A Promise of Fire
Chapter 8
34th of Retulman, 1667 Age of Enlightement.
High atop his manor balcony, overlooking the lavish upper district of Lionbrand, sat High Lord Hartnell Leoric–sipping wine and eating cakes–without a care in the world. His extravagant bedroom suite was adorned with portraits and paintings crafted by some of Singard’s most illustrious artisans, and he wore a dark blue suit embroidered with red silk and adorned with golden buttons perfectly tailored to his body. His servants tended to him hand and foot as he gazed across the horizon of the city.
His city.
He watched as the smoke billowed from factory smokestacks darkened the orange sunset when Lord-Captain Auclair–the captain of his city’s legion of crownsguard–marched to the door of the High Lord’s personal chambers and awaited permission to enter. He wore the traditional green crownsguard’s coat, adorned with its brass buttons and golden epaulettes on his shoulders. His black hair was neatly coifed to the side, and his thin moustache and goatee were well trimmed to perfection.
With a gesture, High Lord Leoric beckoned the captain in and said, “No need to be so reverent, captain. Come in, come in.”
Captain Auclair bowed and said, “Apologies, m’High Lord, but I’ve received a report from Commander Dior of the city-watch.” The High Lord sipped his wine, waiting for Auclair to get to the point. “It pertains to the Gerhard farm, m’High Lord.”
That got Leoric’s attention. “Oh good! Have they finally come around?” Captain Auclair shook his head, and the High Lord slumped back into his seat. “Well, then what’s this about?”
Auclair pulled a several paged report from the satchel on his hip and said, “Would you care to read the report, m’High Lord, or shall I read it to you?”
Leoric groaned at the thought of reading one of those long-winded watch reports; always filled with such specific and articulate language that droned on and on for what felt like an eternity. He had to deal with that kind of talk enough as it was, he certainly didn’t want to deal with it whilst he was relaxing.
“Spare me the details, captain,” he said.
Auclair cleared his throat and began thumbing through the report. “It appears that between the nights of the 26th and 28th, more than five children have gone missing: four humans and an elf. On the night of the 28th, a couple of watchmen were out patrolling the South 4th district when they were attacked by–what they believed to be–fae.”
“Impossible,” said High Lord Leoric, “fae do not come close to the city. We’ve made sure of that, have we not?”
“We have m’High Lord,” said Auclair.
“So how does this pertain to the Gerhard estate?”
“Well,” said Auclair thumbing through more of the report, “it appears that on the night of the 30th, the estate was also besieged by fae.”
Leoric perked up at that and said, “Still a bit close to the city, but it’s a bit more believable, I suppose.” Sipping his wine, the High Lord smiled. “This is truly good news.”
“How so, m’High Lord,” asked the captain.
“Well, following this supposed fae attack, Gerhard will have no qualms with selling his land to me now,” he said.
For nearly a decade, High Lord Leoric had been trying to buy up all the private farmland around Lionbrand, and for the most part he’d been succeeding. The city was growing at an alarming rate, and soon–with the recent developments coming from Galdcore and Zaldean–the need for those privately owned farmsteads would be a thing of the past. Of course, they would still need a few, but those farms would belong to those the High Lord saw fit; humans who didn’t even live a century were unfit to run such industries.
Leoric chomped one of his cakes with delight.
“And about these fae sightings, m’High Lord,” asked the captain. “What would you like us to do? Dior wouldn’t ask for aid if he didn’t think it was important.”
“Hm? Oh, yes. What does he request, exactly?”
“He’s requesting crownsguard to help patrol the city. One in each of the major districts, divided across three eight-hour shifts.”
“Preposterous, that’s nearly sixty crownsguard a day,” spat High Lord Leoric. We waved his hand towards the city dismissively and said, “The crownsguard are needed here; it’s the job of the watch to protect the city proper.”
Captain Auclair bowed. “What would you like me to tell the commander, m’High Lord?”
High Lord Leoric took another large bite of one of his sweet cream cakes and said, “At most, you can offer a crownsguard to patrol the market and factory districts, perhaps a scant few others, during the morning and evening patrols, but none are needed for the night watch.” Leoric groaned; even that was too many of his crownsguard. Just what did Commander Dior think was going to happen? “Distribute them as you wish, but no more than six a day. We can’t be doing the watch’s work now, can we?”
“No, of course not, m’High Lord.” Auclair gave another courteous bow and left.
Leoric sipped his wine and stared out across the expansive parks and gardens below his estate. He thought about the idea of fae attacking the city and scoffed. Fae weren’t something to be scared of; they were cowardly creatures that relied on trickery and deceit. They would only attack if they knew they had the advantage, and fae weren’t smart enough for that kind of coordination.
As he watched the sun set, Leoric thought he might’ve seen wisps of fog off in the distance.
The days droned on and on, and Emecar and Rukifelth were still on unofficial suspension from the troupe. As such, the two had to find work wherever they could. It was difficult finding work at all, let alone work that would pay them well. At most, they made a dozen or so penters a night, but it was more than they had before, and they were struggling for coin even more than usual. A job here, a job there; five penters, then six, maybe thirteen if they were lucky.
The day came to its end, and the streets grew more crowded as exhausted and men and women who worked to the bone in the textile, lumber, and steel mills were turning in for the evening, ready to do it all again tomorrow. While some would stop by a pub for a quick drink and some food, others would simply go right to sleep. For those less fortunate–the urchins and the destitute–this was there time to make a couple coins.
Unsavory types would often sneak up on the exhausted and unsuspecting workers turning in for the night and rip their coin purses out right from under their noses; a full day’s work gone in an instant. It was one of the many reasons Rukifelth said to keep their swords on them at all times; footpads were less likely to try and steal from you if they thought their failure meant death.
As he waded through the crowds, Rukifelth came to the Lionbrand city square and found a bench where he could rest his legs. At the heart of the square–surrounded by decorative evergreen trees–was the great fountain of High Lord Leonheart, the founder of Lionbrand, with his sword raised to the heavens and his wife–High Lady Imra–at his side. Beneath them were statues of their most loyal crownsguard, and under Leonheart’s foot was a crude depiction of an orc. Lastly were the civilians all basking in the High Lord and Lady’s radiance. Rukifelth’s head started to pound, and he closed his eyes.
He'd only gotten a chance to rest for a minute before a familiar voice said, “Who’s this sorry sod sitting here?”
Rukifelth turned and was surprised to see his fellow mercenary Oliver Bonhomm standing in the shadows beneath one of the nearby evergreens. Beside him were his companions Abigail Levett and Tomlin Rouzét.
“What are you all doin’ here,” asked Rukifelth waving them over. “Didn’t you have some goblins to hunt?”
“We did,” said Abigail. She sauntered her way up and sat on the bench beside him. “We’re finished.”
“Already?”
She pulled a small bag of jingling coins and said, “Already.”
“Barely even a haggard,” said Oliver. “There were only eight of the little gremlins a little over ten miles north of the city. After paying our dues, we made around two rosepents each. What was even the point?”
Rukifelth sneered. To him, two-hundred penters sounded like a pretty good deal after how desperately he’d been scrounging for coin.
Oliver plopped down on the bench alongside Abigail and said, “What’s gotcha down like this, eh?”
Was it smart to tell them? It wasn’t their business, nor was Rukifelth sure they’d even care, but he had a lot on his chest, and unfortunately, he couldn’t talk to Emecar at the moment; he had a lot on his chest too.
Hesitantly, Rukifelth told the three everything: from their night of patrol, to the fae, their suspension from the troupe, the attack on the Gerhard farm, and the city-watch’s reluctancy to act. He couldn’t stomach talking about Juliet; about how they’d failed. Thinking about her–her last screams of terror–made Rukifelth feel sick. He could’ve done more; he could’ve…
The Black Beast could’ve saved her. If you would’ve just let it out.
