Dylap

by A. C. Salter

  Screams erupted from down in the throne room. The banging of weight against the barricade sending hysteria amongst the high-class.

  “It’s time,” Sabesto said, then heaved the door open.

  The light that spilled in was piercing, forcing Dylap to shield his eyes as he ran behind the master of the Aviary. Sabesto’s huge shoulders rolling and bunching as he swung the sword left and right, parting the split-wings as if they were blades of grass that he was furrowing through.

  “I can’t,” the Princess cried, attempting to pull her hand free. “I can’t do this.”

  Dylap increased his grip, feeling how delicate her hand was, sweat making the contact slippery, and tried not to crush it. He slipped an arm around the small of her back and pushed her on, running awkwardly so as not to trip her up.

  Steel met steel, and flesh and bone. Screams mingling with the snarls and grunts of fairies, by the tearing of wings and the parting of limbs. An arm suddenly spun away from the branch, spraying blood from the stump on one end, hand still gripping a sword on the other; tumbling out into nothing.

  “Please…” she sobbed, the hem of her dress trailing in the gore at her feet, the white silk in stark relief to the splatter of red.

  Where are you Crayl?

  Sabesto ducked, darted forwards and barged two split-wings from the path, his blade catching one in the leg and severing a foot.

  Close.

  Attempting not to see the gore, he searched the sky which was full of armed fae, their dragonfly wings a blur as they rapidly approached. Then he spotted the falcon, talons tearing through the enemy, beak dripping red, a black monster indeed.

  Hack, chop, swing – Sabesto fought but it was clear that they were not venturing any further, the way becoming too thick with the enemy. The master of the Aviary’s body jerked as it collided with another, their weapons locked as they pushed.

  “Jump,” he ordered the Princess.

  “What? No, don’t be absurd.”

  “Sorry,” Dylap said and then gathering her into his arms, leapt from the branch.

  She screamed into his ears, blocking out all other sounds while her dress billowed up into his face and blocked his sight. They tumbled end over end until they landed upon the falcon.

  It was a messy landing, arms and legs tangled over each other as he scrambled to hold onto the feathers while shoving the Princess in front of him, her royal voice still singing a high-pitched wail.

  “Hold tight,” he told her while shoving her dress out of his face.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder at the branch above and saw that Sabesto had succumbed to the numbers and now lay beneath a pile of split-wing bodies. “May the Blessed Mother take your soul,” Dylap muttered under his breath, pushing the rising sadness back down. He needed his full wits to escape.

  Take us out of the city, up above the canopy.

  Crayl swung beneath a formation of split-wings as they flew at them, swords raised, missing the group by a hair’s breadth. The falcon banked to avoid a shower of arrows and skimmed over and then under boughs as others gave chase, his bulk slowing him down in the thick foliage of the city.

  “Keep low,” Dylap snapped at the Princess as more black shafts zipped passed, one so close it caught in his hair, tearing several strands from his scalp. He did his best to cover her body with his own but she wriggled beneath him, repulsed by his touch.

  Brother, there are too many. Crayl said as he tore through the split-wings, talons snapped up to grasp a spearman before hurling him into a trunk. The large bird, dipped, thrashed and snapped his head about, his screech pouring before them as they strived to climb, but the enemy above became an impenetrable cloud of sharpened steel. Another wave of arrows showered down. The wooden shafts bouncing from tree limbs and clattering off the bark. The falcon swooped to avoid them, spinning upside down before his wings tucked in close to plummet towards the stream below.

  “Nooo!” Princess Terina wailed, her legs coming away from Cray’s back as gravity grasped them, then slammed down again as the falcon righted itself.

  Dylap felt his belly sink before threatening to bring up the feast that lay heavy in his stomach. He clenched his teeth and forced the bile back down.

  Behind them the growing number of split-wings chasing them swelled to an almost black swarm, like a serpent weaving between the trees and gaining on them. Dylap glanced ahead as they circled an oak and his blood instantly froze. A bridge loomed out of nowhere and the falcon’s wing clipped the ropes, sending them spinning into a trunk.

