by Heath Pfaff
A heavy impact on my right side sent me sprawling uselessly to the ground. I spun around in the air, not knowing what could have possibly struck me from my course. I was filled with so much rage at losing my opportunity to sink my claws into Lucidil that I barely realized that it had been Malice who hit me. As I struck the ground I saw Lucidil's blade, the strike that had been aimed for me, cleave into Malice viciously. A spray of blood lifted into the air as the blade opened her from stomach to throat. She fell away to the ground, tumbling through the air in a spill of her own blood and organs. Her eyes, beautifully green, were full of tears and loss.
Fire filled me. It consumed my humanity like dried wood, and I was lost in the chaos of the Fell Beast. Kill. I lurched to my feet, only semi cognizant of what I was doing, and charged Lucidil, the world slowing around me more and more with every step. Kill. Lucidil's sword rose to strike, but it seemed to be moving so slowly. I stepped through its range and struck out with my one good claw. I struck flesh, but not deeply.
Weaver spun back from me, his sword changing direction as fast as anything I'd ever seen. There were lines of blood opened up on his chest, not deep, but I had hit him. The blood enticed me on.
He charged forward, anger and fear heavy in his eyes. I charged as well, riding the tide of ferociousness that was the Fell Beast's fury. My heartbeat quickened, and the world slowed. My single claw moved surprisingly fast through the slowness, pushing through the heavy resistance of air with unerring accuracy. I struck inside of Lucidil's defenses again, much deeper this time.
I felt my claw tear into the flesh of his stomach, rending the cloth and skin beneath to ribbons. The red-eyed Knight flew back once more. This time, though, he'd been prepared for my actions, if not my speed. His blade spun upwards as he retreated, the tip ripping a line up the length of my torso, much as it had with Malice, but not as deeply. The blow was hard enough to knock me back. The fury within me, though, would not be so easily doused.
I lunged forward again. Lucidil's blade tip snapped up impossibly fast, the point aimed straight for my chest. I was moving too quickly, and with too much lethal intent to swerve aside. I felt the blade ripping through flesh, deflecting off of bone, and piercings organs as I drew in nearer to Lucidil. Kill. I forced myself further onto the blade, letting it slide through my chest. Kill. The steel tore through my back and emerged behind me but I drew in closer, lifting my right hand. I brought the five razor sharp claws at the end of my arm down with all the force I could muster. I hit Lucidil's face, and felt the talons of my hand bite deep. I carried the cut through, down his neck and onto his torso, unwilling to ease up, but suddenly the kill was ripped from me.
Lucidil swung his sword hard, and my body slid off of it, propelled by the force of his motion. I tumbled backwards, the world resumed normal pace as I fell into a dark corner of the tent. Blood gushed from my wound, seeping into my clothes and the earth around me. The Fell Beast howled in agony within me, but I refused to let the pain pass my lips. I would not let Lucidil know how badly I was hurting. What hurt worse than the wound, was knowing that I was going to die without avenging anyone or anything.
The king approached me, his face hanging in tatters. He held his bulging guts in with one hand, and spat blood through his shredded lips. His facial wounds reminded me of the wounds Wisp had inflicted on me so many years before. I smiled as I remembered her. Wisp. She'd been too good to die the way she did.
"I'm sorry, Wisp." I breathed, and I was surprised to hear how quiet the words came from my lips.
"You're a fool, Noble. You always were. We could have been gods of this world, but you never understood what it takes to achieve great ends. Now I have to kill you like so many before you. No one will remember you. The world will forget you ever tread upon its surface, and you'll be just like your precious Wisp, and all the hundreds of other Knights who have died." Lucidil spoke as he stood over me. The words coming from his tattered lips were sometimes difficult to understand. "Now I will have to bury you like I've had to bury Ferocity . . . all because you can't see the greater picture."
He lifted his sword and the blade caught the dim light from the candles in the tent. Its reflection almost seemed red, though I knew the silver had no such tint. His eyes glistened like wet blood in the dim light. Lucidil's hand was poised to strike, and then it spasmed, the fingers went slack, his red eyes opened wide, as did his mouth. The king's steel sword clattered to the ground, and he attempted to turn, but couldn't as another sword, also of king's steel, was ripping through the front of his chest, right through the place where his heart had been beating only a moment before. Lucidil, the King of Men, died without so much as a word. His body fell to the ground, taking the killing sword with it.
Behind him stood Malice, her green eyes brighter than seemed possible without some inner light shining through them. On her face was a supreme look of vengeance served. Her legs seemed to give out on her, and she fell to the ground. I crawled my way towards her, dragging myself with my one good hand. I didn't know if she was alive, dead, or dying, but I wanted to be close to her. A terrible pain in my chest stopped me. I tried to take a breath and felt blood pouring into my lungs. I pushed myself nearer Malice, and I heard footsteps approaching. A great shadow fell over me, and my mind fell into darkness.
