Eliria Aflame

By Christopher Whittaker

A conspiracy comes to the shores of Eliria. An unlikely group must work to seal away a power that could be used to destroy the world as they know it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9780244870430

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Eliria Aflame

Eliria Aflame

Copyright

Copyright © 2020 by Christopher Whittaker

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review or scholarly journal.

ISBN 978-0-244-87043-0

Prologue.

The village was overrun with beings beyond description to this trainee of the Atakian Knights, and to him it appeared there was no saving it from a horrible fate at their hands. Feurras saw a malformed beast ravening a slain man, horrors in many twisted forms, reptiles and giant arachnids. But the worst were the human-looking ones. Features twisted in an agonised rictus, one dashed with a limp on its club foot, body parts of a villager in its hands while waving them back and forth as it careered over the village square.

As a pre-initiate to the Brotherhood of Ataki, he knew his teachers had sent him here to test his mettle. He wasn’t new to fighting, his days as a constable had seen to that. But he was not alone. Veteran Atakian warriors were leading him in this scouting party, no-one thinking to equip the lowly fighter with an enchanted weapon, no-one realising the danger of demons here. He realised he hadn’t been prepared for this - his training now seemed woefully inadequate.

They had unwittingly become surrounded, even as they stayed well away from the burning settlement, sending the most experienced member - Sergeant Gariold - forward to investigate. He hadn’t yet returned, and Feurras decided to point out their situation.

If we wait any longer, we’re as good as dead. They’ve cut off our escape, I spotted them when I went for a piss. Feurras was heated.

Damn your stupidity. What if they saw you? We’d all be fighting for our lives and you’ll be dead as soon as they look at you. You know your halberd is powerless against these creatures, never mind your cock! Etenard, the ranking captain of this group of knights, wasn’t joking. He was a commanding figure, tall and well built, with a scar under his eye, twisting his cheek and complementing his hard, angry expression. Feurras considered whether he should have tied a knot in it.

Didn’t you hear me? We're surrounded. There’s no way out, so we’ll all be fighting soon enough as it is.

As they were talking, Sergeant Gariold returned. Sweat shone on his brow, and his sword, shining as if fresh from the forge, was bloody.

At Etenard's glance, he stated: I had to end the life of a civilian who was being consumed by the corruption. She was in agony as she begged me to put her at peace. Although he didn’t struggle to speak, his tone showed he grieved for this stranger, and the act weighed on him.

Then it was an honourable deed comrade. No need to clean your sword though, looks like a fight is on our hands. Etenard’s rough voice was jovial at the mention of battle.

So I can see, the sergeant replied flatly.

A demon-like entity had emerged from the concealing trees, laughing at their surprise. This one had a catlike body, covered in thick bristles of fur, and glowed with a dark, violet aura. Its face was human, a beast man, resulting from animals or people eating the flesh of demons. The demonic aspect of the corpse was often merged with an animal, or the demon’s primal animal nature became one with the human, depending on what ate the demon flesh - though no-one knew why. This cat had grown to be very large and seemed to be possessed by a demonic intelligence.

I am Aror, messenger demon of the third circle, and I come to parley. The knights weren’t entirely sure if it was speaking or communicating by some other means. Its voice was very strange, with a harsh, deep tone, and a high pitched, ethereal tone overlaying it. They glanced at one another, unsure of what to make of the request of negotiation from this walking atrocity, although their surprise and incredulity at being greeted by an otherworldly absurdity was etched on each face.

I will not negotiate with demons! Etenard barked harshly. The ranking captain's bloody intentions were clear.

I do not intend to negotiate either. Either submit… or die. If you are clever, simply take one of these lowly, stupid demons as a sacrifice – he gestured to the material insanity roving all about the village with those wonderful swords, and attain power beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do is partake of its flesh, and you’ll no longer worry about the oncoming slaughter and woe that will visit all like you. The thing cackled, an atrocious gravelly sound mixed with a high-pitched keening, making the knights bristle. Make your choice now and go on the winning side, like these villagers, or be given a fate of pain and suffering, hunger and disease.

What have you done with the villagers? We will never stoop so low as to consume the flesh of your brethren. Ziresa protects us.