  Crayl soon righted himself but it gave the pursuers chance to catch up, so close now that Dylap could smell the violence they reeked.

  They went into a vertical dive, Crayl stretching out to his full length, beak pointing, talons curled behind the tail feathers. They might make it if they followed the stream out to the Twine, to the bare sky.

  An arrow came out of nowhere, whistling passed his face. It took him a moment to register what happened, until he heard the Princess yelp and saw the shaft rising from her forearm. A trickle of blood ran away from the wound, the blackened wood shaking with the wind.

  “Princess…” Dylap began but she had already fainted, her body going limp as she slumped from the falcon.

  He could do no more than hold on as her body dragged him off and they fell to the ground together, long blades of grass catching them before they hit the damp earth.

  Falon?

  When their bodies finally rolled to a stop in the sludge, Dylap gazed up and watched the falcon skim low over the ground, the breeze he created making the grass flow in his direction as the multitude of split-wings followed.

  Keep going, they still chase you. I don’t think they saw us fall. He looked about him and realised that they had landed in the clearing, the obelisk only a few spans away and beyond that, the old city. We will hide, come back for us when you’ve shaken the enemy off.

  Luck be with you, brother.

  Dylap rose to his knees and crawled to where the Princess lay face down in the mud. Her body still, white wings unfurled and catching the wind.

  Please don’t let her be dead, Dylap thought as he carefully folded her wings closed and gently rolled her onto her back.

  “I want to go home,” she muttered, eyelids fluttering.

  “Shush, Princess. We need to be quiet. Can you walk?” He glanced at her legs, they didn’t seem to be broken, although the ugly shaft in her arm had snapped, leaving a short-jagged splinter of wood, the blood around it darkening.

  “Please, take me home. I want my maids, I want my mother.” Water ran down her face as she focused on him, her delicately painted bottom lip protruding. “It hurts so much, it burns.”

  “Just a little further, we’re not out of danger yet. Can you crawl?”

  “Crawl? I’m not a ground-dweller.”

  Dylap looked to the sky but they were mercifully hidden from above by the tall grass. “Sorry, your Highness,” he said, pushing his arms beneath her and lifting her like a child. “We can’t stay here.”

  He trudged through the clearing, hugging her to his chest. Although only slight, his arms began to burn with her weight. Her head lolled from side to side as she moaned incoherent words, Dylap knew she was dying.

  More split-wings were arriving out of the obelisk. Not as many as he saw when Crayl showed him the vision earlier, but enough to make trouble should they choose to glance down. He followed the contours of the grass-line, keeping away from the charred dead soil. Thankfully, the wisp was keeping the enemy soldiers busy. The phantom like spirit was flying figure of eights around a pair of them, laughing as they swatted him with swords but the blades passed harmlessly through. Using the cover, Dylap pressed on until he reached the roots of the old alabaster.

  “Almost there,” he whispered to the Princess.

  He tried his best not to catch the arrow splinter against the walls of the hole as he shuffled inside, the darkness enveloping them as his legs gave way and he crashed to
the ground. He pulled the Princess onto his lap with great delicacy and held her arm closer to his face.

  Dark lines spread from her wound, following the course of her veins. Like the maid who had been shot earlier, she was poisoned, and like the maid, she would soon be dead.

  “Dewella?” Dylap bellowed down the dark corridor. “Dewella, if you can hear me, I need your help.”

  24

  Kill, Kiss or Die

  The strange spider with the luminous back squatted lower, lighting up the wound on the Princess’s arm. It was a mess, the black veins now stretching passed the elbow and rising to her shoulder, the green glow adding a macabre quality.

  “It burns,” she whimpered, clutching Dylap’s shirt and twisting the material. “It’s like fire, make it stop, please.”

  “Poison,” the spider said in Dewella’s voice, rising away from the arm to scurry to his side, the eight black orbs reflecting his face. “She doesn’t have long,” she added quietly so only he could hear.

