by J. M. Topp
What is it?
Elymiah closed her eyes as another chilling wind shot through her. A moment of sorrow mixed with fear permeated her thoughts.
Holy Knight-Captain Elymiah Artus Farnesse of the Silver Angels Platoon.
It was a title she had been looking forward to eagerly since she was a child. Yet in this moment, she was alone. Nothing but the whistle of the cold wind blew in her ear. What if this wasn’t enough? What if in the end of all her achievement, she was left all alone? What would she have to show for her sacrifice? What would she have to show for her loss?
Bertrand.
Elymiah stopped walking and leaned on her halberd once more, feeling the icy steel in her hands. ‘Why did you leave me then, at the cusp of glory?’ whispered Elymiah to herself, remembering the times he had patiently explained to her the meaning of true glory.
‘Great risk is expected with great glory. You cannot have glory sitting down.’
Words long gone echoed in her mind. But then, if she had achieved glory, why didn’t it feel like it? The feeling she had brought with her from the ruins of Khoryl Castle wore down on her like an anvil. She couldn’t shake the thought.
What would have happened if Bertrand had survived? He would have probably instructed her to kill the wyvern instead of giving it mercy. Perhaps she should have killed it.
I lied.
Only, it wasn’t a lie. It was providence. A flash of guilt sprang over Elymiah like the frigid winds scouring Weserith. Elymiah shook the thoughts in her head, but they did not dissipate.
‘I need you now, Bertrand. What would you instruct me to do? To feel?’ whispered Elymiah to herself. There was no answer, except for the silent stare of the blue skies above.
CHAPTER NINE
Encell
BENDRICK SPENT THE next several days working with William. William eyed Bendrick suspiciously, especially after Bendrick’s initial reaction, but nevertheless, he still accepted his help. They were tasked with the reconstruction of buildings in Weserith that had been damaged in the invasion. City blocks were shut off due to the danger of collapse. Stone and mud workers stepped over the rubble, collecting what they could to rebuild. They placed the fallen stone into large oxcarts to be dumped outside the city. Burnt bodies were taken outside of the city and dumped into a mass grave. Three priests garbed in black, from the religion the queen brought with her, prayed over the souls of the dead. Men and women from Weserith looked on in disbelief and disgust. This god was not their god. Their sons and daughters, fathers, mothers, wives, and husbands lay in giant holes, covered in pitch. The surviving Weserithians were a silent and somber people, no longer resisting the new reign of this foreign queen. Their spirit had been broken and their families torn apart.
Bendrick saw an Academy student in his scholar robes kneeling beside the giant pit. She looked as if she had been crying for hours but had run out of tears. The student stared off into the rising sun. Bendrick silently mourned with her as dust and smoke rose from the burial ground.
The corpses that had been strung on the parapets were cut down and reduced to ash. For three days, the fires roared bright and high. The queen had earned herself the name ‘of Embers’. It was a name of fear. In that time, Bendrick had visited the king a few times. He wasn’t doing much better, but the infection had stopped spreading and was in regression. Ayland still didn’t know where he was. He would jump at the slightest noise and whisper the name of his queen. ‘Gwendylyyn. Gwendylyyn.’
It would take some time for him to regain himself. Getting out of this cell would have to be the first thing.
While the city of Weserith was in a time of rebuilding, the Aivaterrans were in celebration. The queen had announced her plans of marriage with William. Officially, with this marriage, Eldervale and the Khahadran were to enter a stable alliance. News of this joining didn’t shock Bendrick. The soon-to-be King William Bhenhart, being born a Weserithian, was to oversee the lands to the north, and Queen Gwendylyyn was to keep watch over the south.
The queen had decided to use the site of her previous marriage to the king. The Encell Gardens in the outskirts of the city were not only the famed gardens once claimed to be the final resting place of the first progenitor, Ghhaldorrson Wolfsbane, but were also one of the few wonders of the known world. The gardens contained a special form of flora that would blossom, regardless of the often-freezing temperatures of Weserith. The Prunenec, Flower of the Ages, symbolized Weserith’s freedom amidst the recession of the Age of Fog long ago. They were a protected flower, and to cut them would mean a painful execution—at least, it would if King Ayland were still in power. The queen had ordered every last one of them to be cut and placed at her feet at the wedding.
