by T. G. Neal
“No. And we told the people of Shatternest that we killed the trolls and burned their bodies.” Vaelen scoffed and climbed back up onto his horse, as did Aurelia.
“How many other lies did we tell the people?” Aurelia queried, turning her horse back to the path.
“More, probably, than you’d think.” Vaelen said, walking the horse at a faster pace than he could walk, but slow enough to not tire the horse too quickly. They would ride until noon, rest themselves and the horses, and then ride until dusk. At dusk they would make camp, get comfortable, and sleep for the night under the canopy of cedar trees just before they start hitting the marshy lands inside Grayvale.
Denevim rode a horse that Miliria had personally selected. The horse was as black as the night, as was its eyes, and it bore an aura like Denevim had never felt. As it breathed, Denevim could occasionally catch the scent of sulfur. He had been told by his sister that this horse had no breaking point; it could run faster than any other horse and never tire, and that is why she gave it to him.
He intended to test her words. Out of Drachenara only an hour before, he was riding at full speed, tearing through the open plains past the forest, heading in the ideal direction, though he hadn’t guided the horse there. Denevim had seen many of the things his sister could do with her powers, and all of them were gifts from the Burning Lord. All of them were terrifying. Even her ability to heal him, though he had a scar, it was much less than it could have been had he sought out traditional medical help.
His heart raced at the thought of fighting Vaelen in true combat, not being struck in the face by some cheated blow after having his manhood nearly ripped off by a woman. A woman that would be his. A woman that he would control… with help from his sister. He knew what she could do with her powers; overtaking a mind as simple as a regular human was nothing.
The night was his ally, for it would allow him to overtake any progress that the two fugitives had already made, and by daybreak, he would be ahead of wherever they were.
Upon the dawn of the next day Miliria sat in the goldstone throne in the center of the main hall before anyone else had even awoken. She turned a dagger between her fingers, rolling it around, flipping it, considering her next course of action. She had not slept. Sleep was behind her. It was unnecessary. She watched the blade with purpose, intent, and was alone with her thoughts.
Only moments after dawn, Tanys, the steward walked into the main hall. “Oh, My Lady, good morning. I thought you to be Jorvig.”
Miliria looked up at him and for a moment her eyes flashed with the fury of fire. “Why?” She asked. “Am I not, too, allowed to park my rump upon this fine chunk of carved earth?”
“I— “
“No, in your mind I am not, am I, Steward?” She hissed, quickly standing from the throne and moving toward him at an unnatural speed.
In the blink of an eye, she was standing in front of him. “I—“but again he didn’t get to speak, because she lifted him off the ground with one arm and pushed him against the stone walls of the main hall.
“I am the power. I am the one you should consult last. I am the one who controls all of you.” She lowered him to the ground. “And you would be a fool to do me wrong. If you think the worst that could happen is the death that befell dear Seneg, you are for a rude awakening, boy.” She leaned in close to his ear and whispered. “I will set your veins ablaze. Do not hope to ever escape me if I am not done with you…”
Tanys nodded and exhaled, putting a hand to his neck. “Of course, My Lady. What are your wishes?” He bowed, almost in worship.
“That is a good question.” Miliria said, turning from him, tossing her fire-red hair as she turned. She stepped toward the throne again and walked around it, drawing small designs on it with her finger. “First, I want you to make Vaelen Wraithson and Auralia Drachen enemies of the Brendom for murdering Bren Saden Drache, Brenness Drache, Captain Wraith, Captain Saitig and, by hand of the Crimson Hood Mercenaries, the death of twelve guards.” She thought and then nodded, sitting back down in the throne. “Have them make fliers decreeing the act as fact. Stamp it with a wax seal. Send it out to the surrounding Brendoms.”
Tanys made notes and looked to Miliria, “Are they alive, My Lady?”
“They are.” She said, tapping her lips. “For now.” She looked up at him devilishly. “I sent Denevim, my brother, after them. They were seen in Rootsborne, bound for Greyever.”
“I see. Why, then the turmoil?” Tanys asked, curious as to why she was taking all the extra precautions.
