by J. M. Topp
‘I realize that this campaign has placed an enormous amount of stress on all of us, but take faith, dear Knight-Captains. The regular army will follow your every order. The defense of this city and our exodus will be left up to you.’ Yngerame’s voice carried softly in the council room. ‘Take heart and know that Oredmere watches your steps and carries you through the dark. That is the only way we will survive this nightmare. The only way we will see the end to this Second Age of Fog.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Child of Duren
‘FATHER, WAKE UP. Wake up, Father,’ the little girl squeaked as she entered her father’s chambers, waking him.
COLD RAIN PATTERED softly over Bendrick’s face. His eyes opened slowly as he stared up at the skies. The sun was beginning to fall in the heavens. Memories rushed up at him from the fresh grave he had dug. They carried Sieglinde’s scent. Her voice screamed at him from the mud that had begun to settle amidst the falling rain. The statue stood over the grave solemnly, staring down over it as if accepting the mission to watch over her in silence. Its shadow stretched over her muddy tomb. Bendrick struggled to sit upright. He unfastened his broken chestplate and let it fall beside him. Mud began to encase it slowly, but he simply stared at it. Wind whistled softly in his ear. The clouds above him loomed ominously.
Bendrick looked around for any sign of the witch, but if she was there at all, she left no trace. He picked himself up and entered the castle ruins. The bastard sword and shield were still lying where Sieglinde had appeared. Bendrick grabbed the sword and inspected it. It must have been a new blade she had acquired whilst in the encampment. It was a bastard sword, long, with a serrated edge on one side and a dangerously sharp edge on the other. Bendrick picked the sheath up and tied it over his back. As he fastened it, a sharp pain hit him, but not like that of an arrow or blade. Like being buried on a sandy beach, soon the waves of despair would soon overtake him and drown him. He bit his lip as he studied the shield. Bendrick decided that it would bog him down in the long run, and besides, he didn’t have the energy to carry it with him a very long way.
Bendrick looked around for signs of the witch. He still didn’t know how to feel about her. The witch had saved his life, but what use was a witch if she couldn’t stop someone from bleeding out? Even if she still was around, Bendrick wasn’t sure that he wanted to be taken back to Weserith.
I need a drink.
He tightened the sword belt around his chest a tad more and squinted at the fallen buildings around him. The ruins bore the sigil of a phoenix. It was the Uredoran sigil. The burned castle stretched crookedly into the dark skies. Bendrick had been here before when the castle fell. He remembered the fires engulfing the once-giant towers. What had been great once now stood as a testament of man’s inhumanity to man.
How ironic.
Bendrick shook his head, trying to get a grasp on reality. Duren, the town erected shortly after Uredor’s fall, was only a few miles from the ruins. He set out on the narrow muddy road as rain continued to fall. A flash of light blinded him for a moment.
‘Father! I hit the target. Look!’
Bendrick swatted at the illusion forming in his mind and he drunkenly continued down the muddy path. He stepped into the deep ruts left by horses and their carts, almost tripping. Another flash.
‘What should be sharper? The blade or the one who wields it?’
‘The one who wields it, of course.’
Hearing his own voice in his mind, Bendrick stopped, staring at the mud. He shook his head. Lights from the small town of Duren loomed in the distance. Another flash of light blinded him.
‘FATHER?’
‘YES, SIEGLINDE?’
‘Why do those men march every day?’
Sieglinde and the lieutenant looked from the balcony of their chambers over the Weserith Army quarters. A platoon of Weserithian soldiers pounded the ground as they marched stoically in unison. A tall soldier sat upon his warhorse shouting at the men.
‘They are preparing for war.’
‘Are we at war, Father?’
‘Not yet, Sieglinde.’ He smiled as he looked down at his daughter. She had grown so much since that night at that cursed bridge. At eleven years, she had grown relatively tall. Her silver hair was fixed into two ponytails today. It reflected the sunlight coming from the balcony. Birds chirped and flew sporadically around them.
‘Why do they practice?’
‘They are getting ready for when it’s time for war. We don’t know when it will happen or even if it will. But if it does, we will be ready.’
Sieglinde looked up at him gleefully.
‘Can I practice, Father?’
