Chapter 469: Chapter 466: The Price of Disobedience

Chapter 466: The Price of Disobedience

 

  The axlean known as Grim sat hunched over a crate in the valley tribe’s encampment. He had tossed away his ripped shirt after the battle at the docks, revealing the deep gash from his ribs all the way to his collarbone; a painful reminder of his failure to kill the one known as Elohnoir Noir.

  Grim’s shoulders heaved more and more as he gnashed his teeth, deep in thought, replaying the memory of how he had let her slip from his grasp… again. Even after making a deal with the Monster in the Dark, even after obtaining this power, he still failed.

  “Stop moving, you’re only making this harder,” said Kyriil with a click of his tongue.

  The elf was standing beside Grim, white mana glowing in his palms. Though the elf was taller than the average tribesman, an axlean towered almost three meters tall. Even sitting down on the crate, Kyriil had to stand to reach the wounds on the axlean’s chest.

  “You know,” Kyriil began, “You should be grateful. It’s not every day a high master spares his time to heal someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?” Grim narrowed his eyes. The sclera was black and his irises were pale white, there were no pupils.

  Any lesser man would have immediately shut his mouth in fear of the axlean’s gaze, but Kyriil was not a man, he was an elf.

  “Ugly. Someone ugly,” said Kyriil without missing a beat. “I usually save my healing skills for beautiful women.”

  Grim shook his head in disgust, “Just finish your pathetic spell.”

  “Pathetic?!” Kyriil frowned indignantly. “I am the best healer in this entire bloody army!”

  “A single elemental life mage would put all your healing skills to shame. But you already know that, don’t you? There are faeries in the Ivory Realm are there not?”

  Kyriil glanced around, “I don’t see any here, do you? No? Then shuddup!”

  Grim winced as the elf forced a little too much energy into the wound. “Why is this taking so long…?”

  “I’m not an expert in axlean physiology. I need to take my sweet old time, or would you rather I stitch the wrong nerves and tissues back together? Hm?”

  “...Very well, elf.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Kyriil glanced at the cracked green gemstone embedded in the axlean’s chest and frowned, “I can’t do anything about this though.”

  “I guessed as much,” Grim sighed heavily. “Just one more agonizing reminder of that damned woman.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll get that bitch. I promise you that. And when we do, I’m going to wring that pretty little neck of hers until she goes blue.” Kyriil smiled at the thought.

  “What are you two concocting over here? A plan to overthrow the city?” Nokti asked as she walked out of the War Tent. She shook her head, “No, Kyriil’s too much of an idiot for that.”

  The elf’s smile widened at her appearance. “Nokti! You’re back! I missed your beautiful breasts!”

  “It seems the lecher is as stupid as ever,” she said dryly.

  Grim inclined his head, “It’s good to see you, Nokti.”

  “I wish we could have met under better circumstances. I heard you and the dumbass lecher led the raid at the docks.” Nokti glanced pointedly at the slash across his chest, “Was that from the battle?”

  Grim nodded begrudgingly. “I will rectify the grievance soon enough.”

  “They’re alive?” Nokti said, surprised. “I thought you never let your enemies live?”

  “I do not,” Grim said with certainty. “How fare the metamorphic stone creatures? Will they be ready?”

  “The jade golems are primed for battle. Our master does not fail in his creations,” she replied.

  “And what about the dragonbane?” Kyriil spoke up. “You sure those guys are ready? To kill the enemy, I mean. And not us. Emphasis on not us.”

  “The incident at the Meeting of Dawn will not be repeated, I assure you. Our Master is in complete control of the beasts,” Nokti assured them.

  A sudden commotion in the near distance caught their attention. Nokti walked past the War Tent and spotted a group of soldiers crowding in the middle of the path. They quickly parted and stumbled out of the way as a lone man walked through the crowd. He was taller than the rest by far, but his head hung low, his blue eyes staring at the ground.

  “Marek…?” Nokti mumbled. She walked briskly towards him, “How did the parley go? Did they give any concessions—?”

