#ithel

Fireballs streaked across the pale sky and crashed into the ground around Arild as he ran across the battlefield. His palms were sweaty to the point where he was having difficulty still gripping his great sword. Trickles of sweat dripped under his helmet, trailing downward and burning into his eyes. His feet slipped against the mud. Above, the cry of a dragon broke through – it was a terrible, ground trembling screech. He wanted to cover his ears against it, to cry out in agony himself, but he kept his feet moving ever forward. His heart thudded in his ears and pounded with every forced footstep.

 Around him was chaos. Man fighting man, brother slaughtering brother. His own face was drenched in droplets of blood and a film of filth.

 Nearby a horse squealed desperately as a spear pummeled into its heart. The beast collapsed and Ari was forced to swerve around it as its blood seeped into the ground and caused him to slip. He was scrambling over mounds of dead bodies now as he kept pushing himself forward with one goal in mind – to reach her.

 He was forced to stop as a man right before him seemed suspended in animation, gagging, straining and then going limp. A Nereid stood close by and, even though they were supposed allies, the Nereid looked to him with a savage, hungry expression and Ari dodged around and kept pressing onward across the field of battle.

 “Ingridr!” He shouted but his voice was lost to the chaos. He was just a small speck among the carnage.

 Somewhere, a wolf was ripping a man apart and tossing the shredded remains about as if they were socks.

 “All hells!” He swore as he hurried on. His breathing was catching in his lungs now and burning.  He stripped off his helmet to get a better airflow. He threw it aside into the battlefield mud as he continued onward.

 The war was near the doorstep of Parain Dor now. He knew it was Ragnar pushing, pushing, and drawing closer and closer to his final goal. Things were growing dire in this conflict. Everyone was getting desperate, the vice-like grip around the thrones was ever tightening – people were making their moves. Everything was falling into place. But what place? How would this end?

 What had caused Ari’s frantic flight across the battlefield was the sight of Espen advancing upon Ingridr with his right-hand man, Yenn. It was obvious that Espen had purposefully sought her out on the battlefield – a hound hunting down its prey. Espen was drenched in blood and there was a savageness in his gaze that could only be rivaled by Ragnar. His blows were direct and ruthless, coming one right after the other in quick succession. Ingridr would have stood a chance had Yenn not been mercilessly attacking from the other side.

 As the three of them dueled, Ari continued to run, leaping over dead bodies, stepping on the wounded if he must.

 “Gridr!” His cry rose desperately yet again. His throat was choked by dirt and smoke.

 Suddenly before him rose a tall figure. One might call him graceful if it wasn’t for the malice in his gaze and the ruthlessness of his poise. Blood streaked the new man’s face like warpaint, his silver blonde hair was pulled back and streaked with crimson as well. His eyes shined green and blue like the horizon where the sea meets the sky.

 Ari took two steps back and his eyes grew wide but he readied himself for a fight. His heart thudded as he steadied his grip on his sword.

 …

 “Shit!” Further into the battlefield, Ithel was keeping close beside Astridr. However, he had also felt this battle would be different and he kept an eye on what was going on closer to Parain Dor and to the southern force’s base, “Astridr!” He shouted so as to get her attention while running his blade through yet another damned Nereid bastard. “It’s happening! They’re making their move on the southern throne! They’re turning against their own!” He nodded to where Hirgone was driving Arild away from Ingridr. Beside Astridr’s own daughter, Espen’s lithe form could be seen assaulting her relentlessly.

 It also didn’t pass Ithel’s notice that Jorunn, who had been beside them at the start of the fight, was gone. Where had the little weasel run off to? It was hard to tell. He barely had a moment to spare to think on it but he could only assume the man had found this to be the perfect time to escape both Astridr and Eskel’s clutches. He always seemed to have a knack for knowing when things were going to turn shit and avoiding it. Had he known all along that Espen and Hirgone were going to make their move and overthrow Eskel’s allies? Had he known and intentionally kept silent? How many lives could have been spared if they’d had a forewarning?

 …

 Ari was forced to step backwards as Hirgone continued to be the aggressor. His footwork was light and his moves were unpredictable. Hirgone’s blade was ethereal and seemed to shimmer and wax and wane in the sunlight.

