The Demon's Fear (Patreon)

When the Demon King's army threatened the land, humanity put their faith in four heroes summoned from another world. They accepted the charge, together with the great power they'd been given, and set off to save the world.

They failed.

For decade upon decade, humanity has lived under the yoke of the Demon King. The only light in the darkness is a masked man, an outlaw who strikes from the shadows to punish the worst excesses of the demons.

Heroes die. A legend lives forever.

An old man, though, no matter how clever, cannot hold off the passage of time. The hour is drawing near when the burden of being a legend must be passed down to a new generation.

—-

James stood on the gallows with his hands bound behind his back. Most of the town of Annaberg had turned out for the show, watching the spectacle in silence. Even so, the town's central square was half empty.

While there weren't people in the crowd, they still vastly outnumbered the small group of orcish guards keeping watch over the edge of the gallows. If the humans were to rise up as one, they would easily be able to overpower the demonic enforcers. Of course, there was no sign that any of them would do anything.

They never did.

A fat imp, sat off to the side of the gallows platform in front of a small writing desk, cleared his throat.

"James Weigel, do you have any regrets?"

The imp's quill scratched across the parchment in front of it, then paused. James looked out over the silent crowd, then up at the clear blue sky.

His arm still ached from the collision. He hadn't thought twice, not when he'd seen the small girl dart out into the road in front of the oncoming troop of mounted guards. He'd managed to get the girl out of the way, but the lead horse had knocked him to the ground in passing.

James had gotten away with no more than a set of bruises. The horse hadn't been hurt at all, not so far as he could tell, but it had been startled. It shied off to the side, throwing its orcish rider to the ground. Under the law of the Demon King, any human who caused physical harm to any demon was to be put to death.

"Regrets... I regret that he broke his arm," James said, nodding towards the orc with his arm in a sling, "instead of his neck!"

The orc in question scowled and made as if to take a step towards him before his companions held him back. The imp just shrugged and added to the notes on the parchment in front of him. James paid them little mind, instead casting his gaze over the crowd to see if he had sparked a rebellious spirit in any of his fellow villagers.

If any of them were feeling mutinous, they were doing a good job of hiding it. He shrugged. It was worth a shot.

James had always been different from the other villagers. They'd all been brought up on the same stories, of the mighty heroes summoned from another world to fight against the Demon King's armies. Their incredible powers, their daring adventures, their failure and death. Where others focused on the futility of fighting against the Demon King, James took heart: at one time, at least, there were humans who would fight.

In truth, he didn't regret much. He would have ended up going against the Demon King one way or another. One young man wouldn't stand much of a chance against an entire army, especially without any heroic powers. Instead of dying after a lonely, futile rebellion, at least he'd saved a life first.

His fate was sealed, now. The saddest thing was that he was the only person to be sentenced to death for harming a demon in years, at least as far as he knew. Humans just didn't have much fight left in them, after so long under the Demon King's rule. All that was left were the old stories.

He'd heard whispers of a human outlaw, calling himself Roka—the word for a fox, in the demon's tongue. Where once heroes had stood tall against the Demon King's army, now the best that even rumors could do was tell the tales of a masked man who poked the demons in the eye and slipped away before they could have their revenge. Worse, there were no men like Roka among the people of Annaberg.

The hangman stepped forward and put the noose around his neck. James looked up at the sky once more. He didn't want his last sight to be a disappointment.

All that was left was for the imp to give the final order. Before he said anything, though, the ground began to rumble. It took a moment before James realized that what was shaking the earth was the hoofbeats from an oncoming herd of horses..

The imp shouted something, but it was drowned out by the sound of the pounding hooves. James watched, hoping despite himself for the arrival of some human army out of legend. The people who had gathered in the square had already begun to run away. The orcs struggled to form a strong line in the chaos. The monsters were still infernally strong, though. Even scattered, they'd be able to make any force of rescuers pay the price in blood.

The mass of horses finally came charging into the square. James let out a strangled laugh when he realized that his rescuers were just that: horses. Only one man was visible, a mask hiding his face as he rode the lead horse. The man led his herd straight at the orcs. He turned his own mount aside at the last second, but the mass of horses continued onward, scattering the orcs as they went charging through.

The masked man rode for the gallows, leaping off his horse and landing on the raised platform. The hangman had abandoned the task of executing James and moved to fight. He raised his cudgel over his head, only for the masked man to catch his arm before he could bring it down.

The masked man raised his leg and planted his foot on the hangman's stomach, then pushed, sending him staggering back. The masked man followed, plowing into him with his shoulder lowered. The other man was pushed back even faster, finally falling off of the gallows with a thud.

