Beyond the Hell Cliffs (3 page)

“Your blasphemy is amusing only to yourself and your cretin of a general.  Your son is a diluted Twileen; our Stone-Seers are barely Faeir.  I am prepared to accept that one of our inferiors would balance out the Twileen that your son adds to the party.”

“You son of a whore!” Tiberius roared.  “You dare compare the son of Helfrick Caelum to one of your slaves?  If the King were not such a patient ruler, I would come snap you in half like a thin switch.”

“And if the Council were not so patient, your bones would be ash offerings to the Great Pyre.”

“Enough, both of you!” Helfrick yelled.  “Tiberius, to your task, please.  Eramus, I’ll overlook your ridiculous blood mathematics and grant your request.  Your addition will have to pull their own weight in this journey, but it would do Raegith some good to learn a bit of your culture, as well.”

The king dismissed the meeting and left the room to see his family. 
Tiberius left the castle, heading towards the barracks at the very rear of the city.  Eramus, however, lingered, closing the door once he was sure he was alone.  When the door was shut, a shadow shifted along the back wall and suddenly two figures came into view, as if they had been summoned from the ether.  A deep blue-skinned Faeir woman dressed in spectacular, oceanic-themed robes stood beside a visually exhausted male Stone-Seer.  The Seer’s hand dropped from the woman and she vehemently wiped at her shoulder where his touch had left.  She bid the male Seer to “turn and mute” before approaching Eramus.  She was young and beautiful and her dark, navy hair flowed about her face in slow, constant motion despite the lack of wind.

“Such a fool!”
Eramus hissed.  “He is so complacent in this ridiculous charade of war that he would send his son into the Greimere Heart and not lose a night’s sleep.”

“The
Elements have given us a gift, Eramus,” Isidora said, her soothing voice calming all the Mage’s anxiety immediately.  “Yet you seem… disappointed?  Do you doubt this sign, Eramus?  Maybe you doubt that the Council should rule Rellizbix.”

“
I have never doubted the Council’s wisdom in my life!” Eramus whispered angrily.  “My only disappointment is in King Helfrick.  He’s better than this, Isidora.  You aren’t old enough to have known him as a Prince like I did, but before that Twileen seductress ruined his life by birthing that mongrel…”

“
I care nothing for your nostalgia, Mage.  Whether this king is a good Saban or not is irrelevant!”  Isidora screeched.  “He is a Saban.  He belongs in the fields or on a fishing boat, not in the capitol of the Northern World.  Too long have we put up with the intellectually inferior denizens of this land.  The Saban soldiers have outlived their usefulness.  The miserable fools have to create war just to have a purpose and the Twileens… the Twileens have never been of any use to us.”

“
Never, you say?  What of the Twileen thief we used to procure the King’s seal for this letter?  Was he not useful?”

“For a brief moment,”
Isidora replied.  “Then that moment was over and I formed a basin around his head and watched him scurry about the floor until he drowned.  Isn’t that what Twileens are good for?  Entertainment?”

“
You’re rotten, Isidora,” Eramus said, sickened by her psychosis.  “Something has tainted your soul.  I imagine that is why you are so good at deceit.  And probably why you are able to have a Stone-Seer keep his hand on you, pouring his magic into you enough to cloak you in the shadows of the room.”

“
Jealousy does not become you, Eramus,” Isidora stated, shaking her head in delight.  “Barely out of my twenties and I am already on the Council, yet here you are, a respected Mage twice my age and you kneel before the king every morning before you lock your lips to his ass.  It’s because I do what needs to be done for the Council, no matter how… unsavory the job.”

“
Then I sincerely hope you are ever useful to the Council, lest they decide one day to watch you squirm for entertainment.”  Eramus left the war room, allowing Isidora to find her own way out of the castle unseen.

Isidora
grinned after him and then, once he was gone, she turned back to her Stone-Seer and bid him to turn and face her.  The Faeir, who looked even younger than her, kept his eyes on the ground, not daring to look at his mistress as she approached him and stared him down.

“Eramus thinks you may have tainted me with your touch, Filth,” she said, addressing him by the name she bestowed upon him when she discovered and acquired him. 
“He thinks that by allowing you to use your illegal magic on me, you’ve corrupted my soul somehow.”

