by Rex Jameson
Liritmear was too angry to feel embarrassed—not that Ashton thought she should ever be ashamed by her toned body and fierce expression. Behind the wood elf, Cassandra’s guards quickly helped each other into their armor. Pauldrons and breastplates laced into position. As two helped each other with gear, the other two positioned themselves in front of the approaching orcs and held their weapons menacingly to let them know that the humans meant business.
Frederick remained seated. Either he didn’t consider the orcs a threat, or he wasn’t going to bother unless The Holy One ordered him to.
“Jarl Sven, be merciful!” the owner Danwen said, almost dropping his platter at the sight of the half-naked, muscled orcs carrying the paladins, and then again at the wood elf in even less clothing.
“Go ahead and put that serving down, friend,” Jayden recommended.
The owner stuttered an agreement, lowered the plate of fish to the center of the conjoined tables and backed into the shanty kitchen building. The other tables emptied of customers. People ran down the beach.
“Really is a beautiful day,” Mekadesh said, leaning her head back as if to soak in the sun.
“Put me down!” Cedric demanded.
The heavy footsteps of the towering orcs were muted by the screams of the crowd.
“We don’t want you here!” the townfolk yelled.
“Murderers!” Others accused. “Booo!”
The orc with the red hand lowered a female paladin to the ground. He bowed his head to her and then very curtly nodded toward Mekadesh and the others at the table. The second orc held the squirming leader of the paladins beneath two massive hands.
“Let go of me!” Cedric demanded again.
The orc with braided, brown hair grunted in acknowledgement as he surveyed the crowd. His eyes were not as assured as the other one, who seemed older. He placed the grown man down like a sack of grain and backed away.
Cedric brushed himself off. “Ashton… Jayden… Holy One…”
“It’s great to see you again, Cedric,” Ashton said.
“Ashton,” Cedric continued casually, as if he hadn’t ridden into town on an orc. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife, Allison.”
She took off her helmet and let down her light-brown tresses. She reached out her hand, and Ashton shook it. Jayden waved at her. They had apparently met before. The Eye showed Ashton forests near Godun.
“I feel like I’ve missed a lot,” Ashton said. “I’m really looking forward to being filled in.”
When the Eye offered to help, Ashton waved the suggestion away. He’d rather they do it the old-fashioned way.
The two guards who had been helping each other with gear shuffled forward noisily, their plate mail grinding together as they relieved the two men with hammers and only what chain they had been able to hastily throw on. The poorly-armored guards traded positions with the well-equipped men and began helping each other get dressed. The men placed themselves between the princess and the orcs.
The owner Danwen appeared again and shuffled toward them, but as far away from the orcs as he could. “I’m sorry, Princess,” he said, “but I’m really going to have to ask you all… to leave.”
“But we just got here,” Cassandra said with a straight face.
The orc with the red hand screamed a challenge at the owner and slammed his axe into the floorboards, producing a booming sound and arcs of lightning all across the patio.
The crowd went silent as the grave. Cassandra left her seat, and through the Eye, Ashton could see her wonder at the lines of holy light that streamed from the axe. It appeared to be the first time she’d ever seen true magic.
Mekadesh smiled in appreciation of one of her miracles.
“Right!” Danwen said, his eyes wide, “Next course, coming up!”
He backed into the shanty kitchen.
“So, what was I saying?” Mekadesh asked seriously.
“Just tell us what you want,” Jayden said, finally looking at her.
“You know very well what I want,” she said, “and who… or do you think I need to be more explicit?”
Jayden gulped hard and turned away from her. The orcs interrupted the awkward exchange to introduce themselves to the group.
“Bloodhand,” the orc with the red hand said, beating himself in the chest. He slammed a palm on the other orc’s chest. “Ogdorn!”
“I’m sorry, Chief,” Mekadesh said. “Manners. This is Chief Bloodhand and his oldest son Ogdorn. Bloodhand, Ogdorn, you already know Cedric and Allison Arrington. This is Prince Jayden of the Etyrian Empire. He’s mine. You must never lay a finger on him. Over there is one of my durun Frederick Ross. He’s a tournament champion and never backs down from a challenge—I think you’ll like him.”
