Afterworld

By William Matarazzo

Erik's innocence faded when his parents were slain in battle, and being forced into his princely duties proves to be a much heavier responsibility than he expected. With these responsibilities comes the appearance of a strange, lone Mermaid. The closer the two of them get, the more they uncover the secret of the Mermaid's past, and the mystery of an Orc whose obsession it is to relentlessly hunt her down.

Erik unwittingly plunges into an adventure beyond his wildest fantasies. Upon discovering that the man who killed his parents seeks to bring about a second apocalypse to erase Humankind, he takes it upon himself to set out and stop this horrible fate from coming to pass. To defend his father-figure, his friends and the woman he grows to love, he must muster the strength to save the human race while dealing with the ghosts of his past – all the while trying to survive as the priority target of all the forces of darkness.

Affterworld is a novel in the epic fantasy tradition, but with many modern storytelling elements, including romance and intrigue. The perfect "read" for those who love fantasy and adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Jun 8, 2022
• ISBN: 9781667850979

Book preview

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©2022 William Matarazzo. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 978-1-66785-096-2 Paperback

ISBN: 978-1-66785-097-9 Ebook

To Christopher Matarazzo, Matt and Gina Stewart and everybody who supported me throughout the time I spent writing this.

Yeah, you too Tyler Ways.

Contents

Book I

The Barbed Flare

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Book II

The Union of Fire

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Book III

Journey’s End

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Book I

The Barbed Flare

The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be the beginning.

– Ivy Baker Priest

For those less experienced in the speech of the current Age of Man, refer to the encyclopedia in the back of the novel.

Chapter One

Two-thousand years since the Great Calamity. Eight-hundred years since Mankind had established its three kingdoms. Twenty-seven years since the Fiendthane had risen to power. Erik, unlike most people in his generation, had been constantly studying the Advanced Age of Mankind throughout his childhood. Before the Calamity struck, Man had the power of electricity at his fingertips; he could send metal at his enemies with the pull of a switch. Man could transport himself hundreds of miles without ever taking a step, and predict the forces of Nature herself, and he could even speak to others within seconds, all without a word spoken. So advanced, yet simultaneously so primitive.

For at the time, Man believed that magic was but an element of the imagination, and that what magic he did see had some sort of scientific explanation. He thought that Orcs, Elves, Dwarfs, Goblins, and even the Mer-People were simply elements of fantasy. Who could blame him, though, really? Not one of any of these creatures showed themselves to the race of Man during this era, for their minds had, over the years, become… well, for lack of a better term, feeble. Had they seen an Elf or Dwarf at that time, they would have likely gone mad, or been taken as such. But not the Men of the Unity Age.

Erik had been born into a family of noble blood, the rulers of the city North of the Calamity’s resting place, Dímnat, the name of which meant Stand Tall, in Dwarfish. The kingdom was named so because, compared to those of the other two kingdoms, the Dímnatians had hearts strong enough that they might be dangerous to their owners, and there was not a single bloodline in the kingdom that would be unable to defend themselves, weapon or no. The city itself was a sturdy one in match with its people, made with the stone-building tactics of the Dwarfs themselves. The keep was one of the very same stone, reinforced with steel-plated interior walls. This keep, however, had not been home to a proper king and queen for a very long time; this, of course, will be explained in time.

The Kingdom of Strathclyde, now this was the embodiment of a strong heart, because they had not had the luxuries of the city being built of Dwarfish stone; rather, they had the exquisite construction ability of the Wood-Elves at their side. Seemingly a lonely, run-down collection of farming villages, this city (whose name directly meant Stealth-escape in Dwarfish), Southwest of Torbren, had the best-trained army and strongest community. Their ruler was called Berold, a kind, gentle soul who lacked a queen, and who preferred the company of Nature on her own, yet he was a mighty, strong king indeed. The rumor was that the folk in the city were learning to use magic, as they had forged weapons strong enough to cut through Orc armor as if it were paper; in fact, the king himself was said to have an axe that could, when thrown, return to him on command. But Mankind had not been able to use advanced magic since the Primitive Age, when sword-fighting and Fiends were still at large.

I say advanced magic specifically because the third of the Kingdoms of Men, Muria, came the closest Mankind had come in millennia to using magic at all, and this was powerful but very basic. Rather than a king, Muria was ruled by a queen, and her name was Ardor. Easily the most fortified of the kingdoms and closest to the Calamity itself (it was merely a day’s walk Southeast from the Calamity to get to the city), Muria’s power came only and entirely from the dreams of its people. Ardor (or one in Ardor’s family; it was uncertain) had been trained in ways no man or woman had seen before, and she had thus developed a way of harnessing magical energy from dreams and using them to create beautiful and deadly things. It was a fantastic city to behold, and one named in Elfish; Muria translated from Ailiud, one of the three dialects of Elfish, to Dream-wall.

Now, there were three Ages that Men had lived through; the first of which being the Primitive Age, when Man was just beginning, and learning to use weaponry and magic for his own purposes. Being that they were just starting off, humans were quite susceptible to disease and many natural brutalities. Nonetheless, Man prevailed and the Primitive Age lasted until the year 1882, when he foolishly gave up on magic entirely and used the power of electricity instead. This moved Men into the Advanced Age, when the race had advanced so far as to be able, as mentioned before, to do things instantaneously, as if they had never abandoned magic at all. They could transport themselves into other worlds by staring at a panel run by electricity, and find out anything they could possibly need to know within seconds. But Mankind had become a very lazy, selfish thing, and still, they wanted more, and got easily frustrated if electricity did not cooperate; without even having the intellectual capacity to understand magic and the mistake they had made in tossing it aside, Mankind developed such an ego so as to say they were the superior race. The end of the age, however, proved them quite wrong.

