Trog punched Bainesworth in the face. Strands of dark hair clung to his face.
Bainesworth grinned like a crazed wolf. Their eyes met. “I’m going to kill you now, Sir Trogsdill Domnall, or rather Sir Trogsdill Brennus, but not before you watch your son, the last and youngest heir to the throne of Hirth, die.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Trog said.
“I don’t think so,” Bainesworth chuckled. “You, however, will be.” He whipped Eric around. “Come get him, Einar! He’s all yours.”
David stared in horror at the fresh bloodstain spreading across Eric’s tunic.
Four soldiers rushed Trog, grappling him, holding him in their clutches while two others punched and kicked him.
David felt the pulsing of his own blood like ice in his veins as he knocked his bow and let the arrows fly.
Eric plunged toward them, his sword swinging at odd angles, the agony on his face clear and present. Bainesworth shoved him to his knees, his blade at Eric’s throat.
Trog twisted and turned, ratcheting his body free. He stormed Bainesworth, his sword raised.
A knee caught him in the stomach. Another assailant kicked him in the face, his side, his legs. Over and over.
Trog dropped to the ground, his face a bloody, swollen mess.
David fired another arrow and another, their points finding their marks, but for each one he killed, two more assassins gathered.
This time, a dozen men or more ran at him and Charlotte.
“Time to go!” They stumbled to their feet.
Einar circled overhead and descended onto the battlefield. The ground shook. Everyone ran. Bainesworth laughed demonically, following Trog’s gaze. “Silly boy, thinking he can change the outcome of this war or better yet, that his friends, or perhaps even his father, will come to his rescue. Oh, I remember that look well, Trog.” He leaned in on Trog so that his face was no more than an inch away. “It is the same look his mother had in her eyes when my dagger slit her throat.”
Trog yelled and lunged for Bainesworth.
Two soldiers grabbed him, punched him. Stabbed him.
Two bolts from crossbows whizzed past and into their necks. The men fell.
Gertie and Garret pressed forward, methodical in their every moves as they loaded one bolt after another. They aimed with precision, each launched tip finding its way into Bainesworth’s flesh.
He whipped Eric around by the hair. “Come get him, Einar! He’s all yours.”
Wet strands of hair clung to Trog’s face. He appeared wild, deranged as he charged Bainesworth, the blade of his sword a blinding fury of silver light.
Bainesworth yelled out as the blade cut across his arms. He lifted his own sword and …
Trog plunged his sword into Bainesworth’s throat.
Bainesworth’s eyes opened wide as Trog buried the blade in deeper. The knight fell to his knees, emitting an odd sort of gurgle. Trog grasped the Fauscherian by the hair, lifting his face upward so that their eyes locked.
“I told you one day that your fate would wait for you at the tip of my sword. You should have listened.” He pulled the sword from the man’s flesh and aimed the tip at Bainesworth’s heart. “This is for Gwyndolyn. May your soul rot in Hell.”
The blade slid deep into Bainesworth’s body. Trog gave a final push then withdrew it. There was a feeble, crippled gasp for breath, and then it was gone.
Bainesworth von Stuegler was dead.
Slavandria yelled from across the battlefield. “David, get Eric and Charlotte out of here. Run!”
A black string of magic threaded around her neck, the stream flowing from Seyekrad. Her eyes flew open. Her voice fell silent.
Panic seized David. Did the sorcerer never die?
Einar stomped closer.
The ground quaked.
Clouds of shadowmorth shrieked and descended on the high ridges. Men scattered, their yells piercing the fabric of time, rattling the core of humanity. Trog shoved his son. “Go. Get out of here.” He was out of breath. Bleeding.
Eric clutched his side. “Sir, I … ”
“Now! I gave you an order! He’ll kill you if you don’t run.”
Stomp.
Stomp.
Stomp.
Trog pressed past him, swinging and thrusting his blade at Seyekrad’s band of assassins.
David grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “Let’s go. Now!” He glanced over his shoulder. “Eric! Come on!”
Charlotte broke free and turned around. She ran straight toward Seyekrad.
