Ellis & the Prince

In any other circumstances, this man might have appreciated where he stood with reverent awe. The blade in his hand gleamed crimson in the lantern light, and the spray of blood from its arc had stained the brick behind him with a grisly smile. With a growl, he stumbled backwards against the wall, resting his weary body on the cool surface while he struggled to fill his chest with deep breaths. The soldier in front of him finally gurgled his last.
Narthanos sneered at the corpse, although the soldier couldn’t hear it. Probably for the best, as Narthanos’ attempts at intimidation were weakened by his exhaustion, the noise withering in the man’s mouth with a choked whine.
An ungodly roar rattled the ground beneath his feet. The song of flying arrows whistled just beyond the stone walls, and Narthanos recognized the chorus of steel blades against armor. The air tasted of smoke, bitter with the scent of blood in its wake.
Another ragged man sprinted through the doorway, greeting Narthanos with the cautious slash of his own blood-stained sword. Narthanos swore as he reeled backwards, barely avoiding the blade. The two men glared at each for a moment through the haze before lowering their weapons. The familiar face met Narthanos’ eyes and nodded sharply. “We found him.”
Narthanos straightened his spine and smiled.
“Finally.”

* * *

Even through the heavily barricaded doors of the throne room, Taryon could feel his castle crumbling. These monstrosities would no doubt tear apart both his quarters and his men before thinking to search for him here. The king’s heart wrenched at the thought, but he could not dwell on that while his cities burned around him. There was a task to be done.

Taryon’s beige braid swung like a pendulum at his back as he turned away from the window, his robes sweeping over his fair skin. Footsteps echoed across the smooth floor as a cloaked figure stepped past his guard. Taryon could see a pair of penetrating eyes from within the folds of the cloth, the eyes he’d been waiting for.

Azrael, his trusted advisor, his friend, came to a stop just beyond the doorway. “Your consult, your Majesty,” he announced, his mouth pulling into the edges of his square jaw. Azrael--to his own dismay--was the only one who could escort this particular guest into Armithus unseen. The lithe figure looked human, but the way it moved through the air sent a chill down the bodyguard’s spine; graceful yet cautious, like a predator stalking through the grass, with intention.

“Thank you, old friend,” Taryon answered quietly, giving a gentle nod. “I need only a few moments.”
Azrael bristled at the gesture. “Taryon, this is no time to be--!”

Taryon’s expression darkened, and Azrael felt his chest buckle at the sight. Azrael’s mouth closed, albeit in protest, as Taryon brought himself to his full height. “Ten minutes, my friend,” he continued, his harshness allaying into familiar tenderness. “You may count the seconds, if you wish. This cannot wait.”

Azrael’s eyes narrowed as he turned on his heel. “I’ll give you eight,” he spat over his shoulder. Taryon watched him storm away with a stifled sigh, frowning at his friend’s back with a silent apology. Once the door slammed shut behind Azrael, Taryon’s guest lowered their hood, revealing the face of a young woman with long white hair and pale blue skin. Her ice-tinted complexion flushed with an inhuman hue, white markings encircling her skin like the veins of a leaf. Taryon regarded her with intent.

“Valissa, my dear, you’re late.”

“Do you really think this is time for humor?” Her voice was low in her chest as her fluorescent white eyes blazed with silent frustration. “Your kingdom lies in ruins.”

“Not yet, it doesn’t.” Taryon came down from the window, his smile dropping quickly. “There’s still time. If we can hold them off for just a night--”

“And what do you suppose changes in daylight, Taryon?” Valissa loosened the bonds on her cloak. “My people have offered you sanctuary--”

“There is no sanctuary for me, you know this.” Taryon regarded his guest briefly with resolve.

Banshee’s were striking creatures, with piercing eyes and otherworldly presence; undead whom possessed the ability to wield magic in life. Even from here, he could feel magic coursing through her veins-- albeit, the only thing running through her veins anymore. It was a warm sensation that gently swept over you like a blanket. He forced his gaze back to the window, the silhouette of his city illuminated by smoldering flames.

