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Chapter 6: The Deep Ones
"There's a place for honor, and it's here!"
– Prince Willam Stark
The man loved signing, and for that alone Willam had grown to dislike him; for no one person could possibly deserve such happiness. "An old man by a seashore at the end of day," Thorim Fisher sang merrily and loudly from atop his horse. "Gazes the horizon with sea winds in his face. Tempest-tossed the shoreline in seasons all the same."
Willam did his best to block out the noise; although the man held tune well enough, the song of House Fisher's founder was tiresome after the hundred telling.
They rode for the eastern logging camp at a casual pace.
"And from long-forgotten, depths at the end of this world..."
House Fisher claimed descendance from a commoner who bedded a mermaid. As their story went, the fisherman caught himself a mermaid in his nets; with long flowing hair as blue as the sea and a dress of silver seaweed. She had been wounded by a great shark and the man nursed his catch to health. In thanks the mermaid offered him a trade, asking his seed for her knowledge. The man accepted, laying with the mermaid and learning her secrets of the sea.
It was odd, as far as house legends went. Most boasted of greater deeds than bedding a fish-woman for knowledge of the sea.
"Now his love's a memory, a ghost in the fog," Thorim kept singing, with many of the Fisher men and women joining in as they rode. "She left her kin upon the shore, with a farewell to us all." Whatever the truth of their legend, the silver shark on blue ruled the Stoney Shore as petty kings up until they bent to the Starks of Winterfell.
Ahead laid the eastern logging camp. It was one of three such camps, lightly fortified; with a handful of guardsmen at each to ward off the locals – usually more than effective enough, except here it hadn't been enough. "Ivar," Willam named the man, dismounting his horse. "Aedan. With me..."
The two followed without pause, as Willam put distance between him and the Fisher heir's joyful aura.
The camp was a mess, most of the wooden palisades knocked down; doors left open, and equipment abandoned.
"Keep your wits about you," Willam told them, eyes darting to Aedan's side.
The young wolf looked up at him with curious eyes, as if expected or desired orders.
"Flash will sniff out trouble Will," Aedan assured them, scratching the wolf behind his ears.
Their bound was a young one truly, the Greystarks had reluctantly given Aedan a pup to raise, as was family tradition.
"If the Outlander's to act the part," the Lord of Greystark had said with a scoff. "He'd best look the part."
The Wolf had taken to the Outlander in a heartbeat, much to Lord Greystarks annoyance.
"They'd expected him to fail," Willam had thought. Proud fools.
Aedan had taken no small satisfaction in proving them all wrong.
"Go on Flash," he nudged the wolf gently. The wolf bounded quite happily into the largest building on camp, where one assumed the guardsmen would've been housed. It wasn't long before the growling started almost within an instant.
"Who goes there!?" Aedan shouted as they stepped inside.
"Show yourself!" Ivar added, holding his blade tightly.
Flash was growling menacingly at a corner; all teeth bared.
"Come out," Willam commanded. Frost remained in its scabbard.
"That was an order! You will obey the Prince or be seized by force!"
Whoever it was hiding didn't seem to care for Aedan's supposed orders.
"Flash," Willam sighed, eyes darting to the wolf as it looked up eagerly. "Fetch..."
The wolf darted forward, teeth bared; lashing down around an angle to drag his prey kicking and screaming curses in a strange tongue out from the shadowy corner. "By the gods," Aedan muttered as Flash pulled the flailing body out into the light of the sun; shing through a ruined roof.
It was a woman; short and green-skinned with razor teeth that threatened to bite at her assailant.
"It's a woman? Is that a woman?"
Ivar moved first, grabbing the raving demon's arms.
"Help him," Willam motion for Aedan to assist as Ivar struggled. "And drag her outside…"
The woman cursed in her odd tongue, a collection of hisses and guttural clicks, as the men dragged her by her arms out into the camp where Lord Fisher stood in silence; watching the strange thrashing woman with a sharp caution.
"A straggler?" Lord Fisher asked aloud as men and women gathered.
"Found her lurking in the shadows m'lord! She's one of them!"
She hissed between pointed teeth, snapping at her captors,
"I call her Greeny," Willam declared with a smirk.
Thorim leaned closer to the woman. "Where are the-"
Greeny lunged forward, snapping an inch away from Thorim's face.
