The Hollow: At The Edge Read online

  The Hollow: At The Edge.

  By Andrew Day

  Copyright 2014 Andrew Day

  Smashwords Edition

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy.

  Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Notes on Cover Art.

  Images utilised in this book’s cover art were used under the creative commons licence 2.5. For more information, please look here.

  The cover art was made by adapting the following image:

  “Forest deep,” by rjones0856.

  Contents:

  Part 1: The Hounds

  Part 2: Until Blood is Drawn

  Part 3: Hunted

  Part 4: Not What We Were

  Part 5: Old Faces

  Part 6: To Leap, Or To Fall

  Part 7: Loose Ends

  Epilogue: Destiny

  About the Author

  Part 1: The Hounds.

  Not for the first time, Serrel Hawthorne questioned the choices he had made that had brought him to his current predicament.

  From the top of the tower, he could see the entirety of the city stretched out around him. The Legion had finally pushed through, and were making speed towards the fortress where he now stood. The fighting had been fierce, and fires had broken out in many places. The scent of smoke, and blood, and death was in the air. Serrel ignored it all, focused only on the elf in front of him who was, in all likelihood, about to kill him.

  The elf smiled grimly. “Last chance, boy. Turn around and walk away.”

  Serrel swallowed, not even bothering to pretend he wasn’t scared out of his mind. “I can’t,” he replied.

  “This isn’t your fight,” the elf said sadly.

  “I took the bronze.”

  “So? It’s just a coin.”

  “How many people have died? I can’t let you get away.”

  “You can’t stop me. Whether you live or die, it changes nothing.”

  Serrel sighed. “Well, I have to try.”

  The elf shook his head. “Very well, then.”

  For a moment, there was silence. Neither of the two moved, as smoke swirled in the air, and the sounds of men and women fighting and dying drifted up to them.

  Then the elf’s arm snapped up, and Serrel’s vision was filled with fire.

  It had been... well, Serrel wasn’t entirely sure, but it couldn’t have been more than a week earlier when Serrel and his fellow recruits had parted ways. He reasoned that, since they were all in the Legion together, chances were they would meet again soon. But it was a sad occasion regardless. His fellow members of Pond Scum, as they had been dubbed, had irritated him, angered him, made him laugh, made him feel like part of a family again. He was going to miss them.

  Well, maybe not Justin so much. He had been an arse most of the time. But the others, Victor, Kaitlin, Edgar, Bull, Mouse and Greasy Tim, even though he hadn’t known them for very long, he had considered them to be his friends.

  But they had gone their separate ways, off to different units aboard different ships to sail across the Dividing Sea to the Faelands. He couldn’t help but worry about what fate had in store for all of them.

  His apprehension shifted back to his own well being soon after he met his new unit.

  They were called the Hounds. He had heard very little about them beforehand, and most of that was just rumours and stories. They were supposed to be trackers and hunters, people who lived in the most wildest of places. In the Legion, they were the most elite of scouts, leading the way far ahead of the main army.

  In the hustle of Port Serenity, where the Legion was preparing to depart, Serrel spent a long time wondering lost along the docks until he finally spotted the Hound’s banner flying besides a smallish cargo ship. He was greeted at the gangplank by his new commanding officer and his sergeant, a scarred woman with pale skin and dark hair braided into several thick plaits.

  “Caster,” said the man in greeting as Serrel handed over his orders and snapped instantly to attention. “I’m Lieutenant Snow-”

  “Captain,” correct the sergeant.

  “Pardon?”

  “Captain,” she repeated patiently.

  “Oh, right. Promoted. Captain. I’m still not used to that. I’m Captain snow,” Captain Snow went on amicably. “Welcome to the Hounds. I’m glad to have you. We haven’t had a mage with us for some time.”

  “I shall do my best not to disappoint, Sir,” Serrel said.

  “Good lad. Sergeant Caellix here will introduce you to the rest of the men. Sergeant, please show our young mage below and get him settled.”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Sergeant Caellix. She gave Serrel an unfriendly grin that showed far too many teeth and went aboard the ship without waiting for him.

  Serrel rushed after her to catch up. She walked briskly across the deck, weaving between the sailors making the ship ready for sail, and made her way down to the lower decks.

  “What’s your experience in the wilds, boy?” she asked without looking back.

  “The wilds, Sergeant?”

  “The woods. The forest. You look soft and well fed. Not like someone who’s spent much time outdoors.”

  “I... When I was younger I would go with the men from town to catch rabbits.”

  “Rabbits. Well, you must be so proud.” Sarcasm dripped from her every word. “I’m sure small furry animals everywhere must quake in their burrows at your scent.” She snorted. “Let me be clear. We don’t want you. We don’t need you. We’ve gotten along fine without a mage for nearly a year now. If we were going to get one, I would have at least expected Holland to send us one who could tell his arse from a hole in the ground. The last thing anyone in this unit needs is a dead weight, tramping about, making noise and giving away our position. So you do what I say, when I say, or I will gut you and leave you for the scavengers. Are we clear?”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “You aren’t one of us. You want to survive what’s coming, you better learn to move like us, sound like us, smell like us, or you won’t last a day.”

