by L. R. Flint
Basajaun returned to the Council, where Itxaro asked, “What did he have to say?”
The elf looked at the ground quickly and then back up at the giantess. “He leaves the day after tomorrow, as he planned.” As members of the Council grumbled in complete displeasure, I turned from the shade of a tree, where I had been eavesdropping, and walked away. I joined my friends as they continued walking back toward the center of Baso Argi, where we were all meeting for a short time ourselves.
~ ~ ~
“I do not think many of them were pleased with the outcome of events,” Izar said, a smug look on her face. I chuckled, as did everyone else. Koldobika told everyone of the transportation I had planned for our group, then said to bring only three days’ rations.
“We will meet in the usual place at the haven’s border at sunrise in two days. Bring whatever weapons you prefer. This will not be much of a tactical outing, but we must have secrecy in our approach.” I had already spoken with Basajaun about what I had just told everyone else, so with nothing more to say, I returned home with my sister so that we could take leave of our packs and get a change of clothes.
~ ~ ~
The next morning, I spent the early hours preparing my provisions and weapons for traveling, after which I meandered toward the archery range and dueling arena, where I stayed until shortly before sundown. I wasted very little of my strength on duels, since I only had that day to rest from the long trip to the Andoni Fields, and spent most of the time there instructing the younger swordsmen as they faced off against one another. After the dueling arena, I spent an hour on the lakeshore, reminiscing on the reunion I had had with my parents, and contemplating my near future and the many turns it could take, with the many possible outcomes. A silver full-moon lit the land, and surface of the water as I walked back to my home; the moonlight turned everything to silver, making things look almost identical to the landscape of Lietha, though the mists were absent.
~ ~ ~
The same moon hung on the horizon as I sat waiting for the others to join me at the border of Baso Argi. I sensed the first three people approaching, but ignored them until they stood just next to me. It was Basajaun, Izar, and Alaia.
"As expected, the others of the Council insisted that one of us accompany you, so here I am," the elf Lord said pleasantly.
Soon after, the other four arrived and it was time to leave. “Make sure to stay with me, and land when I do.” I then turned everyone but my sister and I into hawks, melding their clothes, packs, and weapons into the spells which morphed their bodies.
“See you in the skies,” Izar said, before I changed her form and she joined the others up in the blue heavens above the treetops. I turned myself into a peregrine falcon—same as the others—and soared into the depths of the skies, following after my companions.
We turned East, bearing slightly to the South, and began our journey to Zigor’s Southern Castle, where our spies had informed us was the location he was currently known to be visiting. We flew almost straight through the day, only stopping long enough for each of us to snag a wild hare, which the others had realized their diets were more in favor of, than what they had chosen to take in their packs. We flew on late into the night and perched high in the reaches of a large oak from which I could see the huge Wall of Caernadvall, spread out in a line to the North of us. The eight of us woke with the sun and continued on throughout the day as we had the one previous. We arrived at the section of the Wall that was nearest to the Southern Castle just as the moon appeared over the horizon, hidden by the trees of the Oihana. We took up perches in the heights of another great oak, settled down much earlier than we had the night before, so that we could wake and begin our attack hours before sunrise. It took a while before the anticipation over the following day wore off, and it was the long absent sounds of an evening in the city I had grown up in, that swayed my wandering consciousness into the blended paths of sleep.
40 DEATH OF A FRIEND AND ENEMY
Four hours before sunrise, I flew over the Wall, followed by the seven others. We landed near a deserted and decaying hut and I changed the others back into their human, elven, and dragonlady forms. As soon as we hid our packs I led them out into the streets, headed in the general direction of the castle. Izar and I left the group and then the others split up; Koldobika with Arrats, Argiñe Bakar with Eskarne, and Basajaun with Alaia. The last two would wait there, and try to stay out of sight for in case any of the others contacted them, in need of assistance.
The moon was covered by a thick shade of clouds as my sister and I crept stealthily through the black of the night-filled streets. It was weird for me to hear the faint breathing of people sleeping in their homes as I crept past, and the occasional rat skittering behind crates or garbage piles pushed to the sides of the streets. When we got to the front gates of Zigor’s castle, we found two Squads of Guards standing watch. I turned Izar and myself into small, nocturnal birds and we flew over the gate and into the courtyard. Once there, we made our way to the enormous doors of the castle, then I had to turn us into small bugs in order to squeeze between the door and frame. None of our spies had been able to get close enough to find where Zigor’s chambers were, so we had to scour each floor, checking each room—behind the doors of which I could sense life.
Since mice were more common indoors, that was what we changed into, my sister was white and brown and I was pure black, even my beady little eyes. It took a whole hour to make our entire round of the first floor, but there was no other way to make sure we did not miss anything, so we continued on to the next floor with disappointment, at least on my part. I sensed far fewer living things in the rooms on the next three floors, which kept getting smaller and smaller as they went, so it ended up only taking two more hours before we found ourselves on the fifth floor, with only one more above us. On entering the fifth level I could sense a great evil, though its presence came from the opposite end of the castle. I informed Izar of this and we headed directly toward it.