 Meanwhile, Yenn had managed to get a stab into Ingridr’s side while Espen continued his blows. It was enough to knock her down and Espen continued to push Gridr until she was backed into one of the piles of dead bodies that were continuing to heap across the planes. He raised is sword and he was ready to plunge down…

 “Pray to your gods, Little Princess!” He jeered. The discoloration under his eyes was deep and held a purple hue. He was pale from the battle and drenched in the blood of his enemies. As he held the sword over her, his hands trembled just a little. There was a madness to his eyes which had slowly devoured him over the centuries. The wind caught his dark locks and tousled them, revealing slightly pointed ears similar to what Frea had sported.

 Espen hesitated for just a moment as drops of sweat and blood mingled on his forehead. He cast a hungry glance toward the rest of the field from their small, elevated hill. His eyes caught on Arild and a sneer spread across his face. His teeth looked dazzlingly white when contrasted with the smears of blood and dirt on his face.

 “Your precious little Arild is going to watch you as you die!” his lips curled as he spat out the words. Of course he knew their secret, he knew all secrets thanks to his aunt and uncle. His hatred for her and for Arild contorted his face into something devilish and hideous. He was readied to plunge into her and Yenn was snarling down toward Gridr when a voice stopped them both.

 “Espen!” The voice was not only commanding but terrifyingly dark and foreboding. It came from behind Espen and caused the man to straighten some in surprise and annoyance.

 Espen cast an irritated look over his shoulder and his eyes widened as he took in the form of his older brother.

 Eskel was grimy from battle. His dirty blonde locks were streaked with a lighter silver-blonde and mud. His armor was soot-covered and filthy but a proud stag could still be made out across his breastplate.

 The surprise was obvious on Espen’s face but he masked it over quickly. Eskel had not taken part in a battle for many, many years – centuries even. Espen searched around quickly with pale blue eyes as if hunting for an answer to this joke. Surely someone would step out saying it was a mirage, a trick of his eyes? Was the lack of sleep causing him to become delirious? Then he caught a glimpse of Gianni’s form retreating back down the hill and into the fray. Had the man followed Eskel here? Guided him here? Had he persuaded him to come to the battle? Had he been weaseling his way back into the king’s ear?

 Espen kicked Ingridr hard as if to remind her to stay down, “I’ll come back for you, princess,” he promised before turning to face Eskel fully. “This is indeed a surprise, brother,” he masked his genuine shock with sarcasm, “I’ve been waiting for a long time for you to climb your lazy ass down off my throne!” He stressed the word ‘my’ as his face contorted into one of pure animosity. His lip curled in contempt. Truly, his once handsome features had twisted with the hatred he had allowed to kindle in his heart. He had become ugly and it showed. “I’ve watched you ruin my kingdom! The one our father should have given me! My birthright! Not yours and not your filthy little bastards’!” He spat out, his voice rising about the din of battle. He took several measured steps toward Eskel, his chest heaving with every word he yelled out in rage. Espen’s eyes were bloodshot due to lack of sleep and stress. His voice shook slightly, betraying the madness which had overcome him.

 “But you were always so favored! You got all of it, didn’t you? While I had to watch and serve you… Bastard King!” Espen was raving now and it was nearly shocking to Eskel to see how changed his brother had become.

 Esk took a step back but still held himself taller, the picture of both pain and nobility. His men did not know he was on the field. Nobody but Gianni knew. He’d had enough of hiding in the palace. He’d had enough of this war and of letting better men fight battles for him. Espen was right in one area – Aelcomay deserved a better king. Astridr deserved a better king. He may not have been perfect and in youth his choices were flawed and childish, but he was determined to right all of his wrongs.

 “You killed them, didn’t you?” Esk didn’t have to explain which ‘they’ he referred to – all of them. Everyone. It was all coming together. How had he been so blind for so long? When had this madness begun?

 He took a step backward as Espen advanced and looked out across the field and felt ill. He had truly been a naïve and selfish ruler… but things were changing, he was changing.

 “You killed Egil… And Frea?” His voice cracked here and something passed across his face, darkening it, “Hagen? This war began because of… you?”

 “Because of you!” Espen shouted back, his voice rose an octave and sounded unnatural, “Don’t you put this on me! This happened because of your stupidity! You’ve led this realm to ruin and bankruptcy! You’ve led us to despair! You’ve been too busy with your cock in that northern bitch’s cunt… hell, in any whore’s fucking cunt!”

 Esk’s jaw clenched, “I’ve been played a fool for so long!” He cried back as he readied his own sword. His blade stretched up toward the sky and caught the sunlight in a moment as the rays shined through for just a second. “And I have indeed been a fool! A young prince who ascended the throne long before I was ready! But today… today I am the king I always should have been!” He looked toward Gridr for a second before rushing toward Espen. Yenn stepped forward as well – ready for a fight.

