Ita Mal looked at the walls of Erlikan, the great capital of the Kingdom of Seven Hills, and felt nothing but relief. The walls were heavy blocks of stone, each one as wide as a demon’s wingspan and as tall as his waist. The thick brown blocks were sealed tight and rose so high that if eight grown men stood on each other’s shoulders, the topmost man would still fall a little short of being able to grab the edge. The blocks were laid three wide to create a large surface for warriors to walk on, and they were manned at all times. More than that, the city sat on a wide hilltop, with the inner sanctuary where the king resided standing at the highest point, while the city itself sprawled out downward with a series of smaller walls protecting each district from both outsiders, and from each other.

Around the central hill sat six other hills, each one a great fortress which were in turn surrounded by smaller towns made up of the soldiers’ wives, families, and various opportunistic merchants and tradesmen.

Between each hill ran a river that converged into one wide channel which ran into deep woods to the west.

Looking at the walls for the first time in years, Ita Mal’s heart began to settle down at last from the tumult he’d been living with since he first felt the wrath of the Demon Lord. ‘This is such a familiar feeling…’ He thought and rubbed the short curl of his beard, ‘Like when he released me after making sure we couldn’t follow him.’

That grim memory haunted Ita Mal still, the flight which could have ended with him splattering on the ground like a tomato dropped off a balcony, the sight of the claws ripping through bodies and how close the end came. He rubbed his sleepy eyes, trying again despite the futility, to cleanse the redness away along with the dark circles beneath them.

Seeing the city at long last he wondered, ‘Will I finally be able to sleep again?’ It was a hopeful thought, and drinking in the sight of the city that was now only hours away, the morning light catching it and its great banners flapping in the sky, he found cause to be optimistic about that once faint hope.

He spurred his horse forward and resumed the long slow plodding trot. The wind was cool, and soon enough he knew it would be cold. The winter weather would come fast, and then the feasts and celebrations of slaughtered animals would come. Many a fatted calf would decorate plates and bowls, sweet tasting goat would add new furs to market to keep people warm and the meat smell would fill the air every day for weeks.

‘The only downside are the murders. But at least I shouldn’t have to worry about that, after all, I’m not married anymore.’ He chuckled a little bit, in the bitterest winters when people ventured out no more than they absolutely had to and families were trapped together with nowhere to go, it wasn’t unheard of for a lost temper to create a new corpse. Such ‘winter killings’ were punished less severely than the rest of the year, with a hefty blood price or the loss of the murdering hand instead of simply putting the murderer to death.

Ita glanced down at the stump he now had, ‘I wonder if anyone will think I killed my wife? How am I supposed to explain that I faced the Lord of all Demons, and survived? They might even assume I mean a late wife?’ That much at least, he could laugh about, and did, his chest puffing out as the chortle went on.

His wound, and the cause of it, was on the surface a source of bitterness, but also… ‘I did get this serving the King, and I did so while fighting the mightiest demon in the world, the Lord over them all… and I bring back vital information, and survived. Plus I never have to ride into battle again. The Demon Lord has essentially guaranteed my life into old age, and maybe even immortal fame, all for the price of four fingers and a thumb. I should call that a bargain.’ He reflected and began reviewing the…slightly inflated story as he would tell it.

Again and again, Ita Mal’s full lips opened and closed and the words tumbled out…

“In the season of the Wing in the eighth year of His Majesty’s reign, may it forever endure, in the year of the birth of his ninth son, I followed the will of the harvest god and undertook the first harvest of the demons. We took from them their land, we took from them their wings, and we brought them to the pit and took from them their labor that we might take from the mountain its riches. This we did in accordance with Your Majesty’s will, may you endure forever. We did this each season of the Wing without incident, and sent the cut wings to Your Majesty’s throne for the great feast, may it endure forever. However, it happened that we have learned of a mighty throne, ruled from a Red Mountain, a stronghold unlike any we have ever known. The Demon Lord of Red Mountain, he slaughtered all our soldiers alone and captured me, taking from me the hand that took from his kind.”

Ita Mal paused in his recitation and held up the stump where his hand once sat. “The Demon Lord bent all men to his will and placed them in the pit and raised out his stolen subjects, trading me in their stead that I might bear word to the Kingdom of Seven Hills, may it endure forever, that we are encroaching on his vast domain. He rules the great range as far as the villages and though he forgives what was done in ignorance, he warns that another encroachment will see his slaughter worked on Your Majesty’s beloved children. Come no further, or be dragged into hell.”

It seemed a good speech, and a reasonable approximation of what he concluded about the Demon Lord’s wishes. The hot, almost fiery breath on his ear was as fresh as when it was first felt, and even the chill air did nothing to cool it.

