Whisper of the End

by Held, Maximian

  “I learned that from you, dear Caius.”

  Dear Caius? She is going to get us both killed with her games.

  “Well? Who’s next. My offer still stands.” Kearika is all business again, adopting a guarded position instead of her previous casual one. One of the swords leaves my throat, as the silent bandit turns to face Kearika.

  “You fight well, with speed and ferocity. I would know your name, so that I might tell my ancestors who I slew today” his voice carries the distinct burr of a northerner. Kearika straightens from her guard, her grin now massive and fully displaying her sharpened canines.

  “I am Kearika Ti’la val’Harod, daughter of Harod Ti’la vol’Mereske, Huntress of the Gelu Tribe! Who are you that you deserve to hear my name?” She asks, pride in her name evident in every word.

  “I am Gastar the Beast, I have slaughtered a doz-” his name fades off into an unpleasantly moist gurgle, the red mass of his throat lying in the snow. Even I saw that coming. Kearika’s right hand is stained red, the man’s vital fluids dripping down her fingers to color the snow at her feet.

  “What you are, is dead. Announcing yourself is for the terminally stupid” Kearika spits out, contempt twisting her grin into a sneer “Tell your ancestors of your monumental failings, of your honorless death when you see them in Narak.”

  Gastar gives up his struggling in the snow, falling limp as the ceaseless snowfall covers his body. Thank goodness I was able to get my cloak on, I would be half dead by now without it. I wonder how Kearika can stand it?

  “Now then, that just leaves the four of us. Who wants to try their luck next?” Kearika asks in a dangerously friendly tone. The remaining bandits glance at each other, except for the leader, who remains impassive.

  “Tell you what, why don’t two of you try me at once? Maybe you’ll get to see some of my blood that way.” She taunts.

  The brigands to the left and right of their leader share a look and step forward, their longswords cautiously extended. A sharp howl draws everyone’s attention, the winds have chosen this moment to intervene. A wall of madly dancing snow rips through our campsite, obscuring everything and blotting out all other sounds as well.

  Mercifully the wind subsides after only a few seconds, and the magic sewn into my robes keeps most of the chill out but it still buffets me around. Making this robe is the best investment I have ever made. Greater than even the Goblet of Everflowing Wine. Okay, maybe not as great as that, but a close second. Kearika is down on her hands and knees, the wind having nearly knocked her over. Unfortunately, her two opponents are seemingly unfazed and leap forward, hoping to capitalize on her weakness.

  As their blades swing down in shining, lethal arcs she rolls forward between them and drops flat on her back. Her foot snaps out as she kicks the first attacker’s leg, striking him behind the knee and causing him to stumble and fall. She continues in an arc and her foot smashes into the inside of the second attacker’s knee, which gives way with gristly crunch. He falls to the ground, screaming and holding his leg which is now at a rather unhealthy angle. Kearika sits on the chest of the first and draws back her hand to strike, her fingers coming together in a lethal point.

  “Yield, and I’ll spare your life.” She growls at the man, whose head rocks frantically back and forth in assent. The rough voiced man whirls his blade away from my throat, directly for the back of Kearika’s head, a silver blur set to take it clean off her shoulders.

  “Kearika!” I cry as she drops down to press against the yielding man. I swear she gives him a kiss on his cloth covered cheek as she does, a little tendril of jealousy wiggles in my stomach.

  Kearika pushes off the ground with her arms as the sword whistles over her and drives her heels straight into her attacker’s stomach. His breath leaves him explosively, his sword pinwheels off into a snowbank as it flies from his grasp. He drops to his knees, clutching his stomach and trying to make his lungs suck in the bitterly cold air.

  “That wasn’t very polite of you.” I barely hear Kearika say as his head in both her hands.

  Her hands tense on the sides as she drives the point of her knee into his forehead and takes a jumping step back. Pirouetting on one leg she lashes out with her foot again, this time her kick takes the man in the side of his neck. A hollow crack is swallowed by the wind and the body drops bonelessly into the snow.

