Servant of the Bone Tree

Chapter 4: Murder in the Streets

The Ancestral Hall was located right in the heart of the City of the Day. It was daytime outside, and the blinding afternoon sun made Emrys squint as he stepped out into it.

There were crowds of people gathered around the surrounding buildings of the city. They were engaged in trading, farming and drinking: the three main past times of the people of Cwm. They all gasped in shock at the sight of Emrys stepping out from the Hall. He was naked, and his body was caked in blood.

“Is that the Heir?” someone whispered.

“Not anymore. Gwern is the true chosen one. But they said that Emrys had vanished to the Dark World,” said another.

“Then is he a spirit? We need a druid here straight away!”

Emrys ignored them. He pushed his way through the gathered crowds, who screamed and parted willingly.

No one who had vanished into the Dark World had ever left again. For the people of Cwm, Emrys might as well have been a vengeful ghost. An apparition. He embodied everything that terrified them and haunted their nightmares: the unseen forces of the mysterious world of the Fae.

It was only moments before axe-bearers arrived. They blocked the street, weapons in hand, their teeth gritted in fury.

“Halt, Emrys!” one shouted. He was a man of about fifty, with a short black beard upon his face. “Take one step further, and we shall have no choice but to fight you.”

Emrys didn’t reply to him. He turned to Angharad, who was following just behind him. She was staring at him with almost as much terror as the civilians of the city.

“We’re any of these the man that beat you?” he demanded.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Angharad. “Please, Emrys. I know you’re angry, but you have to stay alive. You’re unarmed and weakened. Those axe-bearers will tear you apart!”

“Who was it, sister?”

His voice came out in a beastly snarl. Angharad cowered away from him, terrified. Emrys had a wild, hungry look in his eyes that she had never seen before.

Angharad pointed a shaking finger to the black-bearded axe-bearer who had spoken before. Emrys turned to glare at him.

The axe-bearer didn’t wince. He returned Emrys’s dark look with one of his own.

“This is your last warning,” the axe-bearer said. “I am the Captain of the Wolf’s Teeth, and you will show me the respect I deserve.”

Emrys felt his heart begin pumping into overdrive. His entire body was tense, his muscles screaming. He had been holding back his rage, and the strain of mastering his violent urges was beginning to take hold. He could scarcely see through the vengeful mist that descended on his vision. He could scarcely think with so many violent thoughts plaguing his mind.

But there was no need to hold back any longer. Not now he had found his target.

Emrys charged forward with all the speed that his blood rage allowed. The twenty feet between him and the Captain was nothing to him. His legs powered him across the distance in an incredible stride. In seconds, he was next to his enemy, sweeping his club downwards.

The blow connected with the Captain’s head, and the man’s skull exploded. Bone, blood and brains spurted out onto the streets, and onto the other two warriors present.

They shouted for help as they swung axes in Emrys’s direction. But Emrys was already moving quicker than they could react. His second club-blow struck an axe-bearer in the ribs, and Emrys could hear the splinter of bones that groaned from the impact.

The second axe found its mark, cutting a huge open gash down Emrys’s back. The pain made him scream. In a blood rage, his entire body’s senses were heightened. That one cut, though only a surface level wound, felt as though it had torn him in two.

From that pain, Emrys drew strength. The next blow from his club struck the attacking axe-bearer with the force of a battering ram. Emrys’s enemy rolled backwards, crashing into the side of a market stall, which exploded into splinters.

Emrys took a deep breath. There were three bodies scattering the streets. He had killed them without even thinking, as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

But the blood rage was beginning to take its toll. Already he could feel his body protesting the strain he was putting it under. The magical strength that the bone tree granted was deep and powerful, but it was not natural. No body could sustain it for long.

The blood rage ended, and Emrys collapsed down onto his knees. His body was caked with sweat. Emrys took sharp, rasping breaths, desperate to regain some energy.

At the same time, a dozen more axe-bearers appeared on the streets. Emrys recognized the different crests on their shields. There were three main clans of axe-bearers, all of whom carried out different roles in the service of Cwm. The Wolfs Fang were protectors of the people. They policed the streets of the City of the Day, and they slayed criminals that broke the King’s laws. The second clan were the Ram’s Horns. They were the defenders, who protected the borders of Cwm.

