by J. M. Topp
Elymiah knew of the beast of old that had come with the Fog in ages past. Some of the knight-captains were even debating that this Gruizoch was the same one of those stories. To her, it didn’t matter if it was. The daemon was real, and they needed to find a way to kill beasts such as that one. If it hadn’t been for the Weserithian inventions that exploded, doing massive damage to the daemons, defeating them would have been harder.
Blackstones, they are calling it.
Something whispered behind her. Elymiah glanced at the black wyvern horn lying on a cabinet beside her bed. She had decided to bring it with her on her journey to Weserith. Elymiah was aware of the whispers the horn would give off every once in a while, but she didn’t understand them. Elymiah didn’t know what it meant, but asking other people for advice might get her in trouble. Sometimes it would sit in simple silence, and sometimes the whispers would wake Elymiah from her sleep. Sometimes, Elymiah would even respond sarcastically, telling it to be quiet or even answering humourously. The voice had been like a child’s at first, but now it seemed like the voice of a daemon, older and more mystic. Elymiah didn’t know what it meant or what to do about it, but the black horn seemed harmless enough there on the cabinet. It was beautiful to look at, and her handmaidens would compliment her on her kill.
If only they knew.
Elymiah dropped the parchment on the table and proceeded to write a letter of response to Audry, when she heard a soft knock at her bedchamber door. She jumped from her seat to a blue robe on her bed. She tied the soft robe on and sat once more in her chair.
‘Enter,’ Elymiah said sharply, without looking up to see who it was. Who else could it be? ‘Lieutenant. How may I assist you?’ asked Elymiah, turning to the next page of the index.
‘It’s me, Ely. Robyn,’ Robyn said, closing the door quietly behind him. Elymiah let go of the letters and turned to look at Robyn. He was wearing a brown silk shirt, but still had his blue leather uniform pants on. His short sword hung at his side. Robyn stared for a moment and gave a loud sigh. He knelt at his feet before her.
‘I…wanted to apologize for…’ Robyn said, hesitating at the right words to use. Robyn looked up at her and smiled. Elymiah crossed her arms over her chest and frowned at his childish behavior.
‘What is it exactly that you wish to apologize for?’ asked Elymiah, steadily growing impatient.
‘The night of the battle against those monsters got me thinking: what do we live for?’
‘What are you talking about, Robyn?’
‘I brought a present for you.’
Robyn produced a small, single rose from behind him. Elymiah’s breath was caught in her chest. The rose had purple petals mixed with red ones that seemed to be giving off their own soft but steady glow. Robyn glanced at her and then to the rose.
‘This flower is found only in the furthest reaches of Khaevedal Swamp. You don’t know what I went through to find it,’ Robyn said as he held the rose out to her and bowed his head. Elymiah eyed the gift suspiciously.
‘Oh, you mean the gold you had to spend to buy it. As if I would believe you actually went to Khaevedal Swamp.’
‘You wound me, Ely. Do you really think that poorly of me?’ Robyn stood up and brushed dirt off his pants. He placed the rose in a small vase on the table. He then walked before Elymiah.
‘You must water it daily. It is said that in the correct conditions, it will bloom without needing roots.’
‘Your romantic efforts are wasted on me, I—’
But she was cut off as Robyn leaned in close and kissed her lips. Shock spread across Elymiah’s face, but, as Robyn embraced her, she could do nothing. She closed her eyes for a moment and then pushed Robyn away from her.
‘You should not have done that, Robyn.’ Elymiah wiped the kiss from her lips. Anger flared within her. ‘The hell has gotten into you? Have you abandoned all you stand for?’
Robyn didn’t react; he only smiled and bowed once again.
‘As long as I’ve known you, Ely, you’ve captured my mind. It was the close-call nature of the skirmish that made me realize we might not have much time together. But if you simply look—’
‘Look at what? Since we’ve come here, something’s gotten into you. Maybe the air in Khaevedal Swamps has…’
But her voice trailed off. Robyn reached to his collar and slowly unlaced it. He pulled his shirt off and tossed in onto the stone floor. Light bounced off his muscles as he flexed them softly. Robyn placed a hand on his sword belt and untied it, letting his sword fall to the floor with a clank. He placed his hand on his pant belt. Elymiah jumped and placed a hand over Robyn’s, stopping him from unclasping his pants.
‘No.’ Panic spread across Elymiah’s face. If the Hallowed Masters were to learn of even this, they would both be flogged until they could no longer walk.
‘We can’t,’ whispered Elymiah.
‘Why not? The Dark awaits outside our very gates. Tomorrow is not certain,’ said Robyn.
‘So your answer is to abandon our morals—to abandon our hope?’
‘Your hope lies in your morals? Honestly, Ely, I-’
‘I am named Elymiah Farnesse of the Holy Silver Angels Platoon. I have a holy duty to purity.’ Elymiah’s lips trembled as she spoke, but her voice was stern. ‘Nothing may dissuade my holy calling to my god, Oredmere. Take your clothes and leave me now, Robyn Segarus. Before I…before I report you to The Masters.’