"She bites," Willam warned with his mocking smile, motioning lazily to said biting woman. "We're best gagging her, dear cousin; before she ruins that face of yours – gods forbid your wife may never look upon you the same way and I'd never hear the end of it!"
"Enough," Lord Fisher dismissed with a roll of his eyes. "Gag the beast and release her!"
"To what end father?"
"She'll lead us to the others," the Lord replied, eyeing his prisoner.
The woman didn't take kindly to the rope between her teeth or the other ropes that bound her hands – but given her freedom she darted for the trees as if they promised freedom. Flash and a pack of dogs gave chase. It didn't take long for them to pick up a trail, chasing a demon through the trees. It was through the brush and darkness lit by rays of sun that they'd follow the dogs and wolf after their prey – who echoed muffled wails in the distance; as if calling them or others to her…
Willam was among the first to see it. Covered in ivory and moss and overgrown plants, stood ancient stone.
"Home sweet home," he muttered absently as men moved to grab the green woman, preventing her entry into the dark.
It was vast, although heavily obscured in vegetation; the structure near stretched up to the treetops.
"How'd we never find this?!" Edwyn muttered aloud, eyeing a pair of great stone doors in the structure's side.
How hadn't they? None of the scouting parties had ever reported such a structure before… even covered as it was…
"We've never gone this deep," Lord Fisher claimed. If that were the truth or if he'd simply aimed to reassure his men was anyone's guess.
"Secure the woman," Thorim commanded. "The trail ends here – with whatever's inside…"
A trap, most likely – no better than the kind his brother had walked into at Nefer.
"We venture in," Lord Fisher decreed bravely. "Keep the woman secured!"
Glorious. Willam only groaned at the idea of it.
"They could be waiting inside," Aedan protested.
Fisher huffed. "We send the woman ahead with the dogs."
That much seemed to put Aedan at ease somewhat, his eyes darting to Flash.
"Any of these hounds got a warg Uncle?" Willam asked, uneasily eyeing the unwelcoming stone temple.
"Owen!" Thorim called out a single man, motioning him forward from the party; taking uneasy steps towards his lord. A fine black hound with a finer silky coat sat at the man's side, tail wagging with excitement and eyes that glinted with cunning.
"M'lord!" Owen the Warg stood straight and proud as he awaited orders.
"You have the lead," Thorim clasped the man on his shoulder.
"Yes m'lord! We'll not let ya down!"
There wasn't a heartbeat of hesitation there. Loyalty through and through.
Aedan gave a nod to Flash. It was enough for the wolf to understand, bounding off after the dogs.
"Onward!" Lord Fisher degreed as Owen the Warg lead his hound forward with Greeny the Demon and a handful of guardsmen. They made for quite the company. "Keep your wits about you and we'll bring our people home! These savages will seek to surprise us!"
"Stranger times by the minute," Willam muttered, taking a lit torch as it was handed to him.
The ancient doors of the temple creaked open, welcoming with the stench of damp and rot.
The silence was torture. It was the silence that scared him. A blank page on which to write his fears, as the prospect of death was but a pale imitation of the horror's that would fill his mind in the silence. They walked in that silence, into the ancient temple; lighting the darkness with their flickering torches.
"We're not the first to settle this island," Willam explained to Ivar as they walked past the threshold of the ancient doors, eager to fill the quiet that loomed. "Lord Fisher's little port town was built on the ruins of an abandoned settlement, you see, although who exactly came before us is a matter of debate; the ruins made settling here the wisest course – even though it's not certain why it was ruined. The locals seem the best culprits."
"And we're unaware who settled here before us?" Ivar asked, all too easily distracted as they walked.
"My father asked the Mossovy once," Willam answered, holding his torch up. "They held little but fables warning us to stay clear of the whole damn area."
It was a wonder, he thought, that anyone ever bothered warning Starks when they held such a long and storied history of stubbornly ignoring danger; as if it were some strange kind of duty for Stark's to stubbornly rush headfirst into danger.
"It was called Lorsmouth," Willam added absently.
"The ruins?" Ivar asked, assuming as much.
He earned a nod in reply, as the party delved deeper into the structure.
Willam broke the silence again, as more than Ivar had been listening to the Prince talk; all curiosity and eagerness to be distracted from the foulness that lingered in the air here. "The Mossovy claimed it was once home to demon-worshipers, who betrayed their king and consorted with ancient evils."
