by J. M. Topp
‘I will kill the cyclops as I killed the kraken,’ said Elymiah, determination filling her spirit. She stormed out of Zignumerand’s room without another word. Theodric stood outside the room waiting for her. Elymiah punched him in the stomach as hard as she could, making Theodric double over and fall onto the floor.
‘Oh, and thanks for the bestiary, Zigi. Really fucking useful,’ she said, glaring back at the castellan. She turned on her heel and walked back to Artus’s quarters.
Elymiah burst into her father’s room, walked straight to the chest, and opened it. She grabbed the flintlock that Artus had given her and put it in her belt. She wished Artus had left her a sword like the one he’d used in Yorveth. Elymiah grabbed her riding coat and fastened it around her neck with one hand. She slung a bag over her shoulder and placed the kraken tentacle inside it. She grabbed a bag of coins and then touched Alamánd’s hilt. The sword seemed to vibrate against the touch of her fingers. She put the sword on her belt, but the coin purse fell from her fingers. She snorted. It would take time to get used to doing things with only one hand. She leaned down and shoved the coin purse in her pouch.
She was ready, but she had no idea how to get to Saltkire Hold. Suddenly, the messenger came to mind. He would be leaving soon, no doubt. Elymiah gathered her belongings and walked out of the room.
The stables were closer to the middle of the mountain than the main castle was, and Elymiah had to climb a few rows of stairs to reach them. It was a difficult feat, seeing as she could only go one step at a time. When she finally reached the stables, however, there was no one to be seen. Two horses were still tied to their posts. Elymiah untied one with grey and brown spots and tied her bag to the saddle. The horse whinnied in protest.
‘It’s okay, boy,’ she said, patting the neck of the horse. ‘We have someone to find.’
‘Wait.’
Elymiah turned to see Theodric standing at the stable doors. He sighed and walked up to the horse.
‘You can’t stop me.’
‘I know I can’t. You are every bit as stubborn as your father.’
Elymiah glanced at the wooden doors. The wind softly brushed against it, making it creak.
‘Then why are you here?’
‘To say...’ Theodric hesitated. ‘The search party is riding ahead to the Moonlit Valley. I wanted you to know that, if you still decide to go, we will be there. I know the castellan would never let you ride with us, but I won’t stop you from joining us once you arrive in the valley.’
‘I will meet you there,’ said Elymiah.
‘I was wrong about you.’
‘What?’
‘When I saw you enter Karagh Muín on that boat with your father, I thought you were dead weight. A cursed knight from Aivaterra. I see how wrong I was. I just wanted you to know that.’
Elymiah glanced down at his feet and then looked back at him. She nodded and heaved herself up onto the horse. ‘Thank you, Theodric.’
‘Take this.’ Theodric pulled a metallic arm from behind him. ‘As I said, it is very rudimentary, but I am working on something that will be a little bit…more useful. Maybe when I return, I can get to work on it.’
Elymiah took the metal arm and set it in her lap. ‘I will bring my father back.’
‘I know,’ said Theodric.
Elymiah clicked her tongue and guided her horse out the stable doors.
ELYMIAH KICKED THE horse beneath her, urging it down the road. No matter how hard she kicked it, however, she could not seem to catch up to the messenger ahead of her. The man seemed utterly oblivious to her presence. She thought of calling out to him but then thought against it. It was better to ride up and speak in person.
Her cloak stuck to her body as flies buzzed around her head. Sweat collected above her eyebrows, and she had to wipe it away before it dripped into her eyes. The dense jungle was filled with green bushes, broad leaves, trees with fruit Elymiah had never seen before, and insects she had never even dreamed of seeing. They fluttered around her head incessantly. Puddles of water sat stagnant in the middle of the muddy road, breeding grounds for mosquitoes. Elymiah stopped urging her horse on for fear of it breaking a leg on the slippery road. For once, she was grateful for her short hair. She enjoyed the breath of air blowing through her brown hair and her ears. It was beginning to grow more evenly now, even covering the scars made by the Protector.
