by J. M. Topp
Elymiah turned onto another street. She could see the wooden arches of the lumbermill. A cat hissed at her and disappeared into the darkness, making Elymiah jump slightly. Elymiah ignored the animal and turned into another street. The footsteps were gaining on her. Elymiah gritted her teeth as she reached the door to the lumbermill. She burst into the room and slammed the door behind her. Pate stood up from his table, stunned by the sudden entry. A stranger in a black cloak sat beside him. He wore a wide-brim hat on his head that cast a shadow over his face. Strange steel gauntlets were braced onto his leather armoured sleeves. He didn’t even turn to acknowledge Elymiah’s entry.
Elymiah ignored the man and turned to Pate.
‘Something followed me here, some sort of shadow,’ Elymiah said as she charged into her room and picked the axe up by her bed. Elymiah gripped it in her hand and turned to Pate. ‘They won’t harm you if I go out there. Do not open the door, no matter what happens.’
Pate wasn’t looking at Elymiah, however. Pate was staring at his guest. ‘I told you she had guts.’
A scream pierced the pounding rains on the roof.
‘Sounds like a fel-wraith,’ said the stranger, looking up at Pate. His short silver hair was slicked back, and his white beard was neatly trimmed. The sharp features of his strong jaw accentuated the broken ridge of his nose. He turned slightly to look at Elymiah and smiled.
‘You think you’re ready?’asked Pate of the stranger. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve hunted.’
‘I’ve spent too much time at Karagh Muín. A good diversion would be welcome on these old bones,’ the stranger said with a short chuckle. He stood up and set his hat on the table beside the candle. His brown eyes were steeled on Elymiah.
‘It’s best you stay here. It’s safer for you to remain with Pate,’ the stranger said to Elymiah as he drew his longsword. Something was off with the blade, however. Small runes and symbols dotted the fuller of the sword and were glowing hot blue. He drew something from his belt, but Elymiah didn’t know what it was. It looked like a small coal-black, hollow stick. Pate glanced out the window. Elymiah shook her head and tapped the axe head on the wooden floor.
‘I don’t know who you think you are, but I am going out there. That daemon wants me, and it’s me it will indeed have,’ Elymiah said, defiance in her eyes.
‘You’re paying for the door if it breaks through it,’ said Pate, taking a seat at the table. Elymiah was caught off guard. Pate didn’t seem fazed by the fact that shadow-men had chased her along the street. In fact, he and the stranger seemed only slightly annoyed at the fact that daemons roamed without.
‘Elymiah. You mind opening the door? The wraith is waiting for us,’ the stranger said, giving her a smile. Elymiah’s jaw dropped. He was an assassin sent from the Hallowed Masters. How else would he know her name? His apparel gave him away as such. Was he here to finish the job the Hallowed Masters could not? Why would he be helping her in such a case?
The stranger seemed to sense her thoughts.
‘Don’t worry. I am not going to kill you,’ he said with a smile.
The voice of the man sounded familiar. But there wasn’t time for questions. Elymiah unbolted the door, with axe in hand, and charged into the night. The stranger followed closely behind her.
The shadows had turned back into one. It had more of a form to it this time. It wore sleek leather armour and a pale-white circular mask. Its only cloak was the writhing shadows behind it. The daemon’s eyes glowed red, and wisps of icy fog poured from its mouth beneath the mask. Its face looked more skeletal than anything, but its teeth were jagged and sharp. It carried long and jagged sabers in both hands and held the weapons by the hilt, with the blades pointed back. It eyed Elymiah and turned to the cloaked man. The daemon pointed its jagged weapon at the stranger and snarled. ‘I did not come here for you, Veledred. I just wanted some soft, warm woman meat,’ it said as a long, sleek black tongue poured from its mouth, and it licked its teeth. ‘Her flesh smells luscious.’
The stranger didn’t seem scared, but quite the contrary. He relaxed his stance and allowed his sword to rest beside him. The sword vibrated in his hand momentarily. Elymiah glanced at the strange weapon with glowing blue runes. The stranger put the small stick to his lips and kissed it. ‘I’ve been wanting to try this on you.’
‘Elven magic, that’s what it is.’
