by Aaron Bunce
The skinsmith hit the ground with a loud slap, his fearsome, angry cries breaking off in a tremendous whoosh. The large man rolled from side to side, moaning and gurgling, swatting at his throat as blood spurted out of his ruined neck and onto the floor. Beyond the skinsmith’s dying body, Boar stood, his left hand covered in blood and his Falchion now in his right hand.
The faceless managed a single step forward before a wretched, broken cry of pain and loss sounded behind him. It was the other skinsmith. He stood watching them at the wide table, the woman strapped down before him. The monstrous man shook a club-sized fist in the air, his mouth working wordlessly, and then dropped a fist onto the woman’s head, killing her instantly.
Chaos. Julian planted his foot and ran. “Duck!” he yelled, swinging Nightbreaker just above the first prisoner’s head. Thankfully, the woman flinched; otherwise he might have taken off the top of her head. Instead, the blade rang, cutting cleanly through the pitted chain, digging cleanly into the stone behind it.
“Where? Where do we go?” they yelled, panicked.
“Run…just run!” he shouted, continuing on down the line, breaking chains and pushing the prisoners away from the wall. In truth, he didn’t know where they would run. But given the options of shackles, or the slim chance of escape, he knew which one he would pick.
“Run as fast as you can. Hide if you have to,” Julian yelled, breaking the final chain and shoving the young man free just as a table crashed in, smashing him against the wall. He shoved it away, catching sight of the prisoners, now running in every direction, flitting about like a flock of frightened birds. Boar turned on his heels in the center of the long room, snatching at air, trying and failing to grab ahold of the numerous, darting prisoners.
Tanea’s heart hiccupped in his chest, before starting to pound out of sync with his own. Boar lunged at a young man, missed him, swiveled, and swiped at a woman running in the opposite direction.
Where are you, Tanea? Show me where to go! Julian pleaded, ducking down to hide behind an overturned table and directing all of his focus into her distant heartbeat. Show me! Something moved within his mind, the hair on his arms instantly standing on end.
Julian looked up just as a tapestry billowed outward, exposing a plain, wooden door not a dozen paces away. Of course! He should have expected as much. His parent’s hid servant entrances behind screens in their dining hall at home. They thought it unsightly for guests to see such things.
Taking a deep breath, Julian pushed off and ran straight for the tapestry. He drew the heavy fabric aside and pushed open the door, exposing a narrow, dark corridor beyond. Julian stepped inside, letting the tapestry fall back into place. He glanced back once, doubt and regret pulling at his heart, before closing the small door behind him. He would come back and save them. He would save them all.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The One Responsible
Henri ran up the lane and into the city, allowing the road to guide him. He moved quickly through the byways, and was starting to convince himself that Denoril’s largest city was abandoned, until he crossed the dark river and a large, elaborate building came into view.
The gardens surrounding the Council’s chambers were wide, filled with sculpted trees, marvelous fountains, and scrolling, decorative trellises. The phantom road congealed around the vast building, blocking off the rest of the city.
Dark figures moved about the garden, tracing regular routes over the cobbled paths, moving like the guards he remembered seeing on his previous trips. He caught glimpses of armor under their robes, and swords hanging from their hips. And yet, there was something about the way they moved that set him on edge – they looked rigid, their legs the only part of their bodies that moved. They looked a bit like the wooden puppets entertainers dangled from strings to catch children’s attention at the market in Marble Meadows. Had something happened to the capitol? Or was he simply seeing what the phantom road wanted him to see?
Herja, I could use some of your wisdom right about now, he thought, ruefully.
Henri wove his way through the garden, falling into step a safe distance behind one of the guards. The figure strode up and pulled open an arched door. Careful not to touch the strange man, Henri skipped forward and ducked through the opening before the door closed once again.
