The Elves turned toward their King, waiting with murder in their eyes for the signal to attack. Jerund would not give the signal, Adrian knew. That the King understood what he was planning was something he counted on. He needed to frustrate the Watchers—to infuriate and shame the Elven males into pursuing reckless action. He needed to provoke his biggest threat to their demise.
The powerfully built demon lifted the young girl by her long, white hair and stuck her across the mouth.
The night air rang as hundreds of swords sprang from scabbards. The King’s harried hand signals and attempts to communicate with the Gladewatchers were beginning to fail.
Adrian threw up a spell of protection around him and his sister and their horses as the demon stood over the young female. The beast lifted his horned head in a deafening howl, and in a flash of movement, leaned down and ripped at the girl’s leggings. Shoving her back to the ground, he lifted what was left of her tunic, and plunged a clawed hand up inside her body, violating her in a most inconceivable manner. The small body arched in pain and she screamed in pitiful agony. The demon used his other hand to completely tear open the rest of the tunic at the girl’s chest and leaned down to run his forked tongue over her small, exposed breasts.
Inaction was no longer even a remote possibility.
The Elven Gladewatchers roared in a maddened desire to kill and kicked their horses into motion covering the space between the armies in a blaze of white and smashed into the demons that had now stepped out to meet them. The front lines of Iserlohn entered the chaotic foray as well, and Maximus’ vassals were almost trampled in the violent surge.
The thunderous impact of flesh was staggering. Men and horses screamed, and a river of red soon burgeoned under the feet of the combatants. The Kings tried in vain to recall the formations of their units.
“Adrian!” his sister shouted at him.
He glanced around and saw that one of the Gladewatchers had managed to get past the demons. A confident smirk lining the Elf’s mouth, he screamed out and sprinted on light feet toward him. With a running leap, the Watcher struck out viciously, but his sword bounced harmlessly off the magical shield he created. Surprised and off-balance, the Elf hit the ground hard and cried out as he was quickly buried under a swathe of demons.
It took less than an hour for the deadly skirmish to accomplish Adrian’s goals and it was nearly finished. Over the vociferous battle sounds, Adrian heard the aggrieved King Jerund wail in disbelief. The demons had destroyed the Elven Gladewatchers to a man.
The revered protectors of Haventhal were no more.
A significant number of Iserlohn soldiers continued the attack, but content that all had gone according to plan, Adrian turned his horse to return to Starfell Keep.
Let them fight it out, he thought. If there was anyone left alive tomorrow, he would accept their surrender then.
Beck fastened the last vine around the litter with a grunt. Satisfied it would hold, he walked over to Kiernan, knelt by her side and placed his palm on her forehead. She was not feverous, but still breathing very shallowly and that only after several attempts at resuscitation. Other than the splint he had fastened to her broken arm, there was nothing more he could do for her. Frustration raged through him. The snake’s compression must have collapsed one of her lungs, and she needed a healer. Quickly. If she did not receive proper care soon, she would die. Of that, he was certain.
But, where was he to find one in the middle of a rainforest?
He looked at her pale face and gently brushed a damp, blonde tress from her cheek, his fingers trembling with worry and fatigue. Bending down, he pressed his lips against her temple. “Please hold on, Kiernan,” he whispered. “I will find the help you need, I promise. Please hold on for me. I need you so much.” He took another moment in the solace of her scent and then lifted her small frame onto the litter, tucking his cloak securely around both sides of her body. Scrubbing a tear from his eye, he stepped in between the roped vines and wound them around his shoulders in a makeshift harness to pull the stretcher. It was not easy in the dark, but working together, he and Airron managed to build two stretchers fairly quickly.
“Are you ready?” It was Airron, already tethered to the litter that would carry Rogan. Beck looked at his friend and was shocked at his appearance. The tight-lipped grimace and eyes shadowed with exhaustion were a dismal caricature of a face usually creased in a smile. What had happened to him? What had happened to all of them? Did Galen Starr really believe that they had a chance? Or, were they the only chance he had available to him?