Elymiah gasped at the threat coming out of her mouth. Robyn, crestfallen, picked his clothing up in his arms and exited the room, red-faced. Sweat collected on Elymiah’s brow. She hadn’t meant to yell at Robyn like that, much less threaten him. He was Elymiah’s most faithful friend and maybe even…
But to suggest a sexual and immoral act? Elymiah shook her head and realized that she could no longer write her letter. Her hands were shaking too much. Her heart was racing.
Elymiah sat on the corner of her bed. No matter what she tried to distract herself with, the image of Robyn standing before her half-naked began to stir a feeling inside Elymiah that she thought could no longer exist. She sat there, stunned, not knowing what to think. Slowly, she placed her hand into her soft red robe and touched her belly. Elymiah’s skin seemed to jump and tingle as she touched it and moved her fingers in a circle. Then, her hand descended in-between her legs. Elymiah gasped as she touched the sensitivity down there. She drew her hand to reveal that she was wet.
Slowly, Elymiah placed a hand on her breast and squeezed. A rush of warmth enveloped her, and she lay back onto her bed, placing the other hand again in-between her legs.
The image of Robyn formed in her mind, lying on top of her, his muscles rippling with sweat as he she imagined they would as he thrust himself into her. She couldn’t shake herself to take her hand away but instead kept forcing her fingers in and out of her womanhood. She rubbed her clit and moaned as a warmth fell across her forehead. Elymiah shuddered with a short gasp. Clear liquid and blood oozed from her in-between her legs and onto her bed sheets. She panted and licked her lips as she absorbed the warmth and pleasure. The image of Robyn grasped at her, hugging her tightly. She could almost feel his perspiration on her exposed chest. Elymiah rubbed her hardened nipples and sighed as she moved her hand faster and harder. Suddenly, her eyes opened wide, and her legs twisted against each other. Elymiah held her breath in surprise. A rush of warmth and desire crashed into her like a battering ram on reinforced city gates. For a moment, she remained still, gasping for breath, allowing the rush of pleasure to take control over her. Robyn’s image disappeared into thin air, and she was left alone.
Quickly, Elymiah withdrew her hands and sat up on her bed. Fear encroached on her mind like a dark cloak. She had committed a fatal sin, one that she would be punished for. One that she should be punished for. She jumped from the bed, grimacing at the soreness of her body and knelt before a small statue of Oredmere, in a corner of the room.
‘Oredmere, forgive me. I have defaulted to sin and a
m no longer holy.’
Elymiah glanced at the massive horn from the giant wyvern. She thought she heard it say something. Whispers emanated from it, and then all was silent. She shook her head and frowned in sadness.
‘My sin is playing with me. I must beg for forgiveness.’
She turned again before the small statue and prayed endlessly, into the night.
THE BEDCHAMBER OPENED, and Elymiah woke from the stone floor with a start. When she had fallen asleep, she couldn’t recall. Her handmaiden walked in and looked at Elymiah in surprise.
‘My lady, have you slept there all night?’
‘I was praying to our god, Miriald.’
‘So devoted, my lady. You are a shining example to us all…’ Miriald glanced at the crumpled bed sheets and noticed a tiny spot of blood on them. She stared for a moment and then looked at Elymiah.
‘Miriald, I can explain.’
‘No need, my lady. Few understand being in those days more than I.’ The handmaiden grinned and walked over to the sheets. ‘It is our sisterhood’s bond after all. The great god, Oredmere, teaches wisdom and discretion, does He not? He also teaches grace. From Him, all blessings flow and drown us in mercy.’ Miriald smiled knowingly as she gathered the bed sheets and placed them in her basket. She smiled jovially as she exited the room. ‘I’ll be along soon with your breakfast, my lady.’
Elymiah let out a sigh of relief. She had to confess to the Hallowed Masters. She knew she had to, but, if no one knew about it, what harm would there be? Elymiah shook her head. The only way to forgiveness was through confession, regardless of the consequences. Yet, Oredmere may have been giving her mercy. She glanced at the wyvern horn displayed on the table. The Hallowed Masters would take everything if they knew: her platoon, her rank, her…
Robyn?
Maybe the handmaiden is right. Oredmere teaches discretion, even in sin.
A COURIER PLACED a nail into the queen’s royal decree in the Insolvent District. His hammer echoed as he slammed the nail into the signpost. Elymiah stared as the courier stepped back from the signpost. The blacksmith wasn’t as good as Andre, but his work would suffice for now. The courier turned to Elymiah and eyed her in surprise. His face turned sour as he recognized her. Elymiah nodded her head, a sign of respect to him, but the courier frowned even further.
‘We could have fought them off, you bastards,’ said the man, glaring sullenly at Elymiah. His brown eyes stared deep into the knight-captain. She placed her hand on her halberd that was strapped to her back. In Aivaterra, she would have had the right to kill this man. Now, with the Dark upon them, and in Weserith, it struck Elymiah as unwise. She held her tongue, however, and the courier moved passed her. He shook his head as he retrieved another royal decree in his hands in search of another signpost. Elymiah relaxed her grip on the halberd and walked before the decree. The queen had foregone the typical titles and simply placed her words on the parchment.