While it was relatively cool inside the fortress of Karagh Muín, the air outside the mountain was thick and humid. Elymiah hadn’t noticed it upon arrival or even on the beach, but it was impossible not to feel now.
She thought of the flintlock her father had given her. To say she wasn’t absorbed in curiosity about how it worked would be a lie. The flintlock was beautifully made, but she wasn’t entirely sure of its use. Elymiah shook her head at herself. It was as useful as a wooden plank in her hands.
Light danced across her eyes, and she had to squint as it passed by. She looked up at the messenger. Elymiah realised that he knew he was being followed. The light must have been a reflection from a mirror. The messenger gave no indication he knew he was being followed, but Elymiah was certain he was keeping a watchful eye on her.
A dozen men painted in brown and grey leapt from bushes surrounding the road, crude lances pointed at Elymiah. She raised her one hand off the reins as they neared her. The messenger turned his horse around and rode back, kicking up dust. Elymiah studied the men surrounding her. Their skin was tinted with colours of black, green, and brown. Their eyes were dull. The perfect kind of killers. Elymiah gritted her teeth but didn't draw her weapon.
The messenger slowed his horse down as he approached. He had the same look as the men surrounding her did—no emotion.
‘Why are you following me?’ he asked bluntly.
‘The fresh air, obviously,’ said Elymiah, holding her hand into the air. ‘It does wonders to clear the sinuses.’
‘Clearly,’ said the messenger. ‘Go back to your fortress, Veledred. You do not belong on the path you are riding so hastily.’
‘I am not Veledred,’ said Elymiah a little more quickly than she liked. The messenger tilted his head.
‘Why do you follow me?’ The men around Elymiah took a step toward her, their spears levelled at her body. There was no point in lying.
‘My father, Artus.’
‘Ah, you do have the same look,’ said the messenger. ‘You will have to wait for the search team of Veledred to find him. You cannot, by the looks of it. You don’t even have a sword arm.’
‘I can, and I will. Even if you do not help me,’ said Elymiah. ‘I don’t care. I will find a way. I will not lose him.’
The messenger bit his lip and then nodded to the men surrounding her. They relaxed their stances and walked back into the woods without a trace. Elymiah was left alone with the messenger, but she knew that she was being watched.
‘I do not have the authority to let you into our sacred valley, but perhaps Lord Bearohd can allow you. Follow me, and do not fall behind. Next time I will let the claymen claim their prey.’
‘What do I call you?’ asked Elymiah, shifting in the saddle.
‘You may call me Coda, Elymiah Farnesse.’
‘How did you know my name?’
‘You bear a striking resemblance to your brother, Eymeg. It’s for his sake I am helping you now.’
She glanced into the woods. Not a sign of anything living could be seen. The messenger snapped the reins of his horse and proceeded down the dirt road. Elymiah followed him.
ACT II
Felheim by Night
‘WHERE IS SHE!?’
Rickert clenched his fists. Tears collected in his eyes as he stared at the man before him, but the little elf blinked them away. The Kindler stood with arms folded behind his back. His head was bent low, and his eyes were turned away. Rickert stared at him, fearing the worst. Thunder roared outside his bedchamber, and rain pattered on the windows.
The Kindler chewed on his lip. ‘
I am afraid I do not know, my prince,’ he said sheepishly. ‘Not yet at any rate. We are working tirelessly to find her.’
Rickert gritted his teeth. He could feel warmth circling around his neck. ‘Rhiannon is as much heir to this kingdom as I. Kindler, I am ordering you to give me any information you may have on my sister’s whereabouts. Tell me all that you know.’
The Kindler bowed his head and folded his arms behind his back, revealing a dagger with a hilt inlaid with silver designs. ‘We found this dagger with Noreadryyn’s blood on it, hidden not far from her body. Whoever hid it did a poor job. The council ordered the gates of Felheim be closed immediately and any human that was let into the Sapphire Quarter be placed under quarantine until the princess is found.’
‘Quarantine?’ Rickert realised what was happening. This was Morrenwylf’s doing.
‘Where is the high primarch?’ asked Rickert.
