by Matt Heppe
“I have several with me. There could be others, hiding. Most of the eternals are with Cragor now.”
Cam went to the window where Ayja stood and looked out. “Akinos thought he was on a mission to save the world,” he said. “Cragor wishes to do what? Conquer the world?”
“Of course,” Morin said. “He’s a varcolac. They’re pack creatures, always struggling for domination over others. He will not rest until all are under his dominion.”
“And what’s your motivation, Morin?”
“I worked to defeat Akinos, and now I work to defeat Cragor. I want a stable, peaceful Salador, where all can prosper.”
“And they’ll do that with you as their king? A lych king with an army of living dead?”
“I told you, Nidon, the army goes when this war is over.” Anger crept into his voice. “And no, I don’t think they’ll accept me. I could have forced them to, but now I don’t have to.” Morin pointed at Ayja. “I don’t have to, because they will follow her.”
“What do you mean, they’ll follow me?”
“I am rightful King of Salador. You are my heir. You will rule Salador. Champion Nidon and I will be there to advise you when you rule as Queen of Salador.”
“Me?” Ayja wanted to laugh. “I can’t be queen.”
“You can,” Cam said. “You can be queen.”
“Cam, you agree with this?” Ayja said. Had she heard him right? Was he suggesting that they go along with Morin?
“Ayja, our life here is over.” His gaze took in the ruined room. “I fought Cragor’s varcolac and urias at the Dragon’s Gate. He’s had fifteen years to build a new army. If he wins this war, he’ll rule as a tyrant. And what if Ilana defeats him? She’s sent her inquisitors after you for fifteen years. If Prince Morin defeats her, that threat disappears forever.”
Cam sheathed his sword. “You are a princess, Ayja. Is Morin the true king?” He paused and stared at the lych. “I don’t know. But I do know that Ilana shouldn’t be queen. If not you, certainly Prince Handrin should be king by now. It’s time to come out of hiding.”
Ayja looked from Cam to Morin and back again. Did Cam truly mean what he was saying? He’d certainly taught her to be more than a farm girl in a lost corner of the East Teren. He’d taught her to speak High Saladoran and to read and write. He’d taught her how to fight and how to develop her elementar powers. But what did she know about being a queen?
She couldn’t imagine it. And she couldn’t take the throne marching at the head of an army of the living dead. An army made up of hill people and townsfolk robbed of their lives and turned into ghuls.
Did she even have a choice?
“Will you set us free?” Ayja asked.
“Will you turn your back on what must be done? When your mother slew Akinos it was just half the battle. It must be finished. You are an elementar princess. This is your duty.”
“But would you let us go?”
Morin put his hands on his hips. “I would if you asked. And I would order that no harm come to you. I could not guarantee it though. The other lyches are my allies, but they aren’t under my dominion.”
Ayja looked to Cam. “What do you think?”
“I’ve never trusted your father,” Cam said. “He’s only ever worked in his own interest.”
“Not true,” Morin said. “I—”
“And there were times,” Cam continued, “when what was in his interest was also the right thing to do. This might be one of those times.”
“How will you keep us safe from the others?” Ayja asked Morin. She’d almost said ‘father’ but it wasn’t right. If anyone was her father, it was Cam.
“You must stay close to me,” Morin said. “I will assign a pyren to you. One of us must always be with you. Young ghuls can still think and follow commands, but once they’ve gone bad, a ghul thinks only of eating.”
“May I speak with Cam…alone?”
“Very well, but be hasty. We won’t stay long. Cragor’s army is already at Ost-Oras. We must march immediately.”
Morin departed, closing the door behind him. Ayja heard him calling out orders. She leaned close to Cam. “So we do this?”
“We do, for now. When we have a chance we’ll make a run for it. But I don’t know if that chance will ever come.”
“And what you said about me being queen?”
“You would be a wonderful queen, Ayja, but not with Morin as the power behind the throne. I’ve never hidden anything from you, Ayja. Not since you were old enough to keep a secret. I was King Boradin’s champion for five years. I saw how Morin plotted and worked against him. I saw how Morin tried to take Forsvar from him.”
