Arkarum: The Hammer and the Blade

  ***

  Eliah stood at the edge of the camp of the Hammer and the Blade, gazing into the gloom beyond, towards the Hollows. Griffin had been by his side for nearly a decade now, and he felt the pang of regret that he had not accompanied the friends of Mercius into the darkness he was sure awaited them. He would carry on, he knew, if they did not return, but the very thought brought his heart clambering up into his throat.

  Over the past months, since the Merconium Blade had joined forces with Griffin’s Hammer, Eliah had become good friends with Mercius and many of the others. Jax he had a special fondness for. He grinned slightly at the thought of the man. It had seemed, on more than one occasion, that he and Jax were sharing the exact same thoughts. Many a night they had spent in camp with a jug of ale and a small fire, talking of past times with the ease of lifelong friends. And, as Eliah had come to realize was true of everyone, he had an almost immediate love for Jax’s wife Sophia. Her strength and spirit were powerful and infectious, and Eliah enjoyed her company nearly as much as her husband's.

  The old man knew that he was the best candidate to stay behind, more for his cool reasoning capabilities than his lack of love for Mercius. He would carry on, yes, but he would be heartbroken for years to come if the company failed in returning Mercius; or failed to return at all.

  As the gloom faded into the blackness of night, Eliah’s reverie was interrupted by a trooper clearing his throat loudly behind him. With a sigh, Eliah turned to the young man, recognizing him as one of the Blade. He was a good lad with a strong sense of duty, which was why he had been one of the pair set to stand watch over the tent where Nephilia slept.

  “What is it, Harlan?” Eliah asked the young man.

  “It’s the angel, sir,” came the hesitant reply. “She’s…”

  “Don’t stand there like a moron, spit it out, boy! She’s what?”

  “Better if you come and look for yourself, sir.” With a grunt, Eliah motioned the lad on and followed closely behind.

  When they reached the tent, he could see the same apprehension in the other guard as was in Harlan’s voice. Without a pause, Eliah stepped into the tent and stood staring at the sight before him.

  The angel lay there, still as ever, but was now clothed in a fine, clinging mist that had an unmistakable bluish tint to it. Furthermore, the prone form of the beautiful woman was faltering, fading somehow between solidity and transparency. Eliah looked at the scene for several moments before ducking out of the tent.

  “What is it, sir?” Harlan asked in a quaking voice.

  After a pause, the old man said, “Their either succeeding in freeing her, or she is dying.”