The Hollow: At The Edge

by Andrew Day

  “I agree that the Illudin is the priority,” said Jurgen. “But after we’ve removed it from the equation, my Nightblades and I should move on the fortress. With the elf’s help, we can gain entrance, track down Vharaes and take care of him once and for all.”

  “He might not be there,” said General Roth.

  “All of our intelligence suggest that Vharaes does not lead from the front-lines. He’ll be in the fortress, hiding. Once the Legion makes its entrance, he’ll run. We can’t take the chance that we’ll lose him in the chaos of the battle. We need to strike at the first opportunity.”

  “No,” said Dillaini flatly. “When we gain control of the city, we can hunt him down. The Patrician has given us the locations of several escape tunnels. We’ll have them all blocked. He will not get away.”

  “With all due respect, General, this may be our-”

  “I’ve already told you what the plan is, Captain. Under no circumstances are you to go off on your own to play hero. I want Vharaes captured alive. Do you understand me?”

  Jurgen was blank faced. “Yes, General.”

  “Good. You may think you’re answerable only to the Empress and her council, but here and now, Jurgen, you and your Nightblades are under my command. I will not have any dissent amongst my officers.”

  “You have made your orders pefectly clear, General, Ma’am,” Jurgen replied, still void of emotion.

  “Do we have any idea of the enemy’s numbers?” asked Snow, back on subject.

  “Yes. There will obviously be a lot of Ferine,” Dillaini replied unhelpfully. “Expect the worse. And I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that if you fail, we will most likely all die.”

  “Well then, Ma’am,” said Snow brightly. “We shall endeavour not to fail.”

  “I should hope so. You all leave in a few hours, I suggest you brief your men and make preparations. Take whatever equipment and weapons you feel you will need. Good luck. We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Never one for ceremony, Dillaini turned and left the tent without a fuss. Roth nodded to the two captains and followed her. Grimm paused to hand Serrel the crystal shard.

  “Here,” he told Serrel. “The enchantment will work for at least a day. Hopefully you won’t need longer than that.”

  “How do I make it work?”

  “Focus on it with the word Ilisolde. Once you are connected, the crystal will do the rest. Hold it in your hand, and you will feel a... pull, in the direction of the Illudin.”

  Serrel nodded. “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Try not to break it. The affects would be rather... hazardous.” Grimm paused. “How old are you, lad?” he asked.

  “Eighteen, Sir,” Serrel replied politely.

  Grimm nodded. This information seem to make his previous bright and unflappable demeanour slip. He appeared for a moment somewhat saddened.

  “Eighteen,” Grimm repeated. “They recruit you so young these days. Good luck to you, lad. May the gods watch over you.” He patted Serrel solemnly on the shoulder before he left.

  Serrel didn’t find that overly reassuring.

  “Ignore him,” said Jurgen, who had been watching. “The gods don’t care if you live or die. You’ve survived this long on your own, Hawthorne. Remember that.”

  “I think he was just being polite, Sir,” said Serrel.

  “No, Hawthorne. He thinks you’re going to die. People should keep those kinds of platitudes to themselves. It serves no purpose but to make themselves feel better, and in battle sympathy makes for a weak shield.”

  “Quite,” agreed Snow. “Perhaps, Captain Jurgen, we can focus on the issue at hand. Serrel, would you mind terribly escorting Morton to the prison? Then find sergeant Caellix and have her round up the Hounds.”

  “Yes, Sir.” Serrel approached Morton, who stood stiffly. “Are you going to behave?”

  Morton ignored him, and without waiting walked ahead of him out of the tent. Serrel followed irritably behind him.

  Jurgen and Snow turned back to Grimm’s conjured model of Vollumir, which the wizard had left behind.

  “That is rather clever,” Snow commented. “With the little chimneys and all. How long do you think it will last?”

