The Bringer of War

Seamus swore as he dragged his foot out of the water. He had drifted off to sleep on the hull of the wrecked ship, a rolled up soggy blanket for a pillow. The moon had set and the first inklings of dawn had begun to trickle into the horizon. He glanced down at the water, panic rising in his chest as he realized the slowly sinking ship had accelerated its descent into the dark sea.

A short distance away, Stella sat with her book open across her lap. The little wizard did not seem the worse for wear, other than a nasty bruise near her temple. Lobo hovered nearby, obviously straining to keep silent while Stella studied.

The big man dragged himself to his feet and shuffled along the sloped hull to where the woman sat. He politely cleared his throat, prompting her to glance up at him with tired eyes.

“Have you figured out a way to save us?” he said without ceremony, the rising waters engulfing his mind as well as the ship.

“I think so,” said Stella, her lips drawn tight.

“Then hadn’t you best be about it, then?” he said, shooting a glance at the sea.

“I’m struggling to learn the words of power,” she said with an angry scowl “this is not as simple as playing with your pecker, Seamus.”

“That’s not what I-” said Seamus, hot anger rising in his belly. “Never mind. I know you’re doing all you can.”

“We’re all a bit on edge, Seamus,” said Lobo, offering a warm smile. “This is hardly a normal circumstance, after all.”

“I’ve never been this deep in the Grimoire before,” said Stella, mostly to herself “it’s never let me...”

“Come again?” said Lobo with a frown. Seamus looked to him and grinned.

“Her book has more sense than she does,” said the big man.

“Quiet!” snapped Stella, drawing both their gazes. “This is hard enough without having to listen to your prattling.”

Her companions exchanged guilty looks, then shuffled off a few feet from her to speak quietly. The stars were a curtain of brilliance above them, and if not for their dire situation would have caused them both to stop and marvel.

“Do you think she can save us?” said Lobo, his full lips quivering just a bit.

“I hope so,” said Seamus “so far, she has been able to back up her boasts, if that encourages you any.”

“I never thought I would end up like this,” said Lobo, heaving a deep sigh. “Drowned in the salty sea, never to entertain again.”

“It won’t end like that,” said Seamus, his eye looking northward at the unseen coastline that was their eventual goal. “It can’t end like that.”

“You sound convinced,” said Lobo, arching an eyebrow at the big man.

“I am,” he said, seemingly surprised to find that he was speaking the truth “I don’t know how I know it, but I feel...I don’t know, as if the threads of my fate are being spun around this quest. I know it sounds mad, but...”

“Dragons ravaging towns and sinking ships sounds mad,” said Lobo with a smile. He cocked his curly head to the side and regarded Seamus quizzically. “Why are you chasing this dragon? Is it for revenge, because it killed your brother?”

Seamus frowned at her, his one eye narrowing in suspicion.

“Stella told the tale,” said Lobo with a shrug “I’m sorry for your loss. I, too, have lost someone who I care a great deal for...”

The big man could tell the fishing line for what it was, and decided to bite.

“Who?” he said, not particularly caring at the moment but not wishing to be rude.

“It’s a long story,” said Lobo, offering him a somewhat shy smile “someday, I might regale you with it.”

Roikza came flapping over the hull and hovered in the air over Seamus, her wings a whizzing blur. The big man held his forearm out and she alighted on it. The forked tail of a piscine dinner disappeared down her needle toothed maw before she nuzzled him on the face.

“Ugh,” he said, overcome with the aroma of her breath.

“Think she could catch us one?” said Lobo, his stomach gurgling loudly.

“Possibly,” said Seamus, scratching the little feathered dragon below her chin “but how would we cook it?”

Both of their heads suddenly whipped around to Stella. The wizard was standing on her feet, hands outstretched as if she were about to embrace a long lost lover. The wind had picked up a bit, causing the boat to rock noticeably.

“Do you feel that?” said Seamus, looking at Lobo.

“Yes,” he said, biting his soft lower lip “and I am not sensitive to magic.”

