by Logan Joss
Nirikö had arrived.
Breaking formation, the two flanking vessels descended to the parade ground below and hovered just inches above its surface. Their hulls opened up to create wide gangplanks, spilling out dozens of tall, muscular soldiers clad in dull chain mail and brandishing swords. Immediately, they began rounding up the shocked and exhausted runians, who put up little or no resistance, knowing that it would be futile. They ushered them all into a group and surrounded them, holding them prisoners under the threat of sharpened steel.
When the parade ground and the courtyards were cleared, the remaining soldiers returned to one of the vessels to retrieve an assortment of heavy-looking machinery, which they swiftly assembled into a battering ram. With ten men on each side, they pushed it towards the main doors of the palace and proceeded effortlessly, with a rhythmic motion, to slam it hard against the door. On the third strike, the door shattered with the loud crack of splintering wood.
It wasn’t long before the runians who had sought shelter within the palace were back on the parade ground once more, clinging to each other in terror beneath the gaze of the dead and the ominous cloud of firesilk sails.
It was then that the flagship began to descend. Despite its cumbersome appearance, the Dragon’s Blood eased gracefully to the ground and settled between the two vessels that had preceded it. In the pulpit at the very front of the galleon, stood a lone figure encased in heavy armor. It was so immense that it was hard to imagine just a single person could fill it. Slowly and deliberately, the figure raised its arms and removed its helmet. There was a sharp intake of breath from the crowd as its tormenter revealed himself. Nirikö’s head, large and square, was covered in thick locks of silver hair that fell wildly around his battle-scarred face. Beneath a thick-set brow, piercing black eyes, which could have belonged to a much younger man, glared at the terrified crowd.
‘SILENCE!’ Nirikö’s voice boomed around the parade ground, demanding obedience from both his own men and their captives.
The crowd hushed, apart from one young runian. Although dressed in armor, only days before this young man had been a mere commoner who worked the land. Now, faced with his own mortality, he broke down into sobs, pleading for his life. A soldier, standing close by, grabbed the man by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out in front of the crowd.
‘Please, I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!’ he pleaded, but didn’t put up a fight.
The soldier released him, but, before he could utter another word, drove the keen point of his spear through the man’s armor and into his chest, silencing him once and for all.
‘Has anyone got anything else to say, before I continue? No? Good.’ Nirikö laughed mockingly. ‘Where is your king? Don’t tell me that your king has deserted you after you all put up such a gallant fight? I never took Somúlùs for a coward. I half expected him to challenge me with his own sword, but it seems that I had him all wrong.
‘You there!’ Nirikö pointed to a scullery maid cowering in the front of the crowd. The runians in the front row looked around at each other hoping beyond hope that it was not them he wanted.
Nirikö indicated to one of his men to bring the woman forward. With the help of the soldier’s sword, she edged out from the crowd, mouse-like and trembling.
‘There there my dear, there’s no need to be scared.’ His voice was like silk. ‘I just want you to tell me where your king is, no more, no less.’
Nirikö turned and strode towards the gangplank, descending to the parade ground to stand before the petrified scullery maid. He towered above her, her head barely level with his waist. ‘Where is your king?’ he crooned.
The maid stammered a reluctant answer, ‘I…I’m sorry my lord…I don’t know…I haven’t seen him since the morning meal.’
Nirikö’s voice remained soft, but his eyes were like ice. ‘No matter my dear, someone here will know where I can find him.’
He turned and paced along the front of the crowd, scrutinizing each of his captives with his cold gaze. ‘I am not fool enough to expect any of you to give up your king so readily.’
He stopped pacing and removed a leather pouch that hung from his side. He opened it and poured the contents into one hand, holding it out for the crowd to see.
‘I hold in my hand more wealth than any runian would see in a lifetime, perhaps even two—these are rare xýleth gems from the mountains of Nûnvl, after all.’
He returned all the gems to the pouch and pulled the closing strings tight before tossing it to the floor. ‘My gift to any man or woman who tells me the whereabouts of Somúlùs.’
