Mum hated hope. Hope made fools gamble their souls on impossible contracts. It made them bet everything on terms they couldn't comprehend and sign on the dotted line when death would have been the smarter choice. He knew that Lord Chuck had already won—it was just a case of proving it, and Elanthe was bringing that proof to him. All he’d had to cling to was hope that she would arrive in time.

  The nightmare mare slid to a halt, and Elanthe tumbled from her back. The elf's knees gave out on impact, and she shrieked when her left arm folded the wrong direction as she tried to catch herself. Pale as the parchment and trembling, she thrust a scroll toward Mum with her good hand even as she crawled towards him.

  "Here!"

  He took it, scanned it, and smiled. Done and dusted.

  "You did it, Elanthe. You brought us victory."

  He dropped his cigar and ground it underfoot before he set off towards the bridge. Toward Vorghammul the Destroyer, who had stopped in the middle of the bridge at the arrival of the nightmare mare, made hesitant by his near unmaking by the Light. He'd survived a smiting before—barely, but the one Chuck had nearly delivered...

  His face curled into a snarl as he noted Mum's approach, although perhaps there was a trace of uncertainty as what he was seeing didn't match what he expected from a mere contract devil facing certain death.

  Mum stopped beside Chuck's broken form, just short of the crater the paladin had smashed into the stonework. Chuck was a mess—covered in blood and gore, too much of it his own, his armor was shredded with tattered plates hanging off by sundered straps. He was sitting on his heels, kneeling on the bridge as if in prayer, with one hand in his lap and the other still wrapped around his mace. His head drooped against his chest.

  Vorghammul hadn't moved. Waiting.

  Mum unrolled the scroll and began to talk.

  "The council of Thornwell does hereby recognize Sir Chuck as Lord Protector of Thornwell, its citizens, and its environs for as long as he shall live." He held the document up and turned it around, showing the text to the collection of demons on the far side of the bridge. "Unanimously passed and signed by all councilors of the territory in question. There are some additional clauses referenced, but they're not important right now.

  "This village belongs to the Demon King via his proxy, his champion, My Master Chuck. Any attack against his holdings will be an affront to His Darkness." He rolled the parchment up and placed it into a side pocket, then reached into his jacket and pulled out a cigar.

  He unwrapped it and did a demon magic trick on the cellophane to make it disappear in a puff of smoke instead of throwing it on the ground. He then took off the label and slid it into his pocket, pulling a cigar cutter out on the return stroke. He took a moment to smell the cigar, eyes closed, before snipping off the end, then lit it with a flame from the tip of his finger. The whole operation took almost a full minute. The longest minute the universe had ever known. A massive plume of heavy smoke drifted away on the breeze.

  He stood there and expelled another huge cloud of aromatic smoke before finally taking the cigar out of his mouth and inspecting its coal over his wire-rimmed glasses. Inspection done, he looked at the monster that had just defeated his employer. "Well Vorghammul the Destroyer, what say ye?"

  Vorghammul stared at Mum for a long moment, jaw hanging slack. Then he laughed.

  "You think I care about some scribbled parchment? I was ordered to claim this village for Lord Azgoranthe, and I mean to follow through." He began to walk towards Mum, though his warband hesitated to advance and looked questioningly at each other.

  Mum took a long drag on his cigar. Smoke curled from his nostrils in impossibly thick streams.

  "Then you have a problem, Vorghammul the Destroyer. Because this village has been claimed in the name of the Demon King by his champion, and you know the rules. As Lord Azgoranthe's champion, should you move against Lord Chuck, it will be seen as an attack on the Demon King, personally, by Lord Azgoranthe, personally. I'm sure Lord Azgoranthe will be as pleased to explain to His Darkness why he decided to declare war as you will be to your lord as to why you put him in that position.

  "Or you can file a grievance with the Administrative Court, of course." Another long draw from the cigar. “Although I hear they’re quite backed up at the moment.”

  Vorghammul's grip tightened on his axe, but he stopped his advance. The muscles in his jaw worked.

  "This is another trick. Some bureaucratic—I'll hang you up by your toes, devil! I'll turn you into a practice dummy for my combat training."

