by J. M. Topp
‘What’s your name?’ asked Elymiah.
‘I have none.’ The crone glanced up. ‘And I dare not give what I am known by. Please, Coda is waiting for you. You must hurry, or he will leave without you.’
Elymiah glanced one last time at the old woman and then turned into the village to seek out Coda.
ELYMIAH SNIFFED THE air in the small round hut and quickly stifled a frown. It smelt like a burnt rat. Coda poked at a fire in the ground, cooking a small animal on a spit. When Elymiah had surprised him by stumbling into his hut, covered from head to toe in mud, he had barely been able to make heads or tails of the situation. Then, when Elymiah had explained the events that led to her early liberation he’d breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Then Lord Bearohd won’t know we are gone until the morrow, and by then, we should be well up the pass.’
‘You found a way?’
‘I did,’ said Coda. ‘I had to steal it from right under Wischard’s nose.’ He held a parchment in his hand. ‘With this, we will cross with little difficulty. For now, you must get rest. Digging really takes a lot out of someone.’
Despite a day of rigorous work, Elymiah couldn’t sleep. She’d tried once already, but once Coda had arrived with his catch, she’d seen no use in trying. He snorted awkwardly and was too loud for her as he tended the fire. Elymiah got up from her cot and sat by the cooking pot opposite from Coda. He glanced at her and smiled, unaware that he had kept sleep from her.
‘We leave on the morrow. It will be a difficult trek up the mountain,’ said Coda, poking the fire with a stick, sending a few ashes into the air. ‘Our horses will only make it up the pass, but once we enter the Moonlit Valley, it’s best we go in on foot. Despite the warm season in Saltkire Hold, the pass is covered in terrible snow. We will need to take furs with us.’
‘Why should we go on foot when we reach the valley?’ she asked. ‘Won’t that make us easy targets?’
‘Horses make easy targets for giants and cyclopses. It’s not how we hunt and bait the cursed beasts,’ said Coda. ‘No, we will go on foot once we enter the valley. Easier to hide and sneak about if need be.’
‘Tell me about Kveikur. I want to know what I am up against.’ Elymiah folded her legs in front of her.
Coda smiled. ‘Are you sure you want to know about Kveikur? Sometimes it is best going into a dangerous situation blind.’
‘Would you?’
Coda smiled again and shook his head. ‘No, I suppose I wouldn’t.’ He fell back on his butt and looked Elymiah in the eye. ‘When I was only a boy, dangerous monsters would roam the isles. Creatures like giants rose from the seas, and winged creatures flew from Snowfall Mount, taking my people and killing them. Lord Bearohd’s grandfather was Keeper of the Reef then, and he did his best to try to fight those creatures off. He was the one who reforged the alliance with the Veledred that we all thought was all but dead.’ Coda let out a heavy sigh. ‘The daemon hunters are good at killing monsters, and they hunted them down without mercy. But then, the Keeper of the Reef died, giving way for Bearohd to rise as Lord. Bearohd was jealous of the Veledred and their keep in the mount, Karagh Muín. He has had his eye on the Veledred roost for a long time now.’ Coda took the animal on the spit and turned it around to cook the other side. He sat back and stared at the fire.
‘The cyclops named Kveikur came from the seas, just like the other one-eyed monsters, but this one was smarter than the others. He hid in a cave in the Moonlit Valley during the scouring of the Veledred. Patiently, only killing the occasional snow lion or wayward goat and traveller, he waited in the shadows for the killings to pass.’ Coda shuddered. ‘Then, only at the beginning of this very year, he came back, killing without purpose. It seems like he is bloodthirsty for revenge. He won’t even eat the people he kills. We tried to hunt him down first. Forty of Bearohd’s men went into the valley, and only twelve came back. His skin is impenetrable to arrows and swords, and he is fast—faster than any cyclops we’ve encountered before. I only caught a glance of him in the fog. That and his shining red eye.’ Coda was staring off into the distance as he spoke, almost as if he saw Kveikur in the fire. He closed his eyes and then looked up at Elymiah. ‘I hope you have a plan for killing him, because if the squad of Veledred could not kill him, there is very little you will be able to do.’
Elymiah chewed on Coda’s words. He reached up and turned the small animal on the spit again.
‘Kveikur appeared at the beginning of the year?’
