Fantasy I

Hail, sleet, snow and ice drove themselves in vain against the strong buttressed double walls of Castle Arakull. Both its armoury and its occupants were unparalleled in the land, for Arakull was home to the most elite of the king’s royal knights. Arakull was built aeons ago, by the kings of the north, and to the north it had always belonged.

Firelight threw a warm orange glow out the frosted windows of the upper hall, as servants scurried to serve pheasant and wine. The great feast was raucous with merriment, so loud that no knight in the upper hall could hear anything at the other end of the hall, let alone at the great outer portcullis. Nor would any have taken the immense effort to clear the window of frost and look out. If any had, they would have seen nothing but a sea of white, for the swirling storm rendered invisible any unlucky travelers still outside.

***

“We’re going to die, aren’t we, Nephamael?” The elf moaned and stumbled again in the snow. A great snow leopard staggered to his master’s side and pressed against the elf’s frozen body. Inch by inch, the daemon managed to prise the elf’s boot from where it was caught in a snowdrift.

“No, master, don’t lose hope. We’ll get there.”

As they continued their struggle up the desolate hill, the wind roared again, determined to thwart their advance to the only avenue of safety they had left.

***

The great snow leopard’s silvery-white coat was matted with dried blood from a deep tear across his left shoulder. Numerous slashes covered his body, and the least, yet now greatest, of his sufferings, was a thorn embedded deep in the pads of his paw. With each step that he took, it stabbed agonizingly into swollen flesh. Yet he fought the pain, concentrating instead on the task at hand.

The elf wanted to be known as sellsword, but looked nothing like one. The elf’s lips were blue with cold, and miniscule icicles hung from pointed ears. Frost clung to the lining of a thick black cloak thrown carelessly about the elf’s shoulders, the sable contrasting sharply with the long silver-blonde hair that trailed down the back. What had once been a golden circlet had been horribly bashed into the side of the elf’s head, covering the pale face with dried blood. It had caked solidly over both the elf’s eyes, effectively rendering the supposed sellsword blind. When the elf put a hand to the wound, it came away bright red. The leopard jumped back as bright red drops fell and stained the snow.

They were barely halfway up the hill when the elf collapsed, breathing laboured.

“Save yourself.. Nephamael.. I can’t..”

“No!”

The leopard growled angrily and went back to the fallen elf. He pushed his noble head under the elf’s left arm and winced as the elf’s hand brushed his torn left shoulder. The daemon felt his own strength ebbing with the collapse of his master. Half lifting, half dragging, he tugged the limp form up the hill, looking over his shoulder from time to time.

***

How long it took them, neither knew, but the journey up was an eternity of stabbing pain and biting cold. The daemon kept stopping more and more frequently as sleet got in his wounds and the elf’s wound froze. Their bodies were wracked with a pain like they had never imagined could exist.

Eventually, when they reached the great portcullis, they were worn out and completely exhausted. The leopard gasped with the effort, collapsing in the snow. Thankfully Castle Arakull now shielded them from the worst of the storm, and they rested for awhile as a strong but bearable wind blew around them.

“Master.. we’re here...”

The leopard’s voice brought the elf out of dazed stupor. He had done the impossible, getting them both to the Castle. Now, pain or no pain, the elf had to gain entrance before they froze to death.

Slowly, agonizingly, the elf fell from the leopard’s shoulder into a kneeling position. The elf swayed slightly, head resting against the daemon’s cold fur. A small tear slowly wound its way down onto the leopard’s neck, where it froze instantly.

“Nephamael.. I love you. Thank you..”

The leopard nosed his master’s shoulder absently, but his senses were tingling. Something was wrong...

As elf turned away from daemon, the snow on the ground shifted, throwing both off their feet. The impact of the elf’s head on the door drove the shining circlet deeper into the wound, elucidating a strangled cry of pain. The daemon winced too, the pain shared in the inconceivable link between elf and daemon. Blood was flowing freely now, falling in crimson splashes over the ground. The elf put every single last ounce of strength into staying upright.

One last heave..

The elf was finally standing, using the door as a support, when the snow cruelly shifted again. It grabbed at the elf’s boots and pulled hard. Every jarring movement amplified the pain of existing wounds as the elf slid back down. One hand was pressed against the door in a futile attempt to stay upright, but to no avail. A streak of dark blood ran down the unmarked wood, and the elf never got back up again.

The leopard moaned, feeling more and more dizzy as his master fainted away. But he had barely opened his mouth to call for help when a long iron shaft punched down and buried itself in his throat. The daemon’s blood arced out instantly to join that of the elf’s on the door. His cry was swallowed by the wind as he fell beside his master.

Meow