The Twin Princes

by J. M. Topp

  ‘How long has he been dead for?’ asked Tiebalt from beneath his cloth mask.

  ‘Four years ago.’

  ‘Four—?’ Eymeg hung his head. The rotting flesh and bones had seemed like they belonged to someone who had been dead for a couple of months, but then, Cedarskin was an elf. Decay would take longer than an average human. Eymeg kicked himself for not catching that detail.

  ‘Where’s Olavia?’ he asked finally.

  ‘Upstairs, with a client.’ Rollo frowned and put his elbow on the counter.

  ‘I’m booking her,’ said Eymeg quietly.

  ‘You have to pay.’

  Eymeg turned to Tiebalt and then back to Rollo. ‘How much?’

  ‘Ten silver.’

  Eymeg’s eyebrows flew up. ‘No whore is worth that much, especially not in Duren.’

  ‘That’s what I’m charging you, Eymeg. You left a mess the last time you were here, and I haven’t quite recovered.’ Rollo spat onto the counter, produced a cloth, and began wiping in slow circles.

  ‘Five coppers.’ Eymeg dug into a small pouch on his belt and put the five pieces of copper on the counter. Rollo looked at him and frowned. Eymeg thumbed the hilt of his shortsword and tilted his head. ‘Or I will make a mess again.’

  ‘Fine. Go, before I change my mind,’ said Rollo, cursing underneath his breath. Eymeg and Tiebalt ascended the wooden steps rapidly. The sounds of fucking came through one of the closed doors. Eymeg stopped to listen. A screeching of bed pegs against the floorboard squeaked from behind a closed door. Eymeg turned to Tiebalt and nodded. Tiebalt loosened his sword and slammed the door open. Olavia was riding a man, holding her breasts and moaning loudly. Her blonde hair spilt all the way down to her buttocks, which the man was voraciously slapping. She had red hand marks on her body. Her nose was thin and beautiful—or perhaps at one time it had been. A scar pulled at the upper corner of her lips, making it look like she had a permanent ugly smile on her face. Suddenly, she turned and screamed, falling to the side and clutching the bedsheets to her chest. The man shouted and stood up. He ran to his sword, which rested beside a barrel in the corner of the room, but his pants were clutching his ankles. The man fell to the floor hard, a few inches from his weapon, ass up. Tiebalt walked over, unsheathed his sword, and put the sharp point to the man’s neck.

  ‘She’s mine for the night,’ protested the man. ‘I paid Rollo good money for it.’

  ‘Leave now,’ said Tiebalt. ‘Gather your belongings, or you will be carried out in pieces.’ They grey shuck’s shoulders seemed to grow and thicken, and his veins were popping on his arms. The man looked up as if measuring his chances. Seeming to conclude he could not win against Tiebalt, the man pulled his pants up as quickly as he could and grabbed his shirt and coat, leaving his sword in the corner. He ran out of the room. Olavia shouted once more for help, but Eymeg closed the door and put his hands on his hips.

  ‘You can drop the act, Olavia,’ Eymeg said, twisting his neck and yawning.

  Olavia’s expression of terror changed to one of strange annoyance. She dropped the bedsheets onto her lap, exposing her breasts. At one time, Olavia might have been attractive, perhaps even beautiful, but that time had long since passed. ‘Why have you come, ’Meg?’ She pouted, stiffening her back and making her saggy breasts bounce.

  ‘Ayda. Where is she?’ asked Eymeg, shrugging off the coy nickname.

  ‘I don’t know. Tried to care for the little cunt, but she never listened to me. Perhaps she had too much of you in her,’ she said, absentmindedly twirling a strand of hair in her fingers. Eymeg clenched his fists.

  ‘Where is she?’ He repeated through his teeth.

  ‘Do you have a dick in your ear?’ Olavia said, glancing at him from the corner of her eyes. Eymeg sucked his teeth and looked down at his boots.

  ‘What happened to Cedarskin?’ asked Tiebalt through his face wrap.

  ‘Daemons came. They sucked the marrow from his bones.’

  ‘Rollo said the cold took him,’ said Eymeg.

  ‘The cold or daemons. It makes no difference. Cedarskin is dead as a doornail,’ spat Olavia.

  ‘What did the daemons look like?’ Tiebalt said as he sheathed his sword and put his hands on his belt buckle.

  ‘They looked like bats or fairies. I don’t know. I didn’t stick around to study ’em,’ Olavia said, pouting. She stood up to put on a shirt. Tiebalt walked over to her, ripped the wig from her bald head, and pushed her back onto the bed. Olavia squeaked as she landed on the soft pillows. She glanced at Eymeg.

