by J. M. Topp
‘I’m not sure myself. I met this witch in the ruins. Magic was involved, William.’
King William stared at Bendrick and shook his head. ‘I would have called you insane if you had told me something like this even three months ago. Magic? Yet I would be a fool not to believe in magical creatures after what I’ve seen and been through.’ William grimaced at the bitter taste of the words that spilled from his mouth.
‘The Minotaur gored Sieglinde’s belly.’
‘Some of the knights have begun calling it Gruizoch after the old legends,’ said William as he shook his head. ‘To think, something like that could walk on this earth and breathe the air, same as us.’
‘I don’t care what its name is. I plan to kill it.’
William looked up at Bendrick ‘Why did you come here? Why didn’t you stay in Uredor? It would have been a much safer place.’
‘I have the key to defeating the Dark Army.’
‘The key?’ William scoffed with a faint grin, but Bendrick ignored him.
‘Ayda?’
Ayda looked up at Bendrick and then at William uncertainly. Bendrick nodded to her, and she sighed. Ayda touched her chest and whispered. ‘Ayagi.’
A chilling wind entered the small tent and circled around the two men and half-elf. A glowing blue serpent spilled out of her chest, and William sat up in his bath, unable to believe his eyes. The serpent looked at William and flicked its tongue. Living inside Ayda, it seemed to be changing little by little. It had grown small flaps by the sides of its head like a cobra.
‘Is that a daemon?’
Bendrick shook his head. ‘The one who gave this to me called it a gift.’
‘Did the witch give it to you?’
‘She wants to help our cause. She believes that the world will perish under rule of the darkness. Just like the Fog was driven back long ago, this serpent will help drive it back once more.’
The serpent looked up at Bendrick and flicked its tongue. It then turned back to Ayda’s chest and disappeared into it.
‘It’s very small, Ben,’ said William, inspecting the creature.
‘Probably bigger than yours,’ whispered Ayda, but Bendrick shushed her so that William wouldn't hear the comment.
‘What do you expect to do with that?’ William said.
‘I’ve seen what it is capable of, William. You have to bring us both to Aivaterra.’
‘Reports are that the daemon army has been laying siege for over two weeks now. I do not know what to expect when we arrive. It will take time. As you can see, we have an overabundance of refugees with us.’ William turned to his aide and nodded. The aide helped him up from the bath, and for the first time, Bendrick understood what had caused all the bloodshed in his tent. ‘I have paid for my betrayal, Bendrick. I lost my love and my legs,’ he said as the aide began drying and wrapping his leg stumps carefully. ‘You can accompany me, if you’d like, back to Aivaterra. I cannot ride, for obvious reasons, but I would like you to ride beside my litter. Your apprentice may join if she desires. We leave on the morrow.’
‘She’s not my apprentice.’ The words slipped out without Bendrick wanting them to. Ayda looked up and gave him a frown. Bendrick closed his eyes. ‘I won’t do that again. I’m sorry.’
‘I thought…after what…’ Tears begin to collect in Ayda’s eyes. ‘You’re just like the men my mother fucked.’ Ayda burst from the tent, dodging the Crypt Knight’s attempts to grab her.
‘Ayda, wait!’
William chuckled at Bendrick. ‘She’s a little catty firecracker, isn’t she? It seems you may need to brush up on dealing with children again, old friend.’
BENDRICK WALKED AMIDST the dirt roads of the encampment. Men and women were beginning to pack up their tents and pavilions. They glanced at Bendrick gloomily and then resumed their work. Horses were being saddled, and carts were being loaded. A man was cooking what looked to be a rather large rat on a spit. He spun the dark meat and stared at Bendrick.
‘For a bronze rand, I’ll share this with you.’ The man smiled a toothless grin. An Aivaterran rand was the equivalent of fifty Weserithian marks. That was enough to buy a packhorse. But Bendrick’s stomach grumbled with hunger. Bendrick sat down beside the man, careful to move his sword out of the way. Perhaps they could come to some sort of agreement. Suddenly, a man stepped behind him.
‘I can’t believe my eyes.’
Bendrick looked up. The man was thin as a reed. He was short, and his clothes clung to his body. Yet there was something in his eyes that Bendrick knew well. The sparkle of gold, though dim, shone through.