It was the year 2019. On the twenty-first of June, during the most brutal and excessive heat wave in recorded history at that point, the Great Calamity struck; this was an enormous beast named Torbren. It brought fire and heat down upon Mankind, hardly flinching, whatever they did to fight it, for while their contained explosions and feeble weaponry drained its energy, it was practically invincible. What Men it didn’t eat or crush were incinerated, for if they were too close to the creature they would simply go up in flames; those who were within a fifty-mile radius simply poof! disappeared; ceased to exist.

The Fiends emerged, of course, for Torbren was to them what God is to Man, and many a man, woman and, sadly, yes, child, died by their hands. Torbren’s attack lasted but a few hours, and by the time the sun was beginning to set, Mankind was all but erased. All of the weaponry, technology, civilization; all of it had been destroyed. Two thousand men, women and children remained, and, despite Mankind’s previous disagreements, they threw aside their petty conflicts with each other and banded together, salvaging what they could to make weapons and shelter.

Those that tried to escape the Calamity by sea had no hope; women became the Sirens, and the men that went into the water simply went limp as soon as they came into contact with it and died from the boiling the heat caused. In fact, so much of the ocean boiled that Torbren left no safe area for Man; the continents of the world that once existed had fused together (not for the first time in Man’s history). What remained of the continents became one enormous island on which Torbren tormented Mankind; in fact once it finished its attack it retreated into the ground to hibernate – well, mostly. As I said, the weapons of Man were useless to damage the creature, but they drained it of much of its energy, which is really the only reason it left any man alive. It lost so much energy in fact that it only had enough to make it halfway into the ground, and there it stayed with its enormous shell sticking out of the center of this large continent, like an enormous, deadly range of mountains – these mountains, of course, were the spikes its shell sported.

Fiend is the word Men used to describe the horrid creatures that arose from Torbren’s attack; Orcs, Trolls (of all five breeds), Goblins, and Sirens are the most well-known ones, which you may have heard of, since they were named based on the tales and books of the world’s past. They had hidden from Mankind at the end of the Primitive Age because electricity greatly frightened them, though no Fiend would ever admit this. Of course, Mankind’s weapons in the Advanced Age only increased this fright. After Torbren’s attack, however, the Fiends had a sudden spike of inspiration; Men had no longer any resources to craft such weapons. Even when Men had worked up the talent to forge swords, spears and daggers once again, the Fiends were merciless, and would kill any who could not deliver a finishing blow on them in time. This began the war between Men and Fiends. The Fiends were beaten back, however, when the Pure Creatures revealed themselves.

Elves emerged from their forests with their magically forged swords and other weapons, marching ahead and destroying the Trolls and other Greater Fiends (among the Trolls there were such creatures as the Snâhîn-Oek, the naturally-empowered breed of Orcs), while Dwarfs fought alongside Men against Common and Lesser Fiends, teaching the Men their forging tactics as well as useful combat strategies. Mer-People emerged and fought as well; indeed, Fiends not born of water see it like molten lava. It burns at their skin and bones, and if they fall into a river or pool they stay in there until there’s nothing left; such a weakness that a bottle of water became part of a soldier’s standard weaponry. Just when it seemed the Fiends would be defeated for good, hope for Men failed again.

To lead the Fiends rose not an Orc nor a Troll, but a Man. He claimed himself to be the Ruler of Beasts, and this Fiendthane established a kingdom of his own; a dark, black keep surrounded by a wall of similar color built directly next to Torbren’s resting place. The Fiendthane, who adopted the name of Virion, betrayed the men of Muria to gain his power, and he relentlessly ordered attacks on the kingdoms, while at the same time breeding new Fiends that were even more brutal and fearsome than the ones before them. Virion caused a stalemate between Mankind and Fiendkind, and Erik grew more and more hopeless about the war with each passing day.

It didn’t help much that Erik had now taken the weight of being the prince of Dímnat on his shoulders. And what was worse was that people were expecting him to find a woman to marry so that he could become their king. As if he’d be looking for a love interest during a time like this! He never gave up hope entirely in Mankind if he could help it, but the fact that people had such hopes for him during a war which threatened humanity disappointed him.

Erik sighed and rose from his bed in the hot morning sun. He wasn’t upset or happy about the heat; since Torbren dwelt so near, it was always hot. After a satisfying stretch he walked to his wardrobe on which his blue-hilted katana lay, and he slowly drew it from its similarly-colored scabbard. Admiring the designs that Merian the swordsmith had etched into the blade, he sighed and gently asked aloud the same question his father had asked him when he requested this sword as his weapon of choice.

Why a katana? he couldn’t help but snicker to himself as he slid on his forest green sweater and bright blue, lightweight jacket. He didn’t bother to change from his woolen pants, since he wore them most of the time anyway. He tugged on his boots, then strapped his katana’s scabbard to his belt and slid the blade into it. When he looked into the mirror in the corner of the room, he did what he could to bring some sort of organization to his messy brown hair; when he gave up hope that it would ever look decent, he tied his grey, dirt-stained headband around his forehead, left his chambers and headed to the main hall of the castle, where his advisor, Barry, stood waiting for him.

Barry was not by any means an old man, but he had most certainly seen his fair share of battles. Erik’s parents had been slain years ago by the Fiendthane, and Barry had been there to see it. He had short, white hair and thick eyebrows of the same color. His face also sported the beginnings of a beard, and from the bottom of his chin on the left side of his face down under his collar ran a long scar which was quite gruesome when he’d received it; this was one of the few wounds he’d received from the Second War with the Fiendthane, the battle in which Erik’s mother and father had met their fate in.

