“Leave me the warlock. I have wanted to kill him since Arajuan and Larabe,” Ywain replied through gritted teeth.
“Fine by me.” Fionn pointed at Argiol with his sword. “You and me, let’s go. Or are you two cowards that will avoid a direct duel?”
“Lead the way,” Argiol spat. “Soldiers, stand and watch. See how the heroes of the Alliance fall before our might!”
Fionn and Argiol walked slowly, closing the gap between them, staring at each other. The Orb was behind Argiol. Killing the man was a secondary goal. The Orb was the priority. But Argiol glanced to the side and then grinned and pointed.
“The freak may have bitten off more than he can chew. We should see how that plays out before we fight.”
Holding Black Fang ready, Fionn turned to see Ywain, who was facing off with Peremir. Regardless of how powerful Ywain was, Fionn worried about him. He was like his little brother.
Bad blood ran between Ywain and Peremir, as result from the battles at Arajuan and Larabe that had taken the lives of many innocent people, thanks to Peremir’s cruel tactics. It weighed heavily on Ywain since he had been in charge of their defenses. Peremir was in for a serious beating, which would make one less problem for Fionn, no spellcaster to worry about.
Ywain called forth his Gift while Peremir cast a whole book’s worth of spells in a rapid-fire sequence. The last one was a blue energy ball, known to be quite explosive. But Ywain contained it with his bare left hand. The irises of his eyes were glowing with intensity. Screaming, he threw the ball away. It landed several meters away in the Horde’s camp and started a small inferno.
“Careful, Ywain!” Fionn yelled at his friend.
“You have a fight yourself,” Ywain yelled at Fionn. “I can handle this!”
Fionn turned away and barely avoided a straight hit from the giant enchanted tetsubo, aimed at his chest. That weapon had proven capable of creating quakes and shockwaves when it hit things. Once during a battle, Argiol had collapsed a mountain over a rival army with one hit.
“I’m going to enjoy this,” Argiol said, spinning on one foot with the tetsubo to gain more impetus as he struck his second blow, towards Fionn’s head.
“They always say the same,” Fionn stepped back bringing his sword up as he deftly parried the blow.
Both fighters clashed three times. With each, Fionn took a step back, blocking the attack. The strength behind each of Argiol’s blows was tremendous. No wonder he had destroyed rival armies by himself, the man was a demon. Fionn riposted with a slash aimed at Argiol’s left side that drew little blood but was enough to enrage the enemy’s commander. Dodging a horizontal strike, Fionn kicked Argiol in the back of the knee, making him lose his balance. This gave Fionn time to catch his breath, but not for long as he found himself jumping to avoid an attack aimed to sweep his legs. If it had hit, the blow would have shattered his bones. While coming down from the jump, Fionn used the momentum to kick Argiol in the side of the head with all his strength. The impact knocked both opponents away. Fionn landed gracefully, but his ankle hurt.
His head is as hard as a rock, Fionn thought. Argiol wiped the blood from his lip; his eyes were bloodshot with anger. Oops.
Snarling, Argiol attacked in earnest and the two men entered a fast-paced duel sending shockwaves around the camp. Only the supernatural strength of Black Fang saved Fionn from becoming mush. A lesser blade in inexperienced hands would have been shattered by the first blow. But Black Fang was a Tempest Blade, forged with a living soul – the last of the Montoc Dragons. It had the force of the Tempest, the veil that separated the material from the spiritual realms. Ywain’s Yaha sword was also a Tempest Blade, of older age and lost origin. Both men and their swords had become inseparable and part of the same legend.