Bendrick frowned at the thought. Destroying Ayland’s body and his city wasn’t enough; she had to kill everything.
She will kill all. Rebecca’s warning crept back into Bendrick’s mind.
Bendrick stared from his balcony at the reconstruction of Weserith, when he heard his bedchamber open, knowing who was entering. Only one person would enter without knocking. Rebecca still wore her handmaiden’s disguise, with the white head cloth to cover her severed ears and blue hair. She began scrubbing the floors as Bendrick approached her.
‘Good morrow,’ said Bendrick as he took a seat at his table.
‘Don’t you fucking tell me good morning, Bendrick,’ snapped Rebecca as she scrubbed the floor vigourously, trying to erase a stubborn wine-spot. ‘That headmaster must be careful what he says to me, or he will feel the piercing point of my blade.’
Rebecca would sometimes send shivers up his spine. Bendrick was unused to seeing her as often as he was now. The Fang wasn’t a title that feigned danger. Regardless, over the last couple of days, he had felt a certain friendship developing. She would bring him news of the Weserith camp hidden at Estia Fortress. Sometimes, Rebecca would even tell him of Sieglinde. It always made Bendrick feel better knowing how his daughter was faring. This time, though, the look on her face was one of frustration and deep thought.
‘You know, if it’s just you and me, you don’t have to scrub the floors—’ Bendrick was interrupted by a sharp knock at his door. It opened slowly, and a bald man with a pointy nose poked his head through, his eyes as thin as blades. A frown decorated his face.
‘Everything in order, my lord?’ he asked without even looking at Bendrick. He stared intently at Rebecca and glared at her.
‘Yes, thank you,’ Bendrick responded curtly and then gestured at Rebecca. ‘I have need of her for the rest of the afternoon. She is in my service until tomorrow.’
The headmaster looked at him in surprise. ‘But, my lord, she has other duties around the castle.’
‘That will be all, headmaster. Leave. Now.’
The headmaster scrunched his face and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
‘You see what I’m dealing with? It takes all the strength I possess not to just kill the damn rat-nosed bastard,’ Rebecca grumbled as she threw the brush on the floor. ‘I think he suspects I’m not human.’
Rebecca stood up and placed her hands on her hips. She glanced at Bendrick.
‘In all the time you’ve known me, you’ve never once asked why I came to Weserith,’ she said, staring curiously. It was not that Bendrick didn’t have the urge to ask, but he knew that if Rebecca wanted to tell him, she would.
‘I know better than to ask you. Some people thought that King Ayland created you using black magic.’
‘A charming rumour.’ Rebecca smiled and glanced at the door. She sat on the floor and folded her legs for more comfort. Slowly, Rebecca unwrapped the head cloth and allowed Bendrick to gaze at her clipped ears. Where the blade had cut, scar tissue had built up. If anyone were to look upon them and the oddly-coloured hair, they would instantly know her true origin. Bendrick glanced at the closed door and stepped in-between it and the elf, just in case. Rebecca touched her ears with her finger, and Bendrick noticed a hint of sadness crawl over h
er face.
‘I have never told anyone where I came from or why I am here.’ Rebecca looked intently into Bendrick’s eyes. ‘But I will tell you this: when I saw Ayland, I knew my fate was intertwined with his. I was his dagger in the night. The fang in his jagged maw.’ Rebecca bared her teeth. ‘William. If only I had the chance to kill him. I still might, even if it costs me my life. But the true king must come first. Ayland Erebryyn.’ A small trail of moisture fell from her eye and down her cheek. She was quick to wipe it with the end of her sleeve.
Bendrick stared at the downcast elf.
‘Do you miss them?’
The elf laughed and touched her ears again.
‘If someone cut your cock, would you appreciate being asked if you missed it?’
Bendrick’s face flushed with embarrassment. ‘Forgive me, I—’
‘How could you know, Bendrick? I have a feeling I’m the first and only elf you have ever met.’
Bendrick sat beside Rebecca on the floor and let out a sigh.
‘You are the first elf I’ve met, but even if you weren’t, I have a feeling your impression would be a lasting one.’
Rebecca smiled at him and grabbed his shoulder.
