by J. M. Topp
‘Let her down,’ Bendrick whispered, staring at the Chastiser. The regal priest smiled at Bendrick and raised his mace to the skies. He cackled as he pointed at Bendrick.
‘Kill this daemon. The Dark resides within him.’
Some of the townspeople who had crude pitchforks and rusted short swords began to surround him. Bendrick glanced at Ayda, who was struggling to take a breath. He had to get through the men before him.
‘Let her go, now!’ screamed Bendrick, trembling in anger.
A farmer rushed Bendrick with pitchfork raised. He shouted and jabbed his wooden weapon. Bendrick dodged the blow and hit the man in the face with incredible force. He caved the farmer’s face in, and his body fell to the ground in a heap. The other townspeople stared in silence. Bendrick took a step to them, and they all took a step back.
All except for Father Sabathiel. He stood among them, towering over them, a shepherd amidst his sheep. The Chastiser’s mace pounded the ground as the large priest walked on it. He held his thick book to his side.
‘Come closer, heretic.’
Bendrick glanced at Ayda, who was beginning to grow stiff. Her eyes were bloodshot and bolted onto Bendrick. Bendrick clenched his fist and burst into a run to free Ayda.
The Chastiser swung his elongated mace, hitting Bendrick in his chest, knocking him back into the broken cell wall. Bendrick slammed against the cell door. His neck cracked against it, and his world went dark.
All he could hear was the echo of laughs coming from Father Sabathiel.
DIRT AND BITS of stone were caked on his lips. Bendrick took in a deep breath and coughed awake. Stone fell to his side as he sat up. The cell he had broken and then fallen through was still broken. Tiny flakes of snow wafted in from it, sparkling in the grey light of the sky. Bendrick stood up as he saw Ayda’s body swinging in the wind. The townspeople were nowhere to be seen. They must have thought me dead and left for the night.
Bendrick fell to his knees. His chest became tight, and his breath caught in his throat. Even with the power he had, he could not save the little girl.
His chest began to burn as a thin coiled snake poured from it. It flicked its forked tongue whilst staring at the half-elf swinging from the rope.
‘Hmmm. The elf still lives.’
Bendrick looked down at the snake and furrowed his eyebrows. ‘Don’t toy with me. She’s been hanging for awhile now.’
‘Not at all, Bendrick. Rise and take me closer.’
Bendrick stood up and stepped over fallen beams and broken stone. He stood before the gallows as the snake inspected the stiff body of the girl.
‘Her elven blood still murmurs silently. Though her true death is near, I can revive her, but only if you choose to. If I do, most of my power will leave you. She is an Apostle, such as you. But I will only save her if you choose.’
‘She’s an Apostle?’
‘She is.’
Bendrick put his hand to his forehead. ‘Fuck it. Do it.’
The snake’s bluish forked tongue flicked at Bendrick ‘You will not be able to use my powers any longer. I will become her servant, and hers alone.’
‘Like that helped me against that priest,’ snapped Bendrick.
The blue snake stared at him and flicked his forked tongue at him, as if hesitating. It turned its head and lunged at Ayda’s neck, biting into her flesh. Then it let go and snapped at the rope, biting through it. Bendrick jumped to catch Ayda’s falling body. He loosened the rope around her neck and slipped it over her head. A nasty crimson rope line decorated her thin neck.
‘This had better work,’ Bendrick said as the snake disappeared into thin air.
Suddenly, Ayda’s eyes fluttered open, and she began to cough.
Bendrick’s eyes opened in shock.
‘Ayda! You’re alive,’ said Bendrick as he gave her a hug.
‘I am?’ Ayda said as she touched her neck and winced in pain. Bendrick let her to the ground, and she sat up.
‘How?’
‘The gift I had saved your life.’
‘Those snake-like things?’ Ayda’s mouth dropped in astonishment. ‘You’re telling me those things are inside my chest, right now?’
Bendrick nodded. ‘It was the only way to save you.’
Ayda looked at the gallows.
‘My mother was there, but all she did was watch.’ Ayda hugged herself and then looked up at Bendrick. ‘She did nothing to stop them.’
Tears welled up the little girl’s eyes, and she sobbed softly.
‘I want to kill them. I want to kill them all.’
