"Please, you have to help!" someone called from off to the right, his voice breaking through the silence of the deep coniferous forest whose needles dampened even the sound of hoof-beats. Holland stiffened in her saddle and tightened her grip on her lance.
"Who comes?" she demanded, looking around for any sign of an ambush. Maël didn't seem too alarmed, though, so she suspected there was little to fear. A demon would have undoubtedly set the warhorse ill at ease and ready for a fight.
The man who hobbled out of the woods was a pitiful sight, his back rent by a single set of deep claw marks. He wore the tattered green and silver of the King of Yssa, though his was spattered with blood. He leaned on a broken half of a lance that looked like it had been snapped cleanly in two. "I am Daimhin. I serve His Royal Highness."
Holland swung down and grabbed her waterskin, closing the distance between herself and the wounded man-at-arms. She had to rush to catch him before he could collapse onto the ground. She could feel by the way he moved in her arms that the claws had actually severed his ribs, miraculously missing his lungs and the great blood vessels in his body. He was a fortunate man, one that they might be able to save...but it would mean using the last of the rejen, which meant a fight with Moloch might well be lethal even if they survived the initial onslaught. "Seva, will you get his back?" Holland said, adjusting her grip on the man carefully. She didn't want to make his wounds worse.
Seva nodded and dismounted before applying the last of their green salve to his wounds. It was barely enough. Together, the two women sat him down on a mossy stone. "Pray tell what happened," Seva urged softly.
"We called out to Moloch in challenge and he came," the man said, trembling at the memory. "He cut us to ribbons. I don't know how I'm not dead."
"And the prince?" Holland asked grimly. She was not overly optimistic that the Prince would be in fighting form, though it was possible he was alive. The why of that would not be something good, however.
"I could still hear him shouting to me," Daimhin said, his face locked into an agonized grimace. "I thought I'd run, get help, see if someone was on the road to Tamaris."
"Moloch may intend on using Fionn to extort what he wants out of more than just the Duke of Sparre," the penitent said, looking over at Seva. "That, or he wants an example made when Sparre's men next show up to re-negotiate."
"We have to save him," Seva said firmly. "Daimhin, canst thou remain to watch the horses?"
"I don't think he's going anywhere either way, my lady," Holland said. She didn't loop the horses' reins around a branch, just in case the worst happened and the horses needed to run rider-less. "Ciar, watch the horses. If anything bad happens, follow the road the way we didn't come until you reach Tamaris."
"I pray it not come to that," Seva said. She gave Ciar a small smile. "Thou wilt see us again before thou knowest it."
The little boy nodded, a sign he was coming out of his shell a little more. His bird-like brown eyes were serious when Holland picked him up and settled him on the back of her horse. She stroked the destrier's neck. "Take good care of him, Maël," she murmured to the warhorse. She knew that if Ciar stayed in the saddle, that horse would not let harm come to the boy.
"I will protect him as well," Daimhin said from where he sat from the ground. Holland didn't trust him, but she knew he was too weak to do anything. Really, the only danger from him would have been him stealing a horse and running.
Before Holland could utter a threat or warning, Seva was pulling her away by her armored hand. The penitent grabbed the lance. Because of its lighter weight, it could double as a longspear on foot. "We must save him," the baroness whispered. "A kingdom in want of an heir does not long stand."
That was a problem Holland hadn't considered. "If you can get him to safety, I should be able to keep Moloch distracted. I doubt we will be able to slay him, but it might be possible to rob him of his precious hostage," she said quietly as they climbed the ascending trail through the trees to a broad crack in the mountainside that was the lair of Moloch.
The clearing outside the cave was littered with broken armor and arms, the remnants of the many knights who had set out to slay the monster and earn themselves glory unmatched by those who settled for simple wars. There were bones, but most of them were so smashed or cracked that they barely resembled more than uneven chunks of yellow-white. Holland felt an aged rib crunch under her feet. She put out a hand, keeping Seva behind her. They moved quietly along the edge of the clearing where the undergrowth was deep enough to conceal them until they were at the cliff's edge. "Thy plan?" Seva murmured.
"I will call Moloch out with a challenge that he will not ignore. I need you to enter his lair and save the prince while he's distracted."
Seva nodded and began working her way as close to the entrance as she could before hiding herself in a cleft of stone. Holland nodded approvingly and doubled back to where the path terminated at the edge of the clearing. She took a deep breath and then picked up one of the fallen shields. It was dented, but still relatively intact. She strapped it onto her arm and then picked up part of a broken axe for a moment to slam against her shield in challenge. "Moloch! I call you forth, demon!" As soon as she heard movement coming out of the cave, she dropped the axe and picked up her lance.
Moloch glided out of his cave, serpentine body carrying him along with perfect ease. His scales were chipped and cracking, but she did not see a noticeable gap. The creature had to be at least twenty feet long, the first eight devoted to a human-like torso with powerful clawed arms and the head of a serpent. His eyes were cold and dead. She saw rows of backwards facing teeth and two powerful folding fangs when he opened his mouth. "WHO THINKS TO SUMMON ME?" the demon purred. It was a monotone, but softer than Anamalech's grating voice. It had a strange, almost hypnotic tone to it.