Fionn’s master had taught him that in life or death duels, there is an understated cadence on the attacks and parries. Keep things on your own terms, not your enemy’s, she had told Fionn. Wide swings use power rather than finesse, which means that your opponent leaves his guard open and the inertia keeps him from correcting once committed. Finding your enemy’s cadence and breaking it while keeping yours intact was paramount to surviving the fight. Every move had to count. None of them were flourishes, but a chain of causes and reactions. Every parry was calculated to minimize the damage received and maximize the amount delivered in return for the counterattack. Argiol’s style was wastefully aggressive, relying on power, and had zero finesse. He swung his tetsubo with frantic energy, hitting anything in his path, obliterating any hapless Horde soldier that was unlucky enough to get in his way. It left cracks and dents in the ground wherever it landed. Fionn’s muscles ached. His sword might be mystical, but he was still mortal and wouldn’t last much longer. It was time to finish this fight. An idea came to Fionn’s mind, and it made him smile. Fionn kept evading, countering with thrusts and slashes aimed to cut the tendons of his rival, hoping to tire him, luring him to the place he wanted.
Argiol swung the tetsubo in a horizontal arc. At the last second, Fionn dropped to the ground and rolled away. A soldier, who had been trying to hit Fionn with an axe, received the full brunt of the attack. The soldier’s body exploded in a mist of blood.
“Stop interfering, idiots!” Argiol yelled at his men.
Fionn used that brief distraction to roll to his feet and run past Argiol to the Orb, unleashing a powerful strike against it. The strike impacted with the sound of a gong being hit and the booming reverberation echoed across the battlefield. But to Fionn’s surprise, the blade of Black Fang bounced. The thing was tougher than he had thought. It was time for plan B. Always have a plan B.
“Really? Did you really think you can harm the Orb just like that? Don’t make me laugh,” Argiol ran towards Fionn, his tetsubo held aloft.
“It was a hard call, which large, fat, inanimate object to hit first.” Fionn moved a few steps to one side, keeping Black Fang pointing towards the enemy commander. His body ached from having to evade the attacks. He was now in front of Argiol and had the Orb behind him. “So, I thought why not both at once? Regardless, it will end here.”
“You are right, it ends here,” Argiol raised his weapon and Fionn dodged the strike at the last possible second, rolling under it. Argiol hit the Orb with his tetsubo. The resonating boom rang out and Fionn could see the impact had left a dent with cracks around it. Argiol was now between him and the Orb.
“Seems that you made a mistake, Greywolf,” Argiol sneered. “You won’t pass me a second time.”
“I don’t have too. C’mon, hit me as hard as you can! Tell you what, you get a free shot, I’ll not even parry.” Fionn ran towards Argiol.
Argiol raised his tetsubo, but Fionn spun on his toes, in something akin to a dance step and wound up standing next to the enemy commander. With a reverse grip, Fionn impaled Argiol in the chest and drove his blade back, through Argiol into the crack on the Orb’s surface. Changing stance he turned to face Argiol, as the tetsubo fell from his foe’s lifeless fingers.
“Thank you for your help.”
Fionn pushed harder. Black Fang’s blade glowed with an intense green light, impaling Argiol and penetrating into the Orb. Fionn withdrew his blade, and Argiol slid to the ground, leaving a trail of gore down the side of the Orb as blood poured from the gaping wound. Underneath Argiol’s body, a pond of blood slowly spread to cover the ground with crimson.
Such was the end of Argiol, one of the men that had scarred Theia. Fionn spat on him, then a scream brought him out of his fury. Turning, he saw electrical sparks flying around him. Ywain had just cut off Peremir’s left arm. Blood was spouting from the wound like a fountain. The warlock was on the ground, crawling away. Ywain paused for a second and sighed.
He sheathed Yaha and walked towards Peremir and kicked him in the head.
“He will be dead soon anyway.”
Sometimes, Ywain scared Fionn. His best fr
iend was, most of the time, a sweet boy, joking around, helping others. But when he unleashed his Gift, especially against someone he had a grudge with, he changed. Like one of the infrequent colossal ionic thunderstorms erasing a town from the face of Theia, no mercy, no compassion, just plain fury with a single purpose. Not even Fionn’s own fury could compare to that. It was frightening to contemplate what could happen if Ywain let loose, or worse, went bad. A Gifted gone wrong was the stuff of nightmares. It was terrifying just to think about how to stop one. And yet, Fionn sometimes wondered how it felt to have the Gift, what it was like trying to control it.