 They clashed just as the sun was passing back behind a large cloud and the battlefield became shades of gray and dusk yet again.

 With each blow, Espen and Yenn managed to push Eskel back with their brute force. Just as with Ingridr, they was relentless in their attack and their aggression and hatred showed in the swordplay. Espen was breathing heavily as Eskel parried his blows. He did not hold his brother’s passion for battle but his movements were fluid like water and he managed to hold Espen off to some degree.

 Below the hill, Hirgone’s advancements continued to push Arild back across the field and toward a pack of wolves. The beasts had been tearing through the fields, ripping apart Nereid’s and men alike.

 The savage beasts were of the north and no doubt would shred Ari as quickly as they would Hirgone. However, Ari knew Hirgone’s plan was to push him into them first and then drown them when they had finished mincing him…

 That was when Ari spotted the leader of the wolfpack. Long ago, Ingridr had given him Ari’s clothes to memorize the scent of and ever since, they would not attack him.

 A small, impish smirk flickered across his tired face as his gaze caught the eerie green of Hirgone’s eye. He ducked down and picked up a fistful of mud and threw it into the taller man’s face. While Hirgone was raging and clearing his vision, Ari turned and bolted as fast as his limbs could carry him into the center of the wolf pack. His eyes closed momentarily as he prayed that the beasts would still remember him.

 And then he was flying past the wolves… unharmed! He slowed his run enough to look over his shoulder. There was a flash of fur and snapping teeth as the pack turned to rush toward Hirgone. Ari heaved a breath for a moment until he saw each beast levitate and yelp. Their paws kicked and flailed against the air. They were drowning from the inside out and strangled sounds escaped from their throats. Ari’s eyes grew wide in unspoken horror and shock. He could not linger here and he forced his aching body to move down the field further with Hirgone pursuing him and slaughtering everything his way.

 Back on the hill, Espen was continuing to push Eskel back. He had the upper hand and it was obvious that he was winning. He laughed with it, mocking his brother’s disadvantage and taunting him.

 “You were never fit to rule, Eskky. You should have curled up and died with father! You’d be better suited in the afterlife coddling Frea’s unborn child like a fucking simpering nursemaid than sitting on that throne! Oh yes, I know! Our slut sister let a northern born ape pump a child into her!”

 Esk stared in disbelief for a second. In his childhood, Espen had admired Hagen with a passion. Truthfully, Espen had loved Hagen more than he had ever liked Eskel. They both knew it. What had happened to the bold but enthusiastic boy from their youth?

 “Frea was to wed him! She was to be a queen!” Eskel shouted back, his voice cracking with the pain those words caused.

 “So you and Astridr could rule the south?” Espen taunted, “A perfect world?” His lip curled spitefully. “Do you really think Sylvi would have settled for that? She wanted her children to rule this realm alone! Fuck, she didn’t even care about her children… SHE wanted to rule this realm alone!” For a moment, there was a glimmer of human pain that flashed across Espen’s face but it was quickly stifled and covered.

 He pushed forward yet again, his blows becoming more and more fierce and unrelenting. Yenn’s sword came down heavily with every swing as well. The man was barking out a cruel laugh with Espen’s words. Eskel stumbled a bit as his own emotions were overcoming him.

 “And then little Egil!” Espen was intentionally weakening his brother with his words, “He just wanted to make things right!” He taunted, “He wanted to see  peace brought to these lands without realizing I AM the peace. Not you… and certainly not Astridr. But he didn’t see my way… and so he had to die!”

 Espen spared a glance across the planes. Everything was spinning upside down now. It was no longer a battle between north and south, Eskel and Astridr. The Nereids were beginning to slaughter Arild’s and Gianni’s men. Espen’s loyal forces were killing everyone but Ragnar and Hirgone’s peoples. The south was turning in against itself and the field was chaos. Some southerners were fleeing to the northerners who seemed just as confused about what was going on. Ragnar’s men met the fleeing southerners with blades and wickedly cruel cheers. The rest of the northerners were looking for leadership from Ivarr, Mika or Runa. Were they to kill the southerners fleeing into their camps? Were they still to attack at all? Several dim trolls were beginning to swing their clubs aimlessly at whoever happened by because they weren’t even sure which side was fighting which any longer.

 In the middle of the field, Arild was still racing away from Hirgone who was relentlessly advancing and killing the southerners in his path along with northerners. Gianni was lost to sight and Espen only hoped that the old man had already  died.

