Murder the Heroes

Chapter Five; Section Four

"Never mind, never mind. It's getting cold in here."

"Yes your highness. We've got only a little firewood left."

Arrend frowned at the air before him. "Is that right?"

"Yes your highness."

"Well, then what are you waiting for? Throw on what's left and go get some!"

"Yes your highness."

"Bloody incompetence,"Arrend muttered. It didn't occur to him many around the castle might be muttering those same words about him. He fell back into brooding as the youth scurried out. Youth? The boy was only two or three years younger. It was the responsibility. He might have only been in charge a short while, but it felt like it had aged a decade. "The crown is a heavy burden."

"So it is, your majesty."

"Who said that?" Frantically Arrend scanned the room, behind the curtains, in his bedroom, his water closet, his dining room, back to the curtains. Still nobody there. He'd just sent away the one other person in the room, so how could he just have heard a voice? Had he even heard a voice? He again combed the apartment with his eyes – even deigning to stoop, on occasion, to check what might be below a table or a couch. But there was nobody there. "Must have imagined it."

"That's very possible, your majesty."

Arrend spun around. "By the Gods, come out!"

"I'm right here."

Arrend spun again, "Where, Gods damn it!"

"In the fire, your majesty."

"Oh," Said Arrend. Admittedly he hadn't looked there – should he have? There was indeed a figure standing on the top most log, wreathed in flames. He looked very regal, Arrend thought, with his curving horns and tail of smoke. It looked familiar somehow. "Who are you?"

"I'm Fortwo."

"And are you supposed to be in my fireplace?"

"Depends on who you ask."

"I should scream."

"Then I'll simply disappear and – after the mages conclude there are no magical traces here – they'll think even less of you. Not only is he incompetent, they'll whisper, but he's seeing things too! Is that what you want?" Arrend considered that. If what the creature said was true then that would indeed look bad. If, on the other hand, he was wrong and he could be detected, then the court magicians would anyway, sooner or later. The palace was, after all, littered with enchantments to that effect. In both cases caution was the better council. Perhaps, he decided, he should wait.

"Okay, Fortwo, was it?" The thing nodded, "You said it depended on who you asked. So I ask, according to whom do you belong in my fireplace?"

"Myself and my allies."

Arrend rolled his eyes, "And who are you and your allies."

"The people beating up your kingdom. We are the Shroud."

"Ah,"Arrend took an involuntary step back. Suddenly he realised where he recognised the figure from, this figure looked like a miniature version of the daemon that had torn the city apart. This, then, was a daemon. He looked at the door and licked his lips. Was there a way to keep this thing here, until others came? How long before his valet came back? How far was it to where they kept the firewood anyway? Arrend realised he didn't have a clue.

"You cannot hold me. I will be gone before they come."

Arrend gave a tiny scream and threw himself behind the sofa. Was that thing reading his mind? Then he paused. Wasn't that supposed to be really hard? Hadn't they cast all sorts of spells on him to prevent exactly that? Perhaps the thing had just seen him look at the door. That was possible. Arrend tried to school his face to a blank expression. He slowly lifted his eyes over the sofa's edge. He wished he knew more about daemons. "What do you want from me? Isn't messing up my life and making me look bad quite enough?"