Valkyria

by Ink Blood

  He called himself Aeon, Rim remembered. He had said he was doing this for the good of the Ringlands, ‘preparing for the coming storm’, although Rin had no idea what he meant. He had said that taking Ari and her family hostage he was protecting the freedom of the Ringlands. It was all a bull’s tripe as far as Rin was concerned.

  “Have you any news of my quarry, dear boy,” continued the gargoyle of a human.

  “Yes I do, so release my family and I shall tell you.”

  Aeon’s neck cracked like an earthquake as he twisted his head to one side like a bird of prey examining its next meal. Approaching Rin, his cloak hid his feet and gave the impression that he was floating. Rin took a step back but leaped forward again when the rotten door to the hall behind him closed itself.

  “You think me a fool, do you not?” Aeon continued his snail paced advance as he spoke, his eyes not moving a single inch away from Rin’s. “You think I am to give you what you desire and then you will flee from me?” A breeze filled the room, blowing the curtains of the open window like wings, yet Aeon’s cloak lay still like a statue. “There is no where you can run. So tell me of my quarry.”

  “She is with her brother,” said Rin. “They are returning to Caim as we speak, and I believe that it will take them at best three hours to reach the tree you mentioned.”

  “Very good, dear boy. You have done well. I take it they suspect nothing?”

  Rin could feel his legs weakening quickly. Aeon had said that Alexia must not know she was being followed, yet Einar had seen him. He didn’t want to say anything, but from the closed eyes on Aeon’s face, he was sure the horrid man already knew.

  “Einar saw me,” he said. “But I said nothing and fled before he could reach me. I do not think he suspects anything.”

  Aeon moved not one inch, his bright green eyes piercing Rin’s heart like a thousand spears. His left hand appeared from his cloak, open, and rose toward Rin’s face.

  “Fear not, dear boy,” said Aeon, “you have done well. You have helped the Ringlands far more than you could possibly understand. You have given me the knowledge I need to protect this wonderful land.”

  He paused. His hand was still raised. The breeze grew in strength and the delightful wedding glasses and statue of a dove fell from their stands, splintering as the crashed to the floorboard below.

  “Although it is such a shame you were seen,” continued Aeon. “What I can do now I do not know, but she’ll tell me. Of that I am sure.”

  Rin tried to reach for the decorative sword that hung on the wall above his head, but found his arms and legs would not move. Ari was still seated behind Aeon, her golden hair flung by the wind and her wedding dress tearing in the breeze revealing far too much of her before her bedding night.

  “He must understand the consequences of failure” said a voice far more beautiful than Rin had ever heard. Yet there was no one speaking.

  “Who said that?” Rin’s head turned left to right in an attempt to see if there was someone in the room he had missed. There wasn’t.

  “She did,” answered Aeon. “And my dear, I truly am sorry for this.” His fist clenched shut tight, and Rin felt like he had suddenly donned a hundred coats of chainmail. He saw Ari and her parents fall to the floor as he did the same.

  Ari’s father tried to stand, managing to get to his hands and knees, but they were shaking like an old man, which he certainly was not. He pushed against the floor, but the hidden weight was too much and his arms and legs snapped, the sound echoing throughout the room before he left out a high pitched scream that was more like a lost bat than a strong man as he had been.

  Aeon glided toward Ari, drawing a great sword with an emerald green blade. Rin tried to call out, to shout for Ari to run, but no sound came to his lips. In a flash of green and red his beautiful bride’s golden curls were stained crimson as the blade sliced through her soft waist like water. Her mother followed soon after.

  The weathered man turned his attention back to Rin, raising the sword once again.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Judgement,” he said. “It served me well against Alexandria, and even better after the revolution.” He closed in, the breeze growing even stronger, the paper on the walls beginning to tear as wooden supports groaned. The weight that held Rin to the floor grew heavier and he felt his arms and legs giving in, splitting into pieces within his skin.