“Nor am I,” said Seamus “she must be gathering tremendous power for us to have noticed.”

Stella felt the energy she had gathered threatening to tear her body to shreds. She trembled in agony as she sought to contain the ley line power, more than she had ever attempted to manage before. In a panic, she realized that she could not remember the words of power. The thought of exploding in a gory mess upon the wrecked hull did little to calm her. How ignoble an end for the great Pendragon line...

The book, now lashed across her back, seemed to pulse with energy of its own. For a brief moment, she felt as if she were sitting on her father’s lap as he explained the difficult pronunciations of the Tongue of Magic, could almost smell his cologne...

Then the sensation was gone, but now the words of power blazed within her mind. Confidently, as if she had performed the incantation a hundred times before, she shaped the power within her to her whims.

“Aeris!” she cried, and the hull lurched upwards. Seamus and Lobo, unprepared for the sudden shift, collapsed to the deck, the minstrel landing across the big man’s torso. Stella did not falter, hardly seemed to notice as the ship began to drag itself slowly out of the water. A sound reminiscent of a downpour reached their ears as seawater spilled out of the broken ship. Bit by bit, the gray hulk was lifted into the humid night air, until Seamus saw the sea dwindling beneath them.

“Tomorph!” shouted Stella, casting the next component of the spell. Seamus felt the deck undulate slightly under his feet, the timbers stretching and bending in ways that wood should not. The rounded edge of the hull gradually flattened out until they were standing on level footing. The broken shaft of mizzen mast began to straighten, its top rising into the sky even as its base was swallowed by the timbers. Seamus watched, enraptured by the sight, as the wood flowed like water around the stout pole until they were fused as one. The shredded portion of sail still stuck to it suddenly ballooned out, catching the wind as its many rips and tears closed themselves up. Lobo dropped to his knees and looked out over the side of the vessel, a wide grin splitting his lush face.

“We are moving,” he said with glee. “We are moving! Sailing through the sky as easily as the water!”

“You did it, Stella,” said Seamus, walking up to the wizard as she swayed on her feet.

“Yes,” she said, offering a smile before she collapsed backwards to land with a hard thump on the timbers of their new airship.

“Easy, now,” said Seamus, crouching next to her and taking her hand. “Maybe you should lay down for a bit.”

“Great idea,” said Stella, her eyes closing dreamily “you’re smarter than you look...though that is not saying much...”

“Always ready with an insult,” said Seamus, shaking his head, though his smile stayed fixed upon his face.

** *

Crown crept up silently towards the stone out building, careful to keep himself upwind of the Drogs. He assumed that their noses worked much like the wolves that Bruno had compared them to, and hoped fervently that they did not possess some eldritch sense that would lead to the assassin becoming their next meal.

He could hear the beasts snarling as they bickered, possibly over a bitch in heat. The old smithy, if that is what it truly was, loomed before him. It was twice the size of his cozy hut back in Ravensford, and looked reasonably intact but for a large rent high on the second floor. The opening yawned like a gaping maw, twice a man’s height above him. His fingers slipped along the rough stone, finding handholds where others would likely not. His soft soled shoes had been a hindrance in the wilderness, but now were an asset as his toes dug into tiny crevices as he leveraged himself higher. Soon his hands were gripping the stone of the opening. He took great care not to pull too hard on the ancient stones, lest their mortar fail and send him tumbling down to be buried beneath an avalanche of limestone.

Displaying surprising flexibility for a man of his age, Crown swung his leg upwards until his heel had hooked the inner edge of the rent. Careful to keep his grunt of exertion as tiny as possible, he pulled himself over the wall and stood in the nearly pitch black interior.

