The Ragged Man by Tom Lloyd

daemon stopped its advance. It faced him as best it could, but made no further movement forward.

    After a moment Mihn looked down. The rune no longer shone so brightly, but even through his tunic he could see its outline. ‘I seek the release of the soul you have imprisoned here,’ he said boldly.

    ‘No! It is mine, my prize!’

    ‘Release it to me,’ Mihn ordered, ‘or there will be more light than all of Ghenna has ever seen. Release the soul, or I will blind you, and when others come, drawn by your cries, you will be helpless against them and you will lose both this soul and your life to them.’

    ‘It is my prize,’ the daemon insisted, sounding rather pitiful, ‘and of no use to you. You will never escape Ghenna with it. You will die a thousand deaths if you bring light to the Dark Place.’

    Mihn recognised bluster, and realised his threat really was frightening the daemon, however much truth lay in what it said. Losing the soul to another daemon would hurt it, no matter what happened to Mihn. This way the creature would be grateful enough for anything it got in return . . .

    ‘You underestimate me,’ he said ‘I made it here without being detected.’

    ‘You cannot carry my soul all the way up to the ivory gates, little mortal,’ the daemon hissed, looking at him properly for the first time. ‘Better you leave it here than risk the hordes tearing it apart — ’

    ‘I have a better solution,’ Mihn interrupted. He looked at the white-eye chained to the wall, but Isak had not moved. He hung from his chains like meat on a hook.

    ‘This place does not obey the rules of the Land but the commands of its inhabitants. With your help the path to the ivory gates can be level enough to walk rather than climb.’

    ‘I cannot keep the others from finding you,’ the daemon snarled; ‘they will scent his blood long before you reach the gates.’

    ‘That is my problem. Will you help me?’

    ‘What do you offer?’

    Mihn took a deep breath. ‘I offer my soul. To release this one and aid my path to the River Maram I offer my soul. I will be your prize once I am dead.’

    ‘You are not so great as this one!’ the daemon protested, but Mihn saw it edge forward and sniff the air hungrily.

    ‘Not so great, no, but you smell power on me nonetheless. My name is Mihn ab Netren ab Felith; I am the Grave Thief, slayer of a white-eye queen, the bondsman of Nartis’ Chosen. What claim I have on my soul I offer to you, and when my deeds here are known by the Land my soul shall be a worthy prize.’

    He saw the daemon shiver in anticipation, and he knew he had won; it could barely contain its pleasure at the prospect. Finding a sharp edge on the wall Mihn scraped a finger down it, breaking the skin. He squeezed his finger, letting the blood well up for a while before flicking it in the direction of the daemon. It scuttled forward, snuffling at the ground until it found a droplet and delicately touched its tongue to it.

    ‘A bargain is made,’ the daemon gurgled, sounding like a drowned man in its eagerness.

    It gave a twitch of the head and the cave twisted a quarter-turn around Mihn, so that Isak was now chained to the floor. Mihn, still gripping the rock himself, barely avoided falling himself. Isak’s head snapped back and for the first time Mihn saw a sign of life as the white-eye’s mouth opened and a weak moan of pain came out.

    He hurried to Isak’s side, slipping a hand into his pocket to retrieve the leather gloves he had brought for this purpose. All of Elshaim’s paintings of Ghenna had included chains that were covered in biting mouths, and Mihn could not risk his tattoos being ripped from his skin, now of all times. The chains binding Isak were sharp-edged, shredding Isak’s skin where they touched, but as Mihn ripped them off him he saw the flow of blood quickly slow and the wounds start to scab over. Mihn looked at the palms of his gloves and was not surprised to see them already