  “I truly am sorry for this, dear boy,” continued Aeon. “You did so well, but she has decided your fate.” The blade, Judgement, came down.

  *~*~*

  5

  SERAN

  The coach rattled and rolled along the cobbled roadways that lead south from Alexandria City. Mountains spanned every angle like a border. The Dragonteeth Mountains spread westward along the northern horizon before twisting and heading due north into the Three Peaks, and out of Alexandria Empire territory.

  To the south lay the Karün Peaks which had once acted as a border wall preventing the tribes of Twin Rivers from entering Alexandria until the Alexandria Empire took control of the region. To the front of the coach lay the Highstones, the largest mountains in the Imperial territory, and the end of the mainland of Rhythlan. A few short leagues before the feet of the mountain range sat the town of Karayol, a fisherman’s paradise but far from the splendour of Alexandria City.

  Seran sat within the red lined carriage of the coach, listening to the rhythm of the horses as they galloped along. The world passed at such speed that he could only make out the flashes of colours. Reds, blues and greens skimmed across his eye sight, as did the odd shade of brown which he assumed where horses heading the opposite direction.

  The coach jolted into the air for a split second, and following a large crash Seran’s head was throbbing. He hated travelling in such a fashion. It was far more pleasing to simply climb atop a stallion and ride in the freedom of the open world. However, such an action was unbefitting one such as himself now that he was a Dragoon.

  Dragoons were the finest knights of the Alexandria Empire, and had to act in such a manner or risk embarrassing the Queen and all that she ruled.

  Life itself was better as a Dragoon. With the coin and respect he gained he could purchase any girl he pleased, eat whatever his belly fancied and swig as much ale and wine as he could find. However, the constant concern of appearance was almost overbearing to him.

  Seran had been born a farmer’s boy living outside the gates of the Upper City, but found that he was far better with a sword than a hoe. Thus he had enrolled in the Lower City guard. After that, due to his ability with a blade, he rose in status and power swiftly, dragging Lonthan with him.

  Now they were knights, and Seran himself was a Lord. Life had changed, but he was never sure how much better it was, or whether the trade he had made was truly worth it.

  A crackle similar to that of a harpy dragged to young knight back to reality, although he was only young in terms of the other knights, being the rather late age of twenty nine.

  “What say you to a bottle of ale whilst we go,” said one of the two horseman to the other, although Seran could not see which due to the box he was seated in.

  “The Lord may not like such an idea,” said the other. Seran chuckled to himself, shaking his head before knocking on the carriage wall.

  “Go ahead,” he responded, “as long as you share some with me.”

  He could hear the pair of horse tamers whispering to one another, but couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the coach wheels riding over the stone.

  “You are sure, my lord?” The voice of the horseman sounded broken and dry as he shouted. They must have been parched, Seran was sure of that.

  “I am sure; just pass a bottle or two to me.”

  “Thank you My Lord, my son will pass it to you immediately-”

  Before the sentence finished a croaking sound filled the air instead and the horseman’s voice faded completely. The horses snorted and gave a high pitched squeal before the body of the hor
seman fell to the road beside the coach. An arrow had impaled itself in his neck.

  A second later three arrows pierced the carriage wall but did not continue through it. However, Seran saw the younger horseman fall as well. Bandits were coming. That was obvious. The day was turning to dusk and he hadn’t heard a sign on another horse for at least an hour. He reached for his seat, lifting it and drawing the long sword from inside. The handle sported a rose engraved into the hilt, and the word ‘firethorn’ etched into the blade, which itself had a series of metal spikes surrounding it. Seran twisted a key on the thick box on the end of hilt, starting the small steam engine that powered the chain the spikes were connected to. They sped around the edge of the blade, showing why it was called a chainsword. Seran waited.

  He could hear the footsteps of horses approaching, as well as the drops of rain that seemed to try and make them. They were closing on their prey, but they had chosen the wrong prey to hunt.