Come with me and I will show you, replied Aror cruelly.

Take us to the villagers! demanded Etenard. He had decided to use some of his authority on Aror.

The beast man hissed, angry at Etenard’s commanding tone, and led them to a nearby clearing in the forest, filled by villagers and ringed by demons. One was slack jawed and slathered, its corrosive spit forming sores on its gums and hissing on the autumn leaves that carpeted the ground. Another, a brute of a demon, looked almost noble, and composed in its features, its eyes scanning the clearing before they arrived, fixing on them at their entrance, and never leaving, its baleful amber-eyed glare colouring its features into a fixture of malice.

Without warning, Etenard pierced the nearest demon with his sword, ice encasing the wound after the sword had left. The ice blackened and spread, absorbing the demon’s energy and crippling its limbs, ‘til nought but a dissolving, hissing lump remained, giving off a powerful stench of the grave. The pile of demon glowed with an emerald, eldritch light, a dark essence leaving it like a cloud of black steam.

Feurras spun and beheaded the nearest beast man, susceptible as the corrupted stag was to mundane weaponry, as the half-dozen Atakian knights laid about them into the gathering twenty or so demons. Feurras noted that the beast man Aror had already made itself scarce. The villagers were torn at, in the demon's eagerness for bloodshed - those only maimed in the affray were left with infected wounds, while others died quickly.

The fight was going well for the knights. Demons fell about them, no match for their enchanted weaponry, while Feurras did his best to protect himself, and to stay away from the oncoming demons. However, the brute demon charged through the villagers, most of whom were wise enough to move out of the way of the demons by now, apart from the infirm, and the foolhardy ones who tried to assist the knights weaponless. Those who were in the way were swatted aside by the huge being, or crushed before it. It wielded a mighty hammer engraved with runes and inlaid with silver, as elegant as it was huge. With it, the demon proceeded to crush Etenard and his knights with mighty strokes, the hammer rending their armour and bones, blood arced for a beautiful crimson moment before its owner fell.

Eventually it had slain all but Feurras, who had kept his distance. It stood before him, war hammer raised and bloody, and spoke in a loud, deep yet clear voice.

I am Warcust, and I will wear your skin as my cloak, pitiful human!

Wait! Aror interrupted urgently. You are one of the knights, strong in battle, yes? Will you save your life and consume the flesh of our fallen brothers, forsaking your vow? Or are you as foolish as the others?

I have not taken any such vow. I’m a trainee, not yet an initiate. Hence this mundane weapon. Feurras' voice was strong despite his fear, and still he brandished his halberd, gripping it tightly.

Hah! He does not even carry a means of defence! Well it looks like your choice is made for you. You never know what might happen when you eat demon flesh. I'd say it carries a certain zest! Aror's cackle was ear-piercing.

Feurras was ashamed to find he was nearly quivering in the sight of a grisly death at the hands of the demons. But he had no fears in eating the flesh, he believed he was strong enough to fight the corruption, and he had access to enough funds in his savings from his training allowance for a priest’s blessing should it come to that.

You’ll spare me if I comply? The words leaving his own mouth made him feel sick, without any help from the sickly meal at hand. What will you do with the villagers? The thought occurred to him suddenly, and with it the shame that it hadn’t been his first question. Warcust had lowered his weapon.

I expect they’ll suffer the same fate as you... it sniggered. With a flourishing gesture which mocked its grisly visage, it led Feurras to one of the slain, its corpse charred by electrical energy.

Dar'den... he whispered. A few more days and Dar’den would have been his battle brother. He noted the effects of his Stormblade - it occurred to him that the demon wouldn't be raw at least.

Friend of yours? Sniggering, Aror mocked him.

The human would prefer our brother’s body cooked! a slavering demon rasped, its ethereal essence giving it access to his thoughts.

Using his belt knife, he sawed at the demon flesh. The stench that emerged turned his stomach, the burned meat giving off the taint of rot and disease. It tasted foul, as he expected - a gooey underlying texture and a sickening charred crunch that made him want to gag. It didn’t help that the demon appeared roughly human, he reflected as he sawed at the corpse with his blade, its invulnerability to mundane weapons having left its body with its essence; one of its distended and lumpy arms being its only mutation. The flesh also gave a surprising tingle, a product of the dark energy that had allowed it corporeal existence.