  “If memory serves,” started Dhulrael. “The enchantment should start to fade the second the caster leaves the vicinity. It shouldn’t last-”

  The two captains jumped backwards as the shiny model suddenly collapsed on itself, splattering liquid mercury about and pooling across the table.

  “...very long at all,” finished Jurgen in annoyance.

  “Oops,” said Snow.

  The tent flap was pushed aside, and a smiling bearded face poked through.

  “Sorry about that, lads,” said Grimm. “Forget my head if it wasn’t attached. Don’t worry, I’ve brought my funnel.”

  The camp’s prison was basically just a small pen lined with sharpened wooden stakes, guarded by two large, humourless looking soldiers. It had no protection from the elements, and the ground was wet and muddy. Morton allowed them to shove him inside and lock the gate behind him without a word.

  Serrel lingered. He didn’t like Morton, but he didn’t like that General Dillaini had felt the need to beat him for answers.

  “You want anything?” Serrel asked sympathetically. “Food, or something?”

  “I don’t need your pity,” Morton replied.

  Serrel shook his head. “Fine. Forget I asked. Enjoy your cage.”

  He turned and stomped away.

  “Hawthorne!”

  Serrel looked back with a sigh. “What?”

  “Are you really going to go off on this foolhardy quest of theirs?”

  “You mean, am I going to do the job I said I would? Yes, I am. I realise that’s an unusual concept to you...”

  “If you destroy the Illudin,” said Morton. “Then everything you’ve done will have been for nothing. Everyone who’s died, they would have died for nothing.”

  “They all died because of that damn Illudin. Because of Vharaes, and his bloody Ferine. They didn’t die for nothing.”

  “You think anything, anything at all that you’ve done here matters in the slightest? It doesn’t. You kill the elves, or they kill you, it doesn’t matter one single jot. The only thing the victor gets is the chance to walk away and later on start a new war with someone else, and then this whole pointless affair can start all over again. Nothing changes. And people like you, Hawthorne, are going to let it continually happen over and over again because you are content to be a tiny little cog in a well oiled machine. You don’t aspire to anything. You would gladly die for the service of the Legion, even though the only thing the Legion is good for is more death. The Illudin can change that. There won’t be a need for wars over land and power. Everyone would have all the power that they needed, and then some. Everyone, from kings to the lowliest peasant.”

  “I may not be as clever as you,” replied Serrel. “But even I know people like that don’t share their power, especially not with peasants.”

  “But you connected to the Illudin. You felt the heart of it. You know its true nature. It was not meant to be hoarded by a single person. The energy would destroy anyone who tried. It was meant to be shared.”

  “I did feel it. But what I felt was a seething, boiling mass of...” Serrel sought the words. “I don’t even know. It was power, but it was alive. And it didn’t care about wars, or kings, or peasants. It didn’t care about saving people, or killing people. It just wanted to be. To flow through the world. To fly as the wind, to burn like fire. It didn’t like being caged. It just wanted to be released, anyway it could be. It’s dangerous, Morton. It has to be destroyed.”

  “To destroy it, is to destroy our future, Hawthorne.”

  Serrel shrugged. “At least this way we’ll still have a future.”

  “A future full of more bloodshed and death, because when the chance came for someone to stand and say no more, you all just fell in line. You aren’t saving any
one. You’re damning them.”

  Serrel lost his patience. “Do actually you want anything else, because I have things to do?”

  Morton regarded him through the wooden stakes lining his prison. “You ever fallen into the Hollow, Hawthorne?”

  “Once.”

  “Why did you even bother to climb out?” Morton asked.

  “Because my sergeant told me to,” Serrel said with another shrug. “Because it was better than lying there and dying. I don’t know. It was better to be out of the Hollow than in.”

  “I used to be like you,” said Morton. “Following orders blindly, content in my mistaken belief that what I fought for actually mattered. And I could weave, oh yes, I could weave. That feeling, that the world itself could bend to your command... And then one day, I followed an order that cut me off from the ether.”

  “What do you mean, cut you off?” Serrel asked in confusion.

