“We’ve been searching for a week across this soggy marsh,” Olatt’an grumbled. He slapped at his arm, crushing more than one mosquito. “The exercise and fresh air were nice for a time. These bugs are not. How long are we going to keep looking?”
“They have to be here,” Ilya said, frowning at the bit of cheese on her stale bread.
She knew as well as he did that their time was running out.
Their provisions were running low. The wet marshlands and accompanying insects were irritating the orcs she had brought along with her. A week of trudging through the marsh, both on foot over the large islands and on a boat for crossing the wide channels, might have been fine if there had been an end in sight. At this point, they were just wandering aimlessly.
“My mother said that if I ever couldn’t stay with the people of Langleey Village, I should seek out the elves of Marrowland Fen. They would take me in.”
Olatt’an looked over the despondent elf. She caught his eyes wandering over the few other orcs who were taking a rest before ending up back at her. “Your mother,” he said, voice soft. “She lived in the human village for most of her life?”
Ilya raised an eyebrow. “She had a very long life. I… I was only a small part of it.” Maybe that was why her mother hadn’t looked happy to see her. Alya was over six hundred years old. Ilya was thirty-two. Only half of which had been spent in the presence of her mother. For the rest of Ilya’s life, her mother had been with the Duke.
The thought made her shoulders slump.
“When was the last time your mother visited her people? Didn’t she have a more accurate location?”
Ilya looked over at the toothless orc, pressing her lips together. She didn’t know. Her mother hadn’t left Langleey in the time since she had been born. From stories the other villagers told her, Alya had been a part of their village for at least a generation. Even the older villagers remembered Alya as children. Whether or not she left and returned at any point, Ilya couldn’t say.
“None of the villages we passed could point us toward an elf village,” Olatt’an said, voice still soft. “All they said was that elves would show up on occasion, but haven’t for a long while.”
Ilya swallowed a lump in her throat. “If they aren’t here anymore, where did they go?”
“Can’t say. I don’t know elves. The only elf settlement I’ve visited was down near the border of the Duchy of Mystakeen and the boy prince’s Principality. That was decades ago. No idea if it is still there.”
“Could you take me there?”
“To the Principality? That’s months of travel. Not to mention…” The old orc wrinkled his nose. “Elves have long memories. I doubt my face would be welcome.”
Ilya rolled her eyes. “Is there anywhere that doesn’t have an outstanding bounty on your head?” Throughout the entire journey, Olatt’an kept a bandanna around his face and a hood up anytime they ventured into a settlement. Even then, he stuck on his own, avoiding anyone outside their group. Most larger burgs, he and the other orcs had camped well outside their walls.
Olatt’an didn’t get a chance to answer her. Kazz’ak came running up. Ilya noted that he came running up to Olatt’an, not her, despite her being in charge of this whole operation. He didn’t look particularly excited to speak. At the same time, there was a worried intensity in his eyes.
“We… found something, Ripthroat.”
Olatt’an gave the younger orc a flat look. It was subtle, but Ilya caught the way his head twitched toward her.
Kazz’ak turned his head first before the rest of his body followed, looking at Ilya. “We found something,” he said again with marginally less respect in his tone.
“A village?”
“It… might be better if you came and saw for yourself.”
Not liking the sound of that, Ilya wrapped up her meager meal in a bit of cloth, pocketing it for later. “Keep watch here,” Ilya said, probably unnecessarily. The older orc wasn’t making any attempt to stand as he continued to eat his own food.
Marrowlands Fen was a wet marshy location far to the northeast of Langleey Village, right on the border with the Sultanate. Some parts of it were open to the ocean, the same ocean that Cliff’s harbor sat on, but large berms of grassy land kept the salty water mostly out. Were it not for the water, the land would likely be an incredibly hilly landscape, bordering on mountainous. Instead, it was more like large rounded islands dotted the greenish water. A few of the larger islands held settlements, though none were at all prosperous and wealthy. Even for all the gold Arkk had given her for this voyage, they weren’t willing to part with too much food for fear of starving themselves. Their farms were small, constrained by the islands, and most of their meals came from the fish both in the ocean and in the marshes.