“Though my brother is a skilled fighter, I feel that he may be bested by Vaelen Wraithson. He does not yet accept the power that Ifris offers. Though he has felt it.” She made eye contact with him. “Do you know…” she trailed, standing and walking toward him, “the power that Ifris offers his followers? His worshipers? His chosen goddesses?”
Tanys looked cautious, shook his head “Are you one of his goddesses?” He asked.
“I am.” Miliria said, approaching him seductively. “Would you like to feel his fire?”
A nod was all he could muster.
Miliria's eyes gestured him to move closer. “Lay with me, here.”
He was not even given a chance to protest. While she showed him Ifris’ might, Jorvig lay asleep upstairs.
Vaelen and Aurelia both awoke early. Vaelen first, had kindled a fire and made breakfast by toasting some of the bread they had brought with them and browning the edges of the salted fish over the small fire he’d made. The earliest morning fog was already starting to dissipate, but he could feel the change in humidity, which told him they were much closer to the swampy bog of Greyever than he thought they would be.
They would stay on the road, which had been cobbled long ago. Any other attempt at passing the bog would be futile. At this point, the Cedargrove River had become a creek, and her waters almost stagnant. A few more miles from where they now rode, and the creeks would dissolve into the Grey Marshes, a reaching expanse of murky, gray, squelching ground, that was teeming with life.
No one ever really knew why the Brendom had been built in the middle of the marsh. The river had run from the glacial peaks north of Drachenara and this way for at least a millennium. The capital, Greyever, stood its ground and never managed to sink. The country’s only redeeming factor was that the marshes opened up to the ocean only thirty more miles to the east, where the brackish water turned into Rantil’s Bay and allowed smaller trade ships to flow nearly up to the city. Many wealthy traders made the trip through the marshes in a dingy.
They could see the city in front of them, breaking through the trees as they made the final turn on the path. Before them, a large bridge crossed over black marsh water and into the actual city walls. Beyond those walls, the sounds of an active marketplace echoed into the treetop. The various smells that accompanied the marsh, sulfur, mold and mildew, and the smell of wet soil were now being replaced with various cooked goods, the smoke of oil-soaked torches to ward off mosquitoes, and the odor of the stables right inside the city walls.
Vaelen and Aurelia stabled their horses, intent to never use them again, and walked away from them forever, after putting on their various bags and goods that had been on the saddles of the horses.
As they approached the Keep, Aurelia looked to Vaelen. “Have you ever had the feeling that something wasn’t right?”
Vaelen nodded, “Sure, the night everything happened.”
“That wasn’t the comparison I was hoping for.” Aurelia sighed.
“Why, does something feel wrong?” He asked, hand on the hilt of his sword as they approached the Keep ahead of them.
“It does.” She said. “Maybe I’m just not at all eager to tell my father’s friend that my father is dead.”
“I understand that.” Vaelen said, beginning to ascend the steps of the Keep.
Once at the top, well-armored guards each bearing a two-handed claymore stood at the door. Vaelen stopped to introduce himself and Aurel
ia. “I am Vaelen Wraithson and this is Milady Aurelia Drache. We are here to see Bren Hemund bearing news of Bren Drache, the Bren of Drachenara.”
The guards looked to one another then stepped aside, opening the door. One shouted inside, “Lady Annis, guests! Aurelia Drache and Vaelen Wraithson.”
Almost immediately, the Stewardess rushed to the door, welcoming them in. The woman, Lady Annis, was young, probably only twenty-one. She couldn’t have had a great deal of political experience in her time, Vaelen thought. Even at twenty-eight years, he was nowhere near being considered a seasoned warrior when compared to older combatants, even though he had been fighting as a soldier for thirteen years.
Lady Annis didn’t wait for proper introductions, she led them directly up to the main hall, which was just behind another set of doors. The long main hall had a red carpeted floor directly up the middle and a slew of hanging tapestries documenting the history of the Brendom.
As they neared the staircase at the end where Bren Hemund should be sitting in his wooden throne, she stopped and called out. “My Lord, Bren Hemund, the Lady Aurelia Drache and her guardsman Vaelen Wraithson is here for you.”
