The demon was a tiny thing, no bigger than an apple. All it did was whine, needle teeth flashing in the torchlight.
Ruloc sighed and spoke a word of dismissal. The demon jerked, crying out in pain. Slowly, it melted, its inky form sliding apart like wax before seeping into the dark soil and patchy grass.
The unbinding complete, Ruloc stepped from the tent into the cool night air.
The warrior waited there for him, clad in beaten copper, rusted and bloody in the moonlight. Spikes and horns sprouted from the metal skin — gruesome trophies adorning each sharpened prong.
“What says my master?”
“You will war, and you will win.” Ruloc moved to pass, but the larger man blocked him.
“Do not play me, magi. I have chewed the meat of your kind before, and fear not its taste.”
That would explain the smell. “You forget yourself.”
The warrior laughed, slapping his armor where twisting runes shivered. “It is you who forget, magi! I am Morik of Guloth, slayer of men and eater of flesh! Nine kings have I killed and countless skulls have I crushed! Anger me and your head shall ride upon my spikes.”
Ruloc’s lips parted in a half smile. “I always did want to be taller.”
“Speak!” roared the man, hefting his axe. “What says my master?”
Ruloc blinked and the warrior almost died. It would have been nothing. Like drawing breath. The wards Morik thought protected him were but a child’s scrawls. Oh, they would stop fire and ice and lighting, the elemental first tier of any wizard’s training, but Ruloc was no scuttling novice. Three words of greater meaning and the warrior would be sheared from existence.
But am too tired to kill. “Listen then, if you have such need.”
Before the warrior could object Ruloc voiced a word of remembrance, and the creature’s language spilled from his lips. It was an ugly thing to hear, full of screeches and cries, grinding and screams. For a full minute he let the guttural sounds pour into the air before he closed his mouth.
The warrior shifted his weight. “What does it mean?”
“You don’t know?”
Morik stood silent.
Ruloc shook his head. “Nine kings Morik, nine kings.” Still no answer. No sound but the skittering of flies around heads long withered. “Death…death is what they want. That is all they will ever want,” Ruloc sighed. “So go, go and give it to them, champion. Give them death and eat your flesh. Kill and kill and kill again. Kill so many your mind cannot fathom the number and your arm can no longer lift it is so weary, and your belly is so full of meat that you can eat no more. Come to me then, come to me then, and ask me what your master says.” Ruloc wetted his dry lips. “Ask me what your master says and I will tell you. I will tell you to kill again.”