Bloodhand pounded his chest at the sullen knight in the corner of the deck.
“This is Princess Cassandra Eldenwald,” Mekadesh continued. “I’m sure you can sense the fire in her. If she had her way, I’d be dead, but I’m not a vindictive woman—not today. I think she has a taste for magic, don’t you? I assume these four men are her guards, and that foppish man is some lower noble here as an errand boy.”
Christian Somerset deflated.
“And who are you two?” Mekadesh asked the wood elves. “What are you doing here?”
“Leaving,” Liritmear said. She threw both of her knives between the legs of the two orc men. Their eyes grew wide and they hooted and howled as she turned away and leapt over the railing back to the beach to retrieve her clothes.
“Challenge Lady!” Bloodhand said, beating his chest and shouting so Liritmear could hear. “Know her. Red Poet! Good death!”
“Good death!” Ogdorn yelled in agreement.
Ashton shook his head. The Eye told him they were being all too serious. They would welcome the chance to fight the wood elf captain, and they believed she would kill them both and they were truly elated that they would die well.
He looked out at the front of the restaurant, past the town-side railing. The crowd still loitered there. No longer bloodthirsty—just in shock. Many of them sat down in the middle of the street. The orcs looked back at them and then to Mekadesh.
“No,” she said, “you can’t kill them.”
Bloodhand motioned for his son to join the durun in the corner.
They sat down in front of Frederick and sniffed at the air around him. Ogdorn kept trying to poke the man with the dark energy escaping from cracks in his armor, but Bloodhand caught his arm each time and pushed it back down.
“What are we doing here?” Ashton asked Mekadesh.
“Eating,” she said, retrieving some kelp from the rim of one of two platters that had been placed down by Danwen. “You’re going to need your strength. Go ahead,” she encouraged the others.
“You have some nerve being here,” Cassandra said from her seat across the wooden surface. “Sitting at this table. Enjoying the rewards of a kingdom you have maimed with your actions.”
“I’m sorry your parents are dead,” Mekadesh said bluntly, “but we didn’t have much time then, and we don’t have any more of it right now. If your ancestors or your father had acted earlier or if they wouldn’t have banned the paladins, we’d have a better chance. More elves, more followers, and more time.”
“You are a goddess, are you not?” Cassandra accused. “Why couldn’t you have done more? What power does a king or queen have over you?”
“You think that just because I’ve been alive for millions of years, that I’m invincible?” Mekadesh asked. “That my powers are unlimited? I’m here to gain power, not waste it. If I see an opportunity in front of me, I take it—just like Orcus. Just like Demogorgon. Your father is not dead because I willed it. He’s dead because he got in my way. You’d be smart to learn from that.”
The people at the table eyed each other anxiously. Each of the guards grabbed a fish filet and returned to their posturing near the railing, watching the orcs with suspicion. They opened their visors for j
ust long enough to throw food into their maws. Cassandra grabbed a baked mussel and nibbled at it. She too looked at the orcs, but stared more at their weapons. Ashton watched the images of her parents flow through her mind, but he also saw her helplessness and confusion. She’d do anything to feel more useful—or deadlier, even.
Cedric broke the silence. He walked over to the princess and knelt in front of her.
“Miss Cassandra,” he said. “I’m sorry, Princess Cassandra. I can’t tell you how honored my wife and I are to meet you…”
“Oh,” she said. “Yes… I…” she seemed distracted by the hammer shaft poking out from the back of his armor. “You’re both paladins, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Cedric said, “I know we’re not supposed to interact with royalty, but—”
“Don’t worry about that,” Cassandra said. “The Regent has overturned the decrees—”
“The decrees?” Allison asked.
“Surdel must fight with every resource at its disposal,” Cassandra said casually.
“You mean,” Cedric said, “all is forgiven? Just like that?”
“The decrees have been canceled for weeks.”
