by J. M. Topp
Bendrick heard a faint cry from behind him. He turned to see the little girl holding her hand. It was missing three fingers. Blood oozed from the open wounds, and she stared at her hand as she whimpered.
I…did that?
The townspeople began to walk out of their homes cautiously now that the immediate threat was gone. The little girl began to sob, cradling her mangled hand.
‘You bastard!’ The woman jumped from her doorstep and ran to her daughter. She embraced the little child and began to soothe her. The innkeeper stepped from the tavern and scowled at Bendrick. The townspeople surrounded him with swords, clubs, and crude lances. The innkeeper leveled his weapon at Bendrick. But Bendrick did not reach for his weapon.
‘You son of a bitch. You cut Aydalyyn.’
Bendrick stared at them for a moment and finally chuckled, shaking his head. He sheathed his longsword and turned his back on them. He shifted through his burned clothes for anything that was still intact. He would have to find some way to keep them from burning off every time this strange power came to life.
For now, I’ll have to find some other ones.
Bendrick looked up to see that the townspeople were beginning to surround him. Bendrick didn’t know if they were intent on killing him, but he smiled all the same.
‘It’s heartwarming to see such a united community defend their own in the face of a danger,’ he said, baring his teeth and glaring at them. ‘You make me sick.’
‘What did you say?’ The woman stood up from her hurt child and ran up to Bendrick. She slapped him as hard as she could. A thin line of blood trickled from Bendrick’s mouth. He licked it and looked at the woman in the face. ‘You heard me, you spineless wench. Your daughter was in the streets, and where were you?’
The woman looked at him and gasped, as if she never would have imagined anyone telling her something so rude. Bendrick once again turned his back on them and stood in front of the other townspeople preventing him from leaving.
‘You are a clever bunch, aren’t you? You just saw me cleave into the daemon swarm and beat it back. You really think any of you stand a bloody chance?’
They each looked at each other hesitantly. Slowly, they moved out of his way, and Bendrick proceeded down the dirt road in the direction of Uredor Ruins.
I need to kill something. It will help pass the time.
BENDRICK CLIMBED OVER the broken walls surrounding the once-beautiful castle. Back in the ruins, all Bendrick longed for was more of the Sigwaard’s Ale dark mead. The innkeeper would most likely be adamant about not letting him back in, however. A headache still poked him in the back of his mind, but he shrugged it off. His thoughts were grim and dark as he walked through the empty halls, hand on his hilt. There wasn’t anything to claim loyalty to. Everything he had come to love and understand had been burnt to the ground. The king was most likely dead, and the queen ruled both Eldervale and the Khahadran. No, now it is King William who rules over it all. Bendrick shook his head. The picture William had painted and plotted in secret had come to beautiful fruition. The plan would have worked better without the dark appearing though, wouldn’t it have? Bendrick chuckled to himself. There was a silver lining there somewhere, but he shoved it from his mind. With Sieglinde dead, Bendrick had to keep himself busy. How better than to dispatch a swarm of flesh-eating daemon bats? If he did die, it was a prospect that began to warm in Bendrick’s mind.
Or was it the symbol softly burning blue within him? Bendrick glanced down at it. It looked like someone had scratched the markings with a knife into his flesh. Two serpents surrounded a crooked trident and it glowed faint blue. Bendrick’s pants were really all that remained intact in the previous fight. His shirt and cloak were gone. The sun was high in the sky, but a chill held to him and the castle. Perhaps there was some clothing inside the castle he could salvage?
Bendrick looked up at a giant central tower, crookedly piercing the sky. If the swarm had come from Uredor’s ruins, they would most likely be at the very top. Bendrick entered the tower’s archway and into an empty hall. Chairs were strewn through the room, and broken tables were charred from a fire that had burned them long ago. Ash was strewn all over the floor. Plates and mugs were still littered across the burnt floor. The hearth fire still had mounds of ash in it. The melancholic image settled in Bendrick’s mind. He climbed the stone steps coiling up within the tower. His footsteps echoed softly through the chalky stone and brick. Floor after floor, he ascended, careful not to make any more noise than necessary.
Bendrick reached the top staircase and quietly unsheathed his sword. He placed his hand on the only door of the last floor. It was old, but not as old as the ruins. It looked like it had been put up at some point after the old brick had been burnt. He opened the door cautiously and peered into it. A strong scent of feces and death blew past him, but he clenched his jaw, opening it further. The door led into a solar. It was a dark chamber, probably a viewing room at some point. Yet it was empty. Those swarms must have been hiding in another part of the castle. Bendrick sheathed his sword and let out a sigh. Suddenly, he heard a rustling movement in a dark end of the room. He gripped his sword but didn’t unsheathe it.
