The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal)

by Beam, Brian

  It may not have been the best of ideas, but I leaned away, letting the sword slide out of my shoulder. This prompted a sudden rush of blood and likely worsened the injuy since we were both still in motion. My right hand reflexively shot up to staunch the flow of blood. There was a lot of it.

  My legs went weak and collapsed from underneath me. My breath came out in ragged puffs of vapor from my burning lungs as the undead stepped forward.

  All of this happened in the duration of a handful of heartbeats, but that was enough time for Briscott to arrive, putting himself between me and the undead. His bow was slung back over his shoulder, and in his hands he held a broken wooden plank from the burning house.

  “Stay back, Korin,” he commanded gruffly as he introduced the undead who’d stabbed me to a wooden board across the side of its head. The creature’s head whipped to the side, and Briscott kicked one of its knees inward, snapping its leg backwards. The undead monstrosity fell to the ground.

  Briscott’s foot slid across the slick ground, and he fell forward, catching himself with one hand while still holding the plank in the other. He swung the plank upwards as he stood, just barely deflecting the final undead’s blade. Briscott, back on his feet, gripped the plank in both hands and smashed it into the undead’s jaw, unhinging it with a grotesque tearing sound. The force was enough to send the creature reeling back against the side of the burning house.

  The first undead Briscott attacked latched onto Briscott’s boot with cruel, bony fingers. Briscott wheeled around in a fluid motion and slammed the plank’s edge down onto the undead’s head. Its skull promptly caved in with a sickening squish, like the sound of stepping on rotted fruit. Briscott brought the plank up and drove it down once more. Grayish brain matter oozed from the undead’s mangled head. I was surprised that there was still moist tissue in the creature’s body, yet there it was, splashed onto my face. I know—it’s disgusting. And stinky.

  From behind me came a whooshing sound. White hot flame, coalesced into a massive ball, soared above me and collided with the undead that Briscott had knocked into the house. Everything above his waist was turned to ash in the blink of an eye. The flame dissipated upon impact.

  Briscott, breathing heavily, stepped up to OneArm, who was trying to claw his way towards us. He slammed the plank against One Arm’s skull a few times before letting the gore-covered plank drop to the ground. There were bits of brain and flesh in his beard. It made me want to sick up for the both of us. We shared a fearful, “did we really just live through that?” looks.

  Ithan rushed forward and crouched at my side. “Korin, are you okay?” His eyes flashed to the blood gushing between my fingers. “Dammit,” he muttered.

  “What? It’s not the first time I’ve been impaled,” I joked through the pain, having to force my words through chattering teeth and heaving breaths. Ithan didn’t seem to find it funny.

  “Briscott, take her,” Ithan commanded, holding out the bundled baby. The infant girl was crying hysterically. We’d saved her. My blood-spewing wound was completely worth it.

  Briscott rushed forward, gently accepting the infant into his arms with a smile on his lips and sadness in his eyes. “Loranis bless you,” he whispered. I’m not sure if the words were meant for Ithan or the infant.

  “Hold still,” Ithan commanded, pushing my hand away and laying an ungloved hand on my shoulder. With a penitent glance at Fleet, he put his other hand on the owl’s side. Fleet didn’t react to his touch. Aside from her breathing, there was absolutely no sign of movement from her. I cringed at the implications.

  Ithan closed his eyes, and warmth spread from my shoulder through my entire body. I recognized the feeling of healing that I’d experienced from Max’s magic so many times before. In the space of a gasping breath, the warmth fled my body as quickly as it had appeared.

  Ithan pulled a flaccid Fleet from his shoulder and into his arms. She was still alive, but there was no soul behind her eyes, no awareness. “Thank you, dear friend,” Ithan whispered, his eyes sparkling with tears. The battle, saving the baby, and my own wound had essentially taken Fleet’s life away, even if her heart still beat. She was now nothing more than an empty shell.

  “Ithan, I’m so sorry,” I apologized, feeling at fault for the pain in his amber eyes.

