Spawn of Fury

by Sean Hinn

  “That’s it, wake up you miserable malingerer!”

  “Gah! Let a man sleep!” Gerald croaked.

  “Gerald!” Vincent exclaimed. “Can you hear me?”

  Gerald opened his eyes, squinting despite the dim lantern light in the room. “Of course I can, you bloody fool! Now shut up and let me rest!” Gerald moved to pull the covers over his head. Chaneela grabbed them first, pulling them down to his waist.

  “Damn you, woman, it’s cold in here!”

  “Not as cold as the grave you should be in, you vile little man!”

  “Grave? Why? I didn’t die. That was this one.” Gerald nodded in Vincent’s direction.

  “You perfectly know what I meant! The magic you used is forbidden, Gerald Longstock! And you very well know the penalty!”

  “Bah.”

  “Bah? That’s all you have to say for yourself? Bah?”

  “Yes! Bah! Now get out of my room! Maris, I mean it now, get this beast of yours out of here before I turn her into a toad!”

  Chaneela held up a hand. “No need, Maris. I’m leaving. But you best not think to call on me again, Gerald Longstock! I’ll not abide what you did here!”

  Gerald rolled his eyes as Chaneela left the room.

  “‘Call on me again’?” asked Vincent.

  Kalindra started to reply. “Oh, you didn’t know about–”

  “Mind your own business, the two of you,” said Gerald. “Someone get me some water, would you?”

  Vincent poured his friend a glass from the pitcher on the nightstand.

  “Gave us a bit of a scare there,” Vincent said.

  Gerald took a drink. “Could have been worse. That little bastard could have gotten us both. At least it was only you to die.”

  Maris and Kalindra exchanged looks.

  “What was that?” asked Vincent.

  “Nothing. Nothing for now, in any case,” said Maris.

  Gerald read between the lines.

  “Where are the other Merchants?”

  Kalindra sighed. “We don’t know, aside from Lane, that is. We expected everyone at the trial, of course. We had intended to send our men to investigate–”

  “But after the quake,” Maris interrupted, “and that… thing started terrorizing the city–”

  “What thing?” asked Vincent and Gerald in unison.

  “Ah. You would not know, would you?” Maris replied. “You may want to sit back down.”

  Vincent complied. The women proceeded to tell the men all that had transpired since the trial. When they concluded their tale, Vincent spoke first.

  “So, Halsen’s dead, and in his place, we now have a… what? A flying death lizard? An exceedingly hungry barn-sized dire wolf with wings?”

  Maris nodded. “A little of both, yes. Except much larger than a barn, and not exactly hungry. It doesn’t even seem to eat its prey. It just… it chews them up, or tears them apart, and just leaves them.”

  “Its prey. You mean people,” Gerald said.

  “Yes,” said Kalindra. “And cows. And horses. Anything that moves.”

  “And where is it now?” asked Vincent.

  Maris shrugged. “No idea. Haven’t seen it since last night. Well, I personally haven’t seen it at all, mind you, though I have heard its awful roaring. But my girls this morning said that after dark it just disappeared. Could be anywhere, but so far today, nothing.”

  “Have you seen it, Kalindra? With your own eyes, I mean?” asked Vincent.

  “No. And that’s what scares me most,” said Kalindra. “That, and the fact that people are starting to come out of their homes again. Might be that it’s been waiting for the city to wake.”

  “You three should not have come,” Gerald chided. “No reason to risk your lives coming here.”

  “Ha!” said Maris. “Like we had a choice. Chaneela has been tugging on my sleeve since yesterday. The only reason she didn’t come sooner was because I forbade it.”

  “And the only reason you both didn’t come sooner was because I forbade it,” added Kalindra. She turned to the men. “No offense, you understand, but as soon as we got word that you two were alive, I was a bit more concerned with those whose safety we could not verify.”

  Vincent nodded. “So, only Eriks Lane, then? The rest, just up and vanished?”

  “Unlikely,” said Maris. “Sartean set you up. Which means someone betrayed you to him.”

  Gerald’s response dripped with sarcasm. “Well, color me shocked. I told you, Vincent. I warned you; someday that bastard brother of yours was bound to turn on you.”