‘Remy?’
‘You left me, you bastard.’
‘Remy…I—’ Bendrick stood up. Seeing Remy like this jolted him. Remy had lost too much weight. Bendrick could see the cheekbones in his face poking close to his skin. His arms hung down his sides. His burlap shirt and pants clung to his body. Remy smiled and rubbed his nose. ‘You look like shit.’
Bertrand looked down at the ground.
‘Is guilt what you feel? Well you should feel bad. You left your best friend to die,’ said Remy.
‘The king…’
‘Fuck the king. He died, you know. All that you did was in vain. I was your best friend. You son of a bitch.’
Bendrick took in a breath and looked at Remy. ‘You done?’
‘You left me to die.’
‘What can I say, Remy? I’m sorry.’ Bendrick hung his head low. ‘I lost someone too.’
Remy paused and looked down at the ground as well. ‘Did you leave Sieglinde to die?’
Bendrick whipped out his dagger and put it to Remy’s neck before he could even blink. ‘No, I did not leave her to die. Never speak like that about her again, you hear me?’
Remy frowned and raised his hands slowly. ‘I saw you enter the encampment without her. I’m sorry, I…I figured as much.’
Bendrick let Remy go and sheathed his dagger. ‘Forgive me, Remy. I didn’t know things would turn out the way they did.’
‘Fuck your forgiveness, Bendrick.’ Remy sighed and pointed to the man cooking the foul-smelling meat. ‘Leave this man his squirrel. I’ve got something better.’
BENDRICK FOLLOWED REMY into his rough spun leather tent. It was not very big, only allowing Remy’s cot and a few smaller belongings to rest within. It smelt of piss and cheap liquor, making Bendrick wrinkle his nose. Remy sat down on the cot, and Bendrick sat beside the entrance of the tent. People scurried outside, some of them trying to sell things that no one would buy, others begging for scraps. Bendrick frowned as he unlatched his bastard sword and set it on the ground beside him. He pulled out a whetstone and grabbed a bowl full of water, most likely one for washing. Bendrick dipped the whetstone into the water and began sharpening his greatsword.
‘I never thought I would see you wear that weapon again,’ said Remy, slipping his boots off and placing them beside the bed with care, as if they were made of glass. Bendrick touched the hilt of the massive blade, touching the indentations where his hand had worn the leather down. Bendrick shared a lot of history with the bastard sword. It was the same blade that had cut down those villagers on Rovulgad Bridge. Bendrick closed his eyes in remembrance. ‘It’s daemons I seek. I will not kill an innocent man or woman.’ Bendrick stiffened his lower lip and continued to scrape along the edge of the weapon.
‘Are you still clinging to that old ideology of yours? Do you still think you can emerge from this without innocent blood on your hands?’ asked Remy with a half-smile.
‘My hands were bloodied well before this.’ Bendrick sniffed. He wiped his nose. ‘Once we arrive in Aivaterra, our lives will be very different from anything in Weserith.’
‘I should kill William right now while I have the chance. The bastard betrayed us. I always knew there was something sinister about him,’ Remy said, hawking a wad of saliva in his mouth and spitting it on the ground beside his boots. ‘I never liked him. All he ever wanted was power.’
‘I
t’s not as simple as that.’
Remy’s eyes widened. ‘You’ve already spoken with him?’
‘It was the first thing I did when I arrived,’ said Bendrick, keeping the pace of the sharpening of his sword unchanged. Remy glared at Bendrick and spoke through gritted teeth. ‘You should have shoved your massive blade into his belly and saved us all the trouble.’
‘It’s not that simple, Remy.’
‘You’re taking his side?’
‘Queen Gwendylyyn was pregnant with his child.’
‘She was what?’ Remy spat.
‘I imagine you didn’t hear much in that prison cell.’
‘She declared war on a nation because of that!?’