  “That just leaves one, care to surrender now?” Kearika hisses, her eyes locked on her last victim.

  “No I think not, but I will make you a wager, if you’re up for a challenge?” The lilting voice pierces the howl of the wind easily, a gloved hand reaching up and pulling back her hood and face wrappings.

  Upward slanting gray eyes, no longer concealed by the hood meet Kearika’s glare levelly. Her ears come to a needle point, quivering in the nonstop wind. Her high cheekbones and gauntness lend her an unnatural look, which is fitting given that she really is an “it”.

  An elf, here? How? It must be what the townspeople called us to deal with. We had covered how to combat elves at the Tower. Step one: “Run away, preferably faster than everyone else.”

  Elves are one of the most dangerous creatures in this world, preternaturally fast and far tougher than any man could ever hope to be. It’s said they could sense blood over a league away, that they could cut through steel with their bare hands. Subduing or killing an elf requires days of careful planning and prodigious luck, as well as some of the most powerful magics ever wrought.

  None of which we have access too, and Kearika is faster than I am anyway.

  “A wager you say? I suppose I can humor you.” Kearika says as she bends down and grabs a handful of snow. If Kearika realizes how out of her depth she is, she doesn’t show it at all. She looks just as confident as ever.

  “I wager that I can kill you with only this. If I can’t then you may hunt me for the rest of my days demon.” Kearika says snidely to the elf, juggling a snowball in her off hand. The elf cocks its head, a hint of wariness crossing its face as it studies Kearika.

  “Foolish girl, you’ve sealed your fate. I accept your wager. I will rend your delicious flesh from your bones. I will feast on your blood while your precious mage watches, and when I am done with you, I will kill him. Slowly.” The elf’s voice takes on a sibilant tone. A toothy grin splits its face, literally grinning ear to ear. Needle sharp teeth peek out, perfect for tearing flesh from bone.

  “It wouldn’t be fair to fight you all covered up, would it?” The elf asks, tugging off the cloth holding the armor to its body.

  Totally exposed to the elements, the elf is far more unnatural looking. At a distance, an elf could pass for human, or even up close if they’re swaddled in heavy clothing. Without a disguise though, their unnatural features are distinct and impossible to miss. Their faces have a gauntness to them, with high cheekbones and foreheads lending them an aristocratic look. The mouth full of wicked fangs and the pronounced lisp it lends their speech dispels any noble bearing they might have.

  Their delicate looking hands could go through the heaviest plate a man could wear, courtesy of the razor-sharp talons ending each finger. Rounding off their predatory appearance most elves have a layer of armored scales under their skin, giving them a slightly reptilian appearance. However, elves are known to vary and in the long history of the Tower there are records of divergent forms and abilities.

  Not even the most powerful magic could tell us the number of elves, or even where they came from. Most magic used on an elf fails spectacularly, rebounding on the poor fool that the spell came from. Any magic that isn’t reflected is usually absorbed, making the elf stronger. Elves feed on the aether that powers magic, and their favorite food is a Mage. However, they’d happily eat dozens of townsfolk, which would require the Tower to step in and hunt the elf down.

  Luring an elf out is far easier than killing one, as they are invariably sadists of the highest degree. Give one the slightest chance to inflict one more iota of suffering and they just couldn
't resist. Hunting them involves using someone, preferably someone with a non-fatal wound, to be used as bait in an elf’s suspected hunting grounds. That bait is almost always some unlucky first year mage who has “volunteered.”

  Personally, I think it is barbaric, and why does it have to be a young mage? Some frantic screaming, usually after the mage is told what they are bait for, would draw the elf like a moth to a flame. Then the real work of killing the elf would begin. Usually several master mages and their Protectors would work in concert, but a single pair defeating an elf is not entirely unheard of.

