Demon(#Wattys2017 Entry)

Chapter 4:The Mark

A child growing up amidst a mercenary band had a harsh upbringing. This was especially true in Guiltare's case. Säel, the kind Eisen woman who had been her mother, had been suddenly struck down with illness in the middle of the pregnancy. As a result, Guiltare had been born three months early.

Reba had called it a miracle that she was alive and healthy. Guilta, either out of grief of his wife's death, disgust at the birthmark on her face, or outrage of not having a son, wanted nothing to do with the child. As such, the task of her initial upbringing was left to Morz.

Much of her care was shared with Reba of some of the other female soldiers, but it was Morz who fed her, watched over her, and taught her to speak.

The company had been on a job, involved in a long, bloody war between rival nations, when she was born. The battles were troublesome even for the company, as they were not quite as strong as they were now. So difficult was the fight that Guiltare was six when it finally ended. The company went to her father's home, the Coldwoods.

It was here that his disdain for his daughter grew, for she shivered at the first sight of snow."Bah! An Eisen? Having trouble with the cold? Pathetic!" He scoffed and walked ahead of the others.

His words had stung, but Morz had done his best to comfort her."You are also the only Eisen who can travel in heat for long periods of time." He reasoned."In that way, you are already a strong warrior. Your father is just, ah...self conscious. You can do something he cannot, you see."

This had brightened her spirits, and the warmth of his robes as he carried her had been welcome. After several days of walking, they arrived at the small village where her father had grown up

A few other children had been born on the warpath, and were excited to play in the snow. They had been tossing snowballs at each other when Guiltare heard yelling. She had wandered away from her friends, peeking into a hut. She saw a few frightened looking men, obviously dignitaries from the democratic nation of Vrai.

Her father stood, arms crossed. He, like her, was an Eisen, with large muscles and several symbols carved into his skin. In particular, a very large trident-like symbol on his shoulder, traced over with black ink. He shook his head slowly, causing his short, silvery hair to shake."I just don't get it...I believe we had a deal."

He gestured to the center of the hut, where ten chests were stacked."Our agreement was ten chests of gold for every year that we fought. Now, let's see. We set off the day my wife said she was pregnant. Five months later, our daughter was born. And six years, five months later, here we are. So tell me...where is my gold?"

The leader of the enemy emissaries stood up."You've looted ten times that amount from our foes, and in any case, our money's gone. We spent it all maintaining our armies. This is all we can offer you." He said, voice trembling slightly.

The Devil chuckled."Oh, is that right?" He turned to the man sitting in the corner.

"Vaussten? Remind me, slaves in Vrai go for....what, a thousand gold coins?"

Vaussten looked up, scratching his beard with his metallic arm."Sounds about right." He replied gruffly, seeming unenthused by the question.

Guilta smiled."And...about how much gold in each chest, if you had to guess?" He asked, absently flipping a knife around in his hands.

Vaussten considered it."Hmm...about four thousand, give or take." He replied.

The emissary smiled, seeming relieved."If you wish for a deal on slaves, I'm sure we can-"

Guilta raised a hand."Just a moment. What about...a maimed slave, say, one missing an arm?"

Vaussten considered."There'd be other factors to consider but...maybe seven hundred and fifty." He said after a moments consideration

He smiled."So the arm's worth two-fifty? If that's the case, then logically, if I were to go into Vrai and cut off the hands of, say....sixteen people? That'd cover the cost of one of my chests. That times seventy....Help me out here,Vraiman. Why,you've gone pale!"

The Vraiman stepped away, trembling."W-we are emissaries! Travelling under a banner of peace! You c-cannot harm us!" He stammered

The Devil smirked."Now, now, I was just speaking hypothetically, no need for panicking. I just can't abide panicking." He noticed Guiltare staring from the corner of his eye and smiled warmly.

"Ah! Come in,dearest! Let me show you off to the nice men, hmm?" Guiltare, unused to her father being thrilled to see her, hurried in obediently. He smiled, sitting down and setting her on his lap."You know...Every member of my warband has a mark on his or her body, to show where they belong.But, dearest Guiltare here....I never got around to it. Would you like one?"

Guiltare blinked in surprise, then nodded, pleased with the sudden attention from her father."Yeah!"

He smiled."Perfect....You right or left handed?" He asked. She waved her right hand, and he nodded."Left hand then, give it here."

She smiled and did so, focusing again on his shoulder. The trident was surprisingly elegant, she noticed. It had many rings along the staff, and it curved at the points. She frowned suddenly, noticing a second line near the center, as though there was another point behind it. She'd never heard of a four pointed trident(A quadent?), and come to think of it, why would her father have such a mark?

She looked around, noticing the banner for Black Griffin, counting the talons. One, two, three...four." She looked again at her father, who hummed cheerfully as he pulled out a knife."Now, after this, you go see Mrs.Rebanada, alright? She'll patch you up and bind ink to it! And there's your mark!"

She blinked."W-wait papa, I changed my-Gah!" She was ignored. For nearly half an hour, he carved into her hand, ignoring the screaming, sobbing, and pleading. Afterwards, he sent her off as though nothing were wrong at all.

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Guiltare touched the scar on her hand tentatively, remembering that day. Her father had drawn lines from the center of her palm to the end of her thumb and three fingers, discounting her pinky. He had also drawn a line down and along her arm, slashing a few lines across her wrist to resemble the lines of a bird's leg.

Reba had scolded him for that, citing how cuts in that area could have made her bleed out, but the Devil had simply shrugged. His momentary kindness was all a ploy to fool the Vraimen. Once they saw the cruelty inflicted upon Guilta's 'beloved daughter', they hastily apologized, and granted him territory on Vrai's border with the Coldwoods, as well as supplies to build the fort that would become Black Griffin's main base of operations.

She sighed. Her father, crazed though he had been, knew how to negotiate. He had tried the same tactic with some other employers, using other commanders. Reba had a mark across her back, and Vaussten had several on his neck and shoulders. She also strongly suspected there was one on Morz, but had obviously never been able to confirm it. She sighed, then walked out of the tent. There was still one thing to attend to before the journey home.