by B. C. Morin
“So, if you follow me once more,” Samil continued, in the darkness of the caves and caverns beneath the mountains, he looked almost whole. “We will bring down the Fae and rule the Kingdoms!”
The thunderous roar of cheers, grunts, and claps echoed through caves and caverns. Samil looked over at Maligo and smirked.
Although they had been welcomed, the Dorchae had initially been reluctant to follow Samil again because of the amount of men they had lost in the battle with the Fae. It did not take too much convincing, though, as Samil tended to be a very persuasive individual.
Samil stood on the platform watching the Dorchae file out to head back to their crafts. His arms were crossed against his large chest. If he were flesh, he would be among the most beautiful of faeries. Tall and muscular, his angular face a perfect fit to the bold caramel colored eyes. His long, pin straight hair rained white satin down his shoulders and back. As he stood now, though, he seemed as nothing more than an image, a ghost walking among them.
“Tomorrow we begin to scour the mountainside for the rogues. I am sure that many of them would be very willing to follow our cause.” He raised an eyebrow at Maligo, “and if they are not, then I will have to change their minds. I still have a bit of magic left in me.” He finished, proudly.
Maligo nodded his approval, before falling in beside Samil as they walked out.
“Samil, I believe we should also begin to set upon the path to the remaining scrolls, in order to return you to the flesh.”
“I agree.” Samil looked at him with a gleam in his eye that he had not seen before. Not a gleam of joy, but of hiding. Maligo knew that there was something that Samil was not telling him.
They strode down the winding corridor and as they continued, the heat intensified and the clanging of metal against metal grew louder. The space was vast, filled with stone and wood tables made up as workstations where the Dorchae were busy constructing weapon holsters. At the far end, fires blazed and pieces of iron were melted and molded into deadly swords and knives.
“You may inspect the craftsmanship, Masters.” The low voice came from the right as one of the Dorchae that had introduced himself as Maurus, walked up beside them.
Maurus motioned forward, encouraging them to walk with them as he took them to each station, displaying the finest weapons and holsters that they had ever laid eyes on.
When they arrived at the blacksmiths, though, Maligo was sure to keep his distance. Perhaps Samil as a ghostly demon was no longer affected by iron, but he was surely susceptible to its dangerous effects on the fae.
As soon as Maurus saw Maligo shrink back from the metal, his lip curled up in what was clearly amusement.
“We decided to use iron so that if the initial hit against a fae with the sword is not fatal, the iron properties will surely make it worse.”
Maligo fought the urge to knock the smirk off of Maurus’s face, suddenly developing a bit more distrust for the Dorchae.
“Well done, Maurus.” Samil began, “Continue this progress and when we return we will surely be ready for the fae.”
Maurus turned with a questioning glare. His leathery brow creased, and his yellow eyes were piercing.
“Back? Where are you going?” he grunted, a snort at the end of his sentence.
Samil stepped forward so quickly that Maligo questioned even seeing him move.
Sneering at Maurus, he said, “I do not have to explain myself to you, or any other creature here, for that matter.” Despite being one of the larger of the Dorchae, Maurus shrank back from Samil. “I expect you to continue working whether I am here to observe or not!”
His yellow eyes darted to his feet.
“Yes, Master.”
Maligo saw a flicker of hollowness in the Dorchae and wondered if Samil had used some of his mind manipulation on him. I wonder if I would know if he was using it on me, he thought uneasily.
Maligo walked down the corridor, eager to get to his assigned quarters. Inside, an increasingly frustrated Saros paced the length of the room, looking up longingly when his owner opened the door. Maligo walked over and sat on the uncomfortable bed, riddled with rough and torn blankets. He reached his hand over to Saros, petting his head. “I know, my pet. You will be able to fly soon. We leave tonight to search for the other scrolls. If only my plan with the Princess would have worked, we would not have to be here, depending on Samil.” He stood and grabbed his satchel from a hook on the wall, emptying its contents onto the bed. Maligo carefully looked through his potions and ingredients, ensuring he had everything he could possibly need. Finding the scrolls won’t be easy, and we don’t know if any of the Kingdoms have anyone looking for us, he thought to himself.
He carefully laid each bottle and vial on the bed, examining how much was left of the contents: Rue herb, powdered sulfur, dragon’s blood, wolf’s bane, raven’s blood resin. He picked up the bottle marked Curation, the healing potion and saw that he would have to make a new batch before leaving. He counted off the others, Torpeona; a numbing potion, Tutemin; a defense potion, Abscondutis; an invisibility potion, Adstrindo; a potion that would render the drinker powerless. He sighed as he placed them each carefully in their pockets inside his satchel. Had he still had his powers, he could merely use the spell, but never knowing what spells will work for him, he had to carry around the potion substitute for the spell. It was inconvenient, of course, but at least the magic was possible. He looked inside the smaller satchel that he kept at his waist, the white powder glimmering against the candlelight in the room. The powder he created was to assist him in strengthening his spell casting ability, though it came at great cost to his energy. He straightened, making final adjustments to his satchels, belt, and weapons. He grabbed a hold of his beard with one hand, smoothing it down and twisting it at the end.