“Charlotte, what are you doing?” David screamed. He veered off in pursuit.
The world slowed.
The sorcerer shifted his gaze to Charlotte, tossed back his arm and unleashed a spiraling black spell from his fingertips.
David yelled, “Charlotte, look out!”
He reached for her, tried to tackle her, but missed.
Einar roared. Flames scorched the land.
“Charlotte!” David yelled.
A faint blue arc fell from the sky, the bubble sheltering them from the blaze.
David whipped around, his gaze set upon Lily stumbling toward them, sparks of blue magic dancing on her fingertips. He turned back to Charlotte and grabbed her by the waist. “Come on. We have to go!”
“I have to find Eric! We can’t leave him here.”
From within the fire and smoke, a figure sailed through the air like an arrow, the white steel of his drawn blade flashed against the blackness of the sky.
Eric!
Seyekrad spun around as Eric’s blade plunged into his leg. Seyekrad hit the ground with an inhuman wail.
Slavandria staggered and crumpled.
Lily motioned for them to run. “Go. Hurry. Twiller is waiting for you on the ridge.”
“We can’t leave you,” David said.
“We’ll be fine. Go, while there is still time. My magic is weak and it won’t last long.”
Lily helped Slavandria to her feet.
Overhead, a murder of crows appeared, squawking. They landed and shifted.
David’s heart thudded.
Ravenhawk and his army.
“Go,” Lily said, summoning her spells. “We’ll stave them off.”
David kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, Lily. I love you.” He took Charlotte’s hand. “Come on, Eric.” He put an arm around Eric’s waist and lumbered across the open emblazoned flatlands, from beneath the wavering shield toward the southern rim where Twiller stood, waiting. Einar pursued, a barrage of weapons lodged in his hide.
Fissures opened in the ground. Cracks and crevices stretched out in every direction.
The dragon lifted from the ground and flapped his massive wings.
He swooped down.
David glanced over his shoulder as blue and green sparks bounced off his scales.
Slavandria and Lily bombarded him with spells, but he kept coming.
He closed in.
His talons extended. So close. So close.
The nail touched David’s back.
David tossed Charlotte to the ground and covered her body with his.
Einar bellowed and screeched.
David looked up at the shadow closing in. Ravenhawk and company were relentless, raining the dragon in arrows and bolts, pikes and lances.”
“No wonder he’s pissed off,” Charlotte said. “Eric, when we get to the top of the ridge, you’re going to have to kill him. Let us know what we can do to help.”
“I won’t make it to the top,” Eric said, gasping for breath. Blood oozed over his fingers.” “Once there, hold him off, let me get in position.”
Einar screeched as another weapon impaled his thigh.
They reached the base of the hill.
So steep.
Up.
Up.
Up.
Panting, they climbed.
***
Eric
&nb
sp; Eric slipped and slid down the hill, his face contorted, pain screaming through every inch of his body.
“I can’t go on. The pain. It won’t stop.” Blood oozed from his leg, his stomach.
David and Charlotte slid next to him. “We’ll help you” David said. “Put your arm around my shoulder. You’ll have a better shot the higher up we are.”
“I can’t,” Eric said. “I can’t take another step. Go, get out of here while you can. Defend me from up top. I’ll have to try from here.”
“No. I’m not going to leave you,” Charlotte said. She scooted to his side. “Let me take a look. Maybe there is something I can do.”
Eric shook his head. “No. There is no time for healing spells.”
More axes, spears, and arrows sailed through the air, some not connecting and falling to the ground around them. Einar whipped around and unleashed a wall of fire.
“Eric, please,” Charlotte begged. “You’re not alone in this.” She ran her fingers through his hair. “We can do this together.”
Her eyes pinned him in place. Her insistence and tenderness kindled his bones. Her touch sent a tremble through his body all the way to his toes.
“Look at me, milady. I’m broken and no amount of insistence is going to get me up that hill. I’ll have to fight from here and you’ll have to help me. He’s weak. If you get him right over me, get his heart right about there,” he held his arm at a slight angle to the north, “I can get him.”
