by J. M. Topp
‘We must go, Ely,’ Robyn said as he walked past her. ‘There are other things that need your attention now. Next time, I’ll choose the place.’
Elymiah scrunched her nose and then grinned as she tied her shirt. She had never really noticed before, but she licked her lips as Robyn walked out of the tents.
He has a tight ass.
THREE HUNDRED REFUGEES had made it out of the hell that now resided in Weserith, along with two hundred Aivaterran soldiers. Even though the refugee pavilions were covering a large portion of the Kingsoul River bank, Elymiah knew that it was a mere fraction of the army that had arrived in Weserith months ago. This is it. Everyone who survived is here. At a total of five hundred refugees, Elymiah doubted their chances at fending off another attack. Fortunately for them all, no sign of a daemon or skeleton riding a dead wolf had been spotted. Not even a black cloud had collected above them. It was almost as if what happened at Weserith had been but a dream.
Or a nightmare.
The Weserithians who had survived had their small tents set up on the eastern side of the encampment. Theirs were not as the Aivaterran pavilions. They hadn’t had time to prepare their belongings. Not that they had much after the destruction Queen Gwendylyyn had reigned on them. They stared at Elymiah in disdain whenever she walked through on patrol. Since there had been no sign of daemon pursuit past Rokiev Bridge, Yngerame had decided that it would be best to rest on the banks of the Kingsoul River. He did insist on keeping strict watch on the northern end.
‘If you even think you see a daemon, sound the alert, and we will defend this encampment,’ Yngerame said with authority. Truth be told, ever since the death of Ortengryyn, Yngerame had become more sullen. Dark bags had collected beneath his eyes, and he rarely smiled as he once did. He had had to take over the role of voice piece for Oredmere. The Protector didn’t seem to notice Ortengryyn’s absence, however. His expression was blank, as it had always been. Elymiah frowned, lost in thought as she walked beside the river.
Elymiah had found replacement armour. Though most of the Holy Silver Angels Platoon had been vanquished, she was still able to use armour from the Holy Purple Rhino Platoon. Theirs was a stark shade of violet, and Elymiah had become accustomed to the look. She was given a halberd, but it was nowhere near like the one she had had before. She would have to apologize deeply to Andre once they arrived at Aivaterra. I will throw myself at his feet. Trystrem had even half-joked that she should join his platoon as his second in command. Elymiah laughed. The Hallowed Masters would not allow that, as she was cemented in her role as Knight-Captain. No one could command a knight-captain named Perfect, except the Hallowed Masters and the queen.
Or king, I suppose.
The funeral for the queen was simple. An empty wooden casket lay on a wooden pyre decorated with Prunenec flowers. How they got a hold of some Prunenec flowers was a mystery in itself to Elymiah. King William, who had received a little rest from his long and painful travel, had to be carried with torch in hand. He lit the pyre and stared into the growing flames before motioning to be taken back. William watched solemnly as the flames rose, licking the sides of the casket with great hunger. Elymiah looked over the memorial as long as she dared, but the memory of the daemons chasing them haunted her. The flames seemed to spring them back to life, dancing over the pyre.
Elymiah visited the king’s son, Irilynd, when she had spare time. The boy seemed to find laughter in everything he saw. It was a breath of fresh air to be in the presence of one so innocent and so happy. She had been tempted to offer to breastfeed the baby but then thought better of it. Elymiah didn't want anyone even having a suspicion of the things she was doing now.
Elymiah walked along the sandy banks, scanning the forest line. She heard a sound—almost like a faint whisper in the wind. Elymiah held the thin halberd with both hands and approached the tree line.
Silence.
But, being taken by surprise by daemons wasn’t a chance Elymiah was going to take—not with the evils she had seen. Elymiah was going to be certain that there was no threat of attack. Suddenly, a shadow darted from the trees away from her. It looked like a child.
‘Halt!’ Elymiah dashed after the shadow. She realized that she had not completely recovered from her travel. Her breath was laboured, and each step brought a little bit of pain in her violet armour. Even then, Elymiah was still fast. The child was faster, however, and it wasn’t long before she had lost the runner completely. She entered a small clearing, panting and struggling to catch her breath. Nothing moved in the underbrush. Elymiah calmed her breath and her heartbeat, listening for any movement.