‘Morrenwylf? He is in the council room attempting to coordinate our spies. He is making a net of the best trackers and assassins to search for your sister. He thinks the humans are responsible.’ The Kindler lifted one eyebrow.
‘You speak as if you are not one of them. Tell me, do you hold no love for your own kind?’
The Kindler bowed his head. ‘I was raised by elfen tribes in the Quiet Valley, my prince. On occasion, I would travel to the Eldervale, the Khahadran, and the Isles of Brume, but I do and always will belong to Clan Iohvelash of the Quiet Valley. Honoured clan of clans, I, the Kindler, will always be of the kin of elfen.’
‘Very well.’ Rickert sighed. ‘I apologise for the inquisition.’
‘No need to apologise, my prince. Morrenwylf is doing all he can to—’
‘He intends to start a war,’ snapped Rickert, gathering his cloak and draping it over his shoulders. He barreled past the Kindler and pushed the door to the study open.
‘My prince, it is for the better if you remain here,’ protested the Kindler, running after him.
‘Follow me, Kindler,’ said Rickert, ignoring his suggestion. The two guards posted at the bedchamber snapped to attention as the prince exited. They followed the prince closely. The Kindler walked past the guards, shaking his head.
‘Have you looked to the north, Kindler?’ asked Rickert.
‘North?’
‘Have you or anyone seen any horses or tracks go north?’
‘No, my prince. I would have received a report.’
‘I want every report you receive. I need to know everything.’ The Kindler nodded, and Rickert stopped in the hallway. ‘Who do you serve?’ Rickert tilted his head to look at the Kindler out of the corner of his eye.
‘My prince?’ A look of confusion crossed the man’s face. Rickert pinched the bridge of his nose.
‘I asked, “Who do you serve?”’
‘I serve the Kingdom of Felheim. Always have.’
‘I know that, but who?’ Rickert carefully studied the Kindler’s expression.
‘You, my prince, and Rhiannon.’
‘Good. However, from this point forward you serve only me. You will not report to anyone else about the things you hear or see. When I am crowned king you will be at my side, but only if you serve me faithfully now.’ He turned his back to the Kindler, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose again. ‘How many men are faithful to me?’
The Kindler looked back at him, bewildered. ‘I…am not—’
‘Find out,’ ordered Rickert. ‘I only want men who are faithful to me at my side. When you have the list of men and women, give their names to me right away. I also want a list of the spies the council is dispatching in the city. I want to know what Morrenwylf does before he does it.’
‘Yes, my prince.’
‘Remember this, you serve only me. Report none of this to the high primarch or anyone else for that matter. Do not fail me.’
The Kindler bowed and left Rickert alone in the hallway. Rickert knew he couldn’t just barrel into a council meeting held by High Primarch Morrenwylf and issue orders casually, especially with his two bodyguards there. He looked down at his hand wrapped in bandages. It still hurt to move sometimes, but before long he would have use of it again, or so said the healer. He sighed and continued to walk down the hall. He would not spend another moment in his bedchamber, but what was he to do?
A thought crossed his mind. Rickert turned on his heel, nearly colliding into his two guards, and made his way to the one place he had never explored before: The Royal Wing.
The Royal Wing was located on the northernmost end of the castle. Felheim’s most magnificent banned jewel. The white marble floors that Rickert remembered had turned green. A moss carpet stretched beneath his feet as he marched into the empty halls. The air seemed sweeter yet also forbidden.
‘My prince, we shouldn’t be walking these halls. Your father forbade anyone to trespass them,’ said one of the guards. Rickert ignored him and continued on. They reached a tall barricade of wooden panels nailed clumsily to crates of some sort meant to stop trespassers. Rickert eyed the boxes greedily.
‘Wait here,’ he said as he approached the barricade.
‘My prince, I cannot allow that,’ said the guard standing close behind him.
‘Tell me your name,’ said Rickert, looking at the guard out of the corner of his eye.
‘I am named Lorett Gar, Your Grace.’ His back visibly stiffened.