He decided not to tell them about the strange singer at the Lady’s Rose: Asta. He wanted to team up with them and storm into that tavern to get some real answers from her. Perhaps they could just throw her out into the fog and be done with all this.
No, I can’t do something like that. I can’t…
“How ‘bout a drink,” said Tomlin patting Rukifelth on the shoulder with one of his large meaty hands. “That outta cheer you up, eh? C’mon, my treat!”
Rukifelth shook his head. “Thanks gents, but unfortunately, I have…” Nothing; any and all excuses Rukifelth could think of came up short. He scoffed and said, “I just want to be alone is all.”
“What about Emecar,” asked Abigail. “You two’re usually stuck together at the hip.”
“If you think I’m in a dour mood, you should see him,” sighed Rukifelth. “These past few nights, he’s been spending nearly all his waking hours at the temple. Says it keeps him from getting up to no good.”
“Why don’t you do the same,” said Oliver. “I mean, I knows you hate the place and all, but it can’t be all bad, can it?”
Rukifelth didn’t say anything. His history with the temple–with the maidens–was complicated, but perhaps not as complicated as he made it seem. In truth, he just didn’t like thinking about that place; he didn’t like being there. It reminded him just how powerless he was.
Oliver conceded to his silence and said, “Well, should you change your mind, we’ll be at The Coalrock. Tomlin’s offer still stands.”
Rukifelth bid them all farewell as they made their way southbound towards the slums and the dingey old tavern. For several long minutes, Rukifelth sat alone on the bench staring at the fountain of High Lord Leonheart. He wanted to get angry; he wanted to do something to spite the city-watch or the crownsguard or the High Lord—smash the statue, desecrate it, leave his mark on it forever—but he was just too exhausted.
His hands trembled, and he felt a lump in his throat. A tear dripped down his cheek.
What? Why am I…
He couldn’t get the nightmares out of his head. Rukifelth bit down on his thumb until it nearly started to bleed; he wouldn’t let this tragedy haunt him. He was going to do something. If those fae attack again–when they attack–he’d be ready to fight back. He wouldn’t allow the fae to take any more children. It wasn’t like him to make promises–that was what Emecar did–but under the shadow of Leonheart’s fountain, he swore that should the fae return, he wouldn’t rest until they were squashed and expelled from the city.
Rukifelth hopped to his feet, a wave of determination rushing through his veins, and started to pace around the square. He needed to clear his head and think of a plan for any upcoming attack. Perhaps he would take Tomlin up on his offer and ask those three if they’d be willing to help him; surely, they would, but what about some of the other mercenaries? Radiguet and Nadine? Gervais and Hector? Rukifelth may have been on suspension, but he could still request help from his fellow troupe members, right?
Then again, he didn’t have money to pay them. As much as he hated it, mercenaries were a greedy lot. Unless he could pay them, they’d never agree to help. He reached into his pocket and felt around. How much would they request? They’d help out a fellow mercenary with a good cause for only a handful of penters, right?
As he was leaving the city square, a young newspaper boy ran up to him and tried to sell him one of his last papers. Rukifelth wasn’t sure if it was a trick of some urchins to try and nab his coin purse, but he didn’t have much for them to steal, so what did it matter. He pulled two penters from his drooping wallet and handed them to the boy, making sure to keep one hand firmly gripped on his sabre.
After the boy handed him the paper, Rukifelth quickly thumbed through it, wondering if there was anything interesting: “Tensions down south: Gunstone Hill under attack by savage Hoofkin!”, “Following a Singardian ambassador’s apparent disrespect to the Sultanah, Tridia has imposed a trade embargo on Singard’s tacleaf!”, “Als’Rudania continues to fight for its independence from Singard!”, “Terror in the Night; The terrifying Shadow Singer still at large following the disappearance of aspiring prima donna Madeline Edelarc!”
The air grew cold; his breath turned to mist, and it was unnaturally quiet. A crowd of people were still rushing through the square, and there was still the hustle and bustle of merchants making one last sell before closing their wagons for the night, and yet despite all of that, it was all muffled and soft.
The paperboy gave a sudden terrified shriek, and Rukifelth quickly tossed the paper aside and ran up to him. “Are you alright?”
“Y-Yeh, bu’ somethin’ don run right in front o’ me! Looked like a weird dog er somethin’.”
Rukifelth helped the boy to his feet and told him to get home quickly. After the boy scampered off, Rukifelth reached for his sword and scanned the area. A thin layer of fog hovered just above the ground. It was faint and wispy, hardly noticeable if one wasn’t looking for it, yet there it was.
And that’s when he saw something skitter its way into a dark alley. It could’ve been a dog or a large rat, but Rukifelth knew better. He caught a glimpse of five finger-like legs. All around, Rukifelth could see more and more vague shapes appear in the distance; creatures atop buildings made entirely of writhing eyes and claws, and bloated creatures hiding in shadows.
The fae had begun their attack, and Rukifelth knew exactly what they were after. He turned and bolted through the streets towards the Lady’s Rose.
Segrick stood outside the door waiting for Asta to finally come out. Ever since the night she’d fainted, she’d been behaving more and more strangely. Over the past few days, he’d seen her staring blankly out the window, and when they last ran out for errands, Asta just stopped and stared up at the setting sun. When asked what was wrong, she refused to answer. Perhaps she didn’t know what was wrong, or perhaps it was just her anxiety acting up.
Strange Elven behavior, he thought, but she finally seemed ready to perform again.
“Asta, jackielass, you ready,” he called. No answer. Segrick groaned and knocked on the door. “Jackielass, the rest of us need to get ready for the show too, y’know?”
Still nothing. She wasn’t thinking about canceling the show, was she? They hadn’t performed in days, and if they didn’t perform soon, the proprietor was going to throw them out.
After a few minutes of waiting, Michel and Sandra rushed down the hall up to him and began frantically speaking in unison:
“Where’s Asta?”
“We need to get out of here, quick!”
“Is she alright?”
“C’mon, we need to get Asta and leave!”
Segrick raised his hands and said, “Oi, hold on their jacks and jackies, what’s this yer all goin’ on about?”
“Where’s Asta,” asked Sandra again.
Segrick gestured to the closed door. “She’s inside, getting ready for the show. She was warming up for a bit, but she hasn’t made a peep for a couple minutes now.” Michel tried to push past him and open the door, but Segrick stopped him. “Oi, now what’s the meaning of—”
“It’s fae, Segrick,” he shouted. Segrick’s heart dropped to his belly. “Fae are here in the city! Those rumors were true!”
Segrick quickly threw open the door to an empty room: Asta was nowhere in sight. He couldn’t believe it; how could she have snuck out? The window was still closed with no sign she’d tampered with it, and he’d been standing outside waiting for her the entire time. If she’d slipped out, he would’ve noticed.
Inside, Segrick spotted a small note atop Michel’s guitar case, written in Asta’s handwriting:
My friends, I’m terribly sorry, but I have to leave. Stay inside where it is safe. Do not go looking for me. You’ll only get yourselves killed, or worse. I’ll be alright, I know that much, and I want you to know that it’s alright to go on performing without me. I wish we could’ve spent years together; I wish we could’ve made it back to Zaldean and performed in one of the great halls, but alas it seems that was not my destiny. The three of you are gifted, and I know you’ll make it far, but my journey with you ends here. Thank you for all the wonderful memories; I’ll never forget you, and I pray you don’t forget me.
Your friend, Asta.
It had been five nights since Sharles Tabard’s encounter with the fae and put on temporary suspension, but now he was to be put back on duty. He reported to the garrison, spoke with his lieutenant, and was told to report back to the South 4th Station.
After that night, his superiors had suspended him so he could recuperate and get his head put back on straight. The higher ups had assured him that he wasn’t being punished, but it certainly didn’t feel that way to Sharles.
