by E. V. Greig
“What do they eat?” Kaiwan stroked Slo’annathorys’ head gently.
“Worms and beetles for the most part and sometimes grain.” Drithik shrugged. “Apparently they can kill animals that are far larger than they are. They’re meant to be fierce.”
Ah, now that is most fitting; although I do not like the sound of the worms and beetles. And in Naevar’s name, stop petting me! I am not a kitten.
“Aren’t you worried he’ll die then, mare?” Saylii was skipping ahead of them all.
“Transmutation spells do not work like that. His natural lifespan will not be altered. And he has his mind.”
Oh yes: what a comfort that provides me!
Nala wrinkled her nose. “I think he smells worse as a shrew!”
And I think that you would make an excellent mount. What do you think of that? Oh, wait: you cannot understand me – I am a shrew!
Bandhir smiled and kissed the top of Kaiwan’s head. “Do not worry, my love. We shall find a way to help your guardian.”
“Thank you, Efrym.” She leant back against him. “I wonder where Ruiryk and Banor are. They went to rescue him.”
“Perhaps they are still searching then.” Bandhir was finding all of this rather amusing, but he had no wish to join Slo’annathorys as a small animal. Besides, Kaiwan was warm and soft in his arms. She smelt of wild cherry, and rain.
“Slo’annathorys, I am sorry. Coorinne is dead. She has been turned into a nhynquara, and so there is no hope of raising her to life again. But your son is safe: he is at a sylthal keep named Briersburge, along with Luath. Lonrari is lost to us. She was taken by Haph. Ruiryk and Banor are looking for you. I hope that the wyrm does not eat them! Efrym, should we try to find them and let them know what has happened?”
He sighed. “Do you know where they are?”
“No, I do not: for they did not tell me where the wyrm laired.”
“Then sadly we have little hope of finding them. Unless, my love, you are also a seeress?”
“I could scry for them both, that is true! Efrym, I had not thought of that.”
Intelligence was never your strongest quality. Curse this shrew’s form: I am starving!
Bandhir plucked a mushroom from the trunk of a nearby tree and offered it to Slo’annathorys. “Here you are, my friend!”
I still intend to kill you, skree’akh. Hmm – who knew that wild mushrooms were so tasty? Ugh: is this a weevil? Oh Gods, what do I care? It tastes wonderful!
∞∞∞
“Welcome to Briersburge, King Gilvaneous. I am Lord Ranulf Von Rosenhof III: erstwhile champion of Alnaiea. My niece awaits you in the great hall along with her retinue.”
“Thank you for your hospitality, Lord Von Rosenhof. It is most heartening to encounter skree’akh that are so civilised.”
Ranulf led the way into the great hall. A chorus of horns sounded as they entered. Naomi gazed down at them from her seat at the far wall. She was clad in her most formal gown: a busy structure of blue and red velvet, trimmed with rich purple. Elharan and Gyrfalcon stood behind her, one to either side, whilst Spellsnitcher pawed at her distaff. There were guards along each wall, armed with pikes and wearing full plate. Skegyl stood amongst them. Misericord was, as ever, unseen. “Lady Naomi Du’Valle, may I present King Gilvaneous of Sylvangarde?”
“Welcome to my keep, Majesty. What brings you to visit us?” She eyed the small contingent of sylvanthir: her blue eyes resting briefly upon the tattooed body of ever silent Frelth.
Gilvaneous inclined his head in a small but gracious gesture. “I have come to collect those that belong to me. The par’anth: Luath son of Windriver. The child: Althanor son of Slo’annathorys, son of Gilvaneous. And of course the maimed one: Misericord, as you call him. Rest assured that he shall be properly healed of his scars in Sylvangarde, for he too is of anthiri blood. I have sensed it.”
A murmur of surprise ran through most of those assembled, as he had expected it to. Naomi however merely shook her head. “No, no, and no. Is there anything else?”
“Perhaps you do not understand, my dear. I am the avatar of Haph: the Goddess of the Anthir. I know all that there is to know of my people. I am their master, their king, and they belong to me. Most especially Althanor, for he is my grandson – albeit that he is a bastard. Do not deny me what is mine. It will not end well for you or your keep.”
“I see that I have phrased myself incorrectly, Majesty. Please accept my sincerest apologies. Allow me to clarify my meaning: get the fuck out of my keep, and never return to it again, you patronising sack of shit.” She tossed her distaff aside then and rose to her feet: drawing a crossbow from beneath her chair. “Luath has suffered quite enough, thank you. And if you expect me to agree to allow Althanor to be raised in a society that permits rape and torture, then you are sadly misled, for he was placed under my care. As to your final demand, nobody takes Misericord anywhere!”
“Lord Von Rosenhof, if you place any value upon your niece’s life, then you shall punish her most severely for her outburst before I find it necessary to do so myself.”
“Oh no – I am afraid that I agree with her.” Ranulf backed out of the way.
Gilvaneous scowled and drew Arnixor. “Then you leave me no choice!”
