The townsfolk now knew that the demon could change into an animal, and immediately started killing the dogs and all other stray things that they found, sweeping across the city street by street, and alley by alley.
They did not know that the demon could also blend almost invisibly with the shadows, slip silently from one dark corner to another.
Smith's hired helper, Keethin's son, Arrold, thought he saw a moving shadow out of the corner of his eye. Turning swiftly around, he fell back behind his father, while he peered intently at the nearest corner. The thick, black shadow there did not move, yet guided by an uncertain sense, Arrold slowly approached it, shining his torch ahead of himself. The shadow remained in an unnatural position.
Overcome by a creeping sense of dread, Arrold yet stared at it, then brought the torch very close to it. That's when he saw the shadow twitch. He stuck his torch against it, and saw a pair of luminous green eyes open at the level just below his shoulder. The shadow lunged away from him, but he hit it instinctively with his torch, throwing it back into the corner.
Arrold recognized the demon everyone hunted. The fire hurt it, he perceived and proceeded to strike it with his torch. The demon changed into its ugly true form and sunk low, covering tightly in the corner away from him. The flesh sizzled upon its shoulder and back, where Arrold's torch struck it. It held out one clawed, blotched hand in a helpless attempt to ward him off.
Deceived by its apparent weakness, Arrold paused for just a moment to turn and call out to his father, who was only a few steps away around the corner. He merely opened his mouth, when the creature pounced on him. With sharp claws, it struck the torch out of his hand, and gouged his face. He didn't even have time to scream for help. Having lost his balance, he landed on his back, and tried to shield himself from its ferocious attack.
He held his hands up to protect his face and neck, as the enraged creature tore at him. Arrold's father and his father's employer, the smith, saved him.
Arrold heard a sickening crunch of fragile bones, and then the slight weight of the creature was no longer on him. His father's anxious face loomed above him next to the smith's. They lingered too long, checking on youth's bleeding scratches. When they looked up, the changeling had already vanished from where the strike had thrown it.
The smith helped Arrold up, while Keethin immediately hurried after the other town hunters, to warn them of the demon's tricks. From then on, they began to look closely at all the walls they passed, even sweeping them with their torches. The smith was fairly certain that he injured the demon with the mighty blow he had given it upon its head with his heavy crow-bar...
***
Turin Illaden heard the yelling and the noise outside his work-shop, and curiously moved to the window to see what was going on. He heard Smith Gudan's man, Keethin, yelling to the people over and over again to check the walls. It was not yet dark, but townsfolk carried torches. They also carried weapons, from bows and swords, to stones and stout sticks.
Illaden recognized that they were merely one of the numerous hunting parties searching for the demon throughout the city. He, himself, chose to stay away from the crowds, even though he was among them when the chase first began.
He had heard a blood-curdling scream outside and came out along with everyone else. He briefly glimpsed a dark-haired girl, just before she fled. She looked the same age as his niece, and his heart had skipped a beat when he saw her dark, shoulder-length hair, until he noticed the rags she wore, and her thin, frightened, yet determined face. She ran right past him, and most of the crowd chased after her, only to lose her a few streets later.
Then, apothecary Landon came out and treated the old man, whom Illaden recognized as Harton. He had seen that man coming and going to Landon's since Illaden was a boy, newly arrived to this city with his own father. First, the people said that the man was dying. Then, they said that he was going to be well. Illaden decided that he should go back to work again, and returned to his store. A few came in to discuss rumors with him.
He heard about the chase given by lord Tolen and his hunters, who had managed to briefly capture the creature and took it to the temple. Yet, the changeling escaped again and for some reason sir Tolen refused to pursue it the second time. People said that it was his famous dislike of the royal priests, who had so stirred his anger by their accusations of negligence that he swore at them to hunt their demon themselves and go with it to the netherworld for all he cared.
People said that he then took his hunters and left to his estate to the proving grounds. The local priests retired into seclusion, also not taking part in the hunt. It was the royal priests now who organized the searching parties, stirring men into action by promises of a generous reward. The men had been killing stray dogs and cats all throughout the city, upon the priests' order, trying to flush out the changeling, yet it still managed to elude them.
Why these men were now peering at walls and poking shadows with their torches, Illaden could not fathom.
He was still peering through the curtain and wondering, when he heard the familiar creak of the outer shed door, opening and closing. Suspicious, he lowered the curtain, and tip-toed to the side door of the shop that lead into the basement shed.
In precaution, he quietly picked up the heavy metal fire rod that sat against the wall. Listening intently, he perceived the light creaking of the floor-boards somewhere around the isle to his left.
There is someone in there, Illaden thought. My niece forgot to lock that blasted door again, he grimaced with displeasure. Gripping the rod tighter, he walked decisively around the row of shelves, expecting to confront a vagrant or a thief.
Instead, he came upon an inhuman, terrifying creature crouching in the midst of the dark isle. Shock froze him completely. He did not even notice at first that a small, human child clung to it. Swiftly, the creature moved the child behind itself, to shield him from Illaden's view.
The creature stared at him in cautious silence. When he didn't move, it slowly straightened up and changes flowed across its body. First its face, then its hands seemed to become more human, but the changes didn't stay, rippling away again. The creature gave up the effort, looking more weary for it.
Exhaustion and subdued pain dwelled in its dark eyes, carefully intent on Illaden. Its chest rose and fell with uneven effort. His eyes adjusting to the shadows, Illaden began to distinguish numerous dark splotches on its body, where the slight glow beneath its skin did not reach. They reminded him of deep bruises.