“Saros, I will need you to scout the mountainside and let me know if we have any visitors waiting for us.” Saros made a low squawk and walked toward the door behind Maligo.
As soon as he opened the door, Saros took off down the hallway, filling it with his piercing scream.
Samil stood at the center of what he had made his planning room. It was bare, save for a plain large oak table lacking in polish and rotting on two of its corners. He stood over the table going over several maps of the surrounding lands. He had marked two locations on the map, and Maligo assumed them to be the locations where the scrolls may be hidden.
“What is it?” Samil commanded, not looking up from the maps.
“Your spirit seems lighter Samil, you are more transparent.”
“I am weakening. Each time I use magic I become weaker and weaker. This is due to the bind that they put on my bones when I was buried. I must get to the second scroll before I become too weak to perform the ritual.” He looked up at Maligo, standing across from him at the table. “I see you are ready.”
“Yes, Samil. I have also sent Saros out to scout the area and ensure that there are no spies about.”
“Well done.”
Maligo looked at Samil, hating that even in spirit form he retained his youthful fae looks whereas he, himself, inadvertently aged himself with his attempts at regaining some of his magic.
“Samil, I must ask you something.”
Samil sighed heavily. “You want to know of your lineage.” He stated, still not looking up from the maps.
“Yes.”
“There was one when I was young and still in training for my powers under the trolls, she was a fae. I was out hunting when I first saw her.”
The footsteps were light and he did not see her until she bound past him in a blur, her dark auburn hair flowing behind her and a bow at her side. Samil ducked behind a boulder nearby watching the scene unfold. The fae disappeared into a group of trees, and only moments later two fae looking creatures emerged from where she had come.
“She went this way.” The smaller one with the pale green skin pointed in the direction of the trees.
“How are you so sure? She could
have gone down among the stones, deeper into the mountains.” The taller one had light grayish skin, the color of stones. His tail was twitching back and forth.
Shifters, he thought to himself. Just as he was about to tell the shifters where the fae was, an arrow came from the trees that she had run into, cutting swiftly through the hot mountain air and embedding itself in the back of grey shifter.
The green shifter quickly made his way towards the tree but was stopped as the female pounced on his back with a dagger in hand. Samil stood now, leaning against the boulder anxious to see how this would play out.
The shifter reached back, grabbing the fae by the empty quiver on her back and flipped her off of him. She landed on the ground with a thud, dust flying up around her. The shifter brought his sword down, its blade embedding itself into the ground where her head had been. She rolled out of the way and made it to her feet quickly. The fae blocked a parry from the shifter with her dagger as she kicked him in the stomach. She took advantage and ran to the dead shifter on the ground. The fae must have heard the shifter coming after her because she quickly threw herself to the ground sliding in the dirt and landing next to the creature that lay motionless. She grabbed the hilt of the sword and pulled it from the dead creature’s waist, just in time to block the blade of the other shifter as it came down on her. With the dagger in her other hand, she lunged forward, sitting up and burying the dagger up to the hilt in the belly of the shifter. She pulled her dagger back out, and flipped herself backwards away from the shifter and back to her feet. The shifter tried to slash at her again, but his attempt was weak. The fae lifted her new sword, and turned her head to look at it. It’s golden hilt was gleaming in the afternoon sun.
“Hm, it’s a rather nice sword.” She said out loud, although it was to no one in particular. She brought her gaze down to the shifter staggering towards her, with her lip curled up in a smile, brought the sword down on the shifter, slashing him from shoulder to hip. Dark red blood poured out of the wound as he fell to his knees, almost next to his friend, then hit the ground with his face, the blood soaking the dirt and dust beneath him.
“Not bad for a fae.” Samil spoke coldly, keeping his surprise at her skill to himself.
“For a fae?” She questioned as she walked over to the grey shifter, turned him over and taking a small satchel from his waist that rattled with coins. “Teach you to steal from me you repulsive imbecile” she said to the dead shifter, kicking him one more time as she tied the satchel to her belt, then cleaned her sword and dagger on his clothes. “Now, what did you mean, ‘for a fae’?”
“Well, considering how ignorant and supercilious the fae are, I thought they did not have time to learn things like fighting well.”
She furrowed her brow at him.
“Are you not fae, also?”
“Yes,” He pushed himself off the boulder walking toward her, keeping his gaze on her brown eyes. “But I was not raised in the Kingdoms. I have lived here since my birth over a century ago. I was raised by the Trolls.
“Trolls?” She shouted then followed with a laugh as she sheathed her new sword. “It’s no wonder you hate your own kind. Well, the Kingdomites have not done much for me, either. I ran away when I was younger and have lived almost a century as a Rogue Faerie since.” She looked him over, “What is your name?”
“Samil.”
“I am called Aletta.”
Samil told his new and only friend of his upbringing and future plans. Aletta was not fond of the idea of going up against the five Kingdoms, but remained his friend in the hopes she could talk him out of what she was sure would be a certain death. Eventually, against the advisement of the trolls, which Samil had taken command over by using threats of death and magic, Aletta took up residence in the castle.
