by Andrew Day
“Gather around, chaps,” said Snow to the group. “Now, we’ve heard reports of a group of Ferine, spotted in the woods not far from here. I thought we ought to take a nice refreshing stroll out in that general direction, and should we find any Ferine along the way, we shall ask them politely to surrender.”
“And if they don’t?” someone asked.
“We’ll ask them less politely.”
“And then eat ‘em! Heheh,” added Dogbreath.
“Quite. Come on, Hounds. We’re off the leash.”
With Caellix in the lead, Vost at her side, the Hounds set off into through the gate, and back into the Faelands.
It was a perfect autumn day, the sun shining brightly, the sky an awe inspiring blue. The Hounds marched along casually, Brant even whistling a jaunty tune as they went, as though they were just off on a walk, and not out to hunt down monsters.
Serrel didn’t know if this was how it was going to be for the next two years of his life. He had gone into this without really thinking it through. But he understood better now, in some ways. He knew what he had to do, and he had prepared himself as best he could.
And with Mouse at his side, and Victor marching behind him, he felt... maybe not exactly great, but perhaps better than he had been when he had started out. He was still in the Faelands, and there was still a war to be fought, and monsters to slay. But for now, he was dry, with his friends, and he was content.
An hour later, Caellix threw him in the river.
It was going to be a long two years.
Epilogue: Destiny.
Ghoraes ran for days straight. As a Ferine, he could move fast, and when need be, remain unseen. He paused only to drink, forage for food, and relieve himself. Otherwise, he didn’t stop.
It was a long journey for someone on their own, and he couldn’t stem the discouraging thoughts from raging through his head. He was moving faster than any news coming from Vollumir would, and he had no idea how the battle had raged. But in his gut, he knew that his brethren had gone to the earth. Vharaes he was more confident of. The elf was a tricky one, and he had the Master on his side.
On the third, or possibly forth day, he had lost count, he finally reached his destination. It was an relatively unremarkable stone monolith, stuck in a meadow in the middle of nowhere, marking some ancient site of pilgrimage for some long forgotten elvish ritual. There were places like this all over Elsbareth. It was a sign of the times, of the corruption the Imperials were wreaking upon his home. All of their own religions and ways were being supplanted by the Empire.
Ghoraes huddled by the foot of the stone out of the wind, and waited. The sky turned dark, and yet another autumn storm lashed the countryside with unbridled fury. He waited patiently in the rain, huddling for warmth by the forgotten stone. He had not dressed appropriately for the weather. He was starting to grow a layer of fur over his body, but frankly it was coming along a little too slow to be of any use. And though he hated to admit it, it made him look... weird. Claws and fangs were one thing, but fur? Nobody liked body hair.
The only thing he had brought with him was the package. It was only a medium sized pouch that jangled with a metallic ringing noise when he shook it. Curiosity had overcome him on the journey, and he had not resisted taking a peek. It was disappointing, however. The pouch only contained a bunch of old, metal keys of various designs. Still, the Master wanted them, and he was not going to disappoint the Master.
Night fell, the rain abated, the stars came out. Still he waited. But in the lonely solitude, he began to think about his old life, for the first time in a long time. He wondered... Could things have been different? Could he have had a normal life, without this? Without the Master, and the Ferine?
He could have given up his foolish dreams of being a sorcerer. Before, he had thought it was the greatest thing ever, but now, being what he was, he saw things with more clarity. He never would have amounted to anything, the path he had been on. He would have had to quit the weaving lessons, gotten a real job. Maybe then, he could have met a nice girl, and settled down. Lived a nice quiet life...
And worn the yoke of the Empire, until the day he faded away and became nothing. Not even a forgotten stone monolith to mark he had ever been in the world.
No. That wasn’t the life he wanted. He wanted to be a true elf. He wanted to die free, and return to the earth knowing he could be reborn. He wanted to make the world better.
His patience paid off. Ghoraes stood up when he heard the sound of great wings beating in the sky. He went out to meet his Master, and find his true destiny.
About the Author:
Andrew Day lives in Brisbane, Australia. His hobbies include writing, avoiding direct sunlight, and coming up with ill-conceived plans for world domination.
You can contact him at: [email protected]
Also by the Author:
The Hollow
Loss and Sacrifice
Shreiber and Tome: Unlucky Vamps
Vessels