That's enough, we don't want to make you ill now do we? Aror cackled again, its sense of protection around his ‘brothers’ and its superiority giving rise to his sense of humour.

Feurras was left feeling ashamed and forlorn as Aror led him out of the clearing, escorting him to a safe distance and keeping his word or endeavouring to spread the forthcoming disease, he wasn’t sure.

Chapter 1

Emeris looked at the magic school. From the courtyard, it was much less impressive than the church he had studied at, for that's how he thought of it now. Although he was led to believe much more impressive things went on inside here than in the church.

Studied at the church. It was all he really did there. They taught him to read and right, taught him what he considered to be religion: he did not choose to join the priesthood. Then came the day It happened. The Event. Catastrophe. He was assisting a near-crippled old woman to the altar, where she was to give her gold for the assistance of the gods, when a bright light enshrouded them both. He suddenly felt very drained, while she was suddenly rejuvenated. Then came the Reaction, as he thought of it.

His mother automatically assumed he was possessed by a demon. He had to move in with the church. Most people didn’t believe in magic. Those that did pelted him with stones, or just about anything they could find. The Events kept happening, people begged him on the street for healing, beggars in the gutter on their deathbed clung to his clothes for a power he couldn’t control. Not to mention all this was done for free: his teacher, the priestess Odanya's immediate excitement at this new-found gift soon turned sour when he couldn’t bring himself to extort people using their beliefs to fill both their pockets with coins. It seemed magic school was the only way out.

He had to travel far with Odanya to find a school which was accepting students. Or perhaps she was told to keep him as far away as possible. In any case, he learned much about the world around him as he travelled, occasionally healing a blind person or a beggar. Once a veteran cursed him for healing his leg: he hadn’t worked for ten years, he said, how was he supposed to earn money now he couldn’t beg?

The easy life is over then, he had replied. That wasn’t taken well. They left that place soon after, as they had become hostile to his gift (as Odanya called it).

Reluctantly, the ten-year-old boy pulled himself from his reverie and entered the magic school.

***

The mercenaries waited in the darkness at the top of the hill, standing with their horses in the trees that rounded its brow. There were many bushes amongst the trees providing a good amount of cover for the crouching men who prepared to take the tavern below. The moon shone brightly, its fullness waxed in brilliant light that coated the village in an ethereal radiant glow. The village was en-rounded on two sides by trees; pine, elm and ash with clumps of oak and horse chestnut, while a great cumulus cloud marched across the sky, one side bathed in pale light, the majority of its breadth dark.

One of their number was a guest in the tavern who went by the name of James, ready to open the barred doors and windows from within when the moon reached its early-night south-western quarter of its path through the sky. Nicollo waited for the swift opening of the window, the signal for entering the tavern. James should also be able to help with locating any of the loot, having had the chance to scout out the building and get friendly with the owners. It was therefore the most sociable and confident who was chosen to be the man inside the building, if it was possible to have an inside man, which was rare in Nicollo's experience.

Shouldn't have picked such a bright night muttered Nicollo's companion, named Rudolf. The big man considered himself a burglar of some skill, and it was a mystery to Nicollo how he managed to keep his movements so stealthy. His dark hair was complemented by his dark brown tunic, just the right shade to hide in complete darkness, matching his trousers, hair and eyes. Nicollo wore all black, cloak, doublet and belt matching the shark skin lined hilt of his sword.

Would you rather do it in the rain? We could have come last night you know, Nicollo grunted intolerantly.

Yeah, if we had our tracks might have washed away, whereas tonight, they'll stay for sure. The ground's still wet.

Ah shut up. It’s all in hand. We could take the tavern for ourselves if we wanted. Those who policed the city of Sywern might not take kindly to that. The large city was ruled by the Council and overseen by the Prime Minister who had certain powers in the deliberation of law making. Secretly though, the Guild of Financiers had gained a foothold in the city, and some whispered that was where the true power lay. Houses in the city vied for election in the council and for control of commerce, and its rich trading centres bustled with activity. At this time of night, the city would be quiet, frequented only by guardsmen patrolling the city. In this part of the countryside however, there would be no guardsmen on duty.

