by A. J. Cronin
Alastor fells another, and a strange sensation comes over him.
A sort of absolution.
A sort of separation.
Each soldier he comes across is quickly dispatched as though they were merely lifeless husks used for training.
A break in the melee comes for him then, and he can see the fight around him, violent and without mercy on both sides. The prisoners, male and female, their faces contorted in one way or another. One roaring as she strikes a foe, another with vacant eyes as he is slashed by a soldier. Even Gawain and Dahlia. All of them overtaken by the spirit of battle.
Alastor watches, removed from them. He feels nothing. No, not nothing. A sadness perhaps. Something unnamable. Something empty and terrible and frightening.
He turns to face the metal door and there he sees the one whom he has hoped to come across. Rennir. He stands in front of the door like a guard dog, flanked on both sides by soldiers wearing plate armor. In Rennir’s hand, Alastor’s sword and in his belt, Alastor’s dagger. That previous sensation of hollowness is thoroughly replaced. It makes Alastor sneer, draws the curtain around his heart shut.
Wrath.
Malevolence.
Bloodlust.
Rennir scrutinizes Alastor and smiles a dark, evil smile. Alastor stalks toward Rennir, slaying enemies left and right without batting an eye. In a matter of footsteps, there are no more between him and Rennir.
Rennir nods, and the soldier to his left attacks.
Alastor steps to the side, avoiding the attack while at the same time thrusting a blade into the soldier’s chest, passing through the plate armor as though it was not even there. The soldier falls, and the other one runs forward. He starts a wide swing of his blade, but Alastor dashes forward to meet him, swinging both of his swords at once. The armored head of the soldier hits the ground dully, his body falling lifeless. Rennir’s face changes. He smirks, but behind it is something else. Fear masked as anger.
“Alastor, son of Eoin. What are those names to me? He said them as though they had some meaning, worthy of remembrance. He failed to mention that Eoin fell like a coward, much like his son is about to.”
Alastor says nothing.
Annoyed that his goading has done nothing, Rennir makes the first move, sloppily swinging Alastor’s claymore horizontally. Alastor stops the attack with one sword and attempts an attack of his own with the other, but Rennir evades. Alastor begins a rapid onslaught of blade swipes and, although he handles the claymore sluggishly, Rennir manages to defend. A soldier leaves the battle with the Judeheim prisoners, intent on aiding his leader. Alastor’s keen senses alert him to this and he wheels about, killing the soldier with a roar.
Back to Rennir, Alastor finds him already in swing. Alastor raises a sword in defense, but the blade is shattered and the hilt is flung from his hand. The shock numbs his arm, and makes him drop to one knee. Rennir prepares to bring the claymore down on Alastor, but Alastor raises his numbed arm and catches the edge of his own sword on his bracer.
A sharp metal clang screams out, revealing the bracer to be made of metal, not leather or, rather, hiding something made of metal.
Alastor turns the blade away and thrusts his other sword into Rennir’s leg, the same leg that Alastor had kicked in earlier. Rennir howls and recoils, losing his grip on the claymore. Alastor does not hesitate to take back his weapon, standing as he does so. Rennir pulls the sword from his leg with a snarl. Enraged, he swipes at Alastor. The sword edge whistling as it cuts through the air. Using a combination of his bracers and the claymore, Alastor renders Rennir’s flurry of attacks insignificant. The skill with which Alastor wields such a large sword takes Rennir off guard, and leads to his downfall.
Alastor feigns an attack. Rennir tries to counter, but leaves himself unprotected. Alastor kicks again at Rennir’s injured leg, causing him to fall on his back. Rennir raises his sword in an effort to guard, but Alastor’s next attack cannot be stopped; he swings down on Rennir, cutting the sword clean in half and landing in Rennir’s chest.
Rennir is dead.
Alastor is promptly overcome with the previous sensation of emotionlessness. He kneels down and takes his dagger back from Rennir. As he stands, Gawain and Dahlia run up to Alastor.
“Alastor?”
He hears nothing. His gaze fixed on the fallen Rennir.
“Alastor!?”
A voice, tiny and distant, on the fringe on consciousness.
“Alastor!”
The trance is broken.
He finally sees Gawain, the voice that brought him around. He also sees Dahlia, her face showing both tire from battle and confusion at the use of Alastor’s name.
“Alastor, are you well?”
“Fine.” A lie of omission, but a necessary one. Alastor looks down at those he has slain and notices the sword of one of the soldiers. “Is that not your sword, Gawain?”
Gawain looks down, picking up the sword in question.
“So it is.”
Alastor beholds the aftermath of the skirmish. To his surprise, he finds that only three of the Judeheim prisoners have fallen. The others have their fair share of injuries, but none life threatening.
Alastor and Gawain then go to the metal door, grasp the handle and start to open it. The door slides easily into the stone wall. Nothing would have prepared them for what resides on the opposite side of the door, least of all Dahlia and the prisoners. Behind the door is a massive cave, the walls honeycombed with small alcoves. The cave is overly full, cramped with the citizens of Judeheim. Entire families and extended families crammed into their little holes, some spilling out and making their home on the rough cave floor. The cave is lit by the hundreds of small bonfires tended to by each family. Children, oblivious to the severity of their situation, scurry and play among the stairs, cut from the raw stone, which lead to the upper alcoves.