  Spells would slow the elf, extract the aether from its body, and tear the armored scales from its flesh. Mighty warriors would shed blood like water to keep the beast contained while the mages did their work. Any disruption would lead to the elf coming out even stronger than, and immune to any spells used on it before. Elf hunting is a dangerous job, failure usually meant death.

  Well, I am no master magician. Kearika is bold and strong, but she is not mighty. Maybe, just maybe I can slip away once their duel starts.

  It will not give me more than a few seconds but I think I could weave the aether fast enough that at least I could get myself back to the Tower. Someone has to warn them that there is an elf. I doubt they would get here quickly enough to save her though. I know I am just trying to justify escaping while Kearika dies holding the elf off.

  It would be so easy to just flee, Kearika probably expects me to. She knows me, she knows how useless I am against an elf! She would not be mad, she probably would not even be surprised. My feet refuse to move, they sit stubbornly rooted in the snow.

  Come on Caius! It is time to go!

  Nothing I do gets any sort of response from my body; no amount of cajoling releases my feet. All I can do is watch as one of the only people in this world who gives half a thought to a timid wretch like me rushes straight to her death.

  Kearika should run, she should offer me as a prize to the elf. She knows I want to run away, she probably even knows that I cannot. Dammit! There has to be something I can do.

  “Caius.”

  I could try to shield Kearika from those claws, but I might accidentally aid that monster too. “Caius, snap out of it.” If I let my concentration slip the aether will get away from me, and even if I stay perfectly centered there’s a very real chance that monstrosity will just absorb it anyway!

  “Caius, snap out of it! I need you!” Kearika’s shout slices through my train of thought, shearing through layers of fear.

  “Caius, I need you to listen very carefully” the whole time Kearika never faces away from the elf “I need you to run.”

  Chapter IV - Kearika

  Duras - Cratertop Mountains

  13th of Herras, 1873 MD

  In a few more minutes, I’m not going to be able to do more then walk, let alone fight.

  The wind is steadily removing any vestige of warmth from my body, but the adrenaline racing through me stops me from shivering. When Caius fails to sprint off at top speed I know something is wrong. Caius is strong minded about “right” and “wrong” but he is, unfortunately, almost a complete coward. In our years together he has backed down, or fainted dead away, in dozens of confrontations. He would never abandon me, but the only time he ever fought is when things are exceptionally grim.

  I’ve never even seen him draw blood, much less strike someone in anger. It doesn’t seem like what I said made it through to him. Damn, I was really hoping he would get out of this. Well Dad was always saying joining the Protectors was a death sentence.

  I can’t help but stare at the gray eyes of the elf, I can feel myself getting lost in them. They are the eyes of the largest and fiercest predators, those huge beasts who could shred a man with a lazy swipe of their paw. The eyes of a predator who knows that they’re the most dangerous thing to ever grace the frozen plains.

  My fingers feel like solid ice, but the freezing burn of the dagger strapped to my back is infinitely worse. It rode in a simple leather sheath, I never go anywhere or do anything completely unarmed. The dagger is my only chance, if I can just wound the beast it might leave us for easier prey.

  The odds of meaningfully hurting an elf with my knife are minimal, but it’s still better than the fatal certainty of what will happen if I do nothing at all. My left hand is numb from the hard-packed ball of snow I’m holding. My right hand is free by my side, I don’t want to give the elf any hints about the surprise it’s in for.

  “So, any chance of you surrendering?” I ask with confidence I don’t really feel.

  The elf starts hissing, sounding like fat over a hot fire, its neck starting to stretch as its jaw elongates and opens wider. Its toothy maw is now almost twice as wide as it had been, somehow filling with even more teeth than before.

  “I’ll take that as a ‘no’ then.” I reply.

  Behind my back I draw the dagger and balance it between my fingers. Twenty feet between us, vicious winds and snow that keeps cutting off my vision. About as easy as getting Caius out of that robe then.

  In one fluid motion I throw the snowball as hard as I can, with the dagger following right behind it. The dagger whistles its bloodthirsty song as it flies towards the elf, behind the obscuring snowball. The elf casually swats it from the air and snowball bursts into chunks, but the dagger continues on unimpeded and unblocked.

