Beyond the Hell Cliffs

by Case C. Capehart

“No, I would hate to create such an awkward blunder,” Raegith said coldly.

  “Fulfill your duty with pride, Raegith,” Helfrick said. “And upon your return, I promise, you’ll be free to pursue whatever the Fates have in store for you.”

  “One last toast then, for the road?” Raegith asked.

  Helfrick lightened and filled his mug. “What shall we toast to, then?”

  “To the journey,” Raegith said, raising his mug. “May it give us both exactly what we need from it.”

  “It always does,” Helfrick said, crashing his mug into the other. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Helfrick left Forster’s Keep and travelled back towards Thromdale, the shining capitol of Rellizbix and monument to his great ancestor. He approached from the west, riding through the outlying houses and stalls at a relaxed pace. The citizens on the west side of the city were mostly Twileen artisans and merchants. They preferred to sleep later into the day than the Sabans and Faeir, so they put their homes in the morning shadow of the rising spires of Caelum Castle. It was evening and the smells of spiced bread and roasting game filled the air. Helfrick breathed deeply. Damn the Twileens are splendid cooks he thought. Besides being skilled hunters the Twileens were dealers in pleasure. Food, drink and entertainment could all be found on the west side with the Twileens. Finding an educated one among the whole lot could take one all day, but no one came to the Twileen sector for studious endeavors. That’s what the Faeir sector was for.

  As Helfrick moved past the pubs and gaming houses and reached the walls of the inner city, his elite guard greeted him and provided an escort. Inside the walls of the capitol city was much more organized and formal. Nobles and Citizens of influence lived within the walls. There were not as many Twileens there. Personal wealth and ambition were not natural elements of Twileen culture and therefore few had completed one of the passages to citizenship.

  Faeir and Sabans dominated that area of the capitol. They walked the smooth roads and greeted each other cordially, but quickly. These were men and women who were educated or held positions of authority and power. As Citizens, they were given the privilege of city life due to wealth, usefulness or veteran status. These qualifiers were known as the Passage of Gold, the Passage of Skill and the Passage of Blood, respectively, and were the only way to gain citizenship in Rellizbix outside of nobility. As Helfrick rode the path to his castle, he nodded at brightly attired officials and returned the salutes of the officers he passed. He unconsciously slowed a bit when he saw the only group of people not dressed in expensive and vibrant clothing.

  The granite-hued trousers and tunics of the Stone-Seers stood out for their contrasting subtlety. Though they were all Faeir, their hair hung loosely about their shoulders and they stared downward, submissively, always simply looking at the ground before them. If one had lifted their eyes to the king, he would be able to see the solid, opaque eyes that distinguished them from the other, purer Faeir. He would also have to put that poor soul to death instantly or risk reprisal from the Faeir Council.

  The Stone-Seers were considered inferior specimens and a curse upon their people from birth. Helfrick did not fully understand the reason why these Faeir, with their solid-colored eyeballs, were so disparaged; made to serve their masters unquestionably. All he knew of them was that keeping them completely subservient was so important to the Faeir culture that the Council threatened outright mutiny every time a king proposed any kind of relief or liberation for them. He let the group pass on their way outside of the city walls, to where they all resided inside a locked compound on the east side of the wall.

  Finally he was inside his castle home and dismounting his horse to enter the side entrance, through the stables. Inside, he walked briskly to the war room, where several of his generals and advisors were awaiting him.

  General Eramus, a Faeir Adept, was the first to ask his question of the king. Eramus was of the Flame Sect and was tall, even for his kind, with red and orange robes and yellow hair that spiked nearly a foot from his scalp. Helfrick could not look at him without thinking how ridiculous it was for a grown man, an elder at that, to try to make himself look so much like fire. It was nearly laughable, but Eramus was a brilliant strategist and alchemist and was the most destructively powerful mage of the last crusade. Helfrick had seen his power in action, as Eramus was attached to his regiment during the first clash and each one after that. No one ever told him to his face how hilarious his fashion sense was.

