by J. M. Topp
‘Be careful what you say. Strix hate being called vampires,’ said Eymeg, lowering his voice to a whisper.
‘So what am I going to sing about?’ asked Rikfried, walking up behind them.
Eymeg flashed a smile. ‘About vampires, naturally.’
RIKFRIED CLEARED HIS throat and strummed the strings of his lute. A note off. He shook his head and sighed. The rush of the river could be heard in the background like a low rumble. Eymeg took in the dewy smells of the morning over the Kingsoul River as he observed the balladeer’s warm-up routine. The constantly churning and twisting of the river mumbled in the background. It was the sound of Floddenvale, ever in the minds of the inhabitants. Eymeg wondered how much more he could withstand being so close to the large stream.
A crisp clear note from Rikfried’s lute echoed in the forest.
Fern, only most beautiful fern
Hath soothed my tortured soul
Forlorn
I raise my hand to thee
Devoid of scorn
Thou took it without protest
Yet, in my heart, such toothy grin
Could not be
Of love and glee
Bite, bite, bite
Suck, suck, suck
Fern, only most beautiful fern
I faint to—
Rikfried paused just after the chorus. He looked back at Eymeg, his lip beginning to tremble. ‘I…I think I heard something.’
‘Go along, balladeer. You are doing wonderfully,’ said Eymeg with a shrug as Jolien snorted beside him, trying her best to stifle her grin.
‘What a horrid verse,’ she whispered.
‘It didn’t rhyme very well either,’ Eymeg whispered back, covering his mouth. ‘I wonder if he wrote it.’
‘Eymeg?’ said Rikfried, his voice rising to great worry. His eyes darted about. He licked his lips and continued the verse, pricking the strings of his lute. This time, the chord wasn’t so clear.
I feint to—
A terrible scream emerged from the dark of the trees. Rikfried dropped his lute with a squeak and promptly fell to his knees, ass in the air. A shadow burst from the tree line and raced at Rikfried with nimble speed, steel-coloured claws poised to pierce. Eymeg leapt from where he crouched with broken halberd levelled. The sharp edge of the axe-blade glistened in the dawning sun. Eymeg’s halberd sliced at the strix, but the creature was too fast. It twisted out of the way in midair and turned its attention to Eymeg, snapping its jaws and brandishing sharp claws.
‘Filthy tune. Are you the one who put that mediocre balladeer up to this?’ it said, crouching low to the ground. The sun poked through the tops of the trees, shedding light on the creature of the dark. Its skin was pink and had red-splotched boils. Its hair fell to the ground in tufts of black and gold. It stood like a woman, her tits coloured pink with white areolas. She brandished fangs at the group.
‘I only want to talk, dear friend,’ said Eymeg, stepping carefully to the left of the creature.
‘A man that talks with his steel. I like it. Tell me your name, wordless man,’ said the strix, baring her teeth. Eymeg lunged to his right, toward the strix, and twisted the halberd in his hands, aiming low to the ground. The strix leapt into the air and struck at Eymeg’s weapon arm, but his grip was firm. He winced at the claws slicing into his hand but then punched the strix in the face, toppling her onto the dirt.
The strix screamed and threw dirt into the air.
‘Filthy trick, filthy music, filthy town, and filthy man!’ she screamed. ‘Do you know who I am?’
‘Not a clue,’ said Eymeg, panting and holding the halberd point at her. He ignored the blood trickling from his hand.
‘I am Gwuite LaDevulle Santevoroux, Duchess of the High Lands of Paradûr,’ she said, glaring at Eymeg.
He shielded his surprise and kept his eye on the strix. ‘The High Lands, eh? That name hasn’t been uttered in centuries. How old are you?’
The strix gasped. ‘Not a question for a lady, you buffoon!’ She lunged at Eymeg. This time he held his ground. He tilted the edge of the halberd just right, reflecting sunlight from the blade, and blinded the strix. The creature shrieked as the ray of sunlight burned her eyes. Eymeg sliced downward, cutting her hind leg. The beast curled up in a ball and fell to the ground in a heap, holding her wounded limb.
‘You aren’t used to cuts of this nature, are you?’ Eymeg twirled the halberd in his left hand, stepping around the strix. ‘You shout and scream, and men in armour run away pissing their breeches. Has it been long since you’ve bled?’