A second crack appeared on the Orb. Light began pouring from it and the ground started to shake. Fionn and Ywain barely managed to keep their footing.
“I think that’s our cue to escape,” Ywain said.
“You think?”
With the death of their two commanders, the Horde’s lines were in disarray. Fionn and Ywain ran through without problem, cutting as many slaves free from their chains as they could. Wind gusts hit the place.
“Our plan has one glaring flaw,” Fionn looked around.
“Lack of transportation for a getaway?”
“Yeah. We should have stolen a dreadnought.”
“And you complain about me being flashy,” Ywain said. Then he pointed to his left. “Why don’t we take those?”
Parked next to a burning tent were two, battered black three-wheeled motorcycles. Their fronts resembled the face of a dragon, with a decent sized wheel beneath the menacing visage. Their long bodies ended in a massive bulge at the rear of the trike where the engine was housed. On each side of the bulge were two giant wheels. It could carry up to three riders or plenty of equipment with ease.
“Do we know how to ride a trike?” Fionn asked while getting on it. He started the engine.
“No, but we need to learn fast.” Ywain tried to start the engine of his bike, but the engine choked. Frustrated, he punched the rear engine, covering it with electric sparkles. The engine trembled, but it finally started. He smiled at Fionn. “Handy ability to have.”
“I can see.”
Both trikes roared across the battlefield, which was now in complete turmoil. Rather than fighting, most members of the Horde were running away as word of Argiol’s and Peremir’s deaths spread through the ranks. Only the clockwork golems kept fighting, controlled by the reprogrammed fae inside them.
On the Alliance side, a barrier made of metal shields, two rows high and almost five hundred meters long, had been erected. On each end of the two rows there were metal poles with embedded crystals. The crystals glowed as the few freefolk spellcasters fighting with the Alliance cast spells into them. Two energy barriers formed from the poles and started to grow, running across the shield barrier.
“Seems that they listened to Izia!” Fionn yelled as their trikes ate up the ground still separating them from the barrier and their one hope of safety.
“Your future wife can be quite commanding when she wants!” Ywain shouted back.
They rode through a storm of explosions, having to weave around holes and craters which peppered the ground. The Orb was unleashing energy at random; lightning and stray bolts splattered the area landing on the fleeing Horde as much as over the rest of the battlefield. Glancing in his rear mirrors, Fionn saw the Orb start to glow. The cracks on its surface grew at an accelerated pace, like an egg cracking. It looked ready to explode from the energy contained inside.
Gritting his teeth, Fionn concentrated on getting every last ounce of speed from his trike. They were less than a hundred meters from the barrier when a stray bolt hit the ground right in front of Fionn. His trike bucked like a living thing and seemed to take flight. Kicking himself free, Fionn rolled onto the ground, dirt filling his mouth. Away to one side, his trike lay shattered, where it had landed on a rock. Spitting, Fionn got to his feet as he heard a familiar voice give a cry of frustration.
“Let me go, you stupid machine!”
Ywain was on the ground. His right leg trapped under the remains of the trike he had been riding. Fionn ran in aid to his friend. As he reached Ywain, he dropped to his knees and began trying to lift the trike.
“You always find a way to delay an escape,” Fionn muttered under his breath.
“That time with the goat and the kid doesn’t count.” Ywain pointed at the Orb, glowing intensely. “You need to go. That thing will blow up soon.”
“I know,” Fionn agreed, getting to his feet and drawing Black Fang, “but we don’t leave a man behind. Hold tight.”
“Please tell me you won’t do what I think you are planning to do,” Ywain begged.
“It won’t hurt, I promise.”
Fionn swung his sword in an arc. Ywain closed his eyes. With a clean-cut, Fionn had sliced open the trike, freeing Ywain’s leg.
“Try to move.”
“For a second I thought you would cut my leg…”
“Crossed my mind.”
Ywain managed to crawl free of the damaged trike, but Fionn could see his leg was badly mangled. Slipping an arm under his friend’s shoulder, Fionn helped him up.