A cold iron crossbow bolt took him through his sword hand. Arnixor whined as it clattered to the stone floor of the hall. “I don’t believe that I gave you leave to draw that weapon, Majesty.” Naomi was already reloading.
“Kill them all – spare only those of anthiri blood!” Gilvaneous gestured to his own retinue with his uninjured hand. “Be as creative as you like!”
The sylvanthir drew their weapons and turned as one to attack. Their cold iron spears found the gaps between the pieces of full plate and bit deep into Gilvaneous’ body. “No true sylvanth would ever be caught so off guard! We shall not defend one who cannot even best a skree’akh female!”
Frelth stood silently watching the scene unfold. His body had instinctively made to defend his master, but the Ves’Neryn Korius had seized hold of him and held him back. “No, Frelth. You cannot hope to stop this. Do not waste your own blood trying to save the one that eradicated your people and enslaved you. His actions have led the sylvanthi people down too dark a path for too long. It is time that there was change in Sylvangarde: I shall not see my daughter grow to womanhood in such a place as it is!”
Gilvaneous gasped and forced his hand to close about Arnixor’s hilt. “This treachery shall be repaid!” He hurled himself away through the shadows as the spears of his former generals slammed into the stones where he had stood.
Naomi stepped forwards to address the remaining sylvanthir. “So – you have overthrown your tyrant. But what shall you do now, I wonder?”
They gazed impassively at her. Finally one deigned to reply. “Sylvanthi politics are not your business. Be glad that we do not have the time to waste upon dealing with your precious keep, for we must return to Sylvangarde at once and decide who shall be regent until Prince Gilanor comes of age to rule.”
“There will be blood in the streets before nightfall.” A second general glanced towards the bodyguard of the former king. “Lord Darkemoon – what of the coward’s pet?”
“If there is to be any hope for our culture then I say that change is needed. Perhaps it is even time to make reparation for what was done to him.” Korius stepped in front of Frelth. “I say that we let him be, for now at least.”
“Very well then, if you shall vouch for him then he may live. But it will be upon you if he betrays us!”
“That is acceptable. Now, as you say: let us ready the army and return to Sylvangarde.”
“Excuse me please, but there is one small matter that we have not yet discussed, my Lords. What of the coward’s bastard grandson?”
The Mistress of Briersburge aimed her crossbow squarely at the head of the general who had just spoken. “What about him?”
“Let the humans keep him!” Korius waved dismissively. �
�He is of no importance: he is but a child with no clue to his heritage!”
“Your fellow general is wise; you ought to heed his advice.” Naomi nodded to Korius. “Lord Darkemoon, wasn’t it?”
“Lord Korius Darkemoon. You are brave for a female. You remind me of Wildheart. Perhaps I ought to introduce the two of you to one another someday.” He smiled at her then: a faint ghost of amusement dancing across his lips.
“Some other time, I think. You sir, shall be permitted to visit Briersburge again, should your people wish to converse with mine. You at least appear to be reasonable, unlike some.”
“Why thank you.” Korius bowed mockingly to her. “Come, my Lords: let us depart!”
They marched from the keep together. Frelth hung at their heels like a whipped dog too afraid to stray. Naomi ran forward impulsively and caught hold of his arm. “Stay here: you may help to care for Althanor!”
The feranth stared at her: his pale hair hanging in tight braids about his face. His dark, birdlike eyes were deep with buried pain, and the untaken vengeance of a murdered people. He took in the sight and scent of her: committing each and every detail to memory.
“Your charge has strayed already, Lord Darkemoon.”
“Frelth – come along!”
“He is welcome to stay: it is clear that none of you care for him anyhow.” Naomi held Frelth’s gaze.
For an instant, the feranth was tempted. Then the sad face of Queen Yllyeria returned to his thoughts and he padded meekly after Korius. The Ves’Neryn nodded to Naomi. “I shall send him back to you if he does not settle. For now though it is best that he goes with us.”
His fellow generals sneered. “Oh, leave him already! He is likely to pine to death without his master’s touch anyhow!”
Frelth raised his head then and a low growl emanated from his throat. Korius frowned and caught his arm. “Frelth, stay: you are not to come with us, if you must be so savage in your ways!” He dropped his voice to a level that only Frelth and Naomi were now close enough to hear. “They shall kill you if you rail at them, Frelth! Stay here and live – the Queen shall face enough misery as it is, I fear, without your loss too. I shall watch over her and Prince Gilanor as best as I am able.” The Sylvanth feigned a shove to Frelth’s chest then, and strode away to rejoin his fellow generals.
Naomi stepped up beside the feranth She frowned as they watched the sylvanthir depart. “I suspect that you have your own secrets, Frelth. Still, you won’t be harmed here. Please – come back inside with me.”
He followed her grudgingly: his body tense at the presence of so many skree’akh. Some maidservants giggled at his nakedness and he snarled as he guessed at their meaning. Even in their coarse tongue, it was clear that they were mocking him. They fled shrieking as the feranth bared his teeth.
Naomi shushed him. “Ignore them, Frelth: they are being foolish. Let us give you something to wear.” She nodded to Elharan, who stepped forwards to offer the feranth his cloak.
