The Twin Princes

by J. M. Topp

  ‘You are to meet King William,’ she said with a frown. ‘You must look presentable. You look like a ruffian in your current state.’

  Then, from behind her, a shadow three times her size materialised, and with it, a white-haired man with a pale beard nearly down to his belt entered the room. He stared at Eymeg with gaunt cheeks and sickly eyes, yet he smiled all the same. ‘Ah, you must be the daemon hunter everyone in the city is talking about.’

  Eymeg turned to look at the man as the handmaiden made him sit in a chair and draped a towel around his neck. ‘Who are you?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘Ah, forgive me,’ said the old man with a short bow. His belly was too big, however, to bow too low. ‘I am Andre of the Iron Aegis.’

  Eymeg’s expression changed to one of surprise. ‘Andre, I’ve been looking for you. I received your message.’

  ‘Ah, so Cedarskin delivered my message.’

  ‘No.’ Eymeg shook his head. ‘Cedarskin is dead. I was given the message on the road to Duren.’

  Andre became silent and looked down at his shoes for a moment. Then he smiled again. ‘It is nice to meet you once more, Eymeg. You have grown. For a moment, I thought it was your father standing in this room.’

  Eymeg’s expression darkened, but he remained silent as the handmaiden put lather on a brush and began rubbing the bristled end on his cheeks. Andre sat on the floor of the bedchambers and even then still somehow managed to be eye level to Eymeg.

  ‘I heard you were seeking your daughter,’ said Andre.

  ‘I was,’ said Eymeg, ‘but she is no more.’

  Eymeg studied him in silence for a moment and then glanced down at his bandaged hands.

  ‘She would be around thirteen by now, if I’m not mistaken. A halfling,’ said Eymeg. ‘I wronged her by leaving her in Duren.’

  Now it was Andre’s expression that darkened. He looked at Eymeg. ‘The halfling you seek, she is not dead.’

  ‘What?’ Despite the handmaiden’s protest, Eymeg turned to look at Andre.

  ‘I saw her during the retaking of Aivaterra. Do you remember Lystralyyn, known to men as Rebecca?’ asked Andre.

  ‘No.’ Eymeg shook his head. ‘I don’t think we’ve met.’

  ‘Ah, you were too young to remember her then.‘ She visited Karagh Muín long ago. I saw your daughter during the siege of Aivaterra. Rebecca brought Ayda to me in search of the Arkynbleidd.’

  ‘You found the Arkynbleidd?’ Eymeg gasped.

  ‘Emmyth found it in the Isles of Brume and brought it to me to be reforged. When I saw your daughter here in this very city, I immediately dispatched the letter. Perhaps you could undo my wrongdoings.’

  ‘You reforged it?’ Eymeg was unable to believe the words he was hearing.

  ‘Aye, I did. But Emmyth disappeared and took the Arkynbleidd with him. I almost cannot believe he stole it from me.’

  ‘And Ayda?’

  ‘When Rebecca realised I no longer had the sword, she took Ayda and left. I tried following them, but they had run right back into the explosions. Nothing could have survived the barrage the Hallowed Masters rained down, yet I know she is still alive. Though I don’t know where they went.’

  Eymeg bit his lip. ‘I must find her, Andre. Where the hell would I start?’

  Andre stood up. ‘I tried to end my life shortly thereafter. It was then that I met an apostle. It gave me hope to be in his presence. Perhaps it will do the same for you.’

  ‘An apostle? What are you talking about?’

  ‘You’ll understand before too long. You have already met him, unbeknownst to you. The Harmony of the Apostles will be reunited and will restore peace to the world.’

  ‘I don’t know if I believe all that, Andre. The Harmony failed before. What makes you think it gives comfort to store hope in their failed promise?’

  ‘Your father didn’t exactly believe either, but that didn’t stop him from searching for the truth beneath the Red Vale Keep.’

  ‘Thank you, Andre. With this, maybe I can find it in my heart to forgive myself. I can’t feel much of anything anymore it seems.’

  Andre blinked at Eymeg.

  ‘Are you still smithing weapons, Andre?’

  ‘Aye, but not in the Iron Aegis anymore, unfortunately. King William has made me a new forge in the keep. Much nicer, and I no longer have to worry about commissions.’