A long staff was hooked on a strap across Barry’s shoulder. Erik knew the weapon, and he remembered well that a flick of a switch would reveal a blade inside the staff (it was made with Merian the swordsmith’s design). Barry had never been one for capes and cloaks; he wore only a lightweight but protective leather plate and brown trousers of wool, not painted brown but made so by dirt and mud he’d trudged through or fallen into throughout his years of travelling. His boots, like Erik’s, had seen more than their share of travel as well.

About time, joked Barry, giving Erik a friendly but forceful pat on the shoulder. He and Erik began jogging from the hall to the front gate, which two soldiers waiting for them opened so they could exit the castle. They came out into the city; the heat made them blink once or twice and they almost instantly began to sweat, but nonetheless many citizens had come out to greet the day, and many of them greeted them as they passed. Erik and Barry nodded or called back to them in response though the civilians knew they were in a hurry and did not keep them long.

Have I missed the action? asked Erik, keeping his hand on the hilt of his sword as they jogged along. Barry called for the guards at the wall to open the gate, and they quickly did so. They came out of the wall onto the dirt path that led from the kingdom, sprinting down a steady slope toward a tremendous wall of trees, dark in color and seemingly only half-alive. Erik remembered the forest well, however, and he knew that it was but a trick of the trees’ enchantment; the forest was very lush and beautiful within.

Don’t think so, said Barry. The troop only just made their way into the forest. We should be able to catch up if we run. Erik smiled, nodded and quickened his pace, and they finally reached the forest wall, stopping to listen for the soldiers ahead to determine how far they were. As they did so, Erik smiled at the old, ominous sign hanging from a branch of one of the trees.

Erik knew the sign was supposed to instill fear and uncertainty in anyone who entered the forest, but he could never help but feel only more excitement when he read it. Of course, he and Barry almost never came into the woods with the mere intention of travelling; they were on a Fiend-hunt. Orcs in particular had made a habit of coming down into the forest, close to Dímnat’s border as they dared, and Erik and Barry had made a habit of taking troops of soldiers into the woods to stop them.

They aren’t far, said Barry eventually, already starting on his way. Erik nodded and got on behind him.

Alright, let’s get to work, he said. They didn’t take long to catch up to the troop of soldiers that stood waiting for them, swords drawn and crossbows at the ready, hiding behind trees and bushes and speaking as quietly as they could. Erik and Barry joined them. Erik knelt behind a bush next to a soldier and surveyed the woods around them, scanning for Orc packs. This soldier was an old friend of his, called Cyrus. He had been Erik’s personal guard after the deaths of the king and queen, and over time they had simply grown close. They still took time to visit and catch up every so often, but recently it had gotten more difficult to find time.

Any Fiends? he asked, lowering his voice. Cyrus, the only man in the troop, as Erik noticed, to be wielding a bow, nodded, pointing his blade straight ahead of them.

An entire troop just up ahead, then down and to the left, he whispered. We’re pretty sure they’re setting up some sort of camp near the river, but we aren’t sure why they’d settle down so close to the water. We wanted to wait for you to make a move. Erik stood and nodded, trying to get a better look at the river. What he heard confirmed the soldier’s report; there were gruff voices speaking to each other in a harsh language – it was Orcish. Clearly the visitors were wary and spoke not in Man-tongue to keep their nasty secrets.

Let’s check it out, said Erik. The soldiers all nodded and rose, and Erik and Barry led them near-silently through the trees, slipping between the great trunks and large bushes, until they were on a hill just above the camp site.

Indeed, down the hill and just next to the trickling river, there was a large troop of Orcs there, at least fifteen of them. They were still speaking to each other and forcefully jabbing stakes into the ground for tents. A few stood by the river, mugs of who knows what kind of alcohol in their armored hands. Others were sitting around a small campfire with a tarp over it to cover the smoke; some sort of meat was roasting on a spit. No matter where the Orcs were, they were all in heavy armor, and they all had a weapon, and they were all ready for anything. Erik took a quick deep breath and turned to the soldiers, a few of whom were already loading bolts onto their crossbows.

Alright, let’s charge into the camp and take out as many as we can as suddenly as we can, he whispered. Archers, try to take out the ones setting up the tents. I’ll try to go for the guys near the river. Barry, you take the men and hit the ones at the fire; if any of them are unprepared it’ll be them. If you lose your swords, pick up a stick, stone, loose arrow or bolt – whatever you can use as a weapon. Use the spit as a spear if you have to. Let’s do this. Erik held his hand up. The archers drew back their crossbows and took their aim, their fingers already on the triggers. Cyrus nocked and drew an arrow back to his ear, holding his breath.

With a silent wave of his hand, Erik signaled the crossbows to fire, and so they did; the two Orcs setting up the tents fell dead with bolts lodged in their necks. Cyrus’s arrow twirled as it flew and buried itself in the skull of an Aeglac sitting at the fire. With battle cries Barry and the soldiers charged down into the camp and hit the Orcs around the fire hard. Erik and Cyrus took the surprise of the Orcs near the river as an advantage and attacked them. Erik drew his sword and slashed his target hard, throwing it off-balance. With one kick the Orc fell in the water. It thrashed around for only a few seconds before going limp.

Cyrus made short work of his Orc as well, cutting its head clean off with a single swing. They didn’t get a chance to even nod, however; an entire second hoard of Orcs brandishing axes and large branches came charging into the camp. They must have been further in the forest gathering wood while the ones the men had easily taken down were setting up camp. Erik and Cyrus were the first to charge into the fight.