‘Elven, yes, but magic, no.’
The man extended his arm and pointed the small hollow stick at the daemon. In the blink of an eye, a bright flash and a puff of smoke burst from the stick in his hand, blinding Elymiah. The boom rang loudly in Elymiah’s ears. Her heart stopped for a split second. Elymiah stared the stranger, immobile. Smoke wafted from the hollow stick in his hand. She had never seen a weapon like the one he was holding.
The daemon looked down at its torso. There was a small hole in his chest. Elymiah gawked at the wound. Whatever was in that small stick, it had torn completely through the the daemon. Elymiah almost dropped her axe in shock. But then, the wound in the daemon’s torso began to close. The fel-wraith began to laugh devilishly. The wound healed itself in mere seconds.
‘It seems that their silly invention does not work on our kind,’ it said, laughing. Its laugh sounded like a wet rag being stretched over a log. The stranger cursed under his breath and slipped the elongated stick back into his cloak. He began to pace around the daemon, with his sword aimed horizontally at the monster. The shadow suddenly split into a dozen replicas of itself and attacked. The stranger realized his mistake too late. The shadows were about to pounce on him when they made a mistake of their own.
They forgot Elymiah.
Elymiah leaped in the way of the attacks and swung with all her might at the jagged blades. An axe was not a weapon of choice for a knight. It was devoid of all edge in comparison to a sword or halberd, but it didn’t matter to Elymiah. It does not matter what weapon you use if it is not used in anger. She cleaved one of the shadow’s hands and turned to block a blow from a saber. The metal sparked as the two weapons connected. Elymiah pushed the weapon above the shadow’s head and instantly swung her axe into her enemy’s stomach. The shadow writhed and screamed and disappeared before her very eyes as it were never there to begin with.
The shadows immediately realized that Elymiah was a force to be reckoned with. Elymiah smiled and glared at the shadows.
‘If I were at my full strength, you wouldn’t be fouling up the air I breathe, daemon. You are lucky that I am sick; you may live just a little bit longer.’ Elymiah spit and charged the shadow, but it jumped into the air away from her. Elymiah turned to see two shadows surrounding the stranger—their cursed blades nearly cutting him. Elymiah darted to his defense and buried her axe in the back of one of the shadows. It fell over and disintegrated into thin air. The other screamed, and the stranger cut the shadow, cleaving it from shoulder to legs effortlessly. Elymiah realized the difference between what the stranger’s weapon did to the daemons, and what her axe did to them.
Instead of simply shrieking and disappearing, the shadow bled, and a dark muck spilled from its body when cut by the stranger’s blade. The daemon fell onto the ground with a heap and didn’t disappear. Elymiah studied the sword intently. The runes glowed blue in the moonlight. Elymiah glanced at the stranger.
‘Who are you?’
The stranger opened his mouth to say something, but there wasn’t time to talk. The shadows surrounded them, each one equipped with double sabers. Elymiah knew that she couldn’t fend them all off with her axe. She glanced at the stranger’s sword. The sword seemed to be alive in his hands.
‘Here,’ said the stranger, ‘take this.’
He tossed the sword to Elymiah. She dropped her axe and grasped the boiled leather handle of the long sword. The sword trembled slightly in her hand as if it were alive. It was some sort of magical weapon. Light began to emanate from the runes, even brighter than they had before. The stranger stared with mouth open wide at Elymiah.
She turned to the shadows, who were crouched ready to attack.
‘An apprentice, Artus? So the Veledred are recruiting again. How quaint.’
Artus. Elymiah stared at the stranger on the ground.
‘Father?’
Artus Lewellyn Farnesse stood up and picked up the small stick in his hands. He put a small black, rounded stone into it and pulled a small lever on the top. The shadows screamed and attacked all at once. Elymiah clenched her teeth and spun to meet the daemon’s attacks. The first shadow struck at her neck, but Elymiah ducked under it and plunged the blade into its torso. The blade purred in her hand, chewing at the dark flesh. The sharp edge seemed hungry, and it moved inside the body of the daemon, eating at its flesh.