He nodded to Airron, and they began to trot east down the beach with their burdens, Bajan loping unsteadily behind them. Kiernan’s health appeared to be having an analogous effect on the Draca.
He took another quick reading of the compass as they ran, and it led them back into the Puu. Even with his earthshifting, it was difficult to maneuver the litters over the dense forest floor, and they had to stop several times to untangle the wooden slats from the vegetation on the ground.
“How much further can it be?” asked Airron after several hours of grueling travel. “I have smelled the salt of the Arounda in the air for leagues, yet it remains unseen. We should have run out of forest by now!”
Beck nodded wearily. He knew Airron was looking to him for hopeful words, but he simply did not have any left to give. It was getting harder and harder to run. Every muscle in his body ached and begged for respite. His head throbbed with concern for Kiernan, Rogan, and all of the Massan soldiers now undoubtedly in battle. He despaired over ever making it to the Valley of Flame in time to make a difference. Despaired that he and Airron would never find Callyn-Rhe or the weapon they needed.
Airron must have been thinking the same, and he longed to give him the encouragement they both needed to hear, but he could not find the energy to do so. “We just have to keep moving,” was all he said.
And, they did.
Neither Rogan nor Kiernan awakened during the trek. In fact, he noted the last time he looked that Kiernan’s skin was beginning to sport a pasty yellow cast.
Running league after league through the darkened trees, the vines cutting painfully into his shoulders, he began to see threats in every shadow. Every flutter of a leaf was a snake about to drop down on him. Every rustle of noise was a demon about to rake him with its claws. The threat that eventually did appear before them looked so harmless at first that he did not respond fast enough.
Two black shapes appeared overhead swinging innocuously from tree to tree, shadowing them. Yet, the further they ran into the forest, the more the shapes began to shriek in protest at the invasion of their territory. And, for some reason, their agitation seemed to be directed more at Bajan than the two men towing the litters.
He stopped to peer closely at the shapes and then sighed in relief. It was just a couple of jungle apes frolicking through the trees.
“Get lost!” said Airron, waving his arms weakly at the defenders.
That was all it took for the apes to attack. One of them dropped down onto Bajan’s back and bit him in the shoulder with large, blunt incisors. The weary Draca Cat roared in pain and swept up his spiked tail to dislodge the creature and toss it to the ground.
Beck yelped in shock as he looked down at the aggressor. It was a Moshie! Moshies were the monkey people of legend with their disturbingly human faces and even more disturbingly simian teeth.
Airron stepped out of his harness tiredly and said, “Stand guard over Kiernan and Rogan. I will handle this.”
Even in the dim forest, Beck could see the faint shimmer in the air when Airron shifted into a bear. Bajan’s attacker rushed him again and the second Moshie jumped down at the bear, who took a mighty swing with an enormous paw. The Moshie darted out of the way, and joined his companion to attack Bajan in a very human, coordinated effort Beck would not have thought possible. They took the Draca Cat to the ground, one grabbing his front paws and the other biting into his hind leg and coming awa
y with a mouthful of flesh and white fur. Bajan howled and the bear tore toward the Moshies, swiping at one with such tremendous force that the Moshie slammed against a tree and fell to the ground, lifeless. The remaining Moshie screeched and screamed while beating his chest, human eyes glaring with hatred.
The maddened humanoid ape dove at the bear with teeth and fists, pummeling it to the ground, somehow managing to avoid the lethal claws.
In a final act of dominance, the muscular Moshie jumped down on the bear’s leg with all of his weight, and then scampered away into the forest, leaving his dead cohort behind.
“Airron!” Beck cried out, stunned by the quickness and ferociousness of the attack.
