by Matthew Wolf
The small man will win, a voice said. He squinted, curious where the thought came from, but it was clear it was his own voice. At last the small man cried out, smoothly side stepping a thrust from the tall man and smashing down with his sword. He stopped a sliver away from the tall man’s neck. His opponent wore a look of disbelief as a round of applause erupted from the circle. Gray smiled and continued, maneuvering his way through the combatants until he came to the stand of willowy yen trees from where the voice carried.
Guards conversed over long tables with scrolls spread across their surface, while couriers in black and red livery rushed to and fro. To their right, more men and women stood in congregation. They were dressed in fine silks of rich purples and blues.
Gray heard the woman’s voice again.
“You will not see them because they do not want you to see them. Not until it is too late. Only then will they strike.
“This meeting was called for one purpose only—to discuss the future of this land, and the lives of your people. Why we are here is to piece together the truth from the rumors and decide on the path for survival.” A round of unruly voices sounded from her last word. Her voice overrode it. Gray ducked and dodged to get closer, “It is now no longer a matter of fighting and winning, you must get that through your heads this instant, or leave and fall to the coming darkness. To understand this you must understand the enemy. They are from an age where magic reigned supreme, a time with kingdoms and armies dwarfing everything you know. Even then, as you have heard from your stories, the great armies failed against them. They wield powers that you cannot begin to fathom. We have only one option, we must find safety. We must go north.”
“Run? To where?” voices broke out.
“No! We must fight!”
“You speak only of rumors!”
The woman paused, as the quarreling of voices continued. Turning slightly, her eyes locked with Gray, and he froze. She said something he couldn’t hear, and the others turned to one another, conversing heatedly as she left the circle. She approached, and Gray held his ground. She wore white silk from head to toe with a scarlet red cloak upon her shoulders—the cowl of which was pulled far forward. A tall, broad-shouldered man in green, cloaked and hooded as well, walked at her side. More like stalked, he corrected.
“So this is him,” the tall man said as if it were a long awaited announcement. Beware this man, Gray’s internal voice cautioned, eyeing the sword at the man’s side. The woman watched him.
Gray’s gaze shuffled between the two. Though he could not see their faces clearly from within their hoods, he felt their stares. They eyed him like a piece of steel before the forge. “Sorry, do I know you?” he asked.
As if waking from a spell, the woman laughed. “Forgive me,” she said. “It is one thing to hear about you, and to know you exist, and another entirely to see you in person.” She bowed. “My name is Karil, and this is Rydel,” she said with a wave of a hand. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you. Mura has told me much about you.”
He moved to grab her arm, but immediately thought better of it. “He’s all right then?”
“Mura seems to think very highly of you. I am glad to see that his admiration is not one sided. And yes, he is alive and well,” she answered, touching his hand kindly. Her touch was warm.
“Where is he? Can I see him?”
Karil smiled. “Of course. I only wanted to see you for myself first, and I am glad I did.” Again, the woman made reference as if she knew him, as if he were a character from a story. She must have seen his curiosity, for she continued. “I apologize. Sometimes I have heard that it is truly elvin to talk in riddles, and Mura has a fondness for it as well. I am not an inhabitant of Lakewood. My home is Eldas, the home of the elves.”
Gray was breathless. He looked around to see if any others heard, but it seemed talking with her had made a ring of space between them and the others. “An elf,” he whispered. “I thought they, I mean you, were only stories.”
“Come,” Karil motioned him to follow, and Gray obeyed. She led him around the corner of the palace to a bench beneath a yen tree, hidden from the crowds. Before he could speak, Karil withdrew her scarlet hood, unveiling her features. Silver eyes. They held a startling luminescence. The rest of her was equally captivating. She had high cheekbones, a narrow chin, and a slender neck. Pointed ears stuck out from her straight, long white-blond hair.
He turned his eyes, and apologized.