He’d heard nothing about the report he and Officer Lafayette had turned in, nor had he heard anything about the mercenaries who were with them that night. Everything was kept firmly under wraps, which didn’t make Tabard feel good about what he’d seen.
All this time, he’d been trying to tell himself that it was all just a trick, and that perhaps he was just tired, and that his mind was deceiving him; but how could all of them have seen the same thing, he thought. Perhaps they hadn’t. Perhaps this was all just a strange dream, and…
“G’evening, Tabard,” said one of his fellow officers, a lean Elven man with an infectious smile; Cunningham was his name? Tabard had hardly heard him but offered a polite greeting in return. “By fire man, you alright?”
“J-Just a little under the weather is all,” he said. “I haven’t been sleeping well these past few nights, y’know?”
“Yeh, I can tell,” said the officer. He leaned closer and whispered, “Say, what really happened that night? With those sellswords from the troupe and all?”
Tabard shook his head. “It was…I-I don’t know what it was. Strange goings on, I say.”
“You really sayin’ it was fae because that’s ridiculous, y’know. There’s just no way!” The officer patted him on the back, assuring Tabard that if it really was fae, he would’ve been picked up and dragged off, and that those sellswords would’ve left him for dead. Tabard did his best to end the conversation. After his business at the garrison was finished, he packed up his things and rushed to his post.
Upon arrival, just as the sun finished setting, Tabard was met by the judging glares of his peers. He could hear many of his fellow officers speak ill about him when his back was turned, and the only time they weren’t talking about him was when they were talking about Officer Lafayette who stood alone in a tucked away corner of the station’s rollcall room, smoking a poorly rolled cigarette.
“Evening,” said Tabard, but Lafayette seemed just as distant as Tabard. “So, uh, how’re you holding up?”
“Fine.”
There was a long silence before Tabard said, “Say, about the other night, you don’t suppose…” He wanted Lafayette to say something, maybe even interrupt him and tell him he was speaking nonsense, but instead the officer said nothing; he just stared at the tip of his burning cigarette. Tabard cleared his throat and said, “I mean, it’s just that, I was thinking…do you think…?”
“No,” said Lafayette, and that was that.
Sergeant Astier arrived not long after, and he looked just as disgruntled as ever. When his eyes landed on Tabard and Lafayette, he scowled, but said nothing. The sergeant gave a shout for all his men to fall in as he barked orders and gave their nightly posts. When he finally got to Tabard and Lafayette, he said, “You two, are we going to have any problems tonight?”
“N-No, sir,” said Tabard. Lafayette said nothing, and instead just shook his head.
After Astier had finished giving out orders, he pulled the two aside and said, “Look here, you’ve both been given plenty of time to recover from whatever it was you saw, right?”
“Y-Yessir,” said Tabard. Again, Lafayette said nothing.
Astier glared at the two officers and said, “Patrol the district. Should you spot anything, and I mean anything, you report back to me at once,” and the sergeant stormed off back to his office.
Tabard fidgeted in place, adjusting the musket on his shoulder and the cudgel on his hip, and he thought about that night which felt so long ago; no one had seen anything since then, right? He turned to Lafayette, but his partner had already made his out of the station.
They patrolled for about an hour, lighting up street lamps and searching dark alleyways, when Lafayette finally said, “A couple officers went missing the other night.”
“What?”
“Did you see Girard and Dimont at rollcall,” asked Lafayette. Tabard shook his head. “They took our position down here a couple nights ago. They didn’t turn in this morning; no one knows where they’d gone off to.”
“A-And you’re sure?” Lafayette nodded. Tabard winced. “Why hasn’t the watch done anything?”
Lafayette shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. Maybe they want to keep it under wraps, just like us. Maybe they believe the two just turned coat and ran off. Either way, it’s two officers we don’t have anymore.”
Tabard couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t heard any rumors about officers going missing. A rumor like that should’ve spread like wildfire, yet he hadn’t heard a thing, not from the lieutenant, nor the sergeant, not even his fellow officers. Maybe they really did believe it to be nothing out of the ordinary, but two officers going missing in the night should’ve caused some sort of gossip, right?
His palms grew sweaty, and the hair on his neck stood. Without even realizing it, Tabard had doffed his musket and held it at the ready.
“Careful now, Tabard. No need to get antsy,” said Lafayette.
“I-I…I just…”
His hands trembled, and he felt something skitter around his boot. Tabard squealed, anxiously scanning the area for one of the fae he’d seen from the other night; nothing. He closed his eyes, praying that it was just a mouse or a rat, but then he heard a strange voice coming from a nearby alley, and then he heard someone shout from a high window, and then another scream. Tabard tried to calm himself–focus solely on breathing–but the air started to grow thick and cold.
And then he heard something so faint that he wasn’t sure it was really there at all.
Tabard’s head started to spin, and as he opened his eyes, he saw fog creep its way through the darkened streets. Panic began to set in as he scrambled for the whistle in his pocket.
“L-Lafayette, l-look! Something’s c-coming!”
The officers stared down at the encroaching wisps of white fog as it slowly spread its way across the cobblestone streets. Tabard blew his whistle, its loud screech echoed through the buildings and alleys before eventually getting swallowed by the fog. He tried to blow again, and again, but nothing. Trembling, Tabard wanted to believe it was all just a bad dream; were the gods cruel enough to do this to him on his first night back?
As the fog grew thicker, Tabard heard a scream coming from within. His instincts told him to help, but he knew there was nothing he could do. He stood–frozen–and would’ve let the fog consume him if not for Lafayette pulling him along. The two dashed through the streets, shouting alerts for the people to stay inside, but it felt as if everything they said was muffled.
Glass shattered, and terrified screams rang in the air. Shadows soared overhead, and Tabard could hear the sickening skittering of fae crawl through the alleyways. He looked down and saw the tendrils of white fog slowly engulf he and Lafayette’s ankles.
Tabard stumbled and fell hard to the ground. His head bounced off the cobblestone, and something tried to pull him away. He scrambled to grab hold of something to save himself, but there was nothing. The fog washed over him until he couldn’t see anything but the blinding white mist. He thought he could hear Lafayette calling to him, and as he tried to shout back for help, the fog filled his lungs and silenced him.
As Tabard clambered for something–anything–to grab hold of, his fingers luckily latched hold of a streetlamp. Whatever creature was yanking on his legs pulled harder and harder, and Tabard thought the creature would rip his legs off. He kicked and thrashed, but its grip was firm. Something else grabbed hold of him, and then Tabard saw a long spindly shadow emerge from the fog and reach for his arms. Tabard was just barely able to grab hold of the cudgel on his hip and swiped at the creature, but it did very little other than upset it.
The creature knocked the cudgel from Tabard’s grip and pressed its long shadowy tendril into his back. It felt sharp, almost like the tip of a knife piercing his skin, but then he heard a terrible shriek bellow from the fog, and the grip around his legs loosened.
Tabard let out a furious kick, knocking whatever held onto him off. Before he could stand himself upright, he felt something grab under his arms and yank him to his feet.
Lafayette stood above him; his musket affixed with its bayonet dripping with viscous green blood. He was panting heavily, and before Tabard could utter a thanks, Lafayette told him to keep running.
They dashed through the streets, and Tabard felt a cold chill in the air. He knew they couldn’t outrun whatever it was that was following them, and in an act of desperation, gestured for Lafayette to follow him down a nearby alley.
The two officers ducked into a pile of garbage, as a cacophony of skittering and shambling fae emerged from the fog and ran past them. Overhead, they saw a writhing dark cloud of eyes and claws, and then Tabard heard the singing; it was a strange mesh of voices–dozens all singing at once–that carried through the fog. Three voices then spoke in unison:
“cOMe ouT, DeAR! YoU CAn't hiDE AnYMOrE!”
