The Heir of Eyria

by Osku Alanen

  “Right on, chief,” the man chuckled.

  “And Han?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Use the good steel, will you? The Huntress owes me a hefty sum; I can afford it.”

  “Only the best for the Berserker, eh?” the man laughed. “I’ll get right to it. Give me a day or two.”

  Ronan nodded. “My thanks.”

  ***

  The search of Keran led to nowhere; it was as if he had vanished off the face of the earth. It pained him greatly, but he had no choice but to postpone the search for another day. And who had burned their cabin down to the ground? He had seen the half-dry clothes hanging by the tree branch, so they had to have been there. The last he saw his son, he had been unconscious—too sick to move on his own. Had someone dragged him out?

  Still, best not to dwell on the unknown. Whatever had happened, he would get to the bottom of it. If someone had taken or hurt his son, there wouldn’t be a hole in this world he could hide from Ronan’s wrath. He would see the perpetrator, his family, and anyone they had ever known wiped off the face of the earth. The rage he felt made him sick to his stomach: would he truly go that far? Could he become the same man he once was? He hoped—prayed—he would never have to find out.

  Shocked at the vengefulness of his thoughts, Ronan found himself walking towards the hunter’s Lodge. He had some business there he had to take care of. Finally, his debt to the huntress would be paid in full. The thought lessened the anguish he felt in his heart somewhat.

  He still remembered their first meeting all those years ago. Ronan had arrived at main island with his son, alongside hundreds of others who had heard the rumors of the locals needed strong men. At first, he had been hesitant to leave the cabin he had called home behind, but after Keran’s mother had packed her bags without so much as a single word, he had no choice. The place had brought back nothing but bittersweet memories. Keran had been barely a few years old then. When they arrived at the main island, they had no money, no food. The best Ronan could do for his son was to find a cavern that was not too cold or damp. They lived there for months, but Ronan was growing worried of how feral his son was turning out to be. He needed to interact with children of his own age. He was a child; he shouldn’t have to live the life of a hermit, even if his father preferred the solitude.

  Everything changed the day they encountered the Daemoni.

  This horrifying creature had been humanoid in shape; it stood upright on two strong legs, almost humanlike in appearance. That’s where the similarities ended. Where a face should have been, a four-horned skull stared at them, with red, soulless eyes. Ronan stared in horror as he saw the beast stand there, looking at his son. Their eyes met, and Keran screamed in horror.

  That’s when the beast lunged.

  Its howl made Ronan’s blood run cold. It ran for Keran, deadly claws extended. Ronan had never seen or heard of this type of Daemoni; it must’ve been starving, desperate for food. For human flesh.

  Ronan yelled his son to duck, but the child had frozen in fear. The beast embraced his son, digging its sharp claws into Keran’s flesh. His son’s body jerked helplessly as the beast drained his essence, skin turning pale-blue.

  The world turned crimson as the Berserker emerged. Keran was Ronan’s son, but the boy had also been claimed by the Berserker; no one would harm him so long he was in charge.

  The Berserker roared, lunging at the beast with nothing but a hatchet made for chopping wood. He knew it would do next to nothing to the beast, but there was no other choice; the man had thrown away his real weapons years ago, thinking he would no longer need them. Silly fool.

  He sunk his axe into the beast’s neck, the wound oozing black, burning liquid. The beast screamed. The sound was intense, horrifying. If Ronan had been in charge, he might’ve flinched, but the Berserker didn’t care. Instead, he laughed.

  The son lost consciousness, so the Berserker shoved him aside, away from the creature’s reach. A sound in his mind cried in alarm, but the berserker suppressed it; he would not let him spoil his fun. Not after all these years of inaction.

  The beast recovered rapidly and lunged for the berserker. He dodged to the right, kicking the beast with the full strength of his body. The beast scrambled off its feet. The Berserker taunted it, chuckling.

  Then something he wasn’t expecting happened. The beast’s eyes turned brighter; the forest around him turned dark. The beast traced something into the air with its finger—A rune of some kind? Then, out of nowhere, dark tendrils surfaced from the ground below the Berserker, wrapping his legs in a tight, painful embrace.

