The Twin Princes

by J. M. Topp

  ‘You’ll find the lord in there.’

  Eymeg nodded and handed a drink off to Jolien. She grabbed the mug of ale, glared once more at Eymeg, and then took a long pull from the drink.

  As the men untied the girl and took her away, the strumming of strings from a lute made all the chatter in the tavern cease. A man with a neatly trimmed black beard stood upon the stone table and kicked a knife to the floor. His shoulder-length black hair was tied behind his head. He wore black leggings and two long, pointed black shoes. His black moustache was pointed toward the edges of his mouth.

  ‘Ladies and pigs,’ said the balladeer, smiling gayly. ‘Allow me to sing a song, a song long forgotten to the dregs of a better society, and now further long gone.’ The man cleared his throat, and a melancholic note drifted from his lute. Eymeg stood still as the song began.

  A whisper of memory treads

  Of when it all began

  A scent of love cyan

  To whisper words long past

  Break these chords

  Release my heart

  Torn to pieces, it lies all across red floorboards

  The balladeer strung his chord and then closed his eyes, allowing the mellow song to play to the end of the first verse’s tune. He then smiled and jumped off the table.

  So like a tart

  I fucked her sister’s ass

  No longer a slave to that puckered lass

  One, two, three, four

  I came in her, and she asked for more

  Fuck it all to hell

  What use is love when you’ve your soul to sell?

  Jolien shook her head in disgust. The balladeer switched to a language Eymeg didn’t understand, but two words stood out to him—Ylvas Dori— which, roughly translated from the language of the men of the Greenwood Forest, meant “fiendish game”. They were the only two words he knew from that language. Eymeg downed the rest of his drink and slammed his mug on the countertop as the balladeer closed his eyes and sang. Jolien finished her mug as well and nearly went green. She set the empty mug onto the counter with a grimace.

  ‘Wait here, and this time, I mean it.’ Eymeg walked to the door, careful to step over drunken men’s legs and fallen tankards. He opened the door and walked through. The music from the balladeer was muffled as he closed the door behind him. Three men-at-arms sat around a table, watching a well-proportioned naked man dance before them. Two of them stared sullenly at the newcomer. The biggest one of them, with shined pauldrons and silver gauntlets, continued watching the dancing man, ignoring the intrusion.

  ‘Lord Fastolph?’ asked Eymeg, glancing at the man twirl his hips and bend over with his hand between his ass, showing just enough to make Eymeg wince.

  ‘I should have you clubbed for interrupting our private conversations,’ said a thin-lipped knight, sitting beside the man Eymeg thought was Lord Fastolph. ‘Get out, before I lose my patience.’

  Eymeg turned to the thin-lipped man. ‘I need only a pass, and I will be on my way.’

  ‘And why,’ said the thin-lipped man, standing up, ‘would we give you that?’

  ‘For shits and giggles,’ said Eymeg in a bored manner. ‘I like collecting them.’

  ‘Sarcasm will not help you,’ said the thin-lipped man, his face turning red. ‘It will hinder your passage.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Eymeg turned to look at the man’s face. ‘Name your price.’

  ‘Too much for the likes of you,’ said the man. ‘Get out.’

  ‘I’m not leaving without it.’ Eymeg rested his hand on the halberd grip nonchalantly. The man noticed the gesture and held his tongue for a moment.

  Lord Fastolph began to speak, still not looking at Eymeg. ‘What are you, some sort of bounty hunter?’

  ‘I am of the sort. Why do you care?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘Ah,’ said Lord Fastolph, casting a quick glance at him. ‘Three green wolves. That’s what’s stitched onto your gambeson, is it not? A hunter of the ranks of the Veledred. That explains the stench of sewer. You smell worse than this shithole of a village.’

  ‘Name your price,’ said Eymeg, ignoring the jab.

  ‘The head of a daemon Thamnon. Daemon hunters hunt daemons, do they not?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Eymeg. ‘But I am not—’

  ‘Good. There is a particularly nasty daemon terrorising the woods to the north. We believe it is a Thamnon. It comes to Floddenvale to steal and kill. These Flodden stragglers thought they caught it when they found that poor red-haired girl. It’s shit luck for her.’

