Book 2 : Chapter 23

Jungfrau, Nussegrund

Mallorn the Elf

“Not getting some shut-eye in while we have the chance?” The dryly humored voice of Rayne called out to him from behind. Mallorn’s ear flicked towards the man, but his gaze remained fixed on the hordes of dead that stood silently in the distance, and his hands remained on his dragon-horn bow. The axe, planted in the wooden floor of the tower’s top and leaned against the side of the stone wall, was within a moment’s reach.

“I’m not sure how much one elf will add to the vigilance of the defense.” Rayne joked, walking up the curved steps and coming up to stand next to him, glancing over the masses of motionless dead.

“I just want to be the first to kill one when they strike again.” Mallorn joked back, a sly smile tugging at the edges of his lips. Rayne huffed in amusement, crossing his arms and going quiet for a few moments.

“...Fuck me they’re eerie, aren’t they?” Rayne muttered, humor falling into a troubled scowl. “An army like that, all totally silent and still.”

“Just a little bit unnerving.” Mallorn nodded in agreement.

“The general- that Descan fellow- mentioned it to me, that there’s an estimated ten thousand corpses in that great mass. Nearly twice the size of a standard legion.” Rayne shook his head. “Three times the size of this ad-hoc legion of hog-wranglers and woodsmen they got here.”

“How many have they destroyed so far?” Mallorn asked in a half-interested manner. His time spent watching the bulk of the dead had been mostly filled with daydreams and imagined scenarios of running in with his axe and slaughtering them all. He could hew the common dead in twain with each swing- maybe even a few at a time- and the giants he could fell by cleaving their legs and smashing their brows. He could picture how he’d need to move to destroy each one, just fast enough to avoid their clumsy swipes and just strong enough to split bone…

Just daydreams. He wasn’t stupid, after all, he couldn’t massacre an entire army of dead on his own. Maybe if they came to him in a single file line, and maybe if they gave him breaks between each bout, but they would certainly give neither. 

“You’re imagining killing them all yourself, aren’t you?” Rayne asked in a flat and unamused tone.

“Only imagining.” Mallorn tch’ed. 

“Well put that imagination away. They’ve only managed to kill a thousand or so of them so far, and most of that has been the magics of the Heroine and her elf friend.” Rayne waved a hand. “Not the snooty swordswoman one- the taller one with hips wider than her shoulders.”

“She did have an exceptional frame…” Mallorn nodded, then his expression and tone turned far less complimentary and his ears pulled down and one brow rose. “And she wasn’t wearing a buffonish metal costume either.” 

“Pfeh- what, you don’t like the swordswoman’s armor?” Rayne chuckled, leaning over and nudging him in the side. “You didn’t like the view of her midsection and groin?”

“Not even the elves of my homeland wore such ridiculous anti-armor.” Mallorn replied with an astonished and offended tone. “I didn’t think it was possible to make and wear such garments in anything other than a bedchamber.”

Rayne laughed. “You’d hate the Empire’s noble courts then- they often mimic the fashions of elves. The few elven dignitaries that show up every few years, that is. It’s not too far-off from what the swordswoman is clad in.”

“Your nobles are foolish but at least they aren’t wearing it into battle…” Mallorn furrowed his brows, then turned to Rayne directly. “They aren’t wearing such into battle, right?” 

Rayne laughed harder, and Mallorn maintained a firmly concerned look, giving the man a hard stare until he answered. 

Eventually, Rayne calmed his chuckles and began to explain. “No, no- almost every empire-man I’ve seen wears a good, full set of armor if they can get it. There’s a few old tribes that used to wear nothing but skins and pelts into battle- but that’s an old tradition.” Rayne raised a finger in an authoritative manner. “Its a tradition that still survives in the legions, wearing pelts or skins of slain enemies. I met a man who wore a demon lord’s tanned skin once.”

“A demon lord!” Mallorn exclaimed with a note of wonder.

“Well- I say I met him- I never actually spoke to him. I just saw him at a distance in a military parade.” Rayne corrected himself with a shake of his hand. “But yes- a demon lord’s skin. A damn grisly trophy, but I can’t deny that it looked impressive.”