  ‘Who’s this you brought with you? He’s strong.’ She turned to Tiebalt and smiled, licking her lips. Tiebalt knelt in front of her.

  ‘Oooh, you I’ll do for free. I need a good strong dick in me,’ she said as she touched Tiebalt’s shoulders, running her fingers up his neck. Tiebalt untied the wrapping and let it fall from his face. He bared his jagged white teeth and let his elongated forked tongue slip through them. He even gave a slow evil laugh. Eymeg had to stifle a grin.

  ‘You wouldn’t last, dear,’ said Tiebalt.

  An expression of pure terror descended onto her face. ‘You’ve brought a daemon with you. I thought you were supposed to kill daemons,’ she said, her words barely forming a whisper. Her eyes widened more than Eymeg would have thought possible.

  Eymeg swallowed a chuckle and forced his voice low. ‘He’s no daemon, Olavia. I’ll only ask you once more. Where is Ayda?’

  ‘She’s dead.’ Olavia didn't move her stare from Tiebalt’s white eyes.

  ‘What?’ snapped Eymeg. Tiebalt stood up and tied the wrapping onto his face once more.

  Olavia swallowed hard. ‘She was evil. Pure darkness festered in her eyes and spewed from her mouth. A man came down from Uredor ruins. He was murderous. Killed nearly half the town. If it hadn’t been for Father Sabathiel, that evil man would have killed us all.’ Olavia shook the fear from her shoulders and tried to compose herself, though she did eye Tiebalt warily. ‘Father Sabathiel tried to kill the man, but he was able to survive death like a cockroach. When the man left, he stole little Ayda for his evil sorcery and left Duren. She’s most likely dead. Abandoned. Gods know where the devil’s man went.’

  ‘In which direction?’ asked Eymeg.

  ‘He went south.’ For a moment, Olavia’s face went blank as if she saw something in the distance. Eymeg looked to where her eyes had wandered. Nothing was there.

  ‘Which path?’ asked Eymeg, his patience beginning to run thin.

  ‘She was taken south to the Kingsoul. Their tracks pointed in that direction.’

  ‘Not Weserith?’

  Olavia’s eyes flashed. ’Did I say fucking Weserith? No, south to Flodden or the Kingsoul. I don’t fucking know where he went.’

  Tiebalt cleared his throat and motioned to Eymeg. They walked to the corner of the room together.

  ‘You sure we should listen to her?’ Tiebalt said quietly.

  ‘What other choice do we have?’ asked Eymeg.

  Tiebalt picked up the sword that had been abandoned in the corner and inspected it. ‘We should go all the way to the Kingsoul in search of your daughter on the word of a whore?’

  Eymeg glanced at Olavia, who was straining to listen.

  ‘Perhaps this Father Sabathiel fellow would know more,’ said Tiebalt. Eymeg nodded and turned to Olavia.

  ‘Hrrmm, this sword is better than my own!’ said Tiebalt, unsheathing his weapon and comparing the two swords. Eymeg ignored him and pulled out a small map and pencil from the pouch behind him. He knelt and began drawing on it. Olavia looked over the bed to see.

  ‘Where is Goldilocks?’ asked Olavia. Tiebalt gasped silently and looked at Eymeg, who ignored the question and continued drawing on the map. Olavia wasn’t done.

  ‘A proper elf whore, that one. More of one than I could ever be. Did you end up marrying her like you said you would?’ she said, smiling at Eymeg. Tiebalt stepped forward to silence her, but Eymeg held his hand up to stop him, t
hen put his pencil back into his pouch and handed the map to her.

  ‘Do not show this to anyone. It’s meant only for you, Olavia,’ he said without any hint of anger. Olavia held the map in her hands.

  ‘It’s the route to Karagh Muín.’

  ‘Eymeg!’ exclaimed Tiebalt.

  Eymeg held a hand up to Tiebalt for silence once more and looked at Olavia. ‘You and I have a history. Last time I was here, I didn’t exactly treat you right. Here’s my penance. Go there now, while you still can. Take no one with you, and leave before nightfall. It is the only safe place left in the world.’ His eyes pierced into Olavia’s. He pulled out a small six-sided die from his pouch and gave it to her. ‘That token should let you through.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ Olavia asked, folding the map and putting it close to her breasts. Eymeg chewed his lip and walked to the door. Tiebalt dropped his sword and slammed the other man’s sword into his sheath. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted in through the doorway. Eymeg took a deep breath and turned to the naked woman on the bed.