The people stare at the opening like scared sheep. Dahlia runs into the cave horrified. Filth covers much of the ground, and piles of the dead are stacked along one wall, covered with soiled blankets and kept out of eyesight of the young ones. Elsewhere in the cave, crying can be heard, from both babies and women. A group of ragged men step forward.
“What do you want!?” one demands.
Dahlia meets them.
“We are here to free everyone!” she cries.
The men squint against the brilliant light pouring in from the pavilion. As their eyes adjust, they realize who stands before them.
“Dahlia? Is that you? We all feared you dead!”
“I would be, had it not been for Gawain and his knight.”
The men are visibly drawn to and shaken by the use of that name.
“Gawain of Essain is here? The King himself?”
“That I am,” says Gawain as he steps forward with a regal, yet subdued air.
The men look at Gawain in disbelief, but one by one they embrace Gawain and sob.
“Are you three the only council members left?” Gawain asks. Their faces become grim. Without a word, they tell Gawain that the whole of the Council, save for themselves, are no longer among the living. “I see,” says Gawain.
Sadness begins to envelop Dahlia, and the men see this.
“I am sorry, miss. But, know this: your father died not of sickness, but in protecting your mother and sister.”
Dahlia takes this news to heart, and buries the sadness deep inside, letting it turn to strength. The men become stone faced as they face Gawain.
“What must we do?”
Gawain walks them to the metal door, showing them the scene beyond.
“As you can see, we have already taken care of your gate keepers. Gather your most able men, have them take what arms they can, and then we lead your people back into the city.”
The Councilmen make haste, and soon news of their salvation spreads among the people. Without being told the citizens of Judeheim are prepared to leave. The Council remnant returns, having gathered the few living knights of the citadel le
ft and they, with the aid of Gawain and Alastor, search through the Necromancer’s fallen soldiers for good weapons. The knights and Councilmen immediately take notice of Rennir and his fallen lieutenants.
“Who fell these men?” one citadel knight asks, astounded. “Who killed this beast of a man and his followers?” Gawain and Dahlia turn to Alastor, and the others follow. The captain of the citadel knights steps before Alastor. “You killed all three of them?” he asks Alastor.
“Yes,” answers Alastor.
All of the citadel knights kneel and bow their heads. The captain looks up.
“That animal committed many crimes against our people. Atrocities I will not mention. We are indebted to you, sir.”
Alastor nods, not caring for the praise.
“We must hurry. One only knows how long our ally can aid us,” Gawain speaks up.
“Ally?” the Councilmen ask.
Gawain smirks.
“It would be better to explain later. For now, escape is of the utmost importance.”
Once armed, and the citizens made ready, Gawain and Dahlia lead the people out of their earthen prison, passing across the pavilion and making their way out of the catacombs. Alastor remains at the metal door, ensuring that no survivor is left behind. The columns of people take less time to complete their exodus than one would expect. When the last of the Judeheim citizenry exit the cave, Alastor enters to double check that none living has remained. He walks around the ground floor, kicking over empty baskets, looking at the untended fires, those items deemed unimportant which lay abandoned and strewn about.
Nothing important.
Nothing important, that is, until he catches an odd shape in the corner of his eye.
A little girl, and not a citizen of the city, as her perfectly white dress indicates.
“What is a Fairy princess doing in a place like this?” Alastor asks, his voice soft and calm. The emotionless mind having faded. The little Fairy girl giggles in appreciation of his words. Alastor kneels and she runs into his arms. Alastor holds her like a daughter. “Why are you here, little one?”
“She wanted me to find out if you were well.”
“Why would she think I was not?”
The Fairy girl gestures her head toward Rennir.
“He was not a nice man. He did bad things. None will mourn him.”
“It sounds as though you knew more about him than I.”
“He wanted to capture us. Dark thoughts were in his heart. Thoughts contrary to those of his Master.” Alastor does not ask anything further. The Fairy girl leans close to his ear. “She also wanted me to tell you that the dark one fled.”
“Fled?”
“Yep. Once he learned you escaped, he abandoned his followers.”
“Abandoned?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“We do not know, but that does not mean you can be lazy. There are a lot more of those metal men. The King and the city need your help still.”
“I suppose that means I should go now.”
“Yep.”
Alastor sets her down.
“Will you be safe here, little one?”
“I will not remain long,” she says as she faces the piles of dead within the prison cave. “I must pray for those who suffered.”
“Will I see you again?”
“Not too soon, I do not think. Someday, I hope.”
“As do I.”
“Be careful, Alastor. You are not allowed to die. Yet.”
Alastor bows before the girl with a smile, then runs to catch up to the fleeing masses of Judeheim.