He stood for a few moments, allowing his eyes to adjust as best they could. Soon the darkness resolved itself into a desolate chamber. The remnants of recent fires in the hearth indicated that others had used the structure as shelter in recent memory. The only other thing he saw was a small pile of rags scooted up against one of the walls. He saw no sign of any sorcerer, saw no signs of life at all-

The assassin’s breath caught in his throat. The little bundle of rags moved. Expecting a rat, or perhaps a Drog puppy (the thought briefly brought a grin to his face) he was nearly floored as the swaddled figure rose up into a splinter of moonlight. It was a child, several years younger than Hector. He could not tell, due to the darkness and filth covering her face, but she seemed to have a swarthy complexion somewhat reminiscent of Bruno’s. Her spindly limbs leveraged her into a standing position, and Crown instinctively crept back into denser shadows. The girl had a rounded, downward pointing nose that reminded him somewhat of a miner’s pick. Her eyes were dark, liquid pools which the moonlight glinted off of in an almost sinister fashion. Dirty, matted black hair hung about her head in disarray.

The girl’s dark eyes snapped in his direction, seeming to focus in on him even though he knew that he was well hidden. She continued to stare at him for several long moments until Crown was convinced that she was not just looking in his direction, she was staring at him. With a slight smirk he stepped out from the deeper shadows to stand in the relatively lit center of the chamber. The girl yelped when he moved, backpedaling until her shoulders hit the wall behind her.

“Calm down, dear,” he said, keeping a warm smile on his face. “We’re here to rescue you from those terrible hounds.”

The sound of sudden, harsh snarling reached the interior of the stone structure. Crown grinned as he heard Bruno give a shouted prayer to the Allfather. Force of habit, he supposed.

Outside, Bruno charged boldly into the Drog’s midst, angling his trajectory for the nearest one. The beast turned towards him and began its own charge, legs loping beneath its heavily muscled body. The knight was fully dressed in his full plate armor, magnificent and gleaming in the silver moonlight. Man and animal collided, the Heartfire surging through Bruno’s veins to give him the strength to hold his ground against the much heavier Drog. He planted his shield in the hound’s face, drawing a yelp of shock. Not hesitating in the slightest, he thrust his sword under the shield, burying it deep in the dog’s belly. Planting his armored feet in the dirt, the knight gave a tremendous shove with his shield, sending the Drog bouncing head over heels to die a dozen feet away.

Bruno spun about and tried to intercept another Drog as it loped towards him, teeth bared in a snarl. Despite his prowess, the hound managed to latch its maw around his gauntlet clad forearm. Its teeth actually began to deform the metal, drawing a look of shock from the knight. His sword arm held fast, he used his shield to fend off the charge of another Drog, nearly losing his footing as he continued the deadly tug of war.

Aven came out around the wall she had used as cover, wearing her true faerie form. Her long, strange legs stretched out to cover a hundred yards faster than a loping buck. With a mighty spring she launched herself into the air, sailing over the confused heads of two Drog who had turned to face the new intruder. She dashed towards Bruno with even greater speed, as the knight appeared hard pressed against his two opponents.

Standing atop their makeshift bulwark, Guthrie and Toad sent deadly shafts through the humid air. Guthrie’s barb sank deep into the neck of one of the Drogs, the white fletching a spot of brightness a few inches below its malformed ear. The hound’s legs quit pumping, and it rolled in the dirt to lay in a whining heap. Toad’s missile was more errantly aimed, and he quickly notched another and sent it flying at a Drog which seemed quite capable of leaping the ten feet to their crude outpost.

Calmly, as if he were practicing behind his own house, Guthrie notched another arrow and sent it loose amid the twang of the bowstring. The arrow found a home below the hound’s chin as it put its forepaws upon their bulwark. The dog fell to its side in the dust, instantly slain.

Mindful of the twin Drogs bearing down on her from behind, Aven gave a great shout that curdled the blood of even her allies. If not for the sorcerous bravery bred into them, she may well have broken the Drog’s nerve and caused them to flee. With a shout she bowled into the side of the hound trying to get around Bruno’s shield. The two of them rolled in the dirt, Aven ending up on top. Clasping her hands together, she brought her fists down across the Drog’s snapping maw. Blood spattered, teeth were broken off at the gum line, but the faerie did not relent. The look of zealous glee in her eyes as she brought her fists down again and again was more fearsome than a hundred hounds.