The creature's head, too, seemed slightly misshapen. It held one blistered arm awk-wardly tucked against its completely discolored side. It was injured, Illaden realized with some back corner of his mind, while the rest of him fought with panic. Encouraged by his stillness, the creature made a strained sound.
"Please..." It hissed in an eerie desperate whisper. "I promise I won't harm you, sir... Please... please, don't call them..."
Very slowly, it reached out its good hand palm up. The fingers of that hand ended in sharp claws, Illaden noticed. Fear finally moved Illaden. Wishing more than anything to get away from it, rather than thinking of the hunters outside, he ran toward the unlocked door that led into the street, his free hand grasping ahead to open it.
He heard the rustling sound from behind, and then fell, as the creature lunged at his back. He rolled, instinctively swinging up the metal rod. He felt it connect. A small cry came from farther away, in the darkness, where he had earlier glimpsed the little human child. He felt the creature's grasp going slack, kicked free of it, and scrambled forward, trying to rise to his feet. He stumbled over the still unfixed plank, and fell through the door, to land upon his face in the street. The hunters outside turned at the noise and saw him. Instantly, their eyes lit up.
"There!" Keethin pointed, glaring past Illaden. Illaden turned, unwillingly following his gaze and beheld the creature sprawled right on the other side of the dark doorway. The glow on its skin betrayed it. It was only a little more than half his size. He could see the dark indentation on one side of its head. A shudder ran across its body and stilled again. There were marks of rope burns around each thin wrist of its skinny arms. Its chest rose and fell quickly in jagged, shallow breathing.
A movement behind it caught the corner of Illaden's eye. Startled, he peered into the darkness and perceived a shadow move quickly among shadows. Remembering the little child that was with the creature, Illaden opened his mouth to warn the hunters about it, when he saw them, charging toward him in an unruly mob. He hurried to move out of their way for fear that they would step on him in their eagerness to get to the unconscious monster.
"Here! It is here! We found it!" They cried triumphantly.
"Drag it outside! Give me the rope! Quickly, before it gets away again!"
"Get a priest." Keethin told quietly another man. "He must see this thing with his own eyes, or he will not give us our reward."
Their eyes, Illaden thought, gleamed as though they were drunk. Illaden watched the developing scene with a growing sense of unreality, as though he was only dreaming it all.
They tossed a loop of rope around the creature's head and dragged it outside by its neck, to the middle of the street. The creature spasmed, struggling for breath. Its mouth opened wide, revealing predatory sharp little teeth, and its hands scratched at the rope around its neck, seeking to relieve the pressure.
The men tossed down the rope and prodded the creature awake with their pitch-forks. Its eyes opened, a startling light green-gray, like autumn skies, before the harvest season. Illaden saw the momentary incomprehension in them instantly replaced by numb, silent horror when it found itself surrounded by the wall of moving feet and saw the angry, jeering faces. Illaden saw the creature's eyes blacken.
The prodding of the pitch-forks grew more rough. First defensively pressing closer to the ground, the creature suddenly made a desperate lunge to one side, darting swiftly on three limbs like a strange lizard. Some of the crowd fell back from it, then stabbed at it with their pitch-forks.
The creature darted to another side, trying to slip between their feet. Someone there whacked it with a club, sending it sprawling back to the center. Several more men jumped to it, hastily striking it down with clubs before it could rise again. Illaden saw it curling tight, covering its face and head with its hands. Its body spasmed at each strike with obvious pain. It looked small to him now, much like a malformed child, rather than the terrifying monster he perceived earlier. Then the crowd tightened around it.
For a few minutes, Illaden saw only the backs of people, grunting with effort, as they pounded and kicked with their feet. Even amid their yelling, Illaden heard the impact of objects smacking against soft and pliable flesh. A few minutes passed before the crowd began to retreat, and Illaden glimpsed the changeling again.
It's battered, dark body barely flinched at the vicious kicks of the few remaining men, whose rage was not yet spent. Keethin's son was among them. The others finally pulled them back. Keethin's angry son swung back and hit someone, before his father held down his arms and glared at him.
Everyone quieted while they watched the limp body. Illaden noticed that even now, after this savage beating enough to render any human lifeless, the creature's chest still spasmed unevenly with prolonged, gurgling gasps. In another moment, it stirred. Some people cried out with fearful disbelief, others with anger.
With unwilling admiration and horror mixed, Illaden watched it's transparent and silver-blotched hands shake, trying to drag its unresponsive body in a blind effort to crawl, driven by a desperate instinct to get away. Well-aimed thrusts of two titton spears ruthlessly nailed the changeling's hands down against the cobble-stones. Wincing, Illaden looked away from the gruesome spectacle.
"You must burn it! That's the only sure way to kill it." A white-robed priest said, sternly passing through the crowd. Respectfully, the men parted to give him passage. He leaned over the twitching creature to look.
"Burn it now, before it gets strong again. Not even ashes should remain." The priest gestured to the others behind him.
"Send it back to hell!" Someone from the crowd yelled out, and the others murmured affirmatively.
"Liquid fire! Pour it, quickly." The priest instructed.
Men ran up with two, then three containers of dark, oily fluid, which they poured over the prostrate figure. The armored soldiers who held the changeling pinned down with spears stepped back before the tossed torch. In a bright flash the liquid fuel flamed out, causing the figure within to contort in fresh agony. But no sound came from it, no excruciating last scream that Illaden expected to hear. Only the townsfolk began to laugh and rave in triumph, shaking their spears, forks, and fists against the darkening sky.
"...Uncle?" Illaden swiftly turned at the troubled voice. It was Arilene, his eight year old niece, and Darin, his six year old son, their eyes round with apprehension and also curiosity. They stood at the edge of the tool-shed door, staring out at the crowd.