The third clan, and the greatest of them, were the Dragon’s Fire. They were the men who were sworn to protect the King and the Druids directly. They occupied the Royal Halls and left only when there were grave threats in the city to deal with.

All the axe-bearers surrounding Emrys were of the Dragon’s Fire clan. Their shields were marked with the bright red dragon of Cwm, it’s claws bared, as though it were about to decimate prey.

Their leader, a man named Lloyd, stepped forward. He was the eldest of them- nearing forty, but still as strong and lean as a younger man. Though his blond sideburns were now flecked with grey.

“Emrys, I served your father faithfully for fifteen years,” he said, calmly. “I truly do not wish to kill you. But I will do so, if you don’t give yourself up quietly.”

“If you truly care about my father’s legacy, then stand down.”

“I serve the heir now, Emrys.”

“I am the heir. The crown has been stolen from me.”

“Don’t listen to him. Restrain that man.”

Both Emrys and Lloyd turned their heads.

Morgan had appeared, stepping through the streets at the head of his group of Druids. With one barking command, the streets were cleared of civilians. Only the Druids, the Dragon’s Fire axe-bearers, Emrys and his sister remained.

“You’ve been given a clear order,” Morgan said to Lloyd, his voice thick with warning. “Did you not understand it, or are you too cowardly to follow it?”

“I served King Ryland for many years, master. It is not easy to turn an axe against his son.”

“He has slain axe-bearers. He is an enemy of the crown now.”

“What if he hadn’t slain them? Perhaps they would have gutted him in the street. Emrys may not be named heir, but he is still of Royal blood.” Lloyd let go of his ax, letting it drop to the ground. “I cannot be a part of this.”

“If you don’t have the stomach for what must be done, then I shall act myself.”

Morgan picked up Lloyd’s axe and stepped forward to face Emrys. He took careful steps towards him, brandishing the weapon with menace.

Though the man was robed, Emrys could see the rippling of muscle underneath the cloak. Morgan was his uncle, Ryland’s brother. When Ryland was heir, they had both fought together. Morgan had been a feared warrior, an axe-bearer who had fought in a dozen great battles. Though he was a druid now, his strength still lingered. He still knew how to make use of an ax.

“Surrender yourself to the new heir, Emrys,” Morgan said. “Return to your cell until your chance to face my son in the stone circle. By shedding blood on the streets now, you make a mockery of your challenge.”

“I will never surrender myself to someone who murders his own family,” Emrys growled.

He stood on shaking feet. The muscles in his legs were weak, wobbling even whilst trying to hold his weight up. Emrys ran his hand over the ax wound on his back, and quickly pasted it over the front of his club, giving it to the bone tree.

This time the blood-rage felt different. It was a more muted experience. The strength did not come in a sudden flash, but in a dull throb, as though his body were fighting against the magic.

Morgan swung his axe. Emrys brought his club to block the blow. The ax was halted in its momentum, but the impact still sent a shockwave of pain through Emrys’s body. His knees threatened to buckle.

Morgan did not show any mercy. Relentlessly he swung his ax again and again, until Emrys was forced back into the mud. He kept his club held aloft, blocking every blow that threatened to end him, but he could feel his strength draining, his fury giving away. He knew he could not block many more attacks. But he also could not surrender. Not to this vile uncle of his. This kin-slayer.

As he gritted his teeth and prepared to meet the other world, Emrys took one more glance at his sister.

Angharad was cowering behind a building, watching the exchange with terrified, wide-open eyes. Emrys wanted to shout at her to look away. He wanted to warn her to run and protect herself. But his lungs were emptied from strain. Every time he opened his mouth, all he could do was cry out in pain.

Still, Morgan’s axe kept on swinging. Blow after blow. Each strike as hard as the last. Just as Emrys was so exhausted that he was about to collapse, a sharp, cutting voice broke the heir.

“Stop this at once, you fools!”