Coda nodded. ‘The harvest of our crops had just begun.’
‘Regardless of whether or not the other hunters can kill it, I will still try my best. I have nothing left to lose.’
Coda snickered and looked up at her. ‘I like you. Bearohd was right about you. You have spirit. But I will admit, this map is not the only item I stole for you.’
Her eyes widened as Coda drew Alamánd from a bundle of furs.
‘I think you might need this for your journey,’ he said. Elymiah took the sword in hand.
‘Nothing more can be taken from me, Coda. All that I am was ripped from me and thrown away like ashes from a dead hearth.’ She stared deeper into the flames. ‘Yet I cannot give up. Kveikur or no, I will find my father.’
Floddenvale
EYMEG SCANNED THE horizon, putting his hand flat above his eyes. Several stacks of grey and black smoke rose into the sky, but it was the smell of sewage and filth that hit him first. Strangely enough, it was much worse than the stench the daemon horde had given off by Greenwater River. Even Jolien had to cover her nose. Tiebalt rode up behind Eymeg, a concerned expression clouding his face. A large hill stood between them and whatever lay on the other side. A cloud of dirt seemed to rise with the foetid stench charging at them. Eymeg urged his thoroughbred onward.
As they rode over the hill they saw blue and white banners piercing the sky. A sparrow flew in the fabric of the banners, flapping lazily in the soft gale blowing north from the Kingsoul. Eymeg could barely believe his eyes as they reached the top of the hill. Thousands of tents of all sizes and fabrics were collected around the Kingsoul River like an infection. A makeshift palisade made of thin sticks of wood no taller than Eymeg’s shoulders surrounded the extensive collection of roughspun tents for miles on end. A garrison of Aivaterran regulars guarded the road leading up to the river. Each man held a pike in his hands, but only a few were fully armoured. Eymeg realised that the heat must be more intense in steel plate armour, and he was grateful for his leather armour.
He pulled the reins of his mount. The garrison had not spotted them just yet, as the cloud of dust covered their approach.
‘Tiebalt,’ said Eymeg, beckoning his partner to him. The grey shuck rode up beside him. ‘The Aivaterrans are not known for being an understanding sort of people. They wouldn’t know the difference between a creature of old, like a grey shuck, and a daemon. They would kill you and burn you. That’s what they do to anything that is weird and unnatural.’
Tiebalt glanced at the garrison ahead through the cloud of dust and pursed his lips, frowning. ‘You intend to go on alone?’ he asked.
Eymeg shrugged. ‘With Jolien, I suppose. Once we reach Aivaterra, we will part ways.’
Jolien cast a worried glance at Tiebalt and then looked away.
‘What shall I do?’ asked Tiebalt. ‘Return to Karagh Muín?’
‘No,’ said Eymeg, shaking his head. ‘With the daemon army we saw yesterday, we need to move strategically. We need to warm Baron Wylfesmer.’
‘You know that Zigi wouldn’t approve,’ said Tiebalt. ‘He would gladly take the time to kill you if you were within his grasp.’
‘That’s not the point, Tiebalt. Whatever happens now, it's more than just for the good of the Veledred. Zignumerand and my father can go on playing at being hunters in their castles. The Second Age of Fog will not be stopped there.’
Tiebalt clenched the reins of his horse and then looked to the east.
‘That’s right, Alder Isle,
’ said Eymeg with a nod. ‘They need to be warned.’
‘Baron Wylfesmer won’t listen to us,’ said Tiebalt, shaking his head.
‘He’s never been visited by a daemon hunter save for my father. You must convince him of the urgency of picking a side. The dark army may be coming for him first. They were headed in his direction.’
Tiebalt glanced at him. ‘I’ve never heard you speak like that, Eymeg. You sounded…’
Eymeg shook his head. ‘I will knock you from your horse if you say “like your father”.’
Tiebalt bared his sharp teeth in a mocking smile. ‘So be it,’ he said. Then he unbuckled his belt and pulled his sword and sheath from his side. ‘But before I leave, I want you to take my sword.’
Eymeg shook his head and patted the broken halberd at his side. ‘I can manage. The weapon I found is still not a weapon to laugh at even in its current state, Tiebalt. It’s not the sharpest anymore, and the balance is shit, but it will cut.’
