The Savage Peak: A Morgalla prequel Read online

  She leaned over to whisper to Morgalla. “Think they might be trying to curry favor?”

  “With?”

  “Well, they’re looking for a master to serve. Those two don’t even belong to a crew.” Morgalla still seemed confused. “Look around. If you’re not the direct servant of a master, you had better belong to a tribe of some sort.”

  It was then Morgalla noticed the different colors and patterns some demons were wearing and how they had flocked in groups.

  Delilah nodded to a few. “Those over there, they wear the leather skins of crocs and snakes. They’re the Swamp Posse.” She then nodded to another group who was wearing furs. “Those are the Black Ashes over there. They hunt off-world.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “They didn’t get those furs here. There are no animals with fur in Hell.”

  “Did you belong to a…gang when you were young?”

  “Yes. The Sapphire Sisters.”

  “Where are they?”

  The question was met with a shift in Delilah’s attitude as her mind was flooded with memories of her youth. “I’m the last one. They no longer exist.” Morgalla frowned, but Delilah continued noting various groups they saw. “Those demons over there belong to the Crimson Death Crew.”

  “Let me guess, they collect for the needy and homeless?”

  Delilah ignored the comment, only referring to another group who was walking by, their clothes torn and disheveled. “Obviously the Dracontooth Tribe. They herd and breed dracon.”

  “Dracon, those animals you were telling me about once?”

  “Not just any animal, the animal of Hell. They are not to be played with. Even their young could snap off a limb. We’re lucky they grow back.”

  As Morgalla checked out the demons, she found it hard to believe that these were her own people. They seemed so much bigger than her, even the women and some of the children. She also took note that she was the only one with orange skin and violet eyes.

  They continued strolling through the area while Delilah noted what had changed and what had stayed the same since she’d last been there. They moved past a group of tall, large demons, all of them carrying hammers of various sizes.

  Delilah knelt down and whispered to Morgalla, “The Hell Hammers.”

  “Why doesn’t a demon just serve a lord of some sort?”

  “You can’t just sign up. One must prove their worth. By joining a clan or tribe, one can do just that. Sometimes the lords can contract out a group for some sort of mission or task.”

  A disturbing thought came to Morgalla as she suddenly imagined herself as a member of one of the groups she had just seen…carrying a massive hammer or wearing red-scaled leather. “And will I have to join one of them?”

  “I’d prefer not.”

  Delilah stopped, and Morgalla nearly ran into her. She spread her wings out slightly, her hands on her hips as she smiled at the people around, but her eyes were squinted. Morgalla surveyed the demons near her and took one step forward.

  “De-Li-lah.”

  Morgalla watched as Delilah reached for the man’s outstretched arms. His voice was deep with some sort of thick accent Morgalla did not recognize even though it was strangely comforting. Their clawed hands clasped together, and they laughed. Perhaps she’d heard the language when she was a child and merely forgot. Delilah and the demon exchanged more pleasantries until finally, he turned to Morgalla while asking Delilah a question.

  “Mi cheela Morgalla,” Delilah said.

  Morgalla didn’t know what to do. She gave a small wave to him. “Um…hi.”

  The demon threw his head back and bellowed a loud laugh that could probably be heard throughout the courtyard. Morgalla couldn’t help but notice Delilah’s embarrassment.

  Delilah said something in the foreign language to the demon, and the laughter subsided. But one thing that shocked Morgalla was a comment made by the demon that caused Delilah to backhand him across his face. She shouted something to him. He wasn’t offended because a smirk remained on his face as he touched her shoulder. They seemed to part as friends, and Delilah and Morgalla continued on their way.

  “What was that all about?”

  “He said something that annoyed me.”

  “Who was he, anyway?”

  “That was Mordus. We grew up together.”

  In the distance, beyond the town, stood a massive castle. The closer they got, the more detail Morgalla could see in the intricate carvings of black and red stone. Most of the sculptures near the structure and the surrounding walls and courtyard were skulls and snakes. If it wasn’t so foreboding, Morgalla might actually have called it beautiful.