  “I mean, I did something I shouldn’t have, because I was following orders, and as a result, the ether no longer flows into me. I can no longer receive its energy. What little energy I had left slowly trickled away on small and insignificant weavings until I had nothing left. Nothing but the Hollow. You fell into it once? Well, every waking moment I exist only ever in the Hollow, in the pure empty void inside that used to hold my spirit. I don’t seek the Elixir because I am addicted. I just want to feel something, anything, again. I want to be filled.”

  Serrel stared at him. “The Illudin won’t help you, Morton. It will kill you.”

  Morton sighed. “You haven’t heard a word I have said. Just... Go away. Go be a soldier, and follow orders. One day, when you’re surrounded by the destruction of everyone and everything you care about, I hope your sense of duty gives you warmth. Because it is cold here in the Hollow, Hawthorne. And it goes on forever.”

  The briefing for the mission was brief and to the point. The Hounds and the Nightblades stood silently around the table as Snow outlined the plan: Dhulrael would lead them into the city though one of the old smugglers’ tunnels. They would hopefully come up in the basement of one of Dhulrael’s acquaintances, one the elf assured everyone could be trusted. Serrel with the seeking crystal Grimm had given him, would ensure that they located the Illudin quickly. While the others dealt with any defenders, Serrel, Victor and Annabella were to drain the Illudin, and destroy it. Then it was a matter of getting to the city gates, and ensuring access for the rest of the Legion.

  “Questions?” asked Snow.

  “Why can’t we just bring the entire Legion in through the tunnels?” asked Annabella.

  “We considered that, but Dhulrael says the tunnels are too narrow. To get a sizable force through would take too long, and leave us bottlenecked. A smaller group should be able to sneak in unnoticed. Don’t worry. General Dillaini will have other units waiting. When the siege begins, the tunnels will be secured, and other units will enter the city to join in the attack.”

  “What level of defence should are we expecting?”

  “Considerable.”

  “Goody.”

  “There will be Ferine hunters, and most likely mages, as well as those unidentified wolf creatures that were present at the attack on our camp. They will not surrender, or give you any mercy. This will be a fight to the death. But it is important that our mages stay alive. They must make it to the Illudin in order to deplete its energy. Otherwise, I’m told the effects of breaking it will be rather... unpleasant.”

  “Ka-boom,” explained Dogbreath.

  “Quite. In order to maximise our chances, Sergeant Caellix has found us an extra mage. This is Caster Freman...”

  “Hello,” said Mouse.

  “She will give us support while the others deal with the Illudin. Anything else?”

  There was silence.

  “I know we’ve all been through a lot,” said Snow. “We’ve lost good friends, and loyal comrades. But if we are not successful in this, more people will die. One way or another, this must end tonight. In light of the nature of this mission, I will not order you to come with me. Anyone who wishes to leave, you may do so now. No one will hold it against you.”

  “Except me,” said Caellix.

  “Except the sergeant. But I will understand... Anyone? Dogbreath?”

  “And let you have all the fun, Captain?”

  “Patrician? I can’t guarantee your safety if you choose to lead us in person.”

  “Oh, no,” said Dhulrael. “I am going home, Captain.”

  “That’s the spirit, elf,” said Caellix.

  “No one?” asked Snow. He smiled at the silence. “Well then. We have a few hours. Prepare your weapons, and let the quartermaster know if you need anything. Get some rest, because tomorrow is going to be one beautiful day.”

  Serrel met Mouse outside the tent.

  “You know...” he said tentatively. “You don’t have to come along.”

  “I don’t mind,” replied Mouse.

  “I mean, you can stay here. With the others.”

  “You aren’t staying,” she pointed out.

  “My unit’s going.”

  “I don’t have a unit anymore, and no one’s told me where I’m suppose to go. I may as well try and be useful. Don’t you want me to come?”

  “Sure, but... I just thought you would be here, to look after the others.”

