Pennac and the Horned Brigade

A northern wind blew in from the cold mountains overlooking the city of Pennanc, creeping through the floorboards and whistling shrilly around the tower. In their brackets on the walls, candles flickered and cast their moving orange glow over the bookshelves, which arched up to the ceiling and encased the entire room. In the small arrow slit overlooking the city a large Brek bird ruffled its feathers as it peered keenly for any dangers; though there were sure to be none.

Jyac took off his spectacles and rubbed the crust from his eyes, blinking back the fuzzy weariness that had descended upon him. On the table before him lay a small pile of manuscripts, which he had been studying keenly for hours now. He tried to ignore the reasoning behind it.

That’s right; read all you can so you don’t look completely useless. Coward.

He sighed and peered at the manuscripts mournfully before smothering a yawn behind his hand. When he opened his eyes he gave a start at the woman who had appeared before him. Her eyes were keen and bright within a face hardened by age, but she wore a small, amused smile. Her horns were so undersized that they barely rose above hair dusted with grey, but they pointed sharply upward, displaying strong ancestry. She had been the librarian in the manor for as long as he could remember, but he was certain her fondness for him only stretched so far, when it came to her scrolls, books and manuscripts. He gave her a hesitant smile.

“Your father will be disappointed to find that you’re too tired to train again tomorrow Master Hock,” she said, “reports of humans within the boundaries require all of us to be prepared, and you most especially of all.”

I can’t avoid it forever he thought glumly.

But I can always try. Another voice added.

“Many thanks for the concern Brenn, but these human politics are fascinating. Am I allowed to take some from the library if I bring them back as early as I can tomorrow?” he smiled in what he hoped was something akin to those he’d seen his brothers work to get what they wanted. He’d been sure it was hopeless, but she seemed to consider.

Finally she sighed. “Just make sure you’re careful, with yourself and the manuscripts. I don’t want you overworked, and I most certainly don’t want any harm to come to these; they’re very old.”

He thanked her and made a show of carefully rolling them back up and very carefully tucking them under his arm, until he was certain that he had convinced her of their safety. However, the moment she disappeared behind a bookshelf he pushed a pair of small spectacles up his nose and gathered the rest up without paying much attention to them. He wasn’t sure he’d make it to his rooms without dropping off his feet, but the longer he forced himself awake, the longer he’d miss of training the next day.

You’re a fool, he thought

Well what else can I do?

It was met with silence. He’d asked himself a thousand times before and every time he had drawn to the same conclusion. The horrible truth was that he was barely magical at all. The Woodlanders were a proud people who boasted a strange magic that humans couldn’t wield, and for generations they had built great twisting cities that seemed to defy logic and had tamed almost every sort of animal. His brothers and father were very powerful wielders, as his entire family had been for centuries, while he could barely summon the power to speak to his Brek.

He’d managed to keep his secret thanks to the peace that had lay upon Woodland territories since his father’s childhood, but now that the humans were creeping over the border the high blood were required to train. It had been tradition for thousands of years for the blood to run with the men in battle, and there were great tales of lords and ladies leading brave armies to confront terrifying foes. For years his family had settled knowing that he could speak to his Brek, assuming that he was too quiet and modest to boast his potential, as his brothers did. They assumed that because his horns were longer than even his fathers, sweeping against the sides of his head to flick upwards at the end, that he was destined for greatness. He knew otherwise.

He entered his chambers and leant against the door a moment before walking over to a desk and scattering the manuscripts across it. Through the large arrow slits covered in clear melted sand he could see his Brek swooping toward the forest where she liked to hunt, far to the east of the sprawling city. Towers spiralled and twisted to jut into the sky like gnarled trees, houses spreading like a blanket over the valley, touching the very edge of the cold mountains. Upon the mountains themselves he knew that men and women herded animals and tamed even more, so that within the city streets flocks of Brek swept through the sky, teams of wolfish Arrak patrolled the streets, and large yenkh pulled wagons through the ever-present throng.