"What evils?" Edwyn asked from the side, having been listen in.
Willam shrugged. "They apparently wouldn't say. To name them risked summoning the evil…"
It was hard enough for King Brandon to learn as little as he did. The folk of Mossovy did not suffer outsiders.
"Stop struggling you green bitch!" Greeny was growing frantic in her restrains as they neared a junction in the path, more eager than she had been to escape; as if time were running out. She'd grown desperate. "Watch her mouth dammit Owen! It's not like the broth-"
"FUCK!" The man, Owen, screamed as the gag fell chewed from Greeny's mouth; freeing her to bite.
"Secure her!" Lord Fisher commanded as Owen stumbled, holding his hand to a fresh bite wound that bled profusely as Greeny ran with surprising speed down the left hall; having used her razor teeth to rip apart her bindings and leave her captors behind.
"Well then," Willam spoke aloud as Fisher's men gave chase. "There goes our guide…"
He watched the green woman flee and heard an audible click echo, then silence; before a section of the hall slammed down behind her – crushing one man unlucky enough to be standing under it. It flattered him in a heartbeat. Willam supposed it was quick, at least; but a damn ugly death.
"They've traps," Aedan observed. The hall ahead was sealed off by a new thick wall of stone.
Willam scoffed, mildly amused by the now all too obvious statement. "Evidently they've traps…"
Lord Fisher barked orders as his eldest ordered men to begin tearing down the trap door, even though Willam doubted that would be an easy task. No. Greeny was lost to them, that much was glaringly obvious, now they'd be alone to brave these sunken halls.
"And I did so love her company too," Willam thought to himself as Fisher's men panicked.
"We can try the other paths, father!"
Thorim had a point. An obvious one, but still a point.
"I'll take half the men lad," Lord Fisher decreed quickly, eyes darting; planning in a moment's notice. "And your brother the other half. Edwyn my boy, take Prince Willam with you down the east! Remain vigilant for more of these… cowardly traps…"
"Yes father!" Edwyn replied dutifully, already gathering his half of the men.
"What about me?!" Thorim argued his lack of tasked assigned, like a child might ask for more toys.
"Take ten men and return to the doors lad," His father decided for him. It seemed the danger of the situation had weighed on the old lord, and he didn't wish to endanger his heir further since the situation had escalated. "What?!" The Heir disagreed wholly. "I can help father!"
Lord Fisher placed his hand on Thorim's shoulder and gave his best smile.
"And help you will help, but we'll handle this from here my boy."
Willam had since moved to Edwyn whom lingered on the edge of his path, eyeing his father and brother embracing and no doubt bitter at being more expendable than his elder. "Ready for an adventure are we, cousin?"
Edwyn chuckled. "So eager to find your green girl Will?"
"She and I share a bound deeper than the sea, tis true…"
"He'll be sour about this," Edwyn noted as his brother stormed out the way they came.
"He'll survive," Willam dismissed, uncaring for the heir's complaints. Lord Fisher was only protecting him.
The hall shook away his thoughts, ever so slightly; as Flash let out a slight whine from down the dark hall.
"That didn't sound healthy," Aedan spoke, eyes darting to the roof with worry.
The hallway shook again, louder; sounding eerily similar to the thud that had crushed that Fisher soldier before.
"More trapdoors?" The hall shook brutally again, and something cracked overhead…
Willam looked above where he stood beside Edwyn.
Cowardly traps.
"Oh shit…"
"MOVE!"
The sound was deafening. The ceiling of the hall gave way in an instant, sending dirt and stone tumbling down from above as Willam felt the air knocked from his lungs. The world turned dark, the air coated with dust and ruin, and the Prince found himself once more in the dark with only his wayward thoughts.
The dust settled and Willam's vision returned to focus, slumped up against some loose rocks; laying with Aedan atop him, shielding oh so heroically from the rubble. "Grey?" He shook the man as some deep worry brewed in his chest.
The floor was damp and cold. At a glance, it seemed to get worse further in.
"Alive still I'm afraid," Aedan groaned, getting up uneasily to his feet.
"That's a shame," Willam took the man's hand gladly. "I'd thought us dead."
Looking around, it appeared the ceiling to the hallway had collapsed; either by design or by accident – knocked unstable by the slamming of the door before – there was little way to tell in truth. A whine caught the pairs attention.