  She stopped in her tracks and her mouth went slack in shock. She hadn’t noticed it at first in the darkness of the new moon, but as she drew close she saw it. The severed head of Marek’s mother hung from his hip, blood dripping down its neck. No, this wasn’t Tamora, she had been dead for years.

  Nokti swallowed hard, “Is that…? Lady Alessandra Helene?”

  Marek looked up at her, his eyes tired and bitter. 

  “Are you alright? What happened?” Nokti asked worriedly.

  “I finished it,” he said bluntly then walked away.

  Nokti watched him disappear into the War Tent in uncomfortable silence.

  “What happened to you…?” she mumbled.

 

~~~

 

  Marek walked into the War Tent with heavy footsteps. As soon as the eyes of all the soldiers and his ex-lover disappeared his shoulders sank and he let out a long breath. He dragged his feet to an ornate wooden-carved chair and sat down on his ‘throne,’ gifted to him by one of the chieftains.

  He untied the lock of Alessandra’s red-orange hair from his belt and held up the severed head in his hands. His aunt’s lifeless blue eyes stared back at him. His hands trembled and he gasped a wretched breath, tears streaming down his eyes.

  This was it. This was the moment he had always dreamed of, the culmination of the rage that had been burning within him for years, the hatred that had kept him up night after night. His mother’s murderer was finally slain by his own hands.

  And yet, all he could think of as he lay eyes on his trophy was…

  “Mom,” he cried quietly. 

  When he looked at the pallid face, pale lips, strewn red hair, lifeless eyes… all he could see was the face of her twin, his mother, Tamora. It was as if she was looking at him, judging him for his actions, for the darkness he had helped let loose on this world.

  “Is revenge not as sweet as you imagined it?” Caligo’s voice whispered tauntingly in his ear.

   Marek looked up, anger blazing in his eyes. “What do you want?”

  The god of the deep earth stood in the corner of the tent, his visage cloaked in deep shadows, only his iridescent eyes gleamed in the darkness.

  “I take my word very seriously, Marek. Word is binding, it is everything. My people did not give out our promises easily. So you can understand why I might be angry when you kill a noble in cold blood at a parley I set up.”

  Marek scoffed. “I thought you were above such things as anger.”

  “Oh, child, you have no idea what anger truly is, the depths it can reach. But perhaps I can help you with that.”

  “Good luck.”

  Caligo smirked, “Fearless now, are we?” 

  Marek stared at him with a tired but calm gaze. “Can’t you see? You’ve already lost, you over-confident self-assured bastard.”

  “Oh?”

  “My family is dead. And the only person I ever loved you ripped away from me.” Marek smiled coldly, “You can’t hurt me, not anymore.”

  “I’m quite sure I can.” Caligo stepped out of the shadows, the darkness trailed behind him like a cloak.

  “You want to kill me?” Marek tossed his orichalcum spear to the ground and opened his arms wide, “Go ahead. None of it matters anymore.”

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  “Kill— you? Why would I kill you? That would be such a wasteful endeavor. No, no, disappointed as I am, I have plans for you, Marek.”

  “I don’t care,” he said with an air of indifference.

  “Mm,” Caligo smiled. “You disobeyed me at the parley. I warned you that there would be a time and place to have your revenge, but you took matters into your own hands anyway.”

  “I told you, I don’t care about what you have to say, you—”

  “—By sunset tomorrow every adult in the Cairn tribe is going to die.”

  Marek frowned. “What?”

  “Whichever Cairn adults survive tonight’s battle will die by my hand tomorrow. The children of your tribe will grow up just like you did; their parents cut down before their very eyes.” Caligo sauntered over, leaned down, and glared at him, “That is the price of your disobedience.”

  Marek’s eyes went livid with rage. He growled, “You fucking—”

  “If you disobey me again then I will feed the children of your tribe to my dragonbanes. And if you continue to disobey me after that, well—” Caligo’s hand flashed out and snatched Marek’s throat. He lifted the dire human up as if he were a ragdoll.

  Marek tried to break free, but all the strength in his body was sapped away in an instant. He couldn’t even muster the strength to breathe.

  “I have invested a lot in you, Marek, and I admit I’m impressed you had the balls to go against me in the first place, but make no mistake, you are not irreplaceable.” Caligo tossed him across the tent.

  Marek crashed into the ground and gasped for breath as strength slowly returned to his body.

  “Ophelia!” Caligo snapped.

  The tent’s flaps opened and Lady Thorn stepped inside. She glanced briefly at Marek with her one eye, before turning to Caligo and bowing deeply. “My master, your servant greets you.”

Caligo pointed at the battle armor hanging on a wooden rack at the center of the room. “Prepare your husband for battle.” 

  “At once, Master,” Ophelia bowed.

  Caligo turned to leave then stopped. “Oh, and mount that woman’s head on Marek’s personal banner. I want it being carried at the front lines so that all our soldiers can see Tamora’s head.”

  Marek's eyes shot up at him with a death glare.

  “Oops, I’m sorry,” Caligo chuckled, “I meant Alessandra’s head.”

 