Cyrus charged at a hideous Orc, his skin deep, disgusting purple and his hair loose and grimy. He wielded a wicked pike, which made it particularly difficult for the soldier to fight. He wore a chest-plate which seemed to be made of the faces of victims he’d fought before, and in his belt were all sorts of rotting body parts he’d stored for later.

Erik found himself facing a particularly large Orc with a wood-chopping axe. It stood nearly two feet taller than him, and it was missing many of its serrated fangs. It shouted in a deep, growling voice as it charged at Erik, and he swung his sword up to meet its downward chop. Their blades collided, but the Orc was greater in strength; its swing threw Erik off balance, but he still kept his grip on his hilt. He took a step back to avoid an upward swing from his attacker, then with both hands he slashed at the Orc’s chest. The Fiend grunted, stumbled and almost fell, but quickly swung its axe again. The force of this blow was enough to knock Erik’s sword out of his hand, and instead of hitting Erik with the axe the Orc simply charged into him and they both went into the river.

Erik sucked as much air in as he could before they went under the water. When he opened his eyes to look at the Orc, he saw that it now had several growing burn marks on its face – in fact one of its cheeks was already burned open – but it still had strength. With a final burst of strength, the Orc punched Erik hard enough in the face that his ears rang and he went spinning through the water.

His vision was only blurred from the blow, but he swore he was breathing in water and hallucinating because what he saw next he could barely believe was actually happening; a girl that looked about his age, clad only in what seemed to be armored shells across her chest, was bolting through the water faster than even a Siren could swim.

As the Orc tried to get to the surface, she grabbed it by the throat from behind and squeezed for a moment till it went limp, then swam around it and pushed herself off its burning chest toward Erik, who could have sworn that the girl had the tail of a fish. Erik blinked a few times until he could barely make out her face. She had a gentle, entrancingly beautiful face, and long brown hair that had she been out of the water Erik would have assumed would reach halfway down her back. He felt an arm wrap around his back and lift him upward until he broke the surface of the water.

Erik felt himself get thrown onto the dirt beach of the river, and then heard a splash behind him as if something had thrown itself into the water again. He heard no sounds of battle any longer, but it could have been because of his coughing violently, nearly driving himself to vomit. Only seconds after he was almost sure he had coughed up all the water in his lungs he blacked out.

Erik awoke sitting up against a rock. His vision was still blurred, but he could just barely make out Barry and Cyrus arguing. Orc corpses were everywhere, some missing their heads or limbs. There was no sign of the girl that had saved him. He was just able to make out what Barry and Cyrus were saying.

I refuse to believe that. There’s just no way that could’ve happened, Barry was saying, wiping his sword on the dirt. He flicked the switch on the staff, and in went the blade with hardly a hiss.

Well you don’t have to, said Cyrus, but that’s what I saw. Another one of the soldiers pulled a tomahawk out of an Orc’s skull and wiped the blade, admiring the weapon despite it being of Fiend craftmanship.

Then you saw wrong or something, said the soldier. There’s no way in God’s good name that a Mermaid would be this far from her people. Erik managed to stand up with the support of the rock, though his legs were still shakey and he felt a bit lightheaded. He tried to breathe in to speak, but he felt like there were fan blades in his lungs, and whatever air he got in went through in quick small bursts. Instantly he turned and threw up behind the rock, water also painfully making its way out of his body as he did so.

Once he’d caught his breathing and managed to stand straight again, he found Barry next to him, holding his sword and twirling it a few times. The apathetic expression on his face made Erik quickly realize he was doomed to hear a witty quip.

Morning, Sunshine, said Barry. Erik sighed and held up his middle finger. Barry let out a laugh and tossed Erik’s sword up, flipping it and catching it safely by the blade.

Think this is yours. He held out the sword, and Erik took the handle and sheathed it. After a few moments of trying to prepare himself to speak, he was able to get a few words out as he leaned on the rock, though it burned his throat.

I think the guy’s right, he said. If he’s saying a Mermaid got me out of the water, I think he’s right. I saw this girl swim up to me, but she was way too fast to be a human. Barry sighed and held his sword-staff behind him, hooking it securely back onto the strap over his shoulder.

Erik, how much water did you breathe in? he said. It was probably that Orc friend of yours wishing you well. Erik’s eyes widened and he stared at Barry for a moment as if he’d gone completely mad.

"Would an Orc really have risked helping me? Especially if there was even the slightest chance of drowning me too? he asked, only partially expecting an answer. Either way he punched me and tossed me aside, so he took his chance. I got saved by something, and it wasn’t one of you unless in the confusion you just happened to notice me somehow." He cleared his throat, attempting to rid himself of some pain.

When we get back give these guys a good meal and a trip to see their families, he said to Barry. Then, he lowered his voice as he spoke to Cyrus. Thanks, for the record. You fought well when this filth around us was still drawing breath, but you also seem to be the only one among us beside me that believes things can go… well, let’s say out of the ordinary. Cyrus gave him a firm pat on the shoulder.

Just telling him what I saw, he said. Erik smiled, turned to Barry and gestured to the path down which they had come. Shall we?

As they led the bantering troops back through the Forest of Imitation, Erik couldn’t stop himself from glancing back at the water, because every now and then he swore on his life that he saw something moving, almost like it was following them through the river. When Barry and the troop turned to head up the hill to the exit of the forest, Erik stayed behind to watch for further movement. When he saw none, he uncertainly turned and rejoined the men.

