The Hollow: At The Edge

by Andrew Day

  “Naturally. Speaking of which, you were suppose to explain to us how you came to be all the way out here. The Generals seemed to think you were leading a resistance in Vollumir.”

  Dhulrael almost laughed. “Me? Leading an army? Sergeant, before I became Patrician, I was a teacher. I am the last person who would be able to lead an army, especially against Vharaes, and the Ferine.”

  Caellix frowned. “So the Ferine are working for Vharaes?”

  “For or with. I do not know for sure. To most people the Ferine were a myth. No one had seen one for nearly a decade. Not since the first war with the Empire. Then, not too long ago, they just appeared inside the Fortress of Vollumir, and slaughtered everyone. I heard that Vharaes was leading them. I do not know what happened, not for sure, but I believe that someone in the city was working for Vharaes. It is the only way he could have entered the city and deployed his forces so quickly. Someone told him about all the secret entrances.”

  “So how did you escape?”

  “I was not in the fortress at the time. I was visiting a friend in the market district when the attack occurred. I spent most of the siege hiding in various basements. I managed to escape the city through an old smuggler’s tunnel. Thank the gods for Vollumir’s old criminal underworld. Vharaes must have found out about me though, because the Ferine pursued me across the country. Fool that I was, I thought a childhood of travelling and adventures would give me an advantage. You cannot escape a creature for whom hunting is as easy as breathing. I came here to the south because I reasoned this would be where the Legion would land. I thought I could meet with you, and give you information about the attack. But it did not take long for the Ferine to find me, and take me prisoner. I was surprised they did not rip me limb from limb the moment they had me. Vharaes must want me alive,” he added bitterly.

  “Why?”

  “I do not know. Perhaps he has a soft spot for an old friend.” He gave a bitter laugh. “That seems out of character for him.”

  “And the two elves with you? Who were they?”

  “Friends from Vollumir. They gave me shelter, helped me hide when Vharaes attacked. They did not want me to go roaming the countryside by myself, so they volunteered to accompany me. I should have...” The elf lowered his head. “I should not have brought them. But I was afraid. The Ferine took them alive but over the last two days they... They tortured them. I had to listen to it all.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Serrel gently.

  “There is no one to blame but myself. I was responsible for Vollumir, for the people. For my friend’s lives. And I am the one who let Vharaes take it, right under my nose. Everything that has happened has been my fault.”

  “I suppose you would know,” replied Caellix. “But credit where it’s due, some of the blame has to fall to Vharaes. Just now, you said you knew him. An old friend.”

  “I did,” Dhulrael admitted. “We grew up together. When we were younger we travelled across the length and breadth of Elsbareth together. But that was a long, long time ago. I had not seen him for years, not until he appeared in Vollumir, holding the head of your Imperial Ambassador. That was rather unexpected. He was always so driven. And arrogant. But the man he has become, this power hungry lunatic, is just so unlike the boy I remembered. He always coveted power and knowledge, but this announcement of his to reclaim the throne borders of the ludicrous. He is not even next in line. There are at least four or five others who would inherit the kingship before he would.”

  “People change. Your history isn’t going to complicate anything is it?” Caellix asked suspiciously. “You aren’t going to do something stupid like try and convince him of the error of his ways?”

  “Sergeant,” Dhulrael said sternly. “When last I saw him, he was holding a disembodied head. I am quite sure I lack the necessary powers of persuasion. Whether he chooses to surrender to you, or whether he chooses to die fighting, it is beyond my control. But he will be held accountable for all he has done.”

  “Good to hear.”

  He stared at her. “Have I passed your assessment, Sergeant?”

  “For now. I will be keeping an eye on you.”

  “I understand. When do you expect us to arrive at your camp?”

  “A day or two, if you don’t slow us down.”

  “I will not. I promise. But... will we be travelling through the forest?”

  “It’s the fastest way. Why? Are you expecting company?”

  “More Ferine?” asked Serrel.