  “They’ll be fine,” said Mouse. “You shouldn’t worry so much.”

  “I worry. I can’t help it. You, and the others... It’s sad, but you’re my friends. Probably the only friends I have left.”

  “That is sad. But sweet.”

  “I don’t want anything to happen to any of you.”

  “I know. But, Serrel...” Mouse hesitated. “You’re the only friends I have as well. Kaitlin and Justin can keep each other safe. Timmy and Bull will be close by. Edgar won’t be anywhere near the fight. But you and Victor are going to be in the middle of it all. Someone has to look out for you. Besides,” she added. “Someone has to make sure Victor comes back. She won’t say it, but if anything happens to him, Kaitlin is going to be very upset.”

  “True.”

  “She can be very silly sometimes. Victor too. You feel like banging their heads together.”

  “What are you, the group’s matchmaker now?”

  “I just think they could be happy together, if they just got their act together and admitted it. Kaitlin would be good for him, and Victor, you wouldn’t always think it, but he can be really nice when he wants to be. When people were picking on me, back when we were training, Victor always stood up for me. He broke someone’s arm once.”

  Serrel glanced from Mouse to Victor, who was talking to his fellow Nightblades not far away. “He broke someone’s arm for picking on you?” he asked in surprise. “I didn’t think he cared enough.”

  “I didn’t think so either at first. But now, I think he just convinces himself he doesn’t care, so he can keep doing all the things he has to do. But he isn’t like that. Not really.”

  “You know, if I had known people were picking on you, I’d have broken their arm too.”

  “No you wouldn’t,” replied Mouse flatly.

  “Yes, I would,” Serrel insisted. “I would have definitely walked up to them and punched them in the face.”

  “No. You wouldn’t have. That’s not who you were.” She sighed. “If I had had any sense, I’d have done it myself. But I was too busy trying not to attract attention. Trying not to be afraid of my own shadow. I should have set a few people on fire, then I could have saved myself a lot of bother.”

  “Uh, Mouse... You did set a few people on fire.”

  “Oh. That’s right. I did.” She smiled at the memory. “It was fun.”

  Serrel resisted the urge to take a step away from her. “But my point still stands. If you don’t want to go ahead with this, you don’t have to. You don’t have to do it for my sake, or Victor’s sake. Do you really want to do this?”

  Mouse thought about it. “You
know what, Serrel? I do. I really do. And if the elves get in our way, I’m going to kill them. I think they deserve to die, don’t you?”

  A few days ago, Serrel had disagreed. Taking a life the first time had been sickening. But he thought about the soldiers, ripped apart and eaten alive. The camp site, blackened and littered with bodies. Holly Wells with a sword stuck right through her. Tentacles ripping ships to pieces and dragging people down into the sea.

  “Yes,” he agreed, the rage simmering inside. “They do. They all do.”

  Mouse nodded in understanding.

  Then a hand landed on his shoulder, and made him jump.

  “Bloody hell, Victor!” Serrel snapped. “Stop doing that!”

  “Two words, Serrel: situational awareness,” replied Victor. “Really, you have to be the jumpiest person I have ever met.”

  “Victor, I’m serious. Get a bell.”

  “I think that would defeat the whole purpose of being stealthy.” He looked from one of them to the other. “How are you two doing?”

  Mouse shot Serrel a knowing look that said, See?

  “We’re fine,” she replied. “Serrel’s worrying as usual, but we’re both ready for what’s coming. You?”

  Victor shrugged. “I was made for this sort of thing.”

  “You aren’t the slightest bit nervous?” asked Serrel.

  For a moment, it seemed like Victor was going to say something else, but instead, “No. It is what it is. I didn’t join the Legion for the food. Speaking of which, I’m going to see if there’s anything left to eat, then get some sleep. You two should do the same.”

  “We will,” said Mouse. “Have you talked to Kaitlin yet?”

  “I’ll...” Victor said slowly. “I’ll see her when this is over.”