‘Have you come to claim the last of me?’ The raspy voice echoed through the room. It came from an old woman. Bendrick could barely make out what she looked like, but judging by her cracked voice, she might have been living in this tower for a long time. Some kind of a hermit, left after the war.
‘I didn’t mean to disturb you; I was looking for something else.’ Bendrick peered at the darkness. ‘What are you doing up here?’
‘You were looking for the swarms?’
Bendrick craned his head at the woman. The voice cracked with a soft laugh.
‘They sleep now, with me. My children have been slaughtered at your hand. Shame on you.’ The hermit spit at Bendrick as if she had hair stuck in her mouth.
Bendrick unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the woman. She walked into the skylight, revealing her features. Her face was wrinkled and saggy. Her nose was crooked. It was her eyes, however, that sparkled in the darkness.
‘The steel you hold cut through them. You hurt them with your dark power.’ The hermit spoke but didn’t seem angry. It was almost as if it were an annoyance that he had beaten the swarms back. She was lying on the cold ground in rags. She didn’t look like she had had sleep or food in ages.
Bendrick’s upper lip stiffened. ‘You came with the fog. Those things terrorize and kill. I am putting an end to it.’
‘I was here since the fall of Uredor. Twelve years I have been guardian of the ruins and its ghosts. You are the first face I have seen.’
‘Where are they?’
The woman struggled onto her feet. She leaned on a crudely made cane. ‘You are the First Apostle. We were warned about you, augur of fate. It seems that we cannot change the turning of the tide that is destiny.’
‘Who warned you about me? What is all this “Apostle” business?’ asked Bendrick, growing more and more frustrated.
‘Those who know what you’ll become. You call us daemons, but you’ll be worse than we. Your deeds will overshadow the blood of man, daemon, and elf combined. All our blood is on your hands.’
The hermit loosened the clasp on her tunic and let it fall to the floor. Her milky-white skin was dotted with tiny bat-like creatures clinging to her droopy flesh. The smell of death and decay wafted through the room, stronger than before. The creatures crawled up and down her body, unaware of the sword master before them. They dug their tiny claws into her skin, drawing blood that trickled slowly down her stomach and legs. They clung to her arms and breasts, sucking on her blood.
‘They came to me seeking refuge long ago. I provided it to them. I was young and beautiful, then, but how could I deny them? They called me Mother, and I called them sons and daughters.’ She took a few of them in her arms and hugged them. She kissed one on the head. The small daemon smiled and bit her lip, drawing blood from her m
outh. They looked like small children. The daemon let go and moved to another part of her body to feed. The woman smiled whilst blood dripped from her mouth, but then before Bendrick’s eyes, her skin came together again as if by magic and was healed.
Bendrick shook his head and pointed the sword at the daemons. ‘They have murdered people in the village.’
‘And what did your people do to us, Weserithian? You raped and ripped us apart years ago during the Kingsfury War. The darkness has given me the chance to live again. To seek out revenge. You have clearly come to kill me. If I die, they will too.’
The hermit picked up her cloth and draped it over her shoulders once more. She walked up to Bendrick and leaned on her cane heavily.
‘Do what you must do, Weserithian. I am defenseless and will not resist you.’
Bendrick plunged his sword into her stomach. Blood squirted from her wound onto the floor. The old woman’s eyes opened wide in pain. Her cane clanked onto the floor. The creatures that clung to her screamed in unison and then fell silent, seemingly dying instantly. Her body fell to the floor, and she convulsed for a moment. This time, the wound did not heal. When she finally fell still, a thick smoke emanated from her corpse. It lifted into the air and seeped out the window.
Bendrick stood with mouth open wide and eyes steeled on the corpse he had just created. It had been so long since someone had died by his hand like that. It was too easy.
What use is a sword except for killing? Bendrick thought as he stared at the dark blood dripping from his weapon. I was always a killer. I fooled myself into thinking I was something else, something more docile—tamed even. Is that the effect Sieglinde had on me?
BENDRICK CLEANED HIS sword on her cloak and sheathed it. Taking a deep breath, he exited the tower room.
I need ale.
He heard a faint gasp and a flutter of footsteps. Someone had been following him.
