Rebirth of the Nephilim

The demon’s sharp teeth shone as it lunged forward in a wild, vicious attack. What it lacked in skill it more than made up for in speed and strength. Its large, black body twisted on itself like a snake, rippling muscles shifting in a boneless body that allowed for unpredictable movements. Its maw was wide enough to swallow a man whole, a mass of talon-tipped tentacles writhing from within the jaws of the terrible abomination. Whatever it bit into would be pierced by those tentacles and dragged inside to be ripped to shreds within the belly of the disgusting creature.

Prince Hraustrekr’s lips thinned in a slight frown. He wasn’t sure from where Lady Una had conjured this demon from her long memory, but he felt some small sympathy for those who had been forced to fight such a foul and fierce foe. He doubted very much that whoever had encountered this greater demon had taken victory without loss of one kind or another. Not all were as skilled as he.

Sliding his left foot back slightly, Hraustrekr dodged the blow with as little movement as was necessary. He let the demon’s jaws pass within a finger length of his face, relying on his superior speed and perception to keep out of reach of the attack. As the demon’s head passed and its neck came into view, Hraustrekr shifted the blade of his sword up so that the edge rested lightly against the underside of the demon’s dark flesh. He had seen this attack twice so far in the fight already. He knew what would come next.

The greater demon pulled away, whipping its head back towards its coiled body in a tearing motion that was meant to knock him off his feet or at least off his guard. Instead, having expected the move, Hraustrekr stepped to the side while forcing the edge of his blade up into the neck of the demon, letting the power of his opponent’s own movement tear into the flesh.

Black blood splattered across the stone floor in great gouts as the demon’s main artery was sliced open. The creature gurgled out a screech of anger as its vitality was drained in seconds.

Hraustrekr smiled in satisfaction. He shifted effortlessly into the next stance, ready to make his own lunge and finish the monster with a piercing strike to its chest. Before he could, however, the demon’s movements ceased entirely, freezing like a statue, before the whole of the illusion disappeared into a mist that lingered for only a moment before all signs that it had ever existed were gone.

“Why did you stop?” Hraustrekr demanded, his voice cracking like thunder as he whirled on Lady Una. “I had not landed the finishing blow!”

The golem standing to the side of the training arena bowed her head in a perfunctory apology. Her face was impossible to read, the stone golem’s form that of an ewe and therefore just as impenetrable to his discernment as any simple animal would be. Her stone hooves lightly tapped against the ground as she shifted her weight, motioning with her head towards the entry way of the arena.

“My apologies, Prince Hraustrekr,” Una intoned in her inflectionless voice. “The illusion’s calculated health was at less than ten percent of its maximum value. Based on your previous bouts this morning I judged that victory was a forgone conclusion. Since the end was assured, I did not think it prudent to continue to keep your advisors waiting.”

Hraustrekr suppressed a sneer. Of course he had known Jorvald and Runar were waiting for him to finish. How could he not? He was not deaf nor blind to the movements around him. If the news they had to bring him was of true importance they would have interrupted his morning exercises. Since they had waited, that meant there was no great rush. They could wait until he was damn well finished.

He was in half a mood to take his anger out on the impassive Golem. It wasn’t like her to take such a daring action as to risk his displeasure. Which was why he didn’t vent his spleen on her. Hraustrekr had kept Una in his service for decades because of her level-headed obedience. If she had decided to take such an independent action, then that meant she knew something that he did not. Or rather, her patron Metethys had put a thought in her granite head.

Forgoing the reprimand he had balanced on his tongue for Una, Hraustrekr sheathed his sword and stalked towards the edge of the stone circle where his two advisors waited for him.

“What is it now,” he called out as he approached the pair. “Did the whole of the northern front collapse since yesterday? I cannot think of what else would require both of you to seek me out so early in the morning.”

He regarded the two men who stood silently next to each other, both so similar in mien yet disparate in nature.