  With a meaty thunk it buries itself to the hilt in the elf’s chest, right below its throat. Right where there aren’t any of those scales. Sadism, and especially hubris, is what they were always telling us to take advantage of during my training. Poor elves just can’t help but show off, always letting everyone get a good long look before they attack.

  Shaking talons grasp at the dagger, a look of complete shock fixed to the face of the elf as rivulets of dark red blood run freely down its body. Instead of freezing in the frigid air it hisses and boils away into a dark red smoke. I hope whatever that is doesn’t destroy my dagger.

  “H-how did you do this to me?” Wails the elf grasping at the hilt of the knife, feebly try to tug it out. “I am invincible, I have killed before you were a gleam in your flea ridden father’s eyes!” It howls. Some things just don’t have the manners to die when they’re supposed too.

  “I did this to you, you miserable craven, because I’m the best fighter there ever was. I did this because your misbegotten kind can’t get a sentence out of their vile mouths without their pride getting stuck in their craw. I just replaced that pride with something more fitting.” I shout over the wind as I stride over to the elf, intent on getting my blade back.

  The elf slumps over, watching its blood pour out through its talons. As I get closer it shudders, its head and shoulders shaking. As I reach down to free my blade the elf looks up at me, its gray eyes clear of any panic. Clear of anything other than murder.

  “Hubris is not a purely elven trait” It hisses “Man has so often been brought low by their misplaced confidence.” That terrible grin splits its face again, and this close I can smell the rot of old meat coming from its teeth.

  Rising to its feet, blood still evaporating as it runs down the front of its body, the elf begins to pull my knife up through its chest. Pulling up along the length of its throat, neatly opening it and spilling blood in huge splashes. The snow hisses viciously around these splashes, throwing up dense clouds of crimson smoke with an acrid stench. Its throat peels back to reveal that its teeth continue down the length of its throat.

  Oh ancestors, what have I gotten myself into?

  I can’t move, seeing the undulating teeth inside its throat keeps me locked in place. As hard as I try I can’t shift a muscle, not even my eyes will obey my command to look away. Little gobbets of meat still cling to those terrible teeth, and the stench is overwhelming. The elf leisurely leans forward, until its eyes are level with my own, my dagger hanging loosely in one hand. Streaks of dark red blood paint its body and the knife, making a sulfurous hiss and shrouding it in smoke.

  It lea
ns in, until its face is almost touching mine. “Why don’t I replace my pride with something more fitting? You look like just the right size.”

  The elf traces the dagger up my shirt and along my neck, all I can do is shiver and shake. Move Kearika, move! My father’s voice springs into my head. Fight! Fight, or die a coward’s death and bring shame to your ancestors!

  My right hand twitches convulsively as I futilely attempt to form a fist. A vicious blow to my stomach folds me in half, wheezing as the air is force from my lungs. My chest burns as my muscles rebel and the air refuses to come back. I fall to my knees, my vision narrowing to a tunnel, all I can see is the slow drip of blood falling on the dark gray snow beneath my hands.

  Gray snow?

  A taloned claw grabs a fistful of hair, digging bloody furrows in my skull as it pulls me back up. Desperately my hands scrabble in the snow below for the covered blade. Where is it? Where is it! The elf’s glass shattering laugh rings in my ears, my own dagger’s ice-cold edge presses into my throat just as my hand finally finds the leather wrapped sword handle.

  “Struggle all you want, amusing me isn’t going to make this go any faster for you.” The elf breathes onto my face, the pungent stench of its blood burning the back of my throat and eyes.

  Cold numbed fingers finally close on the hilt of the buried blade. The sword flashes up with as much strength as I can muster one-handed, skittering off the armored scales that cover it and into its open quivering throat. My desperate strike continues upwards through the forest of teeth and through the roof of its mouth. I bury the sword as far as I can, the tip pushing out through the top of its skull.