  “The boy has agreed then?” Eramus asked, arms folded inside of his robes.

  “It was never a question that he would,” Helfrick said. “The boy is so attention-starved for fatherly affection that he gave in after only a few kind words and some cheap boonivarn.”

  “And he knows what is expected of him?” Tiberius asked. Tiberius was a Saban general and trusted confidant of the king. He was a mountain on legs, standing nearly seven feet tall and the width of three Faeir. Scars crisscrossed his face and bald head from all the times he would fling himself into battle in a blind frenzy. He was brave and skilled, but most of all he was extremely loyal to the king.

  “He knows enough,” Helfrick said. “Tiberius, I want the envoy put together by weeks end. I want mostly Sabans on this detail… good men who can keep Raegith safe past the Hell Cliffs, but also those with stained reputations; men whose word means nothing to the people. I would like you to find a Bard, but not one that brews. I’d like him to have a Twileen to talk to, but I don’t need him getting sauced every night.”

  “I know of one that can be trusted,” Tiberius replied. “He also has collateral that we can use against him, if it ever comes to that.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Helfrick said. Then he remembered something else and turned back to the general. “Do we have a trainer that we can send? A Paladin, preferably? The boy wants to learn to fight. I can’t see him with a hammer, like his father, but the sword and shield might be good for him.”

  “That can be arranged, your majesty, but I do not know if it is wise to send one of our valuable Black Shirts off on this when we are so close to warring.”

  “It doesn’t need to be a good trainer, Tiberius. Raegith has lived with his nose in books all of his life. His mother has apparently taught him to keep his body conditioned, but Nuallan is no warrior and I would prefer the boy never have to meet an enemy’s blade. Just send someone who can teach him battle stances for all I care, as long as it is someone we can keep quiet afterwards.”

  “And what of the Faeir’s representation in this journey?” Eramus asked, crossing his arms.

  “I don’t even understand why you want the Faeir involved in this, Eramus. The Faeir have never wanted any part of this job before.”

  “You send a half-Twileen bastard, to be accompanied by another Twileen on this quest,” Eramus stated. The King was tall for a Saban, but the stringy Faeir sage still towered nearly a foot over him. “With all due respect, your majesty, the Council will not allow such bias on any mission of worth, even such a soiled one as this. I demand that a Mage be sent to balance the equation.”

  Helfrick gave the Mage a sideways glance. “Eramus, don’t take this as sarcasm on my part or anything, but technically the party responsible for this task has one and a half Twileens in its makeup. How do you propose balancing that? Do you happen to have a half Saban child that I don’t know about?”

  “Your blasphemy is amusing only to yourself and your cretin of a general. Your son is a diluted Twileen; our Stone-Seers are barely Faeir. I am prepared to accept that one of our inferiors would balance out the Twileen that your son adds to the party.”

  “You son of a whore!” Tiberius roared. “You dare compare the son of Helfrick Caelum to one of your slaves? If the King were not such a patient ruler, I would come snap you in half like a thin switch.”

  “And if the Council were not so patient, your bones would be ash offerings to the Great Pyre.”

  “Enough, both of you!” Helfrick yelled. “Tiberius, t
o your task, please. Eramus, I’ll overlook your ridiculous blood mathematics and grant your request. Your addition will have to pull their own weight in this journey, but it would do Raegith some good to learn a bit of your culture, as well.”

  The king dismissed the meeting and left the room to see his family. Tiberius left the castle, heading towards the barracks at the very rear of the city. Eramus, however, lingered, closing the door once he was sure he was alone. When the door was shut, a shadow shifted along the back wall and suddenly two figures came into view, as if they had been summoned from the ether. A deep blue-skinned Faeir woman dressed in spectacular, oceanic-themed robes stood beside a visually exhausted male Stone-Seer. The Seer’s hand dropped from the woman and she vehemently wiped at her shoulder where his touch had left. She bid the male Seer to “turn and mute” before approaching Eramus. She was young and beautiful and her dark, navy hair flowed about her face in slow, constant motion despite the lack of wind.

