by J. M. Topp
Bendrick turned his head slightly. ‘Hush your tone, Remy. What if someone hears you?’
Bendrick stared at the royal carriage rolling through the rut-filled dirt road before them. He had six knights surrounding the carriage with halberds held high. The one leading the carriage was wearing purple. His helm was down and in the shape of a rhino. William was the only other person who knew about Ayagi. If he told the Hallowed Masters, they would be in danger. When Bendrick left Aivaterra, the serpent would have to go with him. Ayda couldn’t keep a monster like that in the Aivaterran preparatories.
Ayda’s going to be pissed.
‘I’ll never understand why they are obsessed with holy this and holy that. And each of them represents an animal. They should have a dog division.’ Remy snorted. ‘The Holy Bitches.’
‘The knight-captain that they killed yesterday represented angels,’ Bendrick said, without acknowledging Remy’s poorly made jest. ‘If angels begin to fall, what hope do we have as men?’
Remy stared at Bendrick and then held his silence. Ayda looked up at him. She had been so quiet, he had almost forgotten that she was there. ‘I saw her last night. I tried to find the key, but when I did find it, the cage was no longer there. I’d never seen a woman knight before.’
It was a damn shame. Bendrick pushed the thought from his mind. There was nothing to be done about it now. Bendrick frowned as he held the reigns of his mount.
What a shame.
LONG WOODEN BOARDS had been set up and strung together from the Eldervalian side of the Kingsoul River to the Khahadran’s side. Bendrick didn’t know when lumbermen had gone to cut them, but the bridge was made of sturdy wood that reached from one end of the river banks to the other. Supports had been built along the length of the bridge and were pushed into the river itself. The rushing waters were calmer here, and though they licked the wooden beams incessantly, the supports held together. Carriages, carts, and horses passed over without any trouble. Bendrick was impressed at the masterful work. Too bad there was no real time to appreciate the achievement.
Remy had been right when he said he had become the sort of leader that the Weserithian refugees looked up to. Occasionally, they would ask Remy for help or food. Remy would direct them from atop Khado to certain people who would help with food, in exchange for a promised service upon arrival in Aivaterra. Some of them recognized Bendrick, but the sword on his back and his grizzled looks kept them away. Every time Bendrick would try to approach a Weserithian, they would cower in fear. Either that, or it was the pallid little girl with coal black curls that kept his company, but Bendrick couldn’t be sure. Remy kept a log of any services owed and kept the Weserithian hunters searching for food and game. Bendrick had to admire the small system that Remy had in place. If the Aivaterrans weren’t looking after the Weserithians, at least they were allowing Remy and the others to hunt.
During the journey, Ayda had become accustomed to staring at the knights whenever they would appear. The armour, weapons, and aura were things she had only heard of in stories from her mother’s customers. Ayda eyed them in wonder and awe. Bendrick didn’t have the heart to tell her that she was too old to go through the Trials of the Cherub and become a knight-captain—at least five years too old.
The clash of swords sprang up from the road, interrupting Bendrick’s train of thought. His heart jumped slightly at the sounds of steel colliding against steel. He clutched at the bastard sword on his back.
Could it be an attack?
‘Stay here with Remy.’ Bendrick set Ayda down beside Remy’s donkey and slapped the reigns of his horse. Bendrick charged forward through the carriages. He loosened the bastard sword on his back and gripped the hilt tightly as his horse raced down the road. Three Aivaterran knights sat on horseback, staring at a pile of fur and blood on the road. They glanced at Bendrick as he approached them.
‘Stand back, Weserithian. Everything is under control.’
Bendrick pulled the reigns of his horse and looked down at the two corpses of the now-dead Thamnon. One of them had pale pink skin and wore rusted armour. The other had been covered in black fur, and his antlered head stared at the skies. It struck Bendrick weirdly. The almost deer-like face had the expression of horror, as if it were surprised that it was dead.
‘Found them sneaking up on the envoy, setting a trap probably,’ a knight said as he spat on the road beside them.
‘There’s just two of them?’ said Bendrick, looking to his sides.
One of the knights looked up at Bendrick and quickly turned to his compatriots.
‘Check the sides of the roads ahead. Set up a perimeter ahead of the envoy, and report to me on the hour.’
