The Brotherhood (The Eirensgarth Chronicles Book 1)

by Philip Smith

  Dinendale panted for breath as he whirled round and looked at the prince. He felt his heart skip a beat. Feridar had ripped Paige’s armor off, leaving her in only a bloody, ripped up shirt. The prince now stood at the edge of the palace grasping Paige’s throat as he leaned her out over the battlements. The only thing keeping her from falling was the fact that she had her toes still holding onto the edge of the building. Sweat and splattered blood rolled down Dinendale’s forehead as he took a step closer, his dark eyes filling with moonlight.

  “Such savagery,” the prince haughtily sneered, looking genuinely impressed. “I’ve never encountered one of your kind in The Wild before, but I must say, the stories do not disappoint.”

  “I’d give you one to tell your children,” Dinendale shouted, taking another step forward, “but you won’t be around long enough to have any.”

  “Such adorable threats, I must say,” Feridar grinned.

  Dinendale took another step, but the prince wagged the finger of his free hand at him.

  “Not so fast, vermin,” the prince hissed. He shook Paige’s body enough that the stone beneath her feet crumbled. She screamed. Dinendale watched as she struggled to keep a foothold on the embrasure. He halted, the icy fist of fear wrapping itself around his stomach.

  “Easy now,” the elf hissed, holding out a hand. “Don’t do anything rash.”

  “Oh, you mean like breaking into the strongest fortress on the frontier? Tell me, elf, how is ‘not doing anything rash’ working out for you?”

  Dinendale lowered his sword slightly, feeling a strong combination of panic and rage burn inside his chest.

  “Let her go,” the elf said firmly. “And let’s settle this like warriors.”

  “You think I have anything to prove to you, Wildlander?” Feridar laughed cruelly. “Everything you see, everything you passed through to get here was built by me. We stand now on the grounds of my achievement. A duel of honor? I think not.”

  “I wouldn’t expect a man who hangs elvish women from his balcony to have any honor to duel over.”

  A flicker of recognition danced across Feridar’s face, and he grinned.

  “Wait. You’re that elf? Well, isn’t this a coincidence. Seems like I’ve got another one of your tarts out on a limb. You really are bad at this whole rescuing thing, aren’t you?”

  “I made it to you, didn’t I?” Dinendale said evenly, grinding his teeth. He suddenly had a thought strike him like a bolt of lighting. It was a long shot, but it was the only one he had at the moment. “You won’t hurt her. Not while I have what you’ve been looking for.”

  Feridar threw his head back and laughed.

  “And what on earth could you have that I want?”

  “Perhaps a different sort of page?” Dinendale kept his voice even despite the lie. Paige’s eyes darted to her own feet where the leather was still stitched, undiscovered by the prince, then back up to Dinendale.

  “Oh, I take it you mean the page that bastard stole from my father?” Feridar chuckled, carelessly.

  Dinendale felt bewilderment set in but it didn’t take the steel out of his voice. “Are you saying you don’t want it?”

  “Oh, I’m not too worried about it,” Feridar laughed cruelly, reaching into the pocket of his robes. The action cause his grip on Paige to shift. She whimpered, stiffening her legs to get a better hold on the still crumbling stone.

  “I would be,” Dinendale reached into his satchel and pulled out his polishing cloth. The prince looked taken aback, but laughed again.

  “You still think this is all about the page?” Feridar snickered as he held out his free hand. Out of his fist dropped a thin silver chain on which dangled a key. Dinendale recognized the key Paige had been wearing since the day he met her.

  “A key?” the elf laughed, trying to hide his confusion.

  “Yes, you inbred imbecile.” Feridar rolled his eyes. “Do you think it's been the page I've been after all this time? That scrap is merely a tool that will allow me to unlock the power contained within this.”

  “But you can’t use it without the Book of the Dead,” Dinendale guessed. “So hand her over and I’ll give you the page.”

  “Dinendale, no!” Paige heaved through the prince’s grip.

  “You can’t bargain with this Halfbreed Idiot,” Feridar smiled. “I’ve already got what I need from her. Anything else I take from her will just be,” he turned to look at Paige, “sugar atop the cake.”

  Dinendale felt his flesh crawl and his blood pressure rise. His grip on the bastard tightened and the leather grip squeaked under the pressure.

  “Oh, he did not like that, did he?” Feridar shouted, looking back at Paige with smouldering eyes. “If only he knew.”

  “If you harm her, I swear to the Creator, I will-” Dinendale snapped.

  “You’ll what exactly?” Feridar shouted. “Kill me? Like you did last time? Oh, that’s right. You slipped away like a coward after I stretched your poor little lady!”

  “Dinendale, don’t worry about me. Just shoot this bastard!” Paige shouted as hard as she could through the choke hold.

  “My, what a foul little mouth,” Feridar shouted, yanking Paige so hard her feet slipped free and she was suddenly dangling above the ground. The prince winced as her full weight pulled against his arm, but held tight.

  “I’d teach her a lesson, like I did your last little girl,” Feridar hissed, turning to look at Dinendale with a cruel, mirthless smile. “But I don’t think I have time to do it properly. Not like last time. Shame, too. She went over the balcony before she could tell you all about it, elf.”

