by J. M. Topp
‘As I said’—Korhas grabbed his mug of ale and put it to his lips—‘she’s one of us.’
Hamlin seemed to have recognised Rickert, for his mouth dropped. ‘What the fuck is he doing here?’ Hamlin stood half bent over as if not knowing whether to bow or kneel. Ayda burst into the door behind them, slamming into the maid, causing her to tumble to the floor. Ayda slammed the door shut and fell to the ground on her knees, trying to catch her breath. The maid stood up with a curse, brusquely brushed her dirtied apron off and walked away in a huff. Rebecca let Rickert onto the ground.
‘Morrenwylf was going to kidnap Rickert. Morrenwylf’s men killed his personal guards, and I doubt they were planning on being cordial with the soon-to-be-crowned king,’ said Rebecca. ‘I didn’t know where else to take him, and there’s something else.’
‘What is it?’ asked Korhas.
‘Theyllyn is with Morrenwylf.’
Korhas’s face visibly reddened. ‘That traitor. Why—why would he do that?’
‘I remember you said he has no bite. Well, it seems you were wrong about him, Korhas. What Theyllyn doesn’t know is that he has signed his own death warrant. Next time I see him, I won’t feel bad about slicing his neck…again,’ said Rebecca.
Then a voice that shook Rickert’s soul echoed in the still air of the small house like a whisper.
‘This is the moment I foresaw. If you value your life, dear king, you will prepare for a fight.’
A serpent as tall as a dog slithered into the room. Its scales were bright sapphire blue, and the whiskers on the edges of its mouth were yellow. The serpent coiled its neck to gaze at Rickert. ‘Blood will be spilt on this day. We are ready. Are you?’
Rickert could only nod his head. The serpent then moved to Ayda. ‘Are you hurt, little one?’
Ayda shook her head and plopped down on her ass. ‘I am just winded.’ The serpent moved in and rested its head on her shoulder. Ayda hugged it to her chest. ‘I missed you, Ayagi.’
Hamlin moved to the window and peeked through the curtains. ‘Fuck. We have company.’
Korhas rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and downed what was left of the ale in his mug. He tossed the wooden mug onto the floor and wiped his beard with his hairy arm. ‘Ah, if it’s a fight they want, they have chosen the perfect moment.’
‘How did they get here so fast?’ asked Ayda.
‘They must have been dispatched before—’ said Rickert before Hamlin interrupted him.
‘The high primarch is here,’ said Hamlin with bared teeth.
Rickert stood up and unclasped his cloak, throwing it to the floor. ‘I will join you.’
‘No, you won’t,’ said Ayda. ‘We cannot lose you. If you were to fall right here and now, Morrenwylf would have all the reason in the world to launch an attack and kill every last human in Felheim.’
Rebecca unsheathed her two dangerously sharp daggers and pulled the hood over her head. ‘She’s right, Your Highness.’ Then she turned to her acolyte. ‘Ayda, you, however, will join in the fight with Ayagi at your side.’
‘I am ready,’ said Ayda. Her lips became a thin line as she drew her stiletto. The blue serpent coiled itself loosely around Ayda’s neck, and it spread its hood, its eyes sparkling like black pearls. Hamlin was the first to pull the door open and walk into the street, followed closely by Korhas, Rebecca, and Ayda.
A thought crossed Rickert’s mind. He ran to the window and peered through the curtains.
High Primarch Morrenwylf was immediately apparent. He rode into Aelferwich Boulevard atop a white destrier garbed with silver barding. He wore white silk robes with golden frillings and a frock that shone argent. More than twenty armed elfen with matchlocks to their shoulders marched beside him. Rickert saw another fifty elfen-at-arms behind with shortswords and half-shields at the ready. Morrenwylf’s warhorse neighed as its hooves clopped on the cobblestone street.
Hamlin put two fingers to his lips and whistled loudly. Men poured in behind him from the houses of the boulevard. Not all were fully awake, as evidenced by the fact that some of them were wearing only their undergarments—and some even less—but their iron swords were strapped at their sides. Hamlin’s men began to file in behind their Weserithian King. It was a ragtag army that stood to face the elfen battalion. Rickert was surprised at the lack of fear they showed before the high primarch.
Morrenwylf stopped his mount a few paces before Hamlin, and his armoured garrison expertly stamped their feet once and remained silent, awaiting orders from their commander. Hamlin stared at the high primarch with a relaxed stance, resting his arm on the hilt of his longsword.