The other two knights nodded and raced further down the road. Bendrick leaned on his horse to get a closer look at the daemons on the dirt road. ‘This one doesn’t have weapons or armour.’
‘That’s the funny part. It didn’t attack us. That one without hair did, but this one approached us with its hands up in the air, almost as if it was trying to surrender. But we all know that’s impossible. It was probably another trick of some kind. Good thing we are smarter than that.’
Trying to surrender?
The knight shook his head and urged his horse down the road after his two compatriots. ‘Return to your spot, Weserithian. I don’t want to see you here when I return.’
Bendrick shoved the sword in back into its sheath.
THE GROUND ON the opposite side of the Kingsoul was courser and more brittle than the Weserithian side. Rolling plains unfolded before the massive group of refugees traveling into the Khahadran. For two days and nights, there were no attacks or other Thamnon that followed them. Ash from campfires dotted the refugees’ wake. Bendrick kept a watchful eye on the road ahead, but he was impressed by the effectiveness and the discipline that the Aivaterrans carried themselves with. If William hadn’t betrayed them, it still would have been difficult to fight them all off.
‘What’s going to happen to me when we get to Aivaterra?’ asked Ayda, who had been particularly quiet along the journey. Bendrick knew that she had wanted to ask, but perhaps she didn’t know how. Perhaps she knew the answer.
‘You will be inducted into the schools of the Aivaterrans.’
‘Could I be a knight-captain?’
Bendrick studied her. They would have to shave off her elven ear. Even then, she would be an outcast. She wasn’t from Weserith or Aivaterra. The schools would treat her like she had already been treated in Duren. Bendrick bit his lip and sighed.
‘You are too old to be one. Knight-captains are trained from childhood—starting way younger than you are even now, Ayda,’ said Bendrick, measuring his words carefully. ‘Their whole lives until their twenty-fourth nameday are dedicated to learning how to fight, use logic and battle tactics, and the Aivaterran religion.’
‘Like those Hallowed Masters?’
‘You would answer directly to them.’
Ayda scrunched her nose. ‘I don’t like them. I think they killed that girl knight. I never learned her name.’
‘Elymiah,’ muttered Bendrick.
‘What?’ asked Ayda, looking up at him.
‘Elymiah Farnesse is…was her name. She was an…interesting knight. It is a shame.’
Ayda hung her head. ‘So they did kill her.’
‘I’m sorry, Ayda.’
Ayda didn’t speak the rest of the way. Occasionally she would whisper to herself, or perhaps it was to the beast within her chest.
ON THE TENTH day of their travel, rolling plains turned into hills. None of them were big enough to hide the pyres, towers, and castle of Aivaterra. It pierced into the skies like black claws. Smoke trailed from it high into the sky. The tall walls Bendrick had seen months before that surrounded the city had been reduced to rubble. The citadel was completely exposed. It was as if someone had pulled the carpet from underneath the walls, toppling them to the ground. Tall wooden trebuchets and battering rams littered the grassy plains befor
e the city. As soon as the vanguard saw it, they stopped, halting the entire refugee expedition. Knight-captains and every able-bodied Aivaterran soldier assembled at the front of the refugees.
Bendrick knew what they were thinking. There were reports that attacks had been happening on the Aivaterran walls, but for the city to have no defenses? Perhaps there was more to be seen. Bendrick turned to Ayda.
‘I’m going to help.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I want you to stay here with Remy. He will take care of you.’
Ayda rolled her eyes and shook her head. ‘Like I need him to.’
Bendrick nodded to himself. ‘Right. Then you should stay here with him and protect him.’
‘I should go with you. I can do more than all of you combined.’
Bendrick paused at her words. She was right. But if anyone—especially the Hallowed Masters—saw the gift she had, there could be trouble for the little halfling. The little girl looked up at him defiantly and crossed her arms. Finally, Bendrick knelt before her.
‘I need you here.’
‘To do what?’
‘Look. Use your eyes. What do you see?’ Bendrick said, glancing to his sides.
‘Armoured men ready to enter the city. There might be a fight.’
‘And who will be left to protect King William if something does happen?’
Ayda’s eyes widened at the realization. She smiled but stifled it quickly.
‘No one will get past Ayagi and me.’
