by J. M. Topp
The Kindler stepped beside Rickert and knelt. ‘You see that? Our very own High Primarch Morrenwylf has created a new track, but this one is no ordinary track. A new device called a tank. A machine of daemonic firepower. Even the gods tremble at its eruptive destruction. The era of sword and shield has gone. The time of matchlock and tank has come.’
Rickert stared in awe as the tank turned its turret to the skies and shot a shell into the heavens that blew up brighter and more prominent than any rocket, momentarily blinding him, but his ears, despite the ringing, could still hear the Kindler’s chuckle, and he could, even then, make out some of his words.
‘…Aivaterra will…burn.’
RICKERT LEAPT THROUGH the rungs of the Council of Alestaeyn Chapel roof, careful not to make a sound. The wooden supports of the roof were reinforced with steel alloy, providing just enough room for his bare feet, but they were also old and rusted. Specks of dirt fell from the bolts, and the supports creaked under the strain of his step. Rickert glanced down below. Ornately furnished wooden chapel seats sat in rows on the polished marble floor. Servants wiped the chairs with sweet-oil-scented towels and mopped the floor with something that smelt of roses and honey. Rickert stopped for a moment and took in a deep breath. Rhiannon was taking her rest in her room, and he knew Morrenwylf wouldn’t disturb her in the middle of the day. It was his time to sneak about the Royal Quarter of Felheim. The small elf always loved hiding in the roof of the chapel like a hawk, perched high above the unsuspecting maidservants and clerics. Heights usually never bothered him, but instead filled him with adrenaline. Slipping and falling would leave nothing recognisable except for a pile of blood and bone. Rickert smiled at the thought. Sometimes he wished he could stay far above and live in the rafters of the chapel roof forever, staring down at the affairs of the hierarchs and common elfen. He looked at the closest support and jumped to it, grabbing onto the wooden beam. The rafters of the chapel roof led to an opening in the ceiling where a single barred window rested, allowing rays of light to stream through. Rickert jumped to the steel bars and twisted a bolt loose, opening the bars and lifting himself through the window. The air outside was sweet and crisp. Sunlight blinded his eyes and he was momentarily paralyzed, kneeling so as not to lose his ground. He could hear the sounds of birds flapping wildly away. When his eyes finally adjusted to the light, he smiled at the blue skies above.
Suddenly, a massive hair-covered arm grabbed his shirt and pulled him from the window to the edge of the terrace. Rickert gasped but didn’t scream. A man garbed in a thick bear cloak and iron bracers held him in the air. His thick, wiry brown beard blended into his furry brown gambeson. A grey cloak billowed behind him. Rickert realised that his ears were rounded.
It was a human.
‘What do you think you are doing, Korhas?’
The voice had come from behind the thick man. A girl with long, curly black hair poked her head over the man’s shoulder. She couldn’t have been much older than Rickert.
‘How did you get up here?’ asked Rickert, holding the large man’s arm as tightly as he could.
‘I ask the questions, young prince,’ said the grizzly man. ‘I could let you fall, you know.’
The man clutched at Rickert’s shirt, pushing him farther off the terrace. Rickert looked far below into the depths of the wide moat at the base of the castle.. His neck would break if he fell into the water from this height. The boulders, spikes, and spears embedded at the bottom of the moat would surely finish him off.
‘Please don’t,’ said Rickert, He caught his breath and looked at the big man.
‘Korhas, stop! Bring him back in,’ said the girl with black curls, pulling Korhas’s arm. Slowly, the big man brought Rickert back from the edge, dropping him onto the tile roof. Rickert scrambled from the ceiling to the open window, but before he could climb through, the girl with black curls grabbed his shirt and pulled him back, tossing him onto the tiles of the roof.
‘Not so fast,’ she said, putting her elbow to his neck.
‘What do you want?’ asked Rickert, struggling to catch his breath.
‘We want to help,’ said the girl, smiling.
‘Odd way of showing that,’ responded Rickert.
The girl glanced at Korhas, who was staring at Rickert, his fists clenched.
‘You must forgive Korhas,’ said the girl, giving a tired sigh. ‘You wouldn’t believe what we’ve been through getting all the way here. I am going to let you go now. All I ask is that you listen to us.’