Maybe. If he survived long enough. Eric swayed where he lay, faintness overcoming him. He took a deep breath and managed to ward it off, but how long could he keep his unconsciousness at bay? It pecked at him, like a woodpecker knocking on a hollow tree.
Einar roared once again. He whipped and thrashed about, his glowing amber eyes focused on his assailants.
He plummeted to the ground in a thunderous crash and struggled to his feet, his gaze set on Eric. Each step he took rattled the ground and left lake-size prints behind.
“Your friends cannot defeat me,” Einar crooned.
An icy hot blue spell from Lily caught him in the neck, shattering a scale or two. His eyes remained focused on Eric.
David stood. “Maybe not, but we can try.” He nocked an arrow, and let it fly.
Einar laughed as the arrow bounced off his hide. “You will need something far greater than that to kill me.”
Ravenhawk and his band of shapeshifters scrambled up the hill, their weapons drawn. Other warriors shielded in bloody armor appeared with crossbows, axes, halberds, and spears.
“Go, David,” Ravenhawk yelled. “Get your friends out of here.”
David looked at Eric and shook his head. “No. It ends here.” Charlotte cupped Eric’s face. “Are you sure this is what you want to do?
Eric nodded. Dizziness swarmed his brain. “Yes,” he replied. “Where is my sword?”
Charlotte shook her head. “There must be another way, Eric. If you stay here like this, you’re going to die.”
Eric wiped her cheek with his thumb. “I’m going to die anyway, milady. You and I both know this. Go. Stay alive. Let me do what I was meant to do.”
Her lips found his, and for a moment the world stopped. Sound disappeared. Nothing mattered. He was at peace.
The ground cracked beneath them.
He leaned back. Stroked her face. Her hair.
“Go. It’s okay.”
Charlotte held Eric’s hand. Tears fell. “Kill him. We’ll come back for you.”
Eric nodded. “I look forward to it.”
Charlotte kissed him once more. “I think I love you, Eric. Please come back to me.”
Eric smiled warily. “I would like nothing more, milady. Now go.” He glanced up at David. “Take care of her.”
David nodded. He clasped Eric’s hand. His lips quivered. “Thank you for everything.” He placed a broadsword in Eric’s hand. Eric squeezed David’s forearm, and let go.
Einar stomped toward them and the earth vibrated. He hovered before them, his wings spread, his neck down.
David grabbed Charlotte’s hand. “We have to run!”
Einar reared back his head.
Eric closed his eyes. “Of all that is good in heaven, please find my mark.” He pitched the sword and watched it sail end over end through the sky, the silver blade glistening in the fiery light before lodging itself in the center of Einar’s heart.
The dragon flailed back. Fire shot into the sky. He emitted a raspy, high-pitched unnatural sound and swayed his neck from side to side. Drops of his blood splattered on the ground.
Eric fell back, his eyes to the heavens.
Trog’s voice called out to him from a distance. “Eric!”
“Father!” he said, barely above a whisper, his words drowned out by Einar’s mutant, pernicious shrieking.
A large thud shook the ground.
Trog yelled. “Eric!”
Einar stamped his foot.
Eric gasped, his breath frozen on the intake as a hard, cold, talon slid into his flesh with an ungodly pop.
“No!” Charlotte wailed. “No!”
The pungent smell of apricots wafted up Eric’s nose. He recognized it from his class in poisons. He lay back and stared at the sky.
Rosebay. The beast waxed his talons in rosebay.
The symptoms came right away. Blurred vision. Stomach pain. Confusion.
He dangled in the air like a speared fish. Einar shook his claw. Bones cracked and popped through his skin. Tears fell to the ground, his throat unable to make a sound. Death crept up on him and slowly slipped inside. With a deep guttural growl, Einar shook his claw, and dislodged Eric’s shell of a body.
Eric stared at the dragon from the flat of his back, the vision of the beast slipping from clarity to nothing at all. A last puff and roil of smoke and Einar collapsed.