  “What can I do? She must live, we must reach Gramont to save Farro,” Dylap said, brushing a strand of hair from the Princess’s brow, her once beautiful face contorted in pain.

  “A swift death is all you can do for the child, the poison is set and the pain will only get worse until her heart finally gives out.”

  The Princess reached up and grasped Dylan’s hand, her own trembling. “I don’t want to die,” she sobbed.

  “Shush,” Dylap cooed softly, “I won’t let you die, I promise.” He turned back to the spider, sensing that there was something the witch wasn’t saying. “Please, Dewella. Is there truly nothing?”

  “Maybe…no, it’s not a good idea,” Dewella said, the spider shaking its head as if acting like a puppet to the witch’s natural actions.

  “What is it? I’ll try anything.”

  “It’s too big a sacrifice. Perhaps death is favourable over the consequences. Perhaps it will lead to your death as well as hers.”

  “I will risk it,” Dylap said. “Tell me what must be done.”

  The spider loomed closer, long fangs stretching and exhaling a breath that smelled of rotting meat. Its mandibles worked back and forth, ready to speak, but paused.

  “Somebody comes,” she whispered.

  Dylap heard a clatter of feet and a curse hissed in anger. “They came in here, I saw them,” an unfamiliar voice said, followed by the scraping of steel as it was drawn from a scabbard.

  “I don’t like the look of this, too dark,” said another as they drew closer.

  The luminous spider dulled to nothing, dropping the tunnel into utter darkness and the Princess squeezed his arm.

  “Don’t leave me,” she uttered.

  “I’m here,” he whispered, “shush.”

  Now the light had been dispelled, Dylap could make out the silhouette of two figures as they stumbled around the entrance, dragonfly wings briefly fluttering as they came closer. Split-wing soldiers.

  Dylap carefully slipped the drawstring free on the pouch at his belt, ready to coax out the silver dust, although what he could do against the pair eluded him.

  “What was that?” one of the soldiers uttered, his sword rising above him where it became entangled in a web.

  Now that Dylap’s eyes had adjusted to the gloom, he caught the frightened face of the leading soldier as he attempted to wrench his sword free.

  “Keep still,” his partner whispered. “We don’t want to attract any spiders.”

  “They’ll be busy feeding off the Princess,” said the other. Realising that he wouldn’t be able to retrieve his sword, he left it and pulled out a long dagger instead. “But we still need proof of her death.”

  Clutching the Princess, Dylap eased back to his feet and began to shuffle deeper into the tunnel, feeling his way with his feet as he tried to be silent.

  “Father?” Princess Terina groaned, her voice echoing around the confines of the lair. “Father, I’m cold, I’m so scared.”

  Dylap edged away from the soldiers as they drew closer, enticed by the Princess’s voice, yet he also heard the soft clicking sound of spiders as they moved along the ceiling above.

  “I think I see them,” a split-wing grunted. “Stay there, or I’ll gut you.”

  Creeping more hastily, Dylap edged into the large chamber which he knew was full of the arachnids. He had been petrified when he last visited this large room, seeing the multitude of spiders which covered every surface. Now he was thankful for the company of the large monsters.

  He put his back to the wall, feeling a knot in the old wood and slid to the floor, making himself as small as possible while allowing the darkness to swallow them.

  “I think I see her,” said the one who had lost his sword. “There, over by that mound.”

  Dylap felt the movements through the wood. Many limbs scurrying, hairy feet tapping from everywhere and the soft paper-like rustling as large bodies slipped over each other.

  “I don’t think that’s her,” replied his friend, his voice rising in pitch. “Let’s go.”

  His final word was snatched away by flurried movement, mingled with the screams as the pair were attacked.

  Dylap hugged the Princess closer, attempting to cover her ears as the fairies that had been seeking them were being ripped and torn amidst the frenzy of the spiders. A final terror enriched scream, drawn out into a painful wail ended with the slapping of something wet hitting the floor.