Elymiah tore the sword from the body and blocked a downward strike to her legs. The shadows weren’t stopping the attack, however. Elymiah quickly realized that they were indeed shadows, and to kill them all, she would have to kill the one who made the replicas. The real daemon is around here somewhere. But where? Elymiah looked at the roof of the houses and saw a shadow crouching atop it. Its smile was glowing, and it cackled as replicas of itself died and formed anew.
‘I can do this all night, hunters.’
Three shadows burst from him and attacked Elymiah. These seemed bigger, and their swords were longer and thicker. Elymiah parried an attack and drove the sword point into a shadow’s face. She turned and sliced a neck, separating a head from a body belonging to another shadow. Black muck spurted onto her face, but she wasn’t finished. The third shadow swung its greatsword at Elymiah’s torso, but before the strike could connect, a small explosion from Artus’ weapon drove the shadow back momentarily. This gave Elymiah just enough time to jump over the daemon and drive her sword into its face. Elymiah screamed as she pulled the sword and pierced the body of the shadow in its neck and then its stomach, seemingly in an instant. The shadow on the roofs wasn’t smiling anymore.
‘Those were the strongest shadows I could make. How are you doing this?’
Elymiah looked to the shocked daemon. The sword purred in her hand. Elymiah ran to the daemon, but what happened next wasn’t her legs moving her. She flew at a speed faster than an arrow from a bow and landed right before the daemon. It was almost as if just thinking it had made her dash possible. The daemon must have been as surprised as she was. It raised its dark arms over its face, but the time to beg had long since passed. Elymiah didn’t waste any time. She drove the sword point into its neck and into its chest cavity. The daemon choked, and as its life was being chewed away by the sword. It turned to Elymiah.
‘I will return, stronger than before.’
Elymiah couldn’t help but smile. The smile turned into cruel laughter. She pulled the sword from its body. The daemon screamed in pain. Elymiah swung her sword and sliced the daemon from side to side. The dark, shadowy flesh fell into two piles of steaming muck.
‘No, you won’t,’ she said, lowering the sword.
Suddenly, Elymiah clutched at her chest, and she fell on all fours. The world around her began to spin. She rolled off the roof, but Artus caught her in his arms and helped her to the ground softly. Black sludge spilled from Elymiah’s mouth onto the mud. Her stomach twisted in her abdomen, and she retched uncontrollably. When Elymiah could vomit no more, she fell onto her side. Her arms were weak, and her head swam. Artus knelt beside Elymiah and helped her sit up.
‘Pate told me about your sickness.’
‘You mustn’t touch me, Father. I am sin.’
‘Did the Hallowed Masters really make us speak like that?’ Artus said as he helped Elymiah up. He looked up at the roof where the daemon lay in two. ‘We need to bury that body. If it begins to rot, a plague will be left on this town.’
‘That daemon recognized you.’
‘I’ve been hunting that fel-wraith for a few weeks now. I don’t know why it came here,’ Artus said as he helped Elymiah to her feet. Artus embraced Elymiah. ‘I suppose there are questions that need answers. Help me burn the daemon’s corpse. Pate will have some of his stew ready by the time we finish.’
PATE HAD MADE his watery stew with too much pepper and too little meat. Artus glanced at Elymiah and half-frowned at the watery concoction, but they both sat in silence. Pate sensed the conversation that was about to take place and picked up his bowl and walked out into the night. The rains had ceased, but the overcast clouds remained over Yorveth. Artus turned to Elymiah and smiled, poking his soup with a spoon.
‘You fight like a hallowed knight. You were anointed, weren’t you?’
‘Yes.’
Artus smiled and turned his wooden spoon in his bowl. ‘I was anointed too. Did you see it happen outside the gates?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘I can still smell the dead monster and—’
‘Why did you leave me?’ Elymiah couldn’t contain the question anymore. She was drained and still shaking from the daemon attack. He muscles ached, and her tolerance was low.
‘Elymiah…’
‘You left when I was a child. The only memory I have of you is holding that damn fish before the Aivaterra city gates. But that was a memory shared by thousands of people and not my own. The only thing I had from you was your journal and your armour. Both were taken from me,’ Elymiah said, stirring her spoon in her soup.
‘You found my journal?’
