by J. M. Topp
‘You might be a bit late for that,’ said the younger guard. ‘Our own interrogator has already been at work on the bitch.’
Shit, thought Eymeg. He smiled and bowed for the third time. ‘Even so, I don’t suppose your interrogator has any experience with daemons and their killing. There could be more that the strix is hiding.’
‘Doubt it, and I doubt your story,’ said the older guard. ‘In fact, I would wager you’re a simple vagabond. I’ll forgive your soused composure, and I’ll chalk up your insolence to the spirits. Now get the hell out of here. I won’t repeat myself again.’
‘Care to tell that to the Hallowed Masters?’ asked Eymeg with a half grin. ‘They have been rather impatient as of late, judging by the nobles and knights hanging in the streets. Heretics, they call them. I am not so sure, but if someone were to impede the work of a Veledred, here on behalf of the Hallowed Masters, it…well, it might sound heretical. Could be punishable by hanging.’
The guard glanced at the younger one, and a bead of sweat began to collect on his brow. He chewed his lip for a moment and then spat on the ground. ‘Take him to see the woman, but I will verify with the Hallowed Masters on your account.’
‘I wouldn’t expect any less.’ Eymeg smiled.
The younger guard sighed and opened the gate, motioning for Eymeg to go through. He did so and followed the young man into the prison grounds. Moonlight danced on the iron bars of the ground level of the dungeons. The scent of prison, which consisted mostly of the stench of faecal matter, wafted to Eymeg’s nose. Despite being slightly soused, he scrunched his nose at the foetid smell. The guard guided him into one of the cells that led below ground and pushed the gate open with a creak. Eymeg walked down the steps and almost threw up. The stench of faeces and piss, worse than that on the first level of the prisons, made a barrier of smells difficult to walk through. He stifled his reaction and continued down the steps. Torches rested in steel sconces, lighting the way forward.
‘She has a fighting spirit in her, that one does,’ said the young guard. ‘She bit one of the interrogators in the cheek. They made her pay for that. It’s a shame; she really was a lovely-looking woman. Too bad really.’
Eymeg bit his tongue and hoped he wasn’t too late.
The young guard loosened the sword from his sheath and grabbed one of the torches. He snorted, walked to the end of the prison, and stopped, peering into the darkness of a cell. A figure sat in a corner away from the gate. Her head was turned from the torchlight, and she no longer was wearing her dress but a burlap shirt and pants, if they could be called that. A small wooden table with a candle rested in the corner opposite Jolien, but what caught Eymeg’s eye was the blood on the table and the floor.
‘Wake up, bitch! Someone here to see ya,’ said the guard, holding the torch up to his face. ‘Answer me, or I’ll come in there and kick ya.’ The guard fumbled with his keys and produced one, unlocking the door for Eymeg.
‘You may speak with her for a time,’ said the guard as he opened the gate.
‘Trust me, it is for the betterment of Aivaterra,’ said Eymeg as the guard scowled and left him alone. Eymeg stared at the guard as he walked to the end of the prison and back up the stairs. Finally, he turned to look at Jolien. ‘Jolien?’
Jolien turned her head but didn’t say anything. He walked to her and knelt beside her.
‘We don’t have much time—’
‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice creaked from her throat and threw Eymeg off guard. For a moment, he wondered if he was looking at the right prisoner. He shook his head. Only half a day had passed, but it was half a day in a tavern for him and half a day in the hands of interrogators for her.
He bit his lip. ‘I’m going to get you out.’
‘You’re going to save me?’ asked Jolien.
‘Yes.’
‘Hmmm. I can sense it.’
‘What?’
‘The medallion Rikfried gave me. You have it?’
‘Yes, I do.’
‘Give it to me.’ Jolien held her hand out, still not looking up at him. Eymeg hesitated but then grabbed the golden medallion from his pouch and put it into her hand.
He cleared his throat. ‘I saw the guard with a key. Maybe I can get it from him—’
‘I don’t need your help or keys.’
