The Mournful King

VIII. The Mirror

Lansbriga emerged out of the mist as the small group made their way through the last of the forest. The dark pines were silent, with no trace of birdsong or fluttering wings. The town itself was completely vacant. Some doors stood open and others looked to be barred, but despite the fact that larders were no doubt now open to the wildlife, there was no trace of beasts in the area. In fact, there were no tracks at all in the streets that had been turned into mud by the morning's rain. No men, no beasts. A faint wind stirred, but not enough to even move the tavern sign to provide a reassuring creak.

"Too quiet," Fionn murmured. Even speaking softly, his voice seemed too loud.

The Silent almost flinched. He hadn't been expecting anyone to speak. He didn't know about his companions, but he could barely convince himself to breathe for fear of noise.

They walked down the main street, able to see into the buildings through open windows. There were plates with rotting food sitting on the table and mugs of ale or wine beside them. It was as if everyone had just suddenly decided to rise and leave everything they'd been doing. Some laundry fluttered on a line by one house. The rest was in a basket sitting nearby.

Their horses were quiet. Both Fionn's and the Silent's mounts fidgeted uncomfortably. Andraste's warhorse was alert, but calmer. No doubt he was more accustomed to demons than the other two animals.

"Baphomet isn't far," Andraste whispered. "And I'm certain he knows we're here."

Fionn nodded grimly and drew his sword. He had thought about bringing a different weapon more suited for piercing or smashing armor, but this weapon had been in his family for generations and had a secret to it: it was made of one of the ancient alloys. There were hundreds of folds to the metal and it was far stronger and sharper than any steel ever crafted in the east. According to the lore, it was a gift from the gods to their champion, Alister of Mór, the first of Fionn's bloodline. The former king was not certain if that was true or not, but he knew that the blade was the equal of demonic hides.

The Silent was relying on his much more humble axe, though he also had Andraste's gladius on his belt just in case that failed. He gripped the shield a little more tightly, trying to prepare for the worst. Elder demons were not united by any shared form, though all of them boasted powerful sorcery. Baphomet could look like anything, be capable of anything. He'd been described as a hulking figure, but such things could be exaggerated. Perhaps he was really like Gader'el, the size and shape of a man. There were no villagers here to tell him.

There was a flicker of motion out of the corner of the Silent's eye. The mute spun around and threw up his shield instinctively. There was a deafening crack of thunder and he went flying, but the shield protected him from the worst of the sorcerous blast.

There was no sign of the source, only empty air and an oppressive silence. Andraste and Fionn both dashed to the Silent's side and helped him up from the ground. "Can he strike from a distance?" the former king asked.

"It was close," Andraste said softly. "I felt the charge build."

The mute groaned as he got back to his feet, his back aching from impact. The life of a demon-hunter was looking no more comfortable than the life of a manual laborer. He gripped Andraste's arm to steady himself, though he made certain not to bruise.

Fionn's green eyes narrowed as he looked around. "I see no sign."

The Silent was about to nod his head in concurrence when he saw something at the very edge of his vision. It was, for a second, a shimmer like a mirage rising from heated ground, as if heat was distorting the air ever so slightly. He croaked in alarm and spun around, throwing up the shield reflexively again. He barely managed to deflect a pitchfork that seemed to have come from nowhere, hurtling at impossible speeds. The impact forced him back a foot or so, but he managed to keep his balance. It had been flung with such force that it left gouges even in the strange metal of Andraste's shield.