Bendrick’s eyes went dark as he looked down at the crestfallen half-elf.
‘I have an idea of where they are.’
Ayda glanced down the road to the tavern where most of the townspeople were surely to be. Bendrick knew that her mother would likely be there as well. Ayda looked down at her bare feet and sniffed as tears fell onto her cheeks. She put her hand to her face and squeezed her only two fingers left.
‘No.’ Ayda’s voice cracked as she wiped her tears off with her good hand. ‘Can we just leave this fucking place?’
Bendrick walked back into the broken cells and picked up the bastard sword that the guard had taken. Some of his items were in a small wooden chest, and Bendrick promptly broke the rusted lock and retrieved them. Bendrick strapped the belt around his torso. His clothes had been burned off, but there were some in another chest next to it.
Probably belonged to another unlucky soul in these prisons.
The other wooden chest contained a small black shirt with simple padded-leather pants. A dark-green cloak was also among the other belongings. Bendrick clothed himself in the items and walked out of the cells. Careful not to be seen, Bendrick and Ayda walked along the edges of Duren’s road to the stables. Sigwaard’s Ale was bright and alive with people celebrating. Ayda didn’t even look up to see. A murderous thought crossed Bendrick’s mind. I could take them all on—kill the entire population of Duren. But then he glanced down at Ayda. For her to see something like that would hurt her, even if the townspeople had turned their backs on Ayda. She had already suffered enough.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Foreign Exodus
ELYMIAH STARED UP at the darkened skies in confusion. The sun was supposed to have risen hours ago, but only dark clouds hung over the city like a canopy of thick sheets drenched in tar. Snow and sleet drifted down from the clouds, covering the Weserithian grounds with a layer of ice. Elymiah shivered and watched the breath from her mouth disappear into nothing. It was cold, but unlike any cold Elymiah had experienced before. The icy winds and haunting snow had a stickiness to it, but more than that, there was some sort of malice lurking within. It clung to her like a drenched cloak. A strong stench of sulfur and rotting meat blew from the abandoned district from time to time, reminding Elymiah and the remaining Aivaterran forces and Weserithians that the daemons were waiting on the other side of the wall. What they were waiting for exactly was lost on Elymiah. She could only guess.
A thick layer of dark fog hung over the abandoned districts, making it so that Elymiah could not see through it. She stood at the top of the wall separating the Insolvent District and the District of Coin, staring down at the shadowy lost district. Every now and again, Elymiah thought she saw a man or woman pierce the murky fog and begin waving their hands, but when she squinted to get a better look, they disappeared as if they were an illusion. Elymiah shivered in part from the evil on the other side of the wall, but also because the snows had begun to fall even harder. Her long blue cloak hung on her slender, armoured frame as she walked among the gate battlements. The high wall she was patrolling was five metres of thick stone, giving Elymiah enough room to walk along the top. Elymiah had given the command to always be in constant company of another soldier—never leaving each other alone to be prey of the Fog.
Elymiah missed the weight and feel of her halberd on her back. She had lost her halberd in the battle defending the gates. Elymiah mi
ssed the icy feel of titanite steel and excellent craftsmanship. Her mind wandered to Andre of the Iron Aegis. It would be one of the first places she would visit upon returning to Aivaterra—if they were able to escape. Elymiah couldn’t voice her concerns, however; she had to be an example to her men.
Fires dotted the tops of the walls, guiding anyone who would tread on them to relative warmth. Ice encased the stone, making her walk along the top of the wall tricky. Some unwary guards had already slipped and fallen to the other side, never to be seen again. Elymiah squinted at the fires. The fog, though not as thick or dark as it was below, still blurred the fires.
Sleep evaded Elymiah, and she quickly realized that it was not just she who was experiencing insomnia, but her men as well. Sentinels of armoured Aivaterran men moved back and forth, keeping eyes on the Dark below with sad circles under their eyes. Elymiah hoped that her presence would inspire the men to hold fast, but she was finding it hard to keep her own hopes up. Arbalests and bolts were lined alongside the walls as well as swords and Aivaterran shields. A few soldiers had decided to build a fire atop the wall. They sat by a pot of boiling stew, huddled in their fur cloaks and leaning on their frozen spears. The boiling pot was mostly filled with water, but Elymiah saw pieces of meat bobbing on the inside. Where they had gotten the meat, Elymiah didn’t want to know. They peered through their cloaks up at Elymiah as she admired the steel insignia on their pauldrons and chestplates.
