The Hollow: At The Edge (40 page)

Serrel slid the flask
back into the pouch on his belt. “What are you going to do
now?”

Annabella shrugged. “I
think I might go see the blacksmiths. See they want any enchanting
done. Maybe lend my services to keeping the fires burning. With
Jurgen gone, there isn’t really any Nightblades anymore. And to be
honest, I could use a break from all... All of this.”

He nodded. “Thank you,
Annabella. For everything.”

“Don’t mention it,
Serrel. You take care of yourself now.” She ruffled his hair
playfully and left.

Serrel straightened his
uniform, adjusted the short sword he had strapped to his back and
exited the empty building they had been in. There were a fair few
empty buildings in Vollumir these days, either abandoned by people
lucky enough to escape when Vharaes and his Ferine invaded the
city, or emptied because their owners were no longer in a state to
lay claim. Most of the Legion had taken to squatting in any
available space, much to the chagrin of the locals.

Mouse was waiting
outside for him, leaning casually against the wall with her staff
at her side.

“All good?” she
asked.

“Done.”

She fell into step
beside him. “Did you cry again?”

“I didn’t cry,” Serrel
argued. “It made my eyes water a bit, that’s all. It did hurt.”

“I’m sure it did.”

“I mean, you can’t
exactly make fun, seeing as how you completely chickened out.
Coward.”

“Well, anything that
could make you cry wasn’t something I was going to put myself
through,” Mouse replied matter-of-factly.

The sky was bright and
clear as they walked through the city, undoubtedly for the last few
times before the onset of autumn and the coming of winter. In the
sunshine, Serrel thought Vollumir might have been a spectacular
place, even without the visible signs of conflict that dotted the
cityscape and the huge crater where the market square had been.
There were still red stains marring the white cobbled streets, and
when the wind blew in the right direction, you could smell the
smoke from the pits where Ferine bodies were being unceremoniously
burned.

The people of Vollumir
were, for the most part, happy enough to be liberated from the
Ferine. But now, two days on, and they were beginning to realise
that they were still being occupied by an outside force. This one
at least was more benign than the Ferine, but still, the Legion
didn’t belong. Most of the locals walked the streets and refused to
meet the eyes of the soldiers they met, though a few never missed
an opportunity to shake the hand of one of the Legion and profess
their thanks. Strangely enough, a couple had somehow sought Serrel
out personally, to thank him for what he had done. The news of his
involvement in the death of Vharaes had spread beyond the
Legion.

Then there were the
elves. Obviously there were a lot of them in Vollumir. And a large
number of them didn’t appear too happy. They glared at the Legion
with obvious disdain. And the looks a few shot at Serrel when they
realised who he was were positively hate filled. It seemed possible
that Vharaes had more followers than anyone suspected. Serrel
thought about the elves they seen that night, willingly allowing
themselves to be transformed into monsters. He wondered how many
more would have gone through with that, and how many were still
biding their time in the city.

He tried not to let it
get to him. In fact, he was trying not to let the fact that
everyone was calling him a hero go to his head. He was thankful for
Pond Scum, always there to keep him grounded with playful insults.
Greasy Tim had taken to slapping himself in the head in mock salute
every time he saw Serrel or Victor, as their promotions had been
finalised and they were both now Arch-Casters.

Arch-Caster Serrel
Hawthorne. He didn’t want to be egotistical about it, but he felt
that it sounded suitably imposing.

The rest of Pond Scum
were waiting for them in the wide park that encircled the
Unicorn’s Lover
, the pub with the secret tunnel to the
fortress. Somehow, it had survived much of the devastation that had
hit the city, and now held the proud distinction of being the only
pub currently open in all of Vollumir. Serrel didn’t know where all
the alcohol was coming from, but unsurprisingly they were doing a
fair trade, especially with the Legion.

Greasy Tim saw him
coming, and shouted loudly, “Atten-shun!” before whacking himself
in the brow.

“You’re going to hurt
yourself doing that, Tim,” Serrel told him.

“Yes, suh. Pond Scum
ready for inspection, suh.”

“Give it a rest, Tim,”
said Justin wearily.

“So, what’s the news?”
Serrel asked.

“My new placement,”
said Victor with a smile, holding up a small roll of parchment.
“I’m now a full member of the Hounds.”