Chapter Two

The night was warm and while it wasn’t unpleasant it was hard to sleep. Erik tried opening his window, closing it again, taking off his jacket, rolling his pants up, putting his headband on, and even sleeping on the carpet on the floor, but nothing he could do would help him sleep. He knew he was overthinking it, but when he over-thought he began to overthink overthinking, and so he couldn’t calm his mind. He rose from the floor and looked out the window to see the moon’s position in the sky. He assumed that it wasn’t getting any brighter anytime soon; it was probably around one o’clock in the morning.

At last Erik sighed and pulled on his sweater. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw the face of the girl he’d been rescued by that day. He wasn’t sure whether he was scared of the face or entranced by it, but eventually he figured he had a definite answer; he grabbed his sword, put it on his belt, slipped on his boots and made his way quietly as he could out to the main hall.

My lord Erik, said one of the two gate guards with a quick bow as he approached. Where are you off to, if I may ask? Erik nodded to them in response to their bows. He’d never truly liked being bowed to; it made him feel as though the people bowing thought they were inferior to him just because he was a prince.

Just need a walk, he explained. Sleeping isn’t doing anything for me right now. I need to clear my head. The guards nodded and stepped aside as they opened the castle gate, and Erik gave them a half-bantering, half-legitimate salute as he stepped outside.

While he had indeed made up his mind to search for whoever had saved him that day, he didn’t lie about needing to clear his head in the least. So much had been going on as a result of his mysterious savior. Why were Orcs coming to the forest more and more often? Why on the good green earth would they settle directly next to water? Why had the troop they had encountered been so numerous? Clearly, they were questions only an Orc could answer, and now that those ones were all dead, he wouldn’t get such answers.

The city slept much better than he did. There were only small groupings of guards on the wall, and while vigilant they did not seem quite ready to fight if need be, and Erik could not blame them. It was hardly common that Fiends would venture to attack one of the three kingdoms in the middle of the night; lone hunters or parties on the road they would not hesitate to try to kill. Despite it being the wee hours in the cities, however, there were still watchful, wide-eyed soldiers looking at every corner of the kingdom, waiting, daring a Fiend to approach his doom.

Actually, not all corners of the city were watched tonight; Erik didn’t stop to call for the guards at the front gate to open it. He climbed up onto the wall at a corner not occupied by soldiers and leapt down with a gentle thud in the grass below. Once he was sure nobody had heard him, he got on his way around the wall and down the path to the forest.

Despite being used to the heat by now, Erik blinked a few times in surprise when he realized he didn’t feel as warm as he did normally because he had forgotten to put on his jacket. He never went anywhere without it if he could help it, although he was unsure why. Still, without it, he felt lighter, less warm, and faster. And, so, when he reached the forest, he began at a run.

Now, Erik didn’t really see any illusions despite the forest’s name; not many Men did. This was because during the construction of Dímnat, Elves who were quite skilled in magic put a spell over the forest to try to keep Fiends out (the Fiends would supposedly see visions of pure magic and troops of men charging toward them) and for a while the spell worked. It had become less effective over the years, for the Elves had been forced into forests by Orc-hunters, and they were scarcely able to renew enchantments they laid. Either way the illusions were generally of a person’s fears, and sometimes the magic did affect Men, though the enchantment was meant to target Fiends only.

Erik headed straight into the forest, barely paying attention to the sign and looking all around him for Fiends of any kind. As he walked, he drew his katana and started slashing large marks in the tree-trunks he passed; it was easy enough to get lost in the forest during the day, so there was no chance Erik wouldn’t make some sort of marking along his path to guide himself to and from the riverside. The scars in the bark which he was leaving were illuminated by the light of the full moon.

More than once he caught his foot on roots and vines sticking out of the ground and nearly fell on his sword, so he held the blade out toward the ground in front of him and felt his way along with it as he walked. He paid attention to every little detail, every single branch, leaf and bush that he wandered by, ensuring nothing was different; he had already come under the effect of the forest’s illusions, and when he looked down, his feet seemed to be stepping backward. Erik did his best to ignore it.

Eventually he found the clearing and the hill that led down to the river. The bodies of the Orcs and what was left of their camp were still down there. Erik half-slid down the hill, steep as it was, and when he reached the riverbank he stepped over the bodies, scattered mugs and broken or disarmed weapons until he reached the trickling water. It still flowed peacefully, if not a little forcefully, to the North, opposite Torbren’s position. Erik knew that if he were to follow the river miles and miles in its direction, he would come upon the Great Sea at the very edge of the world. Other than the trickling of the water, he heard nothing, and he didn’t see any movement other than the water, the leaves waving in the occasional breeze, and that which he made himself.

Erik remained there for what seemed like hours upon hours, waiting for something, any sort of sign of something in the water. Soon he sighed, took a few steps away from the river and sat down, leaning back on a tree and closing his eyes, letting the trickling water soothe him into dozing. He heard next to nothing.

The gentle chirping of wild insects sung in harmony with the river; these insects once called crickets hadn’t exactly been in abundance since the Calamity, but there were a few that did still exist. Insects had always been seen as a nuisance by Men in the Advanced Age. Erik, however, had always been fascinated by them, and he froze for fear of frightening one away if he felt or saw one crawling along on his arm or leg. Aside from insects he heard the occasional snap of a branch, caused by either a climbing animal or by rotting.

Erik’s eyes snapped open suddenly when he heard a sound like something coming slowly and carefully out of the water. When his vision came into focus, however, he didn’t have time to look at the river; what stood before him was something that struck such fear into his heart that he could do nothing, say nothing. He couldn’t even bring himself to reach for his sword.