The lieutenant laughed and shook his head. ‘These are matters that you wouldn’t be able to take part in.’
‘Is it because I am a girl?’
The lieutenant stopped laughing and knelt beside his daughter.
‘No, Sieglinde. You’re too small. Why don’t you wait until you’re older?’
‘I can do it, Father.’
‘Oh you can, can you?’
He stood up and folded his hands behind his back. He stared over the marching army.
‘Very well,’ he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. ‘But you must practice daily. This is no game.’
Sieglinde jumped up and down clapping but then looked up at the lieutenant and stood up straight with a cough.
‘I won’t disappoint you, Father.’
The lieutenant smiled down at her. His heart was warm when he was with her.
BENDRICK FELL FACE-FIRST into the dirt.
Clap!
The sound of his hand hitting Sieglinde’s cheek sent chills of rage up his spine.
Don’t leave me, Sieglinde. Don’t leave me.
‘You stay here if it makes you feel better, Bendrick. I will not.’
Bendrick lay in the ditch and sobbed uncontrollably. He clenched the mud and began to punch the middle of the road. He screamed and peered into the skies. Thunder roared in the clouds, masking Bendrick’s own sorrowful shouts. Rain pattered softly on his cheeks as he stared at the setting sun, its cruel red hues marking the skies horribly.
Sieglinde, I am sorry.
The sun finally slipped behind mountains, and the moon glowed hot white. After what seemed like an eternity of staring into the darkened skies, Bendrick lifted himself up from the mud hole in the middle of the road. He stood for a moment, his eyes reddened and burning. Bendrick began to walk down the road and used the moon to see the path before him. By the time he reached Duren, the sun’s rays had begun to pop through the morning mist. He shrugged it off as he entered the small town. The roads were empty and desolate. A few lights from hearth fires or candles still burned in some of the windows, but Bendrick ignored them. The signpost to a local tavern swung in the wind. Bendrick stopped to look up at it. The outline of an overflowing tankard was crudely cut into the wood. The white words Sigwaard’s Ale stood out in the rotting wood.
Bendrick pushed the double doors and entered the small tavern to find it empty, save for the innkeeper. The innkeeper looked up from the counter and eyed Bendrick curiously.
‘No steel allowed here.’ He coughed, ‘This is a peaceful establishment.’
‘I want the strongest brew you have, now.’ Bendrick sat down at the long wooden bar, ignoring the innkeeper. His clothes were drenched in mud and water, but it didn’t matter.
I need to forget.
‘Look, pal. I’m about to close up shop. I will open up later in the eve,’ said the innkeeper, pointing out the same way Bendrick had come.
‘I just buried my daughter.’ Bendrick growled, turning his head slightly to the man. ‘Just pour the fucking drink.’
The innkeeper stared at him for a moment. Finally, he grabbed a tankard and filled it with a dark beer. Foam frothed from the top of the tall mug, and the innkeeper wiped it away with a small stick. The innkeeper set it in front of him and leaned on the bar, staring intently at Bendrick.
Bendrick grabbed the mug and began to drink the rough, thick liquid. A sharp pain cut through him again, but this time he shrugged it off and downed the rest of the drink.
‘Mind telling me where you’re from?’ The innkeeper ignored Bendrick’s gesture to refill his drink. ‘I don’t usually cater to armoured men at this time of morning.’
Bendrick glanced at the innkeeper and frowned. He looked almost Bendrick’s age. His hair was neatly parted to the side, and his face was shaved, except for a thick, wiry white mustache. The innkeeper chewed on it as he studied Bendrick intensely, as if gleaning information simply from his face. Bendrick, knowing that he would not get very far without more words, produced a silver coin and set in on the counter before the innkeeper. The innkeeper frowned and grabbed the coin and tankard. He refilled it without another word and returned to his duties. Bendrick grabbed the tankard and drank deeper. His throat burned, but he didn’t pay any attention to it. He set his tankard down and belched loudly.
I can still think. This must be remedied.
Bendrick reached over the counter and twisted the beer spigot, filling his tankard once again. The innkeeper turned to protest but then thought better of it. Shaking his head, he turned and began cleaning beer-stained table tops and setting chairs on them upside down.