‘Fine.’ Tiebalt buckled his sword belt to his waist. ‘I will meet you in Karagh Muín once negotiations with the baron are concluded.’
‘I won’t be returning to Karagh Muín. You forget I was banished.’
‘So you were serious about the Aivaterran slave arena?’ asked Tiebalt, looking off into the horizon.
‘Maybe. Farewell, old friend. I hope not too long passes before we meet again.’
‘Eymeg, be kind to her. She has been through a lot.’ Tiebalt nodded at Jolien. He turned his mount around and kicked it in the ribs. The thoroughbred grunted, and Tiebalt galloped away into the rising sun.
‘Tsk, tsk,’ said Eymeg, urging his horse toward the garrison. Jolien sighed loudly and, for the dozenth time, folded her arms over her chest in annoyance.
The Aivaterran guards snapped to attention at the sight of two riders emerging from dust clouds on the road. They levelled their pikes at Eymeg and Jolien.
‘State your names and your business,’ said one of the men, presumably the commander, seeing as he wore a blue and white gambeson and had a golden sparrow pinned onto his chest. This was in contrast to the other soldiers, who only had bronze sparrows on their clothing.
‘We mean to enter the Khahadran,’ said Eymeg, closing the gap between them. ‘We are refugees running from the war.’
‘Oh ar ya now?’ said another man with a nasty smile. The man began to come too close for Eymeg’s comfort. He was missing teeth and had three nasty scars over his left eye. His right eye gleamed black in the sunlight. He was staring at Jolien.
Eymeg frowned.
The commander cleared his throat and nodded at Eymeg. ‘You cannot enter the Khahadran without a pass. If you haven’t heard, there is a war on and about. We cannot risk allowing undesirables into our beloved kingdom. It is the Second Age of Fog, after all.’
‘Everyone knows that,’ said Eymeg, rolling his eyes. ‘I am Veledred, from the Isles of Brume.’
‘What’s that?’ said the commander, then turned to his comrades. ‘Sounds like a Yorvethan fish dish.’ The men of the garrison burst into laughter. The commander nodded and raised his spear. The men beside him followed suit. ‘You do not look like a daemon, so you may enter these encampments, but I guarantee you, you will not enter the Khahadran without a pass.’
‘Where might we find such a pass?’ asked Eymeg, looking over the border.
‘Lord Fastolph Oretyyn will be at the Bell Keeper Tavern, going east by the Kingsoul.’ The commander pointed at a thick cloister of tents and buildings made of mud and sand.
Eymeg nodded and glanced at Jolien.
‘It’s a bar and brothel and whatever else suits your fancy. I will warn you, Veledred, this is a Weserithian encampment you are dealing with. Watch your purse and your woman. It seems that Flodden has expanded its reach west and south and left its mud-men behind.’
‘I’m not his—’ began Jolien in protest, but Eymeg interrupted her.
‘Lord Fastolph will be there?’
‘Aye,’ spat the commander. ‘He will.’ He turned to his men to allow the horse through. ‘I welcome you two to Floddenvale.’
THE BELL KEEPER Tavern rested by the wooden palisade beside an old abandoned parish that had been erected in memory of the naming of the river over three hundred years ago, if Eymeg recalled his history lessons correctly. Now, all that was left of the parish was its western wall, now an entrance into the tavern. The tavern itself seemed to be made of old brick and mortar, giving the impression that it had been there long before Floddenvale had come to be, though not longer than the parish wall.
As Eymeg guided the horse to a makeshift stable, a thin and sickly rabbit jumped into their path. Two children, who looked as malnourished as the rabbit, came from the shadows and stomped its head with stunning speed and precision, crushing its skull into the mud. Eymeg’s horse neighed and took a step back, and Jolien gasped as the children drove their heels into the rabbit’s skull again. Then one of the children grabbed the flattened rabbit’s corpse and dashed off into the night. The other child cursed and gave chase. Jolien looked on in silence.
A burnt yellow light spilt onto the sands from within the tavern, accompanied by laughter and shouts. Several horses were tied to a hitching post. Two of them were white destriers—powerful beasts with white and blue shields tied to their beautifully carved saddles. Eymeg guided his horse to the hitching post and dismounted, eyeing the war beasts.
‘You’d best wait here, Jolien. I won’t be too long,’ he said as he tied his horse to the post.