She craned her neck to sniff at the spot on her shoulder where Filth had touched her in order to keep them both cloaked.  She wrinkled her nose and sighed, looking back at the Stone-Seer.  “I’m going to need a bath now just to get your stink off of me.”

She looked him over again and shut the door to the war room.  With a devious smile, she walked back to the Stone-Seer, sitting on the edge of the table in front of him as she stared him down again, hoping he would break the law by reciprocating her glare, but he was steadfast.

“Well, I already have enough of you on me
to feel slightly tainted,” she laughed.  “What’s a little more going to hurt?”

She leaned back on the table top and hiked her long skirt up to her hips. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for?” she asked him.  “Taint me.”

Chapter 2

“What do you mean Helfrick is letting you go?”
Nuallan asked her son when she came to visit him.  “Is this why I was sent here a month early?  Where are you going?”

Raegith’s mother was shorter than him by more than a foot, but looked too young to have birthed
a teenager even though she was older than the king.  Full-blooded Twileens lived longer than Sabans and Faeir and physically aged much slower.  Her orange hair was the color of Autumn leaves and hung straight about her shoulders, the sharp tips of her ears peeking out from beneath the strands on the sides of her head.  She was a very attractive woman, which allowed her to be very selective about the clients she saw at her brothel in Leafblade Village.  She downplayed her looks when she visited Raegith, wearing her hair down and dressing in green linen clothes with a brown leather vest and soft boots.  She could have been a Hunter by the way she looked and carried herself.  In another life, she might have been one of the best in Broadhead, but Hunters were more taciturn and Nuallan Cinderkind was always too much of a trouble-maker.  “They would have thrown me out on my ears,” she used to tell him about taking up the only martial occupation for a Twileen.

“Helfrick has a mission for me,” Raegith said, nursing a headache and dry mouth from finishing the boonivarn his father left him the night before.  “I’ll be trained and learn to ride a horse and see the outside world…”

“And he’s just going to let you do all that… all of the sudden?” his mother asked, busily tidying up the keep as she spoke.  “Why now?  That son of a bitch has kept you out here for nine years.  I could count the times I’ve been able to see you on my fingers and toes since then.  Now he feels bad about it and lets you out, but you’ve got to go on some errand for him first?”

“Mother… I cannot tell you what I’m supposed to go do.  It’s very secret stuff.” Raegith said, helping her pick up the clothes strewn about the floor in the living quarters.  “Believe
me, it’s probably best that you don’t know anyways.  It’s very important, though and above all, it’s completely safe!”

“You’re the illegitimate child of the King that no one is supposed to ever know about, Raegith. 
There’s nothing safe about that.”

“Mother, when I get done, we can leave,” Raegith said, taking his mother by the shoulders and looking down at her.  “I’m going to go on this journey and then I’ll come back a better man… a tested man and we can both leave this place together and return to
Leafblade where you will introduce me to all of your lovely co-workers…”

“I’ll sooner put you in a Saban convent with a vow of chastity!” she laughed, shaking her head.  “I want a daughter-in-law well before a grandchild.”

Nuallan looked him up and down and then sighed.  “If the King of Rellizbix wants you to journey out to go fix a chicken coup in some border village or whatever plan he could have for you, then I’m certainly not powerful enough to talk him down.

“But I swear by all of the oaks in the West… if something happens to you out there, this kingdom will get its very first taste of regicide
.”

After his mother left him and he was alone with nothing but his books, he started a kettle for tea and thought back to the story of how their kingdom came to be.

The Greimere, or “grey things” as they were first called, were the first real threat to the northern lands in recorded history.  Appearing from the barrens of the south like a black tide, they threatened to destroy the peaceful lands inhabited by the civilized races.  They were a dreadful army of barbarians, bent on the utter destruction of anything before them.  They were malicious and vile and no amount of effort by the unsuspecting and unprepared denizens of the plains and forests could deter them.  Their numbers were great, filled with creatures out of nightmare of every size and shape.  Chief among the dark army were the Rathgar.

The Rathgar
were highly resilient to physical and magical damage and were incredibly strong, making them ferocious adversaries.  They were hulking, blood-crazed berserkers similar to the men of the North in stature.  They wore animal bones for armor and carried weapons meant for desiccating flesh.  They commanded the legions and drove them onward toward the Cerulean Coast, covering everything they passed in a shadow of blood and death. 