General Jorvald was a cold man, his dark grey skin and black hair giving him an unfortunately grim appearance. His perpetually frowning expression and dour personality did nothing to dispel the foreboding air of the older elf, which was only made worse by eyes that were so dark blue that they looked black when the light wasn’t right. A grim appearance was no sin in Hraustrekr’s book, especially not in a battlefield commander, but Jorvald’s perpetually sour air made it impossible to use him for formal functions. Most nobles and people of importance did not like the dark man, which was utterly ridiculous in the prince’s eyes. What did it matter if Jorvald was a hard-faced prig? He was a masterful tactician and a powerful warrior. That was all a general needed to be.

But no, results on the battlefield seemed to be not enough for the nobles and other supporters of the crown. One had to be charming as well. So Hraustrekr had to do the job of wooing nobles to his cause. Gods but he wished he had someone with some tact to rely on.

Tact. Something that Runar certainly had in small supply as well. The Valbjorn was just as dark as Jorvald, with thick black fur and shining silver eyes, but he was a burning flame rather than a cold fish. His bulky frame and ursine visage inspired fear rather than distaste. A fact that Runar was happy to encourage. Again, a nature that Hraustrekr could well use on the battlefield but was practically useless in courtly circles.

“We need to get you back onto the battlefield,” Runar rumbled disapprovingly as Hraustrekr came to a stop before him. “Fighting illusions is no replacement for real combat.”

“Would that I could,” Hraustrekr spat in agreement. “But every time I leave the capital as of late, my brother takes advantage of my absence. His plots are myriad and oblique. I cannot respond to them fast enough when it takes weeks to be updated.”

“Then kill him and be done with it,” Runar growled, his white teeth bared in a snarl.

“Silence,” Hraustrekr hissed. “Do not speak of such treasonous thoughts in my presence.”

Not that Hraustrekr would mind if Kestil were to be permanently removed. His brother had grown into a thorn that had pierced his side years ago, only growing worse in his twisted nature ever since he’d first been presented to the court. But he would not have his advisors talk of such things where others might be witness to their conversation. Not when such words might find their way to his father’s ears.

His thoughts now centered on his brother, Hraustrekr’s eyes narrowed at the Valbjorn suspiciously.

“Is that what this is about? More of his machinations?”

“In part,” Runar shrugged one muscled shoulder.

Hraustrekr’s eyes snapped to Jorvald, who had been silent so far.

“Out with it then! What is that snake up to now?”

“Nothing directly,” Jorvald said, his voice flat and without passion. “You remember the three Nephilim that were discovered in Weigrun.”

“Of course,” Hraustrekr frowned at the general’s statement. “We’ve sent an appropriate delegation to make contact with them. Have we received word? Did they return from that ill-thought-out expedition Vraekae allowed them to go on?”

“No word as to their return as of yet,” Jorvald shook his head. “However, it seems that Prince Kestil had already made his move some months ago. He sent Noll to Weigrun. He’s been there this whole time. From what our reports say, he has successfully ingratiated himself with the Nephilim to the point that he has been acting as some form of combat trainer.”

Hraustrekr bared his teeth in a snarl as his uncontrolled expression turned ugly.

“Dammit! Damn the man!” he cursed, his fist clenching so tightly on the pommel of his sword that his bones creaked. “Where is that loathsome cur now?”

“Unknown, but our contacts presume he is with the Nephilim on their expedition.”

Hraustrekr cursed again as he whirled away from his advisors, his temper flared. He paced the arena in long strides, taking deep breaths to calm his raging mood. Anger had its place, but it would blind him if he let it control his thoughts. He had to clear his mind and think.

So.

Kestil had gotten ahead of him again and positioned one of his pawns in a place where he could influence these Nephilim, and he’d managed to do it many weeks ahead of Hraustrekr’s expectations. A point in his brother’s favor. Noll, the damned dog, had pledged no allegiance to Kestil and had remained stolidly independent, but his hatred for the First Prince meant that the mercenary would no doubt attempt to poison these Nephilim against Hraustrekr. He’d seen Kestil attempt the same many times with the Hero.