  ‘Let me guess,’ began Eymeg. ‘Normally, you wouldn’t give two shits. The daemons could kill as many Weserithian men, women, and children as they wanted to.’

  ‘Naturally.’ Lord Fastolph shrugged.

  ‘It got one of your men or maybe a piece of ass you liked to frequent, didn’t it? That’s why you want it dead.’

  ‘Both. One and the same, as a matter of fact,’ said Lord Fastolph, picking up a cherry from a stack on the table and twirling the fruit with his tongue. The dancer flashed a seductive smile and knelt on the floor, rubbing his nipples with one hand and giving a soft moan.

  ‘If I am to remain in this shithole of a town, I would rather not worry about losing any more of my men. The task is simple. You kill the Thamnon, and I will allow you through,’ said Lord Fastolph.

  ‘I will need details. When did this attack happen?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘Midnight or so, I think. My men found my lieutenant and my favourite piece of ass, as you put it, dead in their bedchamber. Blood covered the sheets and floors, and their bodies were dried as if something had sucked the very marrow from their bones.’ Fastolph spit a cherry pit onto the floor beside some other cherry pits.

  Eymeg glanced down at them, chewing his lip in thought.

  ‘Both their chests were torn open, and their major organs were gone. Heart, liver, stomach, and intestines had all been consumed,’ said Lord Fastolph. ‘The daemon was seen racing back into the forest.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Lord Fastolph tilted his neck but still didn’t look at Eymeg.

  ‘Who saw it?’ Eymeg was growing frustrated at his lack of attention.

  ‘Some farmer,’ said the lord, waving his hand in the air. ‘Does that matter?’

  ‘It might. Which house were they found in?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘The last house on the far eastern side of Floddenvale. I’ve sent out two scouting parties after this beast, but they keep on being devoured. After the first hunt failed, the second party was too drunk to keep their heads on. They barely put up a fight when the creature found them and tore their bodies to shreds, according to one survivor. I promptly had him hanged. Men forget their fears when liquor runs through their veins; unfortunately they also forget how to use their swords when inebriated. The house is being guarded, but the password is “Oredmere endures.”’

  ‘Oddly specific, don’t you think? Major organs? What of the flesh of the first two bodies?’

  ‘The flesh was cut surgically as if they put up no fight. I want you to find that beast and kill it,’ said the lord.

  Eymeg folded his hands over his chest. ‘A Thamnon will require more than just a pass.’

  ‘Are you fucking negotiating with us?’ asked the thin-lipped man, stepping in front of Eymeg. ‘Lord Fastolph has given you his terms, and they are final.’

  ‘It seems that this daemon is giving you plenty of a headache, Lord Fastolph, isn’t it?’ asked Eymeg. ‘You want it gone, and so it will be. For a price.’

  The lord bit another cherry and let the juices drip from his lips. He put his hand in between his legs, lifting his loincloth. The naked bearded dancer gasped and crawled toward him on all fours.

  ‘Name your price,’ said Lord Fastolph.

  ‘Twenty silver.’

  ‘Fifteen.’

  ‘Eighteen,’ said Eymeg. The thin-lipped man looked as if he were about to say something when the lord exhaled softly. The dance
r was in between his legs, bobbing his head up and down.

  ‘So be it,’ he gasped. ‘Get out before I kill you and throw your body into the Kingsoul.’

  Eymeg smirked at the thin-lipped man and walked out of the private room. The balladeer was just finishing his song as he emerged into the bar. Some of the men in the room were clapping joyously at the ridiculously crude verses of the song—all except for the fat red-bearded man. He was slumped over, crying about something or other.

  ‘So? How did it go?’ asked Jolien.

  ‘It would be nice to have Tiebalt’s help in this one. The venerable lord wants me to hunt and kill a Thamnon,’ said Eymeg, glancing at the balladeer. The balladeer bowed, and the tavern roared with applause. The man bowed once more and stepped off the stone table.

  ‘What’s a Thamnon?’ asked Jolien.

  ‘A daemon. The soul of a man who was not able to repay a debt to the Hollow Feeders, thus becoming their slave. The Fog brought so many of the Thamnon back from the Hunting Grounds.’ Eymeg noticed the balladeer make his way toward them, lute in hand.

  The balladeer bowed. ‘My good sir.’