The races that inhabited the lower half of the north were annihilated.  Entire species were wiped from history and only three organized civilizations stood in the way of total destruction of the peaceful lands: the studious Faeir in the eastern mountains; the harmonious Twileens of the western forests; and the agrarian Sabans scattered among the plains and northern coast.

From those three remaining civilizations came the salvation of the northern lands.  The army was driven back to the south in the greatest push the world had ever seen.  The three races routed the Greimere’s advance, cast them from the lands and assembled the greatest nation in history: the kingdom of Rellizbix.  That was the story that Raegith loved most among the ones his mother would tell him when she visited him in the hidden Forster’s Keep that sheltered him from the world around him.  It was not just a wonderful story of history and the heroism that created his homeland; it was his birthright… technically.  He loved it because the the Saban who rose from a life as a simple blacksmith to unite the three races and drive the scourge of the Greimere from the lands was Throm Caelum, the first king of Rellizbix and his ancestor.

Chapter 3

Raegith’s first contact with the group was its leader and his personal warden, a Paladin named Hemmil. 
Raegith’s mother had made only passing mention of the small sect of Holy Warriors in the Rellizbix Army.  Paladins were as much chaplains as they were soldiers, given higher rank and status for their devotion to and knowledge of Fate.  Their place in the histories was not well documented, however and most of Nuallan’s knowledge was from tall tales spun by travelling bards.

Hemmil came through the unlocked doors of the keep with a purpose to his step and a very gruff attitude.  Standing only to Raegith’s shoulders, Hemmil was wider than the king and his boots sounded like thunder on the stone floor of the entry hall.
His yellow hair was pulled back and secured behind his head and his wide face was cleanly shaven and scarred.  His plate armor was buffed to a high sheen and he wore the Loom of Fate, an emblem that denoted his status as a Paladin.  He looked very serious.

“Guards, quickly!
  We have a breach of security!” Raegith yelled as Hemmil approached him.  “Arrest this atrociously dressed intruder, post haste!  By the Fates, shield your eyes first; oh the agony!”

“Listen boy, I’ve been warned of your smart mouth and I’m telling you now that I’ll have none of it,” Hemmil said, pulling a full leather skin from his side pouch and
taking a swig before replacing it.

“Ah, something to take the
edge off…?” Raegith asked, looking past him to where the sunshine breached the doorway.  “…at mid-morning?”

Hemmil stepped in and caught Raegith in the face with a swift backhand that staggered him.  “There’ll be one of those for every bit of filth from your mouth, lad!  I believe in
honor and discipline and you’ll oblige me on both or I’ll rip out your innards and work you like a puppet in battle.  Now fetch your things for the road.  And mind your words, they’re not needed for this task.”

The outside world rocked Raegith’s ass off as soon as they were on the road.  The air was cleaner, the colors were brighter and the sun on his face was damn near euphoric.  He listened to the creatures of the forest and watched for things in the bush, not saying a word to his warden, which was probably for the better. 

Hemmil’s mood had gone from sour annoyance to rageful frustration after losing half the day just trying to teach the boy how to steer the extraordinarily docile pony that had been picked out for him.  In the end, the Paladin had given up on instruction and settled for just tying Raegith’s pony off to his horse and leading it down the road. 

The day passed and after a few hours the two moved out of the forest and onto the plains, turning south just past noon.  It was near dusk when they came upon the rest of the group that would accompany him.  A fire burned in a central pit, over which a medium-sized game animal was roasting.  Raegith had not eaten meat in over a year, when the guard captain shot a boar and took him a good slice of
it.  He mostly subsisted on grain and fruits brought from the closest village.  Raegith scanned the camp as he was led in, his legs shaky from the horse ride.  There were a few tents set up around the fire and only two men were outside, overseeing the meat.

The largest man, a Saban with black hair and enough muscle to make a prized bull look weak, eyed him as he drank from a thick mug.  He wore
leather breeches and a vest and had a jagged scar running diagonally across his face.  To the right of the giant Saban was another Saban in green and brown leather.  He was of slender build for his race and looked like a small child next to the larger Saban.  He was sipping from a gourd and attaching fletching to a fresh arrow.  He had knife-cut, dust-colored hair and his eyes reflected eerily in the dark.  The two men looked as if they were in the middle of a conversation that stopped as soon as Hemmil and his charge approached.

