Mists of Llorn, Page 3

time."

  „I don't think we're the first ones here," said Myrsade. The absence of light had perfectly concealed a great mass of scattered corpses, mangled and brutalized. Some had the appearance of berserks while others were beyond recognition. A few looked to have been dead for ages, reduced to armored bones.

  „We should never have come here," said Yko, his face as serious as death. „Get out! Quickly!"

  They ran for the doors as swiftly as they could but a strong wind swept through the hall and pulled them shut with a deafening clamor. They pushed against the doors, Myrsade's face going red as she crashed her shoulder against them, but the strength of the Bruhrim failed her and the doors refused to budge.

  „This is his hall, his decisions stand, and he has decided that we shall not be leaving," said Yko as he made his way towards the throne.

  „Who's?" she asked.

  He turned his head briefly and gave her a solemn look. „Jarl Frynn's."

  „How- how can that be?" She darted her eyes between Yko and the being on the throne, which remained lifeless but somehow seemed to stare forth with an eyeless gaze.

  „During the days of Aegoth the True, it was believed that when a true warrior was denied a warrior's death," Yko began, „he would be denied the afterlife he had spent his existence fighting for. If he was strong enough, he might linger on, refusing to pass into Hell, waiting for a worthy foe to grant him the true death he deserved He would become this creature... a Draug."

  „Then I'll grant him his wish!" She drew forth her Kaspian steel blade, gripping the hilt firmly while trying to maintain a fixed gaze on the being.

  „No, child," said Yko, brushing her shoulder dismissively. „It is not that simple. You cannot kill a Draug with any metal or fire. You must defeat him with a show of unquestionable courage."

  „How do I do that?" she asked.

  „No weapons... no armor."

  „What! That's insane!" She glanced at the steel hanging from her hand. „My steel can cut through bone, easy."

  „Not these bones." Yko had already removed what armor he wore and had started to remove his robe, letting it drop to the ground by his side.

  „No, Yko," said Myrsade. „You're not a warrior. Let me do this."

  „You are here because of me, and I will not watch you die for me." He gave her a quick, smiling glance. „I may surprise you."

  „You can't." Myrsade gritted her teeth. Stupid old man would get himself killed if she didn't do something. He stepped forward, wearing only his trousers and a faint smile, a proud, fearless look on his face. „Damn it, Yko!" In a moment of sheer panic, she swung a closed fist at his face, knocking him off his feet and into a rude dream. She stood over his unconscious body for a moment, lamenting what she had done.

  Her sword dropped to the ground with a clank, and she began to remove the leather pieces on her body until she wore only linen. She hesitated a moment before stepping forward, her fists clenched by her sides, teeth bared at the monstrosity in front of her. „May the afterlife find you and grant you peace."

  „Blood of the Jotnar in my hall..." The voice came from the being, but its mouth did not move. "Half-breed... show your worth..."

  „My pleasure," she growled.

  Blue flames erupted from the creature's eye sockets, and in one fiercely quick moment, it rose and came at her, sword gripped in its hand. The sword seemed larger now than it did on the throne, and as it came, hungry for her flesh, she barely managed a roll to her side, a loud clank as the ancient metal hit the ground. The creature turned and came at her again with a sideways blow that had surely cut her in half had she not jumped back. She looked to her Kaspian steel, resting on the ground, fighting an urge to pick it up.

  She spun round, dodging blow after blow. The Draug was heavy but viciously quick, almost as quick as she was. She jumped up on the enormous wooden throne, and as the Draug's blade came down at her, she swept away, allowing the blade to lodge itself in the throne. A ghastly roar spread through the hall as it failed to pull the sword free, the blue flames pulsing with rage.

  „Now we've got a fair fight!" she snapped at the creature, who responded by throwing a huge skeletal fist at her. She ducked below it, spun behind it and jumped on its back. The smell of decay was overwhelming as her face was pressed up against its neck. She ripped one of the metal platings off the creature's back and threw it to the floor. She then stabbed her hand into what little flesh remained, digging through rotten skin, muscle and bone until she held the Draug's heart firmly in her hand. She gritted her teeth, jerked the arm back and jumped down to the floor as the creature began to shriek and wail. She looked in her hand at the putrid black heart that oozed ancient blood, and threw it with force at the wall, leaving nothing but a dark stain.

