The Beast's Decree

“The Beast's Decree”

The Battle of the Two Kingdoms
“FIRE!!!!!!!!” As the call was shouted, Prince Jakkon lifted his bow and shot at the mass of enemies charging at the gates of the town. Row after row of archers fired, and then crouched down to avoid being shot themselves, and to let the next row shoot.
After the first wave of enemies was down, the gate was opened just enough to admit a row of cavalry armed with lances. Before the enemy could regroup, the horsemen charged into the mass. The opposing army quickly split into rows and men armed with long spears charged to the front. The knights could not stop in time and before their charge took much effect, they were skewered on the lances. A particularly brutal spearwielder raised his weapon, let out a roar, and guffawed as his prey’s innards were ravaged by the barbed lance. Jakkon set his sights on that man and fired. The arrow grazed the shoulder of the spear wielder, but before Jakkon could take another shot the man ran back to through the ranks.
Jakkon’s town had been attacked about six months ago, too strong to be defeated, but too weak to push back the enemies. So the Flins now besieged the town of Emerland and tried to starve them out. It was working too. Many young men and women had been called to battle and everyday they seemed to be getting weaker and weaker.
Jakkon, a boy of eighteen summers, had been called to arms; because of the scarcity of food, he only ate one meal every other day. On they fought, taking up arms every couple of days, whenever the Flins felt strong enough to attack. Although Jakkon was quite good with a tanto, he was abominable with a bow. But looking down at the seemingly impenetrable wall of enemies at the gates, it didn’t really seem to matter how bad his aim was.
As he continued firing arrow after arrow, his mind wandered back to the day when this had all started. Many of the young children and their mothers had been outside the city walls, most just wanting to get out of the stony setting at least for a little while. These poor unsuspecting people were the first to be cut down.
The Prince remembered their cries when they noticed the black tide of Flins. It was too terrible to forget. He remembered one mother in particular, who had told her child to run while she sacrificed herself. Neither survived.
Soon his mind was drifting again to the first battle he had ever been in. During that one, unlike this one, Jakkon had been part of a siege: The siege that finally ended in surrender. Jakkon smiled as he remembered how nervous he had been during that first battle; but as soon as the first blow was struck, all of that nervousness fled him. The only other battles he had fought in had both been with the Flins: Both ended in defeat for the Emerrillians, but they did strike a major blow to the Flins. Daliuss Malcorii, the Flin leader at that time, had been struck down by Jakkon’s hand. That was how he became a prince, and also how this siege started.
Jakkon soon decided that he wasn’t doing much good at the walls, so he tried to find someplace that he would be useful. He forged ahead surrounded by the unending tune of the twanging of bows. Siege towers and grapnels rolled up and crashed into the walls. Jakkon saw generals shouting orders, but could only make out words like “Bring down…. tower” or “Cut…. grapnel”. Of course, for one who was quite bad with a bow, those muffled words were just what Jakkon needed to hear.
His bow dropped to the ground, and he slid his tanto out of its sheath and a dagger from his boot. In his haste, his hand slid over the tanto’s smooth, short, and thin surface, and he barely avoiding pricking himself. He ran quickly, but trying not to bump into the archers, Jakkon got to one of the grapnels just in time to see the fifth tattooed Flin crawl over the wall. He flipped the dagger over in his hand and threw it, but it flew far from the Flin out over the battlements. Not discouraged by this miss, for there was a harsh wind and Jakkon knew that it would be extremely unlikely that he would hit, Jakkon drew his tanto. He scrambled forward before his opponent could recover, and drew a long line of blood on the man’s exposed neck. The man coughed up blood and fell down onto the next Flin coming up the grapnel.
Jakkon ran, raised his blade high, and swung at the rope attaching the grapnel to the wall. The tanto smashed down against the rope, but did nothing except fray the end a bit. Annoyed by this, but not yet beaten, Jakkon ran back to the archers and grabbed a torch that was being used to light some of the arrows. With a torch in hand, Jakkon returned to the rope and quickly started it burning. The men on their way up had no way of stopping, so most either held on bravely or jumped off, preferring a quick death to a fiery one. The young prince continued taking out grapnels in this fashion for the remainder of the battle, and many others followed his lead, burning many of the remaining ropes.