  ‘I have a weapon that needs to be fixed.’ Eymeg glanced at the broken halberd at his side.

  Andre gazed at the weapon, and a sparkle shined in his eye. ‘Aye, if I am not mistaken, this halberd and I have met before.’

  KING WILLIAM BHENHART sighed audibly as Eymeg walked up beside him. His head was devoid of hair, and his bronze crown rested low on his brow as he gazed at Eymeg. White hairs were strewn throughout his beard. He sat in a wheelchair with a blanket resting over his lap, covering the fact that the monarch had no legs. Eymeg knelt before the king and bowed his head. A tingling wind blew softly against his silk shirt, but the breeze held a sting, nipping at his flesh. Anduíthras Rest Gardens were patrolled by silver-clad Aivaterran knights without any emblem on their breastplates. Their swords were polished and bare, for the knights wore no scabbards at their sides. Their shields were diamond shaped and tied to their right forearms, and their armour clinked as they paced around the gardens. These armoured hulks were the famed Crypt Knights.

  The gardens themselves bloomed with red and green. Vines draped up and around white marble pillars, ending at the level of the roof of the Rest. Eymeg glanced up at the stars sparkling faintly in the great empyrean above. A knight in silver armour, taller and bigger than the Crypt Knights patrolling the gardens, stood behind the king in silence. His visor was shut over his face, and not even the glint in the knight’s eyes could be seen in the darkness within. William sighed once more.

  ‘Your Grace,’ said Eymeg.

  Eymeg’s hair had been cut short, and his beard had been neatly trimmed. The bandages on his head and arms had been changed and the wounds beneath them cleaned. He could still smell the strong scent of horehound beneath, and it still hurt to move. Eymeg bowed his head and winced at the pain in his bandaged arm but remained on his knees all the same.

  ‘You may rise, daemon hunter,’ said King William.

  Eymeg rose and stood before William, his cloak billowing softly behind him.

  ‘What are you named?’ asked the king.

  ‘Eymeg Artus Farnesse.’

  William rubbed his chin. ‘Hmmm, it is not the first time I have heard that name.’

  ‘Most likely my father, Artus.’

  ‘No,’ said William. ‘Though I have heard of your father, it is not he who left an impression on me. But I have other more pressing matters to discuss with you, Eymeg. You come representing the Veledred, do you not?’

  ‘No, Your Grace.’ Eymeg hesitated. ‘I am no longer a part of their organisation.’

  ‘But you do know how to get in contact with them, do you not?’

  Eymeg nodded.

  ‘Good.’ William seemed to relax in his chair but didn’t say anything after that. Eymeg cleared his throat. The guard in silver armour turned to look at Eymeg.

  ‘I was told it is you whom I owe thanks, sir,’ said Eymeg, turning to the guard. ‘You saved my life and that of Jolien.’

  A sad chord was struck in his heart when her name left his lips.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ said the guard, his voice sounding hollow within his enclosed helm.

  ‘Please do not speak to him,’ said William. ‘He is not from here, and I would like his identity kept a secret for now.’

  Eymeg eyed the knight carefully but didn’t say a word.

  ‘Tell me about the Veledred, Eymeg Farnesse. Spare no detail from me. I want to know the current state of your old organisation. How strong are they? How can I reach them?’

  Eymeg did as he was told.

  THE SUN WAS just beginning to rise by the time Eymeg had finished recounting his short-lived history
with the Veledred to King William. He spoke of their commandants and castellans and of their current state of affairs—at least, as current as Eymeg knew about. The breath of air circulating through Anduíthras Rest had turned cold, and despite Eymeg’s half-cloak and bandaged arms, shivers crept up his spine.

  ‘I think that satisfies all my questions, Eymeg,’ said William. ‘The Hallowed Masters keep a close watch on me, and every move I make is closely monitored. This is the only place I am allowed to keep solitude, and it is limited at that. I want you close by, Eymeg. You will become useful in the times to come.’

  Eymeg exited the gardens and was making his way back through the keep to return to his own quarters when he noticed two purple eyes sparkling in the rafters above. An owl hooted, and Eymeg’s hand wandered to his side, but there was no weapon there. He snorted and rolled his eyes. ‘Jolien left the city to find you. What are you doing here?’ he asked, but before he could receive a response from the avian, three palace guards lunged from the shadows, instantly restraining him and holding his arms. He tried to break free, but the palace guards were too strong. One of them put a sword point to his back. Eymeg tensed up but remained still.

