Dylap

by A. C. Salter

  Dylap watched the soldiers that had brought him, approach. Nodding to their Queen as they drew swords, striding towards him with determination, the leader of the group grinning as he took a practice swing of his blade.

  Wrists still bound, Dylap eased a foot beneath the spear that had fallen from Urlmince’s grasp and waited for the right time to move.

  Two of the four guards circled around to the back of him as he stood motionless, slowing his breathing as he relaxed his muscles, feeling for their intention, his spines tingling, anticipating the attack.

  It happened in slow motion as if they were under water, the blades cutting towards him appearing slow, teeth bared through grimaces, gazes narrowed in determination.

  Dylap’s spines shot out like coiled snakes as he flicked the spear up with his foot, caught it, weaved passed a thrust, ducked and spun. He took the legs from beneath the pair to his front, their bodies toppling over as he continued the spin, spines releasing an energy that came from his core, bursting through the tips to seek a path into the flesh of the soldiers behind him.

  They screamed, weapons flinging up as they crashed together. Dylap slashed the blade of the spear along one throat before burying it into the chest of the other. Then releasing his grip from the shaft, left it imbedded as he caught a discarded sword.

  He turned to face the remaining pair as their friends’ bodies crashed to the ground, the lives of the split-wings already expelled. They were on the floor, dazed as reality caught up with them. Dylap crouched low, whipping the sword around to take the head from the closest, before thrusting the steel between the ribs of the last. The head hit the white boards of the platform with a thud, blood spraying a fountain as it tumbled over the ledge.

  As he rose, Dylap surveyed the fairies around him. The fae of Farro, the Royalty and the high-class, the split-wings that surrounded the Alabaster, all looking on, shock registering on every face. He had their undivided attention.

  Queen Balwass was the first to react, slamming a fist down on the arm of the throne before signalling to her soldiers above. “Kill Him!”

  “No, not yet,” Dylap shouted, taking a step closer as he raised his voice for all to hear. He locked his gaze on Queen Balwass and then on her husband. “I, the Dylap of Farro, challenge Yillk for the honour of being the Queen’s mate. To be her second and to have command over her armies.” His words carried around the Palace, reaching the canopy above and drawing the split-wings closer. “A duel to the death, a challenge that cannot be denied.”

  “What?” Balwass exclaimed, sitting straighter on the throne. Her anger soon melted as she began to laugh once again. “You truly are remarkable.”

  “Do you deny me?” Dylap questioned, stepping clear of the five bodies at his feet. He showed his hands to the gathering split-wings, letting them see the rope that still bound his wrists. “Is it not my right?”

  “You are not of our kind,” Yillk boomed, his slab of chest muscles tensing, bunching up as he spoke, great shoulders flexing as he slammed a meaty fist into his palm. “But I will slay you. I will make an example of you to show what it means to challenge me.” The huge fairy approached, until the Queen touched his forearm.

  “Beware, this one is as slippery as a Twine eel,” she warned.

  Yillk’s teeth bared through a thick jaw as he drew two swords from the scabbards that were strapped to his back. He swung then rapidly before him, the deadly blades making whooping sounds as he sliced the air.

  “I’ve killed far bigger and slippery things than eels,” he ground out, levelling a sword at Dylap’s face. “This freak will bleed just like anything else.”

  Yillk thrust forward, pivoting on his heels to slice a sword across Dylap’s body, swiftly followed by the second blade.

  Flinching away from the first, Dylap vaulted the second, placing his bound wrists before the steel and used the razor-edge to cut his bonds. He landed and rolled away, concentrating on the pouch containing the silver dust which the Princess wore around her waist. He felt it pull beneath her cloak and saw the pouch bulge out from her hip. Yet he struggled to draw any silver.

  He caught the glare from Terina herself, her hand slamming over the bulge beneath her cloak, pressing it closed as she shook her head. She was supposed to release it when the time came, but as she glanced away, Dylap knew that she meant for him to succumb to Yillk’s sword. She wanted him dead.

  He ducked beneath another slice and met the toe of the warrior’s boot, the impact turning him over and into the path of the second sword.