After the sun had set, Sisters Helene and Claire assisted Sister Emli as she put the children to bed. Once they’d all been tucked in, Helene began to read them a bedtime story from Liza’s collection of books while Emli stood by the window and looked into the distance.
It had begun to grow dreary outside, dismal and sad just like how Emli felt. She hadn’t been comfortable reading to the children these past few nights; it reminded her too much of the Gerhard farm. Her hands shook and her breath caught whenever she thought about that night, helpless in the mud and unable to do anything. Try as she might to hold it together, the night just reminded her of that failure.
Outside, far off in the distance, the city’s alarm bells began to ring. Emli’s heart stopped; the alarms only rang for severe citywide emergencies such as fires or severe storms. What did it mean if the bells were ringing now?
“W-What’s going on, madame,” asked Isaac.
“I don’t know,” she said. Emli opened the window and peaked outside. The alarms echoed from numerous stations across the city, and far off she could hear the terrified cries of civilians. Slowly creeping through the streets and alleys were small tendrils of fog.
“S-Stay calm, little ones. Stay clear of the window. I-I need to speak with—”
Loud banging echoed through the temple halls. Emli was certain she heard people crying to be let inside. Their muffled cries spoke of monsters attacking the city: fae.
Emli secured the window and closed the curtains while Sister Helene quickly made her way to the temple foyer. The children all looked to Emli for guidance–reassurance that everything would be alright–but Emli didn’t know what to say; she couldn’t think; she could hardly breathe. In her head, she saw the events from the Gerhard farm unfold before her.
“S-Stay put children,” she said. “I need to speak with Lady Liza!”
“Please, sister, don’t go,” pleaded Malinda.
“I’m not going anywhere children,” she said. “I’m just going to—”
The window began to rattle, almost as if someone–or something–was trying to open it. A voice called out to them, begging to open up and let them in. Emli thought she recognized the voice, but couldn’t quite recall; it sounded distantly familiar, and for a moment she thought about looking out the window to see if someone was really there.
Her hands trembled, and the screams of Juliet rang in her ears. She could imagine the twisted visage of the Kintelgas looming outside, wanting to get in and take all her children away.
No, don’t fall for their tricks. Be strong.
Before she could act, the nursery door swung open, and Emecar rushed in. He was tightening the strap of his shield and said, “Quickly everyone, to the sanctum!”
The children did as he said, rushing out of the nursery as fast as their legs could take them, but Emli couldn’t move. It felt as if her feet were frozen to the floor.
This can’t be happening. Not again. Not in the city? No, be strong! You must be strong! Don’t…
Emecar grabbed her shoulders and pleaded with her to come with him, but she couldn’t make out his words. Emli collapsed into his arms and sobbed, “What’s going on? Why is this happening. W-What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” he said. Emli looked up at him, and on his face she saw an expression she’d never seen on him before: a strange mix of anger, determination, and fear. “Emli, get to the sanctum and protect the children. I know you can.”
She shook her head, and she weakly said, “I-I can’t.”
“You can. I saw it that night: the color of abjuration.” He pressed his cheek to hers and wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I believe in you, Emli. We’ll be alright.”
For just a moment, Emli felt the weight on her shoulders lift. She had to believe in herself, just as Emecar believed in her. She looked into his eyes and saw tears begin to form; as terrified as he was, she could see he wasn’t going to give up, and neither would she. Emecar rushed out of the nursery, and Emli took one last glance back to the sealed window; the rustling outside grew louder and louder.
The temple foyer soon became crowded with civilians–around thirty or forty–all of whom looked just as terrified as Emli. Sisters Magda and Claire tended to some of the wounded, while Sisters Lucie and Helene guided the scared city folk into the sanctum where they’d be safest. A knot formed in Emli’s throat, but she couldn’t hesitate.
She had to help; it was her duty.
Emli ran into the sanctum where the children were waiting, huddled together in front of the dais. Atop stood Lady Liza, offering a prayer to Sindelle as violet Aether swirled around her body. The arcane sigil of protection scribed across the walls radiated with bright violet light, bathing the sanctum in a light that should’ve offered comfort, but only revealed just how dire the situation was. Emli ran to the children, while Emecar hopped up the dais to speak with Lady Liza.
Kayo stood tall among the children; he put on a brave face, as he tried to tell the other children they would be alright. He almost sounded like Emecar, but Emli could hear the tremble in his voice. She rested her hand on his shoulders, and in his eyes, she could see just how much he really did look like his big brother.
“Thank you,” she said calmly.
Nervously, he whispered, “Will we really be alright?”
“I believe so.”
“You don’t have to lie to me, sister. I’m not like them,” he spat, eying the other children. His words were filled with bile and anger. At any other time, Emli would’ve scolded him for his tone, but at that moment, she couldn’t.
“I’m not lying.” She took a deep breath to keep herself steady and said, “But I have faith: faith in Liza, faith in Emecar, and faith in Sindelle.”
Kayo shook his head. “It’s not good enough.” He looked upon the arcane sigil that lined the sanctum. His fists were clenched, and he bit his lip. “We need to do something.”
“I’ll do something,” said Emecar hopping down from the dais. “You all need to stay here where it’s safe, eh?”
“Emecar, please, take me with you,” said Kayo.
Emecar shook his head. “You’ll get yourself killed. If you must do something, stay here and keep your little brothers and sisters safe. Alright? Do that for me, and after tonight, I’ll give you some sword lessons.”
Kayo glared at him, and it was obvious that he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. Emecar patted his shoulder, telling him that the temple was the safest place in the city, but Kayo said, “The nobles are safest. They’ve their crownsguard to protect them.” He sneered. “We just have you.”
“Kayo,” snapped Emli.
Emecar raised his hand and said, “Not just me; you’ve Rukifelth too, wherever he is.” Kayo groaned but stopped arguing. Emecar turned to Malinda and said, “Can you help Sister Emli? I know she’ll appreciate it.”
The young girl sniffled and wiped the tears from her eyes. “I-I’ll do my best, big brother.”
“That’s all we can do,” said Emecar. He smiled, a fake hollow smile, almost as if he was trying to convince himself just as much as the children. “Now, all of you stay out of trouble, eh?”
“W-What are you going to do,” asked Shiriam.
“I can’t just stay here, can I? There are people out there who need help, and I plan to help ‘em any way I can.”
He secured the strap of his shield to his arm and turned to Emli. Without words, he gave her a silent promise that the tragedy that befell the Gerhards would not be repeated. He took her hand, and on his wrist, she saw he still had her bracelet tied firmly around his wrist. He briefly squeezed her hand before running out of the sanctum.
Emli stared up at the illuminated runes and glyphs that formed the temple’s sigil of protection. Her heart raced, and she was afraid she may forget how to breathe within the pandemonium, but she trusted Emecar, and she trusted Liza.
The only person left to trust was herself. She couldn’t go around acting like a scared child; she was a Maiden of the Galdic Lineage. She had a duty to the temple and to her children. Even if it cost her own life, she’d protect them.
Oliver, Abigail, and Tomlin sat around a table within the Coalrock drinking and playing cards when they heard the alarm bells ring. At first, Oliver hadn’t really noticed; he thought it could’ve been the clambering of pots and pans or some unruly drunk getting hurled into alley trash, but as the ringing continued and commotion began to stir outside, he grew anxious. He wasn’t quite sure, but he thought he heard crowds of people outside scream.
Through the window, Oliver thought he saw fog.
He looked to Abigail and said, “You don’t suppose…”
A window shattered, and everyone in the tavern hopped to their feet. Men and women alike, donned pistols and daggers, ready for someone or something to come barging in, but before they could react, a horde of fae with bat-like wings and dagger-like talons flooded into the tavern: familiars.