There was nothing else he could do. Rickert glanced at the man called Korhas and then nodded slowly.
‘Good. My name is Ayda,’ she said. Her left eye was blue, but her right eye was green. They both sparkled in the sunlight. Grime covered her face and her matted hair. She looked like she hadn’t taken a bath in weeks, and she smelled like it too. She didn’t smell as foul as the man she called Korhas though. Rickert twitched his nose but didn’t comment.
‘We’ve come from Eldervale to warn you of the impending doom,’ she said.
‘I know of the impending doom. The human infestation,’ responded Rickert.
Korhas sniffed and then glared at Rickert.
‘Meaning no offence, of course,’ Rickert said quickly.
‘You think humans are the infestation… You have no idea, do you?’ asked Ayda, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I don’t know how to explain this, but…the Second Age of Fog has come. Daemons roam Eldervale.’
‘Daemons?’ Rickert asked, raising an eyebrow. These two were lunatics.
‘Shit. Does no one in Felheim have a clue?’ Ayda shook her head, pinching the bridge of her nose with a sigh. ‘This is going to be harder than I thought. The simple fact of it all is that the daemon horde took over Weserith and will be moving soon, and wherever their attention lies, death will follow. The daemon horde will spread across the entire continent like a plague, killing innocents and burning down villages and cities unless Weserith is destroyed. The only nation with a viable army is yours, Prince Rickert. Only you and your sister have the power to wipe them all out.’ Ayda whipped her hand from her chest and put it out to her side. Rickert looked at Korhas in a confused manner.
‘Daemons, like in the stories? In Eldervale? Do you have proof of this?’ Rickert sat up. The wind’s breath was beginning to pick up, ruffling his clothes. He looked at the window to the chapel but decided against another escape attempt. Ayda was a quick one. She crossed her arms.
‘Do you believe in prophecies?’ she asked.
Rickert didn’t know what to say to that.
‘At the end of the age, the Harmony of the Apostles will bring the world to equilibrium,’ said Ayda. ‘The text indicates the darkest of times will precede it. Daemons are those darkest of times.’
‘How does that prove anything?’
Ayda moved her hair behind her ears and showed Rickert her rounded one and then her pointed one. His eyes widened.
‘You are cursed.’
Ayda let her hair down slowly.
‘Careful what you say, or I will have Korhas throw you from the rooftop.’ She glared at Rickert. ‘It means I am an Apostle.’
‘You? From the Harmony?’ Rickert couldn’t stop a smile from spreading on his face. ‘Now I know you two are crazy.’
Ayda stiffened her back. ‘Korhas?’
Korhas stood up, but Rickert stood straight as well.
‘If you are going to throw me from this rooftop, all I ask is that you do so now. Don’t toy with me. I will not have it!’ Rickert stamped his foot, but as he did so, a loose tile gave way. His hands flew into the air as he slid down the rooftop. He tried to stop himself, but his hands couldn’t find a place to grip. He whipped his head in horror as he slid to the edge of the roof. Just before he went over, a hand stopped him from falling. Rickert looked up in surprise to see Ayda holding him. Rickert grabbed her hands, and Ayda pulled him back up to safety. Korhas smiled and whipped his pipe from his cloak. He lit it and took
a long drag.
‘Are you okay?’ asked Ayda, brushing dirt from his cloak.
‘I’m fine,’ said Rickert, though his legs knocked against each other.
‘As I said, we have been watching you for a while now, and we don’t mean any harm,’ said Ayda. ‘We know about the coronation, and we have also been spying on High Primarch Morrenwylf.’
‘You have?’ Rickert’s eyes were set on Ayda now.
‘Yes. We will help you, and all we ask in return is for you to listen to us.’
‘Oh?’
‘Your high primarch is not planning on giving up his power. We have heard his scheme to kill you and your sister. We want to help you ascend the throne. We help you, and all we need is your help in return.’
Rickert looked down at his feet. He had no choice but to accept help from these strange people. He looked up at Ayda and nodded.
‘I accept your help. Not even my headmistress would listen to me. I want Morrenwylf’s head on a spike.’
Ayda flashed a smile. ‘So do I.’
Rickert walked to the window. ‘I assume you have a place to live in the city?’