“Do not apologize,” she replied, “The sight of an elf is a strange thing to many, though in truth I am only half-elf, unlike Rydel.” She motioned to Rydel who stood respectfully behind her. He pulled back his hood. Rydel had an angular nose, a strong jaw and longer pointed ears. He noticed the more human side of Karil in contrast.
“I was not surprised because you are an elf,” he said at last, then amended, “Well, not entirely. I just never expected elves to be so beautiful.” Karil’s eyes fanned wide, and he could tell he caught her off guard. “Sorry,” he said, “I realize how that sounded.”
“Don’t be. I was pleasantly surprised, that’s all. And I wasn’t sure if the comment was for Rydel either,” she teased.
He laughed and glanced to Rydel. The elf said nothing. He could teach a rock how to show less emotion. “Why did you bring me here?”
“To see if the sight of an elf would trigger memories of your past, but it seems it does not.”
“So Mura told you of that as well?”
“He did. What is more, no one besides you and Mura know that I am half-elf,” she said, “People of this land are accustomed only to their stories. If any of those stories actually became true, I’m afraid of how they would react.”
“You think if the people of this town saw an elf they would be… what, afraid? Don’t you think they are wiser than that?” He wondered if he was overstepping his boundaries.
Karil did not seem provoked. “Fear and ignorance is a powerful thing, Gray, and something to be cautious of, but you are right—I simply worry that they would not understand, and they do not need another thing to cope with at this moment. Daerval is in enough turmoil as it stands.”
Gray nodded. “I don’t mean to be rude, but if you’re done with me…”
Karil held a smile in her silver eyes. “You would like to see Mura,” she stated, lifting her hood and hiding her features once more.
“Do you know where I can find him?”
“Ah, but you must be famished from your long journey. Are you hungry?”
Gray realized as his stomach growled, that he was starving. “Starving, now that you mention it.”
“Then I’d venture my way to the Great Hall.” She pointed up the hill. “That would be a good place to look, if I were you.” Her silver eye winked within her hood. “And be at ease within these walls, Gray, I know your journey has been long and hard.”
Bowing and thanking them both—even the quiet statue-like elf—Gray took his leave. Moving through the dark courtyard, his stomach churned, and fear and elation collided with one another after the many long days. He hadn’t stopped worrying about the hermit, and to know he was alive and well and within reach made him overjoyed.
More people walked the paths of the keep, now lit with orange lanterns. Gray found himself searching their faces, looking for Mura. Impatiently, he picked up his pace, racing through the courtyard and heading towards the Great Hall.
A Vision of Death
VERA KNELT BEFORE THE FIRE. SHE warmed her hands on the flames, but the cold was bone-deep. She couldn’t stop her body from shaking. She looked over her shoulder.
They sat in a small room. It was bare, save for a wood chair whose legs and back she had already used for kindling. An entry at the far side of the room showed a black night. She loathed the night, for it meant coldness and hunger. Somehow in the day, she could distract herself from the pain of her gnawing gut.
Within arm’s reach, Kirin lay fast asleep. He was curled, arms wrapped around his small body,
shivering in his sleep. Her heart panged. Why did he have to be so quiet? So unassuming in his pain and suffering? With every waking moment Vera felt her anger and bitterness grow. But Kirin never said a word. Instead, he merely pushed forward. Twice he had nearly been caught for stealing a loaf of bread for the two; and the price for theft in Farbs was steep—the loss of a hand or even death was the toll for quick fingers. And still, he would smile and give her the bigger half. She envied his perseverance.
Quietly, she removed her cloak, wrapping it around his tiny, gaunt frame when a figure entered, head scraping the ceiling. Immediately, her heart darkened. She pressed herself against the wall. “Who are you?” she asked.
It spoke and the walls quaked, “A nightmare.” The voice was like thunder. She couldn’t see its face within its hood, but she knew it was smiling. It loomed, its frame nearly filling the room with malevolence.
“Leave us alone! If you’re looking for food or money, we don’t have any…”
“Enough,” it said coldly, cutting her off. “This is a dream. Break this foolish illusion, Vera, or I will break it for you.”