  Dinendale’s blood ran ice cold.

  Feridar chortled and inhaled deeply. “Besides, the last one smelled better. Like a batch of fresh peaches.”

  Dinendale’s world suddenly grew numb, and he felt his knees buckle.

  “Oh, well,” Feridar grunted. “Could have been fun.”

  With that, he released his grip on Paige’s throat and threw her over the edge. Paige screamed as she slipped from view. Dinendale felt claws of anguish rip through the shattered remains of his heart.

  “No!” The elf grabbed his sword with both hands and rushed forward. The prince drew his scimitar and ran to meet Dinendale. The elf swung the hand-and-a-half sword with all his might at Feridar’s head. Sparks flew as the prince drove his own sword into the oncoming blade and deflected it easily to the left. The Shaud took his other hand and slashed at the elf with his dagger. Dinendale felt the blade cut through his jerkin’s shoulder as if it were made of butter. The elf shouted in both rage and pain whirling to face his assailant.

  Feridar charged him again, with more grace and skill than that of his soldiers. He came wearily, crouched like a viper deciding where to strike. Hatred blended with an evil madness glinted in his coal black eyes. The prince sprung forward like a cobra, the clash of steel resounding in the night air as Dinendale’s blade met the blow.

  Feridar swept down at Dinendale’s legs with his scimitar, then slashed high at the elf's face with the dagger. Dinendale’s head surged with adrenalin. His body shook in panic and fear, distracting his focus. He jabbed at the prince’s neck, but the stab was easily deflected. Feridar followed up with a sweeping strike of his own. The scimitar and bastard sparked and clanged in the night air as the two warriors fought ferociously back and forth. Dinendale slashed across the man’s chest and caught the loose folds of the prince’s garment. Dinendale could hear the rip of the cloth. The prince backed up and spat, heaving.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” Feridar hissed.

  “You talk too much,” the elf spat, rushing the man again.

  Their blades met in a frenzy of furious hacking and slashing, more primal than calculated. Dinendale ran to keep speed with the agile prince. He was weary and bleeding in the shoulder. Though rage coursed through his veins, the fights of the last few hours had sapped him of his strength. He felt his stamina waning. The prince forced him backwards, away from t
he dome, and closer to the slotted battlements of the palace. Dinendale slashed low, and the prince flipped backwards, landing on his feet like a cat. Feridar rushed again, driving Dinendale’s sword down towards the flat, granite, roof of the palace. Dinendale felt the prince’s fist against his jaw, and sparks flashed before his vision as he stumbled backwards.

  “You can’t beat me, you pathetic excuse for a sentient being,” the prince heaved. “You thought you could save her? Be the hero?”

  Dinendale rose slowly, shaking, blood spilling from his mouth. “I don’t have to be a hero anymore,” he hissed, hot tears stinging his cut cheeks. “Tonight, I just have to be an avenger.”

  The elf grabbed the cleaning cloth out of his belt and threw it at the prince. It landed in a crumpled pile at Feridar’s feet, it’s naked, blank surface staring the heir to the throne in the face. Feridar’s expression contorted in hatred as his eyes bored into Dinendale.

  “Where is it?” he screamed. Dinendale coughed more blood out of his mouth as he chuckled.

  “It won’t matter to you,” the elf heaved, spitting once more. “You’re not getting off this roof alive.”

  And then he lunged.

  The prince blocked by bringing the sword down on Dinendale’s right arm as hard as he could. The elf felt the blade deeply in his flesh as Feridar kept pushing. Hot blood spurted down his arm. Blinding pain from the already splintered bone caused the elf’s vision to almost completely black out. He shoved the Shauden prince to the ground and the two grappled for their lives, each trying to get on top of the other to deliver the choke. Dinendale started with an advantage, but the prince quickly punched him in his wounded arm, causing Dinendale to scream out in pain.

  From there it didn’t take much for the prince to overpower the dark elf, his strong, tawny brown hands wrapped around Dinendale’s pale throat. Dinendale gasped for breath, but the prince was crushing his windpipe. He could feel his brain firing off sparks as they were starved of the sweet nectar of air. Dinendale let fly a punch that caught Feridar on the side of the head. Angered, Feridar hissed words that were unintelligible to the elf. Dinendale felt a sudden, burning pain on his throat, like a hot iron searing his flesh. The elf screamed as Feridar let out a wicked chortle.

  “Absolutely pathetic,” the prince spat. “You thought to stand up against the might of the Shahir alone? You and your kind shall be wiped from this land, till not even the memory of you taints the rule of civilization and power.”

  Dinendale saw big dark spots as he clawed for air. Just when he was about to slip into the black recesses of unconsciousness, the prince’s hands released. Dinendale ripped a breath into his chest with a gutteral gasp and a cough. He sat bolt upright and felt his aching heart leap.

  It was Paige.

  Holding onto Feridar, she screamed through gritted teeth. Her hands pulled a choke hold around his neck. Feridar flailed and punched. He hit her in the eye, and she reeled back onto the roof. He jumped to his feet and grabbed her by the hair, throwing her backwards.