  “Well now,” he heard someone say, they voice brittle and unpronounced. “Looks like we found ourselves a good one here, doesn’t it?”

  “Two riders and four horses? I guess we got ourselves a Lord here,” said a second voice more brittle than the first. A chorus of laughter erupted as the footsteps of five men splashed in the new puddles that surrounded the coach.

  “I bet the old fool is hiding inside, pissing his pants right now,” said the first voice again. They really had chosen the wrong prey. “Let’s take a look shall we?”

  The curtain of the carriage slowly opened, a blade poking through first, but it was followed by a head of unkempt hair and an odor for more suited to pigs. Firethorn fell straight, as did the man’s crown, the saw-blade tearing through his neck like butter. The body, however, slipped back to the floor, causing a large gasp and then silence to emit from each of the bandits. Seran leaped out of the carriage, Firethorn at the ready.

  “You bastard,” screamed the second voice, which belonged to a rather lanky young man who seemed to be more skeleton than living being. He swung at Seran with great speed though.

  Seran blocked with Firethorn, but the bandit drew a second dagger from inside his jacket. Seran grasped the thief’s arm with his own off hand before leaping back to uncross swords.

  A swing came from behind. He rolled to the ground, Firethorn grazing the lanky man’s left leg, before rising to his feet once again. This time the lanky man span round, his sword ready to return the favour. Seran jumped into the air, launching his foot into the man’s face knocking him to the floor.

  He landed, driving the tip of Firethorn into the man’s heart before tearing it back out again. One down, only two were left. He started toward the larger bodied man, knowing he would be far slower than the other, who was average in build. He was right. The fool hadn’t even unsheathed his blade when Firethorn sprayed his blood.

  The last one, however, was far luckier. As Seran span, the bandit’s dagger cut through his face deep enough to bleed but not enough to actually damage the Dragoon that much. Firethorn rose up and into the thief’s stomach before eating its way upward. Crimson sprayed all over the Lord Dragoon but he simply smiled. He hated fools who can only take what others earn.

  “Great,” he said aloud as he looked at the horse riders. Climbing back into the carriage section of the coach, he collected his, coin purse and letter from Alexandria. From the chest underneath his seat, he took his black, wide trimmed hat and cloak that was as dark as night. Flinging both on, he stepped outside and untied the horses from the coach, climbed atop one with his belongings and slapped the other on the rear.

  As the horse sped off into the approaching darkness of the storm, Seran gazed up to let the rain touch his face and wash the cut. He gave a slight kick to the side of the horse he had saddled and off he went toward Karayol Port.

  *~*~*

  6

  EINAR

  The rain had picked up, falling like a land slide. Each drop of water felt like a stone thrown to the face as Einar and Alexia dragged the old cart through the forest. It had gotten stuck in the gravel and sludge more than twice as the soil became ever more soaked. The slight breeze that had started as they left Saylae had twisted and transformed into a wild and ferocious stream of ice cold air that seemed to follow them every turn.

  The sun had retreated behind the dull grey lining that had covered the sky, as if putting the day to bed. The forest seemed angered by the situation, shadows barely reaching out from their wooden masters but the seemed to be warning Einar of something.

  Birds sang in the trees, but their song was melancholic and lonesome, as if a young girl singing her final words, unsure of what awaited her when she finished.

  “What happened to that?”

  Alexia’s voice ripped through the orchestra of blue tits and lightning like a sword. She was pointing at a trunk that had fallen across the road to Caim. The wood smoked and smouldered at one end but at the other it appeared newly grown. Einar stopped and put the cart down as he surveyed the area.

  “Well we certainly are not getting home this way,” he said. He glanced around in every direction before spotting a small patch where the grass gave way to the soil. “Let’s try going up there and then coming back around again. The canopy is thicker over there as well, so the rain won’t be as strong.”

  “Do you not see how dark it is there?”