The battle finally ended, and the losses were counted up for both sides. There were many more dead Flins than Emerillians, and finally, for the first time in many months since the siege, hope returned.
On the way back to the small barracks he was stationed at, Jakkon got many nods of approval and claps on the back. It made Jakkon feel good that he took part in a battle, and actually contributed to it. Jakkon remembered a time when he was afraid of even carrying a sword, but not anymore.
Jakkon entered the barracks, a small wooden building with bunk beds lining the walls, and a door at one end of the building and a window at the other. He took a seat on his bed, and started to take off his battle garb, when a hand grabbed his shoulder. Jakkon looked up.
It was Mellor, one of Jakkon’s fellow warriors. Mellor was a tall man with a black beard and dark black hair running in curls down to his shoulder. He was a few summers older than Jakkon, so they never really got to know each other, but a sort of unspoken friendship arose between them, as well as all the other soldiers, when the war began.
“You did a good job out there,” Mellor said, looking uncomfortable. Jakkon knew that Mellor probably wasn’t used to complimenting others, as the shifting of his feet showed. “I did what any other would do,” Jakkon said, wanting to quickly end the conversation and just get some sleep. “Maybe…” Mellor said thoughtfully. After giving Jakkon a quick nod and a smile, Mellor walked over to his bunk, and lay down comfortably. Jakkon, finally glad to have some peace and quiet, thought it best to do the same.
******
The large bell at the top of the castle citadel rang, its tune cutting into the cool crisp air of the morning, but as beautiful as the sound was, it was anything but comforting. The bell was the signal to get into battle positions, and because of this, called “The Bell of Certain Horror.”
Jakkon leaped out of his bed and blindly pulled on his shirt. Most of the soldiers were already rushing out of the barrack’s door, and Jakkon could hear the yelling of the ballista firing teams.
Over his cloth shirt went a chain shirt and a chain coif and then finally he put on his helmet and strapped on his tanto. When Jakkon got outside it seemed to him that all hell had broken loose, and that it somehow infected everyone in the town. No matter where his eyes darted, his mind was engulfed with the sights of crying children, screaming mothers, and young soldiers trying to hide their tears as they ran to the wall.
Jakkon shook his head vigorously and ran to the cobbled slope that led up to the wall. The only warning he heard of the oncoming wave of arrows, was the gargling of men whose blood was caught in their throat, choking them. Jakkon ran forward, trying to reach the line of shields that had just come up.
He ducked and swerved, hoping that by some stroke of luck, the arrows would miss. Jakkon made it to the shield wall with only a cut made by a quickly passing arrow.
The living wall slowly made its way up to the outer wall, and soon shields were being lowered, and in their place bows were taken up. Jakkon swiftly made his way across the wall just in time to see many grapnel lines being strung up, except this time they were being shot by some contraption similar to a ballista. This gave Jakkon an idea.
Ducking low so that he would not be seen, Jakkon placed two hands on one of the ropes and hopped over the wall. The rope burned a hole in his hands, tearing skin from his fingers and Jakkon was forced to let go early so he would still be able to fight. Rolling as fast as he could, to absorb the shock as he hit the ground, Jakkon quickly made his way to the machine.
Unnoticed by those who were manning the great contraption, Jakkon leaped up quietly and carefully made his way to the other side of the machine. As, he reached his destination Jakkon saw what he was looking for. A small lever of wood, manned only by one person stood just in his reach. A quick jab took out the Flin and Jakkon was soon hacking away at the lever.
A snap signaled that his job was done. Just as soon as that snap erupted, groups of Flin turned too see Jakkon. Although he quickly ducked behind the now broken grapnel-thrower, the damage was done. A small group of the enemy broke off from the rest, and carefully walked over to where Jakkon had been.
“He’s here somewhere, I know it!”
“Quiet…wait, what’s this? An Emerrillian who lost his way?”
Jakkon looked up just in time to see a smiling dirt covered face and the hilt of a sword, and all faded into blackness.
******
“Aw look ‘ere, the runt’s gone an’ woken up!” Jakkon repeated the words in his mind until he realized that they were not something he had heard in a dream, and rolled over. A room…no…not a room¾a prison, Jakkon thought as he gained his bearings. The walls of Jakkon’s prison were a dull gray with a plain wooden door that was bolted by huge latch. But not all of the walls were covered in stone.