  The chamber suddenly brightened, the luminous spider’s back radiating her green glow and revealing the gruesome outcome of the split-wings.

  One of them was still alive, his body wrapped in a cocoon of spider silk that was secured to the wall. Looking like a fat worm, only his head was visible, his face having gone a marble white. His partner was in many different pieces, spread out amongst the feeding spiders, blood appearing black in the glow and dripping from the parts which were quickly being devoured. A greedy spider, its bulbous back wriggling as it hunkered down to devour the pile of intestines at it its feet.

  Feeling nauseous, Dylap shifted his body to block the Princess from witnessing the macabre sight, wanting to un-see what he had just watched.

  “I want to sleep now,” she whimpered, “cold, please have maid, light a fire.”

  “Dewella?” Dylap said as he struggled to his feet, the Princess a dead weight in his arms. “She’s dying. What can I do?”

  The glowing spider came closer, its two rows of eyes reflecting the royal face and the pain which forced the deep frown.

  “There is only one way,” the witch of the web said, “I doubt that either of you will like the effects.”

  “She will die, if we don’t do anything.”

  The spider said nothing for a moment, its gaze rising to the ceiling before shaking its head, the movements mimicking that of a fairy deep in an inner turmoil.

  “Then you will sacrifice a lot. Come with me, this is not the best place to perform what must be done.”

  Dylap followed the spider as it lit up the tunnel ahead. The uneven surface of the roots system giving way to the ancient corridors of what used to be a palace. They crossed a staircase, the stairs leading horizontally now that the alabaster lay on its side, and along an adjacent corridor. It paused beside an opening before leading them into a room.

  “In here,” Dewella said, leading them into a chamber, the glow revealing that it was an old servants’ sleeping quarters. The husks of hammocks lay along the ceiling, which used to be a wall, the material hanging and swaying to a breeze that breathed through an old fireplace that hadn’t been lit in over a thousand years.

  At the centre was a table which was on its back, legs poking skywards. The glowing spider rapidly crawled over it, dipping its oval back against each table leg and spreading a strand of silk between. It wasn’t long before it began to criss-cross over as it weaved a web, forming a cradle.

  “What is that?” Dylap asked, moving closer.

  “What you must do will drain her, and most
likely yourself. She will need a place to rest and recover, if she survives.”

  Dylap cleared the dust with his feet then sat on the ground, the Princess sitting in his lap. “Tell me, what must be done.”

  “The bonding-kiss,” Dewella said. “You must share your blood with Terina. Only your blood may quell the poison.”

  “The bonding-kiss?” Dylap whispered, his mind recalling the royal wedding. Remembering as he watched Prince Hindle, aged beyond his years, take his bride on the dais as they bit each other’s necks. The Prince had shared his younger bride’s blood and although she seemed to age, he had become more youthful.

  “But we will be married,” he said, mind turning to Elaya where his love remained.

  The spider bowed. “Such is the bonding of the kiss,” it said in Dewella’s voice. “Better that she dies here than traps you in wedlock for the rest of your years. I can make it quick and painless. She won’t feel a thing.” The spider edged closer, displaying fangs near the Princess’s exposed neck.

  “No,” he said firmly, holding her closer.

  The spider stepped back, its gaze locking onto his. “Then bonding with her is the only way.”

  Dylap thought of Elaya, guilt overpowering his thoughts. She could never be his, not after. And what of the Princess herself? She would be married to a base-born freak from the Twine. A fairy that didn’t even know himself. The King would kill him, Farro would see him hanged. Yet it was the only way to save the Princess, surely she would prefer her life over anything?

  “So, cold,” she mumbled, her entire body trembling. “But it burns, father.”

  “The poison will soon reach her heart, Dylap. You must decide,” Dewella warned.

  “Princess Terina,” he said, shaking her gently as he sat her up, her face turning to his, eyes fluttering open. “Terina, listen to me. Do you know where you are, what has happened to you?”

  “The Dylap?” she uttered, then glanced around as if waking up from a delirium. “Are we in Gramont?”