Bendrick smiled and looked at Remy. He was staring at the smoking city. The look on his face betrayed him. He was scared. Bendrick looked around him. Everyone else had that look, Weserithian and Aivaterran alike. Ayda jumped off the mount and landed lightly in the grass.
‘What about you?’
‘I’ve got this.’ Bendrick patted the sword on his back.
‘Bendrick.’
‘Yes?’
For the first time, Ayda gave a look Bendrick had never seen before. She twisted her lips as if she couldn’t find the right words to say. She sighed and pursed her lips. ‘Just promise me one thing.’
‘What is it?’
‘Promise me…you will return.’
‘I will return, Ayda. I promise,’ Bendrick said, standing up. Ayda sighed and swung her hands back and forth. ‘Just don’t fucking break a hip,’Ayda said as she grabbed the mane of Remy’s donkey and held her middle finger at Bendrick. He shook his head and glanced at Remy.
‘Good luck,’ Remy said as he stared at Aivaterra in the distance.
Bendrick slapped the reigns of his horse, and it raced through the line of refugees. Most people didn’t even turn to look at him as he passed by. Bendrick guided his horse past carriages and around oxcarts. Finally, he reached the Aivaterran line. Soldiers gawked at the city in shock. One of the knight-captains turned to him. He was wearing purple armour that seemed to weigh as much as the horse he was riding on.
‘Get back, man.’
‘See this sword behind me?’ Bendrick said as he touched the hilt of his sword.
‘Can you even hold that thing up?’
‘If I can’t and I die, what do you care?’
The knight-captain shrugged and turned away from Bendrick. ‘Good point. Just don’t get in the way, Weserithian.’ The knight-captain seemed to spit the word out. He slapped his rhino faceplate on and mounted his horse. Though he and a few dozen men beside him were all in purple armour, he was the only one with a rhino faceplate. A woman knight rode up behind him.
‘Listen up, every one of you! We are going to enter Aivaterra, and I want silence from you. Keep your shields up and swords ready!’ shouted the woman, who then turned to the tall purple rhino knight and nodded. The knight with the purple faceplate turned to his men.
‘Aivaterra needs our help. See how she cries to the heavens. By Oredmere, we will answer her call. To me!’ the purple knight shouted, kicking his armoured feet into the warhorse beneath him. The horse jumped, and he and his knights raced to the crumpled walls. Bendrick kicked his horse, but before he knew it, the knights had raced on ahead of him. The horse Bendrick was riding on was by no means meant for racing, but for carrying heavy loads. Bendrick urged his horse as fast as he could, but he was swallowed up in the dust cloud left by the knights’ war mounts. He coughed as dirt filled his mouth. The sun had just begun to settle in the west, its rays iridescent in the dust. Bendrick put his arm up to his face and squinted to catch a glimpse of the knights ahead. The immediate road before the horse was the only real thing he could see. They passed a black patch of ash, blood, and bone. The armour was silver and held the Aivaterran crest, yet the flesh of the fallen soldier was rotted and had seemingly melted into the flesh of the horse beneath him. The horse beneath the corpse was filled with maggots, and the stench immediately rose to Bendrick’s nose. On his left, another corpse very similar to the one he had just passed came into Bendrick’s field of view. A torn Aivaterran flag was splayed out in the middle of the road. The dust began to settle, and Bendrick saw the small battalion of knights at the edge of the wall ruins. They had slowed and were entering the city in single file. Bendrick urged his horse behind them. One of the knights leading the vanguard glanced at him nervously. The gigantic and thick walls had all mostly been reduced to rubble. Only piles of crumbled stone surrounded Aivaterra.
It doesn’t make sense. If there was a siege, there would be a hole in the wall—not have the wall collapse in its entirety. It was almost as if someone had pulled the foundation right from underneath the wall and commanded it to fall to its knees. The knight in the vanguard must have thought the same thing. He clutched at his sword nervously.
Without much more noise than the clinking of armour, the battalion entered the city perimeter. The market that met the gates was desolate, and every stall had been torn down or broken. Though there were pools of blood outside the city walls, there was not a drop of blood in the market square. Though the stalls and carts were smashed to bits, not a corpse was found among them. Bendrick unsheathed his bastard sword and dismounted his horse. One of the knights cast a sideways glance. ‘You fight at a disadvantage on foot, Weserithian.’
