by Andrew Day
Mouse waited patiently to see if Serrel was going to burst into flames, or turn to smoke. When he remained seemingly whole and corporeal, she calmly stepped forward and touched the crystal with her own hand. She jerked with a start as the energy poured into her.
“Wow,” she said, wide eyed. She lifted her own staff and fired off her own beam of energy. It was bigger than Serrel’s.
Victor and Annabella exchanged reluctant glances, then one after the other, joined them at the Illudin.
The four of the them weaved the energy as fast as they could, but it barely seemed to make any difference. The torrent did not seem to let up at all. Serrel looked up at the vast beams of light discharging into the blue sky. All that energy, just wasted into the nothingness. He thought he could understand why Morton felt the way he did about the Illudin. With it you could do anything.
His glance fell on Holly Wells’ body, lying under his bloodied and travel worn coat. He wondered how far that went. If you could do anything, could you bring back the dead? Could you seal the wounds and shock the heart into beating, and force lungs to take in air? Could you fill the flesh with enough energy in place of a soul so that the body itself remembered who it was meant to be?
It was so tempting, the power and the ability right there, coursing through him. But Serrel remembered that he was not a god. That he had no control over anything, let alone the life and death of others. All you could do was weave as fast as you could, and save whoever you could.
So instead, he turned to the cliffs that overlooked the quarry floor. He had never worked with stone before. But really, at this moment in time, how different would it be from wood? He lowered his staff and pointed it at the cliffs. He weaved.
It did not matter how much energy they burned, the Illudin had more. It seemed that the harder they weaved, the more energy filled them up. It was as though the energy trapped inside wanted to be used. As if it were not the Illudin that was alive, as Serrel had pondered briefly before, but the ether itself. Trapped like an animal in cage, and suddenly released to be what it was meant to be. To burn and heal. To grow mountains and turn the world on its axis. To flow through all things.
The time seemed to drag on and on for them, but in truth the entire process took only a few minutes. But the energy rushed forth so easily and willingly that when it was completely used up, when the flow died, the sudden quiet was shocking. And within the Illudin there appeared a great Hollow, a void more vast and empty than Serrel had ever felt within himself. And whereas the Illudin previously gave without measure, the sudden vacuum sucked at their beings. Serrel felt his spirit being drained into the gaping maw of the Illudin, and jumped back in shock.
He lost contact with crystal, and fell backwards to the ground, landing roughly on his rear end. Three more thuds and yelps of shock suggested his companions had done the same.
There was a moment of silence, then Annabella exclaimed, “What was that?”
“What was what?” Victor asked.
“At the end, before I lost contact, there was this great big... hole right in the middle of that thing.”
“Oh, that,” said Serrel shakily. “It was the Hollow. The Illudin actually felt the Hollow when it ran out of energy.”
“That’s the Hollow everyone goes on about?” Annabella asked in shock.
“You’ve never felt it before?”
“No. I’ve never really done enough weaving to get that far.” She shuddered. “And frankly, I never want to again.”
They stood up, and dusted themselves off. Serrel saw that the Illudin had gone from being a blood red colour, to being completely transparent like glass. It was completely empty.
“Guess that worked then,” commented Victor.
“It was fun,” said Mouse. “Pity we can’t do that again.”
“Are you joking?” Annabella asked her in disbelief.
Mouse shrugged. “It felt good, knowing that for few moments there was nothing in the world that could touch me. And now I’ll probably never feel that way again.” She pointed at the cliffs. “I like what Serrel did though.”
“It’s a good likeness,” agreed Annabella.
With all the energy at his disposal, Serrel had used it to engrave on the cliff face above them a huge likeness of Holly Wells. She had a bow in one hand and a sword in the other, and wore the same impatient and determined expression she had often worn in life.
Footsteps heralded the return of the rest of the group. They stared up the stone engraving silently.
“Not bad, Fresh Meat,” conceded Caellix.
“I think she’d have liked it,” said Brant. “It would have gone to her head though, to see herself carved in stone a hundred metres high.”
“It’s not even close to a hundred metres.”
“Wherever she is now, she’ll be telling people it was a hundred metres high. I know I would.” He sighed. “Bye, Hol.”
Dogbreath turned to the Illudin. “Can I smash it now?” he whined.
Dhulrael gave the crystal a quick examination whilst behind him, Morton looked on dourly.
“I suppose so,” said Dhulrael.
“Finally!” said Dogbreath. He lifted his axe and charged the Illudin.
“Wait, you should-”
There was an almighty crash as Dogbreath’s axe slammed into the smooth clear surface of the crystal, and the Illudin shattered into hundreds of pieces.
He stared at the mess. “That’s it?” he asked in disappointment.
“I did say they were fragile.”
“I could have sneezed and taken the bloody thing out.”
“Animals,” they heard Morton hiss in disgust. He turned his back on the ruined Illudin, unable to look at it.
“Be glad we aren’t leaving you in a similar mess,” Caellix told him. “We’ve done what we came for. Let’s get going before the Ferine regroup.”
“After that display, they’d have to be idiots,” said Victor.