So far, Ilya and the orcs had combed over the larger islands. Both those settled and those barren. Upon discovering that the settlements that were here didn’t know about any elf villages, she had been hoping that the elves were hiding their home with some kind of magic that she, an elf, would be able to see through. Just like in the stories of old. Unfortunately, she had yet to locate any sign of that. Even if the villages were hidden, there should still have been elves moving around, farmlands that couldn’t be concealed, or any number of other proofs that her people lived in the area.
Instead of heading inland on this island, however, Kazz’ak took her along the shore down to the second of their boats. The one he and his scouting team had been using to circumnavigate the island in an attempt to locate any sign of habitation. He joined two others aboard. Ilya followed.
Rather than circling the island, however, Kazz’ak directed the boat away from shore. Ilya’s sharp eyes looked into the distance, spotting a large mountain on their left and a smaller yet hilly island on the right. Using a long pole to push the boat through the water, Kazz’ak set the heading directly between the two islands.
As the boat sailed away from the island she had been on, Ilya spotted something that they were going to hit. It looked like a large grouping of cattails and a mess of reeds. As they got closer, however, Ilya realized that it wasn’t a natural formation. Cut reeds, wooden planks, and netting made from bulrush sedges formed the floating island. There were… constructions on the island as well. Small foundations of what might have been huts in the past. Now, it was clear that they had fallen into disrepair.
Kazz’ak pulled the boat up against the reeds, partially beaching it on the fake beach. Ilya had to wrinkle her nose. The entire island smelled of rotting plants. She had to wonder how long it had been out here, floating around with no one to maintain the island. It was clearly artificially made and would have to have maintenance to keep it from completely falling apart.
Following the scouting team, Ilya stepped onto the floating island. It wobbled a bit under her feet. Not enough that she thought she was going to fall through it. In fact, in its prime, it might not have felt different from solid ground.
“This way,” Kazz’ak said, waving a hand as he started across the surprisingly large floating island.
Passing one of the straw pillars that might have been a hut, Ilya paused and knelt. Something was sticking out of the straw that caught her eye. A smooth wooden shaft. Gripping it and wrenching it out of the straw, Ilya scowled down at the chipped metal arrowhead.
Ilya looked up to Kazz’ak, about to ask whether the arrow was one of theirs, when she spotted something beyond the tall orc.
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Corpses. A dozen bodies piled up. The flesh had rotted and the bones had been picked clean by carrion feeders. Stumbling closer, Ilya found the scent of decaying plants replaced with the foul stench of rotting meat. The remains were still intact enough to tell that they had been humanoid. Judging by the tall stature, long legs, and thin builds…
These had been elves.
“We searched the area,” Kazz’ak said, voice mild yet uncaring. “Couldn’t find anything of value, though I can’t tell if that is because everything was looted or if these people didn’t have anything valuable in the first place. The bodies all look older. No children or youth. More huts than bodies too. Slavers, I would guess.”
“This couldn’t be too old,” Ilya said, warring with herself between getting closer and stumbling backward. “A few months at most or this entire island would be gone.”
“Think there are other floating villages? We might have been looking in the wrong place by checking over all the actual islands.”
“I…” Ilya’s voice caught in her throat. “Where would slavers have taken them?”
Kazz’ak shrugged. “The chieftain wasn’t in the habit of selling captives,” he said without any shame toward his former profession.
Ilya clenched her fist around the arrow in her hand. She felt sick. Sicker even than when her mother had turned away from her at the Duke’s manor.
Could she do anything about her people being captured? It had been months ago, based on what she saw now and what the other villages in the area had said about elf visitors. They would probably be gone in the wind without a trace.
Ilya let out an inarticulate cry as she dropped to her knees, slamming her fist down into the reeds.