Before him stood the Fiendthane himself. His long black hair blew with a terrifying grace in the gentle breeze, and his stern gaze pierced Erik’s mind. He wore a short-sleeved chest-plate of leather, covered in iron, under which he had on a blue woolen tunic. From his shoulders hung a long, blood-red cape that flapped in the wind along with his hair, and, in his fist, he held a long, black-handled scythe whose handle took the shape of some sort of serpent. His trousers were of pale wool, near the same shade as Erik’s own, and he wore immense brown boots lined with steel. If Erik knew the Fiendthane, he had more weapons stored somewhere, even if they were magically hidden.

Erik’s horror remained for only a moment; after that, it began to fade. He took in a slow, deep breath as he got himself to his feet and slowly drew his blade, and when the Fiendthane only darkened his expression Erik held it toward him. There was no reaction. Erik lowered the sword and shook his head.

You’re not real, he said as he sheathed it. You’re not. If you were actually here, I’d be dead already. With that he threw his fist, full-force, at the Fiendthane’s chin, and he revealed to himself just what he’d expected; his hand made no contact, and when he turned back around to face the man he was nowhere to be seen; the Fiendthane had been an illusion.

Erik sighed and slapped himself lightly in the face, trying to wake himself up a bit. He had to glance twice at the river; the first glance he took he saw a flash of something in the darkness, a slight disturbance in the ripples of the water following it. He took a few anxious steps toward the river, looking for any further movement.

As Erik leaned over to look closer, he heard the crackling of leaves being trodden on. His head darted in the direction of the crackling to see unnatural, pale green light swinging along toward the river. Accompanying the light were low, harsh voices, saying things he could not make out. Erik knew the color of the light very well, and only the creature he suspected to be approaching could walk this loudly.

"You’re real though," he muttered. He quickly found a hiding place behind some bushes, using his sweater for camouflage and holding his sword low to the ground to hide its shine in the pale early-morning light. Erik glared and clenched his fist when the bearers of the light arrived at the river.

There was a small troop of Orcs about six strong, two of which were bearing lanterns of the pale green color. Erik didn’t recognize the Orcs, but the leader of the troop he knew instantly; in fact if the steadily rising sun had not been so bright and Erik had seen only the armor the leader was clad in he would still have known who it was.

He was a large Orc, taller than any man or beast Erik had ever seen. He had a grotesque, appalling complexion, and his skin was greyer than most other Orcs’. In his hand was a blade – quite literally a blade, with only an opening toward the dull end to serve as a handle – which had seen many battles; it showed through the bloodstains that coated it. His armor was deep, deep black, near the color of obsidian, and mostly one piece. Erik couldn’t imagine how he got out of it, if he even tried. His boots displayed a Minotaur with the head of a serpent on the heels – the emblem of the Fiendthane. Most notable were his eyes. They gleamed a pale red in the sun’s glimmer, even under the forest’s canopy.

This was Gorod the Ruthless, the Fiendthane’s top general, and he and Erik were quite well-acquainted. The number of times the two had crossed blades was impressive, even to the Orcs, but the number of times Gorod had fallen back on his armies or sheer chance of escape to get away from losing battles with Erik rivalled it. It really was a wonder that Gorod had fallen back so many times; he was quite intimidating just to look at, and even more so when it came to strength and skill with his weapon. It was not unlikely that, in several of their encounters, Erik would have died by Gorod’s hand, but in the rare occasion that the Ruthless did get Erik in position for a killing blow, a Dímnatian soldier or Barry would always see it and leap in to intervene as soon as they could, for Gorod was not one to hesitate, especially for a personal rival. There was, of course, the few encounters where Erik had a second wind and parried at the best time to give the Orc a serious wound; nonetheless, their rivalry had carried on for nearly four years now, and they were both getting tired of the charade.

What the Ruthless and his soldiers were doing here tonight Erik had no idea, but he did not want to leave before finding out. He simply watched at first. Gorod led the troop toward the river silently. He knelt with a calm, collected face, picked up a stone from the dirt shore, and dropped it into the water. Then there was silence again.

What are we looking for again? asked one of the Orcs abruptly.

Quiet, said Gorod, in a voice that grated like bricks rubbing against each other, yet was smooth and calm. This was when Erik made his move.

Yeah, quiet, he said as he sprung out of the bushes. This gave the Orcs quite a fright, I can tell you, but just as soon as they realized it was him, they drew swords and readied crossbows, waiting eagerly for Gorod’s command to kill him. The order did not come yet, of course.

Gorod! said Erik, feigning delight. What a pleasant surprise it is to see you. Gorod grumbled and nodded to one of the archers in the group, who took pleasure in readying the bolt it loaded with full intent to kill.

You’re meddling in dangerous things tonight, Erik, he said. Though how it is you just happened along I do not know. Erik hardened his glare at the general, nodding toward the archer.

I wouldn’t do that, he said nonchalantly to the hissing Orc. You have no idea if I could have an entire troop behind me, waiting just as eagerly to hack you to bits as your boys are to shoot me down. Gorod froze, his red eyes flashing to the trees, and grumbled as he nodded for the archer to lower its crossbow. It did so grudgingly, though the bolt remained loaded.

What are you doing here on this lovely morning? asked Erik, who was in quite a foul mood at the sight of his rival and didn’t feel like acting half as cheerful as he was, but who was he to disappoint his guests?

Gorod spat in his direction.