“I think my leg is broken.”
“We will worry about that later, c’mon!”
Fionn supported Ywain as they crossed the last few meters to the barrier. It was becoming a battle to walk as the wind had picked up to hurricane strength and the ground trembled. A flash in the sky made Fionn glance back to see a column of light come out from the top of the Orb.
Then they were at the barrier and he could see Izia peeking through a small gap between the shields.
“Hurry up!” Izia yelled at Fionn. “You will need to jump over this. We can’t open them or they will break the circuit and the protection will fail!”
Fionn looked at Ywain and his mangled leg.
“I’m sorry about this.”
He picked up Ywain bodily and with all his strength tossed the younger man over the metal barrier, just as the energy shield was closing the gap. A loud thud came from the far side, followed by several expletives in three different languages.
Now it is my turn.
But as he prepared to jump, Fionn felt the world moving under him. It took him a few precious seconds to regain his footing. He could see the Orb was in its death throes. Its surface was completely cracked, with pieces falling away, uncovering a brilliantly shining interior. It was like staring at the sun. Then an unnatural scream echoed all over the valley. Fionn’s left leg was trembling. He looked at the raised shields and took a few steps back, preparing a run up for the jump he needed to make.
A powerful gust of wind hit him as he started his run.
C’mon! C’mon!
His leg muscles burned with the effort. Despite the short distance, he needed enough momentum to clear the shield base. It would be like jumping over a well-fed war horse without any help. He had done it before, a couple of times. But those times he wasn’t trying to outrun an incoming explosion with a hurricane strength headwind.
He cleared the distance and jumped, extending his body as much as he could. His goal was to dive over the barrier; he would deal with the pain of the fall later on. His arms were clearing the barrier. Time slowed down and that was never a good sign. In front of him, Izia yelled something, her face full of concern, but he couldn’t make out the words. Beside her, Ywain jumped with his right arm extended, reaching for Fionn’s extended left arm. Then it hit him, the full force of the energy wave from the explosion of light. The strength of the explosion’s pressure wave buckled the shields. The shockwave sent his body flying into a spin, throwing him against the magick defensive wall.
Black Fang slipped from his grasp. He couldn’t see. The flash had burned sight from his retinas and he could only hear a bass sound, as his eardrums exploded. His whole body was consumed with pain as each individual cell exploded and burned away.
The adrenaline shock stopped his heart and his last breath. The only image running through his mind at that final moment was Izia’s face. He had been unable to keep his promise to her. That hurt more than anything else.
Then there was something. A voice popped in his head.
It will be alright. Have faith.
The voice wasn’t his own, or anybody he knew, and for a millisecond he believed it. Then his mind ceased to be as his body dissolved in fire.
Chapter 2
The Mysterious Vanishing
The Present Day.
“Yes, I’m here, Agent Culph. And what do you mean by missing?”
Harland Rickman was suffering from a migraine so intense, his head felt as if it was about to explode. His day couldn’t have started worse. He’d been awakened by a call from The Foundation – the ground-breaking research center and technology innovator that Harland presided over – telling him that the police were trying to reach him. A missing researcher should not have been cause to awaken him so early; the Foundation had hundreds of researchers and those doing field work often failed to report on time. When Harland strode into the Foundation the staff was already at hand, working busily at their desks in the open office space. Harland commanded the place with a presence that defied his short stature, messy hair and beard, and casual clothes, including a hoodie that made him look like he was a vagrant.
As soon as Harland entered his spacious office, Amy, his personal assistant, handed him a cup of coffee. Before he could take a sip of the coffee, she handed him his datapad already loaded with the files on Professor Leonard Hunt’s research. Harland sat behind his large desk and spread out the files. His eyes glanced over the only personal effect in the room – a framed photograph taken fifteen years ago. In it Harland stood with his best friend who was holding a little girl – named Samantha – in his arms on the day of her adoption. Everybody was smiling, but Harland’s friend had an intense gaze that made his unnaturally green-grey eyes look intimidating.
The Withered King Page 2