  “We used to think there were only a few Ferine, living in the deepest parts of the Northern Forest,” explained Dhulrael. “Then Vharaes appeared with an army of them. I would think it likely that there are more of them.”

  “I don’t suppose you happen to know how many of them would be roaming around this forest?” asked Caellix.

  “Apart the small group you fought, I do not know. I am sorry, but I was hooded for the last few days. I saw very little.”

  “Then what did you hear?” Caellix insisted.

  Dhulrael paused. “Apart from the horrible things they did to my friends... I thought I heard a few of them complaining about how they had to wait. That they were not allowed to hunt. Now that I think about it,” he said slowly, his expression growing more confused. “They kept me there, in that camp, for days. I thought they would have taken me back to Vollumir, but they were waiting for someone else.”

  “Who?”

  “I don’t know... But I thought maybe I heard one of them use the phrase del sareth.”

  “And that would be...?”

  “It is from an old dialect,” said Dhulrael slowly. “It means, the master.”

  Ghoraes prodded the dead body with the axe stuck in its skull with his foot. A second Ferine crawled over to it on his hands and knees, sniffing the dead flesh. He took a bite out of the body’s arm.

  Ghoraes kicked him angrily in the head, the claws on his toes slicing a deep gash on the underling’s scalp. The other elf barked in surprise, then backed away.

  “We are not scavengers!” Ghoraes snarled.

  He looked about the raided camp site, his anger slowly simmering. Eight dead Ferine lay rotting on the forest floor, slowly returning to the earth. The partially eaten body of a human soldier lay nearby, half covered by a grubby cloak as a mark of respect.

  Only another soldier would have done that, Ghoraes realised. Fools! He had explicitly ordered the group to remain unseen, not to go attacking the Legion. They had other plans for them.

  “Where are the prisoners?” he asked.

  “Dead,” said another Ferine with a submissive bow.

  “Idiots! They were meant to remain alive!”

  “Not all dead,” a third Ferine said quickly. “Only two bodies. The third is gone.”

  “Find me their trail! If that prisoner isn’t back before the Master returns, he’ll return us all to the earth!”

  Do you think to fool me, elf?

  The new voice that spoke seemed to echo right inside the elves’ minds. They all dropped to the floor, one even rolling on his back and exposing his stomach as a wolf would when submitting to an alpha. In the trees above, something large shifted in the branches.

  Ghoraes pressed his forehead to the ground. “Master.”

  The elf has been taken by Legion. They move north-west through the forest, to rejoin the main force of their army. Vharaes requires the Patrician returned to him, unharmed. He still requires his knowledge.

  “I shall run them down, Master,” Ghoraes said firmly. “There are none that can escape me once I have their scent.”

  I believe you, Ghoraes. You have served us well. But I have need for you elsewhere. The second Illudin is being moved to Vollumir. It is vulnerable. I cannot guard it alone, not without revealing myself prematurely. You must go north, and ensure the Illudin’s survival.

  “I shall not fail you, Master. But what of the Legion, and the prisoner.”

  I have brought my childer with me. They will hunt th
em down.

  There was rustling in the undergrowth. The Ferine all looked up in interest as something big and alien to the forest sniffed at the ground hunting for a scent. Ghoraes watched the creature in awe as it found a trace of its prey, several minute drops of blood, and sped off into the dying night, several other huge shadows following in its wake.

  Ghoraes could only hope that one day he too would be able to move with such speed and grace as those frightening creatures.

  North, Ghoraes, the voice of the Master echoed through his brain. Protect the Illudin.

  Above the Ferine, there was the sound of massive wings unfolding, and then with powerful strokes something unseen leapt into the air and flew off into the skies.

  Serrel awoke from yet another horrific nightmare as Caellix prodded him roughly in the side with the toe of her boot.

  “Rise and shine, Fresh Meat,” the sergeant boomed with what Serrel thought was unnecessary enthusiasm. “Time’s wasting.” Then she went off to kick Dhulrael awake, with rather less restraint.