Fae were attacking the city.
The nightmarish fae attacked, followed in turn by a wave of thick white fog. Frantic screams of terror filled the bar; people, shot their guns and slashed their knives wildly at the creatures while some tried to run, and others tried to offer up their fellow patrons as sacrifice. None of it helped; the fae attacked indiscriminately.
As adepts, Oliver, Abigail, and Tomlin were some of the few who could properly protect themselves. Oliver envisioned the wind whirling around him, carrying him like a leaf; yellow Aether–the color of divination–swirled around his eyes, and allowed him to see through the fog and beyond the crowded tavern. With exact precision, he knew where to swing his sword as to not hit any of his companions or any of the other bar patrons. He struck down one fae, then two, and then a third, but no matter how many he killed, even more took their place.
The three fought valiantly, but it became apparent quite soon that the fae would continue to swarm no matter how many were struck down, and despite their best efforts, the familiars were nabbing up men and women alike and dragging them out into the fog. It would only be a matter of time before they were taken as well.
It was Tomlin who first realized that the only way they could stop the fae was by keeping them out. He let out a loud bellowing roar and blue Aether swirled around his body, enhancing his already impressive strength. He picked up one of the tavern’s large tables with ease and warned as many people as would listen to duck. He swung the table wide, swatting the familiars out the air like flies, and once a path was cleared, he rushed up to the shattered window and covered it with the table’s face. With that, Oliver and Abigail were quickly able to kill off the remaining fae.
Abigail turned to Oliver and shouted, “What do we do?”
He didn’t know. He’d never encountered fae in such numbers before. Not only that, but unlike typical fae behavior, these fae were using their massive numbers to try and overwhelm the city.
Over the hectic crowd, Tomlin shouted, “We need to get out of here! I-I can’t hold ‘em back for long!”
“What about the troupe hall,” said Oliver. “It’s secure, right?”
Abigail shouted, “It’s all the way across the city! We’d never make it!”
“Well, where else?”
The pounding against Tomlin’s barrier grew harder and harder, and Oliver could see Tomlin’s muscles strain to keep the barricade in place. He shouted to some of the terrified patrons to help Tomlin. Some helped, but others just stared at him, almost as if they were just as scared of him as they were of the fae. Oliver couldn’t believe that–at a time like this–they were afraid of a couple adepts.
“Fae are in the city, and you’re scared of us all because we’re a couple of adepts? We’re looking to save your sorry hides,” shouted Oliver. He pointed to Tomlin’s barricade. “Help him or I’ll give you something to be scared of you blithering oafs!”
That did the trick.
The men and women of The Coalrock leapt into action and helped Tomlin secure the barricade on the window, while others began piling tables and chairs against the front door and any other potential spots the fae could slip through.
After the situation had calmed itself–for the most part–Oliver took some time to try and think of a plan. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the screams; he could hear the patrons sniveling and sobbing, as well as others who prayed to Sindelle, Azuhiel, Velhien, and any other god that would listen.
He took a deep breath and envisioned leaves swirling and dancing in the harsh wind. He imagined himself as one of the leaves; he was being blown through the alleyways, across the streets, above the buildings. He could see the terror that besieged the city; a whole menagerie of fae–childnappers, familiars, wytchlings, and even more he didn’t recognized–rampaged through the streets. They broke down windows and doors, and dragged out their victims kicking and screaming into the fog, and then disappeared without a trace.
That wasn’t usual fae behavior, he thought. None of this was.
What’s going on? Why is this happening?
But the wind continued to guide him; he fluttered past the city-watch garrison where he saw Captain Grisdel fighting alongside various young officers, he fluttered up and around the upper district where the nobles’ crownsguard effortlessly kept out the fae, he fluttered near the troupe hall where he saw several of his fellow mercenaries fighting for their lives, and he fluttered near dozens of small shops and bars where they had no such protection.
And then the wind pulled him towards the Galdic Temple, glowing with violet aethereal light, and Oliver’s eyes shot open. “The temple! They have wards there to keep the fae out!”
“You’re joking! The temple?” said Abigail, “we’d never make it!”
Oliver shook his head. He could see the fog creeping its way through the smallest cracks and knew that if they didn’t leave soon, the fae would overwhelm them no matter how well they barricaded themselves.
A man approached Oliver, shaking horribly, and said, “T-The temple, right? You’re s-sure the maidens will help us? W-We’re just humans, after all.”
“Of course, they will,” said Oliver. “We’re friends with the Maiden Superior; she’ll help.”
Abigail yanked him by the lapels of his jacket and said, “I say again: it’s too far. We’ll never make it. Are you insane? Y-You want us to run across the city to the temple? By fire, Oliver, it’d be safer just to stay here!”
“No, if we stay here, we’ll…”
A song began to linger in the air, and everything else fell silent. The song was beautiful but haunting, and Oliver’s stomach churned. A cold chill filled the room, and from where the fog was creeping in, ice soon followed.
“Come along now, my dear. TheRE’s nO neED To hIDe aNyMOre!”
Oliver’s knees trembled as the song filled the ransacked tavern. The banging at their makeshift barricades grew more and more intense, and if not for Tomlin, there wasn’t a doubt that the fae would’ve barged in and dragged them all away.
“W-We have to try,” said Oliver. “We can cut through the city square, and—” More bangs. The room grew colder; the fog grew thicker. He turned to Abigail and said, “We either die here or we take our chances out there!”
Abigail shrieked in frustration, but knew she had nothing better to offer. She turned to the tavern’s owner who’d been hiding behind the bar top and said, “There’s got to be a back door, right? Where is it?”
The terrified man gestured for her to follow, and Oliver hollered for everyone to follow. To Tomlin he said, “Think you can hold the rear?”
“I’ll do my best,” grunted Tomlin.
The tavern’s owner guided the crowd of patrons through the tavern’s back house and towards a locked backdoor. Compared to the front, it was quiet outside. Before the owner could unlock it, Oliver pressed his hand to the door and concentrated on being able to see and hear what lay outside: there was fog, and the only fae he detected was a lone childnapper skittering its way through the abandoned alley.
Once it was clear, he opened his eyes and said, “Alright, let’s—”
“yoU cAN’t hiDE fROm uS!”
Oliver’s knees buckled as the voice rang in his ears. He would’ve toppled over if not for Abigail catching him, and though he could hear her voice, he couldn’t make out her words. Oliver realized that whatever was creating that song–whatever that creature was–was far more powerful than any fae they’d ever encountered.
A crash echoed from the front of house, and Oliver heard Tomlin shout that the fae were getting in. Oliver wasted no time; blue Aether swirled around him, and he kicked the door open, ripping it off its hinges. He turned back and saw the terrified faces of the patrons, and he couldn’t help but think it’d be so much easier if he, Abigail, and Tomlin just left them to their own devices; if they wanted to survive, they’d have to fight for it. However, something gnawed at his conscience and told him that he couldn’t leave these people behind.
Through gritted teeth, Oliver shouted, “C’mon! We’ve got to hurry! Follow me,” and began his trek through the fog.
“Where is she,” shouted Rukifelth.
“W-We don’t know,” said the dwarf. “She was g-gone before any of this started!”
Rukifelth pressed the blade of his sabre into the collar of the dwarf’s shirt, hoping to get a little more information from the colossal man, but it became apparent that he was being honest. Rukifelth released the dwarf and scanned The Lady’s Rose looking for her: Asta. Instead, all he could see were terrified citizens huddled in groups while others barricaded the doors. It was she the fae were after, that much he knew, but why? What was it about that woman that would make fae attack like this?”
“W-Who are you? Why do you want her,” spoke the the guitarist.
“The fae want her,” said Rukifelth. “I intend to find her first.”
The dwarf scampered away from Rukifelth and said, “No! I ain’t gonna let you go and give her up, y’hear!”