Further, the last few reports he had received from that moron General Egilhard had not been encouraging. He’d done precious little to court the Nephilim to his cause. The general’s letters claimed many earnest attempts and clever schemes, but Hraustrekr knew the man and could read what wasn’t said. He’d failed so far and had little chance of success. Hraustrekr had thought the man put in a place where he could do little harm, but it seemed he was doing little good either.

He’d sent his delegation to meet with these Nephilim as soon as he’d received confirmation of the veracity of their claim to be a lost avatar race but delaying had clearly been a mistake. His brother hadn’t waited, and now he had months of influence over an unknown quantity that had the potential to cause massive shifts in alliance among the nobles of the court. Certainly, having the Hero in his pocket was the strongest weapon in his arsenal, but an unexpected blade like these Nephilim had too much potential to upset his plans. He couldn’t ignore them, not when so much was at stake.

“There is more.”

Hraustrekr paused in mid-stride, looking up at Jorvald’s unhappy face.

“What more?” He growled, his temper barely held in check. “What else has my brother done?”

“It is not him precisely, but the temples,” Jorvald explained. “All nine of the High Temples have sent envoys consisting of High Priests to Weigrun.”

“All of them?” Hraustrekr stared blankly at his advisor. His eyes shifted from Jorvald to Runar. “All of them? Even your temple?”

“Yes,” Runar growled. “Steingrimur himself left to go see these Nephilim. He did so quietly, like a skulking fox. I did not even know he had left.”

What in the abyss was going on? Hraustrekr frowned deeply, his burning anger taking a step back as his confusion moved to the fore. Yes, the temples had been in an uproar ever since word of the return of the Nephilim race had become known. In particular Lyssandria’s High Temple had been like an overturned ant’s nest once the news had reached them. Hraustrekr expected as much, it was part of why he wanted to secure these Nephilim away from his brother so they could not be used against him.

But the high priests should not have been given leave to sail to Weigrun. It was absolute folly to allow so many valuable, high-level priests to go to an active warzone. Such action went against all good sense.

“My father allowed this?” Hraustrekr demanded.

“They did not ask for his leave,” Jorvald pronounced direly. “All left in secret. Your father is furious.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“How long since they departed?”

“Five days ago.”

“Five days!” Hraustrekr let out a mirthless laugh. “How on Oros did they manage that?”

He waved his hand dismissively when Jorvald opened his mouth to answer.

“It doesn’t matter. What does matter is when Kestil found out. If I know, he knows, I am without doubt. If he knew at the time of their departure, he could have sent word to his dog with the same ships. Or, damn him, the snake may have aided the high priests in their flight.”

“It seems likely,” Jorvald agreed.

Yes, yes it did seem likely. How else could so many high priests manage to sneak away without anyone in the palace being aware? His brother had to be involved. And if Kestil was willing to move the High Temples to meet with these Nephilim, that meant that he felt confident that he had secured the favor of the Nephilim. There was no chance his brother would allow others to potentially influence them unless he had already firmly hooked his craven claws into them. And if that was the case, then that meant Hraustrekr’s chances of gaining them as allies were low. Damnably low.

Hraustrekr’s sharp green eyes snapped onto Runar’s face.

“Your company is in the city?”

“We rest and recover in preparation for a return to the eastern front.”

“Go to Weigrun,” Hraustrekr commanded, his mind seething with barely suppressed rage. “Bring these Nephilim to me. No more delays, no more chances for manipulation. I want them here where I can keep them under my thumb.”

“Under what pretense does Runar go to take them?” Jorvald asked in his sour tones. “There are many eyes upon them. It is late in the day to try and secret them away.”

“I don’t damn well care!” Hraustrekr shouted as he stormed up to the two men, a flame burning in his eyes. “I will not allow any further disruptions to my plans to continue to fester on my flank! Bring them to me! Now!”