  ‘Good luck, Olavia.’

  A CHAPEL STOOD like a crooked finger at the easternmost end of the small town of Duren. It was a pitiful chapel with a twisted steeple no taller than Sigwaard’s Ale. While it wasn’t in the worst condition Eymeg had seen a chapel, it was no better than he had expected Duren to have. The door, however, was reinforced by steel, which was strange considering the poor state of the mortar walls of the dilapidated chapel. A somewhat weak defence, seeing as one could probably poke a hole into the mortar with a well-placed fist. Eymeg tapped on the gate with his gauntlets. A hollow clink echoed within.

  ‘I still don’t understand why you gave her that token. Did you care for Olavia that much?’ asked Tiebalt, shaking his head.

  ‘Don’t ask, Tie. I…have to fix my wrongdoings.’

  ‘Hrrmm. I agree, but there are other ways of doing it. You must trust me, Eymeg,’ Tiebalt said, emphasising the -meg. ‘You always were stubborn to a fault.’

  ‘I do trust you. I wouldn’t have brought you on this journey if I didn’t,’ said Eymeg as someone on the other side of the door began unlocking and unbolting it.

  Eymeg turned to Tiebalt. ‘Best stay out of sight. Wouldn’t want the religious leader asking questions, least of all about you.’

  Tiebalt frowned but did as Eymeg asked of him. Most did not know the difference between daemons and creatures of old. Tiebalt turned, walked into the shadows, and leaned on a scorched wooden beam, keeping a watchful eye on the chapel. Eymeg could still see his glowing eyes even in the darkness.

  The door flew open, and Eymeg flashed a smile. A boy greeted him, most likely the priest’s serf. His eyes were blue, and his blond hair was fashioned into a bowl cut. His robe clung to his unhealthily slim body. The serf peered into the gathering darkness, and the scent of old incense and mulled wine spilt into the street.

  ‘Good eve, lad. Is Father Sabathiel here?’ said Eymeg in the most fraudulently jovial tone he could muster. The serf carried a metal hammer in his hand and three nails in his closed fist. Sweat was beaded on the boy’s brow. The serf studied Eymeg and shuddered.

  ‘Do you require confession or absolution?’

  Absolution, probably.

  ‘I just need to exchange a few words with Father Sabathiel,’ Eymeg said, looking past the young serf into the chapel. A heath fire was burning within, and heat slapped him in the face. Eymeg shivered despite himself.

  ‘Father Sabathiel is finished seeing the guilty for the night. He will be available for interview on the morrow.’ The serf was about to close the door, but Eymeg put his boot in between the door and the frame. He forced himself into the chapel and brushed past the serf.

  ‘Hey! You can’t—’

  Eymeg walked down the length of the chapel past rows of pews. He stopped before a statue of Oredmere. The bronze horse had been sculpted in a resting state. Its eyes seemed to stare intently into Eymeg. Its mane billowed to one side. It had to have been the biggest statue of Oredmere he had ever seen, besides anything found outside of Aivaterra, that is. Its head was nearly the size of Eymeg’s torso.

  Wooden pews made of thick, sturdy oak lined the chapel, divided by a blue carpeted path. An overturned bench rested at the front of the chapel, and nails were strewn on the floor. The serf had likely been tasked with gathering them all up at this ungodly hour.

  ‘Sir, you must leave immediately.’ The serf caught up to Eymeg and pulled on his sleeve.

  A rough voice rose from the front pew on the other side of the aisle: ‘Let him alone, Gosfridus.’ An old priest sat staring at the statue from the shadows. Eymeg was surprised he hadn’t noticed him. ‘Don’t you see? Even those who hunt the daemons need prayer. Isn’t that right, man of the Veledred?’

  Father Sabathiel wore a white robe that fell all the way past his feet, covering a hump almost as tall as his head. Gold frilling decorated the edges, and his arms seemed to have been chafing, as small pieces of his skin were peeling like tree bark way past his elbows. His nose poked from his face like a beak.

  ‘You have keen senses, Father,’ said Eymeg. He saw a spiked mace resting in a corner beside the bronze horse. Crusted blood and hair dangled from the nails that were embedded in the thick, sturdy wood. A wide-brimmed black hat rested alongside it.

  ‘We recognise our own.’ The old priest smiled, turning to Eymeg. ‘Tell me, have you ever fallen in love with a dream?’