~~~

 

  5 days before the new moon…

 

  The Sylvan army moved steadily through Vulture Woods. The tribal warriors had learned how to move quickly and silently through the deadly forest. What would normally take an army weeks to move through these woods, the Sylvan had accomplished in a few days. At this rate, they would soon be out in the open in the grassy hills of Dusk Valley for the first time in three centuries.

  But for now, as the sun set on the horizon, it was time to rest. The warriors quickly set up camp with an efficiency unseen anywhere else in the Ebon Realm. Members of different paths, cooks, builders, hunters, and more, all moved in coherent unison, each working to set up camp, create a defensive grid, and prepare dinner, in a matter of minutes.

  Stryg watched them all work from atop an ashen tree. A sense of pride welled up within him. These were his people. They were strong, they were prepared, and they would not fail in the trials ahead.

  “Bloodless One?” a voice called out from below.

  Stryg glanced down, “Elayne?”

  The captain of his honor guard and daughter of the Warrior Elect placed a fist over her chest in a traditional salute, “I have news.”

  Stryg jumped down from the tree and landed heavily on the grass. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Some of our scouts believe that over the past few days, someone has been following our army from a distance, but whoever it is, they have been very thorough to not leave a trail.”

  “A spy? This deep in Vulture Woods?” Stryg furrowed his brow. 

  “What would you have us do? Would you like Arden to take care of it?”

  “Arden?”

  She nodded, “The Guardian has never failed to defend his people. He is the strongest of us. I’m certain he will not fail you today, either.”

  Stryg closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Something felt different in these trees. Every day he spent here it felt as if he was remembering a melody of the forest that he had long since forgotten. “No, that won’t be necessary. Bring me to the spy’s last whereabouts.”

  “But, sir, you can’t possibly actually want to risk your own life to—”

  “That wasn’t a request,” he said calmly.

  Elayne straightened her back and nodded, “Yes, War Master! At once!”

  “Oh, and bring me a cook. I need to speak with one beforehand.”

  “Huh? Uh, I mean, yes, War Master!”

 

~~~

 

  In the distant trees, past the Sylvan army’s encampment, Elayne and a Sylvan scout led Stryg covertly through the underbrush towards their target. The sounds of the camp had faded away and the faint light of the moon was all that could be seen in the dark forest.

  “We’re almost there, War Master. I last saw something moving in the shadows not too far from here,” the scout whispered. “We need only travel a bit further north and—”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Stryg said.

  “War Master…?”

  Stryg lifted the deer carcass from his back that a cook had prepared for him and walked out of the brush.

  “War Master!” Elayne and the scout both called out in unison.

  Stryg ignored their panicked pleas and stepped out into the forest clearing. He placed the deer carcass on the grass. “I know you’re there. You can come out now.”

  The trees shook softly and a large beast with deep black fur stepped out into the clearing. The frost-wolf growled in a deep rumble.

  Stryg pulled out a small satchel from his hip and opened it to reveal an overflowing amount of blueberries. 

  The frost-wolf’s eyes widened and he licked his lips hungrily.

  Stryg couldn’t help but smile. “Hey, Blueberry.”

 

 

 

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