Her gaze was met by the empty stare of a severed head.
“Astrid—”
“—silence!” She shoved him down the cobbled path, her eyes never leaving the bloody promenade of heads.
The hollow laugh of the lead guard echoed through the court yard. “Does our garden shock you?”
Astrid kept her mouth shut tight. She would rather spend her energy ripping his tongue from his mouth than wasting it on useless words.
Her eyes lingered on final head along the path. Its wound dripped splotches of fresh red onto the white stone below. The face of the grizzled man was one of stubborn resolve. He had managed to hold his grimace even after death.
The company slipped inside the chill palace without a sound. The guards halted their progression and unsheathed their swords.
“The dwarve goes alone,” said the lead guard, swinging his mace onto his shoulder. “The rest will wait here.”
Quibell’s face squinted in disgust at the towering beast. “I go where my master goes.”
Fryx heaved a sigh and placed a hand on the wrathful goblin’s shoulder. “Quibell,” he said. His face was etched with fatigue. “You have always been loyal to me, but now you must listen. You must stay.”
Quibell opened his mouth to protest but was cut short by Fryx’s sharp whisper. “No matter the cost!”
The goblin nodded and pulled away from his master’s grip. The other goblins crowded around him, their dusky skin paling from fright.
Astrid tensed. There’s no way this is going to end well…
Fryx nodded to his companions and followed the lead guard down the yawning hall. He turned and disappeared down an adjoining hall, swallowed up by the palace itself.
The remaining twelve guards circled tighter around the company, their blades gleaming with the glow of nearby torches.
“Idiot girl,” said Quibell, hissing in Astrid’s ear. “Are you prepared to die?”
Astrid glared at him from beneath her mask. “I am prepared to kill. Death is not an option.” She tightened her grip on her knives and slipped them halfway from their sheaths.
The goblin smirked. “You are foolish, girl. You cannot always run from Death.”
“No,” she said. Ethen slid behind her back, ready for the approaching blood bath. “I won’t be running. I’d prefer to meet Death head on.”
“As you wish.” Quibell’s snarled words erupted into a fierce howl as he pommeled into a nearby guard. His sword sliced through the guard’s britches, up into his groin. Blood erupted from the wound as the goblin yanked his blade free.
Astrid sprang from her rooted stance, narrowly missing a blow to the head. She ducked beneath the weighted twirling of a great sword and jabbed her knife into the open flesh of the guard’s underarm. She felt her blade puncture through bone and heard the breath catch in his snout. The guard staggered as she ripped her knife free and spun around behind him. Her opposing blade found another weak spot just above the guard’s flank. She twisted its black razor edge deep into the soft, furry flesh. The guard’s knees buckled. Astrid kicked his legs from under him and slammed the hulking beast face first into the stone floor. She heard the helmet buckle and crack. The guard moaned, blood spurting from his crumpled visor. She lifted his head by the horns and smashed it once again into the stone. The guard lay twitching in his blood.
She rose from the corpse, narrowly missing Ethen’s arrow as it buzzed by her skull. Its obsidian tip sunk deep into the eye socket of an approaching guard, sending him toppling over on top of the bloodied Phooka.
“Not bad,” said Astrid. “Reflexes could have been a bit quicker, though.”
Ethen rolled his eyes as he dodged a stumbling Phooka. Two goblins had latched onto his helmet and had made his head their pincushion.
Quibell had dug his wicked blade into two more guards in a mere span of seconds. The goblin moved with a speed that made Astrid’s blood run cold.
His goblin companions fought in packs of two or three. They swarmed the Phooka, clawing up the gigantic beasts and stabbing and slicing at the hidden flesh inside their helmets.
Seven Phooka lay in pools of blood at their feet. The remaining five gathered in the corner, steam billowing from their snouts. They gnashed their yellow teeth and shook their menacing horns. Several tore the armor from their bodies. Their eyes burned with rage.
“You will pay for this,” said the largest of the remaining guards. “Phooka do not go quietly to their graves.”