The winded bodyshifter gazed up at him, arms and legs bleeding from bite marks and scratches. “That bloody beast broke my leg!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I felt it crack. Beck, I cannot walk,” he cried. “You are going to have to go on without me.”
Beck shook his head in denial. “No. We can make it. I will carry you.”
Airron looked at him as if he was mad. “Stay where you are!” Beck told him, and he hurried over to Bajan, who was lying still on the ground.
He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath. He had to do this. It was up to him now. There was nobody else.
Reaching deep inside, he marshaled the strength remaining to him and called—no, demanded!—the aid of the magic of his blood oath and the magic of his earthshifting. Instantly, an inexorable power burgeoned in his mind and the combination of the twin magics energized his aching body and swept away his hopeless thoughts.
He could do this. He would do this!
With a snarl, he reached down and flung the unresponsive Draca Cat across his shoulders as if he weighed no more than a sack of grain. Ignoring Airron’s shouts of protest, he walked to his friend and hoisted him onto his back beneath Bajan. “Hang on!”
“Beck! Leave me!”
“No.”
Despite his objection, Airron wrapped his good leg around Beck’s waist, and left the other to dangle uselessly a foot off the ground. Beck bent down under his burden to wrap the vines of both stretchers across his body and then started to walk. He checked the compass again to set his direction and continued east.
Muscles burning painfully, he carried his four friends.
Step by step, tears coursing down his face silently, he walked.
Chapter 33
LAND OF THE DRACA CATS
King Maximus leaned on his sword tiredly, bereft of further stratagems to turn the tide of the conflict and gain an advantage over the Cymans and demons. His newly appointed Captain of the Scarlet Sabers, Gage Gregaros, implored him time and again to leave the battlefield, but he refused, even when his horse was mercilessly cut down from under him. He received word moments ago that two of his loyal vassals, Lady Conry and Lord Paxton, perished in the fight. He knew he was taking desperate chances, but he could do no less.
Not after Colbie Nash.
After the Elves’ horrific defeat earlier that day, and after a brief retreat, the battle resumed and continued to rage. King Jerund assured Maximus that a messenger had been sent posthaste to Sarphia to summon the main branch of the Elven Army. Although, what form that messenger took was a mystery to Maximus as every last Elf who accompanied the King to the Valley of Flame was dead.
Mechanically, he thrust his sword out to hew at the neck of a Cyman battling one of his Scarlet Sabers.
Where is Kiernan? Where are the Savitars?
As objectionable as he found the thought, he admitted to himself that the Massans needed magic to fight the demons Ravener introduced to this war. All of the swords in the world were not going to defeat an entity that could disappear into the form of a wraith and sweep away into the night air.
With a heavy heart, he roared as he lunged at an enemy soldier and was struck from behind. He hit the ground hard, his breath disappearing from his lungs in a painful grunt. Quickly rolling over, he looked up from his position flat on his back to see one of the red-eyed demons staring down at him, an evil smile spread over its face.
He had danced with death for many hours this day, and was almost relieved that the moment had arrived. His old body had reached its limits. The only real concern he had at that moment was Kiernan, his beloved daughter. He prayed that she would remember how much he had always loved her. He had made decisions during the course of this life that he now regretted, but that he had thought were right at the time. He always assumed Kiernan would be happier living with people like her—people of magic—but realized now how prejudiced that sounded. Even so, he loved his little girl very much, just as he loved her mother, the Queen. Grace had magic, too. She did not know that he knew, but he did. He deliberately looked the other way with her because he had no other choice. He could not live without her. Why could he not do the same with Kiernan? He guessed it was because magic, any magic, was a painful reminder of Grace.
He laughed in the shadow of the demon. She is just like you, Gracie. The girl has spirit to spare, that is for sure!
Maximus looked up at the repulsive creature standing over him and rolled again just as the demon’s spear thrust down where his chest had been. If he was going to die, he vowed, it would be standing on his own two feet and not on his back. He scrambled upright, two hands on the hilt of his sword.
