Fryda saw a man lying unconscious on the ground. “Jaruman!" She held his head up and he stirred. Relief washed over her.
He stood with a groan. “I”m all right. Nothing a week of rest won’t fix.” He glared at Alfric, and something seemed to pass between them.
Alfric stared at something behind Fryda. "I don't have enough energy for a fight."
Fryda turned and saw Lopyl leading a hundred drakens into the cave. "There won't be a fight," she said. "These are friends."
"Fryda of the North," Lopyl announced as she stepped into the cave.
Fryda sniffed and nodded.
"Why are you sad?" Lopyl tilted her head. "This is a time for rejoicing." Grinning, she grabbed the Witch Queen by the hair and held her aloft for the drakens behind her. “The Witch Queen is dead!" The drakens thrust hands into the air and cheered. With a somber expression, she turned and faced Alfric. “You are the one Madrem has called." She bent a knee. Every one of the drakens followed her, bowing their heads to Alfric.
Alfric's expression became confused. Fryda shrugged, too happy at seeing Alfric again to care much about the strange behavior of the drakens.
“Where do we go now?” Fryda asked Alfric.
“If any of us leave here, we will live no more than twenty years longer.”
The curse. Alfric knew about the oath and the curse that came from breaking it. Fryda didn’t care about that. Twenty years would be more than enough if she could spend them with Alfric.
"We will follow the one Madrem has called," Lopyl said. “We could remain here, but another elf will come to take the Witch Queen’s place. We will not take another day of enslavement. Our children will not be under the oath nor suffer its curse.”
“I can’t scale the mountain again,” Fryda said.
“I could help,” Alfric said, “but I need to rest.”
Lopyl laughed. “Do you forget that we have wings?”
In an instant, Lopyl picked up Fryda. They flew up through the shaft among the group of drakens. Morning had broken, and the sky was filled with a hundred dragons, their scales shimmering in the sunlight. None of them bothered the drakens.
“Where are you taking us?” Fryda yelled.
“Somewhere safe.”
They flew south across the city below Dragir, past the great elms of Grimwald Forest, and over the Darkstone River.
Fryda’s feet touched the wet earth of the Trynd Marshlands.
“This is safe?” Fryda wasn’t so sure. The air was thick with the putrid stench of rotting vegetation.
“Safe enough,” Lopyl said.
Another two drakens came bearing Alfric. They let him down and collapsed, laughing. The journey seemed to have exhausted them, but not too much that they weren’t able to express their joy at fleeing Dragir.
Alfric came alongside her. She couldn’t believe how different he looked. In almost every way, he appeared a monster. Yet, she loved him.
The drakens gathered food while Alfric and Fryda talked. Jaruman sat by them, silent and watchful. Fryda knew that he didn’t trust Alfric, and she could understand that—a wraith possessed him. But the more Alfric talked, and the more he smiled and laughed, she knew this was the man she loved. He might be a lot hairier, and his teeth much bigger, but this was him.
Before long, the drakens returned with nuts and a dozen darks. The meat roasted over a fire and Alfric told Fryda about how he’d come to spend time with Hurn in Grimwald. It seemed that Hurn wasn’t the deadly sorcerer they’d learned about as children. Jaruman scoffed when Alfric said this, but didn’t explain himself.
With full bellies, Fryda and Alfric lay on the dirt, watching frogs jump in the marsh water. It was only afternoon, but she felt like she could sleep for days. In Alfric’s arms, it would be easy.
Now that she was free from Dragir, she realized that twenty years wasn’t very much time at all. Such cares drifted away as she nestled into Alfric's chest fur. For the first time in weeks, she slept without stirring.
37
Alfric
Alfric gently lifted Fryda’s head from his chest. He crept over to the fire. Jaruman was sitting in front of it, watching the flames dance. They both sat in silence for a time. The sun was drawing close to the horizon. Soon it would set.
"I can't stay here,” Alfric said.
Jaruman nodded, as though he agreed. “She will go after you. She's come all this way to find you."
"I touched the silver scepter today, but I won't have it tomorrow. If I stay, the wraith will take over. None of you will be safe. Fryda won't be safe."
“We all have twenty years left to live, and Fryda will spend every one of them hunting for you. If you find that scepter, you come right back here.” He sighed. “You still believe in what Hurn’s doing, don’t you?”
Alfric avoided Jaruman’s eyes.
Jaruman’s expression hardened. “Whatever you do, promise me you’ll come back for her.”
Alfric waited a few moment’s before answering. “I’ll come back for her.” He made a point of not saying when, which Jaruman seemed to notice even though he said nothing of it.
“Where will you go in the morning?” Alfric said. “Back to Indham?”
“We can’t go back. Your brother almost killed Saega, and I killed a few warriors myself. We’ll stay here for a time. This area of the marshlands is within Eosor’s influence, so it’ll be safe enough. Just make sure you return quickly. If you’re not back by morning, Fryda will know something is wrong.”
