by Jeff Gunzel
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Morning sunlight filtered through the stained-glass window, a single beam illuminating the far corner of the bed. Eyes still wide open as they had been all night, Edyln watched as particles drifted through the dusty beam. Her mind in a haze, her eyes wandered around the room. It felt as if she were seeing it for the first time. Beside her, Alaric was snoring like a bear just as he had been all night long. But that had little to do with why she was still awake. Across the room, she spotted a letter opener sitting on his dresser. The blade end leaning halfway over the side, it looked as if a steady breeze just might knock it to the floor.
Throwing back the white silk sheets, a rush of cool air washed over her naked body. Ignoring the sweaty chill, she dangled her legs over the side of the bed. Slowly pushing up off the mattress, she cringed at the creak it made before getting to her feet. At first, she didn’t dare turn around. Everything was too quiet. But a moment later, she heard the buzzing snore start up again. Risking a glance back over her shoulder, she saw the sleeping man with his eyes still closed, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm.
Feeling the rug’s fibers tickle up between her toes with each silent step, she made her way towards the dresser. It almost seemed to be moving away from her with each step. Finally, with no clear idea of how she got to it, she found herself leaning up against it. Shoulders rising and falling with each deep breath, she fought like hell to hold in her sobs. Now was not the time for such weakness, it was a time for action. She spun away from the dresser, knife in hand.
She stalked back towards the bed, both hands gripping the handle. Heart pounding, pulse racing, her goal was clear and nothing was going to stop her. This tyrant of a man had abused her body, her mind, taken her dignity in a way she could never fully recover from. But that was all right, because she was going to take it all back, and much, much more.
Alaric stirred as the moving shadow drifted over his face. Eyelids twitching, lips smacking from his disturbed sleep, his eyes suddenly jetted open. Hands coming up as he screamed, the knife came with a crunching sound as it penetrated his chest. Yanking it free in a fountain of red, Edyln plunged it down again. With his cries reduced to a strangled, choking cough, it was her turn to fill the air with screams. Again and again she plunged the blade into his chest, each retraction further speckling her face and neck with dots of red.
Lifting a feeble arm, a bubbling gurgle rose up from the back of his throat. Slapping his arm back down, she plunged the knife into his eye, the blade disappearing all the way up to the hilt. Turning the handle as his body jerked with convulsions, she screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Is anything wrong?” Alaric asked, rolling over to see Edyln lying there, eyes wide open as she stared up at the ceiling. She had the strangest look on her face, and seemed to be mumbling to herself.
“No, nothing,” Edyln answered, turning abruptly to smile and bat her eyes. It’s just that I despise every breath you take and wish I could watch your innards get ripped out with a spoon. “I’m just glad you’re awake.” Rolling from the bed, she resisted the urge to streak across the room and throw on her clothes. Instead, she gave a big stretch when she stood, her naked body completely on display. Taking her time, she strode across the carpet and began putting on her garments. She had already done what she needed to do. There was no reason to even hint at how appalled she was by the very sight of him. Appearing comfortable in front of him now was more important than ever.
“I assume you’re in a much better mood this morning,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder with a playful smile.
“Indeed, I am,” Alaric said, lacing his fingers behind his head as he leaned back against the bed board. “But I am also afraid that I have a busy day ahead of me. I’m sure you understand. One of the guards will see you out.”
Edyln masked her face in mock disappointment, trying to hide her relief. She wanted nothing more than to get far away from this keep and return to her family. “Indeed, I understand, my Lord.” She dropped into a low, flourishing curtsy. “But I will be sure to spread word of your kindness and mercy throughout my community.”
“And why is that?” he asked, looking rather puzzled at the odd statement.
“My... My father. Our farm—”
“Oh, that,” he said, rolling his eyes with a wave of his hand. “I’m sorry, but on that particular matter, I’m afraid I can be of no help.” Her glare turned to ice, but she did not speak. “If I were to extend his deadline, what would that say to the other farmers who paid their taxes on time? An example must be made. I’m afraid your family’s farm is now property of Redwater.”
