by Quil Carter
Ben wanted to voice his displeasure at this, badly, but he couldn’t speak and he knew he had to follow orders. He stuffed down his annoyance at being forced up a tree and quietly took off his boots. He sheathed his daggers and extended his claws, and climbed to the nearest branch, leaving Malagant and Teal on the ground to do the grown-ups work.
Ben frowned at his own comment.
He hunched down on the tree branch and watched his friends sneak up on the camp, both of them crouched and making long strides that were soundless, though with the racket that the Serpents were making even if they went stomping in with firecrackers those eegits most likely wouldn’t hear them.
Ben didn’t even notice Malagant raising his crossbow until he heard the whistle, quickly followed by a sickening thunking sound and a short cry.
And as the elf fell to the ground with an arrow sticking out of his neck and blood running through his fingers, the three other elves shot up with alarmed hollers and drew their swords.
Another whistle, the female elf fell with a shriek. Ben wanted to feel angry that his friends were going to kill the Serpent knights on their own but he was too entranced with the elves dying in the light of the campfire. He had never seen anyone die before, a small part of him was horrified but that part was small and overshadowed by the fascination.
Then suddenly everything got dangerous. Ben watched with wide eyes as one of the elves reached behind a grey rock and brought up a bow. In a flash, with movements so quick they were just a blur, he shot an arrow into the night. It flew dangerously close to Malagant before coming to a stop in the very tree Ben was perched on.
Another arrow whistled through the woods. Teal jumped behind a tree as the elf let it loose, but to Ben’s surprise the two knights, tired of only shooting arrows into the darkness, plunged into the woods with their swords drawn and an angry bellow on their lips.
Malagant threw down his crossbow and drew his sword, then the sounds of metal clashing against metal broke the stuffy forest air mixed in with the angry cries of duelling elves.
Ben once again watched entranced, looking down and waiting for his chance to help, but he knew anything he did at that moment would only distract his friends. So he put on his boots and watched instead, his daggers always in his hand.
Then behind him he heard a snapping twig.
Ben’s head jerked backwards and his jaw dropped. Behind all of the commotion of yelling and clanging metal, another knight had approached the camp. He was dressed like the others and already had a bow drawn, with an arrow loaded and ready.
He must’ve been patrolling… Ben had no time to guess the origins of this fifth knight, all he cared about was that he was pointing an arrow at Malagant and a brown-haired knight, and no one had seen him but Ben.
And the patrolling knight hadn’t seen Ben either.
Ben’s heartbeat spiked as the elf kept slowly walking towards the commotion; he was almost underneath Ben just… two… more… steps…
When he took that last step directly underneath Ben, with his bow drawn and his stance braced, Ben jumped off of the tree branch and pounced right on the knight’s shoulders.
The knight crumpled to the ground, landing on his stomach with a loud oof, the bow crushed underneath him.
Now what!? Ben stared down at the knight, bewildered. He was brought back to the squirrel in the Silverwoods in what seemed like an eternity ago, staring in shock and not knowing what the hell to do now.
So, like the squirrel, Ben did the first thing that came to his mind – he lifted his foot and slammed it against the knight’s head. The knight groaned and cried, then tried to roll away. Another form of panic rushed through Ben at this, so he jumped up into the air, bent his knees, and landed on the knight’s head with both of his boots.
By now the knight was groaning, and when Ben looked down at him he felt the vomit rise in his throat – the knight’s left eye had popped out of its socket, and he had blood dribbling down his nose, mouth, and dark pools starting to gather in the grooves of his pointed ears.
So Ben stomped on his head some more. He counted ten stomps before he was convinced the knight was dead. The knight had blood completely coating his face, and his nose was crushed into itself, both eyes were now protruding and the bubbles of blood had stopped forming on the sides of his mouth.
Ben breathed a sigh of relief, but the feeling of safety now that the elf was dead let in other senses that Ben’s mind had blocked. He suddenly realized that the forest around him had become quiet.
Ben looked up from the dead knight’s brutalized face and looked towards the camp – only to see Malagant and Teal staring at him with matching dumbfounded expressions.