  “I’m starving,” Delilah said.

  Morgalla didn’t argue. She was hungry too. As soon as they entered the castle, their sensitive noses were struck with the wonderful smell of roasting meat. Besides fish, animal flesh was a rarity for Morgalla. Most of the time she ate local vegetation, primarily fruit.

  As they entered the main dining hall, the scent was stronger than ever, and the sight before them made Morgalla’s jaw drop. Long tables made of thick wood were covered with food from all sorts of roasted beasts.

  Delilah reached for a drumstick and tore it from a cooked carcass. Her fangs sank into the flesh, and she feasted. Next, she grabbed a flagon of ale and took a long drink. Her spirit was lifted immediately. Wearing a fanged smile, she beckoned Morgalla to join in.

  Though all the spirits were overflowing with joy for the meal, Morgalla was still uncomfortable as she slowly stepped into the massive hall. Delilah cut a rib from a baked animal and tossed it to her. Morgalla took a bite and had to admit it was good. Her spirit too was lifted.

  Delilah offered Morgalla a flagon of her own. After a slight sniff of the drink, she returned a look of disgust. The smell made her nose burn and her stomach churn. Other demons laughed, and Morgalla thought Delilah chuckled but seemed more embarrassed than anything.

  One laughing demon called out in broken English, “She’s turning green.”

  Another suggested, “Do not worry, little one. The children are drinking a juice made from berries. Perhaps that is more to your liking.”

  One more round of laughter filled the enormous hall. Morgalla answered with a fake chuckle.

  She and Delilah had arrived when the feast was in full swing. They were lucky to get any food or drink at all. What Morgalla found most ironic was the juice made from berries was actually quite good.

  Morgalla couldn’t help but notice the particular beings who walked around serving the demons. They were all male, and their clothing was clean but simple. Each of them walked with a slight hunch. It was clear to Morgalla what they were. To her trained eye, they didn’t appear to be demons. Their skin was a pale red, almost pink, and very smooth. They had dark eyes and wore the same symbol as the one Delilah wore on her cloak.

  A demon shouted at one of the servants in his native tongue, kicking him over, much to the amusement of others. Morgalla rose to see the creature fall. He struggled but got up and bowed to the demon who’d kicked him. The injured one limped away, a look of pain on his face.

  “What is it?” Delilah asked. Her student did not reply, but the shock on her face spoke volumes. Delilah briefly glanced over her shoulder before returning to her meal. “Do not trouble yourself. It is just a prill.”

  “A what?”

  “Slightly more useful than a human, but still far beneath us. Never forget that.”

  “The mark on their heads…”

  “A reminder of whom they belong to.”

  “But…it looks strange.”

  “It is a scar. Remember when I told you of those? That mark will never heal. It will be with them for the rest of their lives. All scars are a symbol indicating how weak a being is.” Delilah paused a moment, noting that Morgalla was still standing and staring at the prill as he hobbled away. “Sit down. You’re drawing attention to yourself.”

  Morgalla, with great reluctan
ce, finally sat. “They are not demon?”

  “No. If a prill makes it to the rank of soldier, he should consider himself honored.”

  The prill limped past them, and Morgalla couldn’t take her eyes off him.

  “Don’t do that,” Delilah whispered.

  “Do what?”

  Delilah leaned in so others would not hear. “Feel sympathy. That emotion will get you in trouble here. The prill should be thankful they are at least useful enough to carry a weapon and fight in battle.” Morgalla had stopped eating, and soon Delilah did as well, noticing her mood. “I see we have a lot of work to do with regard to your attitude.”

  Morgalla’s next question came with a sting. “What does my attitude have to do with it?”

  “Everything. Be thankful we had a refuge, a place to retreat, and that we both have full bellies.”

  Morgalla said nothing but continued nibbling on her food even though she didn’t have much of an appetite.

  4

  No Safe Place

  What passed for night came, and they found a camp to sleep.