  “We cannot know for certain it was him,” Vincent argued.

  Gerald rolled his eyes.

  “Doesn’t matter who at this point,” said Kalindra. “What matters is that you were betrayed, and when Sartean learned of your plans, he most likely went after the rest of the Merchants.”

  “We cannot know that for certain, either,” argued Gerald. “Not yet.”

  “Don’t be naïve, wizard. Maris and I had not been out of doors for days before the trial. Lane was on a job in Southmor, and everyone else is missing.”

  “I agree,” said Vincent. “Something foul is afoot, and it has Sartean’s stamp on it.”

  Gerald sat a bit more upright in his bed. “I still can hardly believe he was captured. Are you sure about that part?” he asked Maris and Kalindra. The women eyed him. “Right. Well, what in Tahr could have subdued him?”

  Kalindra shook her head. “No one knows. Only that he was found at the foot of Kehrlia, torn and tattered, and the mob brought him to the square. Then the quake, and he somehow escaped.”

  “We need to find that bastard,” said Vincent. “Find him, question him about the others, and kill him.”

  “Sure, good plan,” said Gerald. “And which army might you have in mind to help you accomplish the task?”

  Gerald thought on the subject for a long moment.

  “When does Lane get back?” asked Vincent.

  “Just got back this morning,” said Maris. “We have him holed up at our place.”

  “Poor fella,” Gerald quipped.

  “He was exhausted, Gerald,” Kalindra said. “He rode for nearly a day straight. He’s sleeping, otherwise he would have been here.”

  “Right. Sleeping. At a brothel. Like a baby, I’m sure. And by that, I mean–”

  “GERALD!”

  Vincent chuckled. “Well, in any case, I’ll need to speak with him. He still has friends in the army. We’re gonna need them.”

  “The army?” said Maris. “The army’s all but disbanded, Vincent. Eriks passed full brigades heading south to the Sapphire, probably every unmarried soldier in Mor. The rest are gathering their families. The way he tells it, aside from a few battalions, there is no army, not anymore. There’s no one to pay them.”

  “Well, who leads those battalions?” Vincent asked.

  The women shrugged.

  Gerald frowned. “What are you thinking, Vincent?”

  Vincent gnawed his cheek for a turn, thinking. An impish smile formed at the corners of his mouth.

  “I don’t like that look on him,” said Maris.

  “Me neither,” Gerald agreed.

  Vincent stood abruptly. “Gerald, my friend, I think I’m going to hire myself an army.”

  “What?” asked Maris and Kalindra in unison.

  “And you, sir, are going to help me use it to kill a wizard. When you can manage your way out of bed, that is.”

  XIII: WEST MORLINE

  The Vicaris sipped a steaming cup of Spring tea as the travelers brushed clean places for themselves around the fire for breakfast. The storm of snow and ash had indeed overtaken them as they slept in their tents, and a considerable amount of clearing was required. Trellia had considered waking them at midnight, so that they might make time on the trail before it thickened, but the dirty winter blanket was laid out too quickly; by the time Mikallis had woken her, the drifts were already too deep to travel in the
dark. A bit of magic could have lit their way, but the amount of time they’d have made up would have been negligible; Trellia decided the value of rest outweighed the benefits of shaving off a few hours’ travel time.

  There was no wind that morning. The snow continued to fall, great white flakes born of an ashen sky, nimbly tumbling through the forest canopy, twirling slowly around one another as if to the tune of a dirge. Smaller particles, spiteful flecks of soot and slag, rushed headlong past their graceful cousins, unmoved by the wintry ballad, disdaining the dance, eager to hasten the end of the song and ruin the performance. The strange mottled appearance of the ground was at once both magnificent and eerie; the scene was certainly unnatural, but if one chose to ignore the truth of what the falling ash foreshadowed there existed a certain baleful, novel splendor to be admired in the peculiar sight. Trellia was not the only one to be awestruck by the morbid beauty of it all; she saw that Shyla made no effort to hide her wonder, and as one would expect, the playful Wolf found the flaky, frozen mantle nothing short of delightful.