“What’s with you and stomping on thing’s heads!?” Teal exclaimed; he looked uninjured but for a small wound on his chest, visible through his slashed jerkin. He then turned to Malagant. “He did the same thing to a black squirrel in the Silverwoods, stomped its head. I think there’s something wrong with my human’s mind.”
Malagant blinked, took one more look at the knight’s battered face, before he burst out laughing. As Ben scowled at him, Malagant turned and walked into the firelight of the camp, shaking his head as he did.
“What was I supposed to–” Ben didn’t finish that question; he looked down at the two daggers in his hand before, to Teal’s laughter, he hid them behind his back and smiled innocently.
“You seem pretty happy for someone who just killed his first elf,” Teal said as they both walked into the knight’s camp. Malagant was plundering the bodies, he was taking off their rings and checking pockets for coin purses or anything else they could sell.
“I had a rough life back in my world. I came close to killing a few people,” Ben said as he looked down at the female elf who had been killed with Malagant’s arrow. Her eyes, green ones, were staring off into nothing; a pool of blood that reflected the firelight, collecting around her cold body.
Ben picked up her hand and slid off a silver ring, before pocketing it. “Anyway – they aren’t really elves are they, Malagant? They’re brainwashed beyond repair.”
“That’s right,” Malagant responded. He started removing the knight’s boots so Ben did the same to the female elf. Teal brought his bag into the camp and they started putting all of their plunder in the brown canvas bag. “And even if we did win – I don’t think we could get them back. I’ve never seen an elf recover from being parasited after the forty-eight hours. This was a mercy killing…” Malagant looked down at a necklace he was holding and sighed before throwing it into Teal’s bag.
“Did you know any of them?” Teal asked.
Ben felt relieved when Malagant shook his head no. “There was close to a thousand of us, some stationed in towns, some patrolling, some in the king’s service… I was patrolling which I think saved me. By the time I realized what was going on I escaped. If…” He paused, and left his words hang in the air.
“If…?” Teal pressed.
Malagant shrugged and walked into the forest, where the other three elves were. “If I had stayed and let myself become parasited – perhaps I could’ve saved them; perhaps I could’ve saved Thierry and Tiercel.”
Teal and Ben exchanged glances, Ben knew Teal was thinking the exact same thing he was: Who was Thierry and Tiercel? They had heard Thierry’s name before, he was the genius who learned they could coat their blades in seeve, but other than that the names meant little.
They didn’t press Malagant any more though. The quiet muggy air filled the camp and the shadowed outskirts as the three of them stripped the knight’s bodies, pocketing and throwing into Teal’s bag, anything of use or value.
Malagant was stuffing the last pair of fur-lined gloves into the pack when suddenly his eyes widened. Ben looked to where his eyes were fixed and felt his heart jump into his throat, in the distance were torches, and as Ben listened, the sound of voices.
“Back to the horses,” Malagant said in a harsh whisper. He threw Teal his bag and u
rged Teal and Ben to go ahead of him. “Your eyesight is better than mine. If we have to run fast I’ll be following you, hold up your hand if there’s something I might trip over – hurry.”
And the three of them were off, Ben’s eyes fixed on the forest floor with Teal leading the group. Their stealth and silence was now replaced with speed, and the cautious excitement that had stirred inside of Ben’s chest had rapidly mutated into anxiety.
That anxiety exploded into full-blown panic when they heard shouts behind them. Ben turned around to see if he could see any torches when Malagant’s eyes flashed angrily at him. “No looking back. Go, go faster.”
“Are they coming after us?” Ben asked hastily. Something inside of him needed to know.
“Turn back around and look…”
Suddenly Ben tripped, Malagant slamming into his back. The two of them tumbled to the ground, Ben’s knee scraping against the rough rock he’d tripped over.
Malagant swore and jumped to his feet; he wrenched Ben up before roughly shoving him towards Teal. Thankfully, Malagant didn’t rip him a new one like Ben was fully expecting, besides some colourful swear words, in what Ben thought were several languages; he let Ben punish himself for becoming distracted.