‘When you disappeared in the Red Vale Keep, the Hallowed Masters sent seekers after you. I was only three years of age then. The journal and your armour were all that were brought back.’
‘I never thought that book would see the light of day.’ Artus smiled to himself.
‘You think this is a joke?’ Elymiah slammed her fist on the table. Artus killed his smile and wired his eyes to her face. Elymiah gritted her teeth. ‘I wished you to return home countless times. Sometimes I would dream of your return and that you would take me on one of your adventures beyond the Aivaterran city walls.’
Artus stared at his soup and cleared his throat. ‘Bertrand did very well in raising you, I see. Why isn’t he here with you?’
‘Bertrand fell at Khoryl Castle.’
Artus set his wooden spoon beside the bowl and frowned. ‘I never would have thought to hear those words.’
‘He was the father you never were, Artus.’
Artus stared at his soup and finally looked up at Elymiah. ‘I know, but there is a good reason I left. Three of them to be precise.’
‘What could possibly be a better reason than your own daughter?’
‘My son. Your half-brother.’
Elymiah’s eyebrows shot up and words caught in her throat.
‘What?’
‘Don’t misunderstand me, Elymiah. You were safe in the hands of Bertrand. Your brother, on the other hand, was not,’ said Artus.
‘You were given another child?’
‘He wasn’t adopted, Elymiah.’
‘You had a trueborn son?’ Elymiah’s jaw dropped.
‘As trueborn as a Holy Knight can be.’
‘You broke your vows of purity?’ Elymiah was shocked. Artus was known and talked about as a legend of the Holy Knights. His mysterious disappearance had been met with sorrow and longing from all citizens of the Aivaterran Empire. Artus was a hero to them. For him to do something of equal gravitas as she was jarring to Elymiah.
‘Don’t tell the Hallowed Masters,’ Artus winked but stifled the smile as he stared at Elymiah. ‘But yes, and I fell in love with the woman I bedded— your brother’s mother. She died of the plague when he was only a child.’
‘Where is he?’
Artus let his face fall. ‘I have many regrets, and choosing him over you was a mistake. He betrayed me, and turned his back on the Veledred. All I know is that he is somewhere in the north,’ he said, scrunching his nose slightly. ‘I was at the Blade Fortress when the daemons attacked. They were too many. The Blade Fortress was lost in less than a day. I returned to Karagh Muín to train new recruits. That’s when I recei
ved Pate’s letter about your arrival. I had to come see you for myself.’
‘Why?’ asked Elymiah, with a shrug.
‘Do you know what I do for a living?’
Elymiah glanced at the sword hilt at his side. The magic-imbued longsword was something only heard of in tales. It almost looked like the sword Andre, the blacksmith, had been making long ago. Only that one had purple runes.
‘You are some sort of daemon hunter?’
‘As a matter of fact, yes. I am commandant of the Veledred, or in common tongue, daemon hunters. Eymeg was one of the best of us, but, with his betrayal, and now that the Dark Army has returned in force, there is a lot more of them to deal with. We’re a little understaffed.’
‘You make it sound like you’ve been hunting daemons for years.’
‘There is a lot you don’t know. The truth is, I could use your help, Elymiah. Daemon hide sells well in Felheim.’
‘The land of the elves?’ Elymiah said with a short chuckle.
‘You don’t believe me?’ Artus pulled out the black stick he had used in the fight against the daemon earlier. ‘This is a Yorghem Flintlock pistol. The elves have had this technology for decades. It’s part of what caused their civil war and kept them far away from human lands for centuries. You would stand in shock at all they have accomplished and invented. With this, the world will become unrecognizable.’
‘You’ve been to Felheim?’
‘One day, I hope you see it. For now, I want you to come with me, Elymiah.’
‘I can’t,’ Elymiah said as she turned her head away from Artus.
‘It’s the plague that worries you.’
Elymiah shook her head. ‘I wish that was the only worry I had. I must care for Robyn. Not only that, but I’ve been branded, Father.’ She pointed to the dark brand on her neck. ‘If the Hallowed Masters learn of my survival, they will send assassins to hunt me down and anyone else that shares my company. I’ve already endangered Pate by being here.’
