gazed over his shoulder to see where
the rest of the party had gone. Three of the riders had fallen
behind. Two empty mounts rode with them.
Perhaps they’ve given up , thought
Merrick, feeling his body relax. Perhaps my luck is
returning—
Pain exploded in his head, sending him
crashing into the trebuchet. A deep growl rumbled behind him as
heavy boots echoed against the wooden top with each step. Chief
Red-Tooth Al’Rul grabbed the elf by the neck, bringing his face
close to the Phooka’s snout. The beast blasted him with foul hot
breath through his flared nostril. He laughed as Merrick
winced.
“You flat-faces are all the same. Weak ,” he said, throwing the elf down onto his face.
“ Cowards,” he kicked Merrick in the side, cracking ribs as
easy as snapping twigs. “ Fools .” Chief Al’Rul raised his
black jagged mace above his head. Merrick, still clutching his
sword, sliced the blade just below the Phooka’s knee. The Chief
howled, his knee giving way, knocking him over onto his back.
Merrick crawled away on his belly from the
thrashing Phooka, wincing with each breath. He had to get to
Amaeya. He had to keep her safe.
He made his way to the edge of the war
machine’s roof near the door. Without warming, the door burst open.
The Phooka he recognized as Fanger hung from the frame with a
screaming Amaeya flung over his shoulder. The mercenary met his
gaze for only a moment before jumping from the racing machine.
“AMAEYA!” Merrick clawed at empty air. He
heard hollow laughter floating in the air from behind him.
“It’s too late for you, flat-face. She’s
gone. And the only place you’re going is straight to hell.” The
Chief laughed again, pulling himself close to the edge. Merrick saw
him roll off the side, landing with a thud on the rocky
ground. Confused, he lifted himself up to peer over the bow of the
war machine. The rocky landscape melted into open air.
They had reached the cliffs.
And they were moments away from flying off
them.
Merrick swung himself through the open door
and stumbled to the child, wrapping her with extra chain. She sat
silent as stone, staring into the darkness. He wrapped the
remaining chain around his waist and gathered the girl into his
arms. He gripped the chain tight in his hands, waiting for when the
great crashing wheels met nothing but air.
***
Anya sat in her dead mother’s throne, tracing
her fingers over the craved wooden leaves. She scratched her nail
over its glistening paint, sending flecks of gold fluttering into
the air. Glossy black wood peeked at her from underneath the gaudy
exterior. She smiled, scratching away more of the gold.
“My queen,” said Luthen, brushing her hair
from her face. “We’re going to have a visitor soon, an old friend
of mine. She is a very powerful and important person so please do
be polite.” He flashed a toothy smile from his new dimpled face.
She nodded, drawing her hands into her lap. He patted her on the
head and folded his hands into his cloak.
They waited for only a moment before a thin
shadow slipped through an open window. The rising sun had turned
the ashen sky a bloody red. The shadow slithered toward the center
of the throne room. There, it thickened into a black figure. A
willowy silver scythe unfolded with a soft click from the figures
side. The being strode forward, its wicked scythe clanging on the
stone floor. As it reached the throne, it pulled back its hood,
revealing the narrow white face of a hollow-eyed woman.
“Ah, Wilhelmina,” said Luthen, stepping
forward to embrace the shadowy woman, “our plan seems to be going
beautifully. How do things fair from your side?”
She stopped him short with a long boney
finger jabbing at his chest. “You were to have killed all of
the royal family! What other parts of our plan have you neglected
to fulfill?” Her voice was shrill and venomous. Anya could feel the
woman’s cold black stare slice through Luthen’s body and into
the rest of the party had gone. Three of the riders had fallen
behind. Two empty mounts rode with them.
Perhaps they’ve given up , thought
Merrick, feeling his body relax. Perhaps my luck is
returning—
Pain exploded in his head, sending him
crashing into the trebuchet. A deep growl rumbled behind him as
heavy boots echoed against the wooden top with each step. Chief
Red-Tooth Al’Rul grabbed the elf by the neck, bringing his face
close to the Phooka’s snout. The beast blasted him with foul hot
breath through his flared nostril. He laughed as Merrick
winced.
“You flat-faces are all the same. Weak ,” he said, throwing the elf down onto his face.
“ Cowards,” he kicked Merrick in the side, cracking ribs as
easy as snapping twigs. “ Fools .” Chief Al’Rul raised his
black jagged mace above his head. Merrick, still clutching his
sword, sliced the blade just below the Phooka’s knee. The Chief
howled, his knee giving way, knocking him over onto his back.
Merrick crawled away on his belly from the
thrashing Phooka, wincing with each breath. He had to get to
Amaeya. He had to keep her safe.
He made his way to the edge of the war
machine’s roof near the door. Without warming, the door burst open.
The Phooka he recognized as Fanger hung from the frame with a
screaming Amaeya flung over his shoulder. The mercenary met his
gaze for only a moment before jumping from the racing machine.
“AMAEYA!” Merrick clawed at empty air. He
heard hollow laughter floating in the air from behind him.
“It’s too late for you, flat-face. She’s
gone. And the only place you’re going is straight to hell.” The
Chief laughed again, pulling himself close to the edge. Merrick saw
him roll off the side, landing with a thud on the rocky
ground. Confused, he lifted himself up to peer over the bow of the
war machine. The rocky landscape melted into open air.
They had reached the cliffs.
And they were moments away from flying off
them.
Merrick swung himself through the open door
and stumbled to the child, wrapping her with extra chain. She sat
silent as stone, staring into the darkness. He wrapped the
remaining chain around his waist and gathered the girl into his
arms. He gripped the chain tight in his hands, waiting for when the
great crashing wheels met nothing but air.
***
Anya sat in her dead mother’s throne, tracing
her fingers over the craved wooden leaves. She scratched her nail
over its glistening paint, sending flecks of gold fluttering into
the air. Glossy black wood peeked at her from underneath the gaudy
exterior. She smiled, scratching away more of the gold.
“My queen,” said Luthen, brushing her hair
from her face. “We’re going to have a visitor soon, an old friend
of mine. She is a very powerful and important person so please do
be polite.” He flashed a toothy smile from his new dimpled face.
She nodded, drawing her hands into her lap. He patted her on the
head and folded his hands into his cloak.
They waited for only a moment before a thin
shadow slipped through an open window. The rising sun had turned
the ashen sky a bloody red. The shadow slithered toward the center
of the throne room. There, it thickened into a black figure. A
willowy silver scythe unfolded with a soft click from the figures
side. The being strode forward, its wicked scythe clanging on the
stone floor. As it reached the throne, it pulled back its hood,
revealing the narrow white face of a hollow-eyed woman.
“Ah, Wilhelmina,” said Luthen, stepping
forward to embrace the shadowy woman, “our plan seems to be going
beautifully. How do things fair from your side?”
She stopped him short with a long boney
finger jabbing at his chest. “You were to have killed all of
the royal family! What other parts of our plan have you neglected
to fulfill?” Her voice was shrill and venomous. Anya could feel the
woman’s cold black stare slice through Luthen’s body and into
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