‘The city of Weserith is no more,’ Elymiah read aloud. ‘Only in Avatera is there hope. All who wish to stay, may. Those who wish to go, may. The gates will be opened at dawn.’
Elymiah grimaced at the misspelling, yet, the simplicity of the words stunned her. No honour, no romanticism, just a promise. People began to assemble behind her, trying to make out the words on the decree. They were concerned for what the queen had in store for them. The Dark Army had stopped their attacks on the walls for a few days now. Yet even the Weserithians knew that the Dark Army was biding their time. Elymiah stepped from the sign and began to make her way to the castle. Snow fell on the ground in droves, making a knee-length muddy sludge that covered most Weserithian streets. Elymiah struggled to trudge through it. Winds had been passing through Weserith for the last week, carrying even more snow that ever before in Weserith’s history. The snows were accompanied by dark clouds. Sometimes, thunder would be seen shooting through the clouds. People would often point up at them, claiming to make out the outline of dragons or daemons. Elymiah glanced up at the skies. It was easy to say that they were hallucinating. Easy, but not wise. Gruizoch’s roar still echoed in Elymiah’s mind. Logic couldn’t be trusted to rule out dragons or daemons in the skies. She closed her eyes and thanked Oredmere that He, and only He, could be trusted.
Elymiah had decided for the time being to keep her dirty secret. Four restless days and sleepless nights had passed without any incident. If Oredmere wanted the Hallowed Masters to know, wouldn’t he already have told them? Perhaps there was more to learn from this teaching than she knew. Meditation would be in order, without a doubt.
Elymiah heard footsteps behind her, and she opened her eyes, turning to face the sound. Robyn stood behind her, holding a parcel.
‘Ely, you shouldn’t be out here alone. These Weserithians aren’t to be trusted.’
‘What are you doing here, Segarus?’ asked Elymiah, not even looking at him.
‘It’s Robyn, Ely. You’ve known me since you were a child. Have you forgotten?’ Robyn clutched at his parcel and glanced to his sides, as if he was being followed.
‘No, Robyn. It’s just…that night in my bedchambers,’ said Elymiah
‘I…I suppose that I must apologize, Ely. I wasn’t thinking right.’
Elymiah stared at Robyn without a word and then turned to the castle.
‘Ely, wait.’
Elymiah stopped and looked up at the sky. She had sinned. She might as well have had Robyn that night. She sighed and turned to look at the young lieutenant. Robyn half smiled.
‘I’ve found myself some dinner. Would you care to share it with me?’
He held the parcel in his hand and motioned to it. Elymiah paused for a second and then nodded. She turned and dug through the snows. Robyn followed closely behind her.
They arrived at the castle in less time than Elymiah would have thought. Robyn paced up the icy steps and into the main castle square with Elymiah following closely behind. Guards nodded at them with a grunt, clutching their blue cloaks to their chests. They weren’t used to this kind of weather, it was clear. Robyn led her to his quarters and opened the large wooden door. Inside, the warmth of the room enveloped the both of them. There were two cots in the small room and a chimney fire which breathed light and heat into the room. In one of the cots sat a lieutenant foot-soldier, judging by the insignia on his helm that rested on the floor beside his cot. A rough white bandage was wrapped over his head. He looked up and smiled at the two. He then realized Elymiah was a knight-captain, and he stood, dropping a creature index he was reading to the floor.
‘Knight-Captain Farnesse, I wasn’t aware of an inspection this evening,’ he said, saluting sharply.
‘No inspections tonight, lieutenant. I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting?’ asked Elymiah as the lieutenant relaxed.
‘Lieutenant Ryvrund Doldrey, ma’am. Of the Holy Bronze Vipers Platoon.’
‘Ryvrund has been my bunkmate since we arrived. I felt it better to know the men we serve with. He is a pretty decent fellow.’ Robyn clamped his flatmate on his shoulder. ‘Ryvrund took a blow during the surprise attack at the Lyedran. He was one of the few who survived that flood.’
Elymiah studied Ryvrund momentarily. His long brown hair fell beneath the bandage. He wore several scars on his face, but they struck Elymiah as handsome. His body was also built with muscle just as Robyn’s was. His shirt was not very tight, but she could make out the carved body beneath.
‘Thank you, Lieutenant.’ Ryvrund picked up the manuscript from the floor and sat on the cot.
‘I’ve brought us some dinner,’ said Robyn as he grabbed a cloth and neared the chimney fire. A pot of hot water had been simmering within the flames. He retrieved it with the cloth and placed in on the stone floor. He poured the contents of the parcel into the pot and stirred it with a wooden ladle. Chunks of meat and potato rolled in the pot. The smells of food cooking wafted through the room and filled Elymiah with a sudden pang of hunger. Her stomach growled. Robyn produced four brea
d pieces and passed them around. ‘You wouldn’t believe how hard these were to get. Enjoy this last Weserithian meal.’