He passed beneath the towering statues of the Council elders and stopped at the wide chamber door. Hooded, stooped figures appeared out of the gloom before him, dragging large sacks behind them. Henri moved to the side as they approached, realizing they were laboring to drag bodies from the chamber. His heart skipped a beat and he pressed a hand over his mouth. A light flickered in the air before him, the glowing, green speck of light drifting in lazy circles. He could see another beyond that, and then another, leading into the gloom.
Henri moved forward, drawn forward by the trail of wispy light. The room materialized out of the gloom of the phantom road, shifting in and out of focus in the strange dark fog. He passed row upon row of benches – some empty, and some occupied. He didn’t have the nerve to get too close, fearing how these people would appear.
A raised platform appeared at the far end of the chamber, the elevated position of authority reserved for the council members. A hitch marred Henri’s next step, and he abruptly stopped. A large empty throne sat in the middle of the stage where the council once sat. The wispy lights circled the large chair, but led off to the side, where they disappeared at a wall.
Henri inched closer, but gasped and shrunk away as the oversized seat materialized fully. It wasn’t made of wood or stone, like the other seats in the room, but instead it appeared to be constructed out of interlocking arms and legs. Biting his cheek, Henri crept forward. A shadow moved out of the corner of his eye, but when he turned to track it, the space was empty. Someone moaned from behind the throne.
Turning back, Henri climbed up onto the platform, circling the large seat to see who was suffering, but the floor was empty. Another moan sounded just behind him, and then another.
He spun to find a gaunt, twisted face staring out at him from the chair itself. Henri cursed and jumped back, noticing another face trapped within the ghoulish seat. They moved their mouths, their eyes rolling crazily in their heads. He recognized the expressions. It was agony. The same thing he felt every day after his children went missing.
The eyelids of the closest face pulled open, the dark pupils swiveling around madly, before locking onto Henri. Dorel Russo, Henri thought, finally recognizing the old man’s twisted face. He’d walked by the man’s paintings every day for thaws beyond count, his father insisting on hanging paintings of every elder councilman in their cottage.
The old man looked right at him, his mouth working open and closed, a warped and ruined voice filling the air. Could he see him? Was that even possible? Henri continued to back away, fear piling up faster than answers. Five faces looked out at him from the depths of the throne. Five faces – five elder councilmen.
What could do this to a man? What in the hells could do this?
Revolted, Henri tore his gaze away and turned to run, but caught a bucket with his foot and sent it toppling off the platform.
The bucket clattered onto the ground, dark fluid spattering in every direction. He froze, the unexpected noise and tactile contact startling him. The men hadn’t returned from dragging their burdens outside yet. He reached up instinctively and placed an open palm, face up, before his face, praising Mani, mimicking his wife’s silent gesture. He didn’t know why he did it, but at the moment, it felt right. He dropped his hand, a beam groaning overhead.
Henri looked up just as a massive, pale form dropped from the darkness above, landing with a heavy thud to the platform a few paces away. The beast rose from its crouch, its angular head pointed directly at the bucket, its spikey ears twitching back and forth.
Large, muscular arms coiled, propelling the monster’s bulk off the platform and onto the ground, where a smaller pair of arms sprouting from its
chest plucked the bucket from the ground. The beast sniffed the bucket, its spikey ears moving restlessly.
Henri crept back, the strange beast an unnerving sight. It turned its head toward him suddenly, it’s round, milky eyes completely unreadable. The bucket rattled to the ground, the creature crawling spider-like back onto the platform. Henri backpedaled as it moved straight for him.
Can it see me? Hells, can it see me!? Panic flooded his body and he sprang back, his body lifting a dozen paces into the air. He hit the wall hard and slid to the ground, the murk of the phantom road seeping down around him like a cold rain.
The creature moved silently forward, its head swiveling left and right, its nose and tongue working over the air. It can’t see me, he realized and moved to get up. The monster stopped a few paces away, wringing its smaller set of hands.
The phantom road led him here. It led me to this creature, Henri rationalized.
Emboldened, Henri stood as the beast placed a large arm against the wall, working its nose over the very spot his body had struck. He reached out, his arm shaking, and laid his palm on the beast’s muscular shoulder.