‘Lorett, you will wait here along with…you,’ said Rickert, motioning to the other guard who had been silent the entire time. ‘I want you to break this barricade down while I move further into the Royal Wing. Meet me when you have finished and only then.’
‘My lord, it would be our necks if we allowed this to happen.’
‘There is nothing for you to fear.’ Then, almost in a whisper, he said, ‘There might even be a reward in it for you. Do as I say, understood?’ Without waiting for an acknowledgement, Rickert ducked into a small hole in the barricade and pushed himself through. A thin layer of mud and dirt was caked on the floor. Leaves danced in the soft gale of wind blowing through Felheim. The green marble floor looked diseased and faded. Rickert heard rustling behind him and knew that his guards were doing as ordered.
He made his way farther into the Royal Wing, stepping over crumbled marble and broken-down statues that he wouldn’t have been able to recognise even if he had seen them standing whole. He made his way to a room with a large red wooden door and put his hand on the doorframe. He stopped and kept still, training his ear to the silence around him. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed except for the little elf. He pushed the door open slightly.
The room was dark and smelt of soaked paper and old wood. Shadows hung around the room, and he pushed the door open all the way. A blurry outline darted into the shadows, and Rickert jumped back, immediately regretting leaving his guards behind. He was about to call to them when a voice came from a dark corner of the room: ‘I know you.’
‘Rhiannon?’ Rickert held his breath. It sounded like his sister, but something was off. The outline moved from the shadows. It was no taller than he was. Her curly hair fell to her shoulders. One of her ears was pointed and the other rounded. Slowly she emerged from the darkness.
‘Ayda?’ Rickert breathed a sigh of relief. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘Training,’ said Ayda. She wore a brown tight-fitting shirt and pants made of cloth, with a four-piece leather skirt tied to her waist. She put her hand on her hip as she addressed the prince. ‘What are you doing here?’
Rickert regained his composure. ‘Rhiannon is missing… I cannot stay locked up in my bedchamber.’
Immediately, Ayda pulled Rickert into the room and closed the door behind them. She pulled a torch from underneath a barrel, and then, to Rickert’s astonishment, she whispered something to the torch, and it lit ablaze.
‘How…how did you do that?’ Rickert stared at Ayda as she stood up and held the torch high, allowing the light to scare the shadows away.
‘I told you, I am training.
My mentor gave me…practice work, you might call it,’ she said as she sat on a pile of old books.
‘Who is your mentor?’
‘You will meet her before too long,’ snapped Ayda. ‘Now please, I am trying to concentrate.’
Rickert looked around and realised the room was an old study. Rain tapped on the windows, grating at the young prince’s ears. Here and there were piles of books draped with grey sheets. A giant oak desk lay in the centre of the room, blank papers strewn over it. The smell of old books and cobwebs permeated the air. Rickert walked over to the desk. A large inkwell sat in one corner, but all the ink within was dried out. He sat in the chair at the desk and let out a sigh. He opened one of the cupboards of the desk, and what he saw in it made him catch his breath.
A black flintlock single barrel pistol lay covered in dust. Rickert picked it up and studied it. The barrel of the black steel weapon had been meticulously imprinted with strange golden designs. There was no gunpowder or lead ball with the gun. It was utterly empty and old, along with everything else in the room.
‘I heard about what happened. I do hope they find your sister soon,’ said Ayda as she studied him.
‘How long were you in this room?’
‘Long enough. I saw you talking to that man.’
‘The Kindler?’
‘Is that what they call him?’
‘He is the only human ever to enter our lands. Well, at least before all this.’
‘I see.’ Ayda pulled out a small pipe from underneath her leather skirt. ‘I don’t trust him.’
‘What’s that?’ asked Rickert, eyeing the wooden piece in her hands.
‘It’s Korhas’s pipe. He fell asleep, so I took—borrowed it—for a time. I am sorry about your sister. I want you to know that Korhas and I will be helping with the search.’
Rickert nodded and looked down at his shoes. Ayda bit the end of the pipe and then looked at him. ‘Want to try it?’