He roared with rage as he lowered his horns and charged toward Astrid. She knelt, bending backward. She watched the Phooka slip past just above her face. His exposed torso drifted into sight. Her upraised daggers dug into the muscled flesh, slicing it apart in one fell motion.
Astrid slid between the howling Phooka’s legs. She heard him skid on his own blood and tumble onto his face with a dull thump.
She shook the foul blood from her blades and smiled. “Who’s next?”
The final few Phooka balked and darted for a quick escape. Two sprinted to her left and were immediately tackled by the ferocious goblins. The other two tore down the hall that Fryx had taken.
Ethen broke into a dead run. Astrid followed, trailing closely behind. She could hear Quibell’s wicked laugh flickering at their heels.
Ethen loosed an arrow from his bow. It burrowed into the nearest Phooka’s neck. He gasped, sucking in bloodied air through his lacerated wind pipe. The beast stumbled and slumped over onto his back.
The final Phooka growled with a fierce rumble. He spun around, duel swords outstretched. He lashed out at Ethen, knocking the bow from his grasp. The Phooka’s blade bit into Ethen’s thigh, shearing the muscle. His stance wavered as he cried out from the sudden blow. The guard raised his swords high above his head, ready to split Ethen in two.
Astrid shoved Ethen from the Phooka’s reach with the force of her sprinting body. The savage monster’s blades crashed down at her feet. The metal sunk deep into the stone. Astrid smiled and glared into the Phooka’s wild yellow eyes.
His face melted into sudden fear. “PLEASE, fair and deadly warrior,” he said, falling to his knees. “I am merely a pawn! PLEASE! Spare me!” He groveled at her feet, whimpering like a wounded dog.
Astrid shot Ethen a puzzled look. He moaned, holding his leg close. “Damn it, Astrid, kill the bastard!” Quibell rushed to his side and ripped a long strip of cloth from his cloak. He wound the rough material tight around Ethen’s leg and hoisted him up with the help of two other goblins.
“Please! I—I can show you what keeps Alainia in the sky! I can show its secrets!” He clawed at Astrid’s legs, howling with sobs.
“I don’t trust him,” said Quibell, his mouth set in a natural sneer.
“We don’t have to trust him,” said Astrid. She kicked the miserable Phooka from her boots. “Just follow him. I’m sure he’ll cooperate with my knife in his back.”
The Phooka flinched at the thought. “Yes, of course! I am your humble servant!”
“And what of him?” Quibell nodded toward Ethen. His face had paled and his eyes had dimmed. “We can’t just drag him along…”
“He needs to be treated. Take him back down to Limra. Make sure he’s well cared for,” said Astrid. Her heart ached with guilt.
Quibell nodded and handed Ethen off to the company of goblins.
“Wait… Astrid!” Ethen’s muddled gaze met hers. “I can still fight… please, don’t make me go…”
She bent down and gathered the pieces of his bow. For the first time, she was glad her mask hid the hurt on her face. “Here,” she said, handing the pieces to a nearby goblin. “He won’t want to be without it. It was his father’s.”
“Astrid?” He reached out a weak hand.
“Ethen… you have to go,” she said, taking his hand in her own shaky grasp. “You’ll die if you stay up here. Besides, you now have enough battle scars to get any girl you want.”
He coughed a raspy laugh. “You’ll have to beat them
off me, won’t you?”
She smiled, letting go of his trembling hand. “It’s time to go.”
Ethen nodded as the goblins hoisted him up and scurried back down the hall.
Quibell broke the silence with a sharp cough. “We still have business to attend to.”
Astrid shot him a fierce glare. “I’m well aware,” she said, her voice a growl. “A little forewarning to the nature of this mission would have been helpful. I didn’t realize how lightly the word ambassador gets thrown around these days.”
“These people had no intention of negotiating. It was either kill or be killed. That is the way of the desert,” said Quibell. He kicked at the Phooka’s haunches. “On your feet!”
Astrid dug a knife into the Phooka’s shoulder. “How many other guards are here?”
“Agghhhhhhhhhhhh! Only two now. Agggg—me and the Captain! I, of course, am no real threat, but Fanger is a beast to be reckoned with. AHHH!” The words poured from the beast’s mouth in a slew of painful bursts.