I often wonder if death would not have been easier to deal with than life, but it was not to be so. I awoke, some days later, in a bed in the king's infirmary. My wounds were entirely healed, and so I dragged myself from bed, much against the better judgment of my physicians who believed I should rest at least for another day. I'd never been one for resting when I was able to move.
I found Malice not far from where I'd been laying while I healed. She was unconscious, and I was told that she should have died, so grievous were her wounds. I stayed with her for a time, watching her until I was certain that she wouldn't fade away from me while I was away. Once I was satisfied with that, I went looking for someone who could explain to me what was to happen with the kingdom, and what I must do to find my daughter. I found Ethaniel, or to be more precise, he found me as I was leaving the infirmary.
"The crown is free now, and I believe you should take it." He told me after I had finished telling him of everything that had led me to that point in my life, and I laughed at him, for I did not want the crown. I had never even contemplated becoming a king.
"I just want to get my daughter back . . . if she still lives." I told him, and he pointed out across the land.
"Noble, the Hungering are taking to the oceans, and they have your daughter. If you want her back, you will need ships, and if you want ships, they will have to be built. The Hungering destroyed all of our seafaring crafts. Only the king has the power to order those ships built, especially in a time of recovery such as we are about to enter." Ethaniel's voice held no deception. I knew the words were true, though I did not want to hear them.
"You should take the crown." I told him. "You know the position better than anyone else alive. You would make a good king."
"No!" His voice was hard. Ethaniel's gray eyes flared, and his black eyes pierced me like talons. "No, I must never take the crown." His voice softened. "I am the king's man. That is where I have always served, and that is where I'm needed most."
"I am too young, and too inexperienced." I tried to explain to him.
"You have a need that can only be met by being the king, and a man in need does what must be done." Ethaniel answered, his voice normal again. "If you do not take the crown, you will not get what you need, and someone less deserving - someone who cares only for their own betterment - might step up in your place. Do it for the country. Do it for Kaylien."
I wasn't happy with his words. I felt, once more like I was being backed into a corner.
"If I must take the crown to save my daughter, I will do it, though I do not want to. How long will it take to build the ships?" I didn't care for the title, but I would travel to the ends of the world to get Kaylien back, and if pu
tting on a crown would speed me on my way, I would do so.
"Years . . . two, maybe three." Ethaniel answered.
I was crushed. For two or three years Kaylien would have to live amongst the Hungering. What would she be like when I finally reached her? Certainly she would not be the girl I knew any longer, though she hardly was the girl I remembered from when she was little. Still, I could not give up so long as I knew she was alive.
"Let them start immediately." I said, and Ethaniel shook his head.
"You must be crowned. You are a hero to the people now after your exploits in battle, and after helping dispose of a king the people were becoming distrustful of, especially after he gave away his own daughter. Those people - your people if you become king - thrive on custom. You can't change the old ways." Ethaniel told me.
I was about to walk away, but something was still bothering me.
"Why didn't you help Lucidil that day in the tent? If you had, it would be Malice and I who lay dead, and not Weaver." I asked the old Knight.
"Lucidil's time had come. It was I, after all, who made sure the guards were dismissed." He answered.
"He was your friend." I pressed.
"Yes, but he was not a good man. I knew that when he became king." Ethaniel looked out across the courtyard beyond the infirmary, but it seemed to me he was really looking into his own past.
"You never objected to him becoming king." I noted.
Ethaniel shrugged. "I knew he would do what was necessary to save the people. He was a brilliant fighting man."
That raised my ire. "He gave my daughter to them. . ."
The old Knight nodded sadly. "That is when I knew that his time had come."
"Yet you didn't aid in the fight against him."
"I was the king's man, Lowin. I couldn't raise a sword against him, and he was my friend. I took no joy in watching him die."
His answer, while straight-forward, seemed a convoluted excuse to me. A man, I believed, should make a stand for what he believed in. Ethaniel had merely stood by while events unfolded. "Do you think I'll make a better king?" I asked.
"You are selfless and intelligent. You're brave, and the people already see you as a hero. You might be a great king."
". . . and if I'm not?" I raised an eyebrow as I asked this final question.
"There will be others after you." Ethaniel said before turning and walking away. I sat alone for a time, thinking over the events of my life.
I would take the crown, and I would have my ships my built. In the meantime, there were bodies to bury, and plans to make. I would be traveling into the heart of the Hungering's homeland, and I didn't believe for a moment that would be an easy fight.
I returned to Malice's side and took one of her hands in my right claw, the single one that remained to me. I'd given the other to save her life just a few days before, and I did not regret the sacrifice, though I feared it might have been in vain. I squeezed her fingers, hoping for some sign of life, but she did not return the pressure. All the times I'd had to tell her how I felt, I now regretted not doing so. Would she come back from wherever she had gone? I couldn't know.
"I love you, Laouna" I said the words aloud, using Malice's real name for the first time. "Please, please come back to me."
There was no answer.