  “Yes, Sergeant.”

  “What’s your name again, boy?”

  “Caster Serrel Hawthorne, Sergeant.”

  She snorted again. “Well, Fresh Meat, welcome to the Hounds. Don’t get comfortable. I expect your stay to be short and messy, with a bloody end.”

  “Can’t wait,” Serrel muttered.

  Waiting for Caellix below were two huge black and tan dogs. They bounded up and down and weaved around her legs playfully. Caellix snapped at them loudly in some language Serrel didn't recognise, and the dogs dropped to their haunches side by side, tails wagging and tongues lolling.

  “This is Vost and Ripper,” Caellix introduced. “Don’t pet them, they will kill you. Boys, this is Hawthorne, our new mage. Neillin ut.”

  The dogs looked at Serrel hungrily, and he hoped that last phrase Caellix had said was “No Eating.” From what she had said to him so far, that seemed unlikely.

  The rest of the men and women of the Hounds were at the forwards end of the ship, stowing their gear for the voyage, resting, playing cards, and generally killing time. They looked up briefly.

  “Who’s the Fresh Meat?” asked a man with a huge messy beard. He grinned, revealing black teeth.

  “This is our new mage, Dogbreath. See he gets settled, and stays out of the way. Don’t ea
t him.”

  With that, Caellix turned and left. Dogbreath rose from his seat and came over to give Serrel a closer examination. He poked Serrel roughly in the arm.

  “Hardly any meat on him at all,” Dogbreath said. “I bet he’s all chewy.”

  “Leave the scrawny kid alone, Dogbreath,” said a girl nearby.

  “Just saying hello to the new Fresh Meat. Heheh,” Dogbreath chuckled to himself. Up close, Serrel quickly understood the reason for the name. His breath was rank.

  “Yes. Well. Hello,” Serrel greeted the others, and instantly felt like an idiot. He could feel twenty pairs of eyes boring into him, quietly assessing his worth and judging him. He saw a couple of head shakes, a pair of rolled eyes, and more than a few laughs of amusement.

  “There’s a spare spot in the bow,” said the girl helpfully, before she returned to sharpening her sword and ignoring him.

  “Um, thanks.” He stepped around Dogbreath, who had started sniffing him, and carefully wound his way through the mass of animosity that was his new unit to the very front of the ship. The Hounds had all seen their share of battles. Their weapons were all worn, but reliable, clothes frayed and patched. Most of the men were thick and muscular, either bearded or in need of a shave. The women were lean and athletic. Everyone had a look of a hunter, or a ranger. People who had spent the majority of their lives outdoors and knew what it meant to be a survivor. In his new and neatly cleaned uniform and with his polished new warstaff, Serrel felt so out of place.

  There was an empty hammock right up against the curve of the prow. There was very little space to move, but Serrel made the most of it. These people didn't care about him, and would care even less if he made a fuss. He decided that for the foreseeable future, the best option was to just shut up and stay out of the way.

  And Holland thought this was the best place for him?

  Serrel shrugged off his pack, and sat down with his back against the hull. He held onto his staff. He had just got it, and was feeling protective. Then he noticed the man opposite him. He was neater than the others, with brown hair and a beard that was actually trimmed once a week, and sat cross legged on a large chest, hands on his knees, and a look of peace and harmony on his face.

  Then man opened his eyes, and smiled airily at Serrel.

  “Ah, the new mage,” he said.

  “Evening,” Serrel said lamely. The man’s smile creeped him out. “I’m Serrel.”

  The man ignored him. “You have any of the Elixir?” he asked.

  “Vorkeph’s Elixir?”

  “Yes. Have any?”

  There was a glint in his eye Serrel liked less than his smile.

  “Just say no,” said a man nearby as he secured a group of bows for transport.

  “No,” Serrel lied. “They didn’t think we’d need any.”

  “Pity,” said the man on the chest. He closed his eyes and went back to meditating.

  “Ignore Morton,” the second man told Serrel. “He’s a bit...” He twirled his finger around the side of his head, “Weird. As long as he stays off the Elixir he’s fine.”

  “Good to know.” Serrel adjusted his coat, making sure the pouch containing his small flask of the Elixir was covered.

  “I’m Brant. Brant O'Kellin,” said the man, offering his hand. He was younger than most of the other Hounds, probably only a few years older than Serrel.

  “Serrel Hawthorne.” He shook Brant's hand. It was rough and calloused.

  “I remember when I was Fresh Meat. This lot aren’t exactly the most inviting, I know. Just let them get to know you.”

  “Sure. Then they can really hate me. Is it because I’m mage, or because I’m new.”

  “Mostly because you’re new. We haven’t had a mage since old Barnaby went and got himself et.”

  “Et? Something ate him?”

  “We did tell him not to pet that jackalope. But he just wouldn’t listen. “They're herbivores” he said. Ha! That's just what they want you to think.”

  “All right then,” Serrel said slowly. “See, I just assumed Sergeant Caellix had killed him.”