Glossily polished metal tools were sitting on a low shelf like cruel jackals awaiting an easy meal. Not a few of these tools had sharp edges and serrations that had the look of being newly polished. He clouded mind began to ponder what they could possibly be used for, but he just couldn’t make sense of anything. Jakkon had all but forgotten about the voices, so when they sounded again, it came as a surprise.
“I’m gonna make you wish you’s had never woken up, runt,” The deep voice sounded again and with it came the sound of metal scraping against wood. Jakkon looked back up at the shelf in time to see a large brutish man take a long curved knife off of it. Jakkon studied the man, trying to quell the fear growing within him.
“Get away from him you filth!” Another voice sounded this one in a much more proper and smooth dialect. “This one is going to Tellentimmar; forget what the king says.”
Jakkon turned to look at the speaker. He found himself staring at a well-dressed man covered from the back down with a long flowing cloak. Black hair flowed down to the nape of the man’s neck before stopping short. Stern yellow eyes stared back at the young prince and the sight of those eyes forced him to turn away. Jakkon thought this man to be a noble, but who Tellentimmar was, he could only guess.
“Hey, who’s is you to boss me’s around!” The brute hollered.
“Get away from him,” A sword was taken from its sheath, “Now.”
The brute stepped back a bit, and as he did, Jakkon had his chance to see the gruff man’s face.
Jakkon was beholden to a face full of scars and disfigured features. The man’s lower lip was missing, and his left eyelid had been torn off. A cold bloated gray eye stood in its place.
Jakkon tried to hold back bile as the lidless eye stared back at him.
“What runt? Is you scared of me, eh? Well then, perhaps we can have a bit of fun!”
The scarred brute raised his knife and advanced quickly covering the ground between Jakkon and himself with long strides. The brute was towering over Jakkon in a matter of seconds, knife raised and the lidless eye gleaming. Oddly enough, as the brute stood there, Jakkon became vaguely aware of an extra limb sprouting from the behemoth’s stomach.
A sliver of silver poked forth from the giant’s dirty cloth shirt. The large man looked at it questioningly, and as blood began pouring forth from the wound, his expression changed to horror.
“No!” The brute screamed as his blood spouted out. The giant’s arms worked frantically as he tried to pile his insides back into his chest, but it was all for naught. The cries ended abruptly as the sword was forced deeper and his body overbalanced. The now-dead brute tumbled to the floor.
As the body hit, the sword was pushed back up through the passage it had created with sickeningly smooth precision. Jakkon began retching but only thick colorless liquid was expelled from his empty stomach. Saliva spewed forth and it took all of Jakkon’s willpower to quiet his coughs.
“Better?” The cold voice came again, a hint of malice in its tone.
Jakkon glared back—he had completely forgotten about the second man until now.
“Now, now, there’s no need to be angry…yet.”
Jakkon continued to glare.
In an instant the man was upon him, raining blow upon blow onto Jakkon’s body. The prince yelled out in pain as the man’s fist crashed into his abdomen numerous times, and as the world faded, Jakkon could have sworn he saw a twisted face smiling maliciously down upon him.
******
Jakkon faded in and out of consciousness and words that were said melded into an incoherent gargle.
“Yes oh noble one I-”
“What! But we-”
“Master I-”
The words continued coming (though they meant nothing to Jakkon) and soon he found himself tiring of them. They were like mist: Jakkon knew they were there, but whenever he tried to understand them, they just slipped away.
To Jakkon it seemed that much time had passed but he had no way of knowing how much, or even if any time had passed. That thought scared Jakkon and he redoubled his efforts to make something out in his dark prison. I’ll not be left to die in this…place, Jakkon thought as he frantically tried to run, his legs pumping uselessly. His mouth opened in a soundless scream and his eyes gazed erratically over the dark landscape. And then he saw it; his gateway to freedom.
It started as a blurry gray fixture in the dark plane but soon widened into a sea of unconditioned stone. Jakkon shook his head; he could see walls…and¾ was that a swing?
The young man could remember the toy, in his younger days he loved the contraption: the feeling of flying and the exhilaration of coming back down. He rushed towards it.