“Boram, Tavin,” Hemmil said, acknowledging the
two men.  “I assume all preparations are complete and the area is secure.”

“My traps are in place and Carver is prowling,” the
slender man replied.  “Pyrrhus assured me, boasted even, that he would sense anything that managed to breach my security.  If something that good gets to us, then bitch at him.”

“I’ll bitch at anyone who survives,” Hemmil growled.  He then looked at the large Saban.  “You don’t seem too busy.”

“I’m cooking the meat,” Boram said into his mug.  His voice was as deep as Raegith imagined it.

“By order of the King, all
enlisted personnel are expressly forbidden from consuming alcohol while on duty,” Hemmil said.  “If you’re our new cook, then you’re on duty right now.”

“I cook better with a beer in my hand.”

“I don’t care, Boram,” Hemmil growled, growing more hostile.  “Get rid of it… now.”

Boram’s eyes narrowed and for a moment Raegith feared the two might come to blows.  After
a few seconds that passed like hours, the large man smiled, tilted his mug to the sky and seemed to inhale the entire contents in a second.  Raegith didn’t even see him swallow; it all just poured right down into his gullet, like water into a bucket.  Boram took a deep breath and then burped pugnaciously.  It sounded like a god revealing himself and lasted for several heartbeats.  The guards leaving Forster’s Keep probably heard it and it immediately filled Hemmil’s face with rage.

Boram leaned in toward the fire and took a few sniffs.  “Whadda’ya
know.  Dinner’s ready.”

“Zakk,” Hemmil called out.

“Sir!”

Out of one of the tents a young, Saban boy in shiny armor appeared.  He was clean-cut with flame-red hair and a bit small-framed compared to Hemmil.  He also had a voice much higher than the gruff Paladin.  The boy approached them quickly and bowed slightly.  Up close, he looked even younger than Raegith.

“This is the bastard,” Hemmil said.

“That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?” Raegith said, interrupting the Paladin and getting a stern look.

“Show him to his tent… and watch him.”

The boy named Zakk escorted him to the tent that he appeared from and opened the flap.  Inside were three cots, a few packs and a map stapled to a flat board.  In the corner was a sword and shield that looked quite new and unblemished, much like the boy’s armor.  Zakk did not say a word to him as he showed him his cot and then returned to his side of the room, where he promptly began doing push-ups.  Raegith just looked at him for a bit before shaking his head and lying down.  Apparently he was going to be bunking with the two most humorless men he had ever met.

After a few minutes, Hemmil slipped into the tent and Zakk immediately sprang to attention from the prone position he was in, in between sets.  The warden had two plates of roasted meat with some bread.  Raegith couldn’t help but sit up and look expectantly at the Paladin, hoping one of them was for him.  Hemmil shoved one of the plates at Raegith and turned back at Zakk, handing him the second.

“I have some other thi
ngs to attend to, with the mage,” Hemmil said.  “Eat and then hit the rack, both of you.  We rise before the sun to begin training.”

“Yes, sir,” Zakk said, remaining standing until Hemmil left. 

After the Paladin was out of the tent, Zakk sat down on his cot and quickly ate up the meal he had been given.  Raegith tried starting up a conversation with the soldier, asking him a little about the mission, but it was quickly shot down.  It was also made clear, in the soldier’s unusually high voice, that there would be no conversations between them and that he was here only to fulfill his duty and obey the commands of his superior.

“What if your superior commands you to talk to me and carry a conversation?” Raegith asked.  “What then?”

“I would obey his command, as always,” the soldier responded.

“You mean you would then carry a conversation with me?” Raegith pressed.  “I doubt that you could, in which case you would be disobeying a direct order.”

“Enough.  I am perfectly capable of carrying on a conversation with a cretin like you, if I were commanded to.”

“How dare you,” Raegith replied
, raising his voice indignantly.  “I’m a Caelum.  I have royal blood.  Are you saying that the revered Caelum line are nothing but cretins?  Does your commander out there know you hate the Saban king so?”

“What?  No… of course not,” Zakk stammered.  “On my honor, that is not what I meant!  I am a patriot!”