‘It has been too long, Knight-Captain.’
Elymiah whipped around to the voice, halberd poised to attack. Her breath caught in her throat.
‘Bendrick?’
He looked like he had gone through hell and seemed more rugged and old. The lines on his cheeks were showing, and his hair had turned even grayer than before, nearly white. She wouldn’t have recognized him in his shaggy beard, but it was his eyes that gave him away, stark brown and fatherly. A little girl poked her head out from behind Bendrick.
‘Bendrick, how are you alive?’ asked Elymiah. She leveled her halberd at Bendrick and took a step to him.
‘I’ve been looking for this encampment, Knight-Captain.’
‘You stole King Ayland and brought him to the rebellion. You would have mounted an offensive had it not been for the Dark Army.’
‘That’s why I have come, Knight-Captain. I know what will happen. I can help.’
The old man held his hands above his head. Elymiah eyed the giant sword on his back and realized he probably didn’t have the strength to wield it. It was for show more than likely. She relaxed her stance.
‘You will be coming with me right away. I know King William will want to talk to you.’
‘What of the queen?’
‘Queen Gwendylyyn is no more, Bendrick. She fell at the hands of daemons,’ Elymiah said, realizing how bitter the words were in her mouth. To her surprise, Bendrick looked saddened by the news. It was as if he hadn’t been expecting it. The little girl stared up at Elymiah intently.
‘Take me to William,’ said Bendrick.
‘You’ll need to give me your sword.’
Bendrick unsheathed his sword from behind him and gave the hilt of the blade to Elymiah. She grabbed it and was surprised by the weight of it. She motioned to the encampment, and Bendrick led the way back. The little girl stole quick glances at Elymiah as they walked along the path back to the refugee encampment. Elymiah had to force a frown on her face. This little girl must be Sieglinde, the daughter Bendrick had been looking for. Elymiah thought his daughter had been older though. Perhaps she had been wrong.
Upon their arrival at the encampment, Elymiah was met by the camp guards, who recognized Bendrick. The captain of the city guard spit in his direction as they passed by. Elymiah ignored the captain and walked straight to the royal pavilion. Two Crypt Knights guarded the tent, and they nodded at Elymiah as she entered.
Inside, William was being prepared for another bath. The healers had been at work on his amputated legs since the moment he arrived. Elymiah had been right; infection had certainly set in. They had had to cut the rotted flesh away and sever the bone so it would heal without infection. The metallic smell of blood combined with steam from William’s bath filled Elymiah’s nose, but she ignored it. William had been depending on a handmaiden as of the last couple of days. William wasn’t so heavy, so as to burden her too much, so the handmaiden had taken it upon herself to carry William on her back wherever he wished to go. The handmaiden stood behind him, with a white head-wrap over her eyes. But as Elymiah entered with Bendrick in tow, the handmaiden shrank to the back of the tent. Elymiah stood as straight as she could and bowed to her king. William’s eyes, however, were focused on Bendrick.
‘I would never have imagined you to be alive, old friend,’ said William.
‘Trust me, I am
as surprised as you,’ responded Bendrick, with a short nod.William smiled for the first time since their escape. Elymiah stood up straight once more and proceeded to leave.
‘Wait, Knight-Captain. Didn’t this man save your life?’ asked William. Elymiah’s neck reddened. It was true; Bendrick had saved her life, but he had also betrayed them. Why is the king being so friendly to him?
‘He did, Your Grace,’ said Elymiah.
Bendrick looked at Elymiah.
‘Will that be all, Your Grace?’ asked Elymiah, intent on returning to her post.
‘It will. I want no interruptions for as long as this man and I speak. And of course, this little one hiding behind him,’ said William.
Elymiah exited the tent. Had Bendrick followed them from Weserith? Where had he gone after the battle of Estia Fortress? Those were questions she would surely be asking him once he was done speaking with the king. She relayed William’s wishes to the men in purple armour and gave Bendrick’s sword to them. She then resumed her patrol along the banks of the Kingsoul River. The waters in this part of the river weren’t as tumultuous as they were further to the east. A small bird perched itself on a branch above her.