"Flash!" Aedan rushed to his companion's side, kneeling by the wolf; giving it a pat.
"Ed!" Willam noted quickly, as the wolf sniffed and tugged at the unconscious form of Edwyn Fisher.
They pulled rock off the man, dragging him from the rubble.
"Cousin?" Willam shook the man less and less gently.
"Is he-"
Edwyn Fisher groaned audibly.
"Alive," Willam sighed. "It seems we're all still kicking…"
"Not all of us," Aedan pointing it out. There was what appeared to be an arm sticking out of the rubble. At least one man or woman had gotten themselves crushed in the collapse. "Can you walk Fisher? Does anything hurt?"
"Everything," Edwyn whined, barely getting to his feet. "I can walk, but my left leg hurts like a bitch!"
Willam hummed sagely. "Pain builds character, my dear cousin."
"Fuck character, dear cousin…"
Aedan picked up a torch from the floor, still burning faintly.
"Wrap your cloak around it," Willam offered. "That's our only light…"
It was with a swift nod that Aedan ripped his grey cloak, wrapping it around the torch to aid its flame. The lone light barely showed the hallway ahead, vast and dark; lit only by the dim torchlight – a gift from the gods to be sure that it hadn't been lost in the collapse. Willam took it from Aedan, holding up the light to the darkness.
"So," Aedan asked hopefully. "What's the plan?"
Staying still and dying certainly wasn't an ideal one.
"Forward unto Darkness?"
Aedan nor Edwyn found that butchery of the Shipwright's words amusing.
"When you're in a dark place and your light is going to run out before long," Willam stated aloud, doing his best Lord Fisher impression, all duty and pride and wisdom in his deepest lordly tone. "You get on with things before your light runs out!"
"Are you quoting my father again?"
He ignored Edwyn, simply shrugging as he walked.
"We go forward," Willam sighed, failing to make light of a bad situation. He pointed the torch at Flash as the wolf casually strolled into the darkness ahead. "It appears our furry friend knows something we don't. Unless anyone has a better idea?"
The trio walked some time before Willam noticed the walls weren't as plain as before.
They were carved in glyphs and faded murals depicting things straight out of legend, as if they were all too real; although faded by time and decay. Willam could clearly make out men with amphibian-like traits, scaled with ridged backs, as well as webbed hands and gilled necks; crawling out of the ocean from an underwater city of sorts.
"What is all this?" Edwyn asked, walking with a limp as Willam brought his torch up to the walls.
"Stories?" He assumed, eyeing the markings and faded pictures; his mind wandering. Very old stories…
The creatures from the sea had heads similar to fish, with wide eyes and fins; being shown to interact with seemingly normal – if not very tall – men on the surface, with some flying above it all atop feathery winged beasts. Monster and man were shown side by side.
"What does it all say?" Aedan asked aloud, his eyes straining in the dim light.
The glyphs no doubt told a story, but the gods knew; it was in no language they knew.
He shrugged, moving step by step along the vast hall – noting the depictions and wondering who or what left them here.
"Mossovy claimed a kingdom once stood on these islands, perhaps they left this? As we might write a book… they left these…"
It was as good a guess as any. The murals changed as the trio walked under the dimming torchlight; showing man with beast in unholy union, changing piece by piece – from human to something else. What once seemed a tall and proud people appeared twisted, with narrow hairless heads, bulging eyes and webbed fingers.
"They," Edwyn muttered, eyeing the walls with horror. "They changed into…"
Willam hummed to himself. "Maybe there's some truth to the Fisher's legends."
"A morbid thought Will," Aedan remarked unhappily.
"We should have Fisher here checked for gills…"
"This is no time for jokes," Edwyn practically growled.
They were probably going to die down here. If that wasn't the best time for jokes, Willam honestly didn't know when the proper time was. When they were dead perhaps? No, that seemed like the poorest timing for jokes. The dead had little use for laughter. "We're not dying here Fisher…"
He didn't believe his own words, but they weren't for his own benefit.
"You're assuming there's a way out of this gods forsaken place, cousin!"
"That's the hope," Willam admitted as he walked. "I'm too pretty to die in a place like this…"
Aedan failed to not smirk at that, at least a little; brief as the lift in spirits was. Edwyn merely scoffed.