Astrid released her blade and let him cower against the wall. She turned her gaze toward Quibell. “Do you believe him?”
Quibell spat at the blubbering beast. “Do we have a choice? I don’t see any other guards patrolling. If there had been any, they would have surely heard us by now. And who could blame them? If I could summon a storm to strike my enemies with lightening I wouldn’t worry about paying for guards to wander the halls.”
“Seems valid to me,” said Astrid. She yanked the Phooka to his feet by his horns. “Show me this secret.”
***
Fryx did not appreciate being thrust into a volatile situation.
He had owed Bastrick a favor for over two decades now and of course this was the time the bastard chose to have it returned.
The massive guard clanked alongside him, swinging his glinting mace with each step. Fryx only hoped that Astrid and Quibell were following close behind him.
The guard opened a rounded wooden door and shoved the dwarve inside. He found himself inside a cavernous throne room. A crowd of nobles were gathered around the throne. Their murmurs were hushed at his sudden presence.
Fryx walked toward the throne, parting the sea of nobles.
They glared down at him in disgust.
“A dwarve? I didn’t know we had dealings with their kind,” said a shrewish elf from behind her fan.
“Quiet, Camilla! Don’t provoke the brute!” Her portly husband pulled her away from the edge of the crowd.
Fryx flourished a bow before the cowering couple. They flinched at the unexpected gesture, bringing a smile to the dwarve’s lips.
“Move, dwarve!” The guard shoved Fryx further toward the throne.
Seated upon the black throne was an elf dressed in flowing white silk. Her young face was smooth with an eerie calm. She spread her arms in welcome.
“Master Dwarve, so good of you to come. I hope you’re enjoying Alainia. I know we’re certainly enjoying your presence here,” said the Queen, her voice smooth as a serpent. He heard the nobles cackling behind him in the shadows.
“Your majesty, I have come on behalf of the city of Limra. I have—”
“—Yes, yes, you’ve come to negotiate peace,” she said. Her still face soured into a snarl. “I have no interest in peace. My only interest is conquest.”
“So you wish to rule us?” Fryx stared at the Queen’s features. I’ve seen a face like that before…
“I wish to rule over everyone,” said the Queen as she flipped her hair over her bare shoulder. “My demands are simple. Serve me or die.” Her words filled Fryx with chill dread. Her eyes… those are Astrid’s eyes…
A sudden laugh floated from the darkness lingering behind the Queen’s throne. “Really, my darling, you do have a flair for the dramatic.” A tall, slender elf emerged from the shadows and perched himself next to the queen. The nobles had become unnaturally still behind Fryx. He peered over his shoulder to see their wicked stares melt into hollow gazes. “Off with you,” said the elf, shooing the aristocrats away with his hand. They turned and filtered from the throne room like sheep.
“I see there’s more than what meets the eye,” said Fryx. He could feel the dark power emanating from this elf—if he even was an elf.
“Isn’t there always?” He patted the Queen on the head, dismissing her from her throne. Her eyes glazed over like the nobles’. She rose from her seat and walked away, disappearing into the shadows. The monstrous guard followed closely behind. “Now that the children are gone, the adults can discuss business.”
“Beyond serve you or die? I think that ultimatum was fairly clear.” Fryx felt for his triton hidden beneath his robes. All it would take was a quick flick of his thumb and the triton would expand to its full size, ready for blood.
“No, no, not that. Something far more intriguing. I saw that glint in your eye,” he said, leaning in closer. “I know you recognized her.”
Fryx froze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“—Ha! Oh yes, I know far too well. Luthen knows all.” The wicked elf’s laugh burst into the throne room, echoing throughout the empty space.
Fryx narrowed his eyes, setting his face into a firm grimace. “Do you really know all? If so, I’m sure you know that she will be the death of you…”
“Me? I have already faced Death. I have conquered his realm. Even his handmaiden serves me!” He threw his hands in the air, pointing at a cloaked figure that had formed out of mist. A vicious silver scythe protruded from the folds of its cloak. “Wilhelmina! How good of you to join us. Our friend here has some interesting information he wishes to share.”
