by Beam, Brian
Lyrak laughed. “Defiant until the end, I see. After I have spoken with Raijom’s emissary, we will see what we can do about that.”
From behind me, a series of booming knocks sounded on the iron-banded door. I reflexively turned to the sound of the noise, and when I looked back, the image of my father was standing behind the table again.
“It is too early for Raijom’s calling,” Lyrak spoke with my father’s voice. “Some of your friends must have been unfortunate enough to survive their fall.” A smile spread across his face—my father’s face. He made his way over to me, grabbing the back of my chair to turn me towards the door. My left foot dragged across the floor, tearing a scream from my lungs.
Lyrak lifted his hand, a small ball of light forming above it. With a flick of his wrist, the light floated across the room, growing brighter as it came to a stop just above the door.
“You may enter,” he commanded while clasping the crystal at his neck.
The door swung open heavily, Lyrak’s light brightly illuminating what was on the other side. I suddenly felt as if my heart had been beaten with a hammer, dipped in lye, burned by dragon fire, and then chewed by a hornbear. Since my capture, I’d held the tiniest sliver of hope that Max had lived and would find a way to save Sal’ and me. Max had always found a way to save me. Always.
That wasn’t the case this time.
Filling the doorway, a burly soldier in dragon-emblemed armor held Max’s lifeless body by the tail. Max’s limp form swung back and forth as the soldier stepped into the room. His fur was matted with blood, a vicious wound torn through his chest. There was no sign of his Reservoir.
Two more soldiers entered the room behind the first, shoving Briscott ahead of them. Briscott collapsed to his hands and knees on the floor. His face was a bloody, swollen mess, nearly unrecognizable. His tears, stained red with bood, dripped to the stone as he silently wept.
“The other two were already dead,” the soldier holding Max announced gruffly with about as much emotion as a stone. He lifted Max in the air. “This thing took down several men before we could subdue it. I thought it would interest you.”
As Lyrak had intended, my soul shattered. My best friend in the world lay dead before me. The woman I loved was unresponsive and helpless, unable to do more than voice an occasional groan. Til’ and Ithan had lost their lives in the attack on the castle. Briscott was broken, sobbing on the floor, making no effort to stand. All of it was my fault.
I lost it.
I threw myself out of the chair with a scream. Something else snapped in my left knee, shards of bone ripping through the muscle. I dropped to the floor, screaming more from rage than pain, but still with a healthy dose of both. I’d all but ruined my knee, but honestly, I couldn’t have cared less.
I pushed myself towards Lyrak using my good leg. With my hands tied, I was helpless to do anything against him, but my anger blanketed any trace of rationality. Lyrak’s laughter as I inched towards him further stoked the flames of my wrath, my vision going so dark with red that it was almost black.
The soldier holding Max stepped forward and slammed a boot against my back, the sudden impact causing my head to slam broken-nose-first into the floor. I continued to ignore the pain and struggled to break loose, rolling my shoulders and bucking my hips, screaming every curse I could think of. The soldier just pressed his foot down harder, grinding his heel into my spine. I heard the metallic ring of a sword being drawn and felt a cold, sharp prick on the back of my neck.
“Step away; he is no threat to me,” Lyrak commanded sharply through his laughter.
Shaking with rage, I lifted my head to see Lyrak stepping towards me. The pressure of the soldier’s boot left my back. I growled and started forward again. Lyrak just chuckled, holding out his hand. Pressure settled over my entire body, holding me in place. I let out another throat-ripping scream as I struggled against Lyrak’s magic.
Lyrak’s smile stretched across his pallid face; I half expected his skin to tear. “You have done well,” he told the soldier. His eyes scanned Max’s body. “The mighty wizard, Jonasir Spensolin, has finally met his end, something that even Raijom and his intolerable apprentice failed to achieve.” The soldier showed no hint of pride, his face as emotionless as his voice had