  ‘Don’t move a muscle.’

  ‘What do you want of me?’ asked Eymeg through his teeth, wincing as the guards squeezed his bandaged arms.

  ‘You are a wanted man,’ said the voice behind him.

  Eymeg smiled. ‘I think you have the wrong person.’

  A voice echoed from the hallway ahead, and a shadow garbed in white could be seen in the darkness. ‘You are named Eymeg Farnesse, are you not?’ The shadow came closer. He had not one hair on his head, and his smile seemed gentle. Yet the white robe gave him away. A Hallowed Master. Eymeg swallowed hard.

  ‘Ah, so you know who I am,’ said the white shadow.

  ‘A Hallowed Master, but I also know that one of you fell in Weserith. You are not the Protector, for he cannot utter a word. So you must be Yngerame, the Soother,’ said Eymeg.

  ‘Very observant. I would expect no less from a Veledred.’ Yngerame smiled and folded his hands into his robes. ‘Or ex-member of the Veledred. I have it on good authority that you have just left an audience with King William. What for, may I ask?’

  ‘He wanted me to recount the histories of the Veledred.’

  ‘Oh, is that it?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Eymeg. ‘Now let me go; you have no right to hold me. I have done nothing wrong.’

  ‘Hmmm, somehow I doubt that,’ said Yngerame, and he nodded to the guard behind him. The sword point dug deeper into Eymeg’s back. He felt a warmth trickle down his back. He clenched his jaw but didn’t scream.

  ‘You are tough, like your father.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I have a mission for you. I feel shame in admitting this to you, but to feel shame is to be human, after all. To admit it is to have guts. I want a certain exiled knight back in my custody,’ said Yngerame with a snarl. ‘I thought I had killed her, but it turns out she is still alive and well, thanks to Artus, another traitor.’

  ‘My father and I aren’t on speaking terms,’ muttered Eymeg. ‘As I said, you have the wrong person.’

  ‘Well, you’d best be on speaking terms soon, or you will rot in the dungeons. It was a pretty trick you pulled with that witch in our prisons. Magic like that, I thought, had long since died. I was curiously surprised when I heard the news. Trust me, I don’t get surprised very easily. The witch will be in our custody soon as well. My assassins are the best in all the land. This Jolien Harwig thinks her eye is the last wound I will inflict on her? She is sadly mistaken.’ Yngerame frowned darkly.

  Eymeg looked at him and bared his teeth. ‘No. It is me you want. She is gone from the city and out of your clutches. It’s best to leave her alone.’

  ‘How interesting. You? Showing compassion for a witch?’ Yngerame laughed. ‘I didn’t think daemon hunters shared company with witches. Except for you, right? You don’t just share company with witches but also daemons. I believe that is the nature of your banishment.’

  Eymeg snorted and bit his lip. Yngerame raised his hands above his head. ‘Regardless, it is too late. She will be caught before nightfall.’

  ‘Stop!’ snapped Eymeg, ‘What is it you want?’ His hands began to shake uncontrollably. He squeezed them together, but nothing could deter the rattles in his arm.

  Yngerame let out a sigh. Eymeg could almost see a weight lift from his shoulders. ‘This certain knight’s name is Elymiah. I want her.’

  ‘How could I possibly help with that?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘She has been given safe haven by the Veledred. Ah, I can tell by your expression that you now understand why I require your help. However, if you don’t help us, we will find that witch, and I, personally, will peel the skin from her bones. I will take her other eye, and I will sever her, limb from limb, but she will live for many years to come. I will make sure she understands that you are the one who condemned her to a life of suffering beyond which she cannot and will not find respite. It must be an easy choice. This knight I want means nothing to you. Why would you care?’

  Eymeg struggled against the grasp of his captors, but they held him tight. ‘Fine, I will help you find this exiled knight. But if I do this, you will forget Jolien forever. Her name will never escape your lips again.’

  ‘I agree. If you accept this mission I have for you, Jolien Harwig will never cross my thoughts.’ Yngerame turned to the guards. ‘You may release him.’ The Aivaterran soldiers let go of Eymeg’s arms and took the sword point from his back. Yngerame began to walk away.