  She stared into the firelight. The climate was actually quite pleasant, not too hot or too cold. There was no actual night, Morgalla noticed because the fire in the sky only dimmed slightly. Two red lizards roasted on the fire. Delilah mentioned what they were, but Morgalla had forgotten. At least dinner smelled nice. Delilah reached into her leather drawstring bag and took out a brush. She knelt behind her student and proceeded to draw the brush through her thick, orange hair.

  “Look, if it makes you feel better, we can sleep in a tree, okay?” Delilah asked.

  “That’s what I had planned. Look at it this way: Since you said that not many demons can fly like you, we would have a tactical advantage being up high, would we not?”

  “Now you sound paranoid.”

  Morgalla stood. “Hey, you brought us here. It’s not a safe place.”

  Delilah was annoyed but kept her composure. “When I was young, we slept all the time outdoors.”

  “But, did something happen?”

  “Few and far between. If we play our cards right, we could end up sleeping in Zorach’s castle. Imagine it, living in luxury.”

  “I don’t know if I could ever sleep in the same place with all that bloodlust around. And the…”

  Morgalla paused, but Delilah wanted her to finish.

  “And the…what?”

  “Slaves? Lesser beings? Do all demons think like this?”

  “Why shouldn’t we? Morgalla, we are the superior species of Hell. Wound us and we heal in moments, whereas it will take weeks for them.”

  “That doesn’t…necessarily mean…”

  “Yes, it does.” Delilah spoke with conviction. “Show me another species that does that. I’ll have you know that some of them actually like serving a demon mistress.”

  Morgalla uttered a sound of frustration. She climbed the tree to find a suitable limb to sleep on.

  “You forgot your dinner,” Delilah called.

  She held up the roasted lizard on the stick. Morgalla took it and disappeared.

  The next morning Morgalla rose to a strange screeching in the distance. It was loud enough to shake her and make her hand clench her knife. She looked over at the hammock and saw Delilah meditating on a large rock. A snake was slithering up its way through the rocky terrain. Just as it was about to snap at Delilah, a knife came from on high and impaled the beast.

  “Got you breakfast.”

  Delilah’s one eye opened and watched Morgalla climb down from the tree. “I saw it coming.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  Delilah stared at the dead beast. “Mmm, taupe viper. I haven’t had that in ages.”

  She smiled at Morgalla.

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’s yummy.”

  After their meal, Delilah led them towards Zorach’s castle. She nodded to some demons in passing. One even shook her hand. After the encounter, she leaned in and whispered to Morgalla, “I’d introduce you, but I forgot his name.” Delilah had noticed that Morgalla smirked. “That’s the first time you’ve smiled since we got here.”

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  Delilah laughed. “Oh no, Hell forbid you to actually find humor in something.”

  Morgalla frowned and Delilah felt the needles in her back from her student’s stare. They climbed a steep cliff. Halfway up, Morgalla chimed in her opinion.

  “Why not just fly us up there?”

  Delilah stopped and looked down at her. “You want everything done the easy way.”

  “Look who’s talking? You have two extra limbs. Also if you fall, you don’t have to worry.”

  Indeed the climb was a bit easier for Delilah since she could use her wings to help. Morgalla was also jealous that Delilah was never afraid of heights. Morgalla hated them.

  They reached a summit and made it to a flat piece of rock, a demon-made cliff that overlooked the castle far below. Morgalla looked around at the intricate stone and hieroglyphs and found herself admiring the artistry. Delilah stood at the edge, overlooking the valley…hands on her hips and taking a deep breath.

  “I remember the first time I flew up here.” She pointed to one of the castle towers. “I soared from that tower there when I was about twelve. Drove my master crazy with all the flying I did.”

  Morgalla joined her, creeping inch by inch to the edge. She didn’t enjoy looking down into the valley and was surprised they’d climbed up that high. Delilah’s eyes were closed. The hot wind blew through her hair and joy sprang from her soul. Morgalla was starting to understand what this place meant to her and left Delilah alone for a moment while removing her cloak and taking a seat on a large rock. She removed her leather pouch and took a drink of water.