Epilogue
I believe it's only fair that I share with you the story of Ferocity and Tyvel as it was told to me by witnesses, after the fact. It would be an injustice to them both not to include at least a short recounting of the incidents that led up to their deaths. Heroism is rare, and selfless sacrifice is something that should not be overlooked. For those reasons, I give to you the final story of Ferocity and Tyvel, as I've pieced together from firsthand accounts.
"For the girl. For the violet-eyed girl, we will leave these lands, but we must have her." The Blue's voice was almost a song, soft and serene. It was the last kind of sound anyone would expect to hear from a creature that had rained fiery death upon those it faced in battle. The fact that it spoke at all was astounding enough. Until it had come, under a white flag of truce, and declared itself a representative of its army, none had known the Hungering could speak the human language, let alone with such fluidity.
Lucidil rocked back in his chair as the demand was made. Even the ghost, Tyvel, who stood at his side, seemed to grow paler at the request. To give a little girl into the hands of monsters, even to end a war, was a terrible thing to ask.
"The girl will not be harmed. We shall treat her as a princess." The red-eyed magic user of the Hungering said. Though it spoke, its gaze seemed distant, as though it were merely mouthing the words that were being spoken somewhere far away.
"What do you want with her?" Lucidil asked, not eager to make a decision that would certainly be unpopular amongst the people, even if it did wrest them from the brink of death.
"What we want is not of your concern. If you do not give us the girl, we will wash over your army and devour you to the last. Give us the girl, and we will sail from these shores." The Blue answered, no emotion showing in its voice at all.
"What assurance do you offer that you will do as you say?" Lucidil pressed. His line of questioning made it obvious that he was considering the offer.
"Your Majesty, you mustn't . . ." Tyvel said from where he stood at his king's side. "Trillia is your daughter. She is just a little. . ."
"Be quiet, Tyvel." Lucidil snapped, and the ghost obeyed. The king turned his focus back upon the Hungering representative. "What assurance do I have that you'll leave these lands?"
"You have none, but we will destroy you if you do not give us what we want, King of Men. Of that you can be certain." The sing-song voice answered, once more emotionless.
"Alright, I'll give you what you want, but if you don't leave after you get her, I will. . ." Lucidil began, but he let his words trail off. There was little he could do to threaten the Hungering.
The creature nodded. "Then bring the girl to me at once."
Lucidil turned to Tyvel. "Have Fero bring the girl." He ordered, but Tyvel shook his head.
"Your Majesty, I cannot do that. I have done many terrible things, but Kay is so young. She . . ." Tyvel's tried to resist, but Lucidil's words bit over his.
"You cannot refuse the order of your king, Tyvel. Go and tell Ferocity to bring the girl here, or I will put a knife through your ancient, dried heart. Do you hear me, specter?" Lucidil's eyes were red with anger, and Tyvel didn't dare question him again. He shrank back, and vanished from in front of Lucidil.
When next he emerged, he appeared at the location nearest Ferocity and Kay. He was distraught, at a loss for what he should do. He had long feared his own death, and had done terrible things to preserve his own existence, but he wasn't sure that he could play a part in what Lucidil had planned. It had not been long since he'd spoken with Lowin, and tried to justify his actions to the young, purple-eyed Knight. He had failed, of course, because there was no way to justify his betrayal. That betrayal ate away at his mind. Tyvel was not an evil man, but he had done many evil things in his unnaturally long years of life. He decided, at that moment, that he would not be party to another.
He found Ferocity, and knew that he need only tell her the truth of what Lucidil intended to get her aid. Lucidil might be able to let the girl die, but Fero loved Trillia as only a mother could. She would not so callously throw away the life of the child she considered a daughter, even for Weaver.
"Fero, Lucidil is planning to trade Trillia to the Hungering in exchange for them leaving the continent." The ghost like creature told the Knight. She was aghast.
". . . but she's our daughter." She said numbly. "He wouldn't. . ." She grabbed her sword belt, strapped it on and walked out into the night. She wound her way through the camp and to the place where the meeting between the Hungering Blue and Lucidil was taking place. She stormed in, full of rage and indignation.
"Is what Tyvel says true?" She demanded of Lucidil. "Are you going to giv
e our Trillia to these . . . these monsters?!" She demanded, pointing to the blue creature who sat unmoving opposite the king. Lucidil stood up and faced the woman he had spent the better part of the last fifty years with.
"I'm doing it for the people. Trillia's life will save many, and the Hungering have sworn to treat her as a princess. I can't pass up this opportunity to save the people." Lucidil said, reaching out for Fero. She stepped away from him.
"You can't, Lucidil. You can't do this! Do you think your people would want you to give in to the demands of these monsters? Do you think your people will support you if you give up your own flesh and blood to the enemy?" The female Knight asked, demanding an answer.
"She is not my flesh and blood, Fero. She is not really our daughter. You are barren, and I have sired no offspring." His words were like knives to the woman who had loved him for so long.
"She has been a part of our lives for years. We have raised her, and loved her, and though she did not come from my womb, I still love her. I won't give up my daughter." Her words rang with conviction. She turned and fled back towards the tent in which she knew Kaylien was sleeping.