  The sleeve of his uniform opened as the steel bit through the material, his forearm sliding along the cold metal. It leaked openly from the gash, spraying blood as he landed on his back, the impact jarring his head.

  “Piece by piece if I must,” Yillk spat as he came, his attacks relentless, it was only a matter of time before Dylap miscalculated and he would meet death. He glanced again to the Princess, but she had her back to him, hand still firmly clamped over the pouch. She wanted his death, but refused to watch. Instead he caught the movement from Captain Fenwick. This time he had stripped his staff of the leaf to reveal a long silver shaft of metal that Dylap instantly recognised.

  Snaking around another horizontal cut, Dylap leapt back, giving himself enough space as he watched the captain throw the staff, the silver glinting in the sun as it spun towards him. He caught the javelin, bringing it about in time to parry and block the next blows, the faultless weapon absorbing the impact with ease.

  He didn’t know how Fenwick came by the javelin, he’d thought it lost, buried in the ground along with the ancient city. A familiarity ran deep to his core, he hadn’t touched this weapon in over a thousand years but it sang to him as if he had only last touched the smooth metal a few moments ago.

  Arm flexing, he spun the javelin around his body, the lethal tips at either end making whistling sounds as they spilt the air, first to the left, followed by the right, spinning faster until becoming a blur. It formed a breeze as the movement rose above his head, then again as he turned to bring it crashing down before Yillk, the point gliding past his face to scrape a gash down his chin; the line opening and spilling a single drop of blood.

  “Piece by piece,” Dylap repeated, adopting a defence stance, feet shoulder-width apart, one slightly in front of the other, body tucked in tight, head up, spines held wide and crackling with energy.

  Yillk shook off the pain he must have felt, beginning his sequence of flurries with the twin swords.

  Dylap waited, watched and steadied his breathing, anticipating the next move. His senses travelled far from the platform, feeling the fairies watching, the multitude of bodies in the sky looking down, all attention on the dual and not the spiders which crawled above in the canopy, closing in as they readied themselves for the attack.

  Yillk feigned a jab with a blade, then expertly darted the other at Dylap’s exposed chest. He caught the steel easily, turning it over and sending the sword spinning out of the split-wing’s grasp. It clunked against the platform before sliding from the ledge.

  Screaming in frustration, the warrior launched into the air, his dragonfly wings beating rapidly as he ascended, drawing a dagger from his belt and throwing it.

  It was a good throw, swift, brutal and on target to stab into the crown of his head. But Dylap saw it coming, his javelin arcing down to bat it away to join its brother sword over the ledge.

  Spitting out a curse, Yillk threw another then another, the blades about his body diminishing as he began to run out of knives – each one that was tossed was lost to the void.

  “You will not fight me on my level?” Dylap shouted, opening his arms and inviting an open target. “The big Yillk, ruler of the split-wings, mate to the mighty Queen Balwass? Pathetic.”

  We are in position, brother, Crayl informed him as he soared above, his vision showing him that the spiders had hidden from view, fangs bared and willing to drop on the unsuspecting enemy.

  Spreading his spines wide, Dy
lap felt the raw energy build within him, a surge of power tearing from the pit of his stomach to ripple along the appendages – crackling as they began to vibrate, the air between charging, shimmering with an intense heat until the energy leapt across the spines; bright blue lightning flickering to form wings.

  “Dylap?” he heard Sabesto gasp, the huge fairy staring open-mouthed, along with the rest of the prisoners. “What are you?”

  “He’s a blessed angel,” Lisel Woodgrub mumbled, the moonflower protector bowing low, clutching her pet ladybird.

  “No, I’m much worse,” Dylap replied, then crouching, leapt into the air, his lightning wings bearing him towards Yillk.

  The warrior had little time to react, Dylap’s ascent was far swifter than normal fairy flight as he swung the javelin under-arm to bring it point first.

  Yillk caught the silver shaft on his blade, managing to turn it aside, the movement exposing his front as Dylap intended.

  A blinding flash ripped from the split-wing’s chest, beneath the contact from Dylap’s hand as he pressed it hard into the ribcage.