  Ithan didn’t look up from Fleet. “Your wound has been sealed, but you may have some pain for a few days. There is still damage deeper in the tissue. I am sorry I did not perform a complete healing. I just was not ready to . . .” Ithan couldn’t complete his words, but I could hear them in my head. I just was not ready to kill Fleet.

  I clasped Ithan’s shoulder. “You saved my life, Ithan, and the infant’s. Thank you.”

  Ithan nodded sullenly.

  I wanted to say something more, but the pull of Saiyre’s ring on my finger reminded me of Max. “Max,” I called, terror shooting through my body as I scrambled on hands and knees to where his ash-stained form stood out against the white of the snow. I picked him up, having to brush off some maggots that had wormed their way over to him. He was breathing, but I couldn’t tell if he was asleep, unconscious, or worse.

  Gently cradling Max against my stomach, I stood. Even though he weighed next to nothing, the extra pull against my left arm blazed pain through my partially healed shoulder. My blood-soaked sleeve chilled my arm, clinging to my skin as it dried in the frigid air. After wiping the globs of spongy brain from my face and wrenching my sword from a still spasming One Arm, I started towards Briscott to give Ithan a moment to grieve. We had little time to waste, but I wasn’t about to just rip Ithan away from mourning the loss of a friend.

  Briscott had retreated towards the rear of the houses, shielding the infant from the smoke. After a quick check to ensure no unwanted company was present, I looked to the bundle in his arms. Briscott had hooded the blanket over the infant’s head, protecting her from the snow. I could still see her tiny face, smeared with ashy soot. She screamed hysterically, eyes squinted shut, toothless gums fully exposed behind quivering lips.

  The infant was probably hungry, cold, and scared, but there was little we could do to help. That’s not to say that Briscott didn’t try. He gently rocked her in his arms and whispered soft, comforting words. It looked natural on him.

  “Thank you for saving my hide back there.”

  “No thanks needed, Korin,” Briscott replied softly, concentrated on the crying infant.

  “Is she okay?” I inquired, my knowledge of babies limited to newborn farm animals.

  Briscott nodded, looking up with a fragile grin. “The burns are gone. She’s perfect,” he replied in a near whisper. The news made me smile through the horror of our situation.

  My attention was drawn back towards the front of the houses, where screaming and clanging metal sounded. Silhouettes of fighting bodies were visible through the snow. We were fortunate that the fighting hadn’t spilled between the houses where we stood any more than it had. There was no telling how long it would remaing that way.

  “What are we going to do with her?” I asked no one in particular.

  “I don’t have a blighted clue.”

  Ithan approached us, Fleet nestled in his arms. His eyes were red, but he looked to be holding up well enough. “There must be a group of townsfolk holed up somewhere in the town,” he croaked. “We need Max. Maybe he will know where they are. We could take the child to them.” He looked down at Fleet. “The child has to live.”

  “I’m not sure I can wake him up,” I admitted, shaking the passed-out rodent for emphasis. As expected, Max had no reaction.

  “Allow me,” Ithan offered, reaching a hand towards Max. With another sad glance at Fleet, he put a single finger against Max’s side.

  Max’s eyes immediately snapped open, and his body giving a single, violent shudder. He scurried up my arm and perched on my wounded shoulder, engulfing it with burning pain from his clawing climb. He appeared panicked, his breathing rapid and his eyes wide.

 
; Max’s gaze shot back and forth, seemingly to take in everything at once. He was incredibly alert for someone who’d been dropped roughly into the snow during a fight moments before without even cracking open an eye. Finally, he rested his sights on Ithan, and his eyes drew down in annoyance. “That was just rude, bird-boy.”

  “Max,” I admonished, gesturing to the featherswift owl.

  “What?” He took in Fleet’s vacant stare. “Oh. I am so sorry, Ithan.” Max’s sympathy was short-lived. “Nevertheless, why would you do that?”

  “We need to know if there are any townsfolk that we can leave the child with,” Ithan explained matter-of-factly.

  There was a loud crash behind us. Sparks and ashes puffed out from the hole in the burning house’s wall. We all covered our noses and mouths as the wind carried smoke towards us. Briscott tried to cover the infant’s face, but she still erupted in a squeaky cough followed by more distressed screaming.