  For a time, the six held to a tacit agreement to maintain silence. Small utterances were whispered, requests to pass a cup or a plate, or mumbled offerings of food. The cold morning had cast a spell of silence and despite its ill-omened nature, no one wished to break it. After a time, Trellia felt that if she did not speak, no one ever would again.

  “It is time I spoke with you about Eyreloch,” Trellia said. “When we reach the Elms, we will no longer be subject to the laws of Mor, nor of Thornwood. We will be subject to the whims of Lor and Kal.”

  “Uh, say that again?” said Lucan. “You mean, the Twins?”

  Trellia nodded. “Yes, but not quite as you think. The Airies are ruled by two of their kind, always. Sometimes males, sometimes females. One takes the name of Lor, the other Kal, and just as the Twins of Tahr are believed by some to be forces of creation and destruction, so too are the Twins of Eyreloch. The two spend their lives working against one another, each responsible for preventing the other from becoming too powerful. Such is their system of government; a constant struggle for balance in all things.”

  “Bloody strange, them Airies,” said J’arn, making no effort to disguise his contempt.

  Trellia frowned. “Perhaps, J’arn. But perhaps they would consider a perpetual monarchy strange as well.”

  “Let ’em. I ain’t askin’ for their approval on my government.”

  “I don’t think they’re askin’ fer yers, neither,” Shyla said.

  The others shared a laugh.

  J’arn scowled. “Bah, laugh all ye like, but when we get to Eyreloch, ye best not step outta line. Them Airies don’t feel the same as civilized folk about life and limb. They’ll kill ye soon as shake your hand.”

  Trellia shook her head. “That is not entirely accurate, J’arn.”

  “Fury it ain’t! How long’s an Airie live?”

  Trellia pressed her lips together. She decided to humor J’arn, for the moment. She considered that perhaps she would need to allow J’arn a platform for his outrage before she could continue her lesson. “Most are dead before they reach your age,” said Trellia, “and certainly all before they reach Mikallis’ age.”

  “And how do they die? I’ll tell ye… they commit suicide. Every last one. And by law. Ain’t a one of ‘em allowed to live past twenty-and-five years.”

  Shyla shook her head. “Naw, c’mon J’arn that canna be right. Trellia, that ain’t right, is it?”

  “It is, and it is not, Shyla.”

  “Well what’s that mean? That ain’t no answer.”

  “Yes, they do take their own lives,” Aria interjected, “and yes, it is their law, but it is not so terrible as–”

  “Not so terrible?!” decried J’arn. “I can’t think o’ much worse! For Fury’s sake, some of ’em do it when they be half your age, Aria, and they celebrate it!”

  Shyla was outraged. “Well, what in the Mawbottom we goin’ there for? That sounds right awful!”

  Trellia stood. “You know what? I have had it with the lot of you. Every conversation results in the five of you bickering. I have been a teacher all my life, and if I had a class full of students like you, I would quit the profession! If there is any truth at all to the idea that four of you are vital in the trials to come, we are doomed!”

  Aria bowed her head. “You’re right, Tre–”

  “I know I am right! And I do not need you to tell me so, Princess! You listen to me, all of you. I am going to say this once, and once only. We have but one task before us, to go to Eyreloch and find the fifth member of your company. Whatever it is that you think you know about the Airies, J’arn Silverstone, be assured, you know very little. I do not care whether you approve of them! I do not care whether you like one another! And Father help me, Lucan and Mikallis, if one of you so much as pulls a face at the other in my presence again, I will abandon this quest and return to my home! If the world is to end and I am to die, I would prefer to do it in the company of adults! Am I making myself plain?”

  No one spoke. Five heads nodded. Trellia moderated her tone, if only a bit.

  “Very well. Then I will say this, and no more, on the subject of the Airies: you would do well to keep your opinions to yourself, on all matters. The people of Eyreloch are not evil, despite what you may think, but neither are they patient. None live long enough to develop the trait. When we arrive, I will speak for our company, I and no other. And when we arrive, for the love of all that is good in this world, do not overindulge in their spirits. You will lose your minds. Now, pack the gear. We will ride through to the Elms, and I will take point. I will brook no discussion on trail breaks; you have rested enough. If you do not keep up, you will be left behind.”