“...I thought you said the Demon Lord killed the previous Heroine?” Mallorn asked, raising a brow.

Rayne blinked, then made an expression of realization. “Ah- The Demon Queen did. Demon Lords are one step lower- or something like that. I’m not really learned in how demon society functions, if such a thing even exists.” He shrugged. 

They were quiet for a few moments, as the conversation peetered out into comfortable silence. 

The wall of death in the distance made this a bit awkward.

“So we’ve found the chosen Heroine.” Rayne said. “Was the army of the dead part of the prophetic conditions or is this news to you?” Rayne spoke in the kind of half-joke, half-warning manner of reserved judgement for something that annoyed him.

Mallorn huffed and one ear flickered in mirth. “I’ll tell you the prophecy, so long as you promise to keep it a secret, alright?”

“I won’t promise anything yet.”

“The prophecy was this- if I do not change my current course, I will meet the Chosen Heroine. If I prioritize saving innocents from harm, I will meet the Chosen Heroine. If I prioritize the vanquishing of evils and monsters, I will meet the Chosen Heroine.” 

Rayne’s face fell flat. Mallorn’s ears wobbled in schadenfraude. “All paths converged on the same outcome- meeting the Chosen Heroine.”

“And at the great cost of doing nothing you weren’t already going to do.” Rayne groused and Mallorn chuckled. A contemplative expression came over the bastard’s face after a moment, and he spoke again. “If that’s what she said, and this is how we met her- It sounds like it was your fate to meet her.”

Mallorn’s ears stilled in their amused wiggling, and he frowned. “I’m not sure I like that idea or not.”

“I wouldn’t worry- I don’t believe the gods will do me any favors, but they clearly favor you.” Rayne smirked and leaned onto the wall of the tower. “Two dragons in- what- four months of leaving home? Most never kill even a single dragon through an entire lifetime.”

“Are they really my own accomplishments if someone else is making me do them?” Mallorn huffed, leaning forwards to join Rayne against the wall. 

“Wha- yes? Why wouldn’t they be?” Rayne asked with a confused tone.

“Are they? If the hand of some god is putting me into place, putting the weapon in my hand, and lining up someone for me to chop- that’s not really a battle is it? It’s just me being used as the means for some divinity to execute someone.” Mallorn pointed out, spinning his index finger in a circle. “If that’s the case, then it doesn’t matter what decisions I think I’m making, does it?”

Rayne stared at him for a few moments, then leaned back to stare at the roof of the tower. A few long seconds of thought passed before the bastard nodded sharply. “You lied earlier.”

“I lied?” Mallorn asked bemusedly.

“Yep. You always had this flippant air in talking about divinities- and here you are giving a sermon about their influence over our actions and some nebulous inevitability.” Rayne shrugged with a wide, mocking grin. 

“Hey now- I don’t pray or anything.” Mallorn huffed, already seeing where the conversation was going.

“You don’t pray but you’re repeating lines that only fervent maniacs would.” Rayne reached over to prod him in the side. “Nothing we do matters because the gods are making all the decisions- you need to decide if you’re a zealot or not, elf.”

“I get it- I get it.” Mallorn groused, slapping the man’s hand away with an annoyed expression.

“Ooohh- fear me! I am his weapon on this earth, his scything blade that fells evil! My every swing is his swing!” Rayne raised his hands and widened his stance theatrically. “This battle was won the day I was born!”

“What’s that from?” Mallorn asked half-interestedly, moving the topic away from his mockery.

“Excerpt from a book I read once- some old hero-prophet who defeated some heretical army a thousand years ago.” Rayne waved off and settled back against the wall. “Don’t ask me the specifics- I don’t remember them.”

“I’m surprised, I didn’t think you could read.” Mallorn grinned, to which Rayne grinned back and shook his head. 

“So- we’ve met the Chosen Heroine, circumstances notwithstanding.” Rayne nodded his head back at the army of dead patiently waiting in the distance. “Is she everything you were expecting?”

Mallorn considered that for a moment. The young woman wearing a slightly rusted chainmail tunic, leather straps, and a set of good gloves and boots. Long, curly brown hair and bright violet eyes, and an expression of awestruck exhaustion… He slowly shook his head. “I’m not sure what I was expecting, to be honest.” 

