The Twin Princes

by J. M. Topp

  ‘Nice trick. Did Morrenwylf teach you that?’ asked Ayda, licking her teeth.

  ‘No, the Kindler did, before Rickert banished him.’

  ‘Emmyth was an asshole, a liar and a thief. Rebecca told me everything. I suppose I am sad that he escaped. I’m sad I couldn’t slit his throat,’ said Ayda with a curt laugh. Rhiannon began to laugh too. Suddenly, the blade stretched from the dagger hilt to three times its former size. Rhiannon held the newly formed sword with both hands. She touched the blunt end of the curved blade and then in one swift motion swung the sword at Ayda’s neck. Instinctively, Ayda whipped her knife up, catching the sword and tossing it over her head. Moonlight caught the edge of Rhiannon’s blade. Rhiannon twirled and jabbed Arkynbleidd at Ayda. The half-elf blocked the blade and danced out of the way.

  ‘You’re quick,’ said Rhiannon, twisting the sword in her hand and holding it sideways at the level of her shoulders. The outcome of the fight was becoming apparent to Ayda. Rhiannon had better footwork and technique, and she was toying with Ayda. With the Arkynbleidd the length of her arm, she could cut Ayda in half if she really wanted to. The half-elf slowly let her breath out, doing her best to control the rhythm of her heart. She turned the knife in the palm of her hand and crouched low to the ground, spreading her fingertips over cold tiles. Ayda put the knife behind her and stared up at Rhiannon.

  ‘Ah, is that the Fang form you are poorly trying to imitate? The one Lystralyyn popularized in her murdering sprees?’ Rhiannon gasped. ‘Wait, is she your master? Rebecca is Lystralyyn, the rebel! I am astounded. By the gods, she is losing her touch. Your form is off. Your back leg is bent too much. She would be so embarrassed to see you right now.’ Rhiannon shook her head and chuckled. ‘A cursed half-elf, playing at being assassin. You look cute with that toothpick.’

  ‘See, that’s the difference between you and me,’ said Ayda. ‘Your insults bore me.’

  Rhiannon, like a dancer, leapt with a twirl to land a downward strike at Ayda. The half-elf corrected her posture, and just before Arkynbleidd sliced through the air at her, Ayda launched onto one hand and pushed off in a vertical leap. Just as she had anticipated, the Arkynbleidd cut through the thin space of air between Ayda’s hand and the tile.

  She smiled as she saw Rhiannon’s slipper from the corner of her eye and, in a finish to her attack, twirled on the one hand, stabbing Rhiannon’s foot with the other.

  Rhiannon screamed and swung her sword in a frustrated sweeping motion at Ayda, but the half-elf was too fast for a clumsy attack like that. With another handspring, Ayda leapt out of the way. The princess grabbed the knife still in her foot and pulled it out with another scream.

  ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Oooh, so unbecoming of a princess.’ Ayda laughed. ‘I just decided—I am going to take the Arkynbleidd from you, and then I am going to shave your ears. Then we’ll see how eager you are to call me cursed.’

  Rhiannon glared at Ayda and pointed the legendary sword at her. ‘Only through blood can the true power of the Arkynbleidd be unlocked.’ Rhiannon turned the sword point of the blade and held it to her stomach. In one swift motion, she plunged the sword point into her own body. Blood trickled from her nose and lips and down her neck. She coughed a spurt of blood.

  ‘What the fuck?’ Ayda stared in disbelief as Rhiannon fell to her knees.

  ‘Only through blood…’ Rhiannon smiled and pulled the Arkynbleidd from her belly. The blade was covered in the princess’s blood. Rhiannon tried to stand up, but she fell back onto her knees, using the Arkynbleidd to keep herself from falling.

  Ayda licked her lips nervously. ‘Holy shit. Morrenwylf really fucked you up.’

  Rhiannon laughed and stood up. The sword wound in her stomach began to close up right before Ayda’s eyes. Then Rhiannon’s smooth skin came together, and the scar disappeared. The pool of blood beneath her, however, remained and began to dance with red sparks flashing around her feet. The bloodrune on the Arkynbleidd began to pulsate crimson, brighter and brighter.