Holland grimaced. He was going to have to take her seriously if she was to give Seva any time. That meant playing her old cards. "I am Ilex Calida Invicta, Immortal of Saraqael."
Moloch made a noise that sounded like a chuckle and glided even closer. He cocked his head in interest. "SARAQAEL? WHAT COULD THE MIGHTY PRINCE OF ARCEM TENEBRIS WANT WITH ME? WHAT DESIGNS DOES HE HAVE ON THIS PATHETIC LAND? WE WHO WOULD NOT SERVE TOOK OUR LEAVE. HE HAS MY ABSENCE."
"And now he would have your death," Holland said, glaring at the creature even as she started to breathe in preparation for combat. These would be some vicious hits to breathe through, but she had to keep herself inhaling and exhaling or she would die.
Moloch shook his head, tongue flicking out to scent the air. But he did not appear to detect Seva, possibly because of the smell of horse and the fact that they'd spent last night sharing a bedroll. "PROUD WORDS. HOW MANY DO YOU THINK HAVE FALLEN HERE, IMMORTALIS? YOUR MASTER HAS NO POWER HERE TO SAVE YOU."
"My master trusts that his servants are capable enough on their own," Holland said, feeling the tension building in her muscles as she waited for the demon to move.
"MY COILS WILL CRUSH YOUR BONES. MY FANGS WILL PIERCE YOUR HEART. YOU ARE OUTMATCHED, IMMORTALIS. PERFORM A SERVICE FOR ME AND I WILL FORGET YOUR INSOLENCE SO THAT YOU MAY LIVE," Moloch said, beginning his slow, sinuous approach.
Holland lunged, using her whole body to drive the lance directly into Moloch's mouth. There was a great howl from the creature and he slammed his tail into her side, flinging her off her feet. She rolled with the blow, breathing through the hit. That had hurt, even with her armor taking most of the hit. The lance clattered to the ground next to her, undamaged. She snatched it up just as Moloch's tail whipped around again at dangerous speed. She threw herself backwards to avoid that lethal blow, twisting her body to land on her feet. She was much more agile than the knights of the east thanks to Saraqael's boons.
Black ichor was dripping from Moloch's mouth, mingling with the acidic venom from his giant fangs. "I WILL ENJOY THIS, IMMORTALIS!" he snarled. She was just grateful this was the kind of demon that could feel pain. Some of them were immune to it.
This time, instead of lashing out with his tail, the demon hurled himself at her fangs-first. She threw up the shield and hoped it would serve her better than it had its last master. One fang punctured the shield but was stopped before it hit her, the spray of acid venom sizzling harmlessly on her armor. The other fang had met only open air as she sidestepped. However, Moloch reared back and the shield—trapped in a lock with his fangs—lifted her up into the air after it. The creature snapped his head back and tore the shield loose, throwing her through the air towards the path.
She hit the rock covered with a thin layer of pine needles in a jarring skid that grated against her armor and made her very grateful that the skin of her body wasn't exposed. So far, she'd miraculously avoided a serious head wound. Her lance was laying more than thirty feet from where she was laying. It would be a mad dash to get to it, though she was almost willing to risk it just to keep the monster as far away as possible. Instead, she drew her sword and flung her punctured shield aside. It would only get in the way.
It was hard to tell if the demon was surprised or not that she was still alive, but then again, Holland doubted he had actually faced one of Saraqael's pets before. They weren't necessarily the best fighters in the world, but they could certainly absorb a lot of punishment. More than a demon preying on the east was likely accustomed to, to be certain. Moloch lunged again and this time she sprinted to the right, heading back towards her lance.
She almost made it. Almost.
A giant clawed hand seized her by the leg and wrenched her back off her feet. Holland found herself dangling upside down, regarding Moloch. She still had her sword, but the grip on her leg was slowly beginning to tighten. The creature had every intention of crushing it.
"DOES IT HURT, INSECT?" Moloch purred.
Holland heard a shout and the clatter of a sword against scales. She swung herself to take a look and saw an armored figure doing his best to find a chink in armor to drive his blade through. Behind the figure was Seva, who was beginning a motion with her hands and a chant in a language Holland thought sounded very familiar.
The grass and flowers around the baroness's feet withered and died away just as she finished her gesture with a powerful throwing motion. Holland saw that bolt of distortion in the air rapidly approaching. It hit Moloch like a lightning bolt. The demon was flung to one side and Holland to the other. "Lance!" she screamed just before hitting the ground. She had to get between Moloch and Seva. The baroness would undoubtedly have the demon's attention now.
The idiot in armor didn't seem to understand, so Holland scrambled to her feet while Moloch was still regaining his bearings and ran for the lance. As soon as her hands closed on it, she dove between the demon and Seva, bracing the lance against her foot as the creature charged.