The depictions and glyphs changed as they walked further, seeming to show a conflict; as more unchanged proud tall men in bulky armour appeared to raise arms against the creatures – stabbing at the sea and its horrors – soaring above the waves on their winged mountains.
"A war?" Aedan asked aloud, eyeing the faded depictions of tall men spearing fish-men. It seemed that way.
And then, as if a page had been torn from a book, the murals stopped abruptly – damaged beyond recognition by a section of collapsed wall.
"And so my friends," Willam said with a frown. "The legend fades into myth…"
It was Edwyn who walked to the other side of the collapse, as Flash sniffed at the crumbled wall.
"There's more," he confirmed to the others attention. "Here. See?"
The last section of wall showed a city of carved stone in ruins among silent seas.
No longer did the tall men soar through the sky. No longer did they stand.
"The men lost?" Aedan asked, assuming as much from the wall's tale of woe.
"Perhaps," Willam doubted, although the city seemed above ground in parts – much seemed claimed by the sea – taken by conquest of the tides alone, to soar on feathered wings no longer. "If the fish creatures won though, you'd have to ask yourself something no?"
"Where are they today?" Aedan answered the obvious; more statement than question.
"Or it's a myth," Willam offered, thinking aloud by this point. "A tale as tall as a fisherman fucking mermaids. The details and truth lost to time and embellished. These carvings are ancient, so who knows the truth of it all? Could be a child's story…"
"Some would call the Shryke's mere legend too Will…"
"That is not-"
He had a point, actually…
"You think these things were real?"
Edwyn looked concerned, as if he weren't already.
They walked further until reaching a great stone door; sealed tight but for a large crack that allowed entry – another blessing, if it could be considered such a thing. Willam stepped through unfazed, raising his torch up high to light the way.
"By the bloody gods…"
The room was vast, circular; with six pathways leading out from every angle – leading gods know where.
"Well then," Willam found himself muttering as he stepped into the middle of the vast room. "That's us fucked…"
"How do we know what path to take!?"
Willam eyed Edwyn warily, failing to find words of comfort. "We don't."
It was a gamble no matter the path taken. A gamble that could cost them their lives.
"Who built this place?" Aedan commented, looking up at the circular dome they stood in, as water dripped down from giant heads carved into the head; their features all but eroded away. "Those fish things, you think, or the tall men with those giant birds?"
Willam shook his head. He doubted the tall men built this sunken damp place…
"When the tides are low here," he remarked. "You can find old statues with the likenesses of strange fish, and those walls depicted similar architecture under the sea. These aren't the same Grey." The head carved into the stone above them were human, not beast; or so it seemed.
"Whatever this place is," Edwyn scowled bitterly. "It's like a fucking maze."
"We can rule out the halls going down, I think? Seems logical enough, no?"
As good a deduction as any, with a few of the hallways visibly descending.
"That leaves us with four of six," Willam spoke in agreement. He knelt then, noting in thanks that at least this chamber was dryer than the hall before, looking up to Aedan and holding out a hand. "Your knife, Grey, if you'd please?"
The man obeyed without a thought, pulling the small fine knife from his person.
"We'll take the west passage," Willam said, carving a crude arrow in the stone pointing towards the West where Flash was sniffing the air curiously. "If anyone follows behind, they'll know what path we've taken."
"We could cover more ground if we split up…"
"And lose each other?" Willam dismissed Edwyn on that.
"Flash's nose will lead us," Aedan added, sounding confident.
It was reassuring, if not for the fact that Aedan's connection to the wolf was still young at best. It could be the wolf was just as blind in direction as they were, and that Willam's hunch noting the curiosity was little but fools hope…
It wouldn't do to point that out, however. Hope was all they had in this place.
"I'm sure the mutt will sniff us the way out," Willam offered with a convincing smile.
Flash ran down the western passage as if he'd done it a thousand times, bounding paws against the damp cold stone; running ahead of the trio as they followed blindly behind hoping the wolf had some notion of a plan. Gods help them if he didn't, for they might just die in this place.
Lord Fisher hoped against hope that his son and nephew had lived through the collapse, worry and guilt lunging out with every swing of his steel; slashing easily against the green skinned demons that infested the great room of carved pillars they fought in now. The hounds had found the female one's scent, leading them through the maze.
"No survivors!" The Lord degreed with a roar, arching his swing to cut down another demon and then another with the backswing.