Elymiah stopped to stare at it. It must have been the first creature she had seen since arriving here that wasn’t a daemon of some kind. It had blue wings and a black crest atop its head. Its black eyes stared at Elymiah, and it chirped beautifully. Elymiah closed her eyes as she listened to the bird’s song. Robyn came to her mind. He was indeed the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Why had it taken so long to realize that? Something began to stir between her legs. She wanted him again. Perhaps she would go see what he was doing, and if he wasn’t too busy—
Something interrupted her train of thought. At first, she thought it sounded like a woman yelling. She stopped in her tracks for a moment, almost afraid to guess what it was. The scream erupted from the encampment once more. They made it through! The daemons made it into the encampment!
Panic surged through Elymiah’s thoughts. Where is the patrol? Why has no one sounded the alarm? Elymiah shook herself out of her questions and ran back into the encampment. She ran at a brisk pace, careful to use her energy sparingly. If she did have to fight, she would have to remain calm and in control. She passed dozens of pavilions. Men and women were standing in the road, turning their necks at the sound.
‘Get back in your tents!’ Elymiah shouted as she passed the pavilions. She saw a crowd of people amidst the tents. There were no bodies and no daemons to be seen. She reached the edge of the crowds and began pushing her way through.
‘Move, by Oredmere, move!’ she shouted, pushing bystander and guardsman alike. ‘Move in the—’ Elymiah’s voice died in her throat. Robyn was on all fours, hand cupped to his mouth. He was kneeling on a pool of blood. Elymiah dropped her halberd and ran to his side. The world around her moved slower than she would like—too slow. She placed her arms around Robyn and looked into his face. Strange thin and black marks traced over his milky white skin. Blood trailed from his mouth, and he struggled to speak.
‘Ely,’ whispered Robyn. The whites of his eyes had the same stripes in them that his cheeks and forehead had. Elymiah looked on in horror.
‘Who did this?’ Elymiah clenched her teeth. ‘Who did this to him?’
‘It’s a curse. It’s far too late for him.’
Elymiah didn’t know where the voice had come from. Bystanders stared and whispered to each other in hushed voices. Trystrem burst into the crowd, sword in hand, and looked at Elymiah in surprise.
He was expecting a daemon too.
‘Help me, Trystrem. Help me get him to a healer.’
Trystrem didn’t say a word. He sheathed his sword and put one of Robyn’s arms around his neck. Elymiah grabbed the other side. The fetid stench of death lingered around him, almost enough to make her gag. Elymiah clenched her teeth as hard as she could and walked through the crowds to the healer’s tent. Once inside the healer’s tent, they placed Robyn on a cot smaller than he was. The healer approached Robyn and inspected him. As the healer looked on, his face began to drain of blood, almost becoming the same colour as Robyn’s skin.
‘Out. Get everyone out, now. Including the wounded,’ he said, snapping his fingers. At first, his aides stared at him as if he were joking. ‘Now!’ he shouted. Immediately, the aides began grabbing aesculapian equipment and pulling cots, with the wounded lying on top of them, from the tents.
‘What’s wrong with him? Why are you moving everyone out?’ asked Trystrem.
The healer turned to Elymiah and Trystrem. ‘That includes you two Knight-Captains. You cannot stay here.’
‘What’s happening?’ asked Elymiah.
The healer glanced at Robyn.
‘This man has the plague.’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
L'amour Impitoyable
ELYMIAH WAITED OUTSIDE the healer’s tent, sitting on a small crate, until the sun had gone down. The healer’s aides lit torches beside her to provide a little bit of light and warmth for the knight-captain. The healer had fetched a mask of sorts, and every time he went into the tent, he would put it on. It was a mask that healers had typically worn during outbreaks of the plague long ago. They were called aesculapians. Every time he entered the tent, he glanced at Elymiah through the circular eye slots of the mask.
The plague. How can he have the plague? Where could he have gotten it from? Elymiah remembered that he had supposedly gone to Khaevedal Swamp in search of a flower of sorts. Perhaps he had contracted it there. It wasn’t called Poison Pool for no reason. He wasn’t lying about the flower then? And to think, I refused him.