“You promised us,” he growled, “we would not fall to the undead as Helion did.”

“What you see out there is man’s fire, Taryon. This is no dark magic, not yet.”

Her eyes dropped as the memory of Helion clawed in the back of her mind, a phantom memory that haunted her people. The inhabitants of Helion consumed by undeath when the magic locked within their kingdom’s bones had been unleashed by Valizaar, The Resurrector. By her brother.

Now Armithus shook with unrest, as its people set fire to the corpses of its fallen to keep them from eternal damnation, never to receive the sweet release and eternal peace of death; a fate she herself was living. It racked Valissa’s body like a fever.

Taryon turned back to her. “How did we get here, my friend? After all these years... how can it end like this?”

“Your forefathers bore the burden in silence for good reason Taryon. Your people were not prepared. But I’m afraid now they must be.”

“So, we hide and hope in vain instead? Simply bide our time until the next wave of Soulless ravage us, until there is nothing left!”

“It appears you’re no longer waiting, my lord”

Valissa saw the anguish flash across his face, almost regretting her words. Taryon was a good man, but a fool in his arrogance.

“The Soulless will not be satiated until they have you,” she continued softly. She searched his face in a tender plea. “Let us help you, Taryon. Please. You do not have to die tonight.”

Taryon met her gaze. She was right, of course. A declaration had already speared the heart of his kingdom: the king had hidden an alliance with the banshees. The king sworn to protect them was suddenly cast into doubt, and in such tumultuous times, doubt demanded death.

“We must act quickly,” he mumbled finally. “It must be finished.”

Valissa’s head curiously tilted. “You still want to complete this treaty?”

“If there is a chance to make this right, I must take it.”

“Make it right? Listen to them, Taryon!” Valissa paused, the sounds of screams and crackling smoke reverberating off the stone walls like the moan of a ghost. Her eyes gleamed desperately in the dimming light. “What of your queen? of your son? Will you sacrifice them too?”

Taryon’s jaw stiffened. “Mirena and Phillip are safe with Azrael’s men,” he responded quietly, his eyes flickering with unease.

“Even you don’t believe that. Your pride is not worth their lives.”

“My family is not your concern, banshee,” the man snapped. Valissa saw the familiar temper sear in the hard lines of his face. “You would do well to remember your place.”

“My place is at your helm, guiding you from your own arrogance, as I did for your father, and for his father, and for his father before him!” Valissa’s voice rose dangerously, slicing through the air with rumbling force. Taryon’s eyes darkened, the shade of sapphire glinting furiously.

“I am not afraid, Valissa.”

“You should be.”

Her voice broke, and Taryon felt his heart splinter inside his chest. His throat tightened as he thought of Mirena, his sweet Mirena, and his son Phillip, heir to his throne. Would he be saving him from carrying the burden his own forefathers had passed down to him? Or would he simply be forsaking him to the same fate?

“Indulge my madness one last time, my friend,” the king pleaded softly, unable to keep the tremble from his tongue. “I called you here to speak for your people. Will you be their voice, or should I summon Azrael to escort you home?”

The banshee’s lips tensed as the flash in his eyes bore through her. She had half a mind to drag him away to safety herself. Unfortunately, she knew all too well this would be in vain. Valissa lifted her chin.

“My voice is theirs, if you will hear.”

His face softened, and for a moment, Valissa could see the monarch’s resolve crack. Was he as frightened as she was?

“Apart, our peoples will fall into ruin,” he continued, “and history will prove that we have tried. Still, banshees are not our enemies, and it’s time my people recognize this. Your people will no longer lead behind or beneath us, but beside us, openly. It is time.”

Valissa met his gaze with equal fervor. “You would be relinquishing the supremacy of your crown.” She offered inquisitively. “Tell me, your majesty, is this truly what you want?”