“You promised me!” she hissed, her eyes smoldering like lava.
“I’m sorry if that is what you assumed, Gwen, but I made no such promise if you recall. Guards.” The door pushed in right away. They must have been waiting right outside the door. “Please escort Gwen, or Edyln, or whatever name she is going by, back to her farm.” It took two guards to remove her as she kicked and screamed. All the way down the hall she carried on until Alaric could no longer hear her cries.
With an amused chuckle, he rolled out the other side of the bed. Grinning, shaking his head at the morning’s amusement, he started to get dressed. A light rap on the already open door drew his attention. With a glance he acknowledged the thin, bald man standing in the doorway. Seeing the rather serious look on the man’s face, Alaric laced up his second boot and stood up straight. “Speak, Kvotor. I don’t have all day, you know.”
“Forgive me, Lord Alaric,” the man said. “I know you are busy, but this is a matter of some importance.”
“It always is,” Alaric said, throwing his hands up in defeat. Couldn’t he just enjoy one morning without being bothered? “Follow me, then. If you’re going to waste my time with one of your imagined emergencies, then you can at least do it while we’re moving. I have other tasks that need tending to.”
“Of course,” Kvotor said, turning back on his heels as Alaric slipped past him. Hurrying to catch up, he managed to march at Alaric’s side while they made their way towards the steps. “It’s the prisons, sir,” he said, already sounding out of breath as his stumpy legs shuffled along. “They are overcrowded and we are running out of room for the prisoners. And of course you know there are arrests happening each day, further adding to the problem.”
“Would you have the guards stop doing their duty?” Alaric asked. “Shall we let the thieves and murderers simply take over the city?”
“Of course not, my Lord.” That time there was no doubt, the man really was breathing heavy. “The problem lies elsewhere. Not a single prisoner has been processed in months. No one goes to trial because you have yet to replace the mystic who once deemed whether or not they were guilty. My Lord, the entire system is at a standstill.”
Alaric stopped in the hall and turned to face him. Kvotor stopped as well, hands falling to his knees as he began to pull in deep breaths. “Then begin with the executions,” Alaric said, the familiar ring of irritation to his tone. “You say we need room, then go ahead and make room. Begin with those who have been here the longest and work your way down.”
“With no trial or public ruling?” Kvotor said, taken aback by the harsh command. “My Lord, there will be riots! The people will rise up and—”
“The people will see a man who is not afraid to take action,” Alaric reasoned, his tone much softer this time. “Liam was a hindrance, not an asset to our legal system. His compassion for those who did not deserve it caused serious delays. Justice needs to be a swift and efficient process, not drawn out to the point where even the guilty are considered victims. Do you understand what I am saying, Kvotor? They have been imprisoned for a reason. Now let them serve their debt to society with dignity. Perhaps other would-be criminals will take note and think twice before making the same mistakes.”
“As you say, my Lord,” Kvotor said. “I will arrange the first round of executions to take place this afternoon. After th
at—” A bell from outside began to chime, its deep clang echoing throughout the entire town. Wide-eyed, Kvotor stared up at Alaric with a look of horror in his eyes. That bell only had once purpose. It could only mean one thing. “My Lord?” he chirped like a cricket, the words barely even audible.
Alaric’s mind began to race. The city militia had run countless drills over the years to ready themselves. And now that it was really happening, each rumbling gong sent a shiver running down his spine. Turning away without another word, Alaric went running back down the hallway. “Get the men ready!” he shouted to no one in particular as servants ran past him in a panic. “Man the front gates. We are under attack!”
Chapter 12
Alaric watched helplessly as servants and townsfolk alike scurried through the keep, pushing and shoving without really even knowing where they were trying to go. Frustrated soldiers slammed past them, trying to make their way out into the streets. “Full report!” Alaric ordered, grabbing one soldier by the arm when he tried to push past. “Speak, soldier. What is happening?”