She could only hope that Arkk was having better luck than she was.
----------------------------------------
The fires burned. A beautiful red-white glow licked the stone bricks of the long corridor, dancing under the wild choreography of Agnete’s dancing fingers. She basked in the flickering light, letting the fire flow around her in a whirlwind of purifying fury. This, Agnete thought, dropping the burning remains of her long coat to better feel the heat of the flames against her skin, must have been what humanity’s ancestors felt when they first lit their drab caves.
Light bright and hot enough to ward off the dark and the evils that lurked within.
Agnete strode forward, indomitable and relentless. The flames moved ahead of her, attacking all without mercy. Squeals of goblins, shrieks of fleeing insectoids, dismayed cries of all kinds of monsters… None reached her ears as her flames burned sound itself.
One of the mockeries of humanity appeared directly in front of her, claws already swinging through the air. Its hairless body caught fire the instant it manifested, but that didn’t stop its momentum. Agnete didn’t try to dodge. The monster’s claws skewered deep into her side.
A geyser of white flames erupted from the wound, fully engulfing the red-eyed ghast even as they burned away at Agnete’s skin. The keratine of the claws evaporated in the heat, leaving a wound that quickly seared itself shut. Mere pinprick scars remained behind. Agnete’s march forward didn’t slow in the slightest.
As the ghast died a fiery death, black smoke emerged from its disintegrating corpse. Bright red eyes glared at Agnete just long enough for the monster within to realize its mistake in approaching her. The black smoke burst into flames, causing the intangible being to fully manifest before her.
A human. Greasy black hair with a pointed beard. Neither remained on the screaming man’s face for more than a few seconds before being consumed by the flames. His purple robe and high collar caught fire and his skin began to char, but Agnete didn’t get to enjoy the process of purification before the man disappeared as quickly as the ghast had appeared.
Agnete continued forward through the hallways of this underground fortress. She didn’t make it far before a shudder in the ground threatened to throw her off her feet. A loud noise of breaking earth followed, bringing with it a blast of air coursing through the tunnel with such intense force behind it that it actually managed to snuff out her flames. Agnete’s fingers melted the stone wall, creating a handhold to keep herself steady.
As the wind died down, Agnete found her attention drawn to the wall she was gripping. Or had been gripping, rather. The thick stone bricks, reinforced with magic to the point where they managed to avoid more than cosmetic damage from the intense heat of her fires, began to crumble to dust, revealing bare dirt walls. The tiles under her feet, cracked and broken yet were still similarly reinforced, decayed.
The curiosity about the deteriorating fortress became a non-concern as a chill in the air made the hairs on Agnete’s arms stand on end. She drew in a breath, preparing to flood the area with the hot comfort of fire once again, only to hear a voice behind her.
“That is enough.”
Dry lips cracking into a snarl, Agnete turned around to face the one who dared dampen her heat. A man stood in the dirt tunnel, tall and lanky. Arms like noodles and thin glasses perched on his nose, he wasn’t a threat. He should burn for his—
The man reached into a pocket in his long black coat and withdrew a small clear marble. White fog of condensed air flowed around the man’s gloved hand, drifting to the floor like a waterfall of cold.
Agnete sucked in a breath, taking a fearful step backward. Ice replaced the molten heat in her veins as she stared with wide eyes. The ice crept inward, moving from her fingers and toes toward her burning heart. She opened her mouth, letting out a dry, croaking scream.
“I said that is enough, Purifier.”
Fight or flight kicked in, except she couldn’t manage either. Her feet had frozen to the ground and the fire contained under her skin diminished to mere embers in the presence of that marble of ice. All she could manage was a clipped nod of her head. Agree. Bow down to the ice in the hopes that it would grant mercy.
The man stared, a humorless smile plastered on his face. Nodding in satisfaction at something, he clasped his hand around the ball of ice and dropped it back into his pocket.