When we stood on all fours in front of the door that I could sense the aura emanating from, I looked my sister in the eye and said, This is my fight. Whatever you do, do not get yourself killed. She nodded and told me to follow my own advice, otherwise she would find a way to bring me back just so she could kill me herself. Her words made me smile—it would be the last to cross my face for quite some time.
I transformed us back into our elven forms and I lightheartedly punched her shoulder. I took in a deep breath, as I sensed that the two men in the room before me were awake, and gave up any hopes of making an easy kill. I burst down the door with a bolt of blue magic, yelling as I hurtled through the ruined stone doorway and into Zigor’s personal office. A shadow stood in the corner, chained to the wall, and I gave it no real heed, keeping my main focus on the richly clad man before me, lying at ease on a velvet covered couch of midnight black, run through with satin thread the color of freshly spilt blood. The man had brown hair, shot through with grey and his skin was pale and sickly looking, though he otherwise looked fit to lead a battle onto the field; the feature that arrested my gaze though, was his eyes. His dark, cruel eyes were devoid of any caring feelings that even the street dwellers, who had little to love and live for, had, and they stared back at me with pure hatred, covering his surprise at my unwelcome and unexpected visit.
I launched myself through the room, and pulled my sword out in front of me to attack Zigor. The man quickly stood and pulled a black sword of his own from the couch beside him, holding it out in answer to my challenge. He leapt backward and we both flew further through the room and our swords clashed in a cloud of sparks and hissing flames, which quickly died out. The couch tumbled over as we rampaged over it, and a few lengths of shredded cloth rippled through the air.
As we landed, back on our feet, I managed to cut Zigor’s arm and his blood flew across the room in an arc of warm droplets, some of them landed on the couch whose satin embroidery they matched perfectly. The man cried out as if
he were unused to pain, like a man who believes himself incapable of feeling it himself, but relishes in the evil power of granting it mercilessly to others. The King hissed as he hunched over slightly, glaring at me, then he swung his sword out and I blocked it with my own. I leaned back to avoid the path of a dagger sent at me from the shadow I had ignored in the corner. Zigor took the opportunity and leapt over me to the open area of the room, my sword managed to shave a thin layer of flesh from his thigh as he passed overhead. Again his angered cry rang out, though he turned it into a hissed command as he landed, still alive and out of my reach for the moment.
“Kill him,” the King screamed at his minion, and for the first time I actually paid it some heed, though I did not catch much of its form as it leapt from the shadows, hurling a sheet of icy flames toward me. With a lack of time on my hands, I launched myself at the wall and it broke asunder under my magic born strength. The chunks and dust from the stone exploded outward, as I fell through them and landed safely on the ground, five stories below, then I had to avoid the falling rubble as it all thudded into the cobblestones of the courtyard around me.
The Guards in the courtyard yelled in surprise, and then charged me, though at the appearance of the hellhound in the gaping hole in the castle wall, they all backed off, knowing I was his opponent and that they would be the first to die if they were to interfere. The hellhound leapt from Zigor’s chamber and lashed his whip around him as he fell toward the ground. A loud snap rang through the air as the split ends of the whip popped, and the hellhound landed with a thud, between me and the curtain wall.
I turned to face the hellhound and it charged toward me; I turned back and ran up the side of the castle wall, then shoved myself off it and glided through the air toward the curtain wall and the main gate. I landed with an extreme lack of grace on the wall, which I immediately leapt off of, seeing the hellhound bounding through the air toward me. I started running down the dark street as soon as my feet hit the ground, and I wondered where on earth Izar had gone off to, since assistance would be helpful and I did not want to bring the extra help into the fight just then. For the next while, until the sun rose, I generally avoided the hellhound and occasionally sent a blast of fire at him, catching him every once in a while in the infernos I sent hurling down the street.
As the sun rose, so did the inhabitants of the city, who fled—as fast as they possibly could—from the commotion caused by the hellhound and I. I attempted to blend into the crowds, but it was a miserable failure; my elven garb and looks stood out like a sore thumb amongst the people of Caernadvall, who had only the humblest means with which to get by. I kept running with the frantic looking people, but then my legs slowed and came to a complete stop from a spell the hellhound had sent at me. I had been distracted by the chaos of the running masses and had not noticed the spell’s creation, but I immediately bent my focus on its structure, intent on freeing myself. The last of the people disappeared from my view and I still could not move my legs when, from behind me, I heard an inhuman noise; it was the hellhound’s scream of anger, and what I guessed was his blood-cry, it had a steely sounding quality to it and solidified my idea that it was in no way human.
I forced my legs to let me turn around, and I saw the seven-feet-tall being standing at the far end of the street, looking at me. Of his flesh I could only see his ears and the skin around his blood-red eyes. His ears were pointed somewhat like an elf’s and his skin was an unhealthy grey-green color. The creature was covered in black armor that did not prevent his movements in any way. In his right hand he carried the twenty-feet-long, black whip, the snap from which had sounded through the King’s courtyard as he came down after me, and which I had heard every once in a while during my flight through the city. On his left hip the hellhound carried a longsword made of black steel, nearly identical to Zigor’s. I tried again to run, but I could not move at all; the hellhound came up to me, grabbed my throat and lifted me so that I was at eye level with him. I could feel his breath on my face, and it was colder than the iced over flesh of a dead person, while it smelt dank and musty as if from a rotting bog. Looking into his eyes I realized who he was—or had been.