  Eymeg walked in front of the statue. ‘You know, this god isn’t all that it seems.’ He tapped the bronze snout of Oredmere.

  ‘I know,’ whispered the priest.

  ‘You…do?’ asked Eymeg, turning to the priest with an eyebrow raised. The serf stood by the side of the pew, glaring at Eymeg.

  ‘Go on, Gosfridus. I can handle this…man,’ said Father Sabathiel, motioning the boy away. The serf looked like he was about to protest but then seemed to decided against it. He dropped the hammer and nails by the pew and walked out of the main chapel hall.

  ‘I sincerely hope you don’t go around saying such things to random villagers,’ said Father Sabathiel, finally looking Eymeg in the eye. ‘I knew it was a matter of time that one of you hunters found me. I didn’t think it would be so soon.’

  Eymeg touched the hilt of his sword.

  ‘No need to worry, hunter. I am not going to attack you. Only remember this: blades that strike angels are cursed for all eternity.’ Father Sabathiel raised his hand slowly.

  ‘I’ve heard that one.’ Eymeg relaxed his stance and rested his elbow on the hilt of his sword. ‘You are a seraph.’

  ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘Your wings were cut. That’s the lump of old flesh on your back. And on your arms…’ began Eymeg, realizing that the peeling skin on his forearms was the remnant of feathers that had been cut, leaving only stumps in their place. ‘You were expelled from the heavens.’

  The man growled and stood up like an old beaten vulture.

  ‘I have spent my entire existence hunting daemons and defending humanity. My kind was the fifth in rank of the greatest of all the heavens. The gods, in their insanity, banished me and cursed me to earth, yet even still, I kill in their name. However, the tables have turned, and they feed on what they have sown. Is it any wonder the gods have all run for their lives?’

  Eymeg sighed. ‘In truth, I am not here for you. It’s mere coincidence that we meet this eve. I am looking for someone else.’

  The priest seemed to relax as if he had been holding his breath. ‘I am trying to kill as many daemons as I can. Perhaps I will be forgiven and be allowed back into heaven.’ Father Sabathiel cracked a smile.

  ‘That might be a little impossible right now,’ said Eymeg. ‘Heaven, earth, and hell are all one. There are only a select few who can bring peace once more.’

  ‘Ah, the Harmony?’

  ‘Or so the songs go,’ said Eymeg with a shrug. ‘Who knows if all that bullshit is true?’

  ‘Daemo
ns, every last one of them,’ spat Father Sabathiel.

  ‘Those men, hanging in the streets. Were they daemons?’ Eymeg turned his head sideways to look at the statue of Oredmere.

  The priest shrugged and took his seat once more on the pew. ‘They were heretical and sacrilegious. Whatever lost, they won’t be remembered.’

  ‘As I said, I am looking for someone. A little girl. Someone told me that a man came from the ruins of Uredor and murdered her.’

  The priest’s face darkened. ‘Why are you looking for her? She was cursed.’

  Eymeg’s muscles tensed once more. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had her hanged. She was half-elfen and half-human—a muddled corruption,’ snapped Father Sabathiel.

  Eymeg grabbed the priest by the scruff of his robe and threw him against the statue of Oredmere, slamming his back against its bronze side, causing blood to spurt from his nose.

  ‘So you killed her?’ asked Eymeg squeezing the angel’s neck. A look of terror descended upon Father Sabathiel. He put his hands up to cover his face.

  ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong,’ he coughed, licking his lips. ‘A daemon-possessed man came down from the ruins of Uredor. He brought her back to life with evil necromancy. I had to have her hanged. He took her body and did evil experiments on her!’

  ‘That was my daughter you murdered!’ Eymeg kicked the pew beside him, toppling it over. Father Sabathiel licked his lips. Eymeg turned to him and looked him over. ‘You are more than a priest, aren’t you? A Chastiser was a form of executioner common in these parts. I wonder if you ever used the Tree of Forfeiture?’

  Eymeg let Father Sabathiel fall to the floor. He coughed and put his hand up to stop the flow of blood from his nose. He steeled his eyes on Eymeg.

  Eymeg walked over to the spiked mace and inspected the dirty weapon. ‘How did you ever manage to hold this thing? In your state, I’ll wager the only thing you could hold is your piss, and barely, at that. Where did this man go?’

  ‘I do not possess the knowledge of the plans of daemons and their evil ilk. I am an ordained priest of the highest order. I am called Father because I was that to this shitty town—an angel created to uphold the laws of the gods and Oredmere, their guardian,’ sputtered Father Sabathiel.