The shouting behind them got louder but Ben refused to look behind him. The three ran down a ravine and climbed to the top, and it was at the top that Teal pointed ahead. “We’re close,” Teal said, out of breath.
Then the whistling sound of a loose arrow. Malagant grabbed onto Ben’s doublet and shoved him to the ground. Ben couldn’t see where the arrow landed but he could hear the impact of it hitting a tree.
“They’re shooting blind,” Malagant hissed. “As soon as we get to the horses, get on and run. Ben, smack the horse on the backside, then nudge it with your leg, understand?”
Ben nodded, and the three of them got up and made a desperate dash for the road.
“I see them!” a voice suddenly sounded. Ben clenched his teeth and swore, and this time when Ben heard the whistling of another arrow Malagant didn’t slam him to the ground, they ran and they ran fast.
“Almost there…” Teal gasped. He found Ben’s hand and pulled him close. “Just twenty more feet.”
Another whistle, and in quick succession two more. All around them Ben could hear the arrows hitting the trees, and one that clinked as if hitting one of the moss-covered rocks. At this, the panic in Ben’s chest too powerful, he looked behind them.
Torches, five of them at least, lighting up the twisted trees like the sun had finally infiltrated the deep and dark forest. They were close and they were gaining on them.
Then finally Ben saw the shadows of the horses. Teal gripped his hand hard before letting go and running to Ben’s horse, quickly untying it before he untied Malagant’s.
Ben hopped on the black gelding, his lungs burning from pushing himself through the muggy forest. He did what Malagant said and smacked the horse on the backside. “Go on, horse!” Ben exclaimed.
The horse lurched forward and shook his head back and forth, then started running down the road obediently.
Quickly Malagant and Teal were beside him. Ben looked over at Teal who nodded at him to make his horse go faster. Teal was half-raised off of his saddle and leaning forward, so Ben did the same.
Then a quick shadow and a high-pitched whistle. Ben looked behind him to see the torches spilling onto the road. He ducked down after that, bringing his body as close to the horse’s as he possibly could, and continued to nudge the beast’s flanks with his boots.
The three rode into the night, leaving the dead knights behind them and those who were avenging their deaths, in the dust.
18
Castle Alcove
Krafter the Crithian priest took his goblet of wine from the terrified-looking servant and sat down on his favourite chair, made of purple fabric and the red flesh korwood that only grew in the Seever Mountains of Darcrithis. The chair faced a hearth made out of grey and black marble, that had inside of it a fire of red flames. And though the fire was strong and gave off an intense heat, there was no wood inside of the fireplace for the fire to feed off of.
This was the shared quarters of the high priests Krafter and Stolas, a room in the tallest tower of the Pyre, and was decorated to suit the priests’ mutual tastes. There was a large four poster bed with a purple canopy and a black privacy curtain, an apothecary room off to the left-hand side with shelves full of various vials and decanters, and many pieces of furniture; all with embellished carvings of the finest detail, their origins from either Xal’Crith or Dashavia.
Around the large circular floor were wall hangings that filled the room with colour; the flags of Dashavia and Xal’Crith of course, and paintings depicting the gods Xalis and Darsheive in various poses, every one of them showing off the twin gods’ beauty. However the thing that caught one’s eye while entering the room was the floor-to-ceiling stained glass portrait of Xalis and Darsheive. One that, when the afternoon sun shone through, illuminated the room in brilliant rainbows.
And it being afternoon the window was doing just that, as the shaking servant held the silver pitcher he could see reds, yellows, and blues bouncing off of the shiny surface.
“Isn’t my chair pretty, Gyles?” Krafter said in a playful tone. He ran his hand along the smooth wood, tracing a clawed finger over one of the carved designs.
The young Crithian, a boy of only fourteen, nodded. “Y-yes, High Priest Krafter. I went to the Seever Mountains with my father once. I… I climbed–”
“I asked you a question, I didn’t request a story,” Krafter replied coolly, before his ice-blue Crithian eyes took him to the chamber entrance. Standing in the shadows was his fellow priest, the Dashavian Stolas.