“Is my father…is he evil?”
Cam paused for a moment. “He’s ruthless. I think he truly believes he would be a strong and just king. And he might be one. It’s his means I don’t agree with. He’ll do anything to get what he wants. He’ll even lead an army of the dead.”
“And we’ll march with an army of the dead?”
“If we tell him we want to leave, we force his hand. Would he force us to go with him, even against his word? He’d watch us every moment if that was the case. Or would he do worse? Would he turn us into pyren and force us to serve him?”
Ayja looked towards the door. There were voices downstairs. Her father speaking with a pyren or another of the lyches? “Would my own father do that to me?”
Cam took a deep breath. “I would hope not. I…I don’t think he would.”
There were footsteps outside and then a knock at the door. Ayja expected her father, but instead Darra appeared. “My pardon, Princess Ayja and Champion Nidon. King Morin has decided that we cannot wait any longer. Do you have a reply?”
“That wasn’t enough time,” Ayja said.
“King Morin cannot wait. News has arrived that calls for utmost haste.”
Princess, Champion, King, Father. The words felt alien to her. Could she even call that thing, that creature, father? No. He would be Morin to her. Some other person, not related to her.
She looked to Cam, and he nodded to her. “We’ll go,” Ayja said.
“I am called the Blade of Darra. I will be your escort. Please stay close to me.”
“Wait a moment,” Cam said. “You are Sir Darra of Ostin? I know you.”
The pyren bowed. “I was Sir Darra. And I remember you well, Champion Nidon.”
“Why have you done…this?” Cam asked, motioning towards the pyren.
“My best years were behind me,” Darra said. “I would have gone from a knight of renown to a doddering old man. But now… now I am eternal. I will live forever, and my glory will never fade.”
“We all have to die sometime,” Ayja said.
The Blade of Darra shook his head. “No. No we don’t. Please, my lady, Sir Nidon, we must go.”
“Where are we going?” Cam asked.
“Cragor’s army has taken Ost-Oras. He will head for Sal-Oras next. We race to meet him there.”
“We need supplies,” Cam said.
“We’ll gather them downstairs, but then we must go.” Darra went to the door and motioned them through. “The house is clear. Don’t leave it without me.”
“I need clothes from my room,” Ayja said. She was still covered in her own blood, not even dry, from the wound she’d suffered. It still seemed too much to believe that such a wound had been so easily healed. Cam had told her of how he had been healed by Morin fifteen years before, but it seemed so distant. This was real.
“Get them if you must, but pack lightly Your Highness. We’ll move fast.”
Ayja took the water bucket, still mostly filled, and went down the hall towards her room. The bodies of the ghuls and pyren lay piled in the hall. Their blood stained the floors and walls.
Ayja reached into the aether and touched the strands of magic as she reached her room. She would not be caught unawares when she entered, despite the assurances of Darra.
The room was empty. She flicked her f
inger and, one after another, three candles lit.
Ayja put the bucket down and went to her wardrobe where she pulled out fresh clothes. After yanking the shutters closed and barring her door, she stripped off her aketon and clothes and washed off the blood encrusting the side of her body. She felt vulnerable, washing naked with the house surrounded by ghuls. Morin’s healing had been nearly complete though—her strength was fully restored, including the ability to touch the aether and call forth her elementar magic.
She soaked her washrag and wiped off the last of the blood. The knife wounds were gone. Just the slightest scars remained as a reminder of the blows that had nearly taken her life.
Ayja dressed in her heavy linen trousers and tunic. Brown pants and an off-white tunic—not exactly regal, but then she didn’t really accept her new status. She wasn’t a princess. All she wanted was to find a place where she and Cam could live free of danger. Landomere. But how to get there?