‘I—’
Jolien stood and slowly turned to Eymeg. He gasped and stood up. Her left eye was indeed missing. Blood was crusted on the edge of her orbit and trailed down her cheeks, making it look like red tears were streaming down her face. She had welts from a whip on her shoulders and stomach. Her one brown eye dully reflected light from the torch.
‘Please leave,’ she said.
‘I won’t leave without you.’
Her face didn’t react. ‘Why not? What do you care?’
‘Just shut up,’ said Eymeg as he took a step toward her.
Jolien lifted her hands up and held the medallion close to her heart. ‘Get out of my way, Eymeg.’
‘Jolien, I’m sorry,’ he muttered.
‘You left me to them.’
‘If I would have said I was with you, I would be in the same place as you in this cell. How could I get you out then?’ he protested.
‘You sure took your time, didn’t you? How many drinks did it take you to realise you wanted to save me? How many arguments with yourself, weighing whether I was worth it or not?’
Eymeg arched his neck. He forced himself not to shrug—not because he didn’t care, but because she was right.
‘Good,’ said Jolien. ‘You are best when you are silent.’
She walked to stand before him. ‘I wish I had the power to kill you.’ She moved past him.
He clenched his fists and followed her.
‘You owe me an eye, you bastard.’
Eymeg grabbed her arm and forced her shoulders back. Jolien lifted two fingers, and embers began to spill from them. Her fingers glowed red hot. Eymeg took a step back. At that moment, the two guards rounded the corner with swords at the ready.
‘You lying son of a bitch! You’re no Veledred. You didn’t speak to the Hallowed Masters.’
Eymeg glanced at the guards. ‘I think you have bigger problems than me.’
Jolien turned and shouted. The ground cracked beneath her feet. Tongues of fire danced on her hands and arms, and then, as if shot from a bow, a flame of combustion spewed from her hands. The two guards were instantly swallowed up in hot flames that consumed their armour and flesh as if they were made of paper. Eymeg stood back at the display of fire, the heat singeing the toes of his boots.
Then, just as suddenly as the flames had appeared, they vanished into the cold air, leaving a cloud of steam behind. Jolien stood for a moment and then fell to the ground. Eymeg, still unable to process what he had just witnessed, stood still. The sound of a bell ringing in the distance kicked him back to reality. He ran to Jolien.
She breathed rapidly. Her right hand was black as if it had been singed by the flames. Ashes danced in her burlap clothes, burning rings into them. Eymeg pulled her shirt off and wrapped her in his cloak. He pushed her over his shoulders and ran out of the cell and up the stairs.
The stream of flame that Jolien had shot from her fingers had done more damage than Eymeg thought possible. He had never seen magic used in such a destructive manner. It was like the stories he had heard growing up, of wizards and sorceresses. Never in his life would he have imagined he’d see such a destructive display of magic for himself.
Fires danced on the thatch rooftops of the prison courtyard, and they were spreading dangerously fast.
Eymeg made his way to the gates. He was unchallenged as he ran through them into an alleyway. Jolien was beginning to regain consciousness, judging by the taps on his back.
‘Let me down, Eymeg,’ she said weakly.
‘How did you do that, Jolien?’ When he didn’t receive an answer, he bit his lip. He began to slow down, but the sound of rustling armour made
him cower in a doorway. Shadows lurched from the alley, and behind them, dozens of armoured Aivaterrans sprang into view.
‘Shit.’ Eymeg stopped and ran in the opposite direction as fast as he could. Two bolts flew too close to his shoulder, and one hit the cobblestones between his feet. He turned the corner and into another alley.
‘I can run, Eymeg. Let me down,’ said Jolien once more. He let her to the ground. She shook her head and glanced down the alley.
‘How many did you see?’ she asked.
‘At least a dozen. Most likely more,’ he said as he reached behind a barrel and pulled his bow and quiver from it. Jolien knelt and kissed him on the cheek. Eymeg looked up at her.
‘Don’t think about it, asshole. I just—’
Eymeg didn’t know if it was really how he felt, or if it was the alcohol playing with his mind, but he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. It was quick, and Jolien pushed him away.
‘That’s…’ She hesitated to find the words. ‘I just wanted to kiss you in case we die here and now.’