“Well- a siege is hardly the time for a good first impression, I suppose.” Rayne muttered, raising a hand to cup his chin. “She’s drained and weary from everything.”

“I suppose that’s true too- I’ll refrain from passing any hard judgement until I see more of her.” Mallorn nodded firmly. “She seems a little out of her depth though, frankly.”

“A little innocent and traumatized, you mean?” Rayne huffed in grim humor. 

“I guess I was expecting someone with more confidence- and better armor. You tell me that no one has bought some gear for the expected savior of the world?” Mallorn pointed out with a drawl. 

“She’s from Meander I think- and Meander is a bunch of poor sheep farmers who don’t have proper roads, so maybe they just couldn’t afford it.” Rayne mocked with a shrug and a smile. 

“Maybe she just didn’t ask for armor?” Mallorn muttered, face scrunching up in thought. “You’d think someone would’ve offered, at least.”

“Maybe she’s not strong enough for anything heavier? She didn’t look like a very large woman- not like that Seaxlunder they have.” Rayne whistled. “I heard tales- but damn do they make em big up there in the north. Big and bare.”

“That’s the naked one with the paint, right?” Mallorn asked, to which Rayne nodded.

“If she’s not a Seaxlunder- then she’s just crazy instead.” Rayne wobbled his head. “I’m pretty sure she’s from Seaxlund though- it's to the north-west of Meander, which is to the north-west of the Bordermarches, which is to the north-west of the Empire Mainland.”

“I’ll have to visit it someday, I think.” Mallorn nodded absently. “After the Demon Queen is dead maybe.” His ears fell. “That might take awhile, from what we’ve seen of the Heroine- we’ll need to get proper armor for her first.”

Rayne chuckled. “Don’t worry too much- she’s still a champion blessed by the Chief Goddess, after all. From what I remember of previous heroines- each of them started off unimpressive and rapidly grew more powerful when called upon.”

“Unimpressive?”

“Well- ‘of humble birth’ is the wording favored in Imperial texts.” Rayne wobbled his hand. “Maiden of humble birthe, thou shalt shine greater than any other. Hark, a swete goddess hath descended into fleshe, hoisting the bannere of oure victorie o'er the darke night..."

He looked up and away, as if recalling something, then continued. “...cometh into flesh, living in flesh, yet with spirit divine—who shall live, die, and live again. Queen of the world, who hath worn a thousand faces and shall wear a thousand more ere the Great One awakens from his dreaming death.”

“How many heroines have there been- do you know?”

“A dozen at least, probably more.” Rayne shrugged, reaching over to clap him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about your quest, elf, they all become legendary soon enough.”

Rayne paused, then gave a large and lecherous grin. “Both on the battlefield and bedchamber- eh? She seemed quite amazed by you, and all of her companions seem to be women so you don’t have to share with another man.”

“Sharing with women is still sharing, dipshit.” Mallorn shoved the man off with a light hand. “Besides- sleeping with the people you’re going to be fighting alongside sounds like a fantastic way to ruin things.” 

Mallorn shook his head and turned back to the army of the dead. “Sex is intimacy- the last thing we need is to risk someone’s life by getting them to rush recklessly ahead to save someone they’re invested in-”

“Like Lucia.” The Bastard said with a pointed focus.

Mallorn stopped short. His hand slowly curled into a fist against the stone of the battlement. 

He stared straight at the legion of the dead, but his gaze was fixed on a woman with tanned skin and long ears.

-and a mangled corpse.

After a long few moments, Mallorn forced out a reply. A clipped, angry word fell from his lips like a glowing coal slipping free from the fireplace. 

“Yeah.”

There was silence between the two men for nearly a minute. Eventually, Rayne broke the silence.

“Sorry, that was out of line.” He shook his head. 

“It’s fine.” Mallorn lied.

“I won’t say any more on the matter.” Rayne promised with a firm nod. 

“I would appreciate that.” Mallorn let out a slow breath, one he didn’t realize he was holding, and let his shoulders slump. 

“If not the heroine- then maybe either of the elves, huh?” Rayne joked, leaning forwards. “You were awfully quick to fall in bed with that one elven lass in the Grailhouse.”