The crowd looked anxiously at each other, wondering if anyone would take the bribe. But no-one did.
‘Come on. I can see you thinking about it.’ He scrutinized the crowd, his eyes piercing through to the souls of everyone before him. ‘Imagine what you could do with such wealth. I assure you, the first person to come forward and give me the location of Somúlùs can pick up that pouch and walk right out of the palace, unharmed and un-pursued.’ He threw his arms into the air expansively. ‘Why, I will even give you a vessel and a crew to take you anywhere you please. You don’t even need to feel guilty—a king who throws his subjects to the dogs doesn’t deserve such loyalty.’
Still no-one came forward.
‘Really?’ Nirikö said with a sardonic smile. ‘I half expected at least one of you to try your luck.’ He heaved a theatrical sigh. ‘Oh well. runians—loyal to the last.’
Nirikö beckoned two of his soldiers to his side. ‘I’ve tried being polite. I’ve tried being generous. But now I’ve lost my patience.’ Suddenly his face became cold steel and his voice filled with malice. He turned to the soldiers. ‘Bring me five!’ he ordered.
Immediately, the two soldiers marched into the crowd, which parted around them as the people jostled to hide behind each other. With cold indifference, the soldiers selected their five victims and hauled them to the front, kicking and fighting. They threw them roughly to the ground before their master.
‘Stand up and face your people!’ Nirikö commanded.
The five found their way to their feet as they had been told, too scared to disobey and too scared to fight.
‘I’m sure there are those of you who recognize these people—friends, siblings, husbands, wives. I wonder if your loyalty to your king extends beyond the lives of these five.’ Nirikö pointed to a wooden crane on the wall of the parade ground. ‘Hang each of them from that hoist arm!’
Somewhere from within the crowd, a desperate cry sounded out, ‘No! My husband! Please don’t take my husband!’ Freya fought her way to the front of the crowd.
‘What have we here?’ Nirikö grinned as he watched Freya break from the crowd and approach him, her small face filled with fear and desperation.
‘Please…not my husband.’
‘Oh, my dear, I don’t want to kill your husband. I just want to know where your king is.’
‘I’m sorry but I don’t know where he is.’ Her body trembled visibly. ‘You’ve got to believe me. I would do anything to save my husband.’
Nirikö knelt to meet Freya's face and grabbed it between his finger and thumb. ‘Anything?’ He tilted her face upwards and forced her to meet his gaze. ‘Are you sure you don’t know where your king is?’
‘No. Please believe me. If I knew I would tell you. I would do anything to save my husband.’
Nirikö let go of Freya and stood up. ‘I believe you. I do. And to prove that, I will grant you your husband’s life.’ Nirikö glanced down at Burtlùs. ‘What are you waiting for, man? You’re free. Go back to your people.’
Burtlùs rushed to Freya's side and threw his arms around her. Then, hand in hand, they hurried back towards the crowd. But a soldier stepped into Freya's path, blocking her way.
‘And where do you think you’re going?’ Nirikö said, his voice cold and spiteful.
‘But you said…’ Freya's eyes were wide with fear.
‘You as
ked for your husband’s life. You said you would do anything. Now I have a vacancy.’
Burtlùs realized what was happening and lunged at the soldier blocking Freya's path, pulling a tensioning spike from his tunic and plunging it into the soldier’s thigh. The soldier didn’t even flinch. Instead, he kicked Burtlùs to the floor and put one foot on his back to keep him down. As Freya tried to help him, another soldier grabbed hold of her, lifted her into the air and carried her over to the hoist. Without further instruction from Nirikö, the two soldiers dragged across the other four runians and lined them up beside Freya.
Another of Nirikö’s men had been busily tying nooses in ropes. He finished tying the last one and the soldiers placed them around the five necks. Then, with a heave, they hoisted the small runians high above the parade ground.
