by Plague Jack
Quintero’s face was as blank as always. He was not a smiling man, but if he were he might have smiled. “If you think a rabble of mad elfkin are going to take Amernia, you’ve taken one too many blows to the head. I think you’re an old knight, and you’ve chosen to live out the rest of your days fighting for a cause rather than rotting in obsoletion. You still wear that ridiculous armor and sword, but how many more years do you think you’ll be able to carry all that weight before your body starts telling you no? I imagine it already has, and you’re just ignoring its cries to stop. It’ll catch up to you soon.”
“You’re half right,” said Pendragon. “I’ve only got so much fight left in me, but you’re wrong. I support the Wild Hunt because the Queen has proven herself to be deaf to the cries of the people. I spent the years after the Green War hiding in Voskeer, confused and scared of the new world. It was Minerva who finally forced me to leave, and when I saw just how bad things were I had to act. Minerva’s headstrong to the point of extreme arrogance, and she has a compulsion to dominate and control everything and everyone. Frankly I don’t even know if she’s sane anymore—at least, not enough to rule.”
“You talk treason,” said Quintero, as there was a rush of cold air from the pit, followed by the slosh of water and an unearthly howl.
“I talk of what’s right,” said Pendragon, his hand on his sword’s pommel.
Quintero thought over Pendragon’s words in silence. “I am not going to pretend that I’ve never questioned Queen Roselock. I had my doubts about her after Gabriel’s death; if you remember, I made them well-known.”
“I remember that you wanted to take his place.”
“Of course I did. Do you remember the war council after Darius, Harendiir, and Edgar announced their succession? The one that all the dukes attended? The cast was a little different back then. Brarian Ashen was there, since you hadn’t cut his head off yet. And the Stolk boy, freshly crowned, was proudly bragging about how he would flay Darius personally before having him quartered. And, of course, you, me, and Evrill. The adults. I was furious with Minerva for insisting that she remain queen. I almost rebelled then, if we’re going to be completely honest, but then the Vaetorians returned for the first time since the Rose Rebellion.”
“King Van Cann hoped that by arriving after the death of Gabriel, he might be able to cut himself a piece of Amernia. I’ve never seen Minerva angrier.”
Quintero nodded. “If you keep with your little rebellion, I’m sure you will. When she had her father thrown out of the Tarnished Palace by his beard I was impressed, but I didn’t know that this young woman was someone I could follow until King Van Cann was fleeing with his little wife onto that dreadnought they arrived in.”
“You’re referring, of course, to the episode that followed? When Minerva had the three ships that accompanied the Van Canns’ sunk right in Voskeer’s harbor?”
“That’s exactly what I am referring to. The spices they brought with them leaked into the bay and stained it orange for weeks, and now it’s forever known as the Bay of Spice. She earned my loyalty that day.”
“So you will support the Queen no matter what? Is she beyond critique?”
“I didn’t say that,” said Quintero. “She hasn’t done enough these past ten years. It’s her fault that race relations have decayed since the Green War. They should have improved.”
“Are you in favor of the elfkin?”
“I am in favor of well-fed and happy citizens. They pay their taxes on time and are less likely to tear each other to ribbons first chance they get. Wars are costly and seldom worth the loss of coin; as a general rule they should be avoided, unless there is a substantial profit to be made.” Quintero stood up from the table and took his plate of mahimahi with him. His chair scraped across the floor with a sharp, painful scratch that echoed throughout the strangely empty Castle Leviathan. He walked with his spear in one hand and his plate in the other towards the hole in the castle floor. The dead fish slid off his plate and into the hole. Something in the depths of the pit replied with a howl and scream. “Up, Eli!” he shouted.
Pendragon stood up, alarmed, and pulled down his visor. “What’s in the pit, Prosper?”
“A few years ago a fishing vessel brought back the carcass of a sea serpent from the depths. They had cut open the beast’s belly on the ship’s deck and were slicing the meat into squares when they noticed something peculiar. It seemed this particular specimen was a female and was carrying an egg sac. My son brought it to me as a gift, and we were both surprised when it hatched.” There was another shriek as the sound of the whirling water below crashed violently. “To our surprise, sea serpents have an intelligence almost as great as that of dragons. If I were to compare its intellect to a non-extinct creature it might be comparable to that of an ape or dolphin.”