Moments later Bren Hemund walked around behind the wall. His eyes were dark, as if he had been sleepless for quite some time. He clenched his teeth, and the muscles along his jaw tightened. “Ah, Aurelia, I haven’t see you in quite some time.” He moved toward his chair.
“Tis a pleasure, My Lord. How have you been?” Aurelia asked, bowing her head.
“My daughter and wife have both passed with the ague. I am a lonely man. Thankful to have my friends, like your father.” He said, looking intently at the two of them. “And this is Vaelen Wraithson, who came down here and helped me quite a while ago. Man of honor, you are, aren’t you?”
Vaelen was now uncomfortable as well. Such exchanges don’t happen. He had a bad feeling. His eyes investigated their surroundings but saw nothing wrong. “I like to think so, My Lord. Things have not been well though, as of late.”
It felt like Aurelia had been punched in the stomach when she learned her friend had passed, but she nodded to confirm Vaelen’s statement. “I’m sorry for your wife and daughter, but that is why we came to see you, Bren Hemund. My father and mother…” she trailed, fighting a lump in her throat, “they’ve been killed, betrayed by their own son.”
Hemund reached and covered his mouth and closed his eyes. He was silent for many minutes as he sat there. Then he chuckled and leaned over on his elbow and looked at them. “Do you believe me to be a fool?”
Aurelia looked like she had just been slapped in the face. “My Lord?”
“Do you not think I know a treacherous wench and her conspirator when I see one?” Hemund said, standing. He held a scroll up in his hand “Bren Jorvig Drache and Brenness Miliria Drache contacted me already. I’m aware of your treachery. Do you not think that if they had been the conspirators, they would be on the run and not you? Fools. Guards!”
Two guards stepped out from behind the pillars to either side of the room and Vaelen and Aurelia drew their weapons. Aurelia docked an arrow and aimed it at one of the guards, while Vaelen took out his sword. “Easy,” Vaelen whispered, putting his back against Aurelia.
Aurelia’s heart rate quickened. “Bren Hemund, please. See reason.”
“I see reason!” He cackled. “The only reason you live now is because I was requested to let you live. Aurelia, you’ve been forgiven by your brother and sister in-law, as it would seem that Vaelen had planned it all and somehow convinced you to rule and make him your husband and Bren.”
Out of nowhere, Aurelia loosed an arrow that sank directly in the eye socket of the guard. “Bring another one out, and I’ll kill him, too.” Then, she coldly turned to Hemund. “You’re either mad from grief, or the ague will kill you soon, too.” She lowered her gaze. “Give me a reason, Hemund. Give me a reason to end your suffering.” Now her adrenaline was pumping. She didn’t have time to feel bad for taking a human life.
Vaelen was shocked by her choice to kill the guard, but he still watched the one coming toward him. The guard who approached him was in the range to drop the heavy blade of the claymore down and possibly hit both him and Aurelia. Instead of letting that happen, he closed the distance between the guard and himself, drove his blade up into the hilt of the guard’s sword, preventing it from dropping. Then, while distracting the guard with the blade, he kicked at the guard’s knee, causing it to buckle backward. As the guard stumbled, Vaelen drove his sword into the chest of the guard, penetrating the leather armor he wore.
Out of the shadows behind the guard bolted Denevim, who vaulted over the guard as he doubled over, and kicked Vaelen in the gut. Stunned, but not down, Vaelen released the hilt of his sword – still lodged in the torso of the guard – and fell to the ground. Denevim didn’t halt, however, and grabbed Aurelia by the waist and flung her across the room, causing her to slide across the floor and into a stone column. While this happened, Bren Hemund walked away as if nothing were transpiring.
Once Aurelia was away from the chaos, her bow and arrows scattered about, Lady Annis produced a ball of flame in her palm and flung it at Vaelen, who rolled to dodge it and sprung to his feet. The ensuing explosion of flame was blinding but did not damage him. “Can’t fight your own battles?” Vaelen shouted at Denevim.