“No!” The force of the shout came from every corner of my soul as I saw what had become of the human I had once called family; the sight of him being degraded to such a foul creature split my soul with despair, the likes of which I thought impossible. As I shouted that one word, the life came back to my limbs and I was able to tear myself out of the hellhound’s iron grip; I lifted my legs and kicked him in the chest to propel me over backward. I swung my sword out in front of me to catch the twenty foot whip as it slashed through the air toward me, and the last few feet were sliced from it as I ducked the far end, which whistled through the air where my head had been a split second before. I leapt for the beast, putting all of the force into the drive of my blade, as he barely brought his own sword up in time to deflect my blow.
The hellhound’s sword shattered in half as our weapons clashed, and sent a throbbing ringing through the streets, and the dislocated fraction of the blade flew straight at my face. The tip of the blade slit the skin of my forehead and left a bloody trail along the side of my face as I ducked, nigh too late to avoid it. The hellhound threw away his whip and grabbed my throat; I sliced off his arm and drove my sword into his stomach. He howled in pain, his eyes widening, and he bared his long, yellow teeth. After a moment, blood began to pour from his snarling mouth.
I deflected the weak thrust of his broken blade and the weapon flew back along the street, where it shattered against the side of a stone building. “Kill me,” he said, as he dropped weakly to his knees. I shook my head, there was no way I could kill him, or the memory of him that remained in the soul imprisoned behind those eyes, filled with evil. “Please.” The slightly gurgled word was full of pain and hurt, the latter of which I thought to be an impossible sound coming from so wretched a being.
“No. You know I cannot.”
“Do it—I beg of you.” For that one second his voice was the one I knew, though it was still full of heart wrenching pain. I screamed as I loped Ekaitz’ head off, feeling that my soul was destined to burn in the Abyss for the deed I had done. I threw my sword away and it lodged itself, up to the hilt, in the stone wall of another house, the huge stones of which shattered and the house began to crumble to the ground. I dropped to my knees in despair as I let loose a soul-anchored cry that burst forth until my throat was too sore to even think of speaking. At first, I could not look at the dead hellhound, for the shame and immeasurable pain that wracked my soul, but from the corner of my vision I noticed that the body had begun to change.
At first the body just shrank, but then it changed until it was a bruised and broken, though true, form of Ekaitz. “No,” I whispered, though my throat burned at the effort, making my voice crack, and I could feel a small trickle of blood dripping along the back of my throat. I called on Lietha to reattach Ekaitz’ head to his neck, and the halves of his arm, and it worked, though his spirit was already gone and would not return. I wrapped my arms around Ekaitz’ neck and shoulders, and buried my face in the blood drenched cloth of his torn shirt. I then allowed tears to flow, no longer caring if anyone saw my moment of weakness. My tears eventually dried and formed a stiff layer of salt on everything they fell upon.
~ ~ ~
It was with my arms wrapped around the shoulders of my dead friend that Izar found me—torpid, on the broken flagstones which the light of the sun refused to warm. An unusual frost had begun to cover me and Ekaitz, and had slowly spread across the flagstones, many of which had been broken during the duel between me and the hellhound. My shallow breaths could be seen as I exhaled, the hot air from my lungs appearing sharp against the cool air of my immediate vicinity before they blended with the warmer air that lay beyond the growing circle of frost. My mind was empty of anything but the thought that I had just killed Ekaitz.
Izar looked shocked when she saw the face of the boy i
n my arms, and she just stood there in silence, staring at us with unseeing eyes. When I finally moved, and she knew that I was actually cognizant, she asked what had happened. I could not give her an answer because my throat would not let the words past and, even if it had, I was not so sure that I would have been able to make myself utter the words. I looked up at her for a second, but had to look away as understanding dawned in her eyes. She knelt at my side, wrapped her arms around me, and leaned her head against my shoulder.
I reached my hand up to hold the one of hers that lay against my right arm, and we sat in that position for a while in silence. A few minutes later the far off shouts of Guards broke through to my attention and I forced myself to stand. I lifted Ekaitz’ limp body in my arms as I stumbled to my feet. Izar rose beside me, then she went to collect my sword from the rubble of the stone house. She had to swat the stone dust, hanging in the air, from her eyes, as she walked through the massive pile of debris. Then we headed back to the decaying hut at the edge of the kingdom, where we were to meet the others after all our tasks had been completed—or when we were forced to leave, whichever came first.
Behind us, the small patch of frost covering the torn flagstones began to shrink, and as it grew continually smaller, the sun began to have an effect on it and the last of the frost hissed in the much warmer air, then all traces of the cold—brought on by magic—was erased. All that remained was a small puddle of thawed blood.