  ‘We depart on the morrow,’ said the Hallowed Master. ‘Prepare for a voyage across the LaFoyelle Sea.’

  Eymeg looked up to the rafters. Two purple eyes sparkled in the dawn above. The owl cooed, lifted her wings, and flew into the night sky.

  Pernicious Caitiff

  AYDA’S EYES WIDENED in horror as she stared at the outline of Princess Rhiannon looking over the edge of the Tower of Sanctuary. Ayda had been sitting by the giant ocular cloaked in darkness, just as Rebecca had taught her, long before Rickert had climbed up the steps. To her delight, they had not even noticed her. Now, her delight had melted into pure horror.

  Rhiannon leaned over the edge, gazing at the base of the tower far below. Ayda’s hands shook as she stepped from her perch and unsheathed her dagger. She squeezed the hilt. Ayda didn’t know if it was the sheer and utter shock that made her lose balance on one foot, but the sound of a creaking floor tile alerted Rhiannon to her presence. The princess turned around, and a look of shock covered her face.

  ‘Ayda?’ Rhiannon asked, the halfling's name catching in her throat.

  ‘What have you done?’ The words were froth in Ayda’s mouth. Moonlight poured its shining winter light down on them from above. Nothing was hidden from Ayda’s discoloured eyes. She gathered herself and held the knife pointed at Rhiannon as she walked to the edge of the tower. She looked over, careful to keep Rhiannon in her peripheral vision. A rocket blew in the air near the top of the tower, but Ayda could see nothing in the darkness at the base.

  ‘How could you?’ Ayda clenched her teeth. The wind blew fiercely against her, pushing her light frame slightly. Ayda faced Rhiannon and spoke through her teeth. ‘He was so torn up about you being missing. How could you do something like this? Why?’

  ‘How could you understand, cursed one?’ said Rhiannon. ‘Rickert was missing the bigger picture. At first, I was depressed, but then I realised that the things Morrenwylf did to me…the things he did for me, were because he loved me…and I loved him.’

  Ayda spat. ‘You make me want to vomit. Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth? Morrenwylf fucked you up, and now you think the shit he did to you was because he cared for you? He didn’t give a fuck about you! You know who did though? The one you just murdered. Your own brother. Rickert!’ Wind blew in Ayda’s ears, whipping her curly black hair over her eyes.

 
; Rhiannon hesitated and glanced back over the edge. ‘You fool. I had to. Morrenwylf said that the power to reign over my people would be given to Rickert, and I would be left with scraps. He knew there was a chance he would be killed and this would be the only justice served me. This was the only solution to saving my people. Under Rickert’s rule, we would all be dead.’

  Rhiannon began to circle around Ayda, and Ayda twisted her feet to match her movements, just as Rebecca had taught her.

  ‘Power? Was that why you did this?’ spat Ayda.

  ‘What would you know? Cursed half-elf from some shit village in the middle of nowhere. What would you know of things beyond your comprehension?’ Rhiannon pulled a dagger from in between her thighs.

  Ayda smiled cruelly and licked her lips. ‘You sure you want to play that game, Princess? You might cut yourself.’

  Rhiannon smiled back. ‘You know what this is, stupid half-elf?’ She tapped the flat of her dagger. On it lay a symbol Ayda had never seen before. ‘This is a bloodrune on a sword called the Arkynbleidd. A gift from the Kindler to wipe scum like you from the world. These magical apparatuses are used by daemon hunters in the far south of the land. When they come in contact with blood...’ Rhiannon put the blade in the palm of her other hand and sliced. Blood began to drip from her hand. She placed the palm of her hand onto the symbol, and the rune began to glow with a faint red light.

  ‘Shiny. It’s not going to do you much good, bitch,’ said Ayda. She lunged at Rhiannon with knife in hand for a sideways strike, but Rhiannon ducked back, leaping nimbly out of the way of Ayda’s blade. Ayda watched Rhiannon’s footwork. The princess knew what she was doing. Instantly, a bead of sweat began to gather on Ayda’s brow. Rebecca’s teachings were tough, and Ayda had learned a lot since becoming an acolyte in the White Dagger Guild, but she knew Rebecca’s movements and had learned to spar with her using wooden daggers. The same could not be said for Rhiannon. It was the first time Ayda was going up against an opponent she did not know—one who knew how to fight.