The sea serpent’s head was the first thing to emerge from the hole in the floor. Its beaked mouth opened to reveal lines of tiny white teeth. The serpent’s eyes were milky white balls that rippled on the inside with flashes of lightning. Upon its head was a great finned crest of bright orange that opened and closed as the creature slithered across the floor towards Pendragon. Its scales were teal, broken by black stripes, and its fins gripped the castle floor like primitive feet.
That thing must be as thick as an oak and as long as a dreadnought, thought Pendragon, pulling Christopher from his sheath and pointing his blade at the serpent. A lot of good that’ll do.
“Stay calm, Clark,” said Quintero as the sea serpent began to circle Pendragon in a tightening loop. “He won’t kill you until I tell him to. You know the penalty for treason is death by hanging?”
“I would rather be hung!” shouted Pendragon as the serpent formed an encasing wall around the Dragon Knight and dripped seawater onto the floor.
“Tell me, why shouldn’t I kill you?”
“I’m the Queen’s favorite, next to Evrill,” shouted Pendragon, his outstretched sword keeping the serpent’s coils at bay.
“But she thinks you long dead!” said Quintero. “Try again!”
“If you kill me, people will know—they’ll come after you,” said Pendragon as the serpent raised his head to look at him hungrily.
“I have friends as well—a fleet of dreadnoughts, a sea serpent, and thousands of soldiers at my command. My patience is waning.”
“The Wild Hunt sees you as just another human!” Pendragon shouted, desperate. “If they take Norfield and peace isn’t secured at Harpy’s Point, then they’ll hunt you next. The Talon is filled with elfkin, and foreign humans who would be more than sympathetic to their cause. Anger the Hunt and there’s nothing keeping them from turning your city against you. One wrong move and you’ll end up deader than Phineas.” The serpent continued to coil tighter, while Quintero took a moment for his thoughts.
“Eli, enough!” he shouted, and the serpent left Pendragon to slide back into its hole. It landed in the water below with a splash. Quintero walked over to Pendragon, spear in hand. “I tell you what, Pendragon; I won’t promise you anything. Yet. I need to see that the Wild Hunt is capable. If they take Norfield successfully, I’ll promise them my aid. But it won’t come cheap. I’ll want to expand the Talon’s territories and get a permanent percentage of all tax income from the other realms.”
“These are not promises I’m prepared to make,” said Pendragon, his heart still racing from the serpent’s attack.
“Of course they aren’t,” said Quintero. “Which is why you’ll be given room and board while I wait for your master to prove his worth.”
“He’s not my master,” said Pendragon, “and his name is Salus.”
“Never heard of him.”
“No one has,” he paused. “And Quintero?”
“Yes, Clark?”
The Dragon Knight lurched forward, grabbed Quintero’s spear, and threw it across the room with a lazy toss. Gauntleted fingers wrapped around Quintero’s neck and lifted the Duke off the ground: “If you ever try and
sic your pet on me again, I’m coming straight for you, and I won’t hesitate.”
“Understood.” The man who didn’t smile, smiled. “Dragon Knight.”
Chapter 11
Everyone has to go sometime...
—Aden Blackfeather
“Revenge will not bring you peace, Calcifer,” Evrill had told him as they parted ways. “It will only bring more death and ruin.”
“Nothing will bring me peace. I spent all those years hunting monsters, but my life didn’t fall apart until I stopped. It’s my job to hunt the monsters the common man cannot,” said Calcifer, packing his things from the cramped quarters he had been given. “And that’s exactly what I’m going to do.”
“The men of Norfield aren’t monsters. Just men,” said Evrill. “Good and bad like any others.”
“There is a fine line between good and evil,” said Calcifer, “and it’s easy to cross. If you’re here to change my mind, you can leave. It won’t work.”
“I know,” said Evrill, sighing, “but I had to try. You remind me a bit of Pendragon when he was young, headstrong and eager to make mistakes. If after the battle you need a place to stay, Harpy’s Point will be open to you, as always.” The Duchess wrapped her arms around Calcifer’s blue coat in a tight hug. “You are a sweet boy underneath it all. Please try and remember that.”