They outnumbered his men, but primitive stone axes and spears or even teeth were no match against castle-forged steel. "They're beaten!" The victory cry called out as the demons fell one by one by one; more a slaughter than a battle – most casualties had come from traps or would come from infected bites later on perhaps.
The largest of the green-skinned demons still fought, swinging a giant axe of smooth black stone.
"Take him down!" Fisher shouted, charging with his steel raised high.
The large demon swung, shattering Fisher's sword and sending the man flying backwards.
"By the gods," the old lord muttered, looking up at the giant man in a daze; revealed in the torchlight – with large bulging eyes and grooves in his neck that almost resembled gills, it roared with a hundred fish-like teeth and rotten breath.
"M'lord!" Ivar cried out, withdrawing his blade from another demon.
Lord Fisher closed his eyes as the giant demon held his black axe above its head.
"At least Thorim is safe," He thought his final thought. "At least my line will survive."
The expected blow never came. Instead, there was a thud and the splintering of wood.
"Argh!" Cregan grunted, having leapt between the lord and the demon, shield up; blocking the oily black axe – although the thing had shattered his weirwood shield into splinters and sent him to the floor. In between a heartbeat, much to the giant demon's surprise; a grey blur of fur and teeth lunged onto its arm – gnawing and ripping frankly as the demon raged; dropping his great dark axe to the damp floors with a thud.
"Flash!" Ivar exclaimed, rushed over to Lord Fisher; helping the man back up to his feet.
Cregan gripped his sword and cried out "DIE!" as he drove cold steel into the demon's chest to some effect.
The demon bled and wailed as it flung the wolf free, smacking Cregan away with its freed but mangled arm.
"FUCKING DIE!" Ivar too drove steel into the creature, followed by others; all stabbing with force.
"Strong as Stone!"
"For the Gods!"
"You Bastard!"
Men often said simple things in the heat of battle. The songs rarely mentioned that.
The tall demon groaned and growled as it fell to its knees, muttering curses and clicking noises in some unknown abhorrent croaking language as blood flowed from its thin fish-like lips. "What the fuck is this thing?!" Cregan growled at it with heavy beath.
"Ugly bastard," the voice of Willam came from the far hall. "Sorry we're late Uncle…"
"Boys!" Lord Fisher practically cheered as he saw the trio walk casually into the bloodied room, with steel drawn – having no doubt heard the fighting and rushed after Flash – his nephew grasping Frost in hand, glowing an eerie blue. "You're alive, thank the gods!"
Cregan knelt to pick up the great oily black axe, saying nothing as he stared at it.
"Prince Willam!" Ivar smiled happily at his returning prince.
"Ivar," Willam clasped arms with the man as he eyed his brother.
Cregan was still staring at the great void-black axe, its surface gleaming in the torchlight; looking almost oily – the weapon had an unsettling aura about it. It was spiked at the pommel, with dark glyph carvings in no readable language. It took all of his strength to even lift the weapon, massive and heavy as it was…
The tall demon seemed to grow angrier as Cregan inspected the weapon.
"I don't think our ugly friend likes you touching his things, brother…"
Cregan's eyes darted up, as if snapping out of a trance.
"You're alive," he said, as if he'd only just noticed the fact.
"I'm hard to kill," Willam muttered absently, levelling Frost up to the demon's neck. "This ugly fish-thing shares that sentiment it seems.
It was bleeding profusely, reeking of week-old rotting fish and seaweed.
And it stilled as the chill from Frost touched its neck, wide-eyed; as if afraid for the first time.
"Are we taking prisoners Uncle?"
Fisher's men had seemingly gathered survivors together.
"No," Lord Fisher degreed. "These monsters deserve no mercy..."
"What of our people?" Willam reminded the lord, as if they'd forgotten their reason for being here.
"Some survivors," Lord Fisher explained grimly. "Some missing. We'll escort them out…"
"Missing," Edwyn asked his father. "Not dead?"
Lord Fisher shook his head sadly, not eager to speak of it.
"The few that aren't still too scared to talk straight say they were being taken away one by one," Cregan explained; oily black axe still resting at his side. "They heard screaming, then nothing at all. We've found no bodies to bring home…"
The tall bleeding demon seemed to gurgle, or perhaps chuckle. It was hard to tell.
"M'lords!" One woman ruched over, blood on her attire; breathing heavily.
"Take a breath," Lord Fisher ordered kindly.