  A nauseating smell of cooking flesh touched the air as the skin under Dylap’s touch began to burn. Yillk opened his mouth to scream and Dylap slammed the javelin across it, breaking the jaw and sending a tooth tumbling below. He brought the other end up to block the sword and then drove the point of his javelin through Yillk’s neck, the tip exiting through the other side.

  Dark eyes opened wide as Yillk stared at Dylap, disbelief at being so easily defeated by a freak. He struggled to take a breath, bubbles leaking from the wound before Dylap pulled the javelin free and watched the warrior’s body fall, wings collapsing beneath him as he hit the platform. His body bounced before settling, head lolling to the side and trickling blood.

  Dylap landed beside him, his spines crackling with blue energy as he struck the point of his javelin into the wood beside his feet.

  “Your champion is dead,” he said, his voice quiet yet in the silence, it carried around the platform. “Order your army to lay down their arms, or you will share his fate.”

  Queen Balwass glowered at him through tears, the tendons in her neck standing out, teeth shining white as she hissed.

  “This city has already fallen, freak. My soldiers will only lay down their arms once every soul in the city has been gutted, once every heart has ceased to beat.” Her gaze dropped to her dead husband, her fingernails gouging channels in the arms of the throne as she trembled. “I will burn Farro to the ground.”

  “So be it,” Dylap said and raised his javelin high, his spines curling about the weapon as they charged it with power. The silver shaft shook, crackled and then spat a single bolt of lightning into the sky. It pierced the canopy, burning a hole through the leaves and letting a single ray shine down, quickly followed by thousands of black bodies as the hidden spiders began to drop.

  Like black rain they came down, legs splayed wide, fangs bared and trailing a glistening thread of silk. They fell onto the unsuspecting split-wings, clutching, biting and killing as they carried their victims down. Blood spattered the Alabaster Tree, falling from the nomad fae as they squirmed against the arachnid embrace. Weapons still sheathed, arrows un-notched, the spiders fed greedily before discarding the corpses, one landing with a sickening thud at the Queen’s feet.

  She stared in horror at the carnage, head darting about as other creatures began to emerge from below. She began to back away as squirrels, ferrets and polecats leapt up onto the branches and bridges, scurrying along the limbs as they chased the split-wings down.

  “No,” she mumbled, looking to her guard, but they had problems of their own as Noggin landed amongst them, Merrybone riding on his back and waving a large club around.

  “No,” she repeated as more brownies arrived, climbing side by side with the wood knolls, the crazed sap-born beings thumping and battering the Queen’s army. “It can’t be…”

  Queen Balwass turned and fled, leaping from the ledge of the platform, dragonfly wings blurring as she put distance between herself and the onslought.

  Suddenly a large bird burst through the canopy, hooked beak open as it struck the Queen, talons grasping before squeezing tight.

  Do it, brother, Dylap ordered and heard the crack of bones as Balwass was crushed. Crayl banked about a large oak and let go of the limp body, broken arms and legs twisting of their own accord before it slammed into the trunk with a crunch and then tumbled, almost lazily, in its final flight to the ground.

  Dylap watched it fall from view, striking several branches on the way down. She was many times dead. Broken beyond reckoning, it was deserved, along with the death of her army. The split-wings were bred to fight, to take what they wanted and lacked mercy.

  When he pulled his gaze away from the void, he saw that the prisoners had been released, the King having found the throne, sat with his wife and daughter at his side and watched as the remainder of the enemy soldiers were dispatched by either, fang, teeth, club or claw. Sabesto was amidst the melee, sword in hand as he sought for a combatant, but the number of the living split-wings had dwindled while the dead stacked up. The general was kneeling beside his son, holding his hand, Captain Fenwick comforting him, while Prince Rybal and Edvin hugged each other.

  When there was nothing left to kill on the platform, Sabesto dropped his sword and came over to him, nodding gratefully but wearing a deep frown.

  “Who are you?” he asked, gaze falling on the wings which still crackled with lightning.

  “They called me Falon,” Dylap answered, thumb brushing the javelin as he stared up at his old master. “I was a Prince to some, brother to a falcon and god-created weapon to others. To you, I’m Dylap.”

