Lore of Eternal Shadow: The Fugitive King

Chapter Fourteen

"What's going on?" hissed Alva. He crossed the courtyard of the barracks attached to Caligo's castle; storming up to a demon that looked important.

"We're almost ready, Lord Alva," answered the gravelly voice of the green leather faced demon. Twin horns stuck out of his forehead. He was at least two or three centuries older than the next oldest demon there. One of his horns was twisted like a cornucopia and the other halfway broken off. His red eyes glowered out from under two scaly eye ridges that resembled brows.

"You should have been done hours ago," spat the white haired figure. Blue eyes met the red with little more than distain for the demon.

"Apologies for the delay, Lord Alva; my men have been running off little to no sleep and—"

"I don't want to hear the pitiful tale of your sad, pathetic existence! I want you mobilized now!" Alva shouted venomously.

"T-T-Thy will be done, Lord Alva," stammered the demon. He was a respected elder among his men but before Alva he was little more than a sniveling lad.

Alva inspected the troops quietly, his arms clasped behind his back. The demon complained about little sleep and Alva could only snort to himself at the thought. Alva hadn't slept since he had returned from Galgaroth. He had been running troops through the portal day and night.

A spell kept his appearance fresh-faced, strong, and strapping. Nobody knew what his true form was but it was still obvious through the spell that he was tired, bitter, and cranky. His power was greater than the entire battalion of one-hundred-and-fifty green colored demons. Thus, nobody would dare speak out about how exhausted he looked... not that anybody really cared or that anybody was ever in any better condition. Argon kept everybody going on a perpetual just-a-few-tasks-ahead promise of sleep and relaxation; though everyone only got enough rest to stay on the edge of being alive. Caligo's followers believed in the lie of promised paradise; a mixture of fear and faith.

Alva was motivated even more by his fear of losing face in front of his master. He was convinced Argon knew of his failure and Alva could only scramble to prove his usefulness. Presently a messenger arrived, clad in leather armor and red skin, "Lord Alva."

"What?"

"It's Lady Penelope," the demon replied as he slowed to stand at attention before Alva.

"Well?!" Alva said with massive gesticulation. He had no patience for these people and would take no greater pleasure than to slaughter this fool just to blow off a little steam.

"She requests your presence immediately."

"Ah, I see," he nodded; perhaps the demon would live today, "Tell her I will be there as soon as I get this division through the gate."

"Thy will be done, Lord Alva," the demon proclaimed. He turned on his heel and rushing off in the opposite direction. He had even been trained to run properly. He was certainly at one of the highest ranks a messenger could reach, bringing the trivial words of Argon's highest elite back and forth. No doubt he lived in relative comfort and had sired a large family. Alva shook his head in disgust, these things sure did breed a lot when treated well... it was why Alva knew it was his duty to keep their population down and suffering high.

He waited in the courtyard for ten more minutes before he literally began tapping his foot with impatience. "What is taking so long?!" he bellowed down the entrance to the barracks proper, making a few of the demons in the line flinch.

"We're ready!" came the anguished cry of the demon who had addressed Alva before.

"Good."

Out marched six more battalions of demons in rows of six out the entrance to the barracks. They continued through the courtyard and out into the city. As they departed, the final battalion that had been waiting in the courtyard at attention marched out behind them. Altogether a thousand and fifty men marched through the city and out the front gate.