“Tell you what I know? I thought you knew all—AGHHH!” Fryx’s body was electrified with pain. His legs crumpled beneath his body, sending him crashing into the cold stone.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to do this the hard way,” said Luthen as he brushed his thick, dark hair from his face. “Take his soul.”
Wilhelmina threw back her cowl. “Another soul? You know well enough I cannot bare the weight of anymore!”
Luthen’s gaze blackened. “Then what good are you?” His hand batted at the air, a motion that lifted Wilhelmina from her feet and sent her crashing into a wall. She crumbled against the stone as she faded into the shadows. Luthen slid from the throne and plucked the weighty scythe from where it had fallen. He tested its power in his hands. A smile was splayed across his face. “At last,” he said, glee tickling his voice. “I’ve lusted for this power for too long.”
Fryx struggled to stand but his legs refused to budge.
“Now,” said Luthen, “about the girl.” He twirled the scythe around him as if it weighed nothing. “Where is she?”
Fryx spat at the elf. “Go back to Hell, you ugly bastard!”
Luthen rolled his eyes as he scrubbed the spit from his face. “You dwarves are quite disgusting. Even with all that garb and bobbles, you’re all still made out of the same gritty, worthless rubble.” He twirled the scythe around his head and plunged it into Fryx’s chest.
Fryx felt the cold metal pierce his heart and wash over his body like icy water. An ethereal mist clung to the blade. Luthen tugged at it, tearing the soul from his body.
“Tell me where she is.” Luthen twisted the blade, entangling Fryx’s soul.
“AGHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Howls burst from Fryx’s gaping mouth. Pain flooded his capacity for words, leaving him writhing and speechless on the floor.
“WHERE?” Fury blazed in the elf’s hollow eyes.
“Here…” Fryx muttered the word. He could feel the last bits of his soul leaving his mangled body. “I hope she cuts you to pieces.”
Luthen threw his head back in a fit of wild laugher. With a jerk, he ripped the final tendrils of soul loose from Fryx’s body. The soul, with no vessel to hold it, dissolved into nothingness.
***
Astrid and Quibell followed the Phooka down winding halls and through hidden doors. With each passing
step, her patience wore thinner.
“How much further?” She prodded him with her knife.
“Oh! Not too far!” He rubbed his backside as he winced in pain.
“I’m starting to think he’s leading us in circles,” said Quibell. “We may have better luck wandering about on our own.”
“No! The throne room is just this way!” The Phooka scrambled to a nearby door and pushed it open. Astrid peered inside over his matted head.
“It seems he was telling the truth after all,” she said, pushing the Phooka into the vast open space. The clatter of his hooves echoed in the deserted room.
Quibell’s eyes narrowed. “No—”
The goblin broke into a run across the room. Startled, Astrid sprinted after him. “Quibell,” she said, “what is it?”
She stopped short, no longer in need of an explanation. Fryx lay on his back, eyes wide and skin pale as Death. Quibell hovered by his side, howling with despair.
A withered old woman slipped out of the shadows from behind the throne. She held a bucket full of sloshing sudsy water in her arm. She placed the bucket on the ground and stared back at Astrid with equal curiosity. “I’m so sorry about your friend,” she said, her voice distant.
Quibell snarled at her and continued his lamenting.
“Do you know what happened?” Astrid sounded empty in her ears. She had never seen a corpse transfixed with such a look of terror.
The old woman shook her weary head. “Something terrible. That’s the only thing that happens here…the sooner you leave, the better it will be for you.”
“No, the Phooka was—”
“—Damn it, girl! You’ve lost him!” Quibell’s voice was sharp and bitter. He was right, of course. The Phooka had snuck away the moment their backs had turned.
Astrid ripped her mask from her face and threw it to the ground. “I’ve had enough of this madness!” She crushed it beneath her boot with a single stomp.
“Wait… I know you,” said the old woman. She came close to Astrid, looking deep into her face. “Yes! But why have you come back? There is nothing left for you here.”
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