We’re here by special request of the Fiendthane, explained the Ruthless. Tell you what, Erik, I’m feeling in a fair mood tonight, so I’ll warn you once; don’t interfere in our affairs this time. Head back to your kingdom. We’ll get what we want and head back to ours. Nobody has to die. Erik nodded, tilted his head to the side to crack his neck and took a few steps back, taking a glance over his shoulder.

Agreed, he said. He saw behind him a small gap between dirt islands, just out of jumping distance. Erik could leap most of the way and swim the rest. The Orcs could not. He twisted his foot to the side and tightened his grip on his sword; he knew Gorod was lying when he said that nobody had to die.

What is it you’re looking for? he asked casually. Gorod tightened his grip on his blade and muttered something in Orcish to the crossbowman. He clearly thought he was being rather secretive and giving an order Erik could not understand, but by now Erik could recognize it as the order to take aim, even if those weren’t the exact words.

Somebody of great importance to Lord Virion, explained the general. "Who it is is none of your concern." Erik plucked up his extra daring and looked not at the Ruthless, but at his archer.

Would it be a Mer-Person by any chance? he asked. Suddenly Gorod shouted and the Orc shot the wicked-looking bolt from its crossbow. Erik had expetcted this, and so he was prepared; he slashed at the bolt, knocking it into the dirt. What he did next he remained proud of for time beyond measure. He whirled around, threw his sword across the lake to the other side of the small gap, saluted to the troop and dove into the water. The muffled shouts of the Orcs satisfied him so much that, invigorated, he swam through the water faster than he ever swam before. At least, that’s what he thought until he realized he wasn’t doing all the work. He was being pulled along by something.

He only realized this as soon as he reached the patch of dirt he’d thrown his sword to, and by that time whatever or whoever had been dragging him through the water was gone as though it had been swept away by the current. Erik dragged himself up, retrieved his sword and took a moment to process what had just happened. When he remembered that there was a shouting troop of Orcs close behind, he scrambled to his feet, sheathed his sword, found one of his marked trees and ran faster than he felt was entirely healthy or safe.

Erik lost the Orcs when he made it to the forest’s exit. Fiends avoided coming close to the Kingdoms of Men as much as was possible, unless they were in or leading an army, and they dared not chase royalty to his own walls. Even Gorod stopped in his tracks when the great stone wall came into view, grumbling to himself and reluctantly ordering his soldiers to retreat.

When he made it to the wall, Erik followed his original path around to the more forgotten corner =; a soldier now stood there, and Erik waited for a minute or two before, to his relief, the soldier changed his position. Using large cracks or uneven bricks in the wall as grips, Erik climbed his way up and over to the inside of the city, which was still asleep despite the steadily brightening sky. When he got to the keep gate, the soldiers who had let him out were still there, though their watch was coming to a close; they opened the gate before he even reached it and nodded as he entered. Erik stepped inside and back to his room; the sun had not yet shown its face entirely, so he flopped into his bed, not even bothering to take his boots off.

It only felt like five minutes before Barry came into the room, knocking on the door as he opened it; no matter how long it felt the sky was brighter than ever. Erik sat up drowsily and realized his sword was still at his belt, and he fiddled with its scabbard to unhook it. Barry leaned on the doorframe and raised his eyebrow.

Rough night, was it? he asked. Erik sighed as he managed to get the sword off and yawned.

You have no idea, he said, I barely got sleep; I feel like shit. Guess something on my mind was keeping me up. As he rose and pulled on his jacket, Barry took the katana and put it on Erik’s wardrobe. He seemed unable to hold back a smile as he crossed his arms.

Maybe it was that Mermaid you saw yesterday, he said. Erik muttered a less-than-polite phrase under his breath, not daring to tell him that he was correct, and Barry waved his hands dismissively, walking back to the bed to stand across from him.

"Seriously Erik, all joking aside, there’s just such a low possibility that it was actually a Mermaid that got you out of the water. You and Cyrus just shouldn’t believe it. They left Erik’s room and went at a light pace through the castle to the front gate. Now, I’m not saying it’s entirely impossible; Mermaids and Mermen do lose their schools from time to time and there’s no specific proof that they wouldn’t help someone, but… look, you remember the last time somebody ran into a Mermaid, don’t you?" Erik groaned and reclipped the belt he’d been fiddling with, shaking his head in frustration.

Barry, I’m telling you that’s all stories to keep children away from the water at night, he said. "Mer-People have never been hostile to Men. If there really was some senseless bozo out in the Great Sea and he really did get drowned by something, it was a Siren. Mer-People don’t live in the ocean anyway; the saltwater burns their lungs if they breathe it in, which is the entire reason they tend to stay in freshwater in the first place." Barry stayed behind as Erik opened the gate (the gate-guards had just gotten to changing the watch) and made his way out of the castle.

Relocation exists, he called.

Shut up Barry! Erik responded. As he closed the gate, he heard his advisor laughing. Erik shook his head and sauntered down the street, smiling as the city came to life and greeted the morning. Despite the previous night’s lack of rest wearing away at him, he was met with several greetings and friendly waves from citizens as he walked past them, and he returned them, more and more honestly every time as his mood improved.

Hey, Erik! called a voice he recognized. When he turned, he saw Cyrus standing on the porch of a house and waving to him. He was wearing none of the usual armor of a Dímnatian general, but he wore a shortsword at his belt. Now he simply donned a deep red tunic, and pale, grey trousers, and, on his feet, he had leather shoes. Erik saw, mostly because of his expression, that he was not entirely giving a casual greeting, and more that he wanted to get Erik’s attention.

Nice to see you up and about, Cyrus said as Erik approached him, offering his hand to shake, you seemed unsettled yesterday. Erik shrugged and shook his head.