  “Well,” Brant looked about dramatically to see if anyone was listening in. “There are those of us that say the sergeant was seen talking to the jackalope moments before the whole unpleasant incident occurred.”

  “Uh huh.” Serrel nodded.

  “And she never did get on with that Barnaby. He kept trying to change her dogs into ferrets.”

  “Right. Is this part of the initiation? See how gullible I am?”

  “No harm in trying,” Brant said with a grin. “If you were a complete blithering idiot, better we find out now.”

  “So what really happened to your mage?”

  “Werewolves. Get comfortable, Fresh Meat. The next two days are going to be mightily unpleasant. Hope you don’t get sea sick.”

  In hindsight, Serrel figured he should have seen this coming. That a war would break out the second he joined the Imperial Legion... Well, that was just how his luck seemed to run lately.

  The exact reasons for the war were sketchy. The Land of Elsbareth, known mostly as the Faelands, had long been at peace with the Empire. Mostly because they had only barely managed to avoid being decimated by the Empire during the last war, over a decade ago. When that war had ended the ruler of Elsbareth, some elven king Serrel didn’t know the name of and probably wouldn’t have been able it to pronounce even if he did, had been deposed and replaced with someone more... amendable to the needs of the Empire.

  So the Faelands and the Empire had co-existed peacefully as a reluctant puppet and a domineering puppeteer respectively. Until the appearance of some elven warlord named Vharaes, who claimed to be some blood relative of the previous unremembered and vastly unmourned ruler of the Faelands. He managed to rally together a band of like-minded countrymen... or perhaps country-elves, and had started a rebellion.

  Somehow, Vharaes had taken control of the elven trade city, Vollumir, and murdered the Empire’s ambassador, which was apparently an act of war. The fighting was still ongoing, and the Imperial Legion were now on their way to aid the flagging forces of Elsbareth.

  All this, Serrel knew in passing. It was mostly just a load of strange names to him, and a lot of big and important sounding words like “economics” that seemed like poor reasons to have to fight someone.

  All of his life the Faelands had been only a legend, a place you told of in bedtime stories to young children. He knew this was the land of the Elves, an ancient and mysterious race of great power, and that many strange, wondrous, and horrifying creatures still existed there, and nowhere else on the planet. But he had never expected to have to actually go there.

  As the night progressed, the ship left port and set off out to sea with little or no fanfare. The rest of the Hounds took the opportunity to rest, and soon the hold was filled with the sounds of nearly two dozen men and woman snoring at varying volumes. But Serrel couldn’t rest. His uncomfortable position and the rocking of the ship, an alien and disconcerting sensation in itself to a previously landlocked carpenter’s son, combined with the apprehension stirring in his mind and kept Serrel awake. Eventually, he rose and quietly stepped around his sleeping companions to make his way to the deck of the ship.

  The stars were growing dim in the night sky when he emerged from below-decks. He found a quiet spot out of the way at the stern of the ship and watched the sun rise in the east, directly in front of them. When he looked back, the land he had been born on, and not too long ago, had expected to die on, was a mere dark smudge on the horizon. He thought about the things he was leaving behind, and realised it was a very, very short list.

  But ahead of him... Well, who knew what was out there? The idea that maybe, just maybe, something good would come out of this frankly, rather terrifying experience was almost enough to damp out the darkness of the Hollow that was starting to stir inside.

  So engrossed in his own thoughts, he didn’t realise he had company until he glanced to
the right and realised his new commanding officer was standing next to him. He quickly snapped to attention.

  “At ease,” said the newly promoted Captain Snow.

  “Sir. Is there something I can do for you, Sir?”

  “No, Caster. I’m just taking in the view. Marvellous, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sir. I’ve never been out at sea before, Sir.”

  Snow took a deep breath and grinned broadly. “Ah, smell that sea air! Marvellous!”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “So...” Snow said in what he thought was a casual, just-one-of-the-men type of tone, “We left port a bit late last night. We seem to be lagging behind the flotilla a tiny bit.”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Serrel. It seemed like a safe response.

  “Can’t have that,” said Snow. “Can’t have the Hounds behind everyone else. What sort of scout unit would we be then, eh?”

  “I’m... not sure, Sir.”

  “The others would be laughing behind our backs... Except in front of us... Which is where they are. In front. Far in front.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “A pity. Wouldn’t you say so, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Caellix, making Serrel jump. Somehow she had appeared next to Snow without making a sound.

  “A real pity,” Snow went on. “You know, some of these ships have their own mages on board. Someone to blow the sails as it were. Shame we don’t have one of those.”

  Serrel kicked himself for being so slow. “You want me to... make the ship go faster, Sir?”

  “You think you can?” said Snow, still grinning.

  Serrel had his doubts. He had a vague idea of how boats worked. Wind blew into the sails and the ship moved forwards. Though he recalled something called ballast, and thought that maybe that came into play somewhere, whatever that was. Also keelhauling. That might have been important, too.

  Though what he said aloud was, “I’ll give it a try, Sir.”

  “Oh yes, Fresh Meat,” said Caellix scornfully. “Do try.”