“Th-The city is surrounded,” he stammered, barely able to put his sentence together.
“Who? Surrounded by who?”
“The white men, sir.” Alaric’s grip loosened, and he released the man’s arm as all the blood drained from his face. It felt as if he had been dipped in ice water, the chill radiating down his body, threatening to knock him off his feet. Legs going numb, even he didn’t know how he was still standing. “They have encircled the city and cut off all escape routes. We are trapped, sir!”
“Send—” Alaric tried to swallow, but his throat was too dry. His thoughts were nothing but a jumbled ball of panic. “We must send... I have to—” Disgusted by his own babbling, he pushed the soldier aside and raced towards the other end of the keep. Faces appeared before him like ghosts as he ran, asking for orders, pleading for him to make some decisions. Single-minded in what he needed to do, he pushed on without saying a word to any of them.
The door blasted open as Alaric rushed through. “You must send word for—” He stopped in midsentence when he saw the room was already full. Men were scribbling away on parchments and rolling them up tight while others grabbed the messages and shoved them into small tubes. The unit of scribes appeared to be working quite efficiently.
Suddenly jostled from behind, Alaric stumbled forward and almost fell. Rushing into the room were a number of men carrying caged birds. Setting them up across tables, they began strapping the tubes to their legs.
Alaric was heartened at the sight of his scribes springing into action without needing to be told. It was one less thing he needed to worry about. Their only chance now was to hold out until help arrived, if it arrived. “All of them?” Alaric asked. Even under these extreme circumstances, he couldn’t seem to fight his own stingy instincts. These birds weren’t free.
“Yes, of course, my Lord,” one of the scribes said, taking his eyes off his work just long enough to glance at Alaric in disbelief. Was he really concerned about the cost at a time like this? “Every bird in the keep will be carrying a message calling for aid. We saw no reason to spare any. We assumed you would see it the same way.”
“Er...of course,” Alaric said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. Despite the desperate situation, he couldn’t help but notice that his lowly scribes were showing more poise and clear thinking than him. With nothing more to add to the well-organized group, he slipped past the next line of men running in with more birds. With his mind in a haze, he made his way back down the hall. Again, he was barely aware of those rushing up to him, their urgent words garbled nonsense to his ears. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
Blasting through a set of double doors, Alaric slammed himself up against the rail and gazed down at the street below. Already his soldiers were taking up positions around the city. The main force was forming up in the street, the men standing in lines awaiting their commands. Others took to the rooftops, crossbows loaded and ready to unleash the moment they were given the signal. All Alaric could do was look on helplessly, hoping they might prevail where all others had failed.
From this vantage, he could see most of the city. Looking out over the tops of the buildings, he could see the white men waiting just outside the city limits. As reported, they had encircled everything, cutting off every possible escape route. There was nowhere to run.
But there might have been if the threat had been reported sooner. At least he could have gotten away... Hadn’t someone seen the falling ash? Someone should have known what that meant. And then it hit him, the one thing he just couldn’t quite put his finger on until now. There was no ash on the ground! The ghatins had appeared at his doorstep without the aid of their well-known tactic. What did that mean? What had changed?
Scattered messenger birds fluttered up over the heads of the ghatins, each carrying its urgent message. Alaric expected them to start picking off the birds in order to prevent any neighboring cities from coming to their aid, but they did nothing of the sort. Staring straight into the city with those large pink eyes, they didn’t even appear to notice the birds. Or more likely, didn’t care whether or not they delivered their messages. Let them tell the whole world...whose world this really was.
One of the ghatins stepped forward and raised his ghostly white hand. This was the first time any of them had moved since Alaric had been watching. The rows of white men behind him all seemed to shift at the same time as they began to advance. Although they used their legs to walk like any other beings, they seemed to drift along gracefully as if they were floating, their heads steady with no noticeable movement.