“Weeks?” Cedric asked in disbelief.
Cassandra nodded emphatically but continued to stare at Cedric’s hammer. Allison and Cedric gaped at each other and then looked to Mekadesh, who seemed genuinely pleased and happy for them.
“We weren’t allowed to own land,” Allison said in disbelief. “Our children never… I don’t understand how it can be over… Why it even had to be done… and now it’s just…?”
Mekadesh pointed a finger at Cassandra. A continuation of the blame she had placed on Cassandra’s ancestors earlier. Cassandra rolled her eyes and bit into a potato from the fringes of the platter.
The Eye filled in details of the paladins to Ashton. Generations of impoverished people, passing down what belongings they had, and fighting and dying to demons in the cold mountain passages. The paladins no longer had to stay at the base of Godun. They could own homes again and officially marry. Even be part of the King’s Guard, if they wanted. He felt their hope well inside himself, and it brought tears to his eyes.
“So, your weapons are like theirs?” Cassandra asked, pointing at Bloodhand’s axe.
“Not exactly,” Allison said, bowing awkwardly in her armor. She pulled her swords from her sheaths and put the blades together. A rushing wind blew a few filets off the platters. A bubble of white light grew from their contact points.
“Not at the table!” Mekadesh yelled, like a mother to her kids.
Allison chuckled. “Sorry. I’ve never met a princess. I got carried away.”
“So will we all,” Mekadesh chided playfully and pointed over the railing at the townsfolk, “if we don’t start blending in.”
“What are we doing here?” Ashton asked again.
“Eating,” she reminded him.
“I’m not hungry,” Ashton said. He pointed at his eyepatch. “And I get this weird feeling that you’re not really hungry either.”
“I’m so glad you’re using it instead of keeping it in your pocket,” she said earnestly. “You see that lake?” She pointed over the railing. “It’s a beautiful body of water. Not natural, of course. It doesn’t have a ground spring, and it’s not left over from some glacier. Millions of years ago, it just formed, and we got all this life around us.”
She held her arms out to the lake. “It’s a miracle!”
“Praise Cronos!” Jayden said sarcastically.
“Praise Jarl Sven!” Danwen exclaimed as he brought another platter out of the kitchen. “This one is a house special. Grilled with basil and lemon.” He wafted the vapors into his face and then pushed them toward Ashton and Cassandra. Despite his obvious fear, he seemed enthusiastic about his craft. The Eye offered to tell Ashton about the man’s childhood, but Ashton looked away. He felt the relic’s disappointment.
“The last time I fought Demogorgon,” Mekadesh said, “I lost. I… um… well, I lost everything. My general… my army… Pieces of my soul.” She pointed at the eyepatch. “Demogorgon scattered those pieces to the heavens.” She looked up at the sky. “And I’ve been broken ever since.”
Jayden watched her sullenly. Ashton shook off the Eye’s attempts to elaborate on his misery. He didn’t want to know how deep Mekadesh’s manipulation of Jayden had gone.
“What do you want?” Jayden asked.
“I want to recover those pieces,” she said.
“Have you ever thought that there might have been a reason you lost those pieces?” Jayden asked. “Maybe the universe doesn’t want you whole. Maybe you’re dangerous enough as you are right now.”
She grinned at him and bit her lip again, toying with him.
He waved her off and went back to gazing at the lake.
“The pieces aren’t for me,” she said. She looked at Ashton. “They’re for him.”
“Why me?” Ashton asked.
“You know why you,” she said. “I’ve already seen what you’re capable of, and so has everyone else in your party. Those two guards over there owe you their lives. How many others in Perketh serve you still? Who else is more deserving?”
“The man with the cloth over his mouth?” Ashton asked seriously, taking in a suggestion from the Eye.
“Praise Jarl Sven!” Danwen called from the kitchen.
“Praise Jarl Sven!” Mekadesh said with mirth in her voice.
“What are we doing here?” Ashton asked, trying to get her back on track.