An angel with wings outstretched.
They were from her platoon, which meant that Elymiah had walked around the entire district. Now, in the firelight, she could see their faces. Mourd, John, and Joan were shivering as they looked up at their knight-captain. Elymiah sat beside them and put her hands to the fire.
‘Knight-Captain, we would stand and salute…’grunted Joan, shifting on a small, wooden stool.
‘No need, soldier. You have heard the news?’asked Elymiah, looking around at the faces of her men.
Mourd moved uncomfortably in his makeshift seat. ‘We are really leaving this place, Knight-Captain?’
‘We are. Rest up as much as you can, men.’ Elymiah glanced at the darkness below. She knew how hard such a trek would be with those daemons snapping at their heels.
‘You can stay here if you would prefer, Mourd. You’re ugly enough. I’m sure they would accept you as one of your own,’ said Joan through her coat. The men chuckled at the jest, but Mourd just shook his head. ‘It’s not funny. Even when I close my eyes, I still see their eyes.’
Joan laughed as she pulled her hood down, patting Mourd on the back. The holy tattoos on the sides of her head gave her a striking presence. She rubbed her nose and smiled mischievously.
‘Mourd seems to like it here, I think,’ Joan said, sniffing.
‘I told you, it’s not funny,’ said Mourd, staring into the fire.
‘You just need to pray. That always helps,’ said John, looking out over the edge of the wall. ‘Oredmere guides our hands and our minds.’
‘Well said, John. Stay sharp, all of you. We will take the vanguard of the escape and protect the queen. The other platoons will cover our exit,’ said Elymiah, looking into the eyes of the men around the fire and then at Joan.
‘For once, a bit of good luck. Hate to be them,’ said Joan. Elymiah stood and walked away. Perhaps she would make another round around the district. Oredmere knew they needed the encouragement.
Elymiah came across a thick iron greatshield encased in ice along the wall. It was twice the size of even a platoon shield and twice as heavy. Who would even bring something so cumbersome to Weserith? Whoever it had been was long gone, judging by the crystalline looks of the ice-encased shield.
‘The sun should have risen by now.’
Elymiah jumped and gripped the hilt of her short-sword in panic.
‘Woah! It’s me, Ely.’ Robyn looked at her, raising both of his hands up and flashing his smile. Elymiah relaxed and took her hand from her hilt, shaking her head. Robyn stood beside her and stared into the darkness surrounding them. Elymiah looked at him from the corner of her eye. How could he be so thoughtless?
‘Why did you volunteer?’ Elymiah said finally, turning to him and staring him in the eye.
‘Oredmere wants me to stay.’
Elymiah sniffed and looked at her armoured boots.‘Is that the real reason?’
‘Part of it.’
‘The other part?’
‘You.’
Elymiah bit her lip. ‘You think I should abandon my vows. For what? Love?’
‘It’s funny how you spit that word at me. As if it’s poison in your mouth.’ Robyn glanced to his sides and hushed his voice. ‘We are about to mount an offensive that might very well cost us our lives. It is a miracle we have survived up until this point. What will your morals mean when we are on the verge of death?’
‘Again with this question? Oredmere will reward me—’
‘With what? What reward?’ Robyn threw his hands up in the air.
‘You are beginning to sound heretical, Robyn. I suggest you take that back.’
‘Is it heresy to question the tenants we so boldly live our lives by? I am not denying Oredmere. I just think that you need to open your mind,’ Robyn said, making marks in the snow with his boots. ‘You are scared, Ely. I see it, but you don’t. It’s…fine to be scared.’
‘You’re insufferable, Robyn. You made a choice to stay here. Don’t let how you feel get in the way. I am still your commanding officer.’ Elymiah crossed her arms over her chest. Robyn stared at her in silence. Elymiah closed her eyes. She’d had enough.
‘Report to Knight-Captain Ansfrid immediately for orders, Robyn,’ Elymiah said crisply. Robyn sighed and saluted. ‘Aye, Knight-Captain Farnesse.’