“Did you bring me some proper wine? This stuff tastes like dragon piss,” Krafter said as he took another drink.
“No, however if you wish to wet your throat we can always stick a spout in the servant’s neck,” Stolas replied casually. The priest stepped into the chambers then looked behind him and held the heavy door open. The reason why was soon revealed when a crouched figure could be seen in the shadows.
The figure stepped into the light, the mosaic patterns of colour that bled through the stained glass windows illuminating the tattooed malkah in its rainbow glow. Although the beautiful designs soaking into his frame and clean black robes they had dressed him in did little to hide the brutalized parts of Tseer’s body. He was covered in healing scabs and fresh red scars; some that cut right through his black tattoos.
“At least you made them bathe him first,” Krafter replied. He rose and handed the near-empty goblet back to the servant. With a sauntering walk he approached Tseer and crossed his arms, looking the malkah up and down with an analytical gaze.
“Nyte said you had use for me?” Tseer replied, taking a fresh cup of wine from the servant with a light incline of his head.
“Indeed,” Krafter replied. Stolas was already behind him waiting for the servant to pour him his own cup of wine.
The Crithian priest tapped a clawed finger to his chin, then his mouth twisted to the side. “My, my, those guards really did love your body, didn’t they? How many times did they fuck you?”
Tseer’s eyebrow twitched. “I have no problem leaving what happened in the prison, in the prison. I have more important things to deal with than elves who wish to dominate someone they know is better than they’ll ever be. Let the weak-minded have their five minutes of dominance – I care not.”
Stolas laughed behind Krafter. “Such bold words for a prisoner.”
“Nyte said you had use for me?” Tseer said again, his eyes still narrowed and his stance now rigid. He took a careful drink of the goblet, his eyes never leaving the two priests’ faces.
“That’s why you’re here,” Krafter said, then he nodded towards the servant. “You have five minutes to get to the bottom of the tower steps before our enchantments either skewer you or burn you alive. I wouldn’t dawdle.
”
With a single stricken look the servant nodded and started running towards the exit to Krafter and Stolas’s tower floor, the door automatically shutting behind him.
“Turn on the enchantments now,” Stolas said playfully to his fellow priest.
But Krafter shook his head. “No, he’s quiet and his company is less grating than the other terrified servants. I wish him to live.”
Krafter ignored Stolas’s annoyed sigh and turned back to Tseer; the priest smiled thinly. “We do have use for you, Tseer. A task that will give you exactly what you wish and more. You want your son back, no?”
At the mention of his son, Tseer’s already menacing face hardened further and he shifted around uncomfortably. “Yes,” he said stiffly.
Stolas stood beside Krafter, the two of them standing side by side with their silver goblets in their ring-adorned hands. “What do you want from me now?” Tseer asked. “I already let that kessiik infiltrate my mind to get the path to the blond-haired hibrid – what do you two want?”
“Nyte has vanished from Elron,” Stolas said, and Tseer’s eyes widened at this. “He failed at his task and hasn’t been seen in over a week. He took the blond-haired hibrid’s mental path with him – but we don’t want to rape his brain.” He looked at Krafter and the two of them exchanged grins, each with a pair of pointed teeth. “We want to… play with him and whoever he is companioning with for a while.”
“Play with them?” Tseer narrowed his eyes. “Just tell the king where they are.”
The two priests snorted like this was an outlandishly stupid idea. “Where would the fun be in that? No, we will not be telling the king of this quite yet,” Krafter said. He stepped up to Tseer and patted his cheek. The malkah cringed. “You will do two things for us, Tseer Amaus. And in return… not only will we get you your son back, personally, we will give you the empire of the elf who is keeping him as a servant. The empire of Marillion Valahir.”
The two priests held matching grins when they saw the change in Tseer’s stoic visage. The bounty hunter took a step back from Krafter’s hand and stared at the two; his crimson eyes wide and his pupils dilating at the thought of not only getting his son back – but punishing the wealthy and powerful elf who had made Tsoren into a slave.