As if waking, she looked around. Instead of rags, she wore her midnight black dress with its long slit at the top of her thigh. Instead of the cloak around Kirin, it was the thick cape she had fashioned from the hide of a disobedient verg. She shook her head, and rose to her feet. She eyed the man before her, and suddenly it all made sense. He’d found her. A dark dread, a thousand times more terrifying than before seeped beneath her flesh. She breathed and it misted in the suddenly frozen air.
“Kneel,” he breathed.
Without hesitation, she pressed her face to the hard clay ground. “Master…”
“A touching image,” he said, head turning to take in the small room, “You disappoint me.”
“Master, I live only to serve… I—”
He interrupted her. “You still have feelings for him, don’t you?”
She looked up, catching his gaze. He meant Kirin. “He is nothing to me,” she seethed.
“Truly,” he replied, eyeing the cloak that warmed the boy.
“A dream and reality are far different things,” she retorted.
“Is that so? He tried to save your life that day, but still you wish to kill him and retrieve Morrowil?”
Vera neared the sleeping Kirin. Grabbing the ruby-throated dagger from behind her back, she smoothly unsheathed the blade and drove it towards his chest with a cry. The boy gasped, eyes opening as blood spouted from his chest. Vera cut with ruthless precision. Two cuts. She severed the major veins and his eyes flickered, closing as the last of his breath fled. “Do not doubt me. Nothing matters but the blade. I will bathe in blood before it is done.”
The figure sneered, but still she couldn’t see his face. He waved his hand and the boy disappeared like smoke. “That is yet to be proven.” Suddenly his fist clenched, muttering beneath his breath, and terror filled Vera.
Her hand tingled as if a flame was embedded just beneath the skin. “What are you doing?”
“You didn’t think your betrayal would escape my eye, did you?”
“No! I simply tried to…”
“Your orders were simple. You were to follow the Kage.” His form grew bigger, nearing, words rattling the room.
“I did as you commanded! You told me—”
“SILENCE!”
Vera trembled, feeling her mind bend as if unhinging before his presence. “I… What do you want of me, my lord?”
“I want you to obey. I saved you that day for a reason. It seems I was wrong to have done so. You’ve failed me.” He flicked his hand and suddenly a fire burst upon her hand. She watched in horror as scarlet flames consumed her flesh, eating her fingers one at a time, burning her alive.
She screamed, “What is this?”
“I’m undoing what I did so long ago.”
“No,” she cried, “Without your spell, I will die!” The flame continued to burn, reaching her wrist, eating at her arm. Fire lit the walls, burning the small room and the dark man remained still. “Please, save me! I was simply trying to find the boy! The Kage are wrong! We must think ahead of him!”
The figure lifted a hand.
The flesh-eating flame stopped, but still the room’s inferno burned until her face was drenched in sweat. She tried to think, tried to form words in her frantic mind. “He… he will evade the Kage, he is smart and there are others on his side, helping him. At this rate, we will never get the blade.”
“Then what do you propose? How would you take the blade? Speak quickly.”
“We use the dark army to flush out the boy,” she said.
His head tilted, stalking forward like a hungry wolf. “Go on.”
A small smirk creased her face as she gripped her white-boned wrist in agony, “To catch a rat, you must first scare it from its nest. Burn its home to the ground, then the flame and smoke will push the rodent from its hovel towards waiting arms.”
He lifted his hand and the scarlet flames danced around her bone arm. “Speak plainly. My patience is already at its limit.”
“The boy is in Lakewood, use the Kage and the rest of your minions to siege the town and flush him out.”
“And if he escapes?”
She couldn’t help but grin wickedly, “Then I’ll be waiting and we shall spring the trap upon our little rat.” One way or the other, Kirin, you will be mine.
The looming black figure was silent, and then a dark laugh echoed off the walls and the flames danced. “A foolproof plan, it seems.”
She bowed her head lower. “I live only to serve, my lord.”