  “Coward,” the Berserker roared, hacking the dark, unnatural tendrils of darkness with his simple hatchet. It had little effect. Whenever he managed to cut one loose, another one appeared. He had misjudged the beast. This one had intellect.

  The world the Berserker saw through Ronan’s eyes was lifeless; he saw no color but red. All how stood before him were enemies to slay—nothing more. But when the creature turned his back to the Berserker and started walking towards the unconscious body of the child he had pushed to safety, the color to the world returned.

  Ronan emerged.

  “No,” Ronan cried, realizing the peril his son was in. He tried shaking the tendrils loose, but his legs didn’t budge. Just as the creature was about the grab his son once more in its deadly embrace, Ronan did a last act of desperation. He threw his last chance—his only weapon—towards the creature, hoping it would at least slow the beast down.

  It didn’t.

  But a volley of arrows did.

  Ronan saw a group of men appear from the forest, bows drawn. They circled the beast. And in their midst, a lone woman appeared with a strange, curved blade.

  The creature screeched, a flurry of runes appearing in front of its eyes. With horror, Ronan realized it was using the same sorcery as it had with him. But this woman was prepared.

  With a simple, overhead arc, she swung her blade at the beast, decapitating it with ease. And just like that, his nightmare was over. The beast fell, the tendril vanished, and Ronan ran for his son, taking him into a deep embrace. With shaking hands, he felt the boy’s pulse, fearing he had been too slow. He cried tears of happiness as he saw the color return to his son’s cheeks. He was breathing—his son lived.

  “Nice job with the beast, stranger,” the woman said, extending her arm. “Say… you wouldn’t need a job, would you? We could use a man like you with us.”

  That was the moment he met the Huntress.

  It turned out that Hera and her group of hunters had tracked the beast for weeks. It had been a miracle they had stumbled upon Ronan as they had. Their trackers had heard the creature’s—and Ronan’s—cries just in time and saved both their lives in the process. She had been impressed with how well Ronan had managed against the beast on his own with nothing but a simple hatchet.

  The woman had a gift of words, and after a long discussion about the perks of joining her Lodge, Ronan joined her. She even helped them get a room in the River’s Passage tavern where Ronan stayed even now. After two long, isolated years in the cold wilderness of the Northern Islands, Ronan had found his way back to civilization.

  ***

  Ronan entered Hera’s quarters, determined to shake hands with her, take the pay, find his son, and leave Riverend for good. He knew the huntress had a reputation of being persuasive; he had experienced the same side of her more than once. It was for this reason that Ronan decided to barge through the doors to the huntress’s quarters, unannounced.

  “Huntress, I need to have a word with y—.”

  Forcing the doors to her quarters open turned out to be a grave mistake, as the first thing he saw was the huntress’s bare breasts pointing towards to the ceiling, accompanied by intense moaning as a young man, barely of age, thrusting in and out with the intense vigor and stamina of youth.

  Ronan’s face turned bright red as Hera’s flustered face turned towards him, her hands covering her bare breas
ts.

  “Out.”

  A boot flew past his head just before the doors were slammed shut again, barely missing his face.

  “Why now,” Ronan muttered to himself angrily. He leaned on the door frame but was forced to vacate further as he found the constant grunting and moaning coming through the door distracting. It seemed like Hera had no intention of letting Ronan’s abrupt visit ruin her pleasure.

  Still, Ronan wasn’t surprised. It’s not like he hadn’t found his way into Hera’s bed on more than one occasion. The huntress liked to hunt—both Daemoni and men alike. And Ronan—like most men—was not immune to her charms, either. Ronan bit his lip, trying to find any sort of distraction. But gods, how long had it been since he had last been with a woman? Still, it was strange how the most carnal of desire could surface even amidst a tragedy. It made Ronan feel ashamed of himself. How could he think of nothing but the huntress when his son might be taken—or worse?