"We searched the smaller tunnels as ordered."
The survivors had been held inside, but they ran deeper.
"We found more of the green-skins, m'lord…"
"And?" Cregan snarled. "Kill them and be done with it!"
The woman hesitated. "T-They are children, m'lord…"
"Hear that?" Willam still held up the demon's chin with Frost's blade.
The creature's large bulging eyes seemed to flash between anger and terror of the chill at its throat.
It wasn't too surprising. The demons, however strange; were still human – although one would question that looking solely at the large abomination slowly bleeding out. They had families, children, mothers, fathers…
"M'lords?" The woman asked, unsure of her orders.
"We-"
"Bring them with us..."
They all eyed Prince Willam.
"We're not slaughtering children," Willam repeated the point.
"They're savages boy," Lord Fisher argued calmly. "Nothing more than beasts…"
"Are wolves not beasts, Uncle?" Willam fought the urge to snarl at the old man, letting Frost press harder at the ugly one's throat in his anger. "Do we not teach them? Befriend them? Should we slaughter every wolf in the woods down to the pups all because one pack kills a man?"
"This is very different lad…"
"Is it?" He doubted, some part of his soul gnawing; calling the sentiment weakness.
"It isn't," Aedan argued for his prince; with a growl of agreement from Flash for all the good it did.
"Wolves can be taught," Edwyn agreed that much. "But these green-skins have only ever tried to bite us Will – just look at what they've cost us! Look at the horrors of this place! We've lost good people because of them and we're still missing more!"
"You could've died yourself My Prince," Ivar added, fazed only by that fact alone.
"These ones are only children. Do none of you see that? They are Children!"
Cregan swung the giant oily axe as his brother argued, taking the tall demons head off clean, sending it rolling away.
"We're not butchers," Willam growled, thinking only of what his father would do if he were here. "I am not my father, but I am your Prince, so by the gods you will obey me in this Lord Odyn!" The smirk that came to Lord Fisher's lips was almost a proud thing.
"Very well," the Lord opted to say, still smirking; holding some words back.
Willam gave a gentle nod. "Thank you, Uncle…"
The demon's blood pooled on the floor, smelling of damp decay.
"See to the prisoners," Fisher ordered the man who had kept quiet as the lords argued. "Bind their hands tight, we'll have no trouble – I care not if they're children. We'll have no more complications."
"Yes m'lord!"
The woman ran off barking orders to the others.
"What about those still missing folk in the tunnels, father?"
"A regrettable loss," Lord Fisher replied sagely to his son. "But sometimes we cannot save everyone lad, remember that – know when to accept a loss least you invite further and far greater losses. It's better to heal a wound and scar than to bleed out."
Edwyn Fisher gave a nod despite believing himself too old for lessons.
"Willam," the old lord caught his attention, an odd look on his weathered face.
"Uncle?" Willam prepared for his own lecture, puffing up his chest and standing tall. "If you're going to tell me how there is a time and place, then I needn't hear it again. There's a place for honour, and it's here! They're only children…"
He waited, expecting a rebuttal. None came.
"Your mother would be very proud of you lad."
He didn't know how to respond to those words.
The children were led past them, all barely eight years old at the eldest by Willam's guess. One or two of the eldest sent hateful glares or hisses their way, old enough to know what they'd done; but the youngest and the wisest kept their eyes down.
"What's to be done with them?"
"Can't say I'm certain," Lord Fisher admitted that much.
"Adoption, perhaps?" Willam suggested as if it was a simple thing. "For the youngest at least…"
There was surely a kind family or three that might take them. Many had lost sons or daughters to the rebellions. They weren't too different than other children besides the green skin and balding heads; although they did have some hair – the eldest were already losing theirs...
The young girl's teeth weren't carved to fine points either. A rite of passage into adulthood, perhaps?
"We'll see them clothed and fed," Lord Fisher assured. "Don't worry yourself with their fates lad."
"I leave them in your hands then, Uncle. You'll do what's best."
Lord Fisher gave a nod, accepting; with a proud glint in his eyes.
Time would tell what awaited these demon-children, be it good or ill, perhaps it was the remnants of a soft heart or the desire to avoid becoming his father; but regardless of reason – they would live to see the future – for no child deserved to die for the sins of their fathers.
What exactly that future held, for any of them, was something only the gods could possibly know.