  Max cringed, his ears flattening against his head. “With lungs like that, I do not think anyone is going to go near it anyway.”

  “Max,” I admonished again.

  “Sorry. I am just in a bit of a foul mood after what he did,” Max muttered raspily, glaring at Ithan. Ithan averted his gaze.

  Max huffed. “There is a general shop nearby. There are survivors hiding in the cellar there.”

  “All right, let’s go then,” I stated, but Max dug his claws into my shoulder—my injured shoulder. I broke into a fit of coughing from a mixture of smoke and pain. “What?”

  “No, you need to find Salmaea and get out of this town. I do not understand what made you explicitly ignore my instructions in the first place.”

  “To get you. You kind of disappeared, furball.”

  Max’s eyes narrowed. “I got distracted, okay? A wizard on their side recognized the Reservoir and decided he and a few soliders were going to take it from me.” Max paused. “And I may have ensured that a few residents made it to that cellar I mentioned,” he admitted.

  “No hypocrisy there,” I muttered.

  “I’ll take her,” Briscott declared. “You three go find Sal’. Just point me in the direction the ring’s pulling you and I’ll head that way after she’s safe. I’ll find you somehow. I will not let her die.”

  I could produce no argument. “Okay. Max, can you tell him where the cellar is?”

  Max cleared his throat, coughing. He proceeded to give Briscott directions to the shop. “It is the only building with a stone foundation,” Max continued after telling Briscott how to find it. “The cellar doors are around back. Some troops from our side have hidden it with a tarpaulin sheet. If you cannot find a clear way through, go back to the town’s fringe and loop around to approach the shop from the rear. It will take longer but will also be safer.”

  Briscott nodded. “Loranis be with each of you,” he said with solemn eyes, clapping me—thankfully—on my uninjured shoulder.

  “You too,” I returned, not even considering for a moment my beliefs. .

  “We will see you soon,” Ithan added, promise ringing in his voice.

  “You’re blighting right, you will.” Briscott gave us a weak smile and started away, keeping the infant cradled close to his body. He looked both ways at the rear of the house and then disappeared around the corner.

  My chest tightened with worry. Not only was Briscott’s and the infant’s lives at risk, but also Til’s means of finding us with the Tracking Stone.

  Max twitched. “Give me just a moment more to calm my heart before we start out.”

  “Just what did Ithan do to you, Max?” I asked, curious at what had so effectively snapped Max from his exhaustion.

  “Oh, he just sent a little spark into my brain that made it believe my life was threatened, tricking it it into fight-or-flight mode. The spell is similar to pretending to throw a stick for a dog. It is a simple trick, but it gets the dog worked up all the same. I am having a little trouble convincing my brain that I am not about to die. Thank you for that, Ithan.” Max shook his head.

  “Sorry,” Ithan mumbled, looking ashamed. “That child will be safe because of you, though.”

  Max’s expression softened at that. “Needless to say,” he continued, “I am now alert, though I really should not be. My body is still at the point of exhaustion, and the Reservoir is empty, so I have little to work with. Once the effects of Ithan’s spell wears off, the fatigue will hit me once again, and I will be even more powerless.”

  Ithan put a hand on Fleet. “I can keep us safe,” he assured us.

  “According to the ring, Sal’s that way,” I said, pointing my sword directly at the chaotic fighting filling the main street. Then, as if the gods just wanted to have a little sick fun, a group of soldiers fell back into the alley, some running towards us, others fighting to cover their retreat.

  “Run,” Max rasped gravely.

  I didn’t known if the troops were on our side or not, but I wasn’t going to argue. I’d learned long ago not to question Max when he used that tone. With Max on my shoulder, we retreated.

  Chapter 42

  Love is a Battlefield

  Following the ring’s pull was an exercise in patience. We’d find safe cover, wait for an opening, and then run to more safe cover. We found ourselves crouching behind barrels, lying under wagons, and even sprawling in the bloodstained snow pretending to be dead as the fighting raged around us. That last tactic was a stupid move on our part, but at the time, we hadn’t had much of a choice. It worked, even if I could no longer feel my face and my now soaked cloak was starting to feel like I had a Kolarin hanging around my neck.