Alfric stood and walked through the marsh. He passed the drakens, sleeping in front of their own fire. One of them watched him leave—the one who Fryda had introduced as Lopyl—but Alfric could do nothing about that. Besides, Fryda would know he was gone come morning. He would only return if he’d found the silver scepter. Without it, he was too dangerous to be around. Eosor’s magic might keep him in control as it had done in Grimwald, but there was no guarantee of that. He wasn’t willing to gamble Fryda’s life on that.
He slid a talon across his palm and held a dripping fist to the sky. Closing his eyes, he invoked Madrem while concentrating on Eosor’s Glade. With both hands, he pulled apart the air in front of him and opened a rift.
When he entered the glade, his heart sank.
A blanket of darkness smothered the glade.
Alfric ran up the steps to the altar. The broken shards of Eosor’s orb were scattered along the surface. Beside it, lay the silver scepter and a parchment. Taking the parchment, Alfric picked up the scepter with the other hand. He turned from the altar and sat on the first stone step.
With a shaking hand he held the parchment before him and read.
Alfric,
As you can see, Eosor has returned to the Infernal City. It was a joyous parting which I’m sorry you were unable to attend. Nevertheless, now my time in Eosorheim has come to an end. The curse has hastened my mission, and I have traveled into the Scorched Lands to take the throne of Kranak-Ur. There is much to do before the next stage in the cleansing can be accomplished.
I have left this scepter here for you on the condition that you return it to me. You are the general of Eosor’s Army, the one who will sit by my right hand when I usher in a new age of the gods.
You must travel to east to Madukgarrd to find your brother and the tattooed mage Peoh. They are days away from committing an atrocity akin to that of Knud and his cohort. Should they accomplish their task, the cleansing will fail.
For now, your own task is clear. I hope my example in the Cave of the Sunless remains in your mind as you carry it out. Remember, while the decision is hard, even family must be spurned for the will of the gods.
There is someone who will accompany you, to provide assistance where needed. I only wish that it could have been me.
May Eosor watch you from his throne in the Infernal City, and may you always do his will.
- Hurn
Alfric put down the letter. He held the scepter in his hands, watching the wingless dragon da
nce in the gem atop it.
Without Eosor protecting this region, the wraiths would soon overtake it. What would happen to Grimwald Forest then? Hurn had left this place, which he loved so dearly, because he believed with all his heart in the cleansing. Alfric now realized that he believed in it, too. Hurn’s example had done much to convince him.
Even so, Fryda was vulnerable in the marshlands with Eosor’s protection. Alfric needed to at least warn her. There were few places her and the others could go, but perhaps they could find a way into Wostreheim, and take refuge in Lamworth. Gos had spoken of a friend in the university there, and Alfric recalled his name—Barne. It was a long shot, but it was all they had. Alfric was of no use to them now.
Thankful now that the Daughters in Enlil’s Temple put him through grueling lessons of penmanship, he tore a blank section of the parchment and wrote a brief letter in his own blood. He hoped it would be enough.
He opened a rift to the marshlands. When he stepped through it, the draken Lopyl was waiting.
“You’ve returned,” she said. “I didn’t expect that.”
“Not for long,” he said. “Can you give this to Fryda?”
Lopyl took the letter, but didn’t answer.
“Please,” Alfric added.
The draken tilted her head, as though discerning his intentions. “I’ll give Fryda of the North your letter, but you should not leave. You are called by Madrem. We drakens are now your people. We will serve you.”
“I want no service.” Without another word, Alfric transported back to Eosor’s Glade.
As he sat beside the glade once more, to rest before beginning the next day’s journey, a thought plagued him. He had abandoned Fryda after all she’d been through to find him. There was no consolation in the thought that Hurn had been forced to kill his sister for the cleansing. All Alfric felt was a calloused emptiness.
“Looks like it’s just you and me, Golden Boy.”
Bradir stepped into the reflection of the glade’s pool. So he was the person Hurn had left behind to accompany Alfric. He hadn’t even given off a scent. Somehow, he had masked it.
“So what will it be?” Bradir said. “Are you going to obey Eosor’s call?”
Exhausted, Alfric stood. “Aye, I will.”
The story continues in Book 3: The Infernal City
Order on Amazon here: http://geni.us/theinfernalcity
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Fall of Mundos tells the early history of Edoma (a main character from The Shattered Orb) when she was a mage apprentice in Mundos.
About the Author
Samuel E. Green is an epic fantasy author. A lover of tall tales from a young age, the muse struck after reading the works of Joe Abercrombie, Brent Weeks, and Brandon Sanderson. Inspired by these and many others, every story is filled with mysterious magic, dark heroes, and new twists on old tropes. His debut fantasy novel, The Shattered Orb, was published in March 2017.
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The Dragon Soul (Vagrant Souls Book 2) Page 24