Denevim cursed aloud and waved his hand at Annis. “He is mine.” He gestured to Aurelia, who was still lying on the ground. “Don’t kill her. Capture her mind like Hemund’s.”
Vaelen dropped his arm from shielding his eyes to see Denevim, who swung his longsword madly through the dissipating flames. Vaelen jumped back, barely dodging a downward swing that clanged against the stone floor. Right now, he was as at a disadvantage, because Denevim had a weapon, and he did not.
Denevim spat at him and swung his blade again, right at Vaelens midsection. “Do you see what you did to me you piece of filth?” He growled at Vaelen.
Vaelen didn’t answer. He was too focused on dodging what would almost be certain death.
Denevim stepped toward him and started to come down on him again with the blade. Vaelen closed the gap and put up his arm, absorbing the impact of the hilt against his forearm, stopping the momentum of the blade entirely. Denevim responded by using his other hand to punch Vaelen in the side of the head.
Vaelen collapsed, seeing stars. He rolled a moment, trying to regain his fading vision.
Lady Annis walked across the room from where she previously stood, directly toward Aurelia who was doubled over coughing. As she approached Aurelia, she put her hands down and tried to touch her head. Aurelia wasn’t having any of that; she quickly responded by kicking up, hitting Annis right in the side of the head, sending her stumbling to the side.
Aurelia, still staggered, clambered to her feet, and braced herself against the column. She took her moment and rushed at Annis, whose eyes turned solid black as she looked up at her. Annis stopped Aurelia right in her tracks with some invisible force and began uttering some language that darkened and deepened her voice. “Suffer.” She said in a normal tone.
Then Aurelia screamed and crumpled in pain, falling to the floor.
Vaelen had just started to see when Denevim kicked him in the chest hard enough to pick him up off the floor a couple of inches and a knock him couple of feet away, past the guard he killed earlier. When he landed, Vaelen coughed and gasped for air, but heard Aurelia’s scream, and desperately tried to force himself to recover.
As Denevim approached Vaelen, he stopped to draw Vaelen’s sword out of the corpse of the guard and wield both blades. “Do you know what I’m going to do you, Vaelen Wraithson?”
Vaelen didn’t say anything again.
“Get up on your knees and be executed. Don’t die like a pup on the floor.” Denevim said, disgusted. “Do you know what I’m going to do to her? Do you know what Annis is doing to her right now?”
Vaelen was fighting an inner battle against his body, tryin
g to get it together and stand. He rolled onto his hands and knees and fought back the urge to collapse. His vision waved, and he nearly gave in, but the sound of Aurelia’s pain gave him reason to fight on. He crawled only a couple of feet and stayed in the position he had been in before but had gathered his faculties to nearly what they were before the fight began. He feigned defeat, there, but his hand inched closer to the hilt of the claymore that the fallen guard had once held.
Denevim, now two swords in hand stomped toward Vaelen. “Good, now, up on your knees. You can beg for your life, but it is mine.” Denevim said, snarling. “I won’t honor you with a scar like mine. And then I will take Aurelia back, my sister will wipe her mind and she will be mine to do with what I please. Just an object.”
Vaelen’s blood boiled, but he maintained his false state of defeat. Denevim stepped closer and put the tip of his blade under Vaelen’s chin and pulled his face up so that he may look into his eyes. What he saw wasn’t defeat. What he saw was rage, and a will to live. What he saw frightened him.
Vaelen roared out with ferocious anger and single-handedly swung the claymore toward Denevim.
In defense, only one of Denevim’s blades wouldn’t have stopped the powerful sword, so he hefted both and all his might to stop it. While he was stunned backward from the ferocity of the attack, Vaelen rose to his feet and came at him again, this time with all his force overhead. The large claymore felt right in Vaelen’s hands. It felt like victory.
Vaelen didn’t stop at one heavy overhead swing, no, he followed it with an upward attack, then another from above, screaming angrily each time.
Denevim’s attempts at defense held on the first strike, and barely on the second, but by the third, the second hand and a half he held went flying from his hands. Denevim gripped the remaining blade with both hands and tried to defend himself from the heavy blade being flung at him.