  ‘Taste my blood!’ Rhiannon’s eyes began to glow red. She pointed the blade at Ayda once more, but this time, the blade shot out from her hand like an arrow from a bow. The sleek titanite steel blade pierced Ayda’s side in the blink of an eye. Ayda grunted and fell to her knees, her own blood rushing up through her throat. Her blood boiled in her veins. The Arkynbleidd drew back from Ayda’s body. The blade returned to the size of a dagger in Rhiannon’s hands. Ayda fell to the floor, holding her side, which was now spilling blood. The wind grew calm as Rhiannon stood above Ayda. ‘And now, cursed one, I erase your blight on the land.’

  Ayda grunted once more. ‘Rhi, stop this. Rickert would not have wanted this. Think about him.’

  ‘He was always a wet blanket.’ A tear dripped from Rhiannon’s eye, but she wiped it away furiously. ‘You liked him, didn’t you? Yes, you did. I noticed the way you looked at him. As if someone with pure blood would ever pay notice to someone with cursed blood such as yourself.’

  Ayda coughed. A trail of blood dribbled from her lips, but she smiled and looked up at Rhiannon. ‘It’s funny. You call me cursed blood, but I would never do anything so foul as to kill my own brother. If that’s what it means to be of pure blood, I swear I am better off.’

  Rhiannon’s eyes sparkled with anger. She grabbed Ayda by the scruff of her neck. ‘Fitting that you should die as he did.’

  Then with a grunt, Rhiannon threw Ayda over the edge of the Tower of Sanctuary.

  Ayda fell through the air.

  Gusts of wind beat at her body as she tumbled without control toward the earth. She opened her eyes to the ground that was rushing at her. A loose vine slapped her face, twisting her body in the air. She came to her senses as another vine lashed out at her, but this time, she grabbed it. The branch cracked, forcing a shout from her throat. A few more loose vines stood in her way, and she reached for them, but they were too far away. She was falling farther and farther away from the tower. Then, a gust of wind slammed her against the white stone of the tower. Ayda furiously grabbed at vines, digging her fingers into the hardened stone, breaking greenery to pieces. Pain shot through her hands as the stone tore her fingernails off, but she ignored the pain, preferring a broken finger to a broken body. Vines snapped to pieces under her weight, but to her unbelieving relief they began to slow her fall.

  Then she stopped falling. Afraid to move or even open her eyes, she stayed glued to the walls of the tower. Her breaths came in short gasps. Wind beat at her back. A shout caught her ear.

  ‘By Alestaeyn, it’s the king!’

  Ayda opened one eye and looked down. She was very close to the ground. Three elfen-at-arms holding torches stood around a small mangled body with blood pooling beneath it. One of them had golden armour. It was Lorett. He stood over Prince Rickert’s disfigured body.

  ‘Rickert,’ whispered Ayda.

  ‘Sound the alarm,’ said Lorett, his voice wavering. ‘Go.’

  No one moved.

  ‘Now!’ he shouted at them. The other two elfen snapped into action and left Lorett kneeling over the body of the king.

  Ayda sniffed a little too loudly. Lorett looked up and brought his torch up to his eyes. ‘Who goes there?’

  Ayda kicked herself and let her body fall to the floor before Lorett. She fell rather clumsily and wobbled onto her ass. Lorett must have been too surprised to move, for he stood with mouth agape, barely able to hold his torch.

  ‘What the hell?’ he whispered.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ said Ayda, trying to get to her feet.

  ‘Murderer,’ Lorett whispered once more.

  ‘No, you’ve got it all wrong!’ said Ayda, struggling up onto her feet.

  ‘Assassin!’ Lorett found his voice and unsheathed his longsword. He ran at Ayda with sword raised. She leapt up and, with a pirouette, tried to land on her feet, but she only tumbled to the floor, slamming her cheek on stones. She glanced at her hand. Two of her fingers were oddly bent and
covered in blood. Lorett’s blade sliced through the air, but the blow hit the stone floor. From the air, Ayda kicked the soldier’s exposed face, drawing blood and knocking him onto his back. She landed like a cat and rushed away into the darkness.