Calcifer traveled south with the Wild Hunt. As a mass they were as raggedy, smelly, and haggard a group of men and woman as Calcifer had ever seen. Kaevin had crafted armor for the elf-knights and their horses, thick and gray. It wasn’t the prettiest, but it was some of the toughest. The rest were clad largely in mails and leathers or whatever personal armor they had been able to afford. The Hunt was unified by their green cloaks and tabards, which embodied the Nixus that so haunted them.
There was no reason to avoid the road, since no one traveled the Iron Road north of Norfield anyway. Camp was made in the woods, under the remains of a great dragon, its broken ribs white and jagged. “Mix these with your water,” Pierah had ordered as her men passed around white tablets. “Then let it sit for a few minutes. Once it’s dissolved, drink it, and the burning in your lungs will fade.”
The verdant fog had been both a discomfort and a motivator to make the trip south as quickly as possible. There was a gas mask rotation every six hours, but the exposure to the toxin had weakened everyone’s morale. The tablets, which had been provided by Evrill, quickly soothed the suffering of those weakened and put the army back on its feet. It was only hours before they would lay siege to Norfield, but the sole hint that the great river city lay in waiting were the gray and white smokestacks that reflected and entrapped the moonlight.
Calcifer slipped away, leaving the tense preparations of the camp to find seclusion. He found what he was looking for a few hundred feet into the undergrowth. A half-circled clearing of oaks revealed Norfield on the horizon. Wispy fingers wrapped their way around the rayskin hilt of his sword, and he drew the blade, held it to his palm, and sliced. The metal was so sharp that the elf felt no pain and instead found the feeling of his warm blood running down his hand strangely comforting. Blood stretched and bubbled as it hit the earth, twisting and growing like cobwebs. It formed a circle, and droplets moved with an intelligence of their own before igniting into blue flame. Runes appeared at the circle’s edges, mimicking the runes on Calcifer’s tankard.
From his breast pocket Calcifer selected three bottles of blown glass and tossed them into the circle of fire almost carelessly. The glass broke and the bottles erupted in a mushroom cloud of purple smoke that crackled with sparks of lightning. Shadows within cackled like jackals, jumping and leering through the smoke. They had the bodies of half-starved humans, but double the number of arms and legs at the shoulder and hip. Each limb ended in a blade of sharpened bone, and they scuttled forward like spiders, hissing at Calcifer through mouths of jagged teeth.
“Rippers,” said Calcifer over the monsters’ raging and howling. “Do you want to go back in the bottle?” This got their attention and they calmed down, impatiently eying the elf while they climbed over each other like a pack of mad dogs. There were six in total. Not a lot, but more than Calcifer needed. “That’s better,” he said, while the rippers watched him through slitted insectoid eyes. “You can earn your freedom, and I’m more than happy to give it, but first there are conditions that must be met.” Calcifer pointed to Norfield as it towered above the Massapon. “In that city are men, ripe for the killing,” said Calcifer, manipulating the smoke to make the shape of a Norfield guard in full uniform. “They wear the sigil of a two-headed horse upon yellow. You are permitted to kill them and no one else. In return you will earn your freedom.” It was a strange business, reasoning with monsters such as this, but there was no mistaking the fact that they understood him. “Do we have a deal?”
The rippers responded with a hiss and a roar, eagerly clapping their mantis claws together. Beautiful, thought Calcifer. “You will wear my mark, which will end you should the terms of our agreement be broken,” said Calcifer as the image of a hummingbird burned itself onto their foreheads with a steaming hiss. “At the top of Norfield is a castle they call the Ribcage. I want you to start there, but not until we attack the city,” he said as he put out the ring of fire with a swish of his hand. The rippers’ natural camouflage took over as they turned invisible in an instant. The only sign of their departure was the ripples left in the unkempt grass. Satisfied, Calcifer retreated back to camp.
The smell of horseshit and hair wafted into Calcifer’s nostrils as he passed horses being fitted with armor. The cavalry was being split into two divisions for the initial assault, and Calcifer had been assigned with one while Pierah had been assigned with the other. This provided each regiment with magical backup to deflect bastilla fire and arrows. Calcifer was just happy to be one of the first ones in the city.