  Alexia had always been afraid of the dark. It was more than a little annoying for Einar to sleep with the lantern on every night, but if he put it out the arguments that followed were always worse.

  “Of course I do,” he said, “but we have no other choice.”

  “We could leave the cart here and come back for it later with some help to move the tree.”

  Einar glared at his little sister, not sure if she really understood the consequence of the action she had suggested.

  “There is not a single chance that it would still be here when we came back, and we definitely cannot afford another one. Just to pay for it we would need at least four adult wolves, but how would take them to the markets with no cart?”

  Alexia had started shuffling from one foot to other whilst looking at the ground. Her eyes were avoiding Einar and her face had turned a tomato red. Einar waited for a response but was denied one, so he lifted the cart by himself and turned it toward the clearing in the grass.

  “Very well, we’re going this way,” he said as he started to pull the cart up the small track. He knew Alexia would follow if he went by himself, and sure enough she did.

  The track itself was little more than a swamp road. Water rushed across the dirt as if it were fleeing some great monstrosity. The bird song slowly faded as the final light of the sun seemed to retreat and distance itself from the world.

  A crackling and groaning sound filled the atmosphere, sending a shot of ice down Einar’s back as it became increasingly more difficult to see. He glanced at Alexia, terrified that she would have vanished like the happiness of the forest, wondering if he were in some kind of nightmare and would wake up by the broken trunk again any minute.

  The trees seemed to have moulded themselves into claws and talons ready to strike at anything that moved. The bushes rustled as the wind grew stronger still. He was sure something was moving around them, but it had become so dark he could hardly see his own feet.

  “You are lost, dear friend,” said a deep voice with no body. Einar stopped, his skin cold and his hair standing on end. “Why have you come to this domain?”

  His head turned in every possible direction trying to see anything in the darkness, but to no avail. Alexia was shaking, placing a hand on his and gripping tightly.

  “Who goes there?” Einar’s voice echoed countless times, fading into the distance.

  “Fear not, dear friend,” said a second voice, for more feminine than the previous one. “We are here to guide you. Follow our voices and you will be lost no more.”

  Einar looked at his sister, not sure what to do. Her eyes were open wide and her body t
rembling, but she nodded so he lifted the cart once again and followed the voices as they repeated the words “this way” again and again.

  The forest itself seemed to be darker than possible, and Alexia tripped over a root that had escaped the soil. She cut her arm on a rock but Einar helped her back up and they continued on. The rustling of the bushes grew closer by the second, and he was sure someone was watching them.

  The cart rumbled and rocked over stone and soil as the rain seemed to break through as if the canopy had vanished. Einar had to constantly pull his feet out of the soil as they sank with each step.

  As they followed the disembodied voices he noticed a slight glow of orange coming closer with every movement. The light danced about as if it were alive, and in the darkness that had taken the forest it was a sight for sore eyes.

  That was, until they finally reached it. The light was a fire; a fire consuming a large farm house. Screams echoed from within the two storey wooden box. Einar instinctively dropped the cart and rushed to the front door, smashing it down with his shoulder before a wisp of flame shot toward his face.

  It didn’t burn. He didn’t feel a thing. That was when he noticed there was no heat coming from the house. Confused, he entered and moved toward the screams, Alexia entering behind him. They made their way to the kitchen, when they found a large wooden table covered in freshly placed food and a large kitchen built on a single wall that was burning far faster than wood should do.

  On the floor lay a young woman, her hair dark and her dress long and turquoise, yet slowly blackening in the fire. Einar couldn’t move, he just gazed at the woman with his eyes so far open they could have fallen out. Alexia tried to take the woman’s hand but as she reached forward a strong gust of wind filled the room and knocked both of them off their feet.

  “Mother,” said Einar before the ceiling support beam finally gave in to the flames and dropped toward him and his sister. Everything went black.

  When Einar finally opened his eyes again, he and his sister were back on the main road to Caim Village, the meat cart still with them and still holding their chicken and bread.