The strix hissed at him and cradled her leg.
‘I didn’t come here to kill you, believe it or not. I am in the hunting profession, but not the hunting of monsters.’
‘You are Veledred,’ said the strix, hissing through her teeth.
‘Ah, so you know what I do.’ Eymeg crossed his arms and held his halberd downward from his chest. He turned to Jolien. ‘Did you know the Veledred are the most secretive group in the lands, and yet I’ve had recognition beyond belief these last couple of days.’
‘Aye, I know what you do, daemon hunter. Your kind was revered once, long before you were born,’ said the strix.
‘I have a predicament. I need to cross the border and make my way to Aivaterra,’ said Eymeg, bending down to talk to the olden vampire.
‘Let’s throw a pity party solely in your honour—ahhh!’ The strix screamed as Eymeg put a boot on her leg and then put his weight on it.
‘I won’t kill you, but I need you to promise me to leave Floddenvale and never return to this place.’
‘I am a duchess! You do not command me.’
‘You’re right, my lady.’ Eymeg took his boot off her leg and bowed low. ‘I simply wanted to talk.’
The strix glared up at him. ‘You dare cut me with your blade.’
‘I was only getting even.’ Eymeg held his sliced hand up to the sunlight. Blood dripped from the wound. ‘I am afraid I am at a disadvantage, however. My wounds take much longer to heal.’
The strix cackled, let go of her speedily healing wound, and stood up.
‘Perhaps you are a true gentleman after all.’
‘I am afraid not, but the Aivaterrans and most people cannot differentiate between a creature of the Fog and an average monster.’
‘Average?’ The strix hissed.
‘Meaning no disrespect, of course. I hunt daemons with no conscience—fiends that cause headaches with their mere presence and burst people into mists of blood with their screams. Your kind is of no consequence to me. I just need you to leave this filthy place so I can convince the local lord that he will have no more bodies to contend with.’
‘If all you wanted to do was speak, you could have just had your jester sing about my beauty instead of trying to goad me so cruelly. Suck, suck, suck, indeed,’ said the strix. Her form began to change before Eymeg’s eyes. Instead of the blotchy skin, her flesh turned a pale colour of blue. Her eyes were bloodshot, but despite this, the brown irises were clearly visible. Her nose was finely carved, as was her chin. She stood, and a red silk dress materialised over her body. Jolien’s jaw dropped as she observed this supernatural transformation. Eymeg, however, wasn’t fazed. It wasn’t the first time he had ever had contact with magic.
‘I could have had the balladeer sing about your beauty, but coming from the mouth of this man, I may have assisted you in killing him,’ said Eymeg with a shrug.
Rikfried stood up and crossed his arms.
‘The truth, hunter of daemons, is I cannot leave,’ said the duchess.
‘Why not?’
‘There is a creature in Floddenvale worse than I.’
‘Oh?’
‘Lord Fastolph.’
‘What of him?’ asked Eymeg.
‘He must die,’ said the strix. ‘His sins are countless, and he must pay for his devious nature.’
Eymeg blinked. ‘You’re serious?’
‘Of course I am.’
&
nbsp; ‘So that’s why you killed those two in the hut—for some moral crusade? I think you’ve mistaken me for a priest.’
‘No, I’m afraid it’s you who’ve mistaken me,’ hissed the duchess. ‘When the Aivaterran garrison arrived in Floddenvale, they took residence in the old chapel that was home to a sect of the Abandoned Gods. These pious men and women had been taking care of the refugees that didn’t cross the Kingsoul. They fed the weary and took great pains to comfort the sickly. And what did Lord Fastolph do upon his arrival? He murdered the deacon where he stood, raped the men and boys, and threw the priestesses, wholly untouched virgins, to his own men for their perverted pleasure. The girl in the tavern they were shooting bolts into when you arrived in Floddenvale was one such priestess. I want each and every Aivaterran north of the Kingsoul River dead.’
Eymeg bit his lip, and Jolien clenched her fists.
‘Do not think me cheap, however. For his head, fifty gold pieces,’ said the duchess.
Eymeg froze and swallowed hard, Jolien stood up from the bushes, and Rikfried flew into a coughing fit.
‘It’s clear your compatriots agree.’ The duchess smiled.
‘I do not kill men for gold,’ said Eymeg, frowning at Rikfried.