“We can’t leave Holly here,” said Serrel suddenly. He turned to Caellix. “We left all those others behind, the soldiers, your dog. We can’t leave her just lying here.”
“We don’t have time for this,” started Jurgen.
“So go,” Caellix replied coldly. “We’ll make the time. Look around the camp. The Ferine didn’t carry that damn crystal around on their shoulders, they’d have smashed it to pieces long ago.”
Brant found the cart they had been using, along with an old and rather irritable donkey the Ferine had resisted eating long enough to have it pull the cart. In the back of the cart, there was a strange wooden construction with a lot of springs and clockwork that was probably used to hold the Illudin and prevent it from getting bumped on the journey. As a craftsman, Serrel took a moment to appreciate the workmanship on the framework, before he violently broke it into pieces, letting his anger and frustrations vent on the inanimate object as he hurled it to the ground and hammered it beyond repair. He imagined the Ferine as he tore it to splinters.
When he was done, he found the others staring at him.
“Sorry,” he said weakly.
They loaded Holly and the three soldiers into the back of the cart, and covered them with a piece of cloth cut from one of the Ferine tents. Dhulrael examined the contents of the tents, taking a few items he thought might be of value, and then Mouse set fire to them without a word.
With Jurgen impatiently leading them on, the group set off with Dogbreath at the reins of the cart. Behind them lay just smoke and ruin, and the likeness of a dead girl carved in white stone.
Unseen by anyone, a dark, winged shadow circled high in the sky overhead, and watched as the group disappeared down the road.
Part 5: Old Faces.
They stuck close to the main road, just in case they ran into anyone else from the Legion. They did not know how many Ferine still roamed the forests. The sky to the east was becoming darker and more foreboding, signalling the future onset of an autumnal storm.
They came acros
s an inn at the side of the road as the first clap of thunder echoed across the land.
“Maybe we should stop for the night, and wait out this storm,” suggested Annabella.
“We aren’t far from Vollumir,” said Dhulrael. “But it will be dark by the time we get there, and this storm will be over us well before then.”
Caellix looked at the building. It looked quiet and empty.
“Let’s take a look,” she said. “Dogbreath, Blackwood, check the stable. Jurgen, you and Kincade sweep around the building.”
“You know I outrank you,” said Jurgen.
“Captain Jurgen, Sir, respectfully, you and Kincade check around the gods damn building. Brant, Pointy, watch Morton. The rest of you with me.”
Serrel, Mouse and the remaining soldier, whose name Serrel hadn’t caught, followed Caellix and Vost into the inn. It was dark, and there was a faint smell of smoke in the air. The main room was wide and spacious, full of tables. A long counter sat opposite the front door.
Caellix pointed Serrel to the back rooms, to check out the kitchens and the storerooms, while she and the others searched the rooms on the upper storey. Serrel illuminated his way with a glowing ember he weaved at the end of his staff. In the dim light he saw the kitchens were empty. Someone seemed to have taken all the food with them.
“Anything interesting?”
Serrel started, then sighed. Bloody assassins. He turned to find Annabella grinning at him.
“Nothing,” he said. “Where did you come from?”
“Through the cellar. Looks like someone cleared the place out. Come on.”
They went back to the main room. Annabella went behind the counter and looked around.
“They even cleared out the strongbox,” she noted. She turned to the row of barrels along the wall behind the counter, and drummed on them with her fist. They were all empty, except one. “I bet the Legion passed by here.”
“Why do you think that?”
“You clearly haven’t been in the Legion long. No army is going to walk past this place and not stop for a drink.”
Caellix and the others stomped back down the stairs.
“Empty,” said Caellix. She pulled up a stool and sat besides Serrel at the counter. “This place has been stripped bare.”
“I was just saying that,” said Annabella. She was wiping a tankard clean, and grinned. “’Ere, you look like you’ve been though the wars, mate, what’ll it be?” she asked, putting on the strange accent that people in the Imperial Capital sometimes had.
“Three pints of your finest ale, good lady,” replied Serrel. “And a small shandy for Mouse.”
“My mother told me I should never drink,” said Mouse.
“Why on earth would anyone tell you something like that?” asked Caellix.
“She said alcohol makes woman weak and insensible, and turns men into beasts.”
“True,” agreed Annabella. “The bit about men at least. ‘Ere you go, love. Drink up.”
She laid a row of tankards on the counter, and slid a small cup in front of Mouse. Serrel waited until Caellix took a swallow from her drink before he drank his own.
The door opened.
“Are you all drinking on duty?” asked Victor.
“Are you all drinking on duty and didn’t invite me?” complained Dogbreath.
Brant and Dhulrael followed them in not long after, Brant shoving Morton in before him. He pushed Morton into a seat in the corner where he could keep an eye on him, and joined the others at the counter.
Caellix held up her tankard. “To fallen friends.”
They held up their drinks in respectful silence, then drank. After the long day they had gone through, it was a welcome respite.
Mouse looked at her empty cup. “I don’t see what the fuss is about,” she commented.
“It isn’t bad,” critiqued Victor. “We brewed better ale at the monastery, though.”
“Blackwood Ale. Now that’s the stuff,” agreed Dogbreath.