  ~

  Cold hours passed as the company made its way along the west Morline. Their pace was tortuously slow, as Trellia had predicted it would be, but there was little help for it. The trail between the farmlands of Mor and the Elms of Eyre was narrow and not well-travelled; in many places it was hardly a trail at all, and the coating of snow and ash made matters worse. Trellia, taking point, expended a considerable amount of magic as she rode, sensing the contours of the trail ahead, searching with her elven abilities for snow-buried stones and holes in their path that could injure their mounts. When she found one, she marked it with a bit of glowing magic. Mikallis and Aria rode behind her, duplicating her efforts as best they could. Trellia did not miss much but was not perfect in her efforts; Aria suspected that the Vicaris, ever the teacher, intentionally left some hazards unmarked for she and Mikallis to find.

  Aria proved more capable of both revealing dangers and marking them. Mikallis struggled to be useful, managing only the occasional discovery. As the pair rode side-by-side, Aria expected the temperamental captain would soon become frustrated by his failure. She was pleasantly surprised; the bitter disposition Mikallis had carried since the Grove did not seem to be present, or at the very least, Aria decided, had been kept well concealed. The two talked of mundane things and memories of home, adroitly avoiding certain subjects, for a time.

  “It is remarkable to me how easily these things come to you, Aria,” said Mikallis as she marked a disguised dip in their path. “You sing with magic, just as they have all said since the day you were born. Truly you were aptly named.”

  Aria smiled and turned in the saddle to face her friend.

  “Mik, that is the first kind thing you have said to me in ages. Thank you.”

  Mikallis looked ahead. “I have not been myself, Aria. Not for some time.”

  “I know our ride from Thornwood was disheartening to you,” Aria offered. “But you must not diminish yourself, nor consider yourself diminished in other’s eyes. The Bond is a fickle thing–”

  “My temperament of late has nothing to do with the ride.”

  Aria frowned. “No? I did not notice any changes in you before–”

  “Did you not? Did you not find it out of character for a Captain of the
Guard to demand to accompany you to the Grove to begin with?”

  The princess swallowed, steeling herself for what was to come. She had been avoiding this topic for far too long.

  “I did. Out of character and improper, if truth be told.”

  Mikallis nodded. “Then let us speak truth.” His tone darkened. “You cannot but have known why I did so.”

  Aria did not reply.

  “Will you make me say it aloud?” the captain asked softly, a desperate, pleading edge to his voice.

  Aria sighed. This cannot go on. “No. I will not. I will say it aloud, for us both. You have grown to love me, Mikallis Elmshadow, as a man loves a woman, and I could have no more honorable suitor. But I do not love you in the way you love me.”

  Aria was not looking at Mikallis as she said the words, but she did not need to see her friend’s face to know that she had stopped his heart. The frost in his voice as he spoke her name next told her everything she would ever need to know about how he felt just then.

  “I know this, Aria Evanti. Yet we elves live long lives. I hope the day will come when you do.”

  Aria blinked.

  “Let us speak of other things,” the captain said, an unexpected and out-of-place cheeriness to his voice. “Eyreloch. Are you not eager to see it? If the stories are to be believed, it is nothing like anything we have ever seen.”

  Aria struggled to reply; the abrupt dismissal of the topic that had hung so heavy between them for so long was disorienting.

  “I must admit, I am. Eager, that is,” Mikallis continued. “I cannot even imagine what a society of children would build over the course of millennia. It is quite odd, though, is it not? That we should – ah, one moment.” Mikallis sent a sliver of glowing magic to a spot in the snow just ahead. “Stone. Anyhow, as I was saying, it is quite–”

  “The world is dying, Mikallis.”

  The captain turned to consider Aria.

  “We go to Eyreloch to find one of their number to aid us, and by ‘us’, I mean, myself, Lucan, Shyla, and J’arn. Somehow, we five are to be expected to stand against whatever threatens this world. I am not eager to see Eyreloch. I am not keen for what comes next, for any part of it. I am terrified.”