‘No. We are living out of a track on the outside walls. We have been scaling the wall and stealing food to feed ourselves, but…’ Ayda hesitated to continue.
Rickert nodded and then squinted at her. ‘You have a track? How?’
‘It’s a long story, Prince.’
‘Well then, I will not have my subordinates living out of a track. I will sneak you into the city, but it has to be in secret. You may use the Grafalyd room. It is a mostly unused room in the palace. It will house whoever else you have with you.’ Rickert wiped the dust from his shirt, straightening it. ‘But I must know more about your story. I will meet you in that room come sundown.’
Korhas glanced at Ayda but remained silent.
‘My handmaid will not say a word, for her tongue was cut at a young age,’ said Rickert. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I must make sure my sister is safe.’
THE MOON HUNG in the sky, shedding more light into the night than Rickert was comfortable with. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting his royal guard to round the corner at any moment. Nothing stirred in the darkness, however. He turned to the eastern walls. They were gigantic, even compared to the walls of Alestaeyn’s Chapel. Each white brick was as large as a small house. Felheim had never been under siege from an outside force. Everyone knew it would be suicide to attack Felheim. Of course, that hadn’t stopped a revolution from happening or the loss of thousands of lives in the civil war that had ensued. Rickert recalled his history lesson. He hadn’t been born yet, but that civil war had nearly destroyed the city over fifty years ago. Elfen assassins, spearheaded by the infamous Lystralyyn, had begun the bloody conflict. Rickert sighed, pulling back the hood of his cloak, letting his elongated ears breathe. Regardless of what had happened, the war had been a long time ago. Things had changed, and now the king was dead. To protect Rhiannon was Rickert’s utmost priority.
‘Where are they?’ asked Rhiannon as she walked up beside him, disturbing his thoughts. She wore a black cloak and held her hood close to her neck with her hand. Only her nose poked out of the hood. When Rickert had told her the story of how he met Ayda and Korhas, she had laughed at first but then realised that she’d felt a surge of fear while she was taking her bath—the same time Rickert almost fell from the rooftop. Then she had listened to every word, especially the part about killing the high primarch.
Rickert glanced to his side. ‘They have no choice, just like us. We need them, and they need us.’
‘Daemons, little brother.’ Rhiannon shuddered. ‘How could that be true?’
‘I will press them on the matter. We need proof.’
‘Shouldn’t we have told Noreadryyn, or at least the Kindler, about these…humans…and the daemons they are running away from?’
‘Our people would execute them, Rhiannon. You heard the council yesterday. We are going to invade Eldervale,’ said Rickert, hoping to the gods he wasn’t making a mistake. 'One of them is a half-elf.'
'Cursed,' spat Rhiannon. Suddenly, a long and heavy rope fell inside the wall. Like Ayda had said they would, she and Korhas climbed over the walls silently. Korhas was the first to descend, with Ayda behind him.
‘Only the two of you?’ asked Rickert, looking back up the wall.
‘There were four of us, but—’ began Ayda, but Korhas shushed her.
‘We must go to the Royal Quarter now,’ said Korhas with a harsh whisper.
Rickert nodded at them and proceeded down the streets of Felheim, holding Rhiannon’s hand tightly. The shadows cast by the tall buildings would be enough to help them avoid being caught out in the open. Torchlight began to shine over the steps ahead of them, coming from a soldier making his rounds through the city walls. Rickert held his breath and ducked into an alleyway. Rhiannon gasped quietly. Rickert stepped over a puddle of water trickling from the roof of a building. He glanced back to make sure Korhas and Ayda were still behind him. Their faces stared right back through the shadows.
Rickert turned and continued through the city, careful to avoid any more soldiers on their night’s watch. When they reached the castle, Rickert ducked into the gardens Rhiannon and he had been in that morning. The twins moved like a shadow across the gardens. When they reached the wall of the castle just underneath their balcony chambers, Rickert grabbed a rope that was hidden in the vines of the garden and let go of Rhiannon’s hand. He and his sister climbed without any problems. Korhas, however, was struggling. He was too big, and it seemed like his arms were beginning to fail him.
‘Dammit all, I can’t go further,’ said the large man, falling to his knees.