‘High Primarch Morrenwylf, to what do we owe the pleasure?’ Hamlin bowed low to the ground. ‘I wasn’t expecting a meeting so soon after my naming of kingship.’
Morrenwylf frowned and pulled the reins of his destrier closer to the human king. His mount snorted at Hamlin.
‘Where is he?’ said Morrenwylf.
‘He? A tad ambiguous, don’t you think, High Primarch? There are a number of hes here.’
‘Don’t be coy with me, human.’
‘Forgive me, am I being coy?’ asked Hamlin, standing up straight. ‘I have always wondered what gods you elfen believe in, such as Alestaeyn, the mistress of the Cairn of Winter.’
Morrenwylf craned his head to give Hamlin an evil look. ‘What do you know of our empress Alestaeyn?’
‘I know that she was the most beautiful creature north of the Whitecrown Mountains. I know that she was regarded as the Sapphire Herald of the Quiet Valley. I also know she was imprisoned in the castle dungeons for three years for scorning a lover with too much power and framed for a crime she did not commit. By the time the truth was uncovered, she had lost her vision, her ears were shaved, and she was a husk of her former self. On the final day of her life, she gave her soul to the heavens, and in return for her perpetual servitude in the Hunting Grounds, she ascended to godhood. How am I doing so far?’
‘I am astounded at your knowledge of my people’s myths and legends,’ said Morrenwylf. ‘From what I understand, you hold tight to the beliefs of the Abandoned Gods, the trinity Sidora, and her brothers Golin and Goin. ’Tis a shame they were shunned by King Ayland of Weserith and forgotten to time.’
Hamlin let out a low whistle. ‘I am equally astounded and flattered that you possess knowledge very few know and even fewer understand. Though, if there is one matter in which I may correct you, the Abandoned Gods are not forgotten. The throne that awaits me in Weserith will one day shine through the darkness that possesses it. I, King Hamlin of the Band of the Belligerent, swear one day it shall be. We will remember our gods. They no longer will be abandoned.’
High Primarch Morrenwylf sneered. ‘As endearing as this conversation is, King Hamlin of the Band of the Belligerent, you have something in your possession that does not belong to you.’
Hamlin sighed and blew out the air from his cheeks, looking up at the sky. ‘Is that what brings you here in armour with a battalion of elfen behind you? It seems you are doing more than simply searching for something. Despite you being an elfen, I have seen that look of blood hunger before. You are looking for a fight.’
‘The avoidance of bloodshed is not in my hands, dear king. Prince Rickert is in your possession against his will. I will not allow our hierarch to be held captive by human refugees from the south. You will give him up, or we will strike you down where you stand.’ Morrenwylf drew his sword and pointed it at Hamlin.
This time it was Hamlin who snorted. ‘You know that it is uncivil to bare steel in front of a king. I’ll forgive you this slight, seeing as you aren’t terribly familiar with human customs. With that, I give you permission to flee.’
The high primarch laughed. ‘Cut them down.’
Morrenwylf backed his destrier away as the line of armoured elfen advanced and closed the line behind him. They knelt, levelled their matchlock rifles, and aimed them at Hamlin and his men.
King Hamli
n drew his sword. ‘We have a fight, boys!’ The Band of the Belligerent let out whoops and whistles. Then, from the roofs of the houses, archers and crossbowmen revealed themselves, and they released a volley of bolts and arrows onto the line of elfen. Their marks were true, finding soft flesh in between the chestplates and shoulder guards. Several elfen fell onto the cold cobblestone street, blood pooling beneath them. The line of elfen rifles shot their volley into the human line. Three men died at once, falling lifelessly to the stone floor. Hamlin screamed, and his men jumped to attack the elfen line. The second line of elfen rifles stepped forward, shooting their ammunition at the humans. Seven fell this time. Hamlin swung his sword and beat against shields and riposting lance strikes. More men poured from the houses on Aelferwich Boulevard. Like rats from a wooden stockade, they replaced the humans fallen in the street. Two waves of elfen lance soldiers filled in the holes left behind by the fallen of the first line. The elfen were retreating, but it was immediately clear that it was a tactic—not to be confused with cowardice—for at that moment, the elfen formed a shield wall. They stuck their pale white half-shields side to side, and the second line placed their shields above them to protect from the arrows striking at them from the rooftops. Hamlin’s men were brave and spirited, but they were not trained in the art of war, as was apparent by their sporadic and uncoordinated attacks against the shield wall. They attacked fiercely and determinedly, but it was clear that their main weapon was not their bolts, arrows, or rusted blades. Their main weapon was fear and intimidation. They were bandits, no more. They were facing down elfen veterans experienced in the art of war and impervious to tactics of those who prey on the weak. The men were beaten back as the elfen paced forward, step by step, pushing their great shields forward. Elfen lances found their marks on the unarmoured men’s exposed chests. An elf broke the line in the centre, pushing his shield forward, and with a shout he plunged his spear into the head of a man. The spearpoint pierced the man’s head like a melon. The man’s body went lifeless, and he fell to the ground. The elf pulled back into the line, and the elfen advanced as one. Hamlin then realised his men were being butchered on the shield wall. ‘Pull back!’ he shouted. Then Rickert saw Hamlin turn back to Ayda and nod.