  A good while later, the doors opened, and the same youth walked past Ronan, head lowered. Ronan saw Hera standing there, her body barely covered by a silken robe. The huntress motioned Ronan to come in.

  “A new recruit, I reckon?”

  Hera grinned. “You know me so well. And aye, the boy shows promise. I like to have an eye on the best of them. Reminds me of you when you first came to us all those years ago.”

  Ronan frowned. “It hasn’t been that long, has it?”

  Hera snorted. “By the gods, you can’t take a joke, can you? Would it kill for you to relax for a moment? Come. Sit. Have a drink—on me.”

  Ronan nodded, doing as the huntress ordered. He did his best to disregard the smell still lingered in the air. Still, he found his eyes wandering towards the messy bed in the center of the room. Gods, was he feeling jealous? Of her?

  “So, I take it the job went well?”

  Ronan shrugged. “We survived. Rust was injured, but other than that, we managed just fine.”

  Hera poured herself a glass of wine. She sat by the table comfortably, crossing her legs in a way that didn’t leave much for imagination. “I take it you’re here for your pay.”

  “Aye.”

  The Huntress sighed. Was it disappointment he saw in her eyes?

  “I see.” Her voice turned polite, formal. “Well, here you are then. I trust that will suffice?”

  She threw a pouch, and Ronan caught it in his palm. He opened the pouch, eyes hungry.

  “And my debt?”

  The Huntress showed him a coy smile. “Paid in full, just as we agreed.”

  Ronan grunted, satisfied. He had been working towards this for years now. Finally, he was free. But why did he feel sad? Was this not what he had wanted?

  “How did you do it? From what I hear from my scouts, the beast was formidable. I doubt anything less than a full squadron of our finest would’ve done the trick. So, he did you do it with only a few men?”

  “Luck mostly, I reckon. Raven’s squad is skilled, aye, but we didn’t get away unscathed; the big man was injured.”

  “As were you.”

  Ronan grimaced, looking at his bandaged palms. Blood bad already stained them pink, and they throbbed—badly. But this was nothing to Ronan; he had endured much worse. Pain… pain was something he could handle, endure. “Aye, but it’s not so bad as it looks.

  The woman pursed her lip, looking at Ronan with piercing eyes. “You’re not telling me something.”

  Ronan shifted uncomfortably on his chair. Should I tell him of my son? Dare I? “We had unexpected help. Turns out the hooded man was a magus.”

  “You had a magus with you?” Hera gasped. “The hooded man? I should’ve know! That Raven is one cunning bastards, indeed.”

  “Aye. I can’t complain, really. If not for him, I reckon we would’ve been much worse off.”

  Keran….

  Hera’s eyes turned distant. She seemed to ponder something. “Well, thank you for telling me this, Ronan. As usual, your loyalty will not go unpaid. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Ronan swallowed, his voice turning hoarse. She didn’t know about the fire—how could she? Perhaps the huntress could help him; she has resources. Men. He should tell her.

  “My… son is missing, Hera. He was injured, so I let him stay with a friend of mine. When we returned, I found the cabin he was staying in burned to the ground, with no trace of my son anywhere.”

  Hera gasped aloud. The woman seemed genuinely upset. Of course. Why wouldn’t she be? She had watched the boy grow for years. Played with him. Cared for him for a while, even.

  “That’s terrible. I am so sorry, Ronan.”

  Ronan grunted. He couldn’t meet her eyes. It felt… difficult for him to talk about his son. He felt he had let him down—and he had. How could he call himself a father, if he can’t even protect his own flesh and blood? He felt his hands shake; how could he continue living if something happened to that sweet boy of his? His life had no meaning without him. He….

  The huntress embraced him tightly. Gods, how good her warm her skin felt through that thin robe.

  “I will have my scouts look for him.” she whispered in his ear.

  “Thank you.”

  The Huntress kissed Ronan passionately. She led him to her bed. Ronan obeyed, the smell of lust still lingering in the air. She was the Huntress and Ronan was her prey. And tonight, he was in terms with that.

