‘I thought it would be longer.’ Sadrahan contemplated as he ‘helped’ the human out of his clothing, the horse was a fading figure in the distance, and at his back, dogs howled, mourning their handler still. When the last strip of clothing fell into the muck, Sadrahan picked up the undershirt, ripped it, and snarled down at his last intended victim, “Give me your stump, human. I can’t have you die on me yet.’

The human in question had shoulder length hair, brown and thickly clumped together, and piercing, if presently fearful hazel eyes, his face was ordinary, if a little long, with a slight hook to his slender nose, and his body, as humans went, was well muscled, though that did nothing to keep him from shaking either in fear or because of the weather.

Whether he liked Sadrahan or not however, he complied, and after ripping strips of cloth and ignoring the human’s winces with every noisy tear of soaking wet cloth, he held still while it was wrapped around the leaking stump of flesh at the end of the officer’s arm.

“Come this way again when I release you, I will not trade you like a merchant next time.” Sadrahan rumbled the words, and the human kept his eyes down, focused on the healing care he was given to prevent his death. He said nothing.

Sadrahan didn’t ask if he’d been heard, he knew he had been. He then tore the pants into strips and wound them together to form a crude rope, which he then looped around the human’s neck. “N-Not my-” The officer started to say.

Sadrahan couldn’t help himself, he laughed, down at the smaller, naked human with the stump where his right hand had once been. The human flushed. “Do it, and I return you with no hands. I promised you your life, not that you would be glad you lived.”

The human fell silent and made no motion to resist as the knot was bound around his neck, and when it was bound, Sadrahan turned his back to the human and strode toward the human mine. “Come on! Move it!” Sadrahan snarled and yanked, causing the human to briefly stumble, splashing cold water everywhere as he tried to see in the dark.

“We’re not… but you can fly?!” The human protested.

“And you can fall. What of it, human?” Sadrahan quipped and continued to trudge, the crude leather strips clenched tight in the hand at his side, tugging the human mercilessly every time his prisoner threatened to slow down.

“But… wouldn’t it be faster if you just flew us back? You could have your… your people,” he asserted, though he struggled with the last word, “returned by dawn.”

“Yes, but I have others who are already escaping. How do you think that last group got out?” Sadrahan asked and yanked the rope when the human prisoner stopped dead.

The prisoner fell with a splat, dressing his naked body in mud, and it got Sadrahan to look back at him, the confusion etched on the human’s face was at war with an expression of surprise only held back by the threat of mud dripping into his mouth if he opened it.

“Move it.” Sadrahan growled and as his captive rose up to his feet, he gave the rope another tug and it started Ita Mal’s walk again.

The human didn’t say another word until dawn broke, when he did finally speak, he said, “You started the fire, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Sadrahan answered without looking back.

“When I left, they were still pulling bodies from the flames.” Ita said it accusingly, and Sadrahan could feel the glare on his back.

“It seemed like the best way to create a distraction to rescue some of my own. Would you have given them to me if I’d asked?” Sadrahan asked the pointed question, and the human at his back only maintained his sullen glare for a long time.

“Those were good men.” Ita asserted.

“If they saw the starving demons in that pit and didn’t do anything to help them, no, they were not good men.” Sadrahan countered. “Now shut up, or you’ll be returned missing your tongue, and unlike your hands, you have no extra to spare.”

Ita went quiet again, but Sadrahan barely noticed, his own thoughts turned inward, ‘I burned many people to death… I should… I should feel something about that, shouldn’t I? I’ve never hated humans before. The neighboring village, they were good for many of their generations. So why don’t I feel anything about what I’ve done?’ It wasn’t a feeling of satisfaction, there wasn’t even a feeling that he’d had some proper revenge.

‘Is it because I’ve barely stopped going for weeks? Am I still numb from Lamash? Is it… is this just natural to feel this way?’ It was more introspection than he’d ever engaged in in his life, and as such, once begun, it was like a river overflowing a dam, it wouldn’t stop, and it kept him as quiet as the captive. He kept his steps steady. Long, but not altogether quick, unwilling to risk slipping on the slick ground and giving his captive even the slightest hint that escape was possible, and focused only on the path ahead, ‘Would they have others coming out after these?’ He wondered. It seemed unlikely, but the memory of being caught by surprise still ripped at his gut, ‘That will never happen again.’ Sadrahan promised himself, and walked on.

Ita looked up at the broad back of the Demon Lord, shirtless and bare, the deep red gleamed in the morning light, which only highlighted the thick muscles of a demon in his prime, the sure and slow steps reminded him of the King. And the demon’s watchful eyes spoke of ample experience. Worse, ‘His way of taking us down, so cunning, so ruthless… he must have been born a monarch, like our King, dignified, reserved, a man of action and not of words…’

It tore at Ita’s guts to find himself offering any kind of praise to the demon who slaughtered his men and marched him naked back to his home. But as he looked up at the demon ahead of him, he found himself memorizing everything about his enemy. ‘They need to know that a powerful demon lord exists out here… one we have already crossed. Perhaps we shouldn’t expand that way, not for a long while. If we can trade peace for a handful of starving demons, that might be a good bargain. He came by himself… I didn’t think demons could love their own, but maybe? Maybe they can? Or maybe this is a power play to show us what he’s capable of, or to show his followers his strength?’ Too little information existed there. ‘But maybe he came alone because there are so very few of them?’

That didn’t sound right. ‘Even if an officer has very few, well, we didn’t send only one after the starving wretches from the pit. But he came alone to face us with our weapons, horses, numbers… no. This was a message. He was saying, ‘You are no threat to me, I don’t need any help. He must have known he would win…’ Ita told himself and bit by bit, his estimation of the Demon Lord who defeated his party, rose higher and higher.

‘When we make it back and I’m released, I have to warn the others. I have a duty to live to warn them all, dying before relaying this vital information would be a waste, it would mean my men died for nothing. I have to live for their sake, they died for me to learn these things, and now I’m the only living human who knows the danger that lies in riding that direction. I’m saving the kingdom, by making sure I survive.’ Ita Mal’s thoughts and reassurances were the only thing to keep him warm on the long walk home.