“The ales of this region are adequate,” commented Dhulrael. “But if you really want to relax after a long day, you cannot go past a decent elvish wine made from evenberries.” He sighed at the thought.
“Wine,” Dogbreath made a rude noise. “That’s not a proper drink. You can’t quaff wine.”
“Wine is not for quaffing, dear sir. You savour it on the tongue.”
“It’s drink, not a woman, elf. Even this piss weak ale is better than some snooty elvish wine.”
“’Ere, you badmouthin’ my establishment or wot?” said Annabella.
“Stop talking like that,” said Caellix.
“You fink I’m talkin’ funny or somethin’?”
“I mean it, Kincade.”
“That’s it. You’re barred.”
“You’re all idiots,” came a contemptuous voice.
“You’re barred as well,” Annabella told Morton.
“Look at you all. Trying to let yourselves forget that soon, you’re all going to die,” Morton said. “You may as well drink yourselves into a blind stupor. That may be the only way you can numb yourselves to the pain that’s coming.”
“I plan to,” said Dogbreath with a grin.
“Tell me something,” said Serrel. “Was Morton always this big a git, or is this a new thing?”
“He was always an obnoxious twat,” said Brant. “This gloomy, death-to-all stuff is new though.”
Caellix turned and gave Morton an expression that suggested she would dearly love to skin him alive. “Are you still being sore about your stupid crystal?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“No it doesn’t. It’s gone. And good riddance.”
“You’ll have to seek your ultimate power elsewhere,” Serrel told him.
“He wants ultimate power, eh?” said Brant. “There’s a shock. Always had him pegged as the evil wizard type.”
“Oh, yes,” said Serrel. “He has plans to move land, or be a mountain, or some kind of bollocks.”
“Don’t mock me boy,” said Morton.
“But what you really meant,” said Serrel. “Was that you wanted to lord over everyone else, like a god. You aren’t interested in ending war, bringing peace to man. Bastards like you just like ruling over everyone else. You’re no different from Vharaes.”
“You don’t know me, Hawthorne,” Morton snapped.
“And I don’t want to,” Serrel replied. “I know your type. And I’ve had enough of it, thank you.”
He turned away.
“Idiots,” Morton muttered. Then aloud, “There’s another Illudin.”
All eyes in the room turned on him.
“Come again?” said Caellix slowly.
“The elves have another Illudin,” repeated Morton. “I don’t think I was suppose to know, but I heard them talking about it. It came from the mountains, via a different route from the first. By now it’s already in Vollumir.”
“Well, isn’t it nice of you to finally share,” said Caellix dangerously. “Anything else?”
“No. I already told you, you’re all dead. Just like the Legion. If you go to Vollumir, you’ll join them.”
“The Legion aren’t dead,” said Victor.
“I saw the Illudin in action. I saw what it did. You are a fool to think anyone could escape its power.”
“Well, I know for a fact at least one person got away.” Victor tapped the surface counter with his forefinger.
Mouse looked over, and saw carved in the wood the words, GREESY TIM WOS ERE.
“Timmy made it,” she exclaimed happily.
“Yes. And if that greasy little pillock could survive, then anyone could have.” Victor stared coldly at Morton.
The door opened again, letting in a gust of cold air.
“The area around us looks empty,” said Jurgen. “If we want to wait out the storm, this looks like the place to do it.”
“We aren’t waiting,” said Caellix. “We need to get back to the Legion, right n
ow.”
The storm broke over them as night fell. The rain lashed at the group, but Caellix set a rapid pace, undaunted by the raging elements against her. Serrel wasn’t sure how it was she knew what direction to move in, but he and the others followed without question, though the Nightblades occasionally threw each other dubious looks.
As the night drew on, they crested one final hill, and demonstrating an unexpected sense of melodrama, the rain eased off enough to let them see the trade city of Vollumir lying before them, lit up only by sporadic torchlight.
It must have been quite a spectacular sight during the day, but in the rain swept night, its tall walls and darkened buildings looked ominous. Looming over it all was a tall tower that jutted out from the fortress in the city’s center.
“Welcome home, elf,” Caellix told Dhulrael.
“I wish I could say it was a happy occasion,” replied the elf.
“Look,” Annabella pointed to the fields around the city, where the flames of torches and campfires could be seen.
“The Legion. What’s left of it,” said Caellix.
“Looks like we still have numbers on our side,” noted Brant happily. “Isn’t that nice?”
“Let’s go before we all freeze to death.”
They continued down the road, until they came upon the first sentry post. The two soldiers on duty looked even more wet and bedraggled than they did.
“Halt, who goes there?” called one sentry.
“We’re Legion,” Caellix replied. “We’re from the Hounds.”
“You lot don’t look like Legion,” said the second.
“What, do you think we’re Ferine in disguise?” asked Brant.
“Ugly enough to be,” the soldier replied.
Caellix went up to him, and got right in his face, faster than he could draw a sword. “Listen, boy, I have had a long, trying week. I am cold, wet, and thoroughly pissed off. So why don’t you stop being clever and run off to whoever is in charge and tell them that Sergeant Caellix has important information for them. And you’d best make it quick because if I have to wait, things will become very unpleasant for you.”