So he focused on the city and watched it grow in his eyes as he came closer, repeating his speech as much as he could. With the day young, the great gate was open and as he joined the main road, people streaming in and out became plentiful.

Donkeys, goats, horses and people bearing heavy packs, bags, and wagons of goods flowed in and out of the city, and beside the road the great river rushed, a low wall of waist height ran along the side to keep it from flooding in all but the worst conditions.

Looking over the low stone wall, Ita Mal could see schools of fish rushing to and fro going to who knew where, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the road on which he now traveled. It was an amusing enough observation to bring a little smirk to his lips in spite of his earlier fears, and he recited his speech again.

The city’s gate was a pair of great double doors carved from several trees, each one half the height of the wall and curved at the top, the thick gate was as wide as two men and required a team of eight men to close each side.

At either side, small groups of guards randomly selected people and pulled them out of line for inspection and questioning, both for entry and for exit. Those with hoods had to lower them, those with masks had to remove them.

The guards themselves wore boiled leather and chainmail shirts, and all wore short hair and beards, carrying spears for lower ranking soldiers and swords for higher ranks. Atop the wall, archers ruled and patrols walked in threes, scanning the city below in an endless walk that would take hours to complete only to begin again.

Riding through the lower city, Ita pulled up a cloth around his neck and covered his nose. It did little good, he pinched it against the smell. Nor was he alone. The smell of waste was plentiful, and it wasn’t hard to see why, an aged woman, more skeleton than human, dumped a bucket of waste out into the street, and based on the fact that nobody was walking near her window, or any windows on the upper floors of haphazard shanties, not only did she do it often, but so did everyone else.

He clicked his heels against the flanks of his horse and sped up, the lower district was the widest of the lot, and all Ita could think was, ‘I want out of here… I want a bath, just being around this filth… makes me feel filthy. At least the battlefield has other more glorious body fluids…’ Around him the cacophony of voices went up in a dozen languages from the deep ‘ka’ noises of the dwarvish tongue to the flowing babbling brook like sound of the elvish tongue, to his own guttural consonant heavy mother tongue. Goods were bought and sold that ranged from bat wings fraudulently sold as the wings of baby demons, to goat flesh and bronze jewelry.

The only thing to change when he passed through the second great gate into the middle district was the smell, as more public baths were available, and the quality of goods. Fake demon wings would never be sold there, and hawkers of silver jewerly were plentiful, but also silver plates, cups, and more. The clothing people wore was mostly pale and cream robes, with earthen hues and small tassels along the short sleeves, some of which were secured to bells that tinkled when people swung their arms while walking.

Here the priests would roam the streets carrying their small gong, announcing the hour of worship for each of the four parts of the district which made up the area around the hill.

Ita Mal ignored the sights, but lowered the cloth from his face before he reached the final gate into the upper city.

A pair of guards wearing a tri-segmented plate that covered their chest, abdomen, and groin, and wearing clean thick cloaks with a scarlett shade crossed their long spears in front of the small gate. The smallest of the gates, it could have fit into any fine home, being only large enough for two horses and tall men to ride abreast without ducking their heads, making it easily secured.

Ita didn’t wait for them to ask, “Ita Mal, second cousin of the King, here to deliver my report on an incident that cost me this.” He raised his arm to reveal the stump wrapped in purple cloth.

The guards drew aside their crossed spears. “You are expected, your messenger arrived three days ago, My Lord.”

Ita Mal didn’t respond to them with words, he responded by riding past them without a sound, his business done, they ceased to be, in his mind. Ahead of him looped the many columns and arches of the great palace. The roof was domed with feathers of silver and gold, and each of the outer arches from one to the next was covered by a silver canopy which led to the stone entry.

He dismounted his horse at the entrance where a shirtless boy wearing fine leather sandals and a scarlet wrap stood with his hands behind his back and feet shoulder width apart, waiting.

His small hand went up and accepted the reins, “Father awaits you.” He said, rising his head to show the silver torc around his neck, the silver etched into the pattern of a many eyed serpent, even if the boy’s looks were not the image of the King, everything he wore indicated he was the child of one of the many concubines, like the guards at the gate though as he was closer to the center of power… ‘His mother must still have the King’s favor.’ Ita Mal considered, and so he chose to address the shirtless boy, “Long may you live.” He said as the child took the reins, the young one gave him a toothy grin, obviously pleased to be greeted as he was.

“And may you have many sons.” The boy replied, his cheeks flushed with happiness that he’d gotten it right, he rushed away over the green grass of the grounds to lead the horse to the stables.