‘I do not wish to kill my mount when I swing this sword.’ Bendrick slapped the rump of the horse, which almost seemed too eager to leave, scrambling out of the city walls. The knight glanced at Bendrick. ‘As you wish.’
Bendrick walked through the crumbled stalls with sword ready. The Aivaterrans couldn’t bring their horses into the wreckage, so they circled around the market square. No sound, save for the rustling winds, could be heard. Bendrick had never seen anything like this in his life. If the Dark Armies did indeed attack, why wasn’t there more carnage?
The cluttered path led to the exit of the market square into the Square of Ancients. The battalion had not yet completed the circling of the market square, but Bendrick didn’t see why they did not go on. Suddenly, he heard something, but it was not something you would expect from a besieged city.
It was laughter.
Bendrick gripped his sword tighter and entered the Square of Ancients. It was as if a veil had been lifted from his ears. Bendrick nearly lost grip of his sword as he absorbed the sights before him. Women were dancing around pyres of fire, naked and with abandon. Men were with them, swinging their stiff cocks wildly and shouting to the skies joyously. Thick wooden staves had burnt corpses of men, women, and children jutting from the pyres. Limbs were missing as if they had been chewed or torn off. The men grabbed the dancing women and placed them on their laps, plunging their throbbing manhoods deep inside of them. Tall and lanky daemons danced beside them, their deer-like mouths gaping and spilling saliva. The daemons were fucking the women too. The women shrieked and smiled with pleasure. Some of the men were being fucked as well. It was a massive daemonic orgy, and Bendrick was powerless to do anything but stare. The fires parted for a moment, and he saw Audry, chained to the foot of Oredmere’s frowning statue. Blood pooled between her leg
s, and bite marks dotted her flesh. She lay on the ground unconscious. Bendrick realized that the battalion had caught up to him. He turned to them and saw that his look of terror on Bendrick’s face was shared by them. Trystrem’s lips trembled, and his cheeks reddened. He gripped his halberd.
‘Enough!’ shouted Trystrem.
The orgy paused for a moment, while daemon and human alike turned to see the interruption. They stared in silence. The flames parted once more, and Bendrick saw a giant horned beast sitting on a throne made of animal pelts and staves.
It was the Minotaur, Gruizoch.
The beast noticed the Aivaterran battalion but didn’t even grimace. He had his hands around the ass of a beautiful noblewoman, whilst another was in-between his furry legs sucking his cock. His other hand was tightened around her head, bobbing up and down.
‘More Aivaterrans stand before us. So be it.’ The beast’s voice boomed as it spoke. ‘The gift of life is the curse of want. Join us. There is much want to be had.’ It laughed and put its fingers in-between the noblewoman’s legs. Suddenly, two quarrels hit Gruizoch in the chest. The beast stood up immediately and roared. The two women beside him burst into pink mists of blood with a sickening crunch.
‘Look what you made me do! I liked that one’s mouth!’ he roared and picked up his warhammer beside him. The men, women, and daemons with him picked up the nearest weapons that they could find. Dozens of armoured daemons began to pour from shacks and ruined houses. Trystrem dropped his arbalest and urged his horse into the fray. He began to swing his halberd wildly, not knowing the difference between daemon and human. A man jumped at Bendrick, eyes crazed and boils on his skin. Bendrick twisted and hit the man in the stomach with the hilt of his sword, making the man double over. Then he hit the man over the head, causing him to collapse. A woman jumped on his back and bit him in the neck. Bendrick shouted and grabbed the woman by the hair. He pulled her over his body, and she landed on the stone ground with a thud. Bendrick kicked her head, knocking her unconscious. Bendrick sensed movement behind him. He turned to see a daemon lunging at him with limbs outstretched. Bendrick efficiently sliced his arm off, and in a wide, glistening arc, buried his sword in the daemon’s torso, almost cleaving it entirely in half. The daemon fell to the ground with a shriek. Someone grabbed him from behind and squeezed tightly. Bendrick unsheathed a dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into the torso of the daemon behind him—only, when he turned, it wasn’t a daemon. A woman stood in shock, staring at the dagger in her side. It was like invisible scales had fallen from her face. She looked into Bendrick’s eyes. ‘Why?’ she mouthed, as if now suddenly aware of what she had been doing moments before.