Robyn turned his back to her. ‘Sometimes it’s ok to need someone,’ he said as he wrapped himself in his cloak and left without another word. Elymiah hated treating him like that. It might be the last time that she would see him. She glanced at Robyn, whose cloak was billowing in the cold wind as he walked away. She wanted to scream to him to come back—to hug her and bring her comfort, because she, indeed, was afraid. Elymiah bit her lower lip and shook her head. She did not want to encourage sinful behavior.
She had to be strong. Even then, she stared as Robyn disappeared in the fog.
A long scream clutched Elymiah’s attention, and she turned to the source.
That was no daemon.
She put her hand on the hilt of her sword and ran in the direction of the sound. It came from a man. Elymiah sprinted over the icy walls, carefully stepping over arbalests and fallen spears. Pockets of soldiers huddled around fires simply stared in the direction of the sounds as Elymiah ran past. She found a group of men standing in a circle around the area from which the screams were emanating. Elymiah stepped through them to find a soldier being held to the ground by two other soldiers. He was frothing at the mouth and screaming.
‘I saw it. I fucking saw it. It’s inside my head. I can feel its thoughts!’ he screamed. As soon as Elymiah saw the man’s face, she knew that he was completely insane. His eyes were frantic, and his mouth trembled with fear. The soldiers beside him were trying to calm him down, but he kept on screaming.
‘Shut him up!’ Elymiah shouted at the men holding him. But when one of the soldiers tried to cover his mouth, the madman bit that hand fiercely, drawing blood. The soldier shouted and let go of the madman, cradling his injured hand, cursing. Elymiah knew that there was no other option.
Elymiah unsheathed her sword and turned it in her hand so the blade was pointing behind her. She then hit the madman in the face with the hilt. Blood and teeth spewed from the madman’s mouth, but it seemed as if he didn’t notice. He began to scream even louder, this time because of the pain caused by Elymiah’s blow. The other men looked at her in horror. A loud roar emerged from the fog below.
‘Knight-Captain, make him stop,’ one of them said in a panic.
Elymiah bit her lip and sla
mmed the sword hilt into his face once more, this time with more force. The madman’s jaw and cheekbone crumbled under the attack, but he screamed even louder.
‘Knight-Captain, they will hear it.’
Screams from below became louder as the madman’s screams were magnified. Elymiah hit him again and again. His blood sprayed into her face.
Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.
Over and over again, she slammed the hilt of her weapon into the man’s face. His cheekbones were completely caved in, and his teeth were all broken off, but his screams were getting louder. How is this happening? Elymiah’s weapon caved into his skull. He shouldn’t be screaming.
‘Knight-Captain Farnesse?’ A man put his hand on her shoulder, and Elymiah spun with weapon raised. Elymiah stopped as she saw who it was.
‘Lord Korhas?’ said Elymiah.
But Korhas wasn’t looking at her. He was staring at the madman. Elymiah realized that the screams weren’t coming from the madman, but from her. She let her bloodied sword fall to her side. Her hands were covered in blood. The madman’s body lay limp on the ground. Elymiah looked around her to see her men staring at her in silence. They all had the same look of horror. Elymiah looked at the body of the madman. The monstrous screams below dissipated into silence, and only the wind blew atop the battlements. Elymiah cleared her throat and swallowed.
‘Take him below and bury him,’ Elymiah said to a soldier who nodded promptly and dragged the body away. Elymiah turned and put her hand to her head. Exhaustion began to penetrate her bones. She was tired, and she knew it.
‘It had to be done, Knight-Captain,’ said Korhas, placing a hand on her shoulder and handing her a washcloth. ‘He would have caused our deaths had he continued to scream much longer.’
Elymiah nodded and stared at her blood-encased weapon. She then grabbed the washcloth and wiped her face.
‘It’s time, Knight-Captain. The others are ready,’ said Korhas.
ELYMIAH FOLLOWED KORHAS to where three other Weserithians were preparing to go over the walls. Knight-Captain Trystrem stood behind them, looking on solemnly. The Weserithians behind him wore black cloaks as well. They eyed the Aivaterrans warily. Trystrem sighed and approached them with hand on his sword hilt.