It was getting closer. Yes he was beginning to make out more and more details¾it was almost in reach!
A cold wave a horror and sickness washed over Jakkon and his retching began anew as he studied the seemingly disease ridden object. A pair of legs¾pantaloons, scabbard, and all¾dangled in mid-air, a string from the top of the cave looping around the midsection.
Jakkon blindly stumbled backwards, his eyes fixed upon the legs. He could not tear his eyes away from the horrible site, even when he fell down and his legs twisted awkwardly under him. Not a thought raced through Jakkon’s now-frozen mind, not a glimmer of hope or disgust, just emptiness.
“A masterpiece, isn’t it?”
The light voice echoed off the interior of the cave; Jakkon continued to stare at what was left of the torsoless man.
“I believe you’ve already met him, a pity that you couldn’t have gotten to know him better, but such is the way of things.” An air of self-importance filled the speaker’s tone.
“The only thing that is important now is me…and possibly you. You see, it is hard to find capable servants to do my bidding, and I do not suffer fools. But perhaps it was just his incapability to feel any emotion besides greed¾only I am allowed to feel that. When one does not need sleep, one usually becomes very…protective of his property. ”
A figure invaded Jakkon’s mind, replicating pictures of itself in every corner of Jakkon’s consciousness. The prince’s heartbeat quickened; he couldn’t see anything except the face, that horrible face!
“Jakkon is it? You seem surprised to see me…but then again as are most impetuous humans.”
A full body took the place of the snarling face and the sight of it was simply overwhelming to Jakkon. In place of a tongue were two furiously clicking mandibles, and rows of sharp black teeth lined the monster’s mouth. Trailing down the back of the thing’s form was a long slithering tail, its end spiked and dripping some foul liquid. Black hair streamed down its face in droves, and tiny yellow eyes accented its already frightening features.
“Do I…frighten you?”
A cold laugh issued from the monster’s hideous mouth and Jakkon knew no more.


Touched by a Demon
Losttrae Malcorii looked at the face of the beleaguered man and sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day.
“What is it this time?” She asked, impatience adding a bite to her tone.
“Mistress, our soldiers have made the attack that you ordered—and all goes well on that front; of that you can be sure—but…well…”
The soldier faltered for a second but then quickly ended with: “Dollty Yelloweyes is missing!”
The old crone bolted up in her seat, “WHAT?”
The soldier stood in place, his lips quivering and his body quaking. The woman sitting on the throne expected no answer and she waved the messenger away. He was more than happy to oblige with her request.
The crone sat with an arched back and stern eyes until the man was gone, but as soon as the room was empty she slumped back and let out a long, mournful sigh.
Queen Losttrae Malcorii was not a very tall person but by no means was she short. Then why couldn’t she shake the feeling that she was small and insignificant? The queen’s auburn hair flowed down her back and covered the cheeks of her weathered and aged face. Even in her old age Queen Losttrae had maintained her beautiful features, but now in this time of war her face seemed to lose the features of a younger woman and gain the features of one closer to her age.
The old crone barely noticed any of the changes that had taken place; she had been too busy trying to learn the job of a man. War was the ground of kings and generals and even commoners, but it was of no concern to a queen. But now that Daliuss Malcorii had passed into shadow Losttrae was forced to take up command of the forces.
Most of the work was left to the generals and a few battle-hardened dukes, so that left the biggest decisions to the queen. At least that’s what they had told her.
The queen had been following the same pattern for weeks. First a man would come in and tell the queen what news of war he had, and after him would come Rahhignar, the former king’s war advisor. The advisor was a small portly man who would have looked almost gnomish if not for the scowl that always seemed to invade his features. Rahhignar would usually give the queen some lesson or other on famous battles and war strategy. Whenever a decision had to be made by the queen and it concerned the war, Rahhignar was always there to help.
It was just then that the small man took the initiative to come into the throne room unannounced. A guard trailed in Rahhignar’s wake yelling at him to stop, but the queen silently motioned for the man to get back to his post.
“And what is it that I must learn today?” The queen asked, a slight smile playing upon her lips.
Rahhignar ignored the comment and breathlessly said his message.
“My queen, your daughter…has been taken!”