‘Damn, old man. How many more of those are you planning on having?’
The tiny voice made Bendrick jump slightly, spilling some of his beer. He looked over his shoulder to see a small girl staring up at him. She had black curls dropping down to her shoulders. Her hair was ruffled and matted with mud as if she had been sleeping in the streets. Her right eye was green, and her left one was blue. Her eyes were both were accentuated by black marks beneath them. The little girl looked terribly skinny, and her shirt and pants were ripped and had holes in them. Bendrick frowned at the child and turned back to his drink.
‘Piss off, kid.’
The small girl frowned at him. ‘You’re not very fucking nice.’
Bendrick stared for a moment at the little girl and turned his attention back to his drink. The girl glanced over to the innkeeper and back at Bendrick. ‘I was wondering if you could spare a coin. Maybe a silver like you gave Mister Rollo?’
‘You’ll leave me alone if I do?’ asked Bendrick.
The girl nodded gleefully. Bendrick’s beer caught in his throat, and he coughed. Sieglinde nodded like that when she was happy.
After clearing his throat, Bendrick fished for another coin looking for a silver. Instead, a gold came up from his pocket. It was the only gold he had left. The little girl’s eyes opened wide, and her smile turned to a greedy thin line. Bendrick gave one look at the gold coin.
‘Don’t waste it. Now piss off.’
The little girl squealed as she took the coin and shot out of the tavern as fast as her little legs could carry her. Bendrick caught himself before he smiled. She was on some kind of drug; he could tell by the colour of her teeth. Street urchins like that were not cared for like they were in Weserith. She wouldn’t live long, and if she did, it would be by selling her own body most likely.
Bendrick downed his beer once more. His mind was beginning to blur, and his thoughts slowed. For once, the pain melted away. He smiled drunkenly, as the swell of pleasure danced through his mind. In the corner of his eye, he spotted something. He couldn’t quite make it out, but it was staring back with dark red eyes. It snorted, and two horns shot from the blurry figure. Stunned, Bendrick grasped for his sword but couldn’t quite reach it. He fell on the wooden floor of the inn and lay there, stunned. The innkeeper walked over him and stared down. Bendrick’s world began to go dark once more, but he shook his head. He wasn’t about to go out like that. Bendrick tried to stand up but only stumbled onto the floor. The innkeeper grabbed him by the shoulders and helped him up.
‘I think you’ve had enough, old boy.’
‘No…not yet,’ Bendrick said as he leaned forward on the counter and drank from his tankard. The sun rose in the sky, and Bendrick knew that it would bring the pain again, but for now, he would have his drink.
BENDRICK COUGHED AS his cloak tightened around his neck. He panicked for a second and then loosened it, gasping for breath. Light entered through the inn’s windows, but it was a dark-red light. Bendrick squinted as he looked through them. The girl was gone, and the innkeeper was nowhere to be found. He was stretched out over the bar, and slobber was trailing from his mouth into his beard. He stood up slowly, wiping his face. His head throbbed, and his mouth was dry.
Water. I need water.
His bones ached as he walked to the inn’s door. He opened it and walked onto the dirt road. Icy winds blew through the small town. The innkeeper was outside, surrounded by dozens of townspeople. They turned to look at Bendrick in unison. An older man spat on the ground and frowned at Bendrick.
‘That’s him. He was the one that came down from the ruins.’
What now?
They stood menacingly, staring at Bendrick. Some of them had crude wooden weapons in their hands. They gripped them nervously.
‘He was a customer. That is all. I had no idea he came from the ruins,’ the innkeeper complained, glancing at Bendrick. The townspeople eyed him suspiciously. It must have been the entire town of Duren that had gathered before Sigwaard’s Ale inn. One of the townspeople, a woman, pointed a crooked finger at Bendrick and scowled, showing her discoloured teeth.
‘You! You came from Uredor ruins, did you not?’
Bendrick simply stared at her and put his hand on the hilt of his sword behind him. The woman glanced at him and took a step back. ‘He’s with the daemons. He is one of them.’
‘Now, we don’t know that.’ The innkeeper chuckled as he waved his hand at the woman. The woman licked her lips and pointed at Bendrick once more.