  Sabesto’s frown slowly dissolved as he shook his head, but it was the King that spoke next.

  “Whoever you are, I owe you a debt of gratitude. Not only have you saved the people of Farro, but you’ve returned my daughter,” he said, grey eyebrows drawing together as he regarded Terina who was still clinging to him. She briefly glanced up, cheeks blotchy from crying, lip drawing back in a grimace. She hissed something under her breath before putting her back to him and strode over to her mother, the once perfect wings fluttering to reveal the dark lines that now marked them.

  “There was no other way, your Majesty,” Dylap said, witnessing the hurt in King Leobold’s stare. “The poison…”

  The King lay a hand upon his shoulder. “I understand. The Blessed Mother knows this will change things, and I doubt it is for the better.” He nodded towards Urlmince, his father still leaning over the body. “There are worse fairies my daughter could have bonded to. It won’t be easy, and I dare say it will change your life around too. Whether she likes it or not, Terina is now married. A Prince you used to be, you say – and a Prince you will be now, Prince Dylap of Farro.”

  “No, but I’m…” Dylap began, turning to Sabesto for guidance, but the huge fairy only inclined his head, a grin reaching his mouth.

  “Once this mess is cleared up, you will have quarters here at the Palace,” the King said. “A Prince needs to be amongst his own kind. Now if you will excuse me, I must see to my people.”

  Dylap watched King Leobold as he tapped the general on the arm and began to issue him with orders. Cramaris rose from his son, nodding, jaw set in determination as he gathered Captain Fenwick and the remaining guards and began to take charge of the situation.

  “Elaya,” Dylap suddenly blurted out and set off to find her. He took two strides before a heavy hand gripped him around the collar.

  “No,” Sabesto said. “Like the King has told you, you’re now Royalty. It wouldn’t be right for you to see Elaya.”

  “But I need to explain, I want to see her,” Dylap argued, fighting the urge to slam the tip of the javelin into the floor.

  “It wouldn’t be proper; you’re a Prince. Do you think the fae of Farro will take kindly to her now? A split-wing? No, and the matter would only be worse if she was to mix with you.
It’s best that she stays out of the way for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure she has a place at the Aviary. She’ll be safe there.”

  “For how long?”

  Sabesto shook his head. “Dylap, whether you like it or not, you’re now bonded to Princess Terina. I’m sorry, any life you had planned with Elaya is now impossible.”

  Falon? What is wrong? I sense pain, are you hurt?

  For a moment, his mind gave over to Crayl. Seeing through his falcon eyes as he glided around the city, weaving between the trees as he sought out any stray split-wings, but it seemed that the spiders and the animals of the forest were swift and thorough in their attack. Any enemy soldiers who had survived had now fled.

  I’m fine, Crayl. But I would appreciate it if you left me with my own thoughts for a time. I doubt you would want to experience what I’m feeling.

  From the Palace, Dylap heard the cry of the falcon as he climbed above the canopy and into the big blue. I will be here when you need me, brother, Crayl said.

  26

  Epilogue

  A full moon had plagued the nights, waning through the crescents before waxing once more to become a big bright disk. Dylap had spent the evenings alone staring up at it, watching the silver circle traverse the heavens, a lonely celestial body to match his own. He stepped out of his plush chamber and onto the balcony, slumping against the alabaster balustrade. The white wood glowing in the moonlight, as did the rest of the Palace.

  After the attack from the split-wings, Farro bounced back with a vigour that showed how determined the fae of the city were. The tenacity to bring order once again to the chaos left in the wake also brought improvements to the lives of those that helped. Dewella, along with Merrybone and the forest creatures were given proper status and no longer treated as merely ground-dwellers. There was an official ceremony at the Palace. Medals were given out, speeches made and a fuss created over those in the lower-classes who contributed in the resistance. Dylap remembered it well, he had hated every moment. Especially when he was made to sit at the King’s side, along with Prince Rybal. His bride, Princess Terina was nowhere to be seen, having spent the past month locked in her chamber and refusing to see anybody. He knew the city was talking about that and he also knew that the feelings amongst the people were mixed. He didn’t care a jot. Loneliness was a melancholy place to be no matter what others thought of you.