‘Is that your way of giving a compliment, friend?’
Bendrick smiled back, and they both looked out the window. Smoke was still stacking without, but for a moment, Bendrick allowed himself to relax.
‘The truth is, I do miss my ears. Where I come from, they are a testament to our ancestors, given to distinguish us from the rest of the races of this world. Without them, we are nothing. If any of my kinsmen were to see me, they would try to kill me without question. It is heresy to do what I did. But I had to prove myself to King Ayland and leave no room for doubt. His approval I need more than that of my ancestors. One day, I will tell you exactly how it happened.’
Bendrick sat in silence, listening to Rebecca. He didn’t know what the elf meant by some of the things she said about King Ayland. Whatever destruction Rebecca thought he could bring, it would not be accomplished within that dark cell.
‘Tonight, we move, after the ceremony,’ Rebecca said finally, standing from her place on the floor. ‘You are to go to the prison after dawn. The guard will not be there, and his weapon will be covered by a cloak next to the door, along with the king’s cell key. Everyone will be at that damned wedding celebration.’ The elf tied the white head-cloth back on and turned to Bendrick, who was still sitting on the floor. ‘No one should suspect our movements. Immediately after the queen and new king kiss, go to the prisons. I will leave a mount for you and him at the stables. Take King Ayland to the Greenwood Forest. Meet us at the fork in the road, just before Estia Fortress.’ Rebecca looked at Bendrick, but this time, she didn’t smile or laugh. Her steel-coloured eyes bored holes through his.
‘I’ve shared of piece of me that I that have not shared with anyone before. We have a real chance of dying within the next few hours. You must be careful.’ She walked to the door and opened it. Before leaving, she turned to him one last time. ‘If we do live and you give his prophecy away, I will slice your cock off.’
Rebecca closed the door, leaving Bendrick in silence. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Bendrick stood up and approached his wardrobe. If the queen was to be married once more, he would have to wear clothing to suit the occasion.
BENDRICK WALKED ALONG the dirt road at a brisk pace, following the inside of the castle walls. He wore a blue and red quilted doublet. He had silver clasps on the sleeves and a light blue trim down the center of the doublet. A black half-cloak flowed behind him. He wore no sword on his hip, as the queen had banned all Weserithians from wearing swords indefinitely. His long, grey hair was slicked back and tied in a ponytail. He walked to the gardens as guests, mostly Aivaterrans, treaded from the path. Though it was a royal wedding, there weren’t as many people as there had been twenty years before. As he entered the garden, he sat on one of the dozens of pews. In the middle lay a royal-blue carpet that was meant for the bride to walk along. Candles and small lanterns decorated the green canopy above the wedding site. Bendrick felt someone standing beside him, but he didn’t look up to see who it was.
‘Care if I sit down?’
‘How could I refuse, William?’ said Bendrick. ‘Should I address you as King, or is it yet too early?’
William held his silence and sat beside Bendrick. He wore a navy-blue chestplate made of thin, hammered titanite. It was expertly crafted with intertwined Aivaterran sparrows throughout. He wore a golden hilted rapier at his side, which he moved so he could sit. His beard had been trimmed neatly and his head shaved, leaving no trace or sign of hair.
‘You don’t need to call me that yet, Bendrick.’
They sat in silence as they watched the Aivaterran nobility enter the gardens. The archways had been decorated with pine branches and other extravagant flora. For a winter day, the cold wasn’t as biting as it had been the last month. A caterer for the wedding passed him, dispersing Prunenec petals over the cold ground. At the very end of the path, three simple, wooden pulpits stood in a row. The Aivaterran priesthood was to orchestrate the wedding.
‘I want to know I still have a friend in you, Bendrick. I have always esteemed you and respected you.’
Bendrick’s upper lip stiffened. He had seen this tactic before.
‘What has happened cannot be helped, William. You are to be king by tonight, if I am not mistaken.’
William looked up at the pulpit and chewed on his lip.
‘You might think that I did it for power, for the chance to be a king. I did it for her and our son.’
‘You did it out of love?’
William chuckled at those words, but his voice was soft.
‘You could say that, though I would never admit it to anyone else. I actually do love her.’
Bendrick shook his head incredulously.
‘You would sacrifice Weserith for love?’