 “It’s over, Eskel! Surrender your blade and I might spare your life! If not yours, I might spare Ingridr’s! Turn her to my dogs to fuck her as they please… or eat her if they wish!” He laughed again here, growing cocky with his assumed victory. “You joined the battle too late!” He kicked out and his foot found Eskel’s shin which caused the other man to stumble before falling to his knees.

 Yenn paced around and his lip curled in disgust.

 “So is this a surrender?!” Espen demanded while raising his blade high. “Watch how your father grovels even in death, Tiny Princess!” Espen cast a glance back to Ingridr. He laughed again as his gaze briefly caught to where Astridr was on the field. Once the south was gone, returned to his hands fully, it would only be a matter of time before Ragnar could take her and do whatever he pleased with her – Espen little cared.

 Or he had convinced himself that he didn’t care. His eyes lingered on her form and he almost hesitated.

 Espen forced himself to turn back around and instead of seeing Eskel knelt before him as he had been, the taller man was standing and looking down on him. Esk seemed to have grown in a matter of minutes and there was a menace behind his gaze. They were chest to chest and Eskel’s eyes had turned a vibrant and pale green. They were eerie and ethereal – threatening and terrible. His shoulders were broadened out as, in his fury, he straightened out and tensed.

 In a moment of stunned silence, Espen stared up at him before he readied his sword. “Okay. You need me to beat your ass one more time?” He taunted but some of the confidence had faded from his voice.

 Eskel’s arms were outstretched and he dropped Soulrapier into the mud. It squished and sank. He pressed forward and, in surprise, Espen stepped away from him. Espen looked uncertainly toward Yenn who seemed uncertain himself.

 “Pick up your fucking sword!” Espen cried out but his voice betrayed his hesitation.

 Esk’s arms remained outstretched to either side of him but besides that he didn’t make a move. But at that exact moment, a sudden thunderstorm struck up from the west and rolled across the planes. It doused them in a torrential downpour. The already muddy fields became slick and almost impassible. A wall of water dropped around Eskel and Espen and shielded them even from Ingridr and Yenn. The brute of a man stepped back and gasped before looking toward Gridr and turning to run back down the hill and to safety.

 Espen and Eskel were hidden from sight. Occasionally a glimmering shadow of them passed through the wall of water but that was all.

 Espen’s hair clung to his forehead and he slipped on the blood that washed from his person and soaked into the soil under their feet. His throat felt suddenly tight and he struggled to breath as he stumbled backwards. He clenched his sword and held it out toward Eskel who began to push and advance toward him.

 Eskel took measured steps closer to his brother. While one hand remained held out from his side, he moved the other toward Espen, palm outward. His gaze remained locked on his brother’s. Esk’s form seemed to shudder and flicker like a wave of water itself. The liquid continued to surround them, swirling faster and faster and stretching up toward the sky like a cyclone.

 Espen gasped and began coughing as his eyes grew wider. He released his blade and his hands went toward his neck as if to relieve the pressure building there.

 Suddenly, the madness seemed to fade from Espen’s eyes. Instead a severe exhaustion overcame his bloodshot gaze. As the water swept the blood and filth from his features, he appeared to look almost youthful and innocent once more.

 Eskel’s own eyes were lightening, shimmering from green to iridescent. With the effort, his hair began to whiten from the roots downward. His curls clung to the nape of his neck and his ears. The veins at his neck and wrists popped out and his body was tensed.

 Back on the field, Ari stopped in time to see the pillar of water as the rest of the field became soaked and he slipped and fell into the mud. He scrambled desperately, losing his blade in the process.

 Everyone around him was becoming desperate as well. Southerners and northerners mingled in their confusion. Hirgone was still advancing somewhere behind. A pair of wolves flew beside Arild and one nudged him and seemed to be encouraging him onward while another leapt and attacked a nearby Nereid.

 The wolves were soaked in mud and almost unrecognizable but he allowed them to help him back to his feet.

 “Fuckin’ Hells!” Ari heard a cry go up and glanced to see Ithel helping some straggling southerners away from the Nereids. Ithel shot an arrow that pieced through a Nereid’s skull with shocking accuracy.

 Ari turned back around to take in the carnage of the field.

 Dragon fire kindled across the planes despite the rain. There were limp bodies of giants and men, trolls and wolves, Nereid’s and horses everywhere. The rain plastered his hair to his forehead as it washed away the sweat.

 Men were screaming everywhere and begging for mercy, for water, for death, and for life.

 Truthfully, Ari was looking for any sign of Ingridr. But all was lost to the downpours. Hirgone seemed to have hesitated as if he sensed something wasn’t quite right.