Right before his eyes, the blue serpent, which had been no taller than a dog mere moments before, leapt from Ayda’s shoulder and burst into the street, now nearly twice the size of the houses on Aelferwich Boulevard. The serpent rose above the elfen line, which had stopped advancing and now stared at the new opponent, awestruck. The serpent had an upside down yellow triangle on its head and two feathery, long pointed ears jutting out from them. Two long, coiled whiskers drooped down from the corners of his mouth. Its blue eyes sparkled brighter than the scales armouring its body, and it hissed loudly.
Ayagi lunged forward and tore shields from the elfen line, throwing them in the air. One of the elfen held on too tightly and was flung into the air before falling to the cobblestone street with a sickening crunch. An elf ran to his comrade, but then three crossbolts found his back and the elf slumped facedown into the street. Hamlin and his men stepped back from the mythic beast. The elfen line retained their composure and took a coordinated step back, but then Morrenwylf atop his destrier leapt over the line of elfen and halted his mount just before the serpent. The destrier neighed and shook its mane. It did not seem bothered by the monstrous beast before them.
Morrenwylf glared at the serpent.
‘A summoner spirit,’ he said. ‘You are a servant of the elfen. How did these filthy humans come to possess you?’
Ayagi did nothing but stare at the high primarch, and then the mythic serpent spoke.
‘How dare you stand before me?’ Windows cracked, and ears began to bleed. Elf and man alike dropped their weapons to cover their ears. Morrenwylf dismounted and stood tall before the mythic serpent. Rickert’s heart skipped a beat, as the high primarch showed not even a hint of fear.
Morrenwylf pulled a phial from within his coat. The glowing blue liquid spilt into his mouth.
‘That’s Elderleaf Ether!’ Rickert heard Rebecca shout in horror. The high primarch held his hand out, and then from the palm of his hand a black ooze spilt onto the cobblestones.
Morrenwylf coughed and smiled, his teeth blackened and elongated. He calmly dismounted and stood before Ayagi. ‘Dourr Cafthalyyn nyo ummo dîr tolyyn.’
Ayagi bared his teeth and hissed at the high primarch, closing his hood close to his neck. ‘That is twice you have scorned me. I will know your name before I swallow you whole.’
‘I am the terror!’ shouted Morrenwylf, and then, before everyone in Aelferwich Boulevard, the high primarch began to grow in stature. His robes tore, and his horse neighed and ran away. His elfen squadron stood back as the high primarch burst from his own skin. Coarse slimy hair the colour of coal covered his body. Fangs of varying size and sharpness sprang from his mouth. Dozens of claws, uneven yet sharper than the swords his garrison held, sprang from his hands. He fell on all fours as the fur on the back of his neck stood on end. Morrenwylf’s eyes glowed red, and he sprang at Ayagi.
Cobblestones cracked as the two beasts collided. Elfen and man alike cowered in horror. Ayagi lashed his tail over the back of the wolven creature like a whip, drawing spurts of blood. The beast screamed and tore at Ayagi’s scales. Ayagi writhed and twisted his body, trying to keep the wolven’s claws at bay.
The men of the Band of the Belligerent turned tail.
‘Coming to this fucking land was a mistake!’ screamed one of the men with a crazed look on his face. It seemed the mere sight of these two mythic creatures was driving their unexperienced human minds insane.