  ***

  The barkeep pointed at the empty mug in front of Ronan. “Another?”

  “Aye.”

  Ronan took a long sip from the freshly-poured ale, savoring the taste. He wiped off the thin layer of foam sticking to his beard, sighing. He had left Hera’s bed under the cover of the night, avoiding any awkward words in the morning. They had had fun last night, and that would have to do.

  Now that he was alone again, Ronan was growing anxious, fearful. When he had left Keran in Eira’s care, he had been gravely injured. If they roamed somewhere in the freezing forests, how long could his son survive, injured as he is? Still, their disappearance made no sense; Eira knew these woods as well as anyone. Surely, they would have ended up in Riverend already? Ronan shook the useless thoughts away from his mind, drowning the final droplets from his mug.

  “My thanks.” He stood up, feeling dizzy for a moment. He still felt the effects of the smoke he had inhaled: coughing, weakness, shaking hands. And the burns in his hands… they would take weeks to heal fully.

  “Ronan, a word?” The familiar voice of Raven said, walking to him with hasty steps.

  “You have news?”

  “Yes, I believe I do.”

  “Tell me,” Ronan whispered.

  “The Huntress received word that they may have been spotted in Evenport.”

  “In Evenport?” Ronan frowned. That made no sense. Evenport was over a day’s ride from here. It was the exact opposite way of both Riverend and Eira’s cabin.

  “She sent ravens all over the three islands. The Huntress is a resourceful woman, indeed—just as I knew she was. One of her scouts spotted a woman acting strange; she covered her face and did her best to avoid people. The scout followed her into a tavern, where she ordered food for more than one—but appeared to travel alone. She then went on to purchase passage on one of the merchant vessels. And the most important, her hands were freshly bandaged.”

  Ronan frowned. “What kind of bandages?

  “The kind that could only hide burns, Ronan.”

  “Burns…,” Ronan gasped, eyes widening in excitement. “But why? Why a ship?

  “I don’t know, but I believe this is a lead worth pursuing.

  “Aye, I reckon it is.”

  Raven smiled mysteriously. “Well, then. I believe it’s best we start packing.”

  “We?”

  “Of course. We’re coming with you. I did mention that we were heading for Eyria next, didn’t I? And well, for that, we need a ship, too.”

  “All of you,” Ronan muttered. “Ivy, too?”

  “
No, not her,” Raven sighed. “I’m afraid the lass seemed anxious to get back to whatever operation she was running. She left us before we even reached Riverend.”

  “A shame,” Ronan sighed. It was a shame, aye, but he couldn’t blame her. They had killed many of her companions, her wolf included. It was no wonder she wouldn’t want to join them, especially with her pet’s killer with them. Still, Ronan felt hurt that she had left so suddenly, without so much as a goodbye.

  “Thank you, Raven.”

  Raven smiled warmly. “Your assistance with the beast was invaluable, my friend. I believe our company could use your help in the future as well. I know I asked this of you once before, and you said no, would you reconsider this time? After we find your son, of course. We need a man such as yourself with us, Ronan.”

  Ronan could feel his eyes dampen. How long had it been since someone had wanted him? It made him feel humble, happy, even. And did he really have anything left here in the cold north? Hera? The thought made him want to chuckle. The huntress didn’t love him. No. He had nothing here. What did he have to lose? It was the time for a fresh start—again.

  Ronan decided.

  “Aye. Once we find my son, I will join you. I swear it.”

  Raven clasped his hands together. “Marvelous! It is settled then, for tonight, we head south.”

  Chapter 7

  Arin

  Arin sprinted through the strange wilderness, struggling to keep Nijakim’s tired, injured body upright. He leapt over rotten stumps of trees long decayed, determined to keep moving. If it had been any other time, he would’ve stopped right there to take in all the novelty around him, but the rustling of heavy boots over vegetation grew ever closer behind him. They were still being hunted by the same men who had burned down his village and killed the only people he had known his entire life. Why do they pursue us so?