 Back on the hilltop, Eskel continued to push Espen backwards.

 “You have gone on long enough!” The words escaped from Esk’s clenched jaws, “I should have seen you for what you were long ago but the love of a brother has blinded me! I have been stupid! But you will not touch my children… or my crown!”

 Espen let out a choked cry as his boots slipped. He seemed to be withering, shrinking from the inside out. His toes were barely touching the ground now as he began to levitate. His eyes rolled to the back of his head as terrible, ghastly sounds escaped from his throat. Around him the water seemed suspended and floating in the air.

 “Eskky…” he gasped out…

 And suddenly, the rain on the field suspended and the droplets remained as if frozen in time.

 Hirgone’s sharp gaze redirected toward where the pillar of water was still swirling around Eskel and Espen and Hirgone’s features darkened to an ugly, contorted state. He began to move quickly back in the direction of the brothers.

 Ari knew, deep down, that Gridr was still somewhere up there.

 He was close to the northern forces yet again thanks to Hirgone and the wolves, but he couldn’t just abandon her. So, he hurried back through the hovering water droplets and across the mud. He heard someone yell, ‘y’ damn fool’ behind him. He couldn’t be sure, but he was almost certain it was Ivarr’s rasping voice.

 He dodged men who swung at him with blood-drenched blades. He didn’t even know who was friend and who was foe anymore. It was all blurring into one.

 “Ingridr!” He called again. His voice was hoarse with the exertion of the battle as he scaled the field. He couldn’t focus on how tired he was otherwise he knew he would collapse into the mud and give up. Instead, he pressed onward and scrambled over a pile of dead horses and tripped over a giant’s body that had half sunken into the mud. His face and hands were caked with bloody mud by this point.

 On the hilltop, Eskel’s gaze had turned from iridescent green to almost a deep sea blue-green. The water he commanded seemed to flow through his veins as he continued to push Espen backwards with both hands outstretched toward Espen now. Everything was suspended in animation until finally Espen’s skin tightened around his bones and he almost appeared to shrivel up. There was a crack and a pop of bone. Espen’s jaw crunched upward against the rest of his skull. His legs seemed to fold inward.

 There were a few more cracks… pops…

 And the lifeless form of what had been Espen, Prince of Aelcomay, remained levitated but crumpled and destroyed.

 Eskel dropped his hands to his sides. His brother flopped limply to the ground beside Ingridr and the swirling and churning rains righted. The suspended droplets on the field fell once more as a steady, relentless storm continued.

 Esk’s face was sheet-white and his hair was completely pale blonde all the way through now. He fell to his knees beside his daughter and the lifeless form of his brother. His own features were taught and his gaze piercingly vicious but calming in its own right. He reached out to take up his daughter’s hands before glancing to the wound Yenn had inflicted upon her. Drops of blood fell from Esk’s nose and from his tear ducts but he wiped them away, more concerned for his daughter in that moment.

 “Eskel!” There was a new cry coming from behind as Helene scrambled across the field. She had been dressed in a pale blue gown which was now caked in rank mud.

 Several Nereids stopped to look toward her.

 She was abruptly blocked on the field by Hirgone who’s form dwarfed her in every way possible and he smacked her roughly across the cheek which sent her flying backwards into the mud. Her long plaited blonde locks got tangled with the death and filth she landed in. She struggled to stand again and looked toward her father with a distinct hatred as Hirgone laughed brutally and turned from her.

 “Stay down, little cunt. Where you belong!” He yelled over his shoulder while advancing toward where Eskel and Ingridr were.

 Eskel was obviously spent physically and emotionally as the rain continued to pour around them and his blonde locks clung to his neck and face. His blade was lost somewhere in the slime of the battle. Still, his breastplate glimmered proudly, washed in the rain and shining out the stag – the emblem of his true forbearers.

 He turned enough to protect Ingridr from whatever blows might come. Hirgone seemed to be readying himself to strike when a blade punched through his throat. His Nereid blood splattered across Eskel and Ingridr’s pale forms.

 There behind him was Helene with a dagger held aloft and plunged into her father’s neck just where the spine began.

 “Never again!” She declared, her voice loud and yet trembling with unknown passion.

 Ari reached them at that moment and he hurtled himself into Ingridr. His chest was heaving and he wasn’t even certain if it was tears streaming down his cheeks or rain or sweat.

 Espen’s men and the Nereid forces seemed suddenly disorganized and some rallied to Ragnar’s men while others fled the field.