Ayagi bit at the wolven’s shoulder and wrapped his body around the beast. Morrenwylf ripped scales off Ayagi’s body with long claws and screamed. Ayagi hissed in pain but didn’t let go, instead squeezing harder and harder. But then the beast grabbed Ayagi’s head and slowly and surely forced his jaws from his shoulder. The beast tossed his head away and forced himself free from Ayagi’s grasp. The beast grabbed an elfen shield from the floor and with both hands slammed the end of the shield over Ayagi’s snout.
The inhuman screams shattered the glass above Rickert. He turned from the window. His stomach churned in his gut, and he fell onto the floor, vomit spilling from his mouth. Blood dripped down his ears, and as he sat up against the windowsill, his head began to swim. Another shrill scream blasted the a spray of blood in, dousing droplets of red over Rickert. He stood up and hobbled to the door. His thoughts would not allow themselves to be held. Perhaps it was due to seeing such creatures defying all logic or reason. They zipped in and out of the small elf’s consciousness. A cloud of dust and murky snow had descended onto the street. An elfen soldier saw him and ran to him, but before the elf could grab Rickert, the serpent slammed his tail onto the ground, crushing the elf into the stones. A roar pierced the fog, sending Rickert to his knees in a daze.
He heard footsteps to his side, and then he was thrust over the shoulders of a blue-haired elf. Ayda ran beside her, a worried look on her face.
Ayda stopped.
‘Ayda, what are you doing?’ asked Rebecca, turning to her.
‘I can’t leave him,’ she said, looking back up the street. ‘Ayagi is in trouble.’
‘You can’t do anything for him,’ snapped Rebecca.
Ayda frowned. ‘You know you can’t stop me. You’ve tried before.’
Rebecca paused and looked into the fog and the roaring creatures within. ‘And I have failed every time I tried. You are growing up, Ayda, and you have to make a choice.’ She sighed and smiled at her young apprentice. ‘I never could control you.’
‘I won’t let you down, Rebecca.’ Ayda rushed back into the smoke.
Rickert found his voice as the marching of armoured boots echoed from within the smoke.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
Rebecca looked on mournfully as she turned down an alley. ‘A massacre has begun, an
d it won’t end until every last human in Felheim is dead.’
Vammar Sanctum
CODA HANDED ELYMIAH a bundle of furs that was tied by a yew string. It smelt of old unwashed hair, and the pelts were heavy in Elymiah’s arms. She grimaced at the strain on her hands. Her back and shoulders ached from the time spent digging latrines, but she was more than grateful for the relief.
‘You will need these by the time we reach the stopping point of the mountain,’ said Coda, slinging his own bundle of furs onto his horse. ‘Come, we have a long way to travel.’
Coda was right. The path from Saltkire Hold to the base of the mount was as hot as it had been at Elymiah’s arrival, but as soon as they began to walk up the mount, the temperature started to drop significantly. The tips of her fingers tingled as they continued to ascend. She could see her breath come from her mouth in a wisp. Elymiah undid her bundle and unfolded a thick bear cloak. It rested heavy atop her shoulders. She turned back and noticed that Coda wore his handsomely. His rounded, muscle-strewn shoulders and arms could still be seen beneath the fur coat. As the temperature dropped, Elymiah didn’t feel as cold anymore, huddled beneath the fur. The dense jungle greenery peeled back, leaving a dry and cold rocky path down which the two travellers could walk comfortably side by side. Elymiah looked up at Snowfall Mount. The mountains were covered in a billowy blanket of clouds, but the peaks themselves pierced them like sharp, jagged blades.
The road they followed was hidden by cliffs and steep ravines, but before long, they were well in the Snowfall Mountain range. Elymiah couldn’t see very far, as a thick fog had settled on the land. Coda frequently pulled the map from his pack and stared at it. More than once, he made a turn off the road that Elymiah thought was a mistake, but she quickly realised that a by-road ran down the edge of the mountain. Without Coda, she would have been lost on Snowfall Mount for days, and if she ever were to have reached the Moonlit Valley on her own, she would have been far too late.
Alamánd’s sheath patted her thigh. She thumbed the hilt of her beautifully made sword. The silver of the hilt shone elegantly in the sunlight. Elymiah missed her halberd and her armour. With them, she would have been able to take on the giant with more confidence. Perhaps she should have stolen Zignumerand’s Silver Angels armour from his study. But the thought of the castellan reminded her that she was glad to be away from him.