Shadowmorths fell from the sky, many writhing on the ground. A battle cry to retreat sounded, and what physical army of Einar’s that remained alive, retreated from the Valley of Tears.
The world collapsed.
Charlotte scurried to Eric’s side. “Eric! Talk to me!”
He looked down. Blood, warm and sticky, pooled on his chest. A slight smile touched his lips but faded just as fast. Charlotte. She was here. Till the end. He wouldn’t die alone after all.
Trog clambered over the sea of dead bodies, stumbling his way to his son. “Eric.” His face came into view.
“Father?” Eric asked, struggling to open his eyes. “Did I kill him? Did I kill Einar? Is Hirth safe?” His voice fell in a whisper.
Trog nodded. “Yes, son. He’s dead.”
Eric closed his eyes. Relief washed over him. Charlotte, David, everyone. Safe.
His body twitched and trembled. He was cold. So cold.
A voice spoke above him. The king. He was alive. A tear fell. His uncle was going home to his beloved queen, Mysterie, as he promised her.
Home. Gyllen Castle with its blue turrets cast high in the sky. The Cloverleaf River, where sunlight danced like golden fairies across its surface. The gardens. The mountains.
Gildore whispered something to Trog. They pressed their foreheads together The king looked down at Eric.
“Can you hear me, son?”
Eric stumbled in the gray light enveloping him and nodded once. It was all he could do. He hoped the king understood.
“Then heed my words,” King Gildore said, his voice soft and tender. “Eric Rhain Hamden of the house of Brennus, you have performed gallantly this day and as such you have earned your rightful place among those that surround you now on this field of battle. You have proven your skill and demonstrated your virtue in the face of opposition and tyranny. Therefore, by the powers vested in me, I hereby dub thee Sir Eric Brennus, a Knight of Hirth.”
Sharp, cold steel pressed to Eric’s left shoulder, and then the right.
“In the name of the Heavens, the Numí, and the Saints of
Old, I grant you the right to bear arms and the power to meet justice.”
A sword laid upon his chest. The king wrapped Eric’s fingers around the hilt.
“Take this sword as your badge of noble office, and in your every quest and feat of arms may the glory of all that is good in heaven spring anew.” Warm lips on his forehead. “I love you, my boy,” the king said, his voice just above a whisper.
Eric shivered. Tears rolled down his cheeks. “Father.” A slight smile creased his lips. “I … am a … knight.”
“Yes, my son, you are a knight.” He kissed Eric’s hand.
“Father?”
“Yes, son?” Trog swept a thumb over Eric’s brow and wiped the hair from his eyes.
“I am proud … to call you … Father. I … love you.”
Eric took in his last breath, and released it on a warm breeze that flitted by.
He would take no more.
***
David
Tears rolled down David’s face. He clung to Charlotte, her face buried in his chest. Her sobs could be heard across the universe.
How could this happen? Their friend was gone. Gone. And he was never coming back. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair. David’s heart tore and his stomach clenched, the pain unlike anything he’d ever imagined. There were no physical wounds, no blood, no broken bones, yet every part of him felt broken. As if someone had reached inside of him and stolen his heart, his soul, everything that made him human. Everything that made him love. And it hurt. It hurt worse than if someone had punched him in the gut.
He followed the sound of Trog’s voice. The knight sat on the ground cradling his son.
“No,” Trog said, shaking his head. “No!”
The wail went through David like a hot knife. The pain, the agony he must feel.
“God, you cannot do this!” Trog clutched Eric to him and rocked. “He’s just a boy! He’s just a boy, damn you!”
Knights shed their helmets and gathered around.
Slavandria and Lily pushed their way through the gathering. Twiller huddled next to David.
Trog’s gaze traveled to Eric’s wound. His bottom lip trembled. He flexed his hand into a fist and released it.
He glanced between Charlotte, Slavandria, and Lily. “Please tell me there is something you can do. Please,” he begged. His voice shook with emotion. He glanced up at Slavandria and Lily. “You are healers, seers. Surely you can heal this.”
Rage of the Dragon King Page 24