillfully caused just enough damage to impair his sword arm for a few days. If he kept it exercised, it would perfectly fine in a week or two.
The beautiful young doctor shook her head to protest.
“But it still might get infected,” she said.
Van shook his head and smiled softly.
“No, Millerna. It is time for me to go.”
He stood and gathered his travel pack and slid it on to his shoulders. Within the pack was a special pocket that held his sword. It was positioned just right so that Van reach behind him and draw the weapon quickly should the need arise.
“No, Van,’ she begged, standing in front of him to block his way. ‘You’t h’t have to leave just because of them.”
She practically spat the word ‘them’, her eyes turning towards the wall and glaring as if she could actually see the angry mob outside.
They’re cowards! They won’t come for you here. They won’t defile this holy place and risk damnation. They can’t even bring themselves to cuss in front of Father Vizrial. You are safe here.”
“No, Millerna, I am not. Believe me, I don’t fear those people, but the power that keeps the demon from this temple is beginning to fade. Even if it were not, I cannot stay in this place forever. I made a promise to my father, and I fully intend to keep it.”
The older woman opened her mouth to speak, but then shut it. Looking at this young man, so fierce and determined, she knew she could not stop him with words or anything else.
“At least... tell me why this demon hunts you so?”
The boy’s dark brown eyes softened and he gave her another gentle smile, but did not answer.
“Miss Millerna, I thank you for everything you have done for me,’ he took handhand and kissed it gently, ‘You are a kind and gentle woman, and the world is better place with you in it.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he kissed her hand. For the briefest of moments she could almost picture him a prince, kind and noble. The illusion faded, leaving her instead a spirited young man with gentle eyes and sun kissed skin. She was not sure who her heart ached for more.
The orphaned boy left her there, walking steadily towards the front of the temple to begin a journey he saw no ending to and to a place that had no name.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside the Qurian temple, a mob of fifty or so people milled about, spreading rumors and extravagant superstitions. Millerna was right when she said they would not enter the temple. Whether it was because they feared damnation or were simply feared a sixteen-year-old boy could not be said.
“I heard his mother was a Fresian. And you know what trouble those folk are. The traveling mongrels,” sneered a wrinkled old woman.
My entire flock of Fervem was killed by that demon, and I’ll be damned if someone doesn’t pay for it!” snarled burly young man.
“That boy brought that demon here!”
“When he’s gone the creature will let us be.”
“It’s all Van’s fault!”
The angry villagers snapped and snarled at one another, fanning each others hatred and irrationality. They had almost worked themselvnto nto enough of a frenzy to seize the temple, when the magistrate finally intervened. The portly little man climbed to top of the steps and stood before the door, holding up his hands and shouting out in a booming voice that belied his size.
“Ladies and gentlemen!’ he bellowed, and the crowd instantly ceased
their angry complaints, ‘I, the Honorable Judge Divcus Milder, magistrate our
beautiful town of Fanelia, hear you! And, being the highest official of the
judicial system for many miles, I believe it is my duty and privilege to see
that justice is done!”
The townsfolk, appropriately impressed with titles and flowery speech, nodded to one another and waited him him to continue. Mentally, Milder grinned to himself. The little plebeians would play right into his hands and he would still come out the hero. He cleared his throat and began again.
“My dear citizens. You are right. After extensive investigation, there is no doubt in my mind, that thcentcent phenomena has in fact been caused by a demon. Also, this demon’s sole reason for these attacks appears to be from anger at us harboring Van Guilavene, whom it has some private matter for which it wishes to be avenged. Since, he refuses to answer any questions
regarding the matter, I can only assume Van is hiding something significant that we would not look favorably upon.”
“Now, why in the world do you think the young master wouldn’t trust such a fine bunch of people as yourselves, I wonder?” rose a voice, sarcasm and disdain unmistakable.
As quickly as Milder had gotten their attention, he lost it. Coming from livery next to his shop, Jaukus with Magrin the forester walked towards the temple, a large riding elk following close behind, laden with supplies. The towns people watched them curiously. Trying to recapture their attention, the magistrate cleared his throat loudly.
“Jaukus, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, puffing out his chest and trying to look important.
Magrin suppressed a snicker.
“Hello, your honor,’ greeted the smithy congenially, ‘I am here on business with the young master Van.”
“Business?” asked the fat man.
“Yes, business,” came a low, cold voice from behind him.
Milder jumped and turned around swiftly. There stood Van, the young hunter with his bow in one hand and satchel on his back. His cold dark eyes intimidating thowd owd more than anyone his age should be able to. These were the eyes of one who had seen the death, violent and sudden, of those dearest to him and now had nothing left to fear.
The young man moved forward and the crowd parted before him. He stopped before Jaukus and Magrin and they nodded to each other in greeting. Then Van turned to Jaukus.
“Do you have it?”
The blonde black smith nodded, amusement coming into his eyes.
“I do.”
He pulled from the pouch on the riding elk a folded piece of parchment and handed it to Van. The short young man skimmed over it quickly and then nodded.
“Everything seems to be in order. Do you have a pen?”
An infuriated expression crossed Milder’s red cheeks. There was nothing he hated more than being ignored.
“Now wait a moment! What is all of this abo-”
“It is none of your damn business, sir,” snapped the hunter.
“How dare you! I am the a magistrate-”
“And I’m hunter very close to sending an arrow down your gullet if you keep interrupting me. I would really like to be out of thiwn bwn before sunset.”
A loud murmur broke out through the crowd and again wild speculation began to fly. Van rolled his eyes and excepted the quill pen Magrin handed him. Placing the parchment on the saddle of his new elk he signed it in elegant flowing pt. pt. Just as his mother had taught him. He handed it to Jaukus.
“I demand to know what you just signed!” the angry judge tried one last time.
His cheeks had taken on an amazing shade of red and his pudgy fist were shaking. Van regarded him coolly over his shoulder and then mounted his elk.
“If you really must know,’ he began, ‘I have just signed my remaining property over to those in this town who have done me and my family great services. Doctor Millerna, I have given my mother’s possessions for her skills rendered while I was ill. Jaukus Phrat, receives my father’s
possessions for this fine animal,’ he pat his elk gently on the shoulder, ‘with the exception of the house and the section of land surrounding it, which I give to our family friend Magrin Deloe.”
“You are the only person in this town who I think actually remembers my last name,” Magrin chuckled.
“Wait! You can’t do that!” Milder exclaimed.
This was not going at aow how he had planned. He had intended to have Van declared a witch and exiled from the village, with all his property confiscated by the state- himself being the main recipient. He could not do that if the little imp gave his property away before he was denounced!
“Actually, I can,’ Van said, sounding bored. ‘And I have. Good day to you, sir. May you rot in hell.”
Without skipping a beat, the imp smiled wickedly and kicked his elk into a trot. He turned the beast North East towards the Guline Highway, leaving behind the traitorous villagers, a conniving demon, and all that he held dear.