In secret, he would call upon demons for help in strengthening his powers. When Aletta found out, she tried to talk him out of using the dark magic, but it was too late. Demons had taken residence inside Samil and were not inclined to leave. It wasn’t until a few days before the great battle that Aletta begged Samil to reconsider having had visions of his death.
“You must choose between me, and your desire for power. You cannot have both.”
Samil turned to her, his caramel colored eyes consumed with darkness were now black and hollow. “You cannot ask that of me. I have given you everything. I gave you a home, I gave you what little of my heart I had, and now you want to turn against me?”
Aletta took a step forward reaching for him.
“Samil-“
“No.” He interrupted. “You are like them. You do not care for me. My ‘people,’ as you like to call them, do not care for me!” His shouts echoed through the room. “They left me here to the trolls, and now when I am so close to showing them what happens when they turn their back on their own kind, you threaten me?”
Aletta shook her head in disbelief.
“Left you here? Is that what the trolls told you? Samil,” She stepped forward again, but Samil stepped back keeping the distance between them. “They did not know you were here. Your mother was a rogue that the trolls kidnapped. They killed her when she tried to escape, protecting you!” Her voice rose to a shout as well. “I know because one of the eldest told me. No one in the Kingdoms could have known!”
“The reasons no longer matter.” He turned, walking toward the door. “I am more powerful than any other fae.” When he spoke, his voice seemed to echo the legions of demons that dwelled within. “You can join me, or you can join them. But be sure that if I see you on the battlefield and you are fighting for them, I will kill you.”
Silent tears rolled down Aletta’s cheeks as she watched Samil leave the room. Absentmindedly she covered her stomach with her hand.
‘We must go, little one. A monster has taken your father’s place and I will not allow the same to happen to you.’
The morning of the battle, Samil found himself alone. Consumed with grief, he called upon the darkest of spirits to assist him, making promises he would not live to see fulfilled.
“She left before the battle. She did not understand what we could have become, what we could have ruled.” Samil finished.
“And the baby?”
“He was born with my family crest. She turned to the same dark magic she had tried so hard to get away from to save him. In return for her soul and her life, his crest was bound with a spell that whomever looked at it would see the crest of his mother.” He walked around the table and grabbed Maligo’s arm, turning it over so that the crest was visible. Maligo’s chest was rising and falling from the anxiety and his mind reeling from the possibilities. “However, there is no need for that, now.” He touched his finger to the crest and a searing pain ran up Maligo’s arm and through his chest and although he did not say anything, in the depths of his mind he heard a scream, a woman’s scream. He was sure it belonged to his mother.
When Maligo looked at his crest again, it was the same as the crest that Samil bore. He looked up at the fading spirit of Samil as Samil’s face twisted into an evil grin. Maligo opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came out. The most evil faerie ever to have lived was his father.
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Chapter 7
It was raining during the battle. Alannah stood in the center of the clearing, arms outstretched, protected by a defense spell that was wearing down by the second. She called upon her powers and although the sky turned the darkest grey she had ever seen, and was filled with lightning and thunder, she could call none of them to her aid. She tried manifesting fire, manipulating the water around them, but she failed. She watched as Evyette was run through with a spear thrown by a nearby Minotaur. Brennus was locked in a magical battle with Maligo and near him, Kaleb lay motionless on the ground. Alannah yelled at the sky in frustration, calling upon- no, begging her powers to obey her. She turned to face Brennus as tears rolled down her face and watched Brennus get knocked down by the magical push that Maligo threw at him. �
�NO!” She screamed, but it was too late. Brennus lay on the ground pierced through by a sword with a golden hilt and being wielded by a dark shadow on a black horse.
Alannah woke with a start, her hair stuck to her neck from the sweat, her chest heaving. A dream, she thought to herself. Just a dream. She concentrated on her breathing and brought it down considerably quick. Frightened by her dream she tried immediately to summon her magic. “Incendium.” She demanded, looking directly into her palm. Within seconds a ball of fire sat just above her palm, emanating heat so strong that her palm was turning red. She quickly tested bringing the flame to a smaller height and then a larger height, then without hesitation, she threw the ball of fire across the room, causing it to knock a book off of the arm of the nearby chair and finally falling into the fireplace.
“Okay,” she said, this time out loud, “That is better.” She let out a sigh and walked over to the balcony. The sky was still filled with the colors of the sunrise and she knew it was early.
Alannah walked over to her door and swung it open to find Anora with her arm perched up ready to knock.
“Good morning, ma’am.” Anora said as she walked into the room. “You are up quite early, today.” She placed the freshly cleaned training gear onto the bed.
“Yes, I had a nightmare. I was just about to tell King Brennus about it to see what his thoughts would be.”
Anora looked down at her fidgeting hands before looking back at Alannah.
“Anora?” Alannah stepped closer. “What is going on?”
“King Brennus is not here, ma’am. He left last night to the Kingdom of Spiritus. I saw him walk into your room before leaving, but I see now that he did not wake you.”