“That swordswoman is gonna get herself killed. I give it a month, tops.” Mallorn groused. 

“Her armor wasn’t that awful, was it? I mean the Seaxlunder is wearing nothing but a scrap of fur panties-”

“The Seaxlunder has a shield at least!” Mallorn complained with a wave of his hand. “That swordswoman was wearing a breastplate that covered her sides but not her middle or back- I have no idea how it stays on, and it does exactly nothing to protect her!”

“She’s got gauntlets at least- she could use that to block attacks if she needed right?” Rayne continued to play the elf’s advocate.

“She had everything from the middle of her thighs to the collarbone exposed- and at least the Seaxlunder isn’t limiting herself while nude- the swordswoman is combining the no-protection of being naked with the exhausting effects of wearing armor.” Mallorn sneered in a disgruntled manner. “She had a tattoo of a heart right there on lower belly so you know where to impale her to make her infertile too.”

“You’d still plow her fertile tracks though, right?” Rayne asked with a laugh and wiggle of his eyebrows.

Mallorn paused and considered what the funniest answer would be. Then, he nodded. “Until I chafe, yes.”

Rayne let out a rolling chuckle and shook his head. “Maybe you can throw out her elvish plate in the morning and replace it before she wakes up- if you do.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Mallorn huffed, a little smile coming to his lips as he imagined the indignity such a thing would cause. If she was anything like the elves of his home, which seemed to be the case, she’d pitch a terrible fit over such a thing. “Maybe she’ll survive past this quest if I did that.”

“I’d say you should worry about yourself more- if you keep tackling dragons out of the sky like that.” Rayne warned, before scoffing. “Then again, it's worked out for you so far, so maybe you should just keep doing it until everything between the Chosen Heroine and the Demon Queen is dead.”

“There was some circumstances involved in that, it was about to fly away.”

“So just wait for it to fly back and attack it then.” Rayne pointed out, to which Mallorn had little argument. Rayne nodded his head back towards the stairs. “Now- I’m going to get something to eat, want to come with?”

Mallorn considered that for a moment, before nodding shortly and unstringing his bow. “Yeah. I could eat.” The bow went onto a hook on his back, and he reached over to heft his axe. The strain in his body made it slightly uncomfortable, but the weight was reassuring while surrounded by so many zombies.

He turned to follow Rayne down the stairs, plated boots of bone making almost hollow noises as he walked across the wood. There was other soldiers further below, all making their own quiet conversations and rumors. There were soldiers on all stretches of the walls around the city, laughing and grumbling and conversing in tones just loud enough for him to him but not make out distinctly.

The city itself was alive with constant, rolling conversation and noises, which fell into a comfortable, buzzing ambience in his mind.

Men shouting, women yelling, children laughing, dogs barking, the roll of carts and terrible screeches, the roar of fires and plumes of chimneys-

-He stopped on the stairs. Rayne paused and glanced back, up to him. His ears rolled once, scanning over the sounds.

“What do you hear, elf?” Rayne asked, raising a brow.

Mallorn raised a hand to indicate quiet, ears slowly moving around and head rotating to locate the unusual sound.

Another distant, terrible screech.

Then, all at once, in fearsomely loud unison, the sound of feet marching forwards.

Mallorn dashed back up the stairs and to the battlements, staring out at the army of dead. Rayne ran to follow him up, sliding to a stop and planting a hand on the stone lip.

In his breast, the drums of war started up again. 

The army of dead was moving towards the walls. Not just one wave or another- the entire army, all stomping forwards at once with identical rhythm.

A distant screech echoed over the smoky evening skies, overlapping with a second, equally horrible screech. A great, boney thing rose over the horizon, four wings and two heads on a vaguely reptilian body.

Both heads screeched again, in unison, a rallying cry that washed over the walls like tidal wave.

The sounds of the city turned from stressed bustling to fearful alarm.

“They’re attacking.” Rayne muttered dumbly, backing up from the edge of the wall.

“And they have another dragon.” Mallorn muttered, a wide, toothy, hateful grin stretching across his face. 

The axe in his hand burst into golden flames. Warm with his own anticipations.