“Demogorgon is gone,” she said. “He went off to some other world to defend his territory from an aggressor—just another opportunistic demon like Orcus. A nobody, really, but to Demogorgon, every attempt at expansion is a challenge to his title. Prince of Demons. He cannot let a challenge go unanswered. That’s the only reason the dark elves are still here. He’s busy.”
She looked at Jayden, and he gnawed at his lip.
“This is an opportunity,” she said. “Demogorgon is out of the picture for a while—just long enough for us to move around unimpeded. Orcus is to the south, attacking whatever moves. He avoids us like a coward, trying to gather minions for his longer-term conflict with Demogorgon. He knows he’s going to lose this world. He just doesn’t want to feel the Abyss again—not yet. He knows he can’t have this realm—not when Demogorgon has come here to claim it. He’ll go to the major cities, and he’ll steal whatever bodies he can.”
“So, what does that have to do with Edinsbro?” Cassandra asked. “Why are we here?”
“Like I told you,” Mekadesh said, “goddesses and demon lords aren’t invincible. We’re here to get Surdel the tools it needs to defend itself.”
“What if I give you these?” Cassandra asked, producing the metal contraptions she had taken from the Kingarth Library and laying them on the table. “Would these be enough for you? Would you leave then? I’m sure someone like you could repair them.”
Mekadesh shook her head.
“Weapons like those are fine for killing demons,” she said, “but even a weapon as versatile as Khelekhoon is useless against Demogorgon. And you might as well just throw it at a deathknight, as the impact is probably just as effective as the ice blade. Might even do more damage.”
“What’s a deathknight?” Cassandra asked in confusion.
The scholar Christian Somerset produced a piece of coal and a scroll, ready to start writing. He flattened the paper against the table and licked his lips in anticipation.
“It’s a…” Mekadesh said, looking up as if to remember.
Ashton could see the truth as she pretended to struggle to define it. He could see her shame.
“Don’t do that,” Mekadesh said.
“You told me that you’d always be honest with me,” Ashton said.
“I was responding to her,” Mekadesh explained.
Ashton shook his head. “Unacceptable.”
“Fine. They are creatures that I created,” Mekadesh
said. “Along with the demon lords and the demons and the orcs and the paladins. There. You happy now?”
Ashton nodded. As did Jayden, who crossed his arms and furrowed his brow in judgement.
“In that lake,” she continued, “I believe is a piece of me once held by General Maddox. It was a weapon—an artifact of holy light. I used the memory of it when I created the paladin imbuements, but this thing is a pure weapon of light and much more powerful than anything I can augment. It’s built for smiting and defending all creation. It’s the kind of weapon that could kill Orcus and Demogorgon.”
Jayden looked at the lake. Ashton felt the dark elf might jump into the deep, blue waters immediately.
“What makes you think it’s there?” Jayden asked.
“An artifact like that,” she said. “That part of me… it was my right hand. It was my Watcher’s Justice. When I spoke with the Creators’ tongue, I used that hand to shape the clay and form the firmament. Rivers flowed from that device. It creates as it destroys, like all gods. Cronos. Jarl Sven. The Seven.”
“What were they like?” Cassandra asked as the scholar at the end of the table furiously scribbled on his parchment.
“The Seven?” Mekadesh asked. “Thousands of feet tall. Beautiful. Unblemished. Judgmental.”
The Eye showed Ashton her shame, but not the true source—just that she regretted something heinous.
“Anyway,” she said. “I know the artifact’s been here. I can feel its effects, even millions of years later. The ground feels strange—like the buzz of the dawn of time. It’s like this… strange humming… like walls vibrating after an explosion…”
“They say lights used to be in the lake,” Danwen said as he approached the table with yet another platter. “Mermaids and mermen would come up from the depths and drag fishermen down into the light. And then one day, it just disappeared. They say Jarl Sven swam down there, killed all the merpeople. And that’s where we get these mussels! They say Jarl Sven broke these mythical fish-people into a thousand pieces and spread them across Lake Coinen! These shells are the scales from their fins.”