He tugged his coat, which flared from his waist, and turned to peer at himself in the mirror. The silk crept up his neck, while lace spilled down his chest and into a Grouell waistcoat made from a strange material that shone like metal. He thought he looked foolish, covered with so many frills, whilst his mother assured him that elaborate clothes were the pinnacle of high society. His coat and trousers were slightly creased and large dark rings rimmed his blue eyes, but his brown hair was neatly held in place by his horns, and it tickled his neck as he tried to loosen his collar. Even for a Grouell he was tall, and to compensate he held himself so as to draw little attention to it, always leaning to one side when standing, and shortening his strides when he walked.

He entertained the thought that perhaps it would be best if he stayed and studied the manuscripts, but grimaced as he looked toward the pile. Despite what people thought, he wasn’t at all fond of politics. It was just another way to make himself seem useful, and the habit of collecting information had only grown as he grew older.

I’ll be asleep the moment I look at them again, he thought, whilst stifling another yawn.

A knock at the door drew his eyes away from the manuscripts, and thankful for the distraction he stumbled to the door and opened it. His brother Joyel grinned up at him from where he stood with a girl hanging onto each arm. His eyes had their usual light of mischief about them, and Jayk tried to ignore that his dark hair was thoroughly mussed.

“You look like death!” he said cheerily.

Jyac ran a hand over his hair and adjusted his spectacles, whilst trying to ignore the coy smiles the two girls were giving him. They were very pretty, with delicate curling horns and dark eyes, but they no doubt were only interested in false expectations.

“Thank you Joyel.” He said dryly, “Why are you coming to see me? I assumed you were busy.” He pointedly glanced at his brother’s hair and tried to hide his burning mortification. Unfortunately he was the only one embarrassed, as this only seemed to encourage his brother, who grinned and pinched one of the girls while she giggled in return. Jyac felt his face heating and tried to ignore it.

“Jyac,” his brother said, feigning seriousness, “you’ve not been outside in days, you look like you’ve starved for a month, and all this politics can’t be good for a man. You’re coming with us.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unsafe to be out?” he asked half-heartedly. He glanced back at the papers and tried to convince himself that it would be best if he stayed, but the thought of sitting reading about human laws and restrictions was about as tempting as sticking his head into a bees nest.

“With a big boy like you about, I’m sure we’ll be as safe as houses,” he grinned. The girls giggled, winked, and he tried to pretend that they weren’t there. He was sure to already be going red.

“All right,” he muttered.

His brother grinned and soon Jyac found himself walking through the manor with one of the girls attached to his arm. He talked to be polite but soon found that her smouldering looks were off putting, and every time he glanced over to his brother he received a smirk. For most of the journey he concentrated on trying to fend off his brothers continuous observations on his unkempt appearance.

The lights of the city were wonderful, with tall glass columns containing glow flies, silhouetting the never ending twisted buildings against the sky. There were delicately arched bridges over the streets, linking houses, and the stones beneath his feet had small crystals, which shone in the greenish glow. There were no angles or sharp edges to anything. It all seemed to coil like a huge winding snake, buildings merging into each other and meandering across the ground, as natural as the roots of a tree.

The inn his brother had chosen was called The White Rabbit, and was on the edge of the inner city. From outside it looked like a small house, but like many of the other Woodlander dwellings the inside sank below the ground, filled with well-to-do merchants and lower blood conversing over goblets of chousse. The air was alive with swirling tendrils of pipe smoke, which coiled around the iridescent glow lamps that encircled the room.

He was lead over to a table by the fire, and felt his thoughts thicken as the warmth merged with his fatigue. He perched on the edge of his seat to keep himself awake and let his eyes roam around the room. By now he’d grown used to the looks he got because of his horns, and the averted eyes as he caught them looking. Most of the customers were men, donning rich jewels or curved swords to flaunt their wealth. Barmaids wound around the tables with an ease that spoke of routine, and behind the bar the inn owner instructed them to tables and took orders, tucking her notepad into an ample bosom once she’d done.