Rukifelth pointed his sword to the man’s neck and said, “I don’t plan on sacrificing her, but if I know where she is, then I know where they’ll attack!”
“And you think you can fight ‘em off? All by yourself,” said the dwarf. Rukifelth shook his head. He wouldn’t be alone; he was never truly alone, but he supposed a little help wouldn’t hurt.
Rukifelth sheathed his sword and said, “You’re a big man. Keep these people safe, alright? Don’t let anything in, and once I leave, don’t let anyone out. No matter what! These fae will try and trick you into lowering your guard.” The trio of musicians looked at him as if he’d just spoken in riddles. “I’m just trying to help, alright? I suppose I’m just not very good at it.”
He made his way to the barricaded front entrance, but several patrons tried to stop him. It didn’t take much to convince them otherwise: a quick flash of his sabre’s blade, and a vicious glare did the trick.
Once outside, and the door was firmly secured behind him, Rukifelth took in just how much fog there really was. He couldn’t believe how quickly it had spread. Almost as if in an instant, the fog went from a faint wisp on the ground to a thick white wall. Bellowing through the city were the cries and screams of desperation, and Rukifelth couldn’t tell if they were real or fake.
The Black Beast stalks its prey.
Rukifelth took a deep breath and felt his senses begin to heighten. His eyes peered through the fog, and the screams began to fade. He could see fae swarming in the skies and skittering along the ground: wytchlings shambled through the streets, oozing with pus and bile as they hunted their prey; childnappers climbed buildings and rattled on windows trying to trick their victims into opening up and granting them entrance; familiars swarmed overhead, ready to strike at any unsuspecting mortal lost in the fog.
Once the fae caught sight of him, they uttered a gurgling roar to alert the others. In an instant, the familiars flying overhead descended upon him with a vicious fury.
The Black Beast pounces!
Blue and red Aether began to swirl around Rukifelth’s body as he fought through the attacking swarm of fae. Their roars grew louder as more were drawn to his location. He could stand and fight, but Rukifelth knew that it would only be a matter of time before he was overwhelmed by the seemingly limitless number of them all.
He needed Emecar.
The temple foyer grew more and more crowded as the minutes dragged on. The sisters did their best to help calm the civilians, but nothing they could say or do would cause any such relief.
Emecar walked through the crowd and could hear the pained cries of families torn apart, he recognized the face of Gwendolyn Brugiér, sobbing over the loss of her husband. His hands trembled, but he didn’t know what to do. For the past hour, he’d been scouting out into the fog to find anyone lost or in need, but he was just one man in a massive city; there was only so much he could do.
He looked upon the sigil of protection lining the temple walls, still shining bright as Liza cast her Aether into them. The sigil acted as a ward to keep the otherworldly creatures out, but it could only last as long as Liza could concentrate. If the fae continued to attack long into the night, she’d be exhausted long before they gave up.
After a brief rest at the behest of Sister Lucie, Emecar prepared to head back outside and see if he could find anyone else. His heart raced, and his muscles ached, but he couldn’t stop, not while there were still people who needed him. He made his way for the door but was stopped by Sister Claire.
“Emecar, you needn’t do this,” she said.
“I do,” he said. He tried to smile, but he couldn’t hide what he was truly feeling: The Kintelgas was out there, the monster that took away Juliet. If he would’ve been stronger that night, he could’ve killed it, and then none of this would be happening. It was his fault all these people had lost their families and loved ones.
He reached for the door, but Claire grabbed his arm. “Emecar, stop! You’ve done so much, and if you keep at it—”
“More people need my help!” Claire stared at him with disbelief; how could she not. He could see it in her eyes that she thought he was being foolish–and perhaps he was–but it wasn’t her decision to make. Emecar yanked his arm free and said, “Don’t worry about me. I’ll be back soon. As always, be cautious when opening the door, eh?”
She shook her head and wiped the tears that began to well up in her eyes, but she didn’t object.
Emecar stepped outside and onto the temple grounds. He waited until he heard the door firmly latch and lock behind before running out into the fog. The illusory pleas for help rang in Emecar’s ears, but he concentrated on a small bit of the color of abjuration, allowing him to keep those fake screams out of his head.
He wouldn’t be deceived again.
Emecar tried to keep the image of the temple steeple in sight, not wanting to venture too far out into the fog out of fear of being caught off guard, but it was growing harder to hear anything. If he wanted to help more people or find the Kintelgas, he’d need to venture further into the fog. Emecar focused on keeping his Aether under control; as long as he was shielded by the color of abjuration the fog couldn’t touch him, and the fae would be at a disadvantage if they tried to fight.
Against his better judgment, Emecar tightened the straps of his shield and rushed headlong into the fog. Once inside, his vision became almost completely obscured beyond the vague shapes of shadows and small glimmers of light from lamp posts and lanterns.
Emecar knew to keep himself grounded; he made sure to follow along the walls of nearby buildings and not to venture out into the open less he risk getting turned around and lost. Despite his shield of abjuration, the fake screams of the fae grew louder and louder the deeper into the fog he trekked.
From above, he could hear the shriek of the familiars and their furious wingbeats grow louder. Were they descending upon him or was this another one of their tricks? He raised his shield, ready to strike, but nothing came, yet the shrieking grew louder.
He heard a muffled scream from a nearby alley call out for help.
No, they’re trying to lure you out. Don’t fall for their tricks.
The screaming continued to grow louder and louder, and then suddenly it stopped. Emecar took a deep breath and pressed his back to the wall. The wingbeats overhead and skittering around his ankles grew louder, but nothing came for him.
And then Emecar heard something different rushing through the streets barreling towards him. Its footsteps were heavy compared to that of the childnappers, and he was certain he caught a glimmer of something pierce the fog. His chest grew heavy as he anticipated the Kintelgas; he readied his sword and raised his shield, ready to attack as violet Aether shined around his blade. He wouldn’t let that monster reach the temple. He’d die first before he let that happen.
He swung, and the sword cut an opening into the fog as it connected with another sword. Emecar’s eyes widened as he saw Rukifelth standing on the other end of his sabre.
“By fire, brother, are you trying to kill me?”
“R-Rukifelth?” Emecar couldn’t believe what he was seeing; it had to be a trick. He took a step back, lowering his sword, but ready to strike. “Is that really you?”
“I’m not a fae if that’s what you’re asking.” Rukifelth smiled and said, “How can I be sure you’re really Emecar?”
Emecar let out a sigh of relief; it really was him. He gestured back and said, “as sure as the sun rises, brother. C’mon, let’s get back to the temple. With your help—”
“I know what the fae are after,” said Rukifelth. Emecar stopped in his tracks. “Do you remember a few nights ago–at The Lady’s Rose–there was that singer?” Emecar nodded. “That’s who the fae want. I don’t know why, but she’s the reason the fae are attacking the city.”
“How are you so sure,” Emecar asked. A fae shriek pierced the fog, followed by another awful scream. Emecar flinched but stood his ground; he wouldn’t fall for their tricks.
Rukifelth said, “I just want you to trust me. I can’t explain how I know, but my bones scream it’s true.”
“And what’ll we do when we find her,” asked Emecar. Another shriek, this one closer. The fae were closing in on them.
Rukifelth turned away and said, “We need to move quickly. I know I can find her; she has a peculiar scent.”
“And then what, brother!”
“She’s what the fae are all converging on. If we find her, then we’ll find the Kintelgas,” said Rukifelth. He turned to Emecar. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? To get your revenge on that monster?”
Emecar felt his stomach leap into his throat. His arms twitched at the thought of plunging his sword deep into the Kintelgas’ hide; he’d be lying to himself if he said he didn’t want that, but he wanted to make sure the temple was safe first and foremost.