‘No one expected that. Maybe William did, but it was too late to do anything about it. By the time Sieglinde, Korhas, and I returned to Weserith, the Aivaterran armies had already been assembled.’ Bendrick bit his lip, remembering that King Ayland had also known. He didn’t want to tell Remy of that dirty little detail. Remy sat back on his cot and gave a heavy sigh. ‘I wasn’t told anything, even after the attack. I was in the Athenaeum when the Aivaterrans broke into the city. There was no bell. I saw masses of soldiers in blue and white enter the Royal Quarters without challenge. They killed, raped, and sacked the city. We were defenseless. I was recognized as an elite and taken to a cell immediately. No one said a word to me, no matter how loudly I screamed for help. I was given watery soup and moldy bread once every two days. If I was lucky, once a day. Frostbite took three of my toes.’ Remy wriggled his two toes to show Bendrick. ‘Ironically, I was released by the Aivaterrans. That woman knight, Elymiah what’s-her-face, freed me, but then the envoy was attacked. I think I would rather have stayed in that dark cell. Then all I remember is running through the forest alone. I was found by the Aivaterran Army that was able to fight back long enough for the remaining survivors to escape. I coordinate the Weserithians now. I am probably more king to them than William will ever be.’
‘That much may be true, but once we reach Aivaterra, you will have to relinquish your reign,’ Bendrick said with a small chuckle. Satisfied with the sharp edge of his bastard sword, Bendrick put the whetstone back into a pouch on his belt and set his weapon beside him.
Remy laughed and, from within a rucksack, pulled out a big jar of clear liquid. ‘Look what I have.’
‘Looks like water,’ said Bendrick.
‘Smell it.’
Bendrick put his nose to the small jar and took a whiff. His nose immediately burned, and he coughed. ‘What is that?’
‘I have finally composed a liquid that serves no purpose.’
‘No purpose?’
‘No purpose other than to get you drunk as fast as possible. Five or six gulps, and you will think you are dancing with the abandoned gods.’
‘Remy, I am surprised. I would have expected a move like this from Korhas, not you,’ said Bendrick, and then he shrugged. ‘Let me try it.’
‘Wait.’
Remy reached into a small satchel at the corner of his cot and pulled out two small, wooden cups. He filled them with the liquor and handed one to Bendrick.
‘Don’t we toast?’
‘Just drink the damned thing,’ snapped Remy.
Bendrick put the stiff drink to his lips and watched as Remy threw his head back, downing the drink. Bendrick threw his head back in the same way. The lukewarm drink burned down his throat, harder than the darkest beer or staunchest ale.
Bendrick coughed.
‘That’s the spirit,’ laughed Remy, wiping the alcohol from his lips. ‘I call it Oredmere’s Tears. Ironic, isn’t it?’
Bendrick rolled the wooden cup in his fingers, watching the clear liquid swish at the bottom. It was a burning taste, and it hit hard, but maybe it was something he needed. A comforting feeling emanated through his chest.
‘Another one.’
‘Just like before the first war.’ Remy smiled as he poured Oredmere’s Tears into Bendrick’s cup.
‘BENDRICK, WAKE UP.’
Sieglinde?
Bendrick snapped his head to the sound. He realized that he was on the ground of Remy’s small tent. Ayda peered at him through the tent flap.
‘Bendrick, wake up. They’re leaving.’ Ayda turned her head to see a horse cart slowly creak behind her. Bendrick sat up fast, blinking his eyes quickly. His head hurt worse than it had in years. He looked over to Remy and saw that he was passed out.
‘Clouds have begun to collect over the encampment. The Hallowed Masters think an attack will happen. Oh! I’ve some squirrel. Want some?’ Ayda held the burnt corpse of the small animal. ‘Got it off of some old man.’
‘Ayda, what did I tell you?’ Bendrick said.
‘I traded it!’ Ayda looked accusingly at Bendrick. ‘I found some mushrooms and gave some to him.’
‘Mushrooms, huh?
‘C’mon, we have to go,’ said Ayda with her mouth half full. ‘Everyone is leaving!’
Ayda disappeared as she closed the flap of the small tent.
‘Remy, get up, you old bastard.’ Bendrick stood up and tapped Remy on the back.
‘What are you doing?’ Remy said gruffly, eyes still caked with sleep. ‘I’ve got to take a shit.’
‘Best sober up fast. The road ahead will be rough.’