Ita Mal passed through the shaded door and down the long stone hall, straight to the center of power, guards at the gate, grown men in vibrant red robes that concealed heavy armor, were being fanned by young women with lean limbs and long sleeve robes, the little bells rang to provide constant music while they kept the stiff standing soldiers cool during the long shift. Even in the colder months, wearing that much was hot work.

Ita Mal mouthed his speech one more time when he saw his second cousin, his beard was heavy, long enough to reach the navel of his body, and curled into many tight little brown weaves. His chiseled jaw and piercing blue eyes centered on Ita Mal the instant he appeared.

The King was reclined not on the throne today, but rather on a massive cushion of purple, surrounded by his servants, his current Queen, a woman of golden hair who reclined on her side next to him, their servants, who stood by holding trays with fruits as expensive as grapes and as rare as pomegranates. The bright colored robes, from purple for the Queen to red for the concubines, green for the servants, were a rainbow of shades indicating every possible relationship to the throne.

Ita Mal approached the throne until he was seven paces shy, then went to his knees and prostrated himself with the stump of his hand out beside the good one.

“Oh King of men, may you endure forever…” Ita’s speech was cut off.

“Cousin, rise.” The King commanded, “Show me your hand?”

It was a rare sign of affection from him, and it was enough to cause Ita Mal to forget most of his speech.

Instead he rose to his knees and with a quavering hand, unwrapped the purple bandage to reveal the scarred over stump. The collective gasp that went up on seeing a maimed member of the royal family was enough to knock out the rest of the confidence from Ita Mal, or at least the rest of his speech.

“Tell me everything, cousin… what happened…?” The King asked and gestured to a servant standing by with a silver pitcher of wine on a matching silver platter with another matching silver cup with snakes etched around from the base to the lip. She walked on small steps to bend toward him, and keeping one hand under the tray, she poured the cup and passed it to his good hand.

He took it eagerly and tilted his head far back, he drank deeply from the cup and set it down. His eyes opened like the sky after a storm was blown away and he all but shouted, “The Lord of all Demons! They have a Lord like unto yourself! He knows the ways of court, of war… he slew us all like we were nothing and took my hand… somehow he knew which hand took away the wings of his people… but he spared me to pass a warning to your majesty! His thinking is as deep as the eversea, his strength… I led a hundred men, and came home alone as a prisoner… he put us in the pit and drew out his people… peace, we can have peace… but not if we go toward the Demon Lord of Red Mountain… he rules the range with claws that cut through our armor like a sword through water…” As the wine flowed and his confidence grew, Ita Mal continued his story and its…embellishment.

How men died in the shadows who died before they knew danger was present, how they were hunted like dogs until only he alone remained… how he was wise enough to exact a blood price fit for royalty and to chastise without threatening war…

“My King, may you endure forever… it would be wise if we went to the easier places for what we seek. A mountain Kingdom that far away is a lot to challenge? Why bother when there are so many easier ones to strike. There are hill tribes of ogres and lesser giants, forests to the north harbor elves, while the plains to the west harbor the orcs and goblins, take the easier path my king, a diamond found on the ground is worth as much as a diamond clawed out of a mountain, and it costs less to reach.”

“Is the Demon Lord a threat to us? You spoke with him, you saw him… what do you say? If we leave him be, will he come to us?” The King asked with a thoughtful expression, he sat up and crossed his legs on the wide cushion and accepted a golden goblet into his hand as soon as it was offered.

He passed it to his Queen, who put it to her lips, poured some within, held open her mouth so that it could be seen, and swallowed with a smile.

The King waited patiently, and when the Queen still smiled after three hundred beats of her heart, she nodded, and he drank from the cup himself.

“Mighty King, may you endure forever, I believe he cares only for his own, after he left, there was only one incident, a village of our settlers, trash really, fourth and fifth sons and daughters from the lower districts, disappeared. We believe that is where he draws the border, if we do nothing he will leave us be.” Ita Mal suggested.

“We will station some additional guards there to watch… but why should we climb to the top of the tree for fruit when there is a low hanging fruit within reach? We will expand against the others, and just make ourselves ready for the Demon Lord. Perhaps we should prepare gifts… it has been long since I have,” he glanced around and saw no priests, “encountered a brother monarch of equal subtlety… and the loss of your hand may yet gain us much.” The King said, and Ita Mal bowed his head.

“My hand for my King’s contentment is a price worth paying. May the King’s will be done, and endure forever.” Ita Mal said with great solemnity.

The King then clapped his hands and said, “Then now that that is settled… for now, bring on the players, I would have music to celebrate my reunion with my long absent cousin!”

And the rest of the night became a hedonistic blur that Ita barely recalled when he woke up on a cushion in the morning.