  “You’re a lot harder to kill than your father was!” Feridar marched up to the fallen princess.

  Paige rolled and stopped against the battlement, staggering to rise as the prince marched over to her.

  “Tell that rogue and your mother I said hello,” he snapped, raising his sword to deal one last blow.

  “Klaíomh!”

  Paige leapt to her feet, her hairpin clutched in her fist as blue sparks shot forth and bounced on the stone around her feet. The saber elongated just in time for her to reach up and deflect the blow, spinning around Feridar and taking a jab at his thigh. The prince was taken off guard as Klaíomh sank deep into the muscle tissue.

  Feridar howled in agony then whirled on the princess dealing a series of fierce blows with his dagger and scimitar. Dinendale leapt up and grabbed his own sword, joining Paige in the heated engagement.

  Back and forth they sparred the Prince to the edge of the battlements. When Dinendale went low, Paige swiped high. But Feridar took no more hits. The man had trained in the art of war since he was a child. Though he winced in pain and was clearly winded, neither the elf nor the princess could get in with a solid strike.

  Dinendale struggled for life. His wound poured radiant blood to the ground around them. Breathing could only keep him alive for so long. He heaved and swung, but Feridar drove his blade into the stone and kicked him hard in the chest. Dinendale found himself floating off the ground before landing on his back. He felt something hard dig into his spine but scrambled up.

  Feridar caught Paige’s blade between his own and hurled Klaíomh to the side. He shoved her backwards into the parapet wall poising his dagger to strike.

  Dinendale leapt to his feet. “FERIDAR!”

  The man glanced over his shoulder just as Dinendale yanked the tiny hand cannon out of his belt. The elf smiled, then pulled the trigger.

  The ball whizzed past the prince harmlessly, connecting with the stone parapet far beyond the palace battlements. The prince laughed uncontrollably, white teeth flashing as a lightning strike lit the sky.

  “You know, you should really get up with the times if you plan on….”

  The laughter stopped.

  A blade sliced through the prince’s chest, blue sparks dancing all around his bosom. His expression went completely blank then was slowly replaced by a white, sickening look of shock as he saw the enchanted elven sword protruding from his chest.

  “That is for my parents,” Paige whispered, ice layering her frosty words.

  Feridar gasped, blood sputtering from his mouth. Paige ripped the blade from his back with a sickening suction sound as Klaíomh freed itself from it’s fleshy sheath. Feridar let out a single croak, glaring ahead at Dinendale before his eyes went dim. He fell backwards onto the cold stone roof of Aschin’s fortress, coughing and wheezing through his final breaths until he ceased to breathe all together, lying still in death’s icy clutches.

  “Paige,” Dinendale limped over to the her as fast as he could, his sword clattering onto the stone. Paige sat up, wincing.

  “I’m alright,” she assured, sitting up slowly. “He did a number on my ribs earlier. I think he bruised that one again, if it’s not broken."

  “How are you alive? I was so sure,” he gasped, his bloodied hand holding her cheek. Paige held up Klaíomh and returned it to its original form.

  “I managed to jam it into a crevice like you did back at Craymoghr Cliff.”

  “Thank the Creator,” Din gasped, grabbing her and pulling her into an embrace. She returned the gesture quickly, then pulled away urgently.

  “Olivian?” she asked, fear etched into her face.

  “If Woodcarver made it out, she is safe,” Dinendale said.

  “We need to get out of here, now. Can you walk?”

  “Yes,” Dinendale nodded.

  “But first things first.” The princess crawled over to Feridar’s lifeless body and stuffed her hand in his bloodied robe. She pulled out her chain that held the mysterious key and returned it to her neck. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “If we can make it down one flight of stairs, there’s an ash chute we can take.” Dinendale urged as they limped as fast as they could to the turret.

  “Quick, go!” he heaved, and they descended the steps.

  “Wait,” Paige whispered not two steps down. They both saw a light coming up the stairs and heard shouting of men.

  They dashed back out into the cold night air. Dinendale slammed the door shut and drove the bastard into the hinge to block it shut.

  “That won’t hold long,” he looked around frantically. Suddenly he heard a loud, shrill whistle that he instantaneously recognized as Duelmaster’s.

  “Come on!” the elf shouted, grabbing her hand as they ran for the edge of the palace.

  “What are you doing?” she cried.

  “We have to jump.”

  “Are you out of your mind?”

  “Trust me,” he called back and
then whistled a reply into the night air.

  “Jump!” he leapt over the battlement into the cold night air. Without a second thought, Paige followed suit and threw her body over the west edge of the palace.

  ◆◆◆

  Paige held her eyes shut tightly. For a moment, it felt as if time slowed down as she hovered in the cold grey sky of the pre-dawn. Then things sped rapidly as her body plummeted towards the ground. She suppressed a scream as they pitched into the night.

  Then, quite violently, she hit a pile of moldy hay. She let out the scream she’d been holding in as she landed on her cracked ribs. Her head hit the edge of a wooden wagon as the vehicle lurched forward. She struggled up in the hay and shoved her body out of the pile, sputtering. Paige glanced wildly around to see Duelmaster in the driver’s seat urging the horses give it all they had.