  “Such a fool!” Eramus hissed. “He is so complacent in this ridiculous charade of war that he would send his son into the Greimere Heart and not lose a night’s sleep.”

  “The Elements have given us a gift, Eramus,” Isidora said, her soothing voice calming all the Mage’s anxiety immediately. “Yet you seem… disappointed? Do you doubt this sign, Eramus? Maybe you doubt that the Council should rule Rellizbix.”

  “I have never doubted the Council’s wisdom in my life!” Eramus whispered angrily. “My only disappointment is in King Helfrick. He’s better than this, Isidora. You aren’t old enough to have known him as a Prince like I did, but before that Twileen seductress ruined his life by birthing that mongrel…”

  “I care nothing for your nostalgia, Mage. Whether this king is a good Saban or not is irrelevant!” Isidora screeched. “He is a Saban. He belongs in the fields or on a fishing boat, not in the capitol of the Northern World. Too long have we put up with the intellectually inferior denizens of this land. The Saban soldiers have outlived their usefulness. The miserable fools have to create war just to have a purpose and the Twileens… the Twileens have never been of any use to us.”

  “Never, you say? What of the Twileen thief we used to procure the King’s seal for this letter? Was he not useful?”

  “For a brief moment,” Isidora replied. “Then that moment was over and I formed a basin around his head and watched him scurry about the floor until he drowned. Isn’t that what Twileens are good for? Entertainment?”

  “You’re rotten, Isidora,” Eramus said, sickened by her psychosis. “Something has tainted your soul. I imagine that is why you are so good at deceit. And probably why you are able to have a Stone-Seer keep his hand on you, pouring his magic into you enough to cloak you in the shadows of the room.”

  “Jealousy does not become you, Eramus,” Isidora stated, shaking her head in delight. “Barely out of my twenties and I am already on the Council, yet here you are, a respected Mage twice my age and you kneel before the king every morning before you lock your lips to his ass. It’s because I do what needs to be done for the Council, no matter how… unsavory the job.”

  “Then I sincerely hope you are ever useful to the Council, lest they decide one day to watch you squirm for entertainment.” Eramus left the war room, allowing Isidora to find her own way out of the castle unseen.

  Isidora grinned after him and then, once he was gone, she turned back to her Stone-Seer and bid him to turn and face her. The Faeir, who looked even younger than her, kept his eyes on the ground, not daring to look at his mistress as she approached him and stared him down.

  “Eramus thinks you may have tainted me with your touch, Filth,” she said, addressing him by the name she bestowed upon him when she discovered and acquired him. “He thinks that by allowing you to use your illegal magic on me, you’ve corrupted my soul somehow.”

  She craned her neck to sniff at the spot on her shoulder where Filth had touched her in order to keep them both cloaked. She wrinkled her nose and sighed, looking back at the Stone-Seer. “I’m going to need a bath now just to get your stink off of me.”

  She looked him over again and shut the door to the war room. With a devious smile, she walked back to the Stone-Seer, sitting on the edge of the table in front of him as she stared him down again, hoping he would break the law by reciprocating her glare, but he was steadfast.

  “Well, I already have enough of you on me to feel slightly tainted,” she laughed. “What’s a little more going to hurt?”

  She leaned back on the table top and hiked her long skirt up to her hips.

  “What the fuck are you waiting for?” she asked him. “Taint me.”

  Chapter 2

  “What do you mean Helfrick is letting you go?” Nuallan asked her son when she came to visit him. “Is this why I was sent here a month early? Where are you going?”