Rukifelth waved for Emecar to follow and said, “C’mon, I’ve caught scent of where she could be!”
As Rukifelth ran off, Emecar took one last look back to the temple; despite the radiating violet light, he could hardly make out its spire. His grip tightened around his sword hilt, and he ran to follow Rukifelth.
A haunting melody lulled over the screams of Lionbrand. It echoed through the darkened alleyways as Asta whispered her pained song; tears dripped down her cheeks and wisps of violet Aether swirled around her, pushing away the thick fog and making her all but invisible to the fae that chased her. Familiars soared overhead, and childnappers skittered past her ankles, unaware that the target of their hunt was right in front of them.
“coMe oUT, CoME OUt, SisTEr,” the voices said. “We KnoW wHErE You’RE HIdinG. no NEed To trY aNYmoRE.” Asta tried to ignore the voices and continued to sing. “WE heAr YoU. wE kNOw yOU’re tHEre. STop BEinG sO diFFicULt aNd COme hOmE!”
Asta stepped out of the dark alley, and her heart sank. She watched as chaos overtook the city: windows shattered, doors smashed, homes and livelihoods destroyed all because of her. She closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that once she was gone, everything would go back to normal; the fae would leave these people and follow her elsewhere.
Her voice faltered. The violet Aether swirling around her flickered for just a moment as Asta’s words caught in her throat; she couldn’t escape. The fae would find her no matter where she ran off to. She was alone.
Asta stopped singing and fell to her knees.
“THeRe yOu ARe, mY dEaR.”
I’m sorry.
Asta closed her eyes as the fae screeched and descended upon her. The wingbeats of familiars flapped in the air, the nails of childnappers grinded along the stone ground, and the groans of wytchlings began to converge around her.
Beyond the fog, Asta thought she heard someone calling her name. Adam? Mother and father? She remembered their voices so well; she remembered how wonderful it was for all of them to be together: Adam played the piano while she sang, and her mother and father listened joyfully. Her father always said she’d go far in the world, and her mother often spoke highly of her to her colleagues at the academy; she even convinced one of her composer friends to allow Asta to perform in the academy orchestra.
Everyone was so happy, and now it was all gone.
Asta felt something grab hold of her arm, but it wasn’t a fae; it was warm and gentle. Then someone said, “Are you alright?”
She opened her eyes to see a human with tan skin and red hair knelt beside her. He looked strangely familiar; she’d seen him before. Behind him, shrouded in the fog was the man Rukifelth.
“Y-You! What are you—”
“You’re awfully hard to find, mademoiselle,” said Rukifelth. “I thought I had a read on where you’d be, but instead, you’re all the way out here.”
Asta’s gaze shifted between the two men. What were they doing? Why? “How did you find me?”
Rukifelth scoffed and said, “You’ve got a particular scent.”
What is that supposed to mean?
“Asta, is it,” said the other young man; Emecar she seemed to remember. “Are you hurt?”
“Please,” she said weakly, “just leave me. I—”
“I asked if you’re hurt,” he said.
She shook her head, not wanting to answer, but he kept pressing until she finally snapped. “Leave me,” she shouted, her words washing over the two men. She yanked herself free from Emecar’s grip and said, “Let these creatures take me, then all of this will be over!”
Asta broke down in tears. She collapsed into herself, but neither of the men left her side. The shrieks of fae drew closer, and Emecar gently rested his hand on her back. “Sorry, mademoiselle, but I ain’t losing anyone else to these monsters; not if I can help it.”
“Why? After all I’ve brought you,” she said. “You don’t even know me?”
“Don’t need to,” he said. “I don’t know you, nor do I know why these fae are after you. I see someone who needs help, and that’s enough.”
There was another loud shriek, and Rukifelth urged them to get moving, but Asta wasn’t listening. She closed her eyes and saw Adam’s face smiling back at her.
Why’d you stop?
“What,” whispered Asta.
You stopped singin’. I really like that song, y’know, but then you went and stopped. What was it called again? The Winds in the Meadow?
Asta touched her throat, and her chest grew heavy. “The Winds of the Meadow,” she said weakly.
Ah, yeh! That’s the one. You’ll sing it for me again, won’t ya, darlin’?
Asta thought she felt him hold her hand. She squeezed tightly, remembering his warmth, his scent, his laugh. It all brought back so much joy; joy that she’d never have again.
She began to sing the first few phrases of The Wind of the Meadow, just as Adam had asked, quietly at first, but the more and more she sang, the more and more she felt his warmth beside her.
Asta wasn’t quite listening to what Emecar and Rukifelth were saying, but she could hear the shock in their voices. When she opened her eyes, both of them stared at her in awe as the wisps of translucent violet Aether swirled around them. She sang, pouring her heart into the song, and the shrieks of the fae–even the fog itself–disappeared around them. She hummed the verse over and over, and she watched as the shadows of fae scurry right past them, as if the three of them weren’t even there.
The two men stared at her with stunned expressions as Asta stood. With Adam’s words still in her head, she gestured for Emecar to lead the way. After a moment to compose himself, Emecar took Asta’s hand and guided her through the fog.
Emecar felt bad for dismissing Rukifelth’s suspicions of this girl; he knew there was something going on that night. Those things he saw–the fire, the dancing–he knew it wasn’t just from drinking, but from her music, her voice: she was an adept.
As Asta sang, violet Aether swirled around them, making their run through the obscured streets of Lionbrand much easier. However, it didn’t obscure the screams. From all around, Emecar could hear the screams of terror from those besieged by fae. With Asta’s song blocking out the fae’s trickery, he knew these screams were real. People needed help, and he was powerless to do anything. He prayed to the gods that the watch or crownsguard would be there to help where he could not.
“sTOp HidINg, mY dEAr.” Emecar froze. He felt the air grow colder, and along the ground he saw ice start to form. The Kintelgas was approaching–seeking out the girl–just as Rukifelth had said. “We kNOw yoU’Re TheRE!”
“Emecar, what are you doing,” shouted Rukifelth. “We need to keep moving!”
Asta’s grip tightened in his hand, and her voice trembled with fear as she tried to keep singing. Rukifelth shouted again, but Emecar thought he heard something else in the fog: a voice calling to him.
Juliet?
Rukifelth shoved him and said, “Emecar, would you stop dawdling! The temple isn’t far from here. Once we…”
Emecar, help me!
“I’m not going back to the temple,” said Emecar staring into the fog. He turned to his brother, a dark thought gnawing at the back of his head: If they lead Asta back to the temple, then that would mean everyone inside would be in danger; he wasn’t going to let that happen.
Rukifelth glared back. “What are you talking about? This is the best option; if we lure the Kintelgas to the temple, then we fight it on our terms!”
“Or we fight it here,” said Emecar. More ice formed on the ground; Juliet’s screams rang in his ears. Asta’s hand trembled in his, or was it his that trembled in hers?
“StoP ruNNinG, cHilD. yOU’Re ONly mAKiNg ThIs haRDer oN YOuRseLF!”
The Kintelgas was close. Emecar gave Asta’s hand to Rukifelth and said, “If you want to fight at the temple, go, but I’m not putting my family in danger; I’m fighting it here and now!”
“Emecar, don’t be stupid! You think you can…” Rukifelth fell silent as his teeth started to chatter and ice crystals formed in the fog. His eyes darted around, and he said, “E-Emecar, c’mon. We n-need to get moving!”
Despite the chill in the air, Emecar didn’t feel cold; he felt numb. He tightened his grip around his sword hilt.
Protect the innocent; heal the hurt; smite the wicked.
“It’s moving too fast,” said Emecar. “We can’t outrun it at this rate; not all three of us.”
Rukifelth’s eyes pleaded with his brother’s. “Why?”
“Take Asta and go,” Emecar said hesitantly. “I’m going to stay and fight.”