At first, the healer would give her hourly updates. His health was bad—beyond bad. The plague had burned through him with speed unheard of. The markings on his skin and face had stretched throughout his body, and he continued coughing up blood. After a while, he stopped giving her updates, merely glancing at her when he would enter the tent. Elymiah could hear Robyn’s raspy and laboured breathing from within the tent. She rested her hands on her head, lost in thought.
‘Oredmere, what are you doing to me? Is this a punishment?’ whispered Elymiah to herself, staring at the flickering light from the torches. She heard the rustling of armour moving towards her. One of the healer’s aides walked up to the tent, accompanied by a knight of the Purple Rhinos platoon. Elymiah stood and saluted, thinking it was Trystrem, but it wasn’t. The aide glanced at her nervously and entered the tent with the silent knight in tow. Elymiah sat back down on the small crate. She looked down at the grass between her armoured feet. I can’t wait any longer. She would know what was happening to him. If she had to prepare to mourn, she needed to know. Elymiah wiped a little moisture from her eyes. I can’t lose him now.
Elymiah entered the tent to see the healer speaking to the knight. He wasn’t wearing his mask, however. They turned in unison, but something was wrong with the looks they were giving her. The healer frowned and stepped in-between them.
‘Heretic,’ said the healer in a whisper. The knight stepped forward and grabbed her shoulders. Shock slapped Elymiah in the face.
‘What? What are you doing? Unhand me now!’ she commanded, but their grip only tightened around her arms. The knight ripped Elymiah’s halberd from her hands and threw it on the ground. Trystrem and two other knights entered the healer’s tent, grabbed her hands behind her back, and tied them with rope. Elymiah looked at Trystrem in search of answers.
‘Trystrem, why are they doing this?’
‘You are under arrest, Knight-Captain Elymiah Artus Farnesse, for conspiring with the Darkness. And for the attempted murder of your lieutenant.’ Trystrem’s lips were thin lines, pursed and curled into a frown.
‘Trystrem, help me.’
‘The Hallowed Masters will hear of your service, healer. Thank you,’ Trystrem said as he picked up Elymiah’s halberd.
‘You can’t do this. I am a knight-captain, named Perfect,’ said Elymiah, steeli
ng her jaw.
Without looking, Trystrem slapped Elymiah with the palm of his gauntleted hand. Blood spewed from Elymiah’s mouth and nose.
‘Silence, heretic,’ Trystrem whispered, staring at the ground. He then looked up to his knights. ‘Take her to the gallows.’
‘Wait, before you go…’ The healer stepped before Elymiah, holding an elongated syringe. Blood stained the shaft of the needle, and light danced upon it as the healer shoved the syringe into her neck. Elymiah’s eyes opened wide with the pain shooting in her neck. She wanted to scream, but she couldn’t.
‘Her lieutenant had the plague; that much is obvious, and I was able to stop the spreading, thanks to the Hallowed Masters’ insights,’ said the healer, licking his lips. ‘Though how he contracted it is still a mystery. This will prove my theory.’
The healer pulled the syringe out, and a tiny stream of blood trickled down her neck. Elymiah coughed and spit blood onto the floor.
‘What are you going to do to me?’ asked Elymiah, looking up at Trystrem.
‘That is for the Hallowed Masters to decide,’ Trystrem said curtly. He then turned to his knights. ‘Take her now. Gag her if she continues to speak her evil, and take that holy armour off. She is besmirching our very name by wearing it.’
The knights nodded in unison and dragged Elymiah from the healer’s tent.
ELYMIAH SAT IN a crudely made cell made of birchwood and tied with strong rope. The knights had ripped the violet armour off of her and given her a rough leather jerkin and mud-encased wool pants. They threw her in the cell and locked it behind them. Elymiah tried to sit up, but her hands and arms wouldn’t work. There was some kind of oil on the floor of the small cell making it hard to maintain balance. She slipped and hit her head whilst trying to get a better view of her cell. Once she hit her head, however, the smell came into her consciousness.