  Raegith’s mother was shorter than him by more than a foot, but looked too young to have birthed a teenager even though she was older than the king. Full-blooded Twileens lived longer than Sabans and Faeir and physically aged much slower. Her orange hair was the color of Autumn leaves and hung straight about her shoulders, the sharp tips of her ears peeking out from beneath the strands on the sides of her head. She was a very attractive woman, which allowed her to be very selective about the clients she saw at her brothel in Leafblade Village. She downplayed her looks when she visited Raegith, wearing her hair down and dressing in green linen clothes with a brown leather vest and soft boots. She could have been a Hunter by the way she looked and carried herself. In another life, she might have been one of the best in Broadhead, but Hunters were more taciturn and Nuallan Cinderkind was always too much of a trouble-maker. “They would have thrown me out on my ears,” she used to tell him about taking up the only martial occupation for a Twileen.

  “Helfrick has a mission for me,” Raegith said, nursing a headache and dry mouth from finishing the boonivarn his father left him the night before. “I’ll be trained and learn to ride a horse and see the outside world…”

  “And he’s just going to let you do all that… all of the sudden?” his mother asked, busily tidying up the keep as she spoke. “Why now? That son of a bitch has kept you out here for nine years. I could count the times I’ve been able to see you on my fingers and toes since then. Now he feels bad about it and lets you out, but you’ve got to go on some errand for him first?”

  “Mother… I cannot tell you what I’m supposed to go do. It’s very secret stuff.” Raegith said, helping her pick up the clothes strewn about the floor in the living quarters. “Believe me, it’s probably best that you don’t know anyways. It’s very important, though and above all, it’s completely safe!”

  “You’re the illegitimate child of the King that no one is supposed to ever know about, Raegith. There’s nothing safe about that.”

  “Mother, when I get done, we can leave,” Raegith said, taking his mother by the shoulders and looking down at her. “I’m going to go on this journey and then I’ll come back a better man… a tested man and we can both leave this place together and return to Leafblade where you will introduce me to all of your lovely co-workers…”

  “I’ll sooner put you in a Saban convent with a vow of chastity!” she laughed, shaking her head. “I want a daughter-in-law well before a grandchild.”

  Nuallan looked him up and down and then sighed. “If the King of Rellizbix wants you to journey out to go fix a chicken coup in some border village or whatever plan he could have for you, then I’m certainly not powerful enough to talk him down.

  “But I swear by all of the oaks in the West… if something happens to you out there, this kingdom will get its very first taste of regicide.”

  After his mother left him and he was alone with nothing but his books, he started a kettle for tea and thought back to the story of how their kingdom came to be.

  The Greimere, or “grey things” as they were first called, were the first real threat to the northern lands in recorded history. Appearing from th
e barrens of the south like a black tide, they threatened to destroy the peaceful lands inhabited by the civilized races. They were a dreadful army of barbarians, bent on the utter destruction of anything before them. They were malicious and vile and no amount of effort by the unsuspecting and unprepared denizens of the plains and forests could deter them. Their numbers were great, filled with creatures out of nightmare of every size and shape. Chief among the dark army were the Rathgar.

  The Rathgar were highly resilient to physical and magical damage and were incredibly strong, making them ferocious adversaries. They were hulking, blood-crazed berserkers similar to the men of the North in stature. They wore animal bones for armor and carried weapons meant for desiccating flesh. They commanded the legions and drove them onward toward the Cerulean Coast, covering everything they passed in a shadow of blood and death.

  The races that inhabited the lower half of the north were annihilated. Entire species were wiped from history and only three organized civilizations stood in the way of total destruction of the peaceful lands: the studious Faeir in the eastern mountains; the harmonious Twileens of the western forests; and the agrarian Sabans scattered among the plains and northern coast.

  From those three remaining civilizations came the salvation of the northern lands. The army was driven back to the south in the greatest push the world had ever seen. The three races routed the Greimere’s advance, cast them from the lands and assembled the greatest nation in history: the kingdom of Rellizbix. That was the story that Raegith loved most among the ones his mother would tell him when she visited him in the hidden Forster’s Keep that sheltered him from the world around him. It was not just a wonderful story of history and the heroism that created his homeland; it was his birthright… technically. He loved it because the the Saban who rose from a life as a simple blacksmith to unite the three races and drive the scourge of the Greimere from the lands was Throm Caelum, the first king of Rellizbix and his ancestor.