The well-trained soldiers shifted their own stances in response as pikemen moved to the front line, leveling their spears to discourage any head-on charge by the enemy. A hiss filled the air as the line of soldiers behind them unsheathed their blades, shields coming up high to form a steel wall. Bowstrings creaked with notched arrows while crossbows clicked with loaded bolts. Scared but determined, the men were prepared to unleash hell.
“Halt!” ordered the commanding officer, his armor a polished silver with red slashes at the shoulders. To his surprise, the ghatins actually did as he ordered. The drifting wall of white all stopped at once, their bodies swaying in place like windblown weeds. “I order you back to whatever hell spawned you beings of the shadow. Leave this city at once. Obey my command and none of you has to die this day. Defy my order, and we will show you no mercy.” Raising his sword, he acknowledged the white wall with a sharp, sweeping motion. “I don’t know what you creatures are, but your tyranny of our realm ends here today!”
Swaying silently, the wall of white didn’t move an inch as their featureless, puppet-like faces revealed all the emotion of stones. It was impossible to know what they might be thinking. When the commander wheeled his sword sideways, the front-line soldiers all dropped to their knees as crossbows in the back row leveled on their targets. “This is your last chance,” he warned. “Go now, or face the consequences.” Tension hung in the air like a poisonous cloud as both opposing forces squared off. Even with thousands of men and ghatins combined, a cough or sneeze would have sounded like thunder.
After watching the chaos unfold down below, Alaric turned and darted back into the keep. Grabbing the shoulder of the first soldier he saw, he spun him around. “Tell the guards below to empty the prison cells. Give every man or woman a sword and send them out into the streets. Fight for the city and their crimes will be pardoned. You go with this message on my authority. Now go!” After the soldier ran off with his orders, Alaric stepped back out onto the balcony. Part of him didn’t even want to watch, but the other part could not look away.
“Loose!” the commander roared as he lowered his sword. There came a whooshing twang as lines of crossbows unleashed. Whistling bolts hissed through the air, zipping directly into the wall of white. The ghatins’ bodies distorted, rippling the same way a gust of wind might distort a coil of smoke. The bolts speckled
the ground behind them, thumping deep into the hard soil. Their misty bodies solidified without the slightest sign of injury. Still, they just stood there like dead puppets, taunting, waiting to see what the humans might try next.
As the mounting panic threatened to consume men, the commander signaled again. They had to hit them hard in order to have any chance, and hesitating would only ensure their deaths. The archers cut loose, their arrows whistling over the front line of soldiers. They streaked right through the ghatins, causing the wall of white to distort briefly, then return back to normal.
Growing absolutely desperate, the commander pointed to the rooftops. A barrage of arrows and bolts came zipping down on cue, each one passing through a ghatin body before thumping into the ground. They kept firing at will, each man reloading as fast as he could. But they knew the results would not change.
That was it, they had hit them with everything they had. Soldiers moved closer together, each locking his shield with the man next to him. Exposed pikemen stepped back, using the shields of their brothers behind them for added protection, but kept their spears up and readied. The men were armed from head to toe, yet still felt completely helpless. Never had they faced a foe like this. So far, the rumors about these ghatins appeared to be true. By all reports they were practically immortal.
One of the frontline ghatins smiled, his impossibly wide mouth splitting his face in a lipless line. He raised his hand, balling his white pudgy fingers into a fist. Up until now it had been little more than a game to them, a sadistic means of terrorizing the humans. But the time for games had ended. It was time to show the humans what they were really up against.
Like a broken dam, the wall of white surged forward, washing over the front line of soldiers. The poor men didn’t even have time to scream. Alaric watched in horror as their bodies were ripped apart instantly. Torsos bent straight back, the skin around their necks snapping open as the backs of their heads rolled up against the backs of their own ankles. Chests opened wide, exposing white ribcages just before the bones shattered, spilling innards along the ground.