Rickert glanced at the other end of the garden. A palace guard holding a torch was approaching. Rickert’s heart jumped into his throat. He looked down from the balcony.
‘Hurry! Someone’s coming!’ he whispered as loudly as he could. Ayda looked toward the guard. She patted Korhas’s shoulder, but Rickert couldn’t hear what she said. The guard kept a slow pace as he walked the edge of the garden. If they didn’t climb now, they would be caught.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Rhiannon behind him.
‘The big one, Korhas, he can’t get up,’ said Rickert, looking back over the balcony. He blinked rapidly. They were gone. Where Korhas and Ayda had been moments before, there was now nothing more than grass and vinery. Rhiannon pulled Rickert back and began to retrieve the rope. When the line was sitting in a pile at their feet, Rhiannon held Rickert as the guard passed beneath them, whistling a tune to himself. Rickert heard a heavy thud, and the whistling stopped suddenly. Rickert peered over the edge but once again could see nothing.
‘Hey!’ he whispered hoarsely.
Nothing.
Finally, after a few moments, Korhas appeared from the shadows. Rhiannon gasped and threw the rope down once more. This time, Korhas grabbed the line and pulled himself all the way up, with Ayda clinging to his neck.
Rickert let out a sigh and shook his head. ‘That was close.’
‘A little too close,’ Ayda said. Korhas spilt over the edge and stumbled onto the balcony.
‘You did well, Ayda. By the gods, I need a drink,’ he said, putting a hand over his forehead.
‘Do you have ale?’Ayda asked the young twins.
Rickert and Rhiannon looked at each other and shook their heads. ‘We could get our hands on some wine,’ said Rhiannon.
‘Wine?’ whispered Korhas. ‘Son of a bitch.’
‘Wine would do just fine, wouldn’t it, Korhas?’ said Ayda, patting his back. ‘We are grateful for your hospitality, dear friends.’
Korhas remained silent. Rickert nodded. ‘I will fetch that wine for you, and I wanted—we wanted—to thank you for your help.’
‘Don’t thank us just yet, young prince,’ said Korhas, resting his back on the balcony railing. ‘The hard part is yet to come.’
The Moon Over Karagh Muín
SHE WAS DREAMING. Elymiah knew she was. But that did nothing to dissuade the power of the memory. Dark waters from the Kingsoul River blasted through her body, chilling it. She was naked and in the spiked cell. The rush of the mighty stream pushed her against the bars, digging spikes into her back, piercing her skin. Elymiah tried to push herself off, but this only dug the spikes deeper. This time, she didn’t struggle as blood seeped from her mouth and nose. Ash-coloured arms with long knobby fingers shot from the darkness and grabbed the opposite end of the cell. Elymiah tried to move, but the dark waters had pinned her down. Grey fingers bent the metal and reached for her, wrapping tightly around her neck. Slowly the fingers squeezed. Elymiah closed her eyes and let darkness envelop her.
A SOFT KNOCK woke Elymiah with a start. White, sweat-ridden bedsheets were wrapped around her neck. Elymiah tore them from her body and gasped for breath. Her throat was raw, and she was covered in sweat from head to toe. Sweat soaked through her grey nightgown. She struggled to breathe but composed herself as the door creaked open.
‘Elymiah?’ Theodric’s voice softly echoed in the bedchamber. She swallowed and sighed heavily, pulling her blanket to her breasts. Theodric entered her room, closing the door behind him.
‘I am here,’ said Elymiah, forcing a smile and putting a strand of hair behind her ear. Theodric wasn’t wearing the same armour he’d worn when Elymiah first met him. He wore a white training robe with a half-skirt flowing behind him. His leather gauntlets were strapped tightly to his arms. His leather boots clicked on the stone tiles of the chamber. The colours complemented his blond hair, but his eyes seemed almost out of place on his face. His black sunken eyes seemed to frown as he smiled and bowed.
‘You’ve been asleep for nearly three days. Your father thought you might need this.’ Theodric stepped behind the door and brought in a cart with a silver bowl that billowed steam from underneath the rim. Elymiah’s stomach growled as she clutched her blankets to her chest. The smells of roasted sausage and baked bread floated into the room, squeezing her stomach with stinging hunger. She winced as Theodric placed the cart beside her.