‘It would not be the worst thing,’ said Eymeg with a smile.
‘By Oredmere, shut up, Eymeg. I’m already having regrets.’ Jolien rolled her eyes.
A strange feeling crept up Eymeg’s spine. He wanted to hug her and kiss her, but something in the back of his mind told him to hurry.
‘Oh, right, we’re being pursued,’ he said as he notched an arrow. He ran through the alley, with Jolien keeping close behind. Bells were ringing in the distance.
‘Hey!’
Eymeg recognised the voice of Gosfridus. The young serf, with a bag slung over his shoulder, ran toward them. ‘You saved her!’ he said as he stared at Jolien. ‘I had a plan and everything.’
‘What do you have there?’ asked Jolien.
‘Blackstones! I found a stash of them and was going to blow the gates of the prison wide open,’ said Gosfridus, opening the bag to allow Eymeg and Jolien to look into it. Rounded blackstones glistened in the moonlight, but they didn’t glisten as beautifully as Gosfridus’s smile. He was elated to see Jolien again.
‘Well done, kid,’ said Eymeg as he ruffled Gosfridus’s hair.
‘You were going to do that for me?’ asked Jolien, her mouth agape.
‘Of course I was. You are my friend, Jolien,’ said Gosfridus with a broad smile.
A shout pierced the night. ‘Halt right there!’
‘We’re not out of this yet,’ said Eymeg as he took the bag from Gosfridus’s shoulder and dropped it onto the ground.
‘Hey! What are you doing?’ protested Gosfridus, trying to reach for the bag.
Eymeg stopped him. ‘Trust me, run!’
Gosfridus grabbed Jolien’s hand, and they ran with Eymeg close behind. Then, Eymeg stopped, dropped to his knee, and drew his bow to his cheek. Three bolts flew over his shoulders, and one of them hit its mark. Eymeg loosed the shaft, but it was way off target. The tremors in his hand began to jolt his arm.
‘Shit!’ He looked over his right shoulder to see a bolt with black plumes embedded in his forearm. His arm began to shake uncontrollably as he tried to hold the bowstring steady. The armoured division of Aivaterrans was gaining on him. He notched another arrow and let it fly from his hand, but the shot went wide, hitting the barrel beside the sack of blackstones. He cursed as more soldiers began to run up the alley. Pulling another arrow, he shot it at the Aivaterrans.
He missed. The arrow hit the cobblestones, and the shaft splintered into a dozen pieces.
‘Fuck.’
Jolien ran to Eymeg’s side. She tore the medallion from her neck and threw it at the soldiers rushing them. Eymeg heard a word slip from her lips that made the alley darken immediately. A howl roared in his ears, and blood pooled in his mouth. Condensation on the walls and the puddles of water in the alley froze instantly. Eymeg could see his breath, and the beads of sweat on his cheek froze. The medallion bounced once, and then, just before reaching the rushing Aivaterrans, it exploded. Shards of ice and snow burst from the medallion, engulfing the Aivaterran soldiers in their tracks. Eymeg’s vision began to blur, and his lungs wouldn’t respond to his commands to breathe. He fell on the ground, paralysed.
‘No, Eymeg!’ Jolien knelt before him.
Eymeg shivered. He couldn’t feel his fingers or his toes anymore. He glanced down the alley. The soldiers were frozen in place with jagged layers of ice packed around them. Their faces held looks of terror as their eyes darted back and forth, not understanding what exactly had happened. Eymeg couldn’t quite understand either.
‘Get up please, Eymeg.’
Footsteps and the rustling of armoured men rang on the cobblestones from the opposite end. Eymeg knew they were in trouble. He could barely control his breathing, and he could not move. Jolien turned and held her fingers up at the soldier, but without her medallion she was powerless. Eymeg turned his head ever so slightly to see a solitary armoured Aivaterran who was holding a halberd stop just before them. Gosfridus was hitting the soldier’s back, but the man barely even noticed. He grabbed Gosfridus by the face and shoved him to the ground. Then Eymeg noticed something odd about the soldier. He wore golden armour. Eymeg smiled. Could this be the solitary kingsguard that watched over King William? No, it couldn’t be. The guard turned around and knelt over Eymeg, his visor clouding the features of his face. ‘This man will die if he doesn’t see a healer now,’ he said in a muffled voice beneath his helm.