“What’s wrong Jyac?” his brother asked, handing a large gold coin to a passing barmaid who hurried off to get his usual. “You look as though you’re expecting an attack.”

Jyac shrugged. “You can never be too careful. I’ve heard reports of a band of humans sighted North of the Green Sea, and I’ve been reading a lot that suggests Humans are quite savage.”

Joyel took a chug of his chousse and studied him over the rim of his goblet for a moment. “That’s why we’ve been put to training, brother. To protect our people and keep ourselves safe, yet with all this talk of ‘Savage Humans’ I haven’t seen you anywhere near the practice room since father started the training weeks ago.”

Jyac picked up his own goblet and began drinking to smother the panic that was welling inside of him. Joyel had never taken anything seriously, yet his tone had almost suggested knowledge of what Jyac was hiding. His greatest fear in life had always been that he would be cast aside because of his magical inability, without knowledge of the world, destined to wonder about as an outcast with no purpose in life. Shunned by all for dishonouring his blood.

“I’ve been busy,” he said at last.

Suddenly Joyel laughed, startling a couple behind him. “Oh Jyac, you’ll never change will you? If you spent any more time with those books you’d have to marry them.” Jyac felt his heartbeat fall and let a relieved smile curl his lips as he settled back into his chair with a sigh. “Half of me thinks you’re just avoiding it to spare you the humiliation of being beaten by me.” He added.

How close to the truth you are, Joyel, He thought sadly.

“Of course, ladies, it’s well known that I’m one of the most skilled swordsmen in Pennanc,” he began, winding an arm around each of them and thrusting out his jaw. “ And it’s the blood honest truth that I have more intelligent conversation with my Brek than I do with my brother.”

They giggled.

Jyac found it hard to find the joke as amusing; the harmless words only a reminder of the truth he’d hidden for too long already, making his stomach clench until he was sure it would empty. He gave a half smile before concerning himself with his drink, and tuned out the rest of his brothers boasting as he sunk into his own dark thoughts.

Training of the blood consisted of healing, swordsmanship and magic for both attack and defence. Although he wasn’t at all bad with a blade, it drained him merely to heal a cut and he’d never had the nerve to try anything much stronger, after that upsetting revelation. Training was supposed to separate the strong for the weak and was therefore extremely difficult- though Jyac didn’t know firsthand-, and even Raviell, his eldest brother, had looked weary after many sessions.

He snapped back to reality as panic ripped through the room. The walls began to shake, tremors spreading from one side to the other like a mighty wave to throw men from their seats and rip screams from the throats of many. A tiny voice in the back of his head told Jyac that it must have been a horrendous explosion to affect the underground inn so.

Seconds later, a large boom resounded about the building, making his drink ripple and slosh over his hands. He recovered from the shock in time to find his brother pulling him up by the scruff of his neck, and was unceremoniously dragged across the room. From outside the low moaning of sirens filled the air, and Jyac felt an icy cold dread chill his bones.

The humans are attacking.

You’re going to die.

“Joyel, what are you doing?” he shouted, trying to wrench himself free in a fit of panic, his heart thumping in his chest with such strength he felt his fingers throb.

“What do you think I’m doing? I’m going out to protect my people Jyack, and you’re coming with me!”

“Then stay here and protect these people!” he bellowed, waving his arm in the vague direction of the others scattering around him. “You’re only going to get yourself killed!”

He grew more desperate as the seconds passed, insides twisting like a snake in a bag, legs struggling under his own weight. His brother ignored this and continued to drag Jyac up onto the street and toward the blasts that reverberated through the stones beneath their feet. His fear only increased as they grew closer to the blood red glow of burning buildings.

His brother handed him a sword.

“Take this,” he said, “and circle south of the explosion. We need to pick off the mages from the outside and work inwards, otherwise we will be outnumbered and slain. Surprise is our only friend. Just hit them with a few strong waves of earth or fire and they’ll go down quietly.”

Jyac wrenched himself free, absently trying to steady his legs. “Joyel, this is insane! We don’t know how many there are or-”.