Queen Losstrae Malcorii prided her self as a very level-headed person, a woman who could hold her own, even with men. But something within her flesh tore at that moment, and with a forlorn sigh, she fell from the throne and her eyes did not open again.
******
“Will she be well?” Rahhignar questioned, not bothering to hide his anxiousness.
The alchemist sighed and turned slowly towards the small man.
“I-I fear that this war has taken its toll on our beloved leader.” The learned man stuttered.
“The deep sleep that she has entered…will most likely not abate. It will be a trying time for us all.”
Rahhignar growled, half in anger and half in sadness, as he knelt down and said a quick prayer.
“I will muster the councilors; we must decide what is to be done concerning the throne and the war.”
The alchemist nodded and left the throne room, taking with him a feeling of emptiness that would forever inhabit his conscious being.
*****
Tellentimar stood silently over the prone figure of Jakkon. How small they all seem, the demon silently mused. Always looking for more trouble and more wealth…and of course more power.
Tellentimar repeated this statement aloud, and when Jakkon did not answer, the cruel demon reached deep within Jakkon’s conscious and loudly pronounced his sentiment in the unconscious man’s mind.
Jakkon sat up with a start, but as soon as his eyes met with the unattractive form of Tellentimar he opened his mouth in horror. Jakkon turned onto his stomach and attempted to crawl away from his repulsive adversary, but it was all for naught.
The feeble prince had crawled less than two paces before a long tentacle-like appendage grabbed hold of his midsection. Jakkon struggles vigorously but he could not break free of his prison, and slowly he was pulled toward his captor.
“Do not struggle…you won’t like the pain.”
As if on cue, the tentacle around Jakkon tightened and squeezed the air out of the defenseless prince’s lungs. But as suddenly as the choking ended it stopped. Jakkon’s worn out body hit the floor as the tentacle released him. A stabbing pain in the poor man’s back threatened to force him back into unconsciousness, but somehow he held on.
“Come now…boy. Get up.”
Jakkon did not even attempt to make a move.
“All right…we’ll just have to do this another way.
As the young man lay there and contemplated what the horrible demon had meant by “another way”, he was suddenly lifted into the air as a taloned foot somehow kicked upwards. Jakkon was aloft for what seemed like minutes and just before he came crashing back down, powerful hands gripped his waist and directed his feet to the floor.
Walk
The thought came into Jakkon’s mind with such force that before he knew it, his feet were moving on their own accord. By now the poor man was fully aware of his surroundings but it seemed that the control of his functions was not his own. Step-by-step, Jakkon was brought closer to…something. His mind a whirling blur of questions and worries, his psyche was overwhelmed. Worst of all, no answers seemed forthcoming.
Stop
As abruptly as it had begun, Jakkon’s short walk ended, and he found himself standing in front of a lavish room, its rock-hewn walls covered with tapestries and its floors with carpets. As the prince found that he now had complete control of his body, he cast his eyes over the room, taking in everything. But as Jakkon stood there peering into the room, he noticed something quite strange. There was a bed (which in itself was an oddity as the beast had claimed to need no rest) and under the covers of this bed was a barely discernable figure…but there it was.
The prince slowly and cautiously walked over to the bed and gingerly reached for the covers. His hand barely made it half way.
The figure in the bed leapt up, its fists leading the way. Jakkon was immediately sent sprawling onto the floor, the figure towering over him. As his mysterious attacker raised their foot in an attempt to crush the stunned prince’s nose, Jakkon gathered his wits and rolled out of the way as the foot came crashing down. Taking a breath to steady himself, Jakkon leapt back to his feet and settled into a comfortable fighting stance.
When his assailant came at him again, Jakkon was ready. Waiting for the forthcoming punch, Jakkon grabbed his attacker’s wrist and twisted it behind his enemy’s back. A shriek issued from the lips of the struggling figure…a shriek that was too high-pitched to be that of a man.
The prince slowly reached over to his felled opponent’s trembling cheek, and turned their face towards him. Large green eyes and a small pair of quivering lips stared up at him. The girl’s soft and pale face showed that she could not have seen more than sixteen summers, and her shoulder-length auburn hair showed sign’s of recent butchering. Two small ears could be seen hiding behind the wall of brown silk that curled around her pale neck.