Sheila cooed as he scratched the feathers behind her crest. The Amernians did not know how to make armor for giant birds, so Calcifer had been promised a horse. “You there, girl!” he said, grabbing a passing dwarf girl no older than ten by the shoulder. “Are you going to be fighting?”
“Y-yes. Yes, sir,” said the girl, frightened.
“Don’t,” said Calcifer. “If you do, you’ll likely die. The battlefield is no place for a child.”
“Pierah said that we need everyone we can get. She was going to let me fight.”
“I have another option,” said Calcifer as he produced a jingling bag. “Here is ten gold for you,” he said, snatching away the coins as she reached for them. “My friend here isn’t quite equipped for battle,” he said, gesturing to the moa. “I need someone capable to look after her. Can you do that for me?”
The dwarf child nodded. “Yes, sir.” She smiled. “Yes, sir, I can!”
“There’s a good girl,” said Calcifer, taking out five coins and placing them in the girl’s hands. “You’ll get the other half when I find my bird safe and sound.” He handed the girl the moa’s reins and left her to deal with the towering bird.
The horse is an ugly, unruly, smelly creature, thought Calcifer as he mounted his warhorse. The other knights were getting prepared, their squires rushing about to retrieve lance and sword.
A tug on his pant leg alerted Calcifer to Kaevin, who wore a set of thick armor lined with bronze markings. “You, there—prissy boy,” he said, the burned half of his face in an ugly grimace. “Got room for one more?”
Calcifer looked behind him to find room he was not keen on sharing. “Can’t you find a horse of your own?”
Kaevin laughed and spat. “Horses are a precious commodity. They don’t give them to cripples.”
“You don’t look very crippled to me,” said Calcifer, noticing how the dwarf had discarded his cane.
“It’s the armor that does the trick,” said Kaevin, tapping his leg. “I put a brace in there that helps me support my weight, but still no one will carry me. That bitch Pierah says I’m too valuable to risk.” He
held up his war hammer, its broad and flat head stretching to eventually end in the shape of a cog.
She’s right. A master smith would be a painful thing to lose. “Come on up, then,” said Calcifer, stretching out a hand. Kaevin’s weight almost yanked Calcifer’s arm out of its socket as he clambered onto the horse, smashing into the runic tankard.
“Oh, damn… sorry about that,” said Kaevin as he positioned himself back to back with Calcifer.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s sturdy enough to take a bump or two.”
“Oh, really? How about this?” he asked, dinging his war hammer off the side of the silver tankard. “Am I going to rile up the wee beasties inside?”
“Let’s not find out.” Calcifer laughed.
The Wild Hunt had gathered around the dragon bones. All eyes watched Pierah, who supported herself by leaning on a spiked horn. “My brothers,” she began, “and sisters, and friends. All of you have sacrificed so much to support our cause. Homes, and fortunes, sometimes even friends and family. And now you have been asked to sacrifice your lives. That is not something that is asked of you lightly…” She paused to let the words sink in. “Beyond those trees lie those responsible for your suffering. It was Norfield who kept feeding a corrupt, bloating pig while we starved in the streets and rotted of plague! And when we exacted justice upon Phineas, what did they do? They slaughtered us in the streets, killing our children and raping our women! Today we will teach Norfield what happens when you fuck with the elfkin!”
The crowd was transfixed now, their eyes stuck to the sorceress like glue. “We will show them the might of our wrath and teach them a lesson, not only for the Norfield riots but for years of oppression and abuse. For Capricorn, which they gassed, and Morheim, which they forced to tear itself apart. Roselock and her cronies should have seen this coming. They should have known that if they ignored our pleas we would tear down their fortresses brick by brick. We must show them that we demand better, and if that cunt of a queen refuses to meet our demands, we will see Amernia fall!” The crowd roared, so loud that it could be heard all the way in Norfield, where it sent a shiver down the spines of the humans within. Towering gilnoids too big for their armor clapped, a strange sight beside elves, slender and wary. Faelings sharpened their knives, only to be interrupted by a group of dwarfs who had started a pre-war drinking game. “For the Wild Hunt!” screamed Pierah as a lightning bolt struck her hand, leaving a white staff which she then raised high.