  Mum looked at the end of his cigar over his glasses again, rotating it this way and that, inspecting the burn. "The village council voted. It was unanimous, even—quite unexpected if I say so myself. Three councilors, three signatures. All witnessed. All true and correct under infernal protocol, thus the territory is no longer in a state of rebellion." Mum gestured with his cigar toward the demons still clustered at the far end of the bridge. "Your warband is currently trespassing on the Demon King's property. We’re willing to overlook their transgressions… as a misunderstanding."

  "I don't believe you."

  "Then make your move. You know Lord Chuck no longer has the strength to oppose you. Here," he backed off the bridge and made a welcoming gesture. "If you're so confident in your position, confirm your trespass on the Demon King's domain. Walk clear of the bridge."

  Vorghammul's face twisted. He took a step forward, axe rising.

  "I'll kill you both. Then there'll be no one left to file your damned paperwork."

  Chuck made a rattling sound that could have been a laugh. Bloody drool trickled out of the corner of his mouth. It did not improve the mask of horror already painted there.

  Mum didn't flinch.

  "Then you'll have killed the Demon King's marked champion and his personal administrator. I'm certain His Darkness will overlook that. He's got a reputation for being quite forgiving, don't you know. He's done it once before. Just two weeks ago, in fact. He may still be in the mood."

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  Vorghammul stood there, chest heaving. Behind him, his band began to shift subtly. His demons were backing away from the bridge, not fleeing exactly, merely creating distance. Smart underlings can tell when their boss is likely to do something catastrophically stupid.

  "You can't—this isn't—" Vorghammul's voice cracked with rage. "Three days of paperwork! Three days! I got it all filled out. In triplicate!"

  "Oh yes, dreadful inconvenience that," Mum said mildly. "Perhaps next time you'll review territorial claims more carefully before assembling a warband."

  "I'm going to rip your spine out through your—"

  "No." He said it with such certainty. "You're going to withdraw," Mum interrupted. "Because even though you're as dumb as a dregs demon, you're intelligent enough to recognize that killing us would require explaining to the Demon King why you slaughtered his favorite pet on the very day he completed a task at His Darkness's personal request."

  Vorghammul looked down at Chuck, the gears turning in his head, clearly contemplating the penalty the one axe stroke he desperately wanted to give would entail. Chuck remained on his knees, not moving. He could have died for all Mum knew, and that gurgling sound he'd recently made could have been his death rattle.

  "You," he snarled, jabbing a finger at Chuck. "This isn't over, paladin."

  Chuck expelled a wet cough, giving evidence that he still lived.

  "Eloquently put, Sir," Mum observed.

  Vorghammul's hands shook on his axe, trying to find a justification to avoid the action he knew he had to take. It wasn't clear that he wouldn't. It wasn't clear that he wasn't willing to place himself in the hands of the most terrifying being in the known universe just to split Chuck's skull. Life can be hard on war demons that aren't used to defeat.

  He spat on the bridge stones. The glob landed less than an inch from Chuck's knee. Mum thanked the Darkness that it hadn't touched him, as that was as formal a challenge as one could receive and would have had to have been responded to. Saved by a fraction of an inch.

  "Enjoy your victory, paladin. We'll meet again."

  He turned and stalked back across the bridge, his warband parting before him like water. Within minutes, they'd melted into the tree line, gone as quickly as they'd appeared.

  Mum took another long pull on his cigar.

  "Well. That went rather better than expected." He bent down to help Chuck to his feet.

  "No," Chuck croaked. “Elanthe first. I'm fine. I'm just going to sit here a while.”

  * * *

  I sat there on my knees, unable to move. Completely spent. I'd been beaten up before, and I'd been exhausted before, but never anything like this. I was done. Cooked. There was absolutely nothing left in the tank. I couldn't even muster the will to lift my head and just stared at the damage I'd done to the bridge when I'd missed my one shot at victory.

  Then Mum walked up next to me. Brave bastard. Unless he was a lot tougher than he let on, he wouldn't survive for one second. I tried to tell him that he was free to leave. That he should depart and save himself. Instead I made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a moan. He started talking. It sounded like he was reading something. He stopped talking.

  I felt my demonic brand flare. Something had changed.

