speeding coach. The last memory she had was of the warm, cautious, almost timorous embrace of Grimm Afelnor. As the last memory flew away from her, Drexelica of Griven was dead to the world.
Blessed be the Order! Blessed be the Reverend Mother. I live only to serve…
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Chapter 11: Arrivals
Shakkar's flight muscles felt as if they were on fire, but he vowed to continue flying until he and his human passenger had reached their goal. To do otherwise would be to admit weakness, and Shakkar had no intention of doing so. The dangling mortal was not just a burden in terms of weight but also a considerable aerodynamic impediment. This forced the demon to flap his wings at all times rather than coasting on the wind, which was his favoured mode of flight. This unforeseen factor, allied to Shakkar's lack of flying practice since he had been Seneschal of Crar, took a grave toll on his stamina.
He felt himself beginning to drop lower and lower in the sky, and he gritted his teeth, beating his wings faster in an attempt to gain altitude.
'That must be Yoren!” Erik screamed.
Shakkar looked down. He saw the green-clad human hanging beneath him, a pair of joined black tubes pressed to his eyes, and he guessed that this was some kind of optical device.
'Where?” The demon's eyes were not as acute as those of some of his kin.
'Due west, Lord Seneschal. There's no other town in this vicinity on the map; it must be Yoren.'
The Sergeant's tone was cheerful, almost euphoric; it seemed that he had overcome his fear of flight, and that he was actively relishing the experience.
I am glad someone is having an enjoyable time, the demon thought, fighting the increasing anguish in his back and shoulders. However, the knowledge that his destination was now in sight gave him renewed zeal and strength. Now, he could see a dull, grey blemish on the landscape to the west, for which he headed, ignoring the pain, dismissing it.
At last, the dowdy blur resolved itself into a recognisable conurbation, while Erik scanned the territory with his artificial eyes.
The Sergeant pointed towards a large hill. “I recommend we set down there, Lord Seneschal, It looks like a collection of burnt buildings; could be Lord Grimm's doing. I can see a few people milling around.'
Shakkar's eyes might not have been particularly acute, but his nose was as sensitive as a bloodhound's.
'I think you are right, Sergeant. I smell combustion products; the fire must have been quite recent.'
The demon wheeled in the air and almost lost his balance, as the gleefully hooting, swaying Erik threatened to destabilise him. However, after a few moments with cold, electric sensations approaching panic, Shakkar managed to adjust his attitude and fly towards the hill.
I cannot take much more of this, the demon thought, as the Sergeant continued to cavort in his grasp. We must set down; either that, or I let this foolish, impetuous mortal fall to his death.
The underworld being mused on this enticing possibility for a few moments, but he decided against it.
We have a mission to fulfil, and I have a duty to the humans of Crar; even one as irksome as this man.
'I think we should set down here, Sergeant.'
'I understand, Lord Seneschal; you must be tired after all this effort,” the soldier replied, and Shakkar almost dropped him there and then.
'My decision was founded upon tactical considerations,” he said through gritted teeth.
'As you wish, Sir; this looks like a nice, flat spot,” the imperturbable, infuriating mortal replied.
Shakkar spread his wings to their full extent and angled them so that he dropped towards the ground at a reasonable pace.
Ten feet from the ground, the demon released his human cargo without warning, hoping that the Sergeant would sprawl in an undignified heap on the soil. Instead, the man landed on his feet, rolled on his side and stood up in one smooth, elegant motion, as Shakkar landed beside him.
Erik brushed dust, grass and twigs from his uniform as if nothing had happened. He appeared more concerned with his apparel and his equipment
You irritating little worm! the demon raged inside his head, but he forced himself to speak in a civil manner.
'I trust you are unhurt, Sergeant?'
'General Quelgrum insisted we practice jumping from small towers, and I never knew why. A friend told me the General got the idea from some ancient book, and I always thought it a stupid waste of time. Still, orders are orders, as they say. Still, that training came in handy there, though, didn't it?'
'If you say so, Sergeant,” the demon said. “Shall we proceed?'
'Of course, Lord Seneschal.” Erik hoisted his pack a little higher onto his shoulders, and he began to whistle as he marched up the path to the scorched buildings.
'Would you mind ceasing that infernal racket?” Shakkar asked; the piping, sibilant sequence of tones irked him. For all he knew, the man might have a glorious, perfect musical ear, but the world of melody was denied to him. Music was a peculiarly human phenomenon, and all Shakkar could discern was an arbitrary series of frequencies. This, along with the human's attitude, managed to grate on the Seneschal's nerves.
Erik stopped in his traces, and looked the demon straight in the eye.
'It's all right, Lord Seneschal: I understand. You were tired, and you needed to rest a while. That's no problem with me.'
'I was not tired, Sergeant! I made a tactical decision. Is that understood?'
Erik nodded, but the demon believed he caught the ghost of a smile on the soldier's face.
Before he could speak, the Sergeant barked, “Understood, Lord Seneschal; a tactical decision. Yes, Sir!'
The human's hand flipped to his right temple in what Shakkar recognised as a respectful, military gesture.
'As long as that is understood, Sergeant,” the demon said, “we may continue.'
'It's understood, Sir.'
Erik unslung his black firearm and inspected the open, tube-like end of the weapon. Apparently satisfied, he flicked a small lever and pulled back on a small handle, to the accompaniment of a loud clacking sound. He then slung the item back over his shoulder, before opening and inspecting the contents of several small pouches arrayed around his waist
'What are you doing, Sergeant?'
'I'm just getting ready in case there's any trouble, Lord Seneschal. You can't be too careful; this place has a rough reputation.'
Shakkar snorted. “I believe myself more than equal to any human threat we might face,” he said, showing the sabre-like claws on his right hand. “These should be more effective than any Technological toy.'
'I just thought you might want to take it easy for a little while after all your effort-'
'I am not fatigued! Is that quite understood, Sergeant Erik?'
'Understood, Sir! The Seneschal is not tired, Sir!'
Shakkar's keen ears heard a sotto voce addendum to this response: “Why, you're just as human as the rest of us, aren't you, demon?'
Despite the hot blood he could feel rushing into his face, the Seneschal pretended that he had not heard.
I refuse to lower myself by engaging in idle chitchat with this earthly moron. Erik is just convinced that I must be afflicted with the same mortal weaknesses of the others of his kind and I cannot blame him for that. Faced with an evidently superior being, he is projecting his human insecurities onto me. I shall be merciful and let his impudence pass for now.
The demon and the soldier passed a small, deserted kiosk by the side of the road, as they approached the blackened skeleton of a large building.
'A checkpoint, Lord Seneschal,” Erik said. “See the firing steps and gun-slits-no good for bows. They must have had weapons like mine, but something hit them hard. Something they couldn't handle: must have been Lord