“Me too,” said Mouse,
holding up her own orders. “Woof.”

“That’s great,” said
Serrel. “Though Caellix isn’t going to be happy.”

“And we’re moving out
soon,” Victor went on. “Word is we’re going out after the Ferine
that escaped during the battle.”

“Good. Let them run for
a change.”

“I wish you could have
joined support with us,” said Kaitlin to Victor.

“I don’t,” put in
Justin. “If I had to listen to you two...” He made lip smacking
sounds, “...all day long, I would go mad.”

“I’m renewing my offer
to stab you in the face, Justin,” warned Kaitlin.

“’Ere, Serrel,”
interrupted Greasy Tim. “You get yourself a new staff yet?”

“Not yet.” He decided
not to tell them about the tattoo. It wasn’t really as a
replacement, just as a backup. “I tried to talk to the
quartermaster, but he said I needed to have a requisition signed by
my commanding officer. I was going to see Snow about it.”

“Ah, well then,” said
Greasy Tim smugly. “Today is your lucky day, squire. Bull.”

Bull pulled out a new
staff from behind his back. It wasn’t Imperial issue, being more
the length of a walking stick than an actual battlestaff. Its
length was of twisted black wood, and one end curved like a talon
into a single sharp point. Just below the curve of the wood, there
was a single small red gem placed in the shaft.

“That’s nice,” said
Serrel admiringly.

“Isn’t it?” said Greasy
Tim. “Thought you’d like it.”

Bull held it out to
him, but pulled it backwards as he reached for it.

“Five quid,” said
Greasy Tim.

“Five quid?”

“Timmy,” Mouse said
wearily.

“You are such a little
crook,” said Kaitlin in amusement.

“Basic commerce this
is,” replied Greasy Tim unabashed. “Services rendered. Finder’s
Fee. That style o’ thing.”

Serrel searched his
pockets. “I’ll give you three coppers.”

“Four.”

“Tim.”

“I ‘ave my reputation
to think about, don’t I? Can’t go showing favouritism. I ‘ave to
‘aggle.”

“Three coppers. And I
promise not to tell anyone where you got that bacon you’ve been
selling.”

“Knew ‘bout that, did
you?”

“Everyone knows about
that, Tim,” said Kaitlin.

Greasy Tim did some
quick maths. “Three coppers? Deal.”

They exchanged money,
Bull got his cut, and Serrel got a new staff. He held it in his
hand, and felt the energy flowing through it. It was a reassuring
sensation, one he hadn’t realised he’d missed. The staff must not
have been used very much, because it seemed to have no trouble
adapting to him.

“Where did you get
this?” he asked.

“Around,” said Greasy
Tim cryptically. “No one was using it.”

“You stole it, didn’t
you?” said Kaitlin.

“I never,” replied
Greasy Tim with exaggerated hurt. “I just... Bull?”

Bull screwed up his
face in concentration. “Borrowed it temp-or-air-ra-ly for an
in-de-ter-me-nate period of time,” he quoted.

“Exactly.”

“Bull, don’t let this
little criminal lead you astray,” said Kaitlin.

“I won’t,” Bull
rumbled.

“I’m just doin’ my bit
for the trade industry of the city,” said Greasy Tim. “Practically
heroes, we are.”

“Just don’t get caught,
Timmy,” said Mouse.

“Don’t worry. I’ve
‘aven’t been caught yet.”

“Uh, Tim,” said Edgar.
“Aren’t you in the Legion because you got caught?”

“Yeah, but what are the
chances of that ‘appenin’ again?”

Serrel rolled his eyes,
and tucked the new staff into the straps of his pack.

“We should probably
go,” he said.

Victor nodded, and
turned to Kaitlin. “I’ll see you when I get back.”

“You better. Here,” she
picked a large and near overflowing pack off the ground and handed
it to him.

Victor held it like it
was about to explode. “What did you do?” he asked suspiciously.

“I packed for you. You
have a spare change of clothes, some extra socks, a sewing kit,
because I know how much you
love
to sew, some sandwiches, a
sack of those little cakes you like-”

“Please stop talking
now.”

“...a new whetstone,”
Kaitlin went on, and there was a gleam in her eye that was
positively evil, “some biscuits, some oil, and a little token for
you to remember me by.” She added sweetly. “Oh, you have something
on your...” She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it
up to him. “Spit.”