  It didn't give me any kind of energy boost though, so I couldn't have cared less. It did perk me up just enough so I had the strength to rotate my neck to the side and see Mum out of the corner of my eye without having to raise my head. He looked resplendent. The magnificent bastard was taking his time lighting a cigar. That his entire backside was covered with dirt and grass was a secret that I would take to my grave to protect his dignity. I wouldn't have to keep it for long.

  I didn't smile—it would have taken too much energy, but my soul did. We'd won. I rolled my head back and sighed contentedly, though it sounded terrible and phlegmy. Now I could die in peace.

  * * *

  Elanthe slumped in a chair by my bedside, left arm wrapped and bound tightly to her chest. It may not have been as good as a fiberglass cast, but Arthur had enough experience with field dressing, and Father Yaqub with tending to the sick, that he had great confidence that she'd heal as strong as before. It was nice to have her around. She took good care of me when she wasn't out in the barn with Buttercup.

  She had fallen asleep, and I didn't care to wake her from her nap. She was definitely shaken by the battle and kept trying to hide that she was wiping tears from her eyes at regular intervals. She tried to take on the work that used to be spread among four of us and was running herself ragged, but she's a good kid. She'll come through this fine once she's processed it.

  Heh. Good kid. She told me yesterday that she's 84.

  Boots slunk his way back to the cottage once the battle was over. I could tell that he was ashamed by his cowardice with his tail tucked between his legs and all, but he's still just a puppy. His presence wouldn't have made a damn bit of difference on the bridge. One day, he'd be a dog to be feared. For now, he'd have to settle on simply being a good boy. I think he’s okay with that.

  Tengen wasn't so forgiving toward him, though, and wouldn't let him in the house. Despite my not having any access to tuna, she held out hope that I'd fix that issue as soon as possible, and he'd put that hope in danger. She was clearly feeling generous, letting him sleep on the porch. I wouldn’t mind scratching his ears now and again as I recovered, but the effort of going outside was just too much, and I wasn’t about to challenge a cat’s decree.

  Mum was a Lightsend. He took over all of the household chores that Elanthe couldn't do one-handed. It turns out that he's a passable cook when he follows Elanthe’s instructions, and Tengen deigned to allow him into the kitchen through the back door without asking for permission. I think he's taken to 'forgetting' small amounts of raw meat out on the counter, because for some reason, she's out of my room in a flash as soon as she hears him leave through the back door, and when she comes back, she's smacking her lips. The clever devil’s working on a new contract.

  Of Pemberton, Calista, and Krag, there was no sign. Pemberton, I was reasonably sure, was off on vacation as per my orders. He's a stickler for the letter of the law, that one. The other two I wasn't sure about. I hoped they were okay. Mum alluded to some demonic fallout for being dismissed via running water, but he didn’t elaborate. He sounded embarrassed by the whole issue.

  Oh, but I skipped part of the story.

  Arthur and the militia arrived about ten minutes after the action ended, entirely out of breath from having run the whole way. A bunch of them showed up together, and others arrived in dribs and drabs as they caught up. Arthur fell naturally into command as soon as he caught his breath. He directed the militiamen in taking over the care of Elanthe from Mum, who was well-intentioned but had no idea what to do, and tended to me personally, despite my protesting that he should see to Elanthe first.

  When he asked about Calista, 'the Amazon warrior,' I made the mistake of saying she'd been pushed into the stream and was gone. There were a handful of militiamen within earshot when I said it, and they all took off down steam to look for her. That earned a world-class beratement from Arthur, complete with fist-shaking, that I was glad wasn't directed at me. I'd have smiled, but it hurt too much.

  They carefully rolled me off my knees and laid me down on my back. Arthur took my armor off piece by piece, and checked every one of my bones for breaks as I was unpeeled. My cracked rib now had two companions to keep it company, but none of them had punctured a lung, so at least I was lucky in that. Someone got a wet rag from somewhere, and they cleaned the blood from my eyes so I could finally watch what was going on, but I didn't care to.

  As I lay there looking at the sky, I couldn't help but let my mind wander. How long had it been since I lay back and just looked at the sky? The last time I could remember was before I went into foster care, just before my eighth birthday. Had it really been that long?

  I was the luckiest man in the world to be able to see that beautiful shade of blue and the lovely, cottony clouds that drifted past.

  I was the luckiest man in any world.