Bendrick rushed down the steps in pursuit of the stalker. Whoever it was, he or she was fast. Bendrick had to take care in descending the staircase at such a rate. He nearly lost his footing once but quickly regained it. Reaching the bottom of the staircase, he caught a glimpse of someone running out of the tower. Black curls. When Bendrick finally reached the base of the tower and breathed the frigid air of the outside, the little girl was nowhere to be seen.
She is a fast one.
Bendrick soon gave up the search for the little girl. There were plenty of places to hide in these vast castle ruins. But there really wasn’t a place to spend the night. Bendrick didn’t want to go back to the solar, and he wanted to stay as far from Sieglinde’s grave as possible. He found a place to lie down by a large tree. Its branches towered above him, leafless. Strange iron bolts were embedded into its thick bark. Pieces of the wood stood out oddly. Even then, Bendrick found respite in the place. The cold mud beneath him made him shiver. He still only had his pants. He thought of going up and taking the old hag’s clothing, but the smell and the memory of her death made him instantly regret that thought.
His breath came out in visible wisps of vapour. As the dark sun lowered into the earth, the snows began to fall. They melted upon Bendrick’s warm skin. His scar wasn’t glowing anymore, however. He crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes. He sat there for a couple hours, ingesting the cold air. The tree creaked and groaned above him, but Bendrick ignored it. Then, almost in a whisper, he heard the crunching of snow a few yards before him. He didn’t open his eyes, but he listened as closely as he could. The girl must have realized that she was making noise, because she didn’t make that sound again. The wind blew softly in his ears. Suddenly, he heard a twig crack next to him.
‘Shit,’ the girl whispered.
Bendrick opened his eyes and lashed out to the girl, grabbing her by the arm. She squeaked and began hitting him. ‘Ow, let me go! Let me go!’
Bendrick let her go, and she fell into the snow. She quickly stood up, out of breath, and wiped her trousers as if to shake them from dirt. It didn’t do much. The girl glared at Bendrick. ‘Don’t you touch me. Don’t you ever fucking touch me, you hear me?’
The little girl’s bloodshot eyes were fixed on Bendrick. She was drugged up. Her cleaved hand was wrapped in a dirty cloth and was already covered in dried blood. It was shoddy medical work, yet the little girl didn’t even seem to notice. She must have had quite a lot of whatever drug she was high on.
‘Why are you following me?’ Bendrick stared at the little girl sternly.
‘You…I wanted to…thank you.’
‘You have to leave. This place isn’t safe.’
‘Neither is Duren,’ said the girl. ‘You saw those things that attacked us.’
‘It was my blade that cut you.’
‘I would be dead if you hadn’t protected me.’ She looked at the stumps of fingers on her hand. ‘It doesn’t hurt so badly now.’
Bendrick folded his arms before his chest and closed his eyes. ‘What did they give you for the pain?’
‘The healer…didn’t give me anything.’
‘Lie. I see it in your eyes. You are high, little one.’
‘Healer’s shit. It does that to you.’
Bendrick chuckled and opened one eye. She was a stubborn one.
‘What are you doing here? Aren’t you worried about your mother? She was very concerned about you.’
‘My mother…’ Her face turned sour, and she looked down at her feet. ‘She is busy now. She probably doesn’t even know I’ve left yet.’
‘Busy? What could she be doing that she’d forget about her recently amputated daughter?’
The girl looked up at him, tears beginning to well in her eyes. Bendrick realized what kind of mother she had.
Busy, huh?
‘I don’t want to go back. You saved my life. I…I want to go with you.’ She wiped the tears from her face in frustration. ‘I want to leave this fucking town. Don’t make me go back.’
Bendrick frowned. ‘I don’t need someone getting in my way.’
The girl frowned back and furrowed her brow. She was throwing a tantrum.
Bendrick sighed and looked up to the skies. ‘Take a close look at what’s around me. Strain your eyes at the ruins. That is all that I have left in store for me. You don’t see it now, but I am headed down a path that will take me to my death. I won’t have you following me.’
‘Oh, so cryptic,’ the girl cooed mockingly, sticking out her tongue.
‘I am hunting daemons. They are the ones that took my daughter from me.’
The girl caught her breath and seemed like she wanted to apologize, but she didn’t. She looked up at the tower and stared at it for a moment.
‘The grave by the statue? Was that your daughter?’
Bendrick winced and looked up at the darkening skies in silence. The girl held her amputated hand and cradled it.