  When he opened his eyes he found it was still dark. The patches of sky he could see through the tree tops were only just starting to brighten. He groaned, and forced his stiff body upright.

  Sleeping on the rough forest floor had not been a fun experience. He missed his bed in Fort Amell. At least in the dormitories the only thing he had to worry about was Justin Tremmel snoring loudly. That night he had awoken to find something crawling on him with multiple legs. He had no idea what it had been, and for that matter, wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  Breakfast was a bleak affair, with Caellix understandably adamant that there be no fire, they basically ate the same things as they had the night before. Serrel’s appetite had still not returned, but he forced himself to eat the double ration Caellix insistently handed him. The last strip of meat, though, he fed to Vost, who had a habit of staring at him expectantly while he ate. The dog took the food from his hand, and noticeably didn’t take the hand as well, which Serrel chose to take as a good sign.

  The sun was only just deciding to rise over the horizon when the group set off again. They moved through the trees as silently as possible, aiming to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. No one spoke, and without conversation Serrel’s mind inevitably drove itself back to all of the things he resolutely did not wish to think about.

  He tried to distract himself by focusing once more on the land around him. Then he stared at Dhulrael, who was the first elf Serrel had ever met. Well, the first normal elf that Serrel had ever met, assuming that there even was such a thing. He wasn’t sure exactly what he had been expecting from an elf, but he supposed that Dhulrael more or less fit the image, tall and regal. Those eyes were definitely off putting though, and as friendly as he was, when Dhulrael looked at you, you couldn’t help but remember that the elf was far from human.

  As the day grew brighter, it also became apparent that Dhulrael seemed even less comfortable in the forest than Serrel. Caellix held her tongue, but occasionally cast impatient glances the elf’s way that made her thoughts clear. At one point, the elf snagged his sleeve on a low tree branch, and pulled it free with a loud ripping sound.

  He sighed as he surveyed his ruined appearance. “What I would not give for a change of clothes.”

  “Why? Filthied your silk underwear have you? Heheh,” said Dogbreath.

  “I do not wear silk underwear, Mister... Breath. But a nice new silk shirt. No, forget the shirt, a nice, long bath. That is what I need. I have not had an opportunity to bathe in over a week. I feel so soiled.”

  “Well, by all means, Lord Dhulrael, let us run you a hot bath right now, shall we?” said Caellix scathingly. “Holly, put the kettle on.”

  “Many pardons, Sergeant, I was merely voicing my discomfort. I will be quiet now, if you wish.”

  “Yes. I wish.”

  The group moved on in silence.

  “A bath would be nice,” Holly said suddenly, with longing.

  “Oh, not you as well.”

  “I haven’t had a decent wash since Port Serenity. And that was from a rain barrel.”

  “But you still smell so pretty, Wells, heheh.”

  “Sod off, Dogbreath.”

  “Not as pretty as Fresh Meat, of course.”

  “Leave me out of it,” complained Serrel.

  “He always smells so nice,” commented Dogbreath.

  “Like morning dew on rose petals,” added Brant.

  “Oh, he does not smell nicer than I do,” objected Holly.

  “Will you lot stop smelling me?”

  Caellix stopped and glared at them. “Will the gods damn lot of you just shut the hell up?”

  “Sorry, Sergeant.”

  Caellix continued walking, quietly seething. Then she sniffed the air loudly. “But would it kill you to roll in the dirt a little, Fresh Meat? Honestly...”

  “What the hell did I do?”

  Not long later, Caellix paused and cocked her head. “Looks like you might get your wish afterall, Pointy.”

  Serrel listened, and heard the sound of running water. They came across the small stream not long after. It was narrow, Serrel could have cross it in a single step, but the water flowing in it was crystal clear. Caellix stooped and scooped up a handful. She sniffed it, then tasted it.

  “Seems clean,” she decided. “Fill your canteens and do whatever you need to do, but make it quick.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Holly breathed in relief.