‘I want to go inside.’ Jolien kicked Vos softly in the ribs making the horse neigh. She patted his side to calm him down, but her eyes never left Eymeg’s.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jolien,’ said Eymeg, shaking his head.
‘Oh, and staying out here by myself is?’ She smirked.
‘Well—’
‘No. The commander said it himself. This is Floddenvale. These Weserithian rats would steal me out into the night.’
‘I wouldn’t announce that so loud,’ said Eymeg, glancing to his sides. Jolien crossed her arms. Perhaps Tiebalt should have taken Jolien with him. She wouldn’t be any safer in Alder Isle, however.
‘Fine,’ he said after a time. ‘But keep your mouth shut and stay close to me.’
Jolien bit her lip but dismounted all the same, keeping her cloak over her body and drawing her hood over her head. Eymeg walked into the old parish and was met by drunken laughter. A girl no older than thirteen or fourteen stood with hands tied to a pole on a stone table at the far end of the tavern. Tears were streaming down her face, and her bodice was torn, exposing her small breasts. Quarrels and small knives dotted the wooden wall behind her. Her bright red hair was tangled and matted, falling over her frightened face. Tears ran freely from her dark green eyes. A man with a large red beard and a swollen belly downed a full jug of beer and then tossed the tankard at the girl. He pointed a crossbow at her and, with a loud belch, shot a quarrel toward her. The projectile hit the girl’s shoulder, making her hurl an ear-splitting scream, which was then drowned out by cheers and hollers. The fat man frowned, held his crossbow up, and wiped the beer from his lips.
‘Well, you fuckers, looks like I’ve had too much to drink. My aim is off,’ he said, sitting down by his comrades and grabbing one of their mugs. Eymeg shuddered as blood began to drip from the girl’s shoulder. He made his way to the bar. Jolien stared in shock.
‘Best not stare too long, Jolien,’ whispered Eymeg. He set his elbows on the countertop.
‘This is a Weserithian encampment, but why are the Aivaterrans here?’ asked Jolien.
Eymeg looked for the bartender, but no one stood behind the counter. He turned to Jolien.
‘Not all Weserithians crossed the Kingsoul with the refugees moving to Aivaterra. Some of them preferred to stay by the river. There were so many Weserithians that preferred to stay behind, they basically made up a small village. After a few months, they simply named it Floddenvale
. As to why the Aivaterrans are here, well it must be to keep watch over the border.’
‘For Weserithians?’ wondered Jolien.
‘Or maybe something else.’ Eymeg shuddered from the image of the daemon army he’d seen the day before.
‘Hmm, you seem to know a lot about this.’
‘Everyone’s heard of the mass exodus from Weserith. The only thing I can’t figure out is where the damn bartender is,’ snapped Eymeg. Finally, from the den of a larder emerged a man holding a cask beneath his arm. The bartender, a man with barely any nose to speak of, gave a horrid toothless smile as he set the cask on the table.
‘What’ll it be?’ he asked sullenly.
‘One mug of ale,’ said Eymeg.
‘Two,’ said Jolien.
‘Two,’ said Eymeg with a huff, looking back at the bartender. The man flashed his horrid smile again and went about to produce the alcohol.
‘You’re just going to stand there and let that poor girl die?’ asked Jolien. Eymeg glanced at the girl. She had passed out, no doubt from the pain in her shoulder. Her head hung lazily from her neck.
Another man stood up, grabbed the crossbow from the fat man, and loaded it. He aimed at the girl. ‘Awww, fuck!’ he shouted, lowering the crossbow. ‘Someone wake the bitch. It’s no fun if she’s asleep.’
‘What would you have me do? Fight the entire tavern?’ snapped Eymeg. ‘We are not here to fight. We need a pass, and then we move on. Besides, it looks like simple fun. They probably won’t kill her. That wound in her shoulder will heal.’
Jolien gave him a dirty look. ‘Simple fun?’
Eymeg had seen that look of hatred plenty of times before. He was used to it. Jolien turned her head away from him. The bartender returned with the drinks, and Eymeg pulled out a silver coin. He set it on the table and discreetly slid it over to the keeper.
‘I am seeking Lord Fastolph. You know where I can find him?’ The keeper smiled, snatched the silver coin and put it into his pocket, and pointed to a door on the far side of the tavern.