It wasn't just the rumours of treasure - or more accurately, Rudolf's information, that brought Nicollo here. He was hoping to find a particular item that he had been looking for, though in confidence Rudolf had laughed at its mention. Some said it was an ancient piece of jewellery, but others whispered that it was imbued with a magical essence that had positive effects on a user's strengths. The rumours of what this effect was varied wildly. Enchanted items were not unknown in these lands, but their properties were often forgotten, the items mislaid.

Nicollo didn't mind what the effects supposedly were - he had reliable information that it was real, regardless of any embellishments superstitious people had placed on it. Rudolf didn’t need to know about his intentions, however. To Nicollo this was a necessary gamble; only something rare could be nestling in that tavern if what he was told was true. The rumour Rudolf had supplied was that the inn keeper had in his possession a number of treasures that were incalculably valuable.

A bang awoke him from his reverie. He noticed that the shutters had opened and shut, but quite noisily. One of the shutters had apparently slipped out of the infiltrator's hand and had clanged against the outside wall, the sound ringing into the night.

Quickly, the pair began to slip towards the inn, heading for the main door. There were just the two of them besides James - friends who had got together over a drink to plan this - with there being only ten rooms in the inn, and only three occupied, there shouldn't be many threats, while there not being too many burglars to share the money to. The distant building grew in their vision as they approached it, constantly searching for signs of wakefulness at the inn, and for people around it. There were no such signs, and the area around it was clearly deserted, so they crept round the front of the tavern.

Rudolf quickly grabbed Nicollo, whispering that the noise of the shutter may have woken the inn. They stopped and waited, and when no lights came on, they slipped from the trees and ran stealthily towards their positions at the windows and doors, two in each group. The idea was to search for and locate the chest, get into it and then escape with as little fuss as possible.

Nicollo tried the door. It seemed stuck. He jammed his belt knife into the gap in the door and quickly lifted the latch. After another attempt, he discovered it was still locked. then he heard a scraping sound, followed by a low thud from within. A menacing figure stood in the doorway with a candle and a club. The flickering aureate light enhanced the lines on the innkeeper's thin face, revealing the simple but comfortable furnishings and decorations in the hall.

What do we have here then? asked the innkeeper, raising his club until a straight right fist from Nicollo beat him to the ground. The innkeeper was slim and light, but his fall caused the light to gutter out and he scrambled to his feet with some difficulty, his enemy now a black silhouette in his doorway against the moonlight. The innkeeper received another blow to the head. When he fell once more, the mercenary used the hilt of his blade to knock him unconscious.

Damn it, where's James? asked Nicollo, apparently to thin air.

He must have been caught answered a shadow beside him. His companion had taken the opportunity to hide when he realised they had been discovered, but at least he hadn't run. He needed Rudolf to unlock the chest.

They crept into the back room, unaware they were being watched, and stumbled across James, still in position by the window. A few minutes later, he told them and perhaps he would have managed to cover the noise, saying he was just trying to get some fresh air, allowing the burglary to continue undetected. They ignored him and quietly found the chest, in a drawing room off the kitchen - possibly used for the accounts - which Rudolf began to unlock.

A scream of grief pierced the night air, as if the vocal individual mourning the death of a loved one. Nicollo looked up to see a small figure armed with a broadsword charging at him. The child, no more than 12 years of age, thrust the sword for his midriff, knocked aside by Nicollo’s arm while he managed to draw his sword. He suppressed a wince at the sharp pain in his arm, and briefly wondered if it had cut his tunic. Then he quickly disarmed the child and set about trying to explain that his father would be fine, not being a man who would stoop as low as infanticide.

Your dad's not dead son. I just put his lights out, that's all. He asserted authoritatively, yet gently, his listener at sword point. There were tears in the child's eyes, his eyes wide with terror, but by this time Rudolf had cracked the safe.

Damn it! Rudolf called out. When asked what was the matter, he replied There's only six silver pieces in here and a couple of packages.

Take the packages. They may contain information as to where any treasures could be found. The packages appeared flexible, as if vellum or paper may well be the contents. They were wrapped in cloth and tied with string, a form of storage traditional for documents in this part of the world, in places where other more advanced filing equipment was not to be found.