  The Draug fell silent to the floor. The blue flames had died out, leaving only the Wispfire still breathing. Something was different, though. The hall was not as dark as it had been. The moon's light had washed into the room, casting away what darkness that had reigned before.

  „Be at rest, at last." She stood over the Draug's body, panting silently, her hand dripping with pitch-black blood.

  „That was... something." Niall stood behind her, with wild eyes and a gaping jaw. He glanced at the Draug before moving his attention to Yko, who lay on the ground, serene as a lake at dawn. „I can't believe you knocked him out."

  „He'd be dead if I hadn't."

  „Perhaps," said Niall. He knelt in front of Yko, holding a wet rag to his mouth.

  „What are you doing!" she snapped.

  „Calm down, half-breed. It's only Greythistle. It'll relieve the pain you dealt to the side of his face."

  She nodded slightly, but kept a wary gaze on him as he treated Yko. She wondered what Yko might say when he'd wake up. Would he be glad? Angry? Proud? It didn't matter. All that mattered was that he lived and the Draug was dead.

  „You should have some too," said Niall, handing her a small bowl with silvery liquid.

  „No," said Myrsade, wafting a hand at him.

  „Please, Myrsade," he begged. He had never called her by name before. It felt strange. „Put aside your mistrust, only for a second. The Greythistle will make you feel better."

  „I said no," she snapped.

  „As you wish, Ydaari." He gave a sigh as he reached for his backpack, rummaging around in it for something.

  Myrsade turned around and started picking up her armor pieces. She clasped on her grieves, secured them tightly and then groaned as something nicked the skin on her back. She quickly turned and saw Niall standing behind her, holding one of the Isafordic arrows in his hand, her blood garnishing the point.

  „Filthy craven!" She smacked him with an open palm, sending him off his feet and to the ground like a mistreated whore. She moved toward him, teeth gritted and fists clenched, but as the world began to twist into a blur she was forced to stop. „Wha- what did you do?" Her face felt numb and the shapes around her began to melt together. Her right leg collapsed under her weight, sending a sharp pain up her body as her knee crashed into the cold stone floor.

  „You have your duty," he said. „I have mine." She couldn't make out his face.

  „Your... duty?" she asked. „What... duty?"

  „Well, I was hoping the Draug might handle it for me, but you wouldn't let the old man fight, so you forced me down a different path, you naughty half-breed. You complicated things and made them messy." He was moving around in front of her, but she couldn't tell what he was doing. „My master wants Yko Dali out of the way, so here I am." She barely felt it as he grabbed her chin with force and took something cold and sharp to her face. She felt him cutting, and it hurt, but she didn't so much as cringe. She felt an urge to scream, but her face was dead and no longer responded to her commands. „You never liked me, I could tell. But, you know what? I never liked you either. Grumpy half-breed bitch. Never once have I seen you smile, so I'll give you a grin you can take with you beyond the fog, and you can smile as t
he gods of Lords of Hell drag you into their realm." She felt the blade in her mouth, and it cut against her cheek. She tried to scream but she couldn't.

  He pulled the blade away when he finished. Tears flowed from her eyes and she began to sob, shuddering at the feeling as blood ran down her neck. Suddenly, something stirred under her pale skin. It filled her with a warm sensation that made her feel alive again. As her vision began to clear, she realized feeling had returned to her face and she could move again. She gritted her teeth as she looked upon the traitor, rummaging through Yko's belongings, bloodied blade still in his hand. She rose to her feet, as quietly as she could and charged him as he had his back turned. She grabbed the arm wielding the blade and twisted it as hard as she could, a loud crack as the bone shattered.

  „Aaagh!" Niall screamed and cried out all kinds of words, most of them lost in drooling groans.

  Myrsade snatched the blade as it dropped to the ground and held the edge to his throat. „I look forward to our reunion in Hell," she whispered in his ear.

  „How- how are you still alive?"

  „I am Bruhrim," she said, baring her teeth. „You may try to end me with any poison of man, and you may fail." She slid the edge against his neck, blood gushing out of it as it opened wide. She pushed the body and let it flop to the ground.

  Yko looked peaceful. Niall's blade hadn't touched him yet, but the poison had. She stared down at him, tear running down