  ‘What do you want?’ muttered Eymeg, turning a shoulder to him. The balladeer instantly annoyed him.

  ‘I can only surmise why you went into that room behind you,’ he said. ‘You see, I have been wanting an audience with Lord Fastolph for the better part of a day, but his bodyguards repel me every time.’

  ‘Can’t imagine why,’ muttered Jolien, rolling her eyes.

  Eymeg’s hand began to stray to the halberd at his side. The balladeer noticed this and raised his hands in the air. ‘Believe me, I do not want to upset you.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ asked Jolien, glaring at the balladeer.

  ‘I merely wish to converse, Veledred.’

  ‘Listen to me, balladeer. Since you know my profession, know this: most wish to avoid us, and we wish to avoid most.’ Eymeg motioned to the door. ‘Get out of my face.’

  ‘I am known throughout Eldervale as the illustrious Rikfried the Rhapsodist. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? I performed at the LaFoyelle wedding in Weserith just after the Aivaterran invasion. No one carries a tune better than I. The gods are envious of my eloquent voice and talent with my fingers, both with the lute and the ladies. However, I have business in Aivaterra.’

  ‘You need a pass.’

  ‘Precisely. Can I buy you a drink?’ asked the mustachioed musician.

  ‘Sure.’ Eymeg shrugged and nodded to the bartender. ‘That doesn’t mean I have agreed to take you with us.’

  ‘It is merely a gesture of goodwill.’ Rikfried flashed his toothy smile. Jolien snorted, and Rikfried turned to her. ‘By Alestaeyn’s tits, aren’t you curiously pretty?’

  Jolien blushed but looked away, folding her hands over her chest. The balladeer smiled and put his arm over her neck.

  ‘She’s not your wife, is she?’

  ‘No,’ snapped Jolien before Eymeg could answer. Eymeg frowned and then shrugged.

  ‘Why then, my lady, a gift for you,’ said Rikfried. He produced a flower from within his sleeve.

  ‘A charmer as well as a balladeer,’ said Eymeg. ‘A talented fool.’

  ‘For the lady, I will be anything,’ said Rikfried with a devious gleam in his eye.

  Jolien took the flower and looked around, embarrassed. She handed the flower back to Rikfried. ‘Some place for a romantic gesture, don’t you think?’

  ‘Ah, so not a romantic soul, eh?’

  Jolien pulled her hood over her face, redder than a turnip. The balladeer grinned and reached within his sleeve. ‘Perhaps this will be of more interest to the lady?’

  He pulled a small gold medallion from his sleeve. How he was able to carry it in his sleeve while playing the lute was beyond Eymeg.

  ‘This is a token of my admiration of your beauty,’ said Rikfried.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Jolien, staring at the inscription on the medallion. A clawed hand was depicted on the face of the medallion.

  ‘It’s a magical bauble, said to resonate when in the presence of evil. It was owned by the corrupt and heinous witch, Irina of the Quiet Valley, who utilised this medallion to be wary of evils worse than she, of which there are not many,’ said Rikfried, grinning wider than Eymeg thought possible. Jolien’s eyes began to sparkle as she stared at the medallion. ‘It is said that medallions like this negate the need for sacrifice for magic, as the sacrifice was already made, leaving the user free to use the medallion how he or she likes. At least, that would be the case if magic could be used at all anymore. I’m afraid no one is left alive that can use medallions like these. Yet its beauty is unparalleled. Here, my pretty. It’s yours. I would think that this could be some form of down payment to ensure my crossing over the Kingsoul and be able to join your small party.’

  ‘I’ve never heard of this Irina witch,’ said Eymeg, leaning his elbows on the countertop. He was beginning to feel a warm buzz throughout his blood. He smiled at the balladeer.

  Rikfried frowned at Eymeg. ‘That’s what makes her so vile and nefarious. She is a devil that works from the shadows, tailoring her web like a hideous spider.’ Rikfried then turned to Jolien. ‘Allow me, please.’

  He took the medallion from her hands and hooked the chain, one end to the other, around her neck. Jolien held the medallion in her hands and carefully put it to her chest as if it would break at any moment, like the fragile shell of an egg. She held her breath as she stared at the gleaming gold.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. She turned to Eymeg with a longing look.

  ‘On the contrary, my dear. Thank you,’ said the balladeer with a bow.