Fear, anger, and pain flashed through him, the phantom road melting into darkness. It broke apart again, only he was in a different structure, one considerably older. The stone was crumbling, roots and brambles worming their way above and below him. Something glinted in a pool of light ahead. A small figure moved, dancing through the shadows, swinging a small wooden sword at the air.
Luca! Henri watched his boy dash between pools of shadow, dancing from one spot of light to the next, until finally crouching low over the glinting artifact. He stood, holding his treasure in the light before moving to stuff it into his shirt.
Henri moved forward as Luca made to run back down the hall, but a long, pale arm lashed out and scooped the boy off the ground. Luca curled around, the smaller arms wrapping around him in a smothering embrace. The boy’s face pulled tight, his mouth hanging open as he wailed in fear.
Henri screamed out, but the phantom road swallowed up his voice. The darkness melted it all away again, two men appearing suddenly from the darkness. “Roger and Damon!” Henri exclaimed, recognizing his two oldest friends. He remembered the last time he saw them. They were sharing drinks at the Shale common house. Lots of drinks, and stories.
The two men yelled, thrusting knives at the ghostly monster, while talking to someone behind him, trying to calm someone. A knife bit flesh, but the monster lashed out again, knocking Roger aside. The beast tore into the two men, battering and tearing them open, letting their blood run over the dark stone underfoot.
Henri tried to deny it, to push the phantom road’s horrible reality away, but it wouldn’t let him. It wouldn’t let him hide from the truth. Time blurred into darkness, until Eisa appeared through a doorway. Her raven hair spilled over her shoulders, her unblemished skin shining in the light from the hole overhead.
His daughter reached for Luca, but the boy suddenly floated up into the air. Henri screamed as Luca toppled into the air, disappearing into the darkness beyond the window, his limbs flapping like a strange, ungainly bird.
Eisa was crawling away, and then Hunter appeared and pulled her behind him. His eldest boy, so strong and brave, lifted his hunting knife into the air. Henri’s heart broke in his chest. He closed his eyes, his ears filling with the sounds of Hunter fighting the monster. Their cries of anger, fear, and pain filled his ears, until it all went silent. Henri knew how it ended. He didn’t need to see it to believe.
When Henri finally managed to open his eyes again the scenery had changed yet again. They were underground, large braziers burning brightly all around. Eisa limped ahead of him, her clothes muddied and tattered. Her hair was a tangled and snarled mess.
A wretched, shriveled figure sat on a throne high above them, the seat reaching out over a deep, dark pool of water. The wretch said something, his voice too soft to understand. Eisa turned towards Henri, her eyes searching the monstrous face. She looked so much like his wife, the sparkle in her dark eyes and the gentle curve of her lip. Henri wanted to hold her and keep her safe.
Instead, the white beast picked her up, Eisa’s eyes going wide as she toppled bodily into the dark water. “No…no!” Henri screamed, fighting to turn his head, but it wasn’t his to control. He could only watch.
His daughter reappeared from beneath the dark water, her screams and chattering teeth echoing in the confined space. Dark shapes appeared beneath the surface of the water around her.
“Eisa, look out!” Henri cried out, but she couldn’t hear him.
He watched as a glowing mass, larger and faster than the others, appeared under the water. It wrapped around Eisa, and with a final, sputtering cry, she disappeared under the surface.
“She will drown!” Henri raged, desperate to spring forward when Eisa didn’t reemerge, but the phantom road disintegrated around him. Inky shadow closed in, the Council’s chambers crystalizing once again.
“You were responsible all along!” Henri whispered, bottling up his anger and loss and using it to push against the beast. “You tore my family apart!”
The white-skinned monster snorted and recoiled. It tossed its head, swiping its claws through the air. Henri tried to dodge aside but his back hit the wall, and the beast’s claw passed clear through him. Retracting quickly, the monster held the large hand up to its face. Then abruptly it growled, croaking in a strange language as it backed away several bounding steps.