REMY GAVE BENDRICK a scrawny horse for him and Ayda to ride on. Bendrick didn’t know where Remy had found one, but Bendrick thought it best not to ask. Remy decided to ride a donkey, which he named Khado. The donkey had one ear up and another bent constantly. The Aivaterran encampment had begun loading their horse carts and carriages, and soon enough, the refugees were ready to move out. Bendrick stared at a horse cart that still had blood crusted on the side. The owner seemed to be as distant as the horse he rode on. It trudged over the dirt path with a stare miles away. A woman held swaddling clothes to her breast, but Bendrick realized that there was no babe in her arms. The woman whispered to the bundle of clothing in her arms as she walked beside a carriage. Bendrick looked at the sky. A lone bird flew far overhead, eyeing the refugee movement. It was probably a vulture. Suddenly, an arrow flew through the air striking the bird in the neck. The avian creature fell to the ground. Bendrick turned to the archer. An Aivaterran in armour smiled at the successful kill. The bird landed a few feet from him. Bendrick quickly realized that it was not good to eat. A spur-winged sparrow lay on the dirt road. It was a poisonous bird. The soldier quickly realized it too. He cursed and stomped the creature’s neck into the dirt. The soldier walked away, shaking his head. Bendrick stared at the carcass of the creature, its blue plumes sticking out from the dirt. Bendrick urged his horse on without another word.
The only people that still had some energy were the Aivaterran military. They hadn’t broken their rigorous routine, even in light of what they had seen. Even as most of the refugees were solemnly preparing for the trek to Aivaterra, the sound of armoured boots was prevalent amidst the sounds of horses, carts, and their respective owners. It was the way the army was keeping from going insane. There were few things that were worse than soldiers without a task.
Ayda, who had found a spot before him on the back of the horse, looked up at him and scrunched her nose.
‘You stink.’
Bendrick slapped the back of the child’s head softly. Ayda protested and rubbed her head but kept her tongue.
A loud warhorn rang over the hills to signal the abandonment of the refugee camp. It might have even been the same warhorn that Bendrick had heard in the Lyedran Valley. Even amidst the chaos then, there had been a sense to things. Now, even that sense had disappeared. Bendrick saw the royal carriage. Khado waddled up, with Remy struggling to keep his balance on the poor animal. His heavy frame was certainly not suited for the small donkey. Even so, the donkey kept its pace beside the brown horse.
‘The king has had a rough night.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘One of his knight-captains was executed last night.’
‘That Elymiah what’s-her-face.’
Remy chuckled and turned to Bendrick. ‘Her lieutenant and she were caught breaking some sort of rule. I suppose that, in the heat of passion, even knights forget their honour.’
‘What happened?’ asked Bendrick.
‘The lieutenant was tortured and set into the wilds to die a painful and merciless death. The knight-captain was not so lucky. Those bald priests branded her and put her in a Cage of Binding.’
Bendrick shuddered at the thought. ‘A Cage of Binding?’
‘It’s a cage lined with iron spikes that dig deep into flesh, but you have nowhere to rest because the spikes constantly dig into your back, stomach, arms, and legs.’
Bendrick swallowed hard. ‘Maybe the lieutenant was the lucky one.’
Remy shook his head. ‘His eyes were gouged out, and his tongue cut. His toes and his fingers were also mutilated. There is no hope for a poor sod like that in the wilderness. He will most likely starve to death, that is, if a beast or daemon doesn’t find him first.’
Bendrick frowned. Though he didn’t know the Knight-Captain Elymiah Farnesse very well, they did share some sort of connection.
Remy sniffed and shook his head. ‘The mistress that is life is complicated, isn’t she? One moment she plays with kingdoms and the next, knights and kings are her toys.’
‘Knights without kings, it seems,’ Bendrick whispered to himself. ‘It almost seems like I’ve been a victim of the swaying of chance—like we’ve had no true choice in most recent events.’
Remy stared down at his donkey and laughed. ‘You’ve grown even more droll, and you always were the darkest of the bunch,’ said Remy, but then he became serious. ‘William did try to stop the execution from happening. He ordered his handmaiden to carry him to the site, but when he arrived there, the Hallowed Masters banned him from the execution grounds.’
‘Banned the king?’
‘William seems to think that he is losing power and that soon he will have no control.’ Remy spit on the ground. ‘It’s those Hallowed Masters. These Aivaterrans are more afraid of them than they are the king—a king they didn’t ask for. Some have even begun calling him the Harlot King. How’d that sit for his wife?’