Frantically, Burtlùs struggled free from the guard’s boot and managed to get to his feet. But before he could take a step forward, an almighty blow to the back of his head sent him sprawling to the floor. As he lost consciousness he watched as the five figures above him kicked and fought against their own weight until they became still, swaying gently in the breeze like strange fruit hanging from an unusual tree.
26
Quicksilver
MÈLLI SAT CROSS-LEGGED in the center of the raft, whittling a bow from a long branch that he had fished out of the river. By his side were several completed arrow shafts with sharpened points that he had already made this morning, despite the sun still hanging low in the sky. The previous day had passed uneventfully on the raft, which had been a welcome rest for its two travelers from the turmoil of the last few days. The landscape itself had passed by unchanging, the thick forest crowding the river bank for miles and miles, each hour passing by much the same as the last. But this morning brought with it a change, as the raft ascended into more rugged, mountainous terrain and the thick forest melted away into patches of shrubbery.
From inside the shelter came the sounds of rustling, as Trevor roused and dragged himself out into the fresh, morning air with a groan and a stretch. ‘What have you got there?’ he asked Mèlli, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
‘This, my dear friend, is what’s going to get us lunch today,’ Mèlli said proudly, impressed by his own craftsmanship.
‘But we’ve got enough food to last us a month.’
‘What we’ve got is fruit, berries and nuts. That might be alright for those woodland dwellers, but if you expect me to last until we get to the North, and then to confront a dragon, I’m going to need some real food. Some meat.’ Mèlli stood up and bent the bow between his hands, testing its flexibility.
‘And how do you intend to do that, when we’re in the middle of a river on a raft?’ Trevor said, looking around in confusion.
‘Don’t be silly. We’ll have to stop. And soon, before the forests disappear altogether. There’ll be thin pickings higher up.’ Mèlli started to untie a piece of rope from around the shelter.
‘Should you be doing that? Won’t it fall down?’ Trevor reached out a hand to stop him. ‘And I don’t think we should stop the raft—it might break the spell that Gýella put on the river. What if the water starts going back the other way? Then we’ll be stuck. Again. I don’t think it’s worth the risk.’
Mèlli pushed Trevor’s hand away and continued unraveling the rope. ‘She didn’t tell us we couldn’t stop. And besides, I want some proper food.’
Trevor sat down, brooding, and watched Mèlli as he strung the bow.
‘We’ll wait for a flatter part of the river, of course, no point stopping when we’re going uphill.’ Mèlli said, pointedly ignoring Trevor’s concerns. ‘I’ll jump off with one of the mooring lines and tie it off. Then we can secure it with the other line.’
‘Aye aye, captain,’ Trevor said sardonically. He sat in silence while Mèlli continued to prepare his bow.
Since the time they left the forest, Trevor had felt a weight on his shoulders. Remember my words, Trevor Pondsbury. What had the spirit meant by that? Had his strange dream been real after all? But that would mean the lives of everyone on Ëlamár depended on him. That was a huge responsibility that Trevor wasn’t sure he wanted or was even capable of. They still had so far to go and all Mèlli could think about was his stomach.
‘This place looks as good as any,’ Mèlli said, lifting up a long pole from the floor of the raft and using it to steer them towards the riverbank. ‘Grab that rope and once I’ve secured this one, throw it to me and I’ll tie them off.’
Trevor did as he was told and waited as the raft neared the river bank. With a bump, it collided with the rocky shore and Mèlli immediately hopped off, tying the rope he was holding around a small tree. Trevor threw across the rope and Mèlli secured the raft firmly.
‘Well, are you coming?’ he said.
Trevor carefully placed one foot on the bank and glanced back at the river to check that it was still flowing in the same direction. Happy that it was, he tentatively lifted his second foot, not taking his eyes off the river. He balanced there for a moment.
‘Have you finished?’ said Mèlli, his arms folded impatiently.
With this, Trevor wobbled precariously and toppled over onto the riverbank, landing with a splat on his hands and knees in a patch of soft mud. He immediately sprung to his feet and looked back at the water. To his relief, it continued to flow by unchanged. Now slightly embarrassed, he turned round to face Mèlli, who was quietly chuckling to himself.