‘You took Aydalyyn. She is only a child!’
‘What you are talking about?’ Bendrick relaxed his stance. He didn’t want to seem antagonizing to them. ‘I want no problems with you.’
‘My daughter is missing. The one you gave a gold. Where is she?’ The woman spat at him as she spoke.
Bendrick looked at her for a moment. His head began to throb again, and Bendrick closed his eyes and placed his hand on his forehead. ‘Did she have black, curly hair, no older than eight?’ He opened one eye to look at the woman. The innkeeper shot an angry look at Bendrick. Bendrick didn’t understand what they were so upset about.
Suddenly, a scream echoed in the distance. It sounded like a hundred bed sheets being torn in half. Bendrick turned in the direction of Uredor’s ruins to see a dark cloud rise above it. As he looked closer, he noticed that it was not a cloud, as it writhed and twisted chaotically. Thousands of bat-like creatures flew at incredible speeds at them.
‘It’s the daemonic fiends. They’re coming for the rest of us!’ the woman screamed in horror. Panic spread across the townspeople, and they scurried back to their homes faster than Bendrick thought they could. In moments, Bendrick was left alone in the streets, except for one man. The older man struggled to open the lock on his door. He slammed his shoulder into the door.
‘Let me in, dammit!’ he shouted as he fumbled with the lock. Glancing wildly at the approaching swarm, he began to bang his fist on the door, but it was too late. He turned in terror and screamed at Bendrick for help, but the swarm flew over him. Within seconds, his flesh was eaten away, before he could even realize what was happening. Dozens of small, winged daemons flew around him. They smiled with jagged teeth as they bit into his body. He screamed as the swarms ripped into his muscles to reveal bone. The small daemons dug into his flesh, eating their way into his body. The man’s screams died within him as his skeleton fell in a pile before the bolted door. Bendrick stared in horror. The swarms writhed and flew into the air at Bendrick. Bendrick unsheathed his sword and prepared to fight, but they didn’t touch him. His chest burned as blue flame began to swathe within him. It burned hotter and hotter as the swarms flew past him, almos
t as if they didn’t even see him. Bendrick’s knuckles turned white as he glanced at the cloud that flew past him.
He heard a faint squeak within a barrel. Dark curls popped from the wooden container. A little girl peered in horror at the flock roaming the skies. The swarm must have heard the squeak too, as it reared around through the skies at the barrel.
Instinctively, Bendrick jumped between the barrel and the swarm. Without warning, the swarm attacked Bendrick. Their tiny jaws bit into his flesh, yet there was something in Bendrick that burned brighter than ever before. Flames poured from his chest, burning his chest and cloak. He tore them off and began swinging his sword, cutting through long but thin avian monsters. Black blood sprinkled onto his body as Bendrick swung his bastard sword in a glistening arc. His blade sliced over and under in a blur. With the serrated edge of the blade, Bendrick caught two of the daemons and dashed them onto the ground below. The power he felt was unlike anything he had experienced before. His arms felt stronger than he had ever felt them. Bendrick began to laugh as he cut daemons in half.
Bendrick heard a shriek behind him. Three of the creatures were biting deep into the little girl’s arm. Blood spilled from the wounds, and the girl screamed even harder. She was trying to swat at them, but they kept chewing her flesh. The little girl jumped from the barrel and began to roll in the street. Bendrick jumped to her side and grabbed one with his fist. Its black eyes stared intently at Bendrick. It bared its teeth, but before it could bite him, Bendrick squeezed it, entrails spilling from between his fingers. The other two daemons jumped on Bendrick and began chewing through his arm with their razor-sharp teeth. Bendrick ripped them from his flesh and threw them onto the ground, crushing them with his barefoot.
The swarm reared up for another attack. Bendrick jumped to meet them and swung his sword erratically through them, tearing wings from bodies. The winged creatures screamed in deafening unison, and suddenly they began to fly away. They flew in the direction of the ruins as fast as they could fly. The blue glow from his chest faded slowly. Bendrick sighed in relief as he hung his sword on his back and looked down at the fallen creatures. Their bodies were mostly jaws and wings. Their short, dark fur bristled in the wind.