~-~~-~
Heading back up to the central chamber, Alastor comes across signs of small skirmishes as he passes the occasional dead soldier with weapons missing. Apparently the people of Judeheim are arming themselves as they go along. The central chamber is empty, except for numerous dead soldiers in addition to the barbarians fought earlier, all their weapons missing. A similar scene is found in the citadel main hall. An unholy din is heard out in the courtyard, just outside of the citadel doors. Alastor runs to it. Outside, he observes the entire city engulfed in a full scale war. Those strong enough to fight, man and woman alike, fight against the Necromancer’s soldiers and barbarians. They defend those unable to fight as they flee to the city gates, where they attain some refuge in the forests.
Alastor watches for a moment, wondering to himself where these reinforcements could have come from. There was no way this number could have been hidden within the citadel and, although they could have taken refuge in the buildings and houses, Alastor cannot help but feel uneasy about it.
Alastor ignores this feeling, joining the fight and quickly finding soldiers to test himself against. They pose no challenge whatsoever, and merely serve to slow Alastor’s search for the Fairy, who said she would be waiting at the gate. Over the course of the battle, smoke slowly fills the air. At first it goes unnoticed, but soon the source becomes apparent - the buildings, the homes and the citadel itself have all been set ablaze.
The flames increase in intensity, seemingly matching move for move the flow of battle. The Necromancer’s soldiers are no match for Judeheim unleashed, but the fires are too far gone to be stopped. Alastor starts directly helping the people of Judeheim, urging them to flee the city. The walls of the buildings begin to creak and crack, then collapse and fall on the streets. At the city entrance, Alastor finds Gawain and Dahlia spurring the people on through the gate.
“Alastor! What took you?” Gawain shouts out.
“I had a little one to look after,” Alastor answers.
As the last of the Necromancer’s forces are killed, all seems well until a voice cries out: “More from the citadel!”
Yet more reinforcements pour out from the still burning citadel. Their appearance comes as a shock to Gawain and Dahlia, as the catacombs and all surroundings were cleared of enemies. Alastor remains quiet, his unease now growing into worry. Unfortunately none of them have time to think on it. They all stand ready to confront the new wave of soldiers, but a figure steps out, as though from nowhere, standing between attacker and defender.
The Ice Fairy.
Her black hair whipping in the wind, she faces the soldiers and raises her right arm out to them, extending a single finger. The wind makes a sudden change, blowing in from the south and becoming a gale.
The people of Judeheim, lead by the knights of the citadel, do not look back into the city, fleeing to the forest. Alastor, Gawain and Dahlia, however, remain. Watching the Fairy in awe.
Rain begins to fall, the wind grows ever more powerful, the temperature drops drastically. Alastor and Gawain smile, knowing what is coming next. The rain is frozen into needles and sent flying into the soldiers. They stand no chance, the frozen spikes pass through the metal of their chain mail and their flesh with equal ease. The Fairy shows no pride in having ended so many lives. After a time of reflection, she lowers her arm, letting the wind die down. The deep cold dies with it. The rain continues though, quenching the flames around the city. In but moments white smoke bellows from the homes and businesses, signaling the fire’s demise. Dahlia runs off to let the people know what she has just seen. Alastor and Gawain begin to walk to the Ice Fairy to thank her, but a fog emanates from her feet, rises and, as the fog dissipates, she vanishes with it.
“Leaving so soon?” Alastor asks softly so that only Gawain can hear him.
“I have other matters to attend to,” the Fairy’s voice replies gently, “as do you.”
“How so?” Gawain asks.
“The true enemy has escaped.”
Gawain whispers a curse to himself.
“The sooner you get home, dear King, the better.”
“I thank you for your aid.”
“It is I who should thank you. You arrived just when you were needed most. Fare thee well.”
The Fairy’s voice goes silent. Alastor and Gawain are left with a slight sense of loss. Gawain thinks on her last word
s.
“What do you suppose she meant by that?” he asks Alastor.
Alastor smiles.
“I would think her words were obvious. It was she that sent the letter to you.”
Gawain thinks and smiles.
“What of this Necromancer?”
Before Alastor can answer, the people of the city can be heard coming back up the road.
“We will speak of him later, Gawain.”
The Council members and the knights are the first to arrive back at the city entrance, wide eyed and expecting to see the Ice Fairy.
“Where is she?” the knight captain asks, his voice shaky with exuberance.
“I am afraid you missed her,” Gawain answers politely. “She had other matters at hand.”
“You actually spoke to her?” asks one of the Councilmen.
“That we did.”
The knights and Council give a cheer, a cheer that spreads through the people as they learn what has transpired. The knights and Council speak in excited tones with one another.
“Why so jubilant?” Gawain asks Dahlia.
“A long time ago, the citadel prophet had foretold of her. Her coming to our city during a time of need would herald the beginning of the next age.”
Alastor’s attention is drawn to these words.
“What exactly does this next age entail?”
“None of us rightly know,” replies a Councilman almost beside himself.
“Then why is this event so important?”
“Because it is one more step toward everything being made right.”
The eldest Councilman then steps very close to Alastor.
“I would think you of all people would know this, Son of Eoin,” he says to Alastor in a low whisper. So low as to prevent the others from hearing.
“Just because my father was a member of your faith does not mean I am as well,” replies Alastor, a degree of contempt in his voice.
The Councilman nods solemnly, sadly agreeing before stepping away.