Victor realised there
were Legion all around the square, watching in amusement.

“Kaitlin...”

“I said,
spit
.”

Victor sighed, and did
as he was ordered. Kaitlin wiped a smudge off his face.

“Kaitlin, you are
embarrassing me in front of the other soldiers.”

“
I know
. Now,”
she went on. “Do you have all your knives?”

“Kaitlin... oh, for
gods...
yes
.”

“Your sword?”

Victor nodded at the
handle of his sword, the one looted from Vharaes’ body, that stuck
up over his shoulder.

“Stay with the group,”
Kaitlin chided. “Don’t talk to any strange elves.”

“You are a crazy, crazy
woman,” said Victor. He kissed her hand. “I’ll see you soon.”

“We’ll keep him safe,”
said Mouse, giving Kaitlin a hug.

The three of them
walked away, as the others erupted into laughter behind them,
Kaitlin taking a bow.

“Shut up,” said Victor
pre-emptively as they walked.

“I haven’t said
anything yet,” said Serrel.

“I know. So shut
up.”

“What token did she
give you?” Mouse asked in interest.

“Oh, gods, I dread to
think.”

Victor checked the
pack. At the very top he found a knife, a short curved blade of
elvish design.

“That’s... That’s
actually quite nice,” Victor admitted. Then he looked closer, and
saw that someone had engraved
VB 4 KA
on the handle.

In perfect unison,
Mouse and Serrel both said, “Aw...”

“Shut up.”

They walked on in
silence.

Then Serrel started,
“So what kind of cakes do you-”

“Shut up.”

“Are you going to
share?”

“Shut up!”

At the western gate,
the Hounds were collecting together.

“About time,
Hawthorne,” said Caellix.

“Sergeant, Captain,”
said Victor, offering Snow his orders. “Arch-Caster Blackwood,
reporting for duty.”

“Oh my,” said Snow,
reading over Victor and Mouse’s orders. “And to think, a week ago
we didn’t even have one mage. Now we have three. When it doesn’t
rain, it pours. Isn’t this exciting, Sergeant?”

Caellix sniffed. “I
only wanted the Mouse,” she replied. “Well, since you’re here, you
can make yourself useful, Fresh Meat. My leg’s still a bit stiff.
Be a gentleman and carry my pack.”

“She means you,” Serrel
said helpfully, handing the pack to Victor, who rolled his eyes and
pulled it onto his shoulder.

“Gather around, chaps,”
said Snow to the group. “Now, we’ve heard reports of a group of
Ferine, spotted in the woods not far from here. I thought we ought
to take a nice refreshing stroll out in that general direction, and
should we find any Ferine along the way, we shall ask them politely
to surrender.”

“And if they don’t?”
someone asked.

“We’ll ask them less
politely.”

“And then eat ‘em!
Heheh,” added Dogbreath.

“Quite. Come on,
Hounds. We’re off the leash.”

With Caellix in the
lead, Vost at her side, the Hounds set off into through the gate,
and back into the Faelands.

It was a perfect autumn
day, the sun shining brightly, the sky an awe inspiring blue. The
Hounds marched along casually, Brant even whistling a jaunty tune
as they went, as though they were just off on a walk, and not out
to hunt down monsters.

Serrel didn’t know if
this was how it was going to be for the next two years of his life.
He had gone into this without really thinking it through. But he
understood better now, in some ways. He knew what he had to do, and
he had prepared himself as best he could.

And with Mouse at his
side, and Victor marching behind him, he felt... maybe not exactly
great, but perhaps better than he had been when he had started out.
He was still in the Faelands, and there was still a war to be
fought, and monsters to slay. But for now, he was dry, with his
friends, and he was content.

An hour later, Caellix
threw him in the river.

It was going to be a
long two years.

Epilogue
:
Destiny.

Ghoraes ran for days
straight. As a Ferine, he could move fast, and when need be, remain
unseen. He paused only to drink, forage for food, and relieve
himself. Otherwise, he didn’t stop.

It was a long journey
for someone on their own, and he couldn’t stem the discouraging
thoughts from raging through his head. He was moving faster than
any news coming from Vollumir would, and he had no idea how the
battle had raged. But in his gut, he knew that his brethren had
gone to the earth. Vharaes he was more confident of. The elf was a
tricky one, and he had the Master on his side.