So taken aback was Jakkon, that his grip on the young girl loosened ever so slightly. The girl quickly went into action, her soft face twisting with rage as her teeth bit into Jakkon’s cheek. The prince roared in agony and batted at the head that held the teeth in place, but the girl stayed firm. Jakkon suddenly stopped in the midst of it all, his hand reaching up to his neck where he felt a warm liquid running down into his cloth shirt. He paid no more attention to the girl’s ferocious bite as he raised his hand level to his eye.
Jakkon found himself staring at his own blood, and as he let it slide through his fingers, a drop fell to the ground. No sooner had the liquid touched the ground, than a pack of small vicious rat-like creatures scurried up to have their fill. The young girl drew back and growled in fear and disgust. Now that the pressure was released on his neck, Jakkon could feel incredible pounding pain as more blood was pumped out of the wound. But as blood continued to drip from his fingers, he could not help but stare, mesmerized, at the sit of the blood-drinking rats.
“I see that you have an interest in the other occupants of my humble abode.”
Both Jakkon and the girl turned to look at the mockingly human form Tellentimar, his body casually draped against the side of the threshold.
“But, of course, I did not bring you both here to marvel at the wonders of my world. You see, I have somewhat of an…interest in the happenings of humans, especially in times of war. I’ve always watched from afar, but now, I think that it’s time for a bit of fun.”
Before Jakkon even had time ponder what the being meant, he was swept into a whirlwind of light and sound, and as his senses began to fade quickly away, he couldn’t help but think that this was just the beginning of a very bad day.
******
Rahhignar pointed to a point on the map, his gnarled finger pushing a figure of a soldier across to the place he had indicated.
“We’ll move this pikeman company over here, to the Western Plain, and from there they’ll be in a perfect position to ambush the supply wagons.” Rahhignar explained as many councilors shook their heads and murmured in agreement.
“Good I- ”
Rahhingar was never able to finish his sentence, and suddenly he found himself being swept into a vortex of lights and sounds. When he regained his bearings, he found himself in a large room carved out of marble, equally confused councilors to his left and right. On the opposite side of the room, he could see other men coming in the same way he did, some of them he knew as the men in governmental positions in Emerland’s society. Seemingly out of thin air, three figures appeared in the center of the room, two of which he most certainly knew. One was the queen’s daughter, Faery, her hair as unkempt and wild as it usually was, and the second was the young man who had slain King Daliuss Malcorii.
The only thing restraining Rahhignar from simply rushing up to Jakkon and throttling him with his bare hands was the interest that he had in the third figure in the middle of the room. The figure had the handsome features of a young man who had been through much more than one of his years could have, but there was something else that made him seem out of place. As the figure shifted and turned to face the opposite side of the room, the small man was able to put a finger on the thing that made this figure seem different. It was definitely the tail.
“I am sure that you are all wondering why I, Tellentimar the Great, brought you to this place. The truth is, I have grown bored with my life as it is and I yearn for something knew. So consider yourselves lucky…playthings…for I have chosen you as my new source of entertainment.”
The being’s voice echoed through the cavernous chamber, his obvious threat having an effect on the younger councilmen, but the elder ones stared at the figure in disbelief.
“So,” The figure continued. “As my first order, I wish for a union between the Flins and the Emerrillians…a union made by the marriage of Lady Faery and Sir Jakkon.
The stares of disbelief turned into sparse shouts of outrage, but all noise stopped as a young man ran towards the center of the room, a sword gripped in his outstretched hand. The blade never touched home, and the young man found himself staring into the snarling face of Tellentimar…just before a pair of vicious jaws tore his neck from his body.
“Do not test my PATIENCE!” The beast shouted as flecks of flesh flew from his blood-drenched mouth. The men stared on in terror, no longer making any sound.
“Good…now isn’t this better? You will tell the normal townsfolk nothing of what has transpired, they need not know. If my orders are not followed, believe me, the remainder of your life will not be pleasant.”
The demon made as if to walk away, and then stopped suddenly.
“Oh, I almost forgot, do not think that I will forget about your little town, for I have eyes everywhere. Ta ta!”
Just as the sounds and lights began coming over Rahhignar once more, he had a strange feeling that this was a bad end to a very bad day.