The moment it was away, Agnete collapsed, curling up into a tight ball on the dirt floor. She shuddered, rubbing cold fingers against her arms and legs in an attempt to bring back some of that heat from earlier. Slowly yet surely, feeling and warmth returned to her. It didn’t return in the same force. The out-of-control boil that threatened to spill over turned to a low simmer capped with a lid to avoid the possibility of that marble coming back out.
“Pick yourself up, Purifier,” Darius said, voice as cold as the marble hidden in his pocket. The disgust in his tone said more than words ever could. He stepped over her even as her shaking arms tried to heft herself up.
He held out a gleaming brass lantern. The white orb within was a gift from the Light, allowing vision even in the darkest of environments. Agnete hated the thing. For all its brightness, it had no heat. One could reach through the bars of brass and feel nothing at all.
Agnete stumbled to her feet, arms clasped tight to her body. She had to grind her teeth together to keep them from clattering. She dared to take her eyes off Darius, looking around back where they had come from. Sure enough, the short chronicler was coming up from behind. Holding a tablet in one hand and a pen in the other, he scribbled a few notes down. Probably ones related to her, how she almost lost control and burned them all or just how long it took her to recover from exposure to the marble. Whatever they were, she didn’t care at the moment. Her eyes were locked on the articles of clothing draped over the crook of his elbow.
Douglas squinted up at her, then, reluctantly, handed over a fresh pair of trousers and a long coat. He dropped the boots from under his arm and then continued after Darius without a word. Glaring after him for a long moment, Agnete tore off the remains of her burned clothes and began dressing herself. First the trousers, then the coat. She did up the six buttons across her chest before ducking down to don her boots. Once the buckles were secure, she let out a small sigh. The barrier between her skin and the cold air outside wasn’t much, but it helped.
Straightening her back and squaring her shoulders, Agnete began marching after her two fellow inquisitors. She didn’t speak when she caught up with them, merely falling in step behind Douglas. Agnete didn’t pay attention to the crumbling fortress around her, letting Darius lead them through the now silent corridors. He paused at a few intersections and peered into a few rooms, but didn’t stop until they reached a room unlike any other.
It was a large and rectangular room with a circular pit in the very center, surprisingly intact despite the ruins the rest of the fortress had turned into. Four thick columns stretched up, not quite reaching the peaked ceiling of the room. Each held carvings of profane symbols. Thick metal chains dangled into the pit from the tops of the pillars, perhaps having once held something aloft. Whatever that something was, it was gone now.
Stepping up alongside Darius at the pit’s precipice, she peered down into inky darkness. Not even the light from the holy lantern could penetrate the depths.
Douglass sat back, muttering under his breath into a small golden pendant that he wore around his neck. Prayers to the Light, asking for information. He paused and, with a nod of his head, looked over to Darius.
“Divine inspiration doesn’t tell me what this is. It… wasn’t so much of a non-answer as it was a rejection and refusal to answer.”
Darius frowned, dragging his long fingers from his cheeks to his chin. “Whatever it was, it seems to be gone now. Was it the purifier’s fires?”
“That information was not revealed to me,” Douglas said, squinting as he motioned to the chains dangling from the pillars. “All I was told was that we removed a great evil from this world.”
“Well,” Darius said, clapping his hands together with a false smile. “Not what we came here for. It is gratifying to know that we could eliminate an object of ancient evil nonetheless. If only the horror had been present.”
Douglas flipped back through his notes with a thin-lipped frown. “The truth is difficult to discern from an angry mob, but reports place the horror as defending the burg from the creatures of this pit.”
“Curious, isn’t it? Eyewitnesses put our old friend Mister Arkk working alongside it once again. I do wonder what dark magics he had to invoke to gain such control over a creature like that.”
Agnete, head remaining still, shifted her burning eyes to the back of Darius before flicking them back down into the deep pit.
“Perhaps it is time to visit that lovely village of Langleey once again,” said Master Inquisitor Darius Vrox.