“I want to believe you,” Raegith said, trying to calm the agitated soldier.  “but these kind of things can quickly escalate into heresy and treason.  It might be best if you just stop this unnecessary chatter and return to your duties.”

“I think you’re…
wait… I’m not conversing with you!  You started this.”

“Really, soldier, I must insist that you cease all attempts at conversation this instant,” Raegith said, turning and lying back against his cot with a satisfied grin.  “I only do this for your own sake.”

Raegith could not see the look on the soldier’s face, but by the sound of his armor clanking about in an aggressive manner, he imagined the boy was in a highly agitated state.

The next day came early.  Before the sun was even up, Hemmil was kicking Raegith’s cot and thrusting a bubbling mug of effervescent liquid in his face.

“Drink it quickly and then get your miserable self outside,” the gruff warden advised.

“Did you stop to think that I might not be such a miserable self if it weren’t for your generous encouragement?” Raegith asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Raegith started his first morning of training nursing a black eye and bruised cheekbones.  The training was what any new soldier might expect.  He stretched, ran and picked up heavy things only to put them right back down.  Hemmil barked orders at him the entire time, which did not annoy him nearly as much as having Zakk next to him, following the same orders and doing a much better job at them even in full armor.

“Am I supposed to be gaining anything particularly useful from having this asshole out here with me?” Raegith asked, pointing at Zakk in between exercises.  “Is there some kind of lesson you’re teaching me here? I don’t understand.”

“You don’t need understanding!” Hemmil yelled.  “Zakk runs circles around you because he doesn’t waste any effort trying to understand.  He just hears an order and follows it!”

“Yes, I’m sure he makes an excellent pet,” Raegith replied, stopping his exercises to catch his breath.  “But hauling rocks around doesn’t make him a fighter, does it?”

“No, I suppose you’re right,” Hemmil conceded, although Raegith did not feel as if the man was giving into his superior argument so much as setting up another lesson.  “Private, the prince has asked a question and you are to answer it.  By my command, close with and engage the prince.”

“Sir!”

Raegith turned to see Zakk approaching him in a guarded stance.  “Aww, come on!  He’s wearing full armor.  If I hit him, I’ll break my hand.”

“Then
don’t hit him with your hand, dumbass!”

Raegith looked around, but the only thing he could see was a stick that was right next to Zakk and the soldier was already picking it up.  To his surprise, Zakk tossed it to him and then continued to approach.

Raegith caught the stick, flipped it over to grasp it near the end and immediately lunged in to strike before giving Zakk the chance to react.  He had gone through his morning exercises, the ones his mother showed him, at least once a week, without fail.  He was about to show both of them just how much they had underestimated him. 

In the next instant, Zakk looped his arm around the stick, taking the blow to his armored torso as it glanced off his forearm and whipped his arm in a circle and up, ripping the weapon out of the prince’s hands.  As the one arm was disarming Raegith, Zakk’s other arm was shooting out, planting a palm into the prince’s chest, knocking the
air out of his unsuspecting lungs and sending him reeling backwards.  Zakk did not relent and immediately pursued his target, slapping aside Raegith’s upheld arms, pulling him in close and pulverizing his stomach with punches before landing a devastating uppercut that nearly took his head off.

Raegith’s feet left the ground as he fell to his back and a million specks of light exploded in his vision, which quickly left him momentarily blinded.  Then the pain hit him and he could taste blood in his mouth.  Zakk was wearing leather gloves, but it had felt like iron when he hit.  Raegith just
lay there, soaking in the pain and swallowing enough blood to hurt his stomach.  Then, after a minute or so, when he was sure Zakk was not going to step in and finish him, he opened his eyes and sat up.

His head hurt even worse when he did that and nausea threatened to empty his already barren stomach.  Zakk was walking back to Hemmil, probably smiling in victory.
  He was one day into the journey that would make him a hero, but instead he was being made a laughing stock.  It was his first real fight and the first punch he had taken and they both knew it.  He imagined the two of them back at the tent later on that day, wallowing in silent satisfaction at putting the spoiled and sheltered prince in his place.  They were probably not even taking his training or even his presence on this mission seriously. 

Just for the hell of it, and despite the tremendous amount of pain he was experiencing, Raegith got to his feet.