  Part of me felt like I should be doing something more, like I should be helping in the fight, but a bigger part kept me moving from hiding place to hiding place as I followed the ring’s pull—probably the part that dug claws into my shoulder and berated me whenever I tried to do otherwise.

  The ring eventually brought us before a two-story house. We paid no attention to the thatch-roofed residence at first, actually steering clear of it, as there was quite the skirmish right outside its front. After attempting to circle around the area, however, we realized that we were being drawn to it.

  We’d finally found Sal’s location. If anyone had noticed my face-splitting grin, they would’ve thought I was mad. The prospect of being so close to her was exhilarating. But then that exhilaration turned to dread.

  The entire perimeter of the house was literally swarmed with troops pitched in fevered battle. Dead bodies were strewn about the outer walls, many wearing blue and black tabards. I could see two members of the Wizard Guard still standing, fighting against no less than three opposing wizards. Their spells were blindingly bright in the snowy gloom, imprinting white splotches across my vision. The rest of the fighting was just an incomprehensible mess.

  “See that man in the steel cuirass and chainmail?” Max suddenly asked from my shoulder as we hid behind a woodpile the next house over. “He is from Paigea. The green lion painted across his chest is the symbol that represents Iridis, one of the smaller kingdoms of Paigea.”

  It took me a moment to locate the man among the fighting. “Yes,” I answered absently, distracted by my visual search for Sal’.

  “There is another,” Max spoke into my ear, speaking through a yawn. His lethargy was setting back in. “The one with red-painted armor. Though you cannot see it from here, I can guarantee that there is a gold tree inlaid on his chest. That indicates he belongs to Tolin’s army . . .”

  I turned my head as Max’s words trailed off. “And . . .” I prompted.

  Max blinked a couple of times. “Tolin is the kingdom in which the capital city of Lantrim is located. It is the kingdom where the Prime Sovereign sits. That man is one of your father’s soldiers.”

  Upsetting as Max’s observation should’ve been, I just nodded. What did it matter? I’d already accepted Max’s word that Paigean troops were fighting for Gualain. Did it really make a difference what kingdom they were fro
m? Sal’ was all I truly cared about at the moment.

  “I know this must be hard for you to—”

  “Do you two see her anywhere?” I interrupted, my eyes in rapid motion, trying to scan as much of the battle as possible. “She wouldn’t be in the house, right?”

  “And you wonder why I don’t show you sympathy,” Max huffed.

  “I don’t see anything,” Ithan offered.

  “We need to get closer,” I spoke in a near whisper, straining to catch a glimpse of Sal’s wavy hair, her delicate face, her . . .

  Any thoughts I had were interrupted when the entire rear corner of the house’s top floor exploded with a thunderous boom that would’ve made a dragon feel inadequate about its roar. There was no fiery blast, just a hole blown outwards with no visible source. Chunks of wood and plaster cascaded over those outside, including us—an entire house away. I narrowly avoided having a torso-sized chunk of wall take off my head.

  What really caught my attention—even more so than almost losing my head—was the body that propelled from the source of the explosion as it sailed over the roof of a house cattycornered from where we’d been dusted with plaster remnants.

  “Max, what was that?” I asked warily, relieved that Saiyre’s ring still pulled towards the house and not towards the blurred shape that had just flown overhead.

  Max stared, agape, at the exploded wall, the dust from the explosion obscuring the new opening. He was now coated in powdered white plaster that clung to his wet fur. “That, Korin, was one of the most powerful blasts of air I have ever seen cast. Not even in Paigea is such power common. That blur that just passed overhead was the unlucky recipient of its wrath.”

  It was doubtful that Sal’ had cast the powerful spell. She may have been the daughter of the Grand Wizard, but she didn’t exactly have the greatest aptitude for magic. I sighed and resumed my frantic search, plotting the best way to make it around to the other side of the house to take in the battle from a different angle.