‘What are you doing?’ asked Jolien, taking a step back from the kingsguard.
‘King William sent me once he heard the bells. I am an ally,’ said the guard as he leaned over and picked Eymeg up and threw him over his shoulder with surprising ease. ‘Follow me.’ The kingsguard glanced back at the frozen men behind him. Gosfridus brushed the muddy hair from his eyes.
‘Try to keep up,’ said the kingsguard as he rushed through the alleyway. Jolien picked Gosfridus up, and they chased after him. The last thing Eymeg remembered seeing was Jolien’s bare feet as she ran behind them. Then all went dark.
For Blood and Branch
THE MASSACRE OF Aelferwich Boulevard was finally over. The sun had risen, shining through the fog and mist covering Felheim, awakened to the carnage below. The conflict between man and elf had been concluded, not that Hamlin and his group of refugees could do anything about it, something which Rickert was grateful for. They didn’t have enough men alive to organize retribution. Despite Rickert being the reason why Hamlin and the Band of the Belligerent were still alive, the thin thread of trust that had begun to be woven by the allowance of humans into Felheim was severed forever. Rickert didn’t know what the humans would do now that their own blood had been shed in the streets of Felheim. He could still hear the scream of the dying ringing in his ears.
Ayda sat in the corner of the study with a small scroll. She was reading it quietly, mouthing the words written on it. Rickert stared out the window of his father’s study. A knock at the door shook him from his thoughts.
It was time. He sighed and turned to the door.
‘Enter,’ said Rickert, brushing his half-cloak off his shoulder as he stood from his desk. King Hamlin entered the room with a half-bow. A splint was bandaged to his arm, and an empty sheath rested on his waist. He bowed and then rested his hand on the large desk.
‘What now, young prince?’ he asked gruffly.
Ayda glanced up from her scroll and stared at Hamlin.
‘Rebecca, how is she?’ asked Rickert.
‘She is not doing well, young prince. Rebecca was very close to death, but she will live. It seems it's not the first grievous wound she has received in her journey. She will bear a nasty scar, but she will still draw breath.’
Ayda sighed in relief.
Rickert nodded. ‘I am glad, Hamlin. She saved my life.’
Hamlin bit his lower lip. ‘Regarding the massacre that happened, I realize that a great amount was out of your control, my prince. However, things cannot go back to the way they were be
fore. I have my own people to think about.’
‘You are free to do what you please. I deeply regret the state in which your people have been treated here,’ said Rickert.
‘Treated? High Primarch Morrenwylf killed forty-six of my people, most men, but a few women and children as well,’ growled King Hamlin.
Morrenwylf had made sure that no peace was possible between humanity and elfenkind. Even so, Rickert would still try.
The young elfen prince took in a deep breath and recited the words he had been practising the entire morning. ‘If I could have prevented his efforts, I would have. You see, King Hamlin, for a very long time he has hurt my sister and me. My efforts to stop him were mostly fruitless. However, if not for Rebecca and her guild, and you and your people, we would have suffered even more casualties. From this point forward, I am declaring Felheim an ally of humanity. Forever, there will be a home for your people here. Your quarter will be rebuilt to its former glory, should you choose to use it.’
‘And my army?’ asked Hamlin.
Rickert swallowed hard. ‘Your Band of the Belligerent will be disbanded. Though I am sorry for the most recent events, I cannot harbour any threat to my people.’ Rickert clenched his teeth. ‘Your weapons and armour will be confiscated. I beg you to understand that I must do this for the good of my people.’
‘The good of your people? So I am to trust the promise of a young elfen despite the evil that has been committed against us?’ Hamlin slammed his fist on the wooden desk.
Rickert didn’t say a word. He was putting this human king in a precarious position, and he doubted he himself would be any more pleased with the outcome of choices. He remained silent.