  Bells began to ring loudly in the skies as if they were right above Ayda. She ran away in the opposite direction from the gardens surrounding the Tower of Sanctuary, but as she ducked into a narrow alley, a dozen royal guards came into view, torches blinding her. There was nowhere to hide. No abandoned barrel or lone crate lay in the barren alley. The guards rushed at her. Ayda, in a quick glance, measured the distance between the garden wall and the domicile wall.

  It might work.

  She put her foot against the garden wall and launched herself into the air against the other side. From there, she used her momentum and kicked herself farther and farther up the wall. She reached the top and had begun to pull herself up when she heard the cocking of crossbows.

  ‘Fire!’

  A barrage of bolts rained up at her, two of them striking her left calf. She grunted and heaved herself over on the tiles of the slanted roof. She knew there was only one thing she could do to escape. She would be caught and killed otherwise.

  Ayda controlled her breathing, closed her eyes, summoned her will, and as Rebecca had taught her, pulled the shadows over her shoulders like a cloak.

  Nothing happened.

  She could feel a strange form of power escape her body. She glanced at the rustling of armour and shouts coming over the edge of the wall. She summoned her will and clenched her fists, but once more nothing happened.

  ‘Dammit, Rebecca, what the fuck am I doing wrong?’ said Ayda, slamming her fist on the tile. She hobbled on the roof, trying her best to ignore the pain in her leg, but then she had an idea.

  A steel-gauntleted hand grabbed hold of the edge of the roof, and an angry elfen heaved himself up. Ayda grabbed the bolt embedded in her lower leg and twisted it. A sharp pain pushed a scream from her lungs, but then she clenched her fists, channeling the pain and calling the darkness to embrace her. The wind blew in her face, forcing her eyes closed, and then all went silent.

  All went dark.

  The guard climbing onto the roof disappeared. The chilling wind of the Felheim night faded away along with the city walls and the tower that once loomed above her. The very fear of pursuit melted away and was replaced with a stronger, much darker horror. She couldn’t see. She couldn’t feel. The pain in her leg vanished without a trace, and when she looked down, the bolts were gone. The pain had disappeared along with them.

  She searched for any source of light, but there was nothing but utter darkness.

  ‘Oh no,’ she whispered. ‘No, no, no, no, no.’

  She whipped around and began to run, but she knew not where. The ground she walked on was devoid of colour and sticky to her footfalls. Panic started to set in, and she ran faster and harder, but she couldn’t tell if she had made progress or was precisely in the same spot she had been moments before. She couldn’t see anything, and all was dark.

  Ayda was alone, and there was no place to run.

  Prisoner

  ELYMIAH TOUCHED HER stomach and stared at a small bump she hadn’t noticed before. It was odd to think of what was happening inside her belly. This is Robyn’s. A child borne of a momentary flare of love and passion was growing within her. Elymiah remembered the touch of his hands on her cheeks as he kissed her. She remembered the scent of sweat as he lay beside her. The feel of coarse dried grass as he pushed into her. She remembered the feeling of his presence as he laughed and caressed her, or was that merely a dream?

  What is it that sings in the wind?

  She stared out of her bedchamber window to the seas. ‘But look, there is still life within me,’ she whispered to herself, touching her belly lightly. ‘I am not completely lost.’

  Elymiah visited Coda in the dungeons as often as she could. Since there was no proper infirmary, and Theodric’s laboratory wouldn’t hold a man of Coda’s weight, he was in one of the cells, with Guiomar continually watching over him. Coda’s wounds had begun to close up, and though he was healing, the damage caused to him by Bearohd’s weapon would always show. Once the bandages had been removed, Elymiah realised just how much damage had been done. His entire left cheek had been cleaved, leaving a nasty, deformed scar. Amelinne had it worse. Losing both her hands had made her go almost catatonic, but she was beginning to heal as well. Theodric was more than positive. He had promised Amelinne a set of runed metal hands.

  ‘A pair with the strength to squeeze through steel,’ he said. ‘With a bloodrune, of course. I just have to find another one or two. That is the ultimate challenge.’

  Wischard had been named Keeper of the Reef by his men and had chosen Coda as his right hand. The albino had need of Coda to establish his new rule, and though Coda still looked weakened, she he was trying his best not to show pain in front of Elymiah.