The clothes she picked were good traveling clothes. Ayja pulled on her boots and then her aketon. From the bottom of her wardrobe she pulled a dozen copper commons and just a few silver nobles and put them into her belt pouch. Where was her gold? She had dropped it on the table downstairs, but where was it now? She’d have to look for it on the way out. Ayja rolled an extra set of clothes and a hood in a wool blanket and tied it with a belt.
This was it. A lifetime in a home that was now a ruins. She knew she’d never return to this place. How could she? The ghuls had slain their neighbors and friends. They had defiled the place for ever. And now I march with them. It’s wrong. I shouldn’t be with them.
Ayja fastened her sword belt and picked up her helm. She left her room and entered the hall. Cam was there with a bundle of his own. “We do what we have to,” he said. She could only nod in reply.
They went downstairs where Darra waited for them. “We march soon,” he said. “Gather what you need.”
The house was a ruin, but most of their stores were untouched. The ghuls had neither need for mortal food nor any desire for plunder. Even their packs hung untouched by the front door. There, on the floor, was her little leather satchel of gold ingots. Ayja swept it up and put it in her belt pouch.
Ayja and Cam packed food and just a few items of camping gear. They had no horses, and Ayja doubted any horse would have tolerated the presence of the ghuls. She hoped Gef the Mule had escaped to the mountains. None of the other animals had survived.
Cam had his sword, his big Idorian axe, and two javelins. He didn’t bring his shield, declaring it too much weight in addition to everything else he had. Ayja had Cam’s boar spear—well, hers now—and her mother’s sword. Both of their bows had been destroyed when Ayja had blown out the front room.
“Ready?” Cam asked.
Ayja glanced around their ruined house. “I suppose.”
Darra stood by the broken door. “Remember, Your Highness, remain close to me. My ghuls won’t harm you, but those of other pyren might if they aren’t closely watched.
“Call me Ayja,” she said. “I don’t like being called princess or highness.”
“Very well, but you’ll have to get used to it soon.”
There had to be at least a dozen pyren and a hundred or more ghuls milling in their yard. Most of the ghuls weren’t the skeletal, naked sort but wore clothes and appeared more human. Newer ghuls.
The smell of death filled the air. As Ayja looked around, she saw many of the ghuls staring at her and Cam. She felt the menace and hunger in their glares.
There were no ghuls near the door as she and Cam exited, but many crept closer soon after they appeared. They stopped the moment the pyren ordered them away. In a few cases the pyren kicked the ghuls and cursed them if they were too slow.
All but two of the pyren wore black cloaks. The other two wore cloaks of deep red. “Take the rear guard,” Darra said to the red cloaked pyren. “The rest of you will go ahead. Make contact with Lord Adun’s pyren, and let them know we are on the march.”
Without any verbal orders, the pyren and ghuls streamed down the hill, following the road towards town. There was no conversation—the ghuls moved in silence, as did the pyren.
“Follow me,” Darra said.
The night was dark but not so dark to give them trouble following the path. In any case, the way was familiar to Ayja and Cam. They made their way down from the highlands with little trouble. The forest was silent but for the shadowy shapes of ghuls prowling on their flanks.
When the town came into sight, it was completely dark. There was no candlelight showing in any window, nor any smoke from any chimneys. It looked abandoned, but Ayja knew the truth. The people of the village had become the latest recruits in her father’s army.
As they got closer, Ayja saw the corpses of animals in the fields—sheep, goats, and cows. Closer to town she saw the bodies of people she knew. Most were men who had died, spear in hand, defending their families. She felt the glow of silver anger rising in her. This was wrong. The villagers had done nothing to deserve this fate.
They walked the main street through town. In the doorway to one home Ayja saw the body of a child, mercifully facing away. “Look what you’ve done,” she said to Darra. “Look what your ghuls do. Or do you pyren kill that way as well?” She resisted the urge to lash out at him.
“We don’t. The ghuls need blood. We pyren can draw life with our touch. The ghuls are a necessity of war. They won’t be needed when the war is done.”
“Don’t they sustain you?”
“War requires a lot of strength. The lyches draw from the pyren, and the pyren draw from ghuls. But when the war is over, the lyches will not need as much and the ghuls become unnecessary.”