‘Maybe you should wait here until you get your land legs back?’ he said.
Before Trevor could respond, a rustling in the bushes caught Mèlli’s attention; he spun around and disappeared after it. Trevor was left standing on the riverbank, wondering why he had even bothered to get off in the first place. He could have stayed on the raft and saved himself some embarrassment, he thought. He sat down by the side of the river and eyed the small vessel with mistrust. He hadn’t wanted to leave it but now felt unsure about getting back on, just in case the ropes gave way and it drifted off with him on it. So instead he lay back against a warm rock and waited for Mèlli to return with his catch, his mind conjuring up images of roasted meats, which made his stomach rumble hungrily.
It was some time before Mèlli reappeared. Trevor jumped up eagerly to see what he had caught. There was no sign of any furry animals, but the boy seemed to be carrying something in a pouch of his turned-up shirt.
‘Fruit?’ Trevor said, eyeing the round, purple objects with disgust. ‘You went to get meat and you’ve come back with more fruit. We’ve wasted all this time.’
‘Not fruit, Trevor. Swrenburl berries.’ Mèlli was wide-eyed and grinning from ear to ear. ‘And they’re perfectly ripe.’
‘What makes them so special?’ Trevor said, following him back to the raft.
‘You’ll see.’ Mèlli emptied out a basket of fruit and filled it instead with the large berries, before releasing the mooring lines and using the long pole to push the raft away from the bank and back into the flow of the river.
‘What happened with that thing you were chasing?’ Trevor asked, picking up one of the large fruits and examining it more closely. ‘Did it get away?’
‘Oh no,’ Mèlli said, pulling the basket away from Trevor. ‘I tracked it down to a nice little clearing. I had a clear shot. That’s when I noticed the swrenburl berries.’
‘I think you should tell me what’s so special about these things.’
Mèlli grinned. ‘They’re used to make the finest wine on the whole of Ëlamár, which only the wealthiest people can afford to buy. It’s so rare to find them growing in the wild.’
‘So, what, are you going to sell them?’
‘No, Trevor. We’re going to eat them.’ Mèlli picked up one of the grapefruit-sized berries and turned it over in his hand before slicing the top off with his pocket knife. The skin of the fruit was thick and leathery, but Mèlli skillfully scored it downwards into quarters and peeled off each section of skin to reveal a bright pink, f
leshy fruit with a sweet fragrance that made the boys’ mouths water. He handed the knife to Trevor and waited for him to do the same. Trevor fumbled a little, unaccustomed to using a knife in this way, but eventually managed to peel the fruit. The end result was not as pristine as Mèlli’s but was an acceptable first effort.
‘You’ll get used to it,’ Mèlli said with a chuckle. ‘Right, we’ll bite into them together. Ready?’
They put the fruits to their lips and bit into them simultaneously. The fruit’s flesh had the consistency of set custard but oozed with thick honey-like juice. The taste was exquisite.
‘Mmm, this is delicious,’ Trevor gushed, before taking another bite. ‘I’ve never tasted anything like it.’
They sat quietly, enjoying the delectable fruit, the juices spilling down their chins and staining their clothes beneath. Every now and again Mèlli stopped to look at Trevor and give him a wry smile.
Above them, the sun was reaching its zenith. The river had begun to level out as they entered a broad valley surrounded by high, rocky outcrops with just a solitary tree here and there to break up the barren landscape. The air here was fresh and clean, as if untainted by civilization—in marked contrast to the thick, musty air of the damp forest. Trevor looked back down the river, the way they had come and saw the vast expanse of the lowlands spread out before him. The emerald carpet of Daknat’òr rolled out to the horizon—so small, so benign from this distance.
‘Trevor!’ Mèlli said in a hushed voice, grabbing his arm to hold him still.
‘What is it?’ Trevor said, starting to get up.
‘Shh! Keep still.’ Mèlli pulled him back down to a crouching position and pointed to a stack of giant boulders a short distance from the river. ‘Look. There.’