  They lined the bank and filled up their canteens and took the opportunity for a quick wash. Dhulrael stripped down and scrubbed himself thoroughly.

  “I do not suppose anyone has a bar of soap?” the elf asked hopefully.

  “Lavender scented or jasmine?” asked Brant.

  “Either would be fine... Oh, you are being sarcastic.”

  “Oh, no. I always carry flowery scented soap with me. Just in case I get invited to one of those swanky elf parties full of nubile harem girls.”

  “Dream on, Brant,” Holly splashed him.

  “I never get invited to those parties either,” said Dhulrael.

  “They aren’t as fun as you think,” put in Dogbreath. “The food’s shite.”

  “I wouldn’t eat the food at an elf party,” said Holly. “You never know who you’re eating.”

  “Now, Corporal, that is a misconception,” said Dhulrael sternly. “The practice of cannibalism has been out of favour for decades.”

  There was a pause.

  “Implying that at some point, you lot actually did eat each other,” said Serrel.

  “We did not just eat anyone we found wondering the streets. That would have killed us all off from disease centuries ago. It was simply an old custom. Rather than burying or cremating our dead sometimes, under specific circumstances, we would consume the body.”

  “Why?” Serrel asked, trying not to sound too disgusted.

  “We are creatures of the ether, Caster Hawthorne. We believed that when we consumed the flesh of someone, we absorbed their power into ourselves.”

  “So when someone dies, you all just chow down?” said Holly scathingly.

  “Of course not. Only close family or friends would join in the ceremony, unless the deceased had specified the desire to be shared amongst the community.”

  “That would have been some reading of the will,” said Brant. ““I donate my body to the weekend fry up. Everyone dig in, except the Jones’ from number three, because they’re a bunch of twats”.”

  “Yes. Quite. In some circumstances, it was expected for everyone to partake. In the old days, when a king or queen passed away, their body was expected to be consumed by their heirs and the members of the court, so that their knowledge and wisdom would be passed on to their descendants.”

  “And does that actually work?” asked Serrel.

  “That is the subject of much debate.”

  “So who have you eaten?” Holly asked.

  Dhulrael paused. “Wh
en I was young, I may have eaten my Grandfather.”

  “That must have been a hell of an awkward family reunion.”

  “You have seconds?” Brant asked, grinning. “Did you get any leftovers?”

  “If you are going to make fun,” Dhulrael said haughtily. “Then I believe this conversation is over.”

  “What? No, of course I wasn’t making fun. I’m interested.”

  “Yeah,” said Dogbreath. “In fact, when I die, I want you lot to eat me.”

  “How do you want to be cooked?”

  “Roasted on a spit.”

  “There is something very wrong with you,” commented Serrel.

  “I like to give. I’m a giver, heheh.”

  “You’d be giving us all an upset stomach, for one thing.”

  “Dogbreath,” said Caellix. “If it comes down to eating your sorry carcass, I’m sure we’d sooner gnaw our own legs off first. I wouldn’t even feed you to my dogs.”

  “Your loss, Caellix.”

  “I’d eat you, Dogbreath,” Brant said, patting the man on the shoulder.

  “Really?”

  “Oh, yes. In fact I’d like to place an order on your left leg, that’s if no one else minds?”

  “Brant,” Caellix said slowly. “End this conversation. Right now.”

  “Just planning ahead, Sergeant.” Brant stood up and stretched. “Um, I have to go, uh, mark my territory. Excuse me.”

  “We did not need to know that, Brant,” Holly told him as he went behind a tree. Then she muttered a curse under her breath, having unwound the bandage on her arm and found the wound she had sustained the previous night had reopened.

  “You cleaned that?” asked Caellix sternly.

  “Yes, Sergeant. With the rot-gut you gave me.”

  “Good. Last thing I need is to have to drag your sorry arse around when you collapse from infection.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” Holly said in sing-song voice. Only Serrel noticed her eyes roll.