  After a few weeks, when Coda felt well enough to stand and ride again, he insisted on being the liaison between the Holdians and the Veledred. Elymiah knew he was the man for the task. They made their way together down to the stables where Elymiah had first run after him. His cheek was stitched up and gaunt, but his pride prevented him from turning away in shame. They reached the horses, and Coda strapped a bundle of blankets to one and shoved his sharpened sword into its sheath behind the saddle.

  ‘Must you leave so soon, Coda?’ asked Elymiah. During the weeks in the wake of the battle for Karagh Muín, she had gotten used to seeing him. Knowing he was near gave her comfort.

  ‘My people have need of me, Elymiah. Now with Gulch dead, and no more threats to Saltkire Hold, we will need to establish trade with the tribes in the northern end of the isle. You will have need of those very same supplies before too long, Commandant.’

  She knew he was right, and she clenched her jaw. ‘Will I see you again?’

  ‘I will do my very best for that to happen,’ said Coda as he tied a brown riding cloak over his shoulders. ‘I will try to break free from my responsibilities and return. I am, after all, vowed to you. I am for the Veledred now.’

  ‘What about…?’ she began, looking down to her belly. Coda sighed and looked into her eyes.

  ‘I know the look in your eyes. You carry a child that does not belong to me? What of it? The women of Saltkire Hold often must bear children belonging to other men in times of war and strife. The child you bear will be a child of Saltkire Hold, and that is that.’

  Coda’s words were filled with confidence and finality. Elymiah breathed in relief.

  ‘I will return when the snows begin to fall,’ said Coda. ‘Until then…’

  He drew Elymiah close to him and embraced her. He kissed her on the cheek. ‘I am afraid I have a certain handicap when kissing, but—’

  She cut him off and pressed her lips tight to his. They stood there for a moment before Coda drew away.

  ‘When I return, perhaps we may speak more. I believe the child will be born by that time.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Elymiah.

  ‘Until I see you again, Elymiah.’ With a curt nod, he mounted his horse and kicked its sides. The horse broke into a steady gallop, and before long Coda looked small on the path to Saltkire Hold. Elymiah looked on after him. She smiled and gathered herself.

  She walked through the stone halls of Karagh Muín. A cool breeze flowed through the castle, brushing through her hair. Despite Theodric’s many requests that she wear clothing befitting an Aivaterran lady, Elymiah refused. She had always been more comfortable in armoured greaves and riding boots, but she had agreed on a middle ground with him: for her to merely wear comfortable clothing considering she was carrying not just herself but also another life within her. Most days Elymiah wore a loose brown silk shirt and black riding pants. She imagined she looked rather silly, but she was now Commandant of the Veledred.

  She would do as she pleased.

  The steady rhythm of mallets hittin
g nails echoed through the castle, accompanied by shouts from the overseers. Rebuilding had begun immediately upon the retaking of Karagh Muín. Wischard, who was now celebrating and enjoying his recent coronation as Keeper of the Reef, had sent stone and other building supplies, including a few of his own men, to aid in the repair of the mountain-castle. All of the Veledred, even the newly made acolytes, had been put to work making bricks and setting plaster on the walls. They would make better builders and wall-menders before they knew what it meant to be Veledred. Elymiah considered that perhaps castle restoration was a more lucrative business than hunting daemons. The thought brought her back to the Harmony of the Apostles. How was she to hunt anything when she was with child? Perhaps she could forget her promise and never leave the Isles of Brume.

  A memorial had been made for the fallen of what was being called The Invasion of Karagh Muín Fortress, by Guiomar. There, Elymiah and her men mourned the fallen Veledred, and the Holdians brought talismans to mourn their dead.

  Elymiah winced as she placed a little too much weight on her left leg. The wounds she had received while searching for Artus were many. Her left leg had been wounded, and it would take time to walk without limping, but she refused to be seen with a crutch, despite Theodric’s protests. She had joked with Theodric, saying that maybe he should just cut the leg off and make a new metallic one. Theodric hadn’t found that amusing. Three ribs had been broken in the fall into the crevice, but there was nothing to be done about that except rest and try to remain away from physical work. She smelt of ointments made of aloe and mint, and their aroma constantly filled her nostrils every time she took in a breath. Elymiah had smelt many things. There were worse things to inhale than mint.