Taryon remained silent for a moment. When humans won the Trimordian War, their victory had promised his people a place among these powerful creatures at the pinnacle of power, and to some, the assurance of the future of their kind. If he exposed the truth and ripped everything they thought they knew out from under them... would his people survive it? He took one long last look at his friend.

“Yes.” Taryon answered finally, the words a whisper off his lips.

Before Valissa could respond, the door to the throne room burst open, splintering from the force. The two occupants turned wildly to see Azrael clutching the doorframe, his eyes finding Taryon with desperate urgency. Taryon’s brow furrowed at the sight of his friend’s distress.

“Azrael, what are you--”

Azrael’s mouth opened to reply, but choked on the words as his chest convulsed, a dark spray of blood bursting off his tongue. The wounds across his stomach wept with blood as Azrael fell to his knees with a raspy exhale, still trying to cry out a warning for his charge. Behind him, a deafening roar rolled through the halls as soulless emerged in the corridor like a swarm. The sound wakened Taryon from his shock.

“Valissa, go!”

Her fingers wrapped around his forearm with alarming strength. “Not without you,” Valissa growled. Her eyes crackled with panicked desperation.

Taryon wrenched his arm away as he gripped her thin shoulders. “You must get to the Scribes in Evantide,” he ordered her. “Tell them your answer to me. If it dies in this room, it will all have been for nothing!”

The second door to the throne room collapsed--Taryon heard the pieces’ clatter against the floor.

“Give this to my son.” he whispered, forcing a sealed envelope into her palm.

Her gaze met his with sympathetic resolve; His eyes prickling with angry tears, his heart rending for Azrael, for his family, for his kingdom.

“Go.”

Taryon shoved Valissa away from the doors. The banshee tumbled to the floor as the legion of bodies reached their king. She shrieked angrily as she stood to her feet, but Taryon had already been swallowed by the mob, and those on the outskirts began to turn towards her.

Rage surged through her as she called upon her magic. The only way through was to turn them all to ash, something she would gleefully do were it not for the cries of the king emanating from inside the sea of bodies as they dragged him from the room. She looked to the window overlooking the cliff.
With a growl, Valissa sprinted towards the window as the horde approached. She tossed the cloak off her shoulders as she reached the wall, and it was only the thought of their arms outstretched behind her in a murderous yawn that steeled her nerves. Closing her eyes tightly, the banshee made one final bound and leapt.

The window groaned and shattered under the impact, cracking with a burst of air like a startled laugh. For a moment, she felt weightless against the obsidian sky. Her body dropped through the air like a stone.

The steep mountainside seemed endless beneath her legs as she plunged helplessly into the darkness. Soon, it would be over, and she allowed her arms to drift from her sides, her graceful fall morphing into a moment of delirious flight.

Then, the mountain’s jaws found purchase. Her body whipped backwards as her spine crashed into the stone, fragments of it slicing into her back and splintering off the cliff. She felt bones snap as her head spun over her heels. Over and over she slammed against the jagged earth, unable to hamper the speed that sent her careening against the harsh corners of the rock.

After what felt like eternity, the slope began to ease. Valissa rolled a few final turns before collapsing into a heap on her stomach. Her eyes stung with dust and tears as they fluttered open, and she trembled in silence against the ground. Her magic had already begun knitting the most serious wounds, but it was slow, and the faint echoes of energy were weaker than she needed. The ground swayed beneath her as she fought the overwhelming urge to sleep.

Her shaking fingers curled into claws in the loose shards of rock. No, she couldn’t do this now. Not while the threat roared angrily closer, and not while her friend was being held prisoner in his own home.

The banshee shoved herself upright and glared through the darkness. Just beyond the slope, she could see trees, the dark branches entwined together in a foreboding embrace: The Black Forest. A coppery taste flooded her mouth, and Valissa spat hot blood into the rock. Taryon had entrusted her with one final task. She would not fail him now.

***