Rukifelth gritted his teeth. “No, I’m not letting you do something this stupid on your own!”
“Then stay and fight. I promise we’ll win,” said Emecar.
Rukifelth shook his head—tears frozen in his eyes—and through gritted teeth said, “You best not break this promise; you make it home, y’hear,” and then–with Asta in tow–he was gone.
Protect the innocent.
Emecar stood alone in the middle of the street, surrounded by frigid fog as Asta’s song slowly faded into the distance. He closed his eyes and focused on the flame within. A deep breath in: the fire swelled and grew; a deep breath out: the heat covered his body. Blue and violet Aether–transmutation and abjuration–radiated from Emecar.
Heal the hurt.
The air grew colder, and Emecar heard the shrieks of fae descend upon him. He turned; standing there at the heart of the fog was the silhouette of a massive four-armed fae wearing a blood-soaked cloak trudged through the fog: The Kintelgas.
Smite the wicked!
Emecar lunged forward; his hands trembled, and his heart raced, but he wasn’t afraid, far from it. Instead, he was angry. Rage boiled inside of him, ready to burst.
Shadows descended from on high, and Emecar swung his sword furiously. He sliced the talons from a horde of familiars; their shrieks of pain made the fog grow colder. A small pack of childnappers–five or six–dashed through the fog and leapt at him. He swung again, violet Aether swirling around the blade, and cut the fae down with ease.
As he ran, his balance began to waver. He slid along the icy ground and stumbled just as a large childnapper leapt at him. Emecar crashed into the ground and felt the air rush from his lungs. Before he could right himself, two more childnappers jumped onto him, coiling around him with their long gangly legs, and biting him with their jagged teeth.
“loOk sISteRs,” said the first voice, “iT’s tHAt hUMaN aGaiN!”
“goOD, i wAS HopINg wE’d SEe Him,” said the second.
“we’LL mAKe SurE tO kEep HiM tHIs TimE,” said the third.
Emecar’s eyes darted around the street, but he could see nothing except the wall of white fog and a horde of fae descending upon him. He struggled to free himself, but the childnappers had him held tight. Emecar envisioned the fire within him blaze to life, and he kicked out again. This time–as blue Aether spiraled around his body–he knocked some of the creatures back.
Emecar’s heart raced; he’d already used too much Aether. He had to concentrate and conserve it if he wanted to stand a chance against this monster.
“LOok hOW cUte hE IS!”
“he trIEs SO harD.”
“BuT He’s STill JusT a HUman!”
Emecar freed his arm and lashed out with his sabre, cutting himself free from the childnappers’ grip. With Aether enhancing his speed and strength, he hopped to his feet just as one of the Kintelgas’ long arms lunged at him through the wall of fog. He raised his shield just as the weight of the massive creature’s strike collided with him.
He skid along the icy ground, barely able to keep his balance. As he readied himself for another attack, the shadow of the Kintelgas was nowhere in sight. Emecar spun, afraid the creature had somehow moved behind him, yet still nothing.
“What’s the matter, mortal? Afraid?” Emecar’s hands trembled as the creature mimicked Juliet’s screams. “Let’s see what else you can do!”
Around his ankles, the ice began crawling up Emecar’s legs. He quickly leapt back, trying to find ground where the ice hadn’t reached, but no matter where he stepped, there was more ice. He envisioned the fire wash over him, and violet Aether began to coil around him like a shield, but it wasn’t enough.
The Kintelgas suddenly appeared beside him–its dozen eyes staring at him; its dozen mouths laughing–and dug one of its gnarled claws into his side. Emecar howled in pain and tried to swing, but before his blade could connect, the monster vanished again as if merging with the fog.
Protect the innocent…
Emecar fell to one knee, clutching his side. Blood dripped from his wound; it wasn’t a deep gash, but it burned just as the wytchling’s venom had. He tried to think of a way to use the color of transmutation to heal his wound–perhaps envision a hot iron to cauterize the wound shut–but his mind couldn’t concentrate. He didn’t have the time to try and heal himself. He had to keep fighting.
He felt the hum of Aether within Emli’s bracelet, but he couldn’t use it just yet. He had to wait until just the right moment.
Heal the hurt…
Emecar heard ice crunch behind him and quickly spun just as the Kintelgas lunged for another attack. He raised his shield and felt the creature crash into him, it’s incredible strength sending him skittering along the icy ground. Before he could regain his senses, the creature had disappeared yet again.
“yES. I liKe tHIs One vErY mUch. StiLL An aMaTEUr, buT hE’s STroNg oF SPiriT. he HaS POteNtial. HE’ll MakE A fine addition to our family.”
Emecar brandished his sabre as he stood. He struggled to keep his balance along the ice-covered street, but that was the least of his worries; as long as that monster kept popping in and out of the fog, he’d be unable to fight. If he wanted to kill this creature, he’d have to disperse the fog. He sucked in a deep breath, and violet Aether swirled around his body.
The Kintelgas laughed and the voices said, “yoU tHInk ThaT wiLL pRotECt You fRom uS?”
Smite the wicked!
Emecar heard the crunch of ice behind him and quickly spun around. The shadow of the Kintelgas appeared, and Emecar exhaled, releasing a bright wave of violet Aether. He pushed as much Aether out as he could, pulling out some from Emli’s bracelet, and forced the fog back with the color of abjuration. Without it, the Kintelgas wouldn’t be able to retreat, or so Emecar hoped.
The monster lunged for him with its gnarled claw. With his speed and strength still enhanced by his Aether, Emecar ducked beneath the incoming attack and struck; his blade sliced into the fae. The Kintelgas roared in pain as one of its arms fell to the ground, cursing in a language Emecar couldn’t understand.
Emecar brandished his sword and lashed out again. He felt his Aether boil to the surface, but just as he was about to strike, the ice crawled up his legs and latched him in place.
“stUPid bOy! SUch A nUIsAncE! geT HiM! GEt hIM!”
Emecar heard another crunch off to his side, and he quickly turned to see a wytchling suddenly shambling towards him. The creature dove at him, its claws ready to strike. Emecar tried to enhance his strength and raise his shield, but the ice coiled up and around his arms, trapping him and preventing him from protecting himself. The creature crashed into him and plunged one of its festering claws through his chest.
Emecar couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. Blood trickled down his body. As the wytchling ripped its claw from his chest, the ice around Emecar’s body shattered, and he collapsed to the ground gasping for air.
“nO! NO! No! i sAId I WanTEd hIM!” Emecar watched in horror as the Kintelgas grabbed the wytchling and furiously ripped it to pieces. The beast tossed the torn remains of the fae aside before looking down at Emecar’s crumpled body and said, “HoW uUNForTUnaTe. IT sEEms DEstiNy dOes Not wAnT uS to haVe YoU. SO be It; wE HAve OthERs, tHOugH nOne AS gOoD As thIS onE.”
Its words faded as the monster stepped over him and trudged its way into the fog. A childnapper appeared and crawled up the creature’s body and slowly begin merging itself where Emecar had severed the creature’s arm. In seconds, the Kintelgas had a new arm as if he’d done nothing at all, and then it disappeared into the fog.
Emecar felt the icy chill of the fog wash over his cheeks. He tried to breathe, but the air wouldn’t stay in his lungs. He couldn’t die here, he told himself; he couldn’t. He’d promised Rukifelth and Emli that he’d make it home. He wanted to see them; he wanted to see the children, and Liza, and the other sisters. No matter how difficult it was, he had to keep fighting. He just had to.
He tried to imagine a hot iron cauterize his wound, but nothing happened; he tried to imagine the fire blazing to life: still nothing. Emecar couldn’t see the flame. Instead, he saw a woman with red hair and a blue dress crying over him.
“Be still, Emecar,” was all she said.
His body went cold, and his vision went dark.