  Delilah took off her cloak as well and hung it over a rock. She unsheathed her sword and started a warm-up, and Morgalla did the same. Both women sparred with each other into the late morning, each of them showing skills honed from years of practice and, in Delilah’s case, experience.

  Morgalla, as always, defended herself to the best of her ability, but every now and then Delilah would try to use an unorthodox attack method. Her improvisation served her well, but sometimes Delilah could catch her off-guard with a strike at the back of her hand. Sometimes the dragon-hybrid would use her wing as a weapon.

  Just when Morgalla thought Delilah would make one attack, she did something completely different. Delilah swung with lightning speed but stopped the blade just inches from her student’s neck. Morgalla’s lips clenched into a frown.

  “You’re still making the same mistakes.”

  Morgalla huffed, much to Delilah’s obvious annoyance.

  “Again,” the teacher commanded.

  They continued to spar, and Morgalla sensed the annoyance building within her teacher’s soul. Finally, Delilah, with one powerful shove, drove the pupil to the ground.

  “Would you stop being so defensive?” Delilah yelled. She backed up and motioned for her student to approach. “Come on. Attack me.”

  Morgalla rose and turned her back for a moment, clenching her lip. She took a deep breath and prepared herself for another attack. She held up her sword, ready to defend herself.

  “I said attack.”

  “It’s not my style.”

  “It’s precisely that way of thinking that will draw predators to you. Now, attack me.”

  The young demon’s soul fumed with rage. She couldn’t take it anymore as she sprang forward. Their blades connected, and they clashed with each other. A smile came to Delilah’s face. Her ivory fangs gleamed. Morgalla lunged, and her mentor took advantage of the lack of concentration. Delilah dodged, and Morgalla found herself tripping and landing hard on the ground.

  Delilah spoke softly. “You are angry.”

  “You’re damn right I am,” Morgalla yelled, nursing a bruised ego and aching knees and elbows.

  “Your enemy will take advantage of that,” Delilah noted. Her student remained
on the ground for a moment, breathing the rage from her burning lungs.

  After their sparring, Morgalla sat on a large rock that overlooked the valley far below. She frowned when she noted a hole in her britches at the knee. Delilah took a drink from a leather pouch and then handed it to her. She snatched it. A frown still decorated her face.

  “Don’t be like that. It’s that attitude that might get you killed one day.”

  Though she was motionless, in her heart Morgalla was rolling her eyes.

  “And,” Delilah continued, “if you are not careful, your insolence will also get you killed.”

  “What did I do now?”

  “Remember, child, that everyone here can tell what is in your heart. You must not only control those rolling eyes of yours but whatever is going on deep down as well.”

  Morgalla said nothing, only looking out to the valley.

  “Oh, you don’t like that?” Delilah snapped.

  “No. I don’t like that. What I think and feel is suddenly a bad thing?”

  “In a word…yes. Cast a defiant eye at the wrong demon, and he’ll cut you down. Or, best case scenario, cut out your tongue. That is what I’m trying to protect you from.” Delilah took another deep breath and locked the rage within her chest. “I blame myself, child, but we had no choice. I would have loved to have kept you here or among our own kind in the world, but Usteron was the only safe place for you and me at the time.”

  “But you hated it there.”

  “Oh, indeed I did.”

  “The forest was beautiful,” Morgalla said. “The monks…their souls were so peaceful. I didn’t have to pretend to be something I’m not. Sometimes, when they were meditating, it felt like I was wrapping myself in a blanket.”

  Delilah scoffed. “Those monks made you soft.”

  “I learned a lot from them,” Morgalla snapped.

  “They taught you weakness.”

  Morgalla’s hand went up in a flash. Hero had appeared in her clenched fist. The blade stopped an inch from Delilah’s neck which did not flinch in the slightest. A small smile appeared.

  “Well done.”