The words dissolved on his tongue as he watched a figure surface from a nearby building. Time seemed to slow and his breath caught as though he were trying to inhale water. Jyac watched as a human emerged from a burning building, a male he guessed, carrying a large staff that reeked human magic. It made him want to be sick. Joyel turned just as the sickening staff looked upon them with an evil glowing stone, and Jyac watched in a stunned silence as his brother sent the human reeling with a shock wave more powerful than he could ever wish to manage. It split the earth beneath the mage, and sent him flying back into the building.

“Why didn’t you stop him, you idiot!” his brother yelled, turning back around. Jyac watched with sickening rapture as Joyel’s arm began oozing blood from a wound created by an unseen spell.

“Well?” his brother demanded, “were you honestly too afraid to save even your own brother?”

His mouth moved soundlessly and his throat constricted speech. He knew that it was the moment to let go of the secret he held, but as he pictured Joyel’s face, pitying and betrayed, he couldn’t summon the words to tell him. His brother didn’t bother to wait until the right words were found, and instead grabbed hold of his sleeve and pushed him down the road.

His legs tangled and he nearly fell, but corrected himself in a daze, walking through the deserted streets with only one eye open for dangers. He became sucked into visions of his impending doom. The metal heels of his boots clicked hollowly and echoed through the soundless streets, the Woodland people having long since retreated into the tunnels beneath. He didn’t notice the dark figure stalking him from the rooftops, a small lithe form with an assassins bow.

His nose found the humans first, sucking in the greasy reek of impure magic. The intense panic he had felt fled to be replaced by the calm only reached when fear is not enough. He seemed to be looking through another person’s eyes as his body moved on its own accord, and soon he found himself crouched upon the roof of a nearby building, watching as his brother stalked the mages on the other side, picking them off one by one.

Joyel shadowed them like a cat, his face set and his jaw tight with concentration. He enticed the humans closer with an odourless magic and prayed upon those that had been drawn from the group, hitting them with quick and deadly attacks that left them to die silently. His spells were colourless, invisible until they had already served their purpose. It was strange to watch as men fell as if struck by something not there, while Joyel only betrayed his involvement with a flick of fingers. Jyac couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to have that ability.

Jyac’s eye caught a shadow moving behind his brother. He almost didn’t notice it, but after a second glance his heart almost stopped. Time stopped as he saw a human creep behind Joyel with an unblinking eye upon the end of her sickening staff. That eye rested upon his brother’s heart.

Jyac’s hand rose automatically, in a vein attempt to save his brother.

If only I weren’t so useless, he thought bitterly, then I could save him.

He closed his eyes and tried to summon something, anything, which could save his brother. He tried to imagine the feeling of drawing upon magic, of sending it though his outstretched fingers and blasting the human to bits. Yet only a hollow emptiness resounded inside of him, and from below he heard a scream that sounded haunting to his ears.

Jyac opened his eyes, expecting to peer upon the prone body of his brother. Instead he found Joyel signalling with two thumbs up, indicating to the body behind him victoriously. Two arrows protruded from her unmoving chest.

Jyac could almost imagine his brother’s words.

You’ve saved me Jyack; I’m buying you a drink!

He looked down at his own hands in astonishment, but as his smooth fingers flexed he became aware of a tickling next to his ear. Warm break ghosted over his neck, sending a chill down his spine.

“I know your secret, my lord.” Said a feminine, silky, mocking voice. “You will be coming with me.”

Icy shock washed over him. He could not breathe, speak, nor see. Every muscle was numb with dread and his fingers trembled. He could feel a point pressed against his spine, inducing morbid images to rush through his thick, panicked thoughts. Trying to ignore his heavy tongue, his lips moved soundlessly until he could voice one, single utterance.

“W-Why should I?”

“Because,” she whispered with her cheek against his, “I saved your brother’s life.” Small, calloused fingers gripped his jaw tightly, forcing him to look down at Joyel, “and it would be an awful shame if I had to kill him anyway.”