Nah, just thinking about what happened in the forest, he said, glancing over his shoulder at nothing in particular. It’s good to know you believe me though. Cyrus nodded and stepped aside to open the door of the house, inviting him in.

Yeah, I’m just telling them what I saw, he said. Erik nodded and followed him inside. The house was a small area, but cozy. There was a dark blue couch directly on their left as they stepped inside, across from which was a dark fireplace. Between the couch and fireplace was a glass table on which a bow, whose limbs were of birch-wood lined with silver and gold patterns, lay. Clearly his own, crafted by their city smith Rubeus. A half-open window let in the sun and breeze, and a small archway led to a room Erik could not see. Also a small chess-table was set up next to the wall on their right, under a painting of what seemed to be the Second War with the Fiendlord, as Erik could barely make out the face of his father brandishing his legendary sword. He quickly looked away from the painting.

If I’m being honest, continued Cyrus as he sat at the chess-table, inviting Erik to sit across from him, I think if anything they should believe you more than me; you’re the one who was in the whole situation. Can I get you something, by the way? Erik smiled and shook his head as he sat at the table’s other chair. They began moving the pieces at random, though they played no real game.

Barry thinks it isn’t true because of those rumors about the Mer-People, said Erik as they both kept their eyes on the board. If there was someone who was more superstitious than that man I’d be baffled. Cyrus shook his head with a half-grim expression.

Ah, can you blame him? he sighed. The Fiendthane using Dark Magic, flying abominations that could kill a man by screaming at him – a man can get superstitious from time to time. He glanced up from the board at last. I’ve even heard rumors of Virion training some Orcs to practice necromancy.

Erik met his eyes and shook his head with a partially disbelieving sigh of his own. Part of me wants to say, ‘right, sure,’ he said, but considering people about two millennia ago said the same thing about Fiends as a concept, I don’t want to doubt it’s possible. Cyrus exaggeratedly knocked one of Erik’s pawns over and cleared his throat.

Well, if it’s true, we’ll be ready, he said. Erik nodded slowly and, for a moment only, debated the subject of necromancy and whether it was actually a possibility. Before he gave himself an answer, however, his mind went back to the thought that had kept him awake most of the night.

I meant to ask you, actually, he eventually said, "since you’re the only one who believes me on this… say there is a Mermaid down there in the forest and you find her. Cyrus nodded, and he continued. Well, if you hadn’t gotten any luck yet, how do you think one would go about finding her?" Cyrus took a breath to answer, hesitated for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, covering his mouth with his hand thoughtfully. After a minute or two he sat up again and folded his hands, eyes on the board in his thought.

Well, I guess I’d put my hand in the water first, he finally pondered. If she saw me do it, and she saw that I wasn’t essentially getting tortured by it, she’d know I wasn’t a Fiend. Also, it’d be kind of a test to see if she’d drag me down, know what I mean? He and Erik laughed at Cyrus’s dramatic inflection of drag me down.

Maybe not even that, he continued. I’d just do whatever I thought of to show I didn’t want to hurt her. Erik nodded and both sat in silence for a few minutes. Erik considered following what Cyrus had come up with. At first it was only a matter of finding and thanking the possible Mermaid that drove him, but the memory of seeing Gorod in the forest the night before had been biting away at the back of his head. He had to be after her; there could be no other explanation as to why he had ordered the archer to shoot Erik after he brought up Mer-People. If he and the Fiendthane were trying to capture her and if she really was there at all, Erik couldn’t just avoid warning her.

Erik, Cyrus suddenly said, moving to stand, I have something I feel like I should give you. Erik nodded slowly after a second, and Cyrus kept his face grim and secretive as he stood and walked out of the room. He was gone for only a moment, and in the adjacent room he made not a sound. Eventually, he came back holding a small box made of polished oak wood, and he kept his face completely calm and straight. Here, he said, handing Erik the box. The only thing I’ve got to ask of you is that you don’t open it unless you really need to, and once you open it, don’t lose track of what’s inside it, because it’s pretty easy to, trust me. Erik took it hesitantly, looking at it as carefully as a child would look at a box of candy.

What is it? he asked. Cyrus gave a smile which Erik debated with himself over, trying to decide if it was devious or mysterious.

You’ll see when you open it, he said. Just… like I said, don’t open it until you need to. Erik gave him a confused look.

But how will I know when I need it? he asked. Smiling, he crossed his arms over his chest and made a comedic face. ‘Erik, this is the Box of Truth! You must not open it unless you need to be reassured that you’ll die alone!’ He and Cyrus shared another laugh, and Cyrus held up his hands.

I know, I know, it sounds really stupid, he said, and I promise you it isn’t like that. You’ll know when you need it, trust me. Erik nodded slowly and put the box onto the floor next to his chair, and they continued their half-game of chess. They did not truly play to a check-mate; eventually, they both essentially fell out of playing and Erik stood.

Well, I think I’d better get going, he sighed. Barry’s probably expecting me back by now. Thanks for, uh… I don’t know what it is, but thanks. Cyrus nodded as Erik picked up the box, and he saw him outside. As he walked off, Cyrus called back to him.

Good talking to you again! he said. Erik turned and waved to him with a nod.

You too, he said. Though he had the same temptation about the box as an apprentice hunter may have about shooting a bow at the wrong time, Erik forced himself to follow Cyrus’s instructions and keep it closed, though his curiosity nipped at him furiously.

Chapter Three

Erik warred with himself that entire evening. Did he dare leave the castle again, find his way back to the Forest of Imitation and try something whose success he was completely uncertain of? If he did, what would he say if the