“Won’t you still need sustenance after the war is over? How will you survive without sending out your murderous ghuls?”
“Pyren can take life with a touch. We can draw just a little from several people and do them no harm.”
“Who would let you do this?”
“We are knights of the true king. Our subjects will give us sustenance just as they always have. Think of it as a tax—as their feudal duties.”
“You will touch them and draw their life from them? That’s terrible.”
“It does them no harm. Don’t think of it as taking years of life from them. It is simply a transfer of life energy. They can regain that energy through food and sleep, something denied to us as pyren.”
“Why not serve him as living knights?” Cam asked. “Why become living dead for him?”
“He needed us to sustain him when he broke from the Orb. And we get certain rewards. We are far stronger than any mortal man, and we will live forever, unless slain in battle.”
“At the price of becoming monsters.”
“My Champion, what have I said or done to deserve such aspersions? I’ve treated you with all due respect. We pyren are the same people we were before our transformation.”
“A pretty speech,” Cam said. “Let’s see if your actions match your words.”
Ayja felt the town’s emptiness. She hoped someone still lived, hidden in a hayloft or an attic somewhere. Or maybe in a root cellar. Somewhere where the ghuls couldn’t find them.
They’d reached the far end of town, past the sheriff’s tower. There had been fighting here, and the building had partially burned. The door was broken, and there was no doubt that the defenders had lost.
Ayja gave the village one last glance as they departed. It was hard to imagine it lifeless—that people wouldn’t be rising from their beds in the morning. She’s spent so much time here. She knew everyone. And my father’s creatures, or creatures like them, killed them all.
There were screams behind her, down the valley—the bone-chilling high wails of ghuls. She spun, expecting to see some victim running from pursuing ghuls, but instead saw a dozen ghuls break from the cover of a tree line. They ran up the valley towards Ayja and Cam.
Darra paused only a moment before shouting, “Stop them!” Py
ren and ghuls raced to intercept the attackers, but then it seemed they weren’t attacking after all. The ghuls dodged away from the intercepting ghuls and pyren, running for the village or up into the hills.
Two, however, spotted Ayja and Cam, and raced for them.
“Brace your spear,” Cam said, stepping close to Ayja. He hefted his axe as she lowered her spear, planting the butt on the ground and stepping on it, while firmly grasping the shaft with both hands. Her heart raced. Cam had taught her how to receive a charge, and they had practiced it, but this was real.
One of the two ghuls was gaunt and naked, but the other wore clothes and even had an aketon on under a dark tabard. A sword sheath flopped at his waist, but there was no sword.
Darra was several strides ahead of them. He held his sword high, two handed and ready to strike. The ghuls ignored him, solely focused on getting to the two living humans in front of them. The naked ghul never saw the flash of steel or the blade that decapitated it. The armored ghul ran past.
“Aim for the chest,” Cam said, his voice calm and sure, as if he’d done it a hundred times before. And then she realized he probably had. Her Cam was Nidon, Champion of Salador.
“He’ll come right at us,” Cam said.
Ayja braced herself and kept her spear point at the ghul’s chest. The ghul hit it at a dead sprint and was lifted in the air for a moment before toppling to earth.
The ghul writhed, clutching at the spear impaling it. Cam leapt forward and brought his axe down for a final blow.
Ayja stood and pulled her spear free. She took a deep breath. Had she been afraid? Her hands shook, but she didn’t remember fear. Cam gave her a nod. “That’s how you stand a charge. You did well."
Closer now, Ayja saw that the ghul’s tabard was blue with a yellow emblem on it. The emblem of a lamp over Forsvar’s crossed lightning bolts. Her eyes widened as realization struck her. “Do you know who that is?”
Cam peered down at the ghul and grunted. “I do now. Our inquisitor came to an ugly end.”
“He looks like he did in life. Not like the others.”
Darra joined them, sheathing his sword as he came closer. “They change as time passes. He was a new ghul.”