‘Your Veledred code? As I recall, vampires and other Veledred are off that list too. Yet, here you are as my leg still bleeds.’
‘You are not dead yet,’ whispered Eymeg.
‘Ah, but you have killed innocents before.’
‘Quite the assumption.’
‘But you have, haven’t you?’
Eymeg frowned. ‘We are not here to talk about me. Right now, you are at our mercy.’
‘Am I?’
‘Aye.’ Eymeg raised his halberd point to her.
‘Think about it,’ said the duchess. ‘Fifty gold and a pass into the country. A good night of drinking and whoring in Aivaterra’s finest brothels.’
‘How can I trust that you will indeed give me fifty gold?’ asked Eymeg. ‘The High Lands of Paradûr have been gone for longer than any inheritance could have lasted.’
The duchess frowned. ‘I am a woman of my word. How dare you question me?’
Eymeg frowned back, and before his eyes, the duchess, in a puff of purple smoke, burst into the sky in the shape of an owl. She turned her head and stared at him, purple eyes sparkling in the waking morning. The owl cooed and flew up into the sky.
‘You’re just going to let her get away?’ asked Jolien, running up to Eymeg. ‘We could have our pass now!’
‘But with fifty gold?’ protested Rikfried. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever held that much money in my hands in my life.’
‘Neither have I,’ said Eymeg.
‘Wait, you’re seriously considering it?’ asked Jolien.
‘It’s the only way into Aivaterra,’ said Eymeg. ‘Besides, it would be a small measure of justice for Floddenvale.’
Jolien stared at Eymeg but remained silent.
‘BY HOLY OREDMERE, you smell worse than before, master Veledred,’ said Lord Fastolph, twirling his mustachio in his hand. The thin-lipped man glared at Eymeg with arms folded over his chest. ‘Have you accomplished the task I have given you?’
‘I have, my lord,’ said Eymeg, bowing low.
‘Good. I was correct, a Thamnon?’
‘Not quite,’ said Eymeg. ‘A strix—from the High Lands of Paradûr.’
‘Ah, how long has it been since the land was called that?’
‘Over sixty years. Now it’s known as Hartenfeld,’ said Eymeg. ‘Ever since a big piece of the city fell into the ocean.’
‘It’s no wonder the—what did you call it?’
‘Strix.’
‘Aye, that. A creature of old living in a time where its flesh has been long overdue for a good killing,’ said Lord Fastolph. ‘Hartenfeld was hit hard by daemons, or so I hear.’
‘In any event, the creature is gone,’ said Eymeg.
Lord Fastolph turned to look at the men beside him and then back at Eymeg. ‘Have you any proof?’
Eymeg frowned. ‘No. Strix, like regular vampires, are consumed by fire when they die. They leave nothing behind.’
‘So I must trust your word that you killed the creature you claim to have killed. I will give you your gold and your pass based on that?’
‘You intend to cross me?’ said Eymeg, clenching his fists.
Fastolph coughed and glanced at the thin-lipped man. ‘Are we intending to cross him?’
The thin-lipped Aivaterran laughed evilly and nodded. ‘We have no guarantee, Veledred. But we aren’t entirely devoid of morality. We will issue you a pass to enter Aivaterra—just without the gold, at least until I hear no more reports of a creature running about the forest killing my men.’
Eymeg reached for the broken halberd, and the guards beside Lord Fastolph stood up and unsheathed their swords.
‘You really think this a good idea?’ asked Lord Fastolph, who seemed unfazed by bared steel in his presence.
Eymeg bit his lip. He couldn’t take on two well-armed guards in such close quarters. They would make quick work of him. Eymeg let go of the sword on his hip. Lord Fastolph laughed. ‘Looks like the Veledred shake like the common man. With haste, Sivli, bring me ink and quill.’
The thin-lipped man named Sivli spat at Eymeg’s feet and turned on his heel.
‘What will you do once you arrive in Aivaterra?’ asked Fastolph.
‘Toast your honour,’ said Eymeg with a smile and curt bow. Lord Fastolph frowned as Sivli returned with a parchment. He snatched the quill from Sivli and dipped it into the inkwell. With a grin, he wrote his authorization on the parchment. But as he was finishing, his hand missed the paper, splattering ink at the bottom. He blinked twice and looked up at Eymeg.