‘I would sacrifice Weserith for our survival. The Second Age of Fog is dawning.’
Bendrick shook his head with a smile. Long ago, the Fog had dominated the entire world. Man walked aimlessly amidst the dark land without light to guide their way. It was known that the First Progenitor had created fire with his hands. This had ended the Age of Fog and thus began the Age of Fire—the Age in which man would dominate. The Fog had tried to fight back with its daemons and brutish monsters. They had ultimately been defeated and driven back across the Fog Sea—that is, if the stories were to be believed. Perhaps, William had taken a nasty blow to the head somewhere along the line.
‘Believe in what you will, William. Once the rebuilding of Weserith is complete and the armies are reintegrated, I ask that you leave me be.’
‘What will you do?’
‘Travel, maybe? There will be time with peace brokered between both countries.’
Then a man struck the chords of a violin, interrupting the conversation. Bendrick had seen him before in the market streets performing for the morning merchants. His black beard had been neatly trimmed, and his shoulder-length hair was tied behind his head. His eyes studied the crowd before him. He struck the chords of his violin once more, tightening one of its pegs. Beside him, a woman stood with hands folded before her. She wore a long, greyed-white dress with white embroidery and crystalline roses dotted through it. Though the bottom part of the dress blossomed towards the ground, the upper design was such so that it clung to her slender frame, almost voluptuously, revealing her ebony-coloured skin. Her hair was cut so that it was shaved on the sides and long behind her. It wasn’t a popular cut, but she wore it impressively. Her eyes were painted with black to her ears and over the bridge of her nose. She closed them as the man put his bow to the violin.
A melancholic sound emerged from the instrument. Its delicate tune wafted through the garden. They were performing an ancient song known only by those who knew the legends of the Lilac Maiden. Said to have saved herself for a duke, she was beset by
rapists, who had their way with her. The bandits then ran from the city, holding the maiden captive. The duke, blind with rage, chased after the bandits. By the time he reached her, she had died from the trauma dealt to her. The duke’s song was detailed in the notes the violin played as the maiden’s plea was voiced by the woman.
She raised her hands in the air with eyes still closed. Her voice, low at first, rose slowly as she twisted her arms above her. The guests craned their necks to absorb the music. The singer’s voice coiled, and as the song ended, faded into silence. The guests clapped at the ceremonious display, and the two artists bowed and proceeded to sit within the crowds.
William inched closed to Bendrick and whispered into his ear.
‘How can you say that there is peace, with an army at Estia Fortress?’
Shock spread through Bendrick’s face as he turned to look at William. A nasty smile decorated his face. ‘They will defeat them in time, Bendrick. The black powder King Ayland commanded to be made is now in our hands. The three hundred and sixty-eight barrels of black powder will see that they are blown to oblivion. Either they surrender and integrate, or they will all die. It will be a massacre if they choose the latter.’
William knew exactly where the Weserithian remnants were and had all the power to annihilate them. His lack of concern shook Bendrick’s mind.
‘I hope you enjoy the ceremony, dear friend.’
William smiled and patted Bendrick’s back. Guests continued to fill their seats, and William walked to the pulpits. Three priests, all dressed in black robes and with shaved heads, approached the pulpits. The Aivaterrans who had entered the gardens eyed Bendrick with poisonous looks. Thoughts began to race through his mind.
If he knows about Estia Fortress, what is he waiting for? Why has he admitted he knows now?
It hit him at that moment. He was waiting for the wedding. At the end of the night, he would legally be a king. Bendrick could only shake his head at the knowledge of what was about to pass. Bendrick turned to see the queen standing in the garden archway. Her hair had been tied into an eloquent braid and was imbued with white Prunenec petals. Her dress wasn’t white, as Weserithian custom indicated. Instead, a light-blue coiled pattern stood upon the backdrop of a dark-blue dress. Pearls and emeralds were sewn into the borders of the bottom dress and sleeve. The blue eyeliner accentuated her clear hazel eyes and made Bendrick hold his breath to gaze upon her beauty. Her stomach was now more visible and clearly demonstrated the new life that was growing inside of her. Bendrick wondered what kind of person the child would become. If it was to be raised by the two of them, what impact would the child have on the world?