Bruno, now able to deal with a single hound, planted his feet and twisted his hips. His magic infused muscles hurled the Drog through the air to land on its back, its maw still locked on his arm. The knight brought the bottom edge of his shield down across its belly, finally dislodging it. His sword arm was now free, and he employed it to deadly effect. He thrust the point directly into the hound’s mouth, creating a gout of frothy blood.

He had no time to savor his victory, as the two remaining Drogs were nearly upon him. Two adversaries became one as a walnut shaft from Guthrie’s bow neatly impaled itself in the Drog’s ribcage. Bruno stood with his shield raised, awaiting the charge of the nearly horse sized beast. The animal’s maw was open, its eyes narrowed and malformed ears flat against its lumpy skull. Bruno kept his sword arm bent, elbow thrust backwards. Just when the Drog was about to collide with him he thrust the sword forward. Man and beast went down in a heap, though only one of them cried out in agony. The tip of the knight’s fine weapon burst out of the back of the Drog’s neck, silencing it forever.

Aven rose off of her bloody, battered opponent and went to Bruno’s side, using her own considerable strength to fling the hound off of him. The knight appeared uninjured, though his tooth marked gauntlet caused him some consternation.

Toad was assisting Guthrie as he clambered down the redoubt, hampered by his lame leg. Bruno found himself briefly wondering how the man had managed to climb up silently in the first place. Toad stopped beside the hound he had wounded and dropped into a crouch. He put a hand almost tenderly on its heaving flank, then used his curving knife to end its pain.

“One,” said Bruno, pointing at the dead beast, “two, three...”

He continued to count until he reached seven, nodding in satisfaction.

“It was as you said it would be,” he said, smiling at Aven “they fight to the death without regard.”

“I wonder how the assassin fares,” said Aven, turning towards the smithy.

“Let us go and see,” said Bruno, marching across the ancient grounds.

Back inside the structure, Crown approached the girl with his hands spread wide, palms open, and what he hoped was a reassuring smile on his face. Children were his weakness, the one class of humanity he had trouble manipulating as they were so unpredictable.

“Take it easy, dear,” he said soothingly “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you have a name?”

The girl’s dark eyes continued to bore into him silently, dirty face filled with tense fear.

“My name is Crown,” said the assassin, pointing at himself. “Crown. Can you say it?”

The girl’s lips trembled, and in a voice hoarse from long disuse she managed to croak out the designation.

“Good,” he said, pointing at himself again. “I am Crown.”

He then pointed at her, careful to keep his movements slow and non threatening.

“You are...?” he said.

The girl’s brow knit with concentration, and with a shock the assassin realized that she was struggling to remember her own name. A brief flash of insight glimmered in her eyes, and then her lips opened once more.

“K-Kira,” she said “Kira Aenyxiz.”

“Aenyxiz,” said Crown, his brow furrowed in thought. “That is a Jindi name. We are very, very far from Jindi lands, my dear. How on earth did you end up in the north?”

If the girl cared to share her tale, she gave him no indication. Instead she slowly, cautiously leaned away from the wall. Moving on legs shaking with malnourishment, she walked up towards Crown with a hand outstretched. Though his instincts screamed against it, he did not recoil from her touch. Her fingers felt normal enough as they patted his belly.

“You’re alive,” she said.

“Indeed,” said Crown “and what else should I be?”

“Dead,” said the girl, her voice breaking a bit. “Most of the people I talk to are dead.”

“Interesting,” said Crown, nodding his head as a smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

He turned his head towards the rent in the wall as he heard Bruno’s voice hailing him.

“My friends are looking for me,” he said “perhaps you could come out and meet them? They are a dour and joy killing bunch, no doubt, but they do have food and water.”

The girl’s attention picked up at the mention of food, causing the assassin’s grin to grow to a full blown smile.

“Then come along, my dear,” he said, inviting her with a sweep of his arm “let’s not keep them, or your stomach, waiting a moment longer!”