‘My eyes…I am having trouble…’ Lord Fastolph looked at Eymeg with blood dripping from his eyes. ‘What have you done, Veledred?’
Sivli and the other guard began coughing violently. Blood began to spill from their noses like a crimson fountain. Their skin started to turn white with green blotches, alarmingly quickly. Their noses turned black. Eymeg unlaced the broken halberd from his back and brandished the crescent blade in his hands. ‘I am not Veledred.’
‘What have you done to us?’ coughed Lord Fastolph.
Eymeg gritted his teeth, and in two swift motions, he cut the guard’s arm off and sliced his neck. The guard fell with his other hand on his neck, struggling to breathe. He then turned to Sivli, who was fumbling for his sword. Eymeg struck at his leg, slicing his calf muscle. Sivli fell to the ground and screamed. Without hesitation, Eymeg drove the halberd point into the kneeling man’s neck, drawing a spurt of blood, cutting the man’s scream in half.
Eymeg pulled the blade point from Sivli’s neck and then walked over to Lord Fastolph, who was struggling to crawl away. He turned to Eymeg with horror in his eyes. ‘Why?’
Eymeg frowned and knelt beside the lord. He put the edge of his crescent blade to his neck and cut upwards in a beautiful arc, severing Lord Fastolph’s neck in one fluid motion. His halberd end dripped red with blood. Lord Fastolph gripped his neck, but the wound was too deep to keep his blood from spilling. He began to twitch and seemed like he wanted to say something. Only a gurgle escaped his bloodied lips. Finally, he stopped twitching, and his eyes dulled, staring at the ceiling. His nose was black as coal, as were the noses of the bodyguards. Eymeg knew they would rise again in an undead state because of the Kouffyngtooth’s venom, but not if he sliced their necks.
Panting, Eymeg took a step back from the carnage, twirling the broken polearm of the halberd. He pulled a phial with clear liquid from his belt and drank, consuming an antivenom. A sense of relief flowed through his throat, and he stumbled out of the room. He snatched the pass from the floor and folded it into his pocket. Eymeg stumbled over the dead soldiers and spotted a chest on the far side of the room. He opened it. It was mainly empty, save for a bundle of parchments, an elegant dagger, and a burlap sack. He grab
bed the sack and opened it. Gold coins clinked as he shook the contents. He held his breath. There were more than one hundred gold coins in the bag. He took the bag and closed the chest.
The Bell Keeper Tavern was empty, save for the tavern keeper, who bolted out the door upon seeing the blood on Eymeg’s halberd. He shook his head, grabbed a towel from beneath the countertop, and began to wipe his broken weapon clean.
‘I didn’t think you had it in you.’
Eymeg turned to Jolien, who stood at the door. Sunlight poured into the tavern behind her. ‘I don’t want to argue with you, Jolien,’ he said as he shook his head and turned back to cleaning his weapon. He then strapped it back onto his shoulder, letting it hang from the leather belt across his back.
‘I learned that that girl in the tavern yesterday died from shock this morning. Her soul may rest at peace now,’ said Jolien. Eymeg shrugged, not knowing what to say.
‘You wanted to go to Aivaterra, didn’t you?’ he asked, strapping his halberd over his back and pulling his mantle over it. ‘This is how we get there.’ He held the bag up to the light for Jolien to see. Cautiously, she neared Eymeg and then took the bag from him. She opened it and looked in. Her eyes widened, and she gasped.
‘There must be more than fifty gold in here,’ she said.
‘I counted closer to one hundred.’
‘And so, the debt is paid and more than in full,’ said a voice, startling them. An owl sat at an open window, its purple eyes sparkling into the tavern. Eymeg relaxed and stared at the exotic avian.
‘Allow me to leave you with a prophecy, hunter of daemons,’ said the strix. ‘Your path will lead you to nothing but sorrow, isolation, and fear. The armour you wear will not protect you, and the halberd you wield will not cut away the sadness you will inflict on yourself. Thrice you will fall prey to your own mechanisms. On the third fall, you will know this prophecy has come to pass. Your greed will be the death of you.’
‘We agreed to your hallowed moral crusade, and now you curse me? A choirboy beat you to a prophecy, Duchess. He’s already cursed me, and it was more elaborate than your little quote.’