‘Well, I’m not a little one. I am almost nine years old, and I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.’ The little girl’s eyes drifted to her feet, and her voice quieted to a whisper. ‘I just can’t stay here anymore, and you seem interesting.’
Bendrick glanced at the little girl.
‘My mother calls me Aydalyyn. But you can call me Ayda.’ Ayda put a strand of hair behind her ear. It was pointed.
Bendrick’s eyes opened at once in astonishment.
‘I don’t remember seeing those on your mother.’
‘Seeing what?’
‘Those ears. A tell-tale sign of Ancestry. Don’t you know what you are?’
‘No.’ Ayda paused and looked deep into Bendrick’s eyes. ‘My mother covered it since I was a child. She said I was cursed. But it’s only one.’ Ayda showed him the other ear, and it looked rounded, just like a human’s. ‘See? Rounded ear and not rounded ear.’ She pointed at both ears for Bendrick to compare.
‘You’re an elf. Is your mother…?’
‘Is that what it means?’ Ayda smiled, curving her fingers around her elf ear. ‘No, my mother
isn’t, but she must have serviced…’ Ayda’s voice trailed and her expression changed to sadness almost instantly. ‘My mother fucks people for money, alright? That whore must have fucked an elf somewhere down the line. I’m a bastard.’ She spat and began to cradle her arm. The drugs must have been wearing off. The pain would return—and even stronger than before.
‘You shouldn’t talk of your mother like that. Here, let me see that.’
‘I said don’t touch me,’ Ayda snapped and leaned away from him.
‘It will get infected. That bandage has to be cleaned.’
‘Listen, old man. I don’t need your help,’ Ayda said with a frown as she stood. She grabbed a burlap sack from behind the tree. ‘I brought some clothes that I stole from...some asshole. He won’t miss them. Put them on. They’ll keep you warm.’
Ayda pulled a small pouch from her pocket and poured some white powder into her good hand. She put it to her nose and sniffed as hard as she could. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head for a moment with an intense shiver, and then she put the bag back into her pocket with a shiver.
‘I must return to town for food, but I’ll be back and we can eat.’
She wiped her nose furiously. Bendrick closed his eyes once more and set his head against the thick bark of the tree.
‘What makes you think I’ll be here when you return?’
‘You will. I know it.’
Ayda turned his back on Bendrick and ran as fast as she could in the direction of Duren.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Prayer of a Maiden
ELYMIAH SAT AT a small table in her bedchambers. Light flickered from the candle in front of her on the table. She stared grimly at the parchments before her. Reports had been arriving from Aivaterra, and they weren’t comforting in the least. The Blade fortress had been cut off from all communication. Yorveth had also gone dark, and any raven or courier dispatched wasn’t heard from again. The queen’s bastard sister, Audry, had been left to rule in her sister’s absence. Even though the writing was eloquent and stylistically noteworthy, the sense of urgency could be read in the wording. Princess Audry was asking for reinforcements and passively accusing the queen of leaving them defenseless. Elymiah sighed and glanced out into the foggy night. Weserith wasn’t doing much better by the looks of it. Dark clouds had assembled outside of the castle, and attacks on the walls were sporadic. A sharp pain bit below her stomach, and Elymiah clenched her fist for a moment, waiting for the pain to subside. She had been having pains for the last two nights and bleeding from her womanhood. The Dark was at Weserith’s gates, but even then, Elymiah had to deal with this annoying but natural biological function. She twisted her neck, expecting the resistance of a metallic collar of her armour, but then she remembered that her armour was being repaired by a local blacksmith. Elymiah glanced down at her silk undergarments. She felt cold without her armour. In the morning, perhaps it would be ready. Elymiah let out a sigh and glanced to another parchment on her table and lifted it to the light. Some of the other knight-captains and a few scribes were working together on an index of the dark creatures that had been seen at the Estia Skirmish. They were only for the highest ranking military personnel. Some of the descriptions even had sketches. Elymiah shuddered at the detail the lead drawings held. The tall, lanky, and sinewy daemons with wide head crests had been named the Thamnon, which in the olden tongue meant daemons of fire. The Dark Soldiers that had burst into ash and fog when killed were named the Soulihr which meant of ash. Elymiah’s eyes stopped at a picture of the great horned beast. The beast at the battle of Estia was a form of Minotaur, according to the scribes. Elymiah had heard of stories of Minotaurs, thanks to Bertrand’s teachings. The scribes were calling the beast Gruizoch.