  ‘You’ll have to do more than simply give her a useless bauble for us to allow you to pass with us,’ said Eymeg, standing up next to the balladeer.

  ‘You are such a killjoy. Did you know that, daemon hunter?’

  ‘I’ve been called that before,’ said Eymeg. ‘Once or twice.’

  ‘Let him come with us,’ said Jolien finally.

  Eymeg bit his lip. Finally, he sighed. ‘You may join us in our perilous journey.’

  ‘Excellent choice, daemon hunter.’

  ‘Not so fast,’ said Eymeg, holding his finger in the air. ‘You will have to do something in return. As it turns out, I have a contract, and you will play an integral part in the hunt.’

  Aelferwich Boulevard Massacre

  RICKERT STARED AT the elfen spy as she removed her wet cloak and draped it over a pile of books to dry. Ayda sat in a corner, leafing through an old tome, but Rickert couldn’t read the title on the cover. The spy had blue hair, tied in a long braid going all the way down the length of her back and past her buttocks. The spy shivered as she closed the glass window of the study.

  Three weeks had gone by since his first interaction with the spy, and the study had been their place of contact and scheming. The rains had not let up either. Rumour was that the cold was beginning to set in, and soon the rains would turn to snow and ice. The wounds on Rickert’s hand had already started to heal, and he didn’t have any more need for bandages. Even so, the cold made his hand ache sometimes. He stared at the assassin as he rubbed his wrist.

  ‘You move silently,’ he said, finally crossing his arms over his chest. He wore a navy blue doublet and white trousers. His white half-cloak was draped over his left shoulder. He shifted the weight of his body to counter the cloak’s burden.

  ‘Silence is a necessity, I guarantee you. You will be thankful for my silent footfalls before too long, young prince,’ said the assassin. ‘This infantile alliance between elfenkind and mankind is already in jeopardy. You don’t hold all the power in the kingdom. You must become like your enemies. You must rely on subterfuge and become coldhearted. You must do what needs to be done.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Rickert.

  ‘It does not matter what my true name is at the moment. The humans call me Rebecca, however. You can call me what you like,’ she said with a
mock curtsy.

  ‘You said you had an idea of where my sister is,’ said Rickert. ‘Any luck?’

  ‘No longer an idea. I know where your sister, Rhiannon, is being kept. Morrenwylf is holding her hostage under his watchful eye, but he was not the one to kidnap Rhiannon or kill Noreadryyn.’

  ‘This Theyllyn man?’ asked Rickert, straightening his back. Ayda frowned visibly at the mention of the name, but she kept silent.

  ‘I am almost certain Theyllyn did it. However, Rhiannon is safe and untouched, for the moment.’ Rebecca sat down on the floor beside a pile of books. She crossed her legs before her and looked up at Rickert. ‘You cannot simply save her just yet.’

  ‘And what, pray tell, must I do? Sit in this study all day?’

  ‘No. Well, not exactly,’ said Rebecca. ‘High Primarch Morrenwylf is a dangerous enemy and one that has you in his sights. Any movement you make will be carefully studied. You must meet with him.’

  Rickert’s jaw dropped. ‘What do you mean meet with him?’

  ‘Your coronation will occur, but before this happens, you must make him think that you do not suspect him of taking your sister and murdering Noreadryyn. Make him think that you are the child you seem.’

  ‘Oh, is that what I seem?’ Rickert began to grow hot behind his neck. ‘I think you have me mistaken for someone else. You see, I am Prince Rickert Feldyr, one half of the twin princes, and you want me to behave like a mere babbling child in the face of a predator like High Primarch Morrenwylf?’

  Rebecca studied him for a moment and then drew her hair back from her ears. They were cut, sliced at the ends. The mark of ancestry was lost to her, once a proud elfen. Rickert’s voice died as he stared at the severed ends.

  ‘I made a promise to a human king, to serve him until my death. Alas, I could not save him from his terrible fate. Yet it is the same promise I give you. Regardless, if I had an easier way to prove my trustworthiness and save your sister, I would.’ Rebecca let her loosely braided hair fall over her ears. ‘The fact of the matter is you do not have a choice. The power you are beginning to take for yourself will be ripped from your hands if you do not act cautiously.’