On the other side of the platform, the imp had edged as far away from the masked man as possible. He was bellowing at the orcs for help, but none were paying him any mind in the burgeoning chaos.

The masked man drew his sword and turned to face James. He couldn't help but tense up.

"Your hands, lad," the man said.

James turned, presenting his hands to the man as best he could. "You're Roka?"

"I see my reputation precedes me."

James felt a cool breeze pass by his wrists and then his hands were free. He turned back to face Roka just in time to see his sword flash by overhead. The rope around his neck went slack as it was cut free from the gallows. James reached up and pulled the noose over his head, tossing the cursed thing to the ground.

"Can you ride a horse?"

James looked at Roka and nodded. He'd never sat astride any animal larger than a donkey, but he was confident in his own abilities. Besides, it was just a matter of keeping his seat. How hard could it be?

Roka studied him for a moment longer before responding with a nod of his own. He turned to face the chaos that had engulfed the main square, panicked horses, orcs, and humans alike all caught up in a mob. He only appreciated his work for a moment before he brought two fingers to his mouth and let out a sharp whistle. From out of the scrum, a horse came trotting their way.

Roka indicated the horse that he had ridden earlier. "You take Little Red. She's better behaved."

James approached the horse with some trepidation. Little Red had been mis-named. She was as tall at the shoulder as any horse he'd ever seen. At least it would make it easier for him to mount the horse from the raised gallows platform. The next moment was a bit precarious, but he did manage to get astride without falling to the ground. He wasn't quite sure how to direct Little Red where he wanted her to go, but fortunately she knew well enough on her own to follow Roka as he led them out of town.

James looked back, once, as they reached the outskirts of Annaberg. The small town where he'd grown up, where he'd spent almost all of his life, was still in turmoil. At least none of the orcs seemed at all capable of mounting a pursuit, for the moment.

He let his gaze linger. He wasn't sure if he'd ever see the town again. There was nothing left for him there, though. He could hardly expect to hide from the demons' hunt in such a small town, even if anybody was willing to shelter him. No, his only choice was to follow Roka and hope that the famous outlaw had a plan.

The masked man led him onward, setting the pace at a steady ground-eating trot. By late afternoon, they had traveled farther from Annaberg than James had ever been in his life. They passed through the rolling hills surrounding the town before descending into untamed forest. Roka led the way from road to path to game trail. James knew that they had started off in a westward direction, but after the first few changes of direction under cover of the forest overhead, he had no idea where they were going.

At about the same time that he realized he would have no idea how to get back home, James was also starting to regret his bold words back in Annaberg. The steady motion of a trot hadn't been particularly punishing at first, but over time it started to wear him down. His thighs first ached, then burned. His rear end was turning into one enormous bruise. Still, James didn't want to show weakness in front of Roka. He grit his teeth and continued on without complaint.

Besides, a little pain was no reason to thrust his head back into the hangman's noose.

They rode on. Their trot turned into a brisk walk, which at least meant that the saddle was rubbing up against a different part of his legs. As the sun touched the horizon, the game trail that they were riding on began to show signs of a human touch. Finally, they forded a stream and came upon a small cabin in the woods.

James couldn't suppress the hiss of relief when he finally touched the ground with his own feet once more. He staggered as best he could to keep up with Roka as the man headed for the front door.

Roka looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Don't worry, it hurts less every time you ride."

James looked down, embarrassed. Of course he'd seen through his lie.

"Then you reach my age," Roka said, opening the front door, "and it starts to ache a bit more every day."

The inside of the cabin was simple. A few overstuffed chairs were gathered around a fireplace, while a small wooden table sat near the back of the room. A pair of doors led further into the interior.

"It's not much, but you'll be safe here for now," Roka said. "The bedroom is through there, there's food in the pantry, and you can draw water from the stream outside."

"You're leaving me here?" James asked.

"Just for a few days," Roka said. "I have an errand to run. When I return, we'll see about getting you settled somewhere more permanent."

With that, Roka headed for the second door, the one he hadn't pointed to earlier. He drew a key from his belt pouch and unlocked the door before heading inside. James stood where he was, giving the room another look.

For being on the run from the law, he'd be living pretty comfortably. He felt awkward to be so reliant on a stranger's good will, but things could be much worse.

Roka exited the storeroom, locking it behind him. He took one last look around the room, gave James a brisk nod, and headed for the door.

A moment later, James stood outside, listening to the hoofbeats fade off in the distance. It was only now, by himself and free from any immediate tasks, that it started to sink in. He was all alone, far from home, and with no idea what to do next.