Steps were heard outside, and a woman's voice cried out when she saw the unconscious innkeeper in the hallway. Nicollo affected his best father's voice and uttered curtly get to your room! As he said this he turned to climb out of the window, and escaped into the night. He slipped as he landed on the soft ground, his rapid footsteps leaving imprints on the ground as he left the scene.

The child ran into the front room and alerted the approaching villagers, who were aroused from sleep by his screams. Some ran into the building in vain, but others ran around it when they realised this. He guessed James had already run away at the first sounds of a disturbance, and he made his own way through the night, away from the oncoming villagers.

Nicollo glanced at the torches of the chasing villagers, as he caught up to Rudolf ahead of him. He was gaining ground! His thoughts turned to outrunning the villagers as he came up alongside Rudolf, before his feet went out from under him as Rudolf staggered into him. Nicollo fell to the wet ground, mud caking his knees and hands as Rudolf recovered and sprinted off.

Nicollo leapt to his feet and ran for his life, but he was quickly overtaken and a blow overbalanced him, causing him to slip and fall to his knees. He regained his footing and blocked a further blow, sent a right fist into the villager’s nose that caused him to back off, holding his nose while others closed in.

He kicked the next man's feet from under him, then to a woman wielding a pole he gave a left cross, knocking her back a step. Then he was seized from behind, and the woman stepped in, striking him on the head with her weapon. He slumped as everything in his sight turned black and he lost consciousness.

Rudolf made his way up the hillside, after losing the villagers, and back to where they had been camped - so as to have a place to stay away from the settlement if their plans went awry, as they had - and Rudolf wanted to lay low in case he was now a wanted man. When the fire was alight, he had a look at the pages contained within the packages.

Rudolf grunted and tossed the sheets into the fire. Hmf, they were love letters. The treasures were sentimental! Rudolf cursed. He said nothing more, realising how badly he misinterpreted the friendly innkeeper the week before.

***

O' mighty Ziresa, bless this one with the strength and endurance to defeat your enemies, both in this life and the next, in this realm and in yours, forever bond this warrior to your side. The sermon continued as the trainee was initiated into the ranks of the Atakian Brotherhood, a band of warriors pledged to defend the Hukow realm, and more prevalently the Atakian artefacts.

These artefacts were small, pebble sized jewels that could explode, killing many, though there were few who could make them now. Others included weapons imbued with sorcerous power, holding the attributes of some of the seven major spheres of magic in turn. Another was a smooth, ordinary looking stone that, in the right hands, could give the power of prophecy.

The ritual continued, the initiate swearing oaths to uphold the rules of the Brotherhood. These were never to marry (although many would still pass on their seed), to be honourable to your enemy and to others, to always speak the truth, and never consume demon flesh.

Demon flesh has the properties of Dark magic within it, powers that can enhance the pure of heart, or corrupt the weak willed - those that fear, hate or desire too much. The resonance from such people bolstered the corruptive elements of the enchanted flesh, leading to disease and occasionally vile or debilitating mutation to those who ate it. Most people thought this rule was based on old superstitions, however.

The ritual concluded with the inclusion of a freshly enchanted sword, requiring a drop of blood to enhance its properties and bind them to its wielder, to ensure it couldn’t be used against the order. The enchanter was proficient in both fire and earth magics, using one form of magic to strengthen the blade, and the other to enchant it with speed and heat, this last necessary for any encounter with a demon, as this order knew well that only an enchanted blade could harm them.

***

The high-ceilinged room was wreathed in shadows, gloomy and damp, square in shape with shallow recesses at the sides covering most of the length of the room. It was made of grey stone, and in the recesses were tables. These tables contained sharp instruments of glistening metal - knives, saws, pincers and all manner of instruments surgical in appearance. Torches lined the walls, casting flickering shadows about the murk as the sharp yet mild scent of blood lingered in the air.

At the centre of the room lay an obsidian altar. It was drenched in the dark red stain of dried blood. Human blood. Three hooded figures were stood about it, having placed the candles and runic symbols about the circle in which they stood. Within the circle was a triangle, and about the stone floor lay smatters of the