“You killed Hunter, my dear boy. He’ll never know the joy of taking a wife, or raising a child of his own,” Henri snarled, pain bubbling forth as he bounded forward and shoved the creature again hard.
The monster stumbled sideways and hissed, croaking again and snapping its jaws, but leapt down from the platform.
“You crippled by baby boy, my Luca, the gentlest creature graced to walk this land,” Henri screamed, his rage fully uncorked now. He jumped down, kicking the closest bench. The seat leapt forward, striking the beast hard in its left arm, sending it toppling face first to the ground.
“What of Eisa? Where did you take her? Where?” he yelled, lifting the next bench clear into the air and driving it down onto the beast’s back before it could stand. Wood shattered and splintered.
Henri grabbed the next bench and heaved it into the air, but this one felt heavier. The creature twisted from the ground and caught the bench out of the air, before smashing it against the ground.
“Where is she, monster?” Henri asked, his rage abating.
The monster shook, knocking fragments of wood free and bounded down the aisle, bowling over the men as they appeared through the large doorway. Henri took off after the beast at a run, the phantom road clarifying before them.
Chapter Twenty-Four
You Don’t Know Me
Roman’s hand dropped to his hip, but he had left the sword belt hanging on the back of the chair. Why? So stupid! Tusk swirled inside him, almost pushing free of his body.
“Don’t be alarmed, Roman, please!” Garon said, stepping from around the desk, his large hands held out before him.
“Don’t be alarmed? But you…you,” Roman stammered, the large man behind him letting go as he wrenched free. He is Garon?! That means the young woman is… His mind spun, a dizzying cyclone of thoughts and questions battering against him at the same time. Garon only had three children –Alina, the youngest, and Arrin and Devlin, her older brothers. The young woman called Garon, father. Then who is she? The room started to spin.
Roman turned, his fists balled up and ready to fall or fight, whichever came first, but found Berg standing casually, his mouth crinkled into its usual, lopsided smile.
“Welcome back, Roman,” the large blacksmith said, clapping him on the arm and helping him upright.
“Berg?” he asked, his head snapping back around to the young woman leaning against the desk.
“You are…?” he couldn’t get the question out, his gaze snapping up to Garon’s face n
ext.
“I know this is confusing for you, Roman. I can see the questions spilling forth and filling your mind. And I will answer all of them. But first, know that you are safe here. Safe from the men that imprisoned you at the fort, safe from the hunter that stalked you here, and safe from the people of this town,” Garon said, his eyes sparkling like emeralds in the lantern light.
Roman fought for focus, his knees unsteadier than he’d ever want to admit. He didn’t remember the man’s eyes being so…so remarkable before. All he ever remembered of him was his foul temper and general discontent with everything.
“How?” he finally managed.
“First, you have probably guessed that, despite appearances, I am not Garon. My name is DaeGeroth. I am a Nymradic,” he said, folding his arms over his chest.
“A Nym…” Roman repeated the word quietly, his thoughts flashing back to his dungeon cell, as the Crow lay dying. He called himself a Nymradic, one of an ancient and powerful people. They had created the dalan and waged a war against dwarf kind that almost scoured the hardy folk from existence. He struggled to remember exactly what the Crow said. He’d told him that he and one other Nym helped the dalan rise up and overthrow their kind. Is this the Nym the Crow wanted me to find? The one that would help me? He said find…find someone in the north. No, as soon as that question blossomed in his mind, the name sprang forth. He said find Pera in the north.
“And her?” Roman asked, gesturing towards the young woman, fighting to keep his expression neutral. He asked the question, but told himself that he didn’t really want to know. That he couldn’t handle any more revealing or upside down truths.
“I told you he wouldn’t recognize me,” she said to DaeGeroth. “You were always nice to me, Roman. When father was sleeping off too much wine, and mother was crying in the pantry, you were always there to walk with me, tell me stories, or play. My father and brothers were awful to you, and all you ever did was show my mother and I kindness. But…you can be a bit slow at times.”