There was a horrible scream from Moloch that shattered their ears and froze their blood as he plowed onto the lance and was pierced right through the heart. The demon's chest exploded in a brilliant flash and the smell of lightning, sending all three of them flying backwards. The world spun and swam.
Holland was the first to snap out of the daze, though she was acting more on reflex than real thought. The lance was blackened and twisted, a deep gouge in the tip that was currently glowing cherry red. She dropped it, realizing her hands were still clenched around it. "Seva," she croaked out, climbing back to her feet.
"Here," the baroness wheezed from the ground about ten feet further back. "The prince?"
Holland headed towards the pile of gleaming armor. She heard it groan. "Alive. We'll see about the well part," she said bluntly, rolling him over with a foot. It was a beautiful suit of plate, embossed with gold and swirling patterns, the king's seal proudly on its chest. His emerald and silver surcoat actually had silver thread in it, though it was looking the worse for wear after his initial battle with Moloch. His left cuisse was torn open and his greaves showed the marks of acid spatter across them. It hadn't eaten through, but it had damaged the metal. She grabbed his arm and pulled up.
"Thank you," a rich baritone voice said from behind the visor. He lifted his helmet off.
Fionn of Yssa was a handsome young man with golden hair and intensely green eyes. His face had strong, almost classical lines to it and he was clean shaven as if to show off his proud chin. He looked a little bruised and scratched, but otherwise unharmed.
Holland gave him a nod before hurrying over to Seva, who was picking herself up. "Bruised, but no harm," Seva assured her friend. She smiled shyly at Fionn. "Thank thee for aiding, Highness."
"Safety is not the middle of combat with Moloch, my lady," Holland grumbled, dusting her dull grey armor off. She avoided the acid with her hands. That she could wash off later. "You should have taken him and yourself through the woods to the horses."
"And where wouldst thou be then? Inside the belly of the beast, methinks," Seva said with a frown. "His Highness came readily to thy aid. Thou couldst at least feign gratitude."
Holland took a deep breath, but for some reason she was having trouble breathing now that the fight was over. Her chest had constricted and she felt weak. It wasn't poison. It was...panic? She realized that she was feeling fear. What if something had happened to Seva? It was a stupid risk of the baroness and she absolutely didn't approve, but she couldn't exactly forbid a noble from doing as she pleased. "For my sake, never do it again." Holland said. In her thoughts, she added, I would rather be eaten by a demon than see you come to harm. She turned to Fionn. "Thank you."
"Are you a knight? I do not recognize you," Fionn said, frowning at her.
"The oversight is mine," Seva said hurriedly. "This is Holland Cea Trădată, Lady Penitent."
Fionn's eyes narrowed slightly, something that the baroness completely missed. Holland noticed, though. "You travel in dangerous company, Lady Seva."
"Moloch would certainly agree with that," Holland said, looking over at the fallen figure of the demon. She couldn't even begin to express how lucky they were that Moloch had lost his temper and thrown himself at Seva. Normally, a calculating creature like that would have killed them. Still, not all demons were as perfect as the Princes of Iron. When she turned back, she felt something twist uncomfortably in her chest. Seva was looking at Fionn starry-eyed. Holland wasn't one for infatuation, but she knew what it looked like. "Ciar and Daimhin should be with the horses. Let's leave this place."
"Daimhin survived?" the prince said, brightening up. "Good. He's staunch friend."
"I'm so glad you can vouch for him," Holland said dryly, starting the walk back. Her whole body felt like a giant bruise after being tossed around like a toy, but she made no complaint.
Ciar came running to greet them with a cry of relief, throwing his arms around Holland's middle. "Is he yours?" Fionn asked curiously.
"We found him at Aediobri," Seva said softly. "He was the only survivor."
"What?" the prince demanded. "What befell those poor people?"
Seva looked to Holland and the warrior sighed. She disentangled herself from Ciar and started walking back towards the horses. "Now isn't really a good time to discuss it," Holland said.
"I have no horse," Fionn said when they arrived. "The creature killed my noble Abhainn." There was an unspoken subtext to his comment: a prince did not walk.
Holland could feel Seva's eyes on her and sighed again. She held out Maël's reins to the prince. "Be good to him," she said. She couldn't bring herself to use an honorific for the prince. She knew it irked him, but he couldn't really argue with her. At least, not yet.
"I'm good enough to walk," Daimhin said, rising to his feet. He held Fionn's sword and shield for him while the prince climbed up into the saddle. The normally so well-behaved horse started to shift nervously, turning his head towards Holland until Fionn coaxed him back.
The penitent didn't say a word. If this annoyance was part of the gods' plan for her, she would endure it. However, she was beginning to wonder exactly how much of a joke they intended to have at her expense. She stripped off her foreign armor and added it to the pack horse's burden. She was fine walking in her subarmalis, the padded black, silky fabric reinforced with fine chain. It was much more comfortable than the gambesons of the east.
"You are not from here," Fionn stated, looking down at Holland's strange armor and the stranger material beneath.
"No," she said, looking up at him with a forced smile. "And I am not the only stranger in your land that you have to fear anymore."