Frelth growled and backed away from them both. He had no need of such things! Indeed, he was only as well groomed as he was because his master had insisted upon it...and because Queen Yllyeria liked to braid his hair. But the skree’akh had no such claim to him!
“Don’t think he wants it, milady.” Elharan backed up. “Maybe you should just let him be for now until he has a chance to settle.”
“Very well, Elharan. Keep an eye on him for me, please.” Naomi hurried off towards the main tower. “I must have words with my uncle over what has transpired!”
∞∞∞
Kaiwan snuggled closer to Bandhir beneath the blankets. They had reached a clear area amidst the pine trees and were camped there for the night. Efrym had put up the tent again: dividing it in two with a blanket so that Saylii and Drithik could also sleep inside. Nala preferred to be outdoors.
“Your feet are cold, my love.”
“I am sorry, Efrym.”
“It is alright: I am merely confused as to how anyone could be cold on such a warm night as this, and under so many blankets.”
Slo’annathorys bristled and curled up at the foot of the bedroll with a chunk of bread. Must I bear witness to this? Hmm – there are raisins in this bread!
“My feet are always cold. I think it is because I am a wraithspawn.” Kaiwan sighed.
Bandhir rolled over to lie on top of her. “Perhaps it is because your heart is so very warm: the rest of you must balance it out to keep you from melting!” He kissed her: running his fingers through her hair as he did so.
Still right here, you know!
“Efrym, wait – we need to put Slo’annathorys in the other half of the tent first.”
What?
“I shall do so at once, my love.”
If you dare to lay one finger upon me, skree’akh, I shall end you! Hey – stop that! Put me down! Don’t you dare shut me in a jar! Do you want me to suffocate? Oh – you have made an air hole in the lid. How kind. Wait – is this bacon rind?
∞∞∞
“I can’t find the boss!” Squeaky ran up to Ruiryk and Banor. “I’ve looked everywhere around where we’re camped, there’s no sign of him. And Waneve is still here, so he hasn’t left of his own accord.”
Ruiryk got to his feet. “You don’t suppose that the spider got him do you?”
“Gods, I hope not!” The older man shook his head. “We need to start a proper search. Maybe I missed something. Or maybe I didn’t go far enough.”
Banor grunted. “Get Tharl to track him: it’s what he does best, after all.”
“Good idea.” Ruiryk hurried over to Tharl. “Hey – Hugo’s missing. Can you track him?”
The Khesrunorian nodded. “Provided that he wasn’t carried off by a Wyrm or some such - ah, sorry: I forgot that’s still a touchy subject.”
“Just find him please?”
Javia was staring off into the middle distance. “Death!”
“Not now, Javia!” Ruiryk ignored her.
The child continued muttering to herself. Had anyone bothered to listen, they might have realised that the list of names that she was now chanting were all anthiri.
∞∞∞
“I would have words with you, Misericord.”
“Yes, my Lady?”
“Was he telling the truth? Gilvaneous, I mean.”
“It is the truth as he interpreted it, my Lady. My mother was a woman of the wildest woodlands deep. Of an older era than anthir am I.”
“Continue, please.” She sat down at her desk and listened to the witchfinder’s tale.
“My riddle runs thus: the seventh son of a seventh son of a seventh son am I, but yet an only child, although my brothers lived long lives.”
“You and your siblings have the same father but a different mother.”
“Correct, my Lady. My father’s first fair bride was most miserably murdered whilst he was about his work as a witchfinder. In grief, did he shepherd his sons from her grave. They wandered weeping: deep into the dark of the wild woodlands. There they met my mother. She held them to her heart and healed them. And so my father gained his seventh son.”
“Who was your mother?” Naomi was entranced.
“A woman of the wild woods, my Lady: a fair female of the Fey. She was the basis of books and the stuff of stories.”
“You’re not going to tell me, are you?”
Misericord bowed and pressed his silver mask against the back of her hand. “No, my Lady.”
“Should I be scared, brave blade?”
“Fairytales are often frightening, ‘tis true.”
“Perhaps we had best get to work on making a happy ending for ourselves then.” She smiled as he led her to the bed.
“And on avoiding angry trolls too, my Lady.”
“Alright, you see now you’re taking this metaphor too far, Misericord.”
“Nay, my Lady: angry trolls would take a toll most terrible upon our wooing one another. Think of the chaos that they could cause!”
&n
bsp; Naomi snorted with laughter at that. “Oh Gods, Misericord: now all I can picture is a band of angry trolls running about the keep causing trouble!”
“I assure you my Lady: the trolls are not to be trifled with.” He removed his mask and kissed her tenderly. “They are a tribe of terribly terrifying trolls.”
She arched into his embrace as he laid her down atop the blankets. “But you shall save me from them, shan’t you, Misericord?”
“Indubitably I shall, my Lady.”
Chapter Ten
Korius ran from the shadows: kicking open the door to Lonrari’s chamber as he went. “Wildheart, get dressed - there is a civil war beginning! I must get you and Anthalia to safety.”