“No,” he said and dark power filled his voice, “you live only because I allow you to, and I will ensure that you continue to do so.”
Vera gasped as a chill entered her—it sunk beneath her flesh and gripped her bones. “What are you doing?”
“Insurance,” he said and closed his eyes. Vera watched as a single thread of the element of flesh appeared, drawing from her skin. It was blindingly bright with power. Suddenly, like a spider’s web dissolving before a flame, it evaporated. The figure looked up. She felt her blood freeze. Dark-red peered from his cowl and into her soul, as if his eyes were globes of blood. “It is finished.”
Her skin glowed translucently. “What is this?” she asked, touching skin that felt soaked in oil.
“You have two weeks to kill the boy and obtain Morrowil.”
“And if I fail?” she asked.
“The potent threads I wove long ago to keep the darkness at bay are unraveling. If you fail, or your sentiments towards the boy are untrue, then the darkness of the blade will eat at you. The remnants of Morrowil’s magic will consume your flesh bit by bit until the death I spared you from takes you once again. And this time, there will be no returning from the grave.”
Abruptly, Vera had a flashing memory of a dark night.
The room was filled with broken furniture and dead bodies. Blood ran across the stone—it was her own. She eyed it in confusion as she rose to her feet, a strange spell coursing through her veins as she eyed the tall figure before her.
“Who are you?” she asked, looking up at the terrifying form—he was taller than any mere man. Instead of clothes, black flames wreathed his wide-frame. A demon… her mind whispered.
“You may address me as ‘my lord’. I have spared you from death, Vera. But the price is your life. You will be my servant from now until I release you, if I so choose. If you fail me, however, you will regret your salvation from death, for I will show you a pain this world has never known.”
She pushed the memory aside, returning to the moment.
“And… when I succeed?” she said, choosing her words confidently despite her rising terror.
“If you obtain the blade, the spell will return and you will once again be spared from true death.”
Vera nodded, feigning confidence. Before she could respond, he spoke. This time his voice thundered in her skull, rattling he
r to her core and she closed her eyes, grabbing her head to keep it from splitting in two. “Find the boy, and take Morrowil, or die. Now go, but do not think I will be far. I am watching you always. And if you ever betray me again, this visit will seem a pleasant dream.”
When she opened her eyes, he was gone. The fire before and flames upon the wall died in a rush and suddenly the nightmare collapsed.
Her eyes snapped wide. Darkness enveloped her. Nearby, she felt Drefah’s presence. The huge wolf’s fur ruffled from a breeze. Otherwise, the night was quiet. Separated from her Niux’s camp, the snarls and grunts of sleeping vergs and saeroks were distant. There was a faint glow beneath her blanket and she lifted her covers.
Upon her arm was a deathly light. Her whole body stiffened as she raised her hand to stare at fingers no longer flesh, but bone. Abruptly, the light faded, seeping back into her skin, but she felt it—waiting in the shadows, slowing eating away at her until there was nothing left.
Soul-burning purpose and the desire to live filled her. She would warm herself in the blood of Gray, giving him the death he deserved in order to spare herself.
And in the end, she knew a final truth the dark figure did not name. Once I gain the blade and become its owner, I will no longer need the spell… the power of the blade will return me to my true form, and not even the gods themselves will defy me.
The Great Hall
GRAY REACHED THE DOORS OF THE Great Hall. The sound and flow of commotion guided him towards the chambers like a fish in a stream.
The doors burst open, and a torrent of cheer flowed over him. A group of drunken guards stumbled out. He sidestepped them as he took in the spectacle of the hall. Huge, ornate pillars ran down the center and flanked long rows of oak tables. Each table was filled with guards and commoners, eating and drinking while servants hustled.
Gray scanned for Mura as he moved through the tables. The hall was raucous. The clink of plate and fork, and the chiming of frothy mugs set his nerves on edge, and he jumped at a round of sharp laughter. Nearby, a group of men and women danced to the tune of a flute and drum. The noise and bright lights jarred him. He looked around feeling eyes on him.