All at once, the demon roared in surprise as it was lifted into the air, held for a few seconds, and then slammed to the ground. Its body thrashed powerfully as it struggled against invisible bonds.
“Hello, Max,” said an unquestionably feminine voice from behind him.
He spun around in shock and peered into the face of the woman standing next to him. It was Gemini, one of Grace’s friends from somewhere in the southern reaches of Iserlohn, and she had her hand thrust out toward the demon as she smiled at him. “Nice to see you again, Your Grace,” she said more formally and bowed her head to him.
Maximus looked around in surprise. Fighting all around the Iserlohn Army were women! Beautiful women who were tearing into the demons with fervor —and magic. Gemini flicked her hand and a woman in silk raced to the writhing figure on the ground and set it afire. Within seconds, the demon stopped moving and then disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.
“What are you doing here?” he asked her incredulously.
The gray-haired woman shrugged her shoulders. “Keeping a promise.”
He understood immediately. “Grace?”
She nodded and smiled. “Where is Kiernan?” she asked looking around, and then threw out her hands to wrap up a demon stalking behind him.
“I have not seen her since she left Nysa,” he responded and lunged over her shoulder with his sword and stabbed a Cyman prepared to grab her from the rear.
“What are you anyway? A shifter?” he asked
She shook her head, thrusting a hand out to the side and two Cyman soldiers slammed into each other to fall in a senseless heap to the ground. “I am a sorceress, Max, we all are. And, these witches,” she said waving her arm around with a laugh, “are going to save your royal behind.”
Beck stumbled and fell to his knees. With a frustrated groan, he readjusted Airron’s sleeping weight and pulled himself back to his feet. Airron had stopped protesting long ago which was just as well since he refused to talk to him. His focus was only on the walking. Hour after hour in the incessant darkness and unrelenting rainfall. Alone. As good as alone, anyway. He lost all track of time. The tears had dried up and the self-pity was gone. There was only the walking.
The walking and the light.
Less than a league prior, the needle of the compass abruptly spun north. He looked up to see a pinpoint of white light and knew instinctively that was where he needed to be. Miraculously, and at long last, the compass had guided him through the elaborate tangle of magic surrounding Callyn-Rhe.
In Beck’s solitary existence, the light, much larger now, was the only brightness in a world gone d
ark. A safe refuge in a world gone mad. There, he knew, he would be allowed to unfetter his burdens, both physical and emotional. If only he managed to arrive there before his body gave out. His muscles burned with fatigue and his breathing was labored and painful.
“We are almost there,” he told himself with a weak, hoarse voice.
Suddenly overwhelmed, the tears he thought gone surged again and mingled with the rain on his cheeks. Weakness was not a characteristic he was familiar with. All of his life, his mind and body had been strong. Having strength was what defined him as a person. As an earthshifter. And now, it seemed, when he needed his strength the most, it was failing him.
He fell again and began to crawl on hands and knees through the decomposition of the forest floor, dragging his four friends behind him. Bajan and Airron both stirred, but he ignored their murmurs. He tried to swat at the insects that swarmed over his hands and arms, but it was no use. There were too many, their stinging bites already leaving a trail of welts.
Wait! The light! Where is the light? I lost it!
Crawling more urgently now, he fought down his panic. Reaching for a thick, low-hanging vine, he hauled himself back to his feet. He briefly considered leaving his friends behind while he searched for the light, but quickly dismissed the idea. Without the ability to defend themselves, it would be too dangerous. And, he was not certain he would be able to find them again if he did.
Screaming against the weight draped over his shoulders and back and around his waist, and determined to find the light again, he moved forward. The humidity and rain plastered his clothes to his body. He reached up to clear his eyes of drizzle and as soon as he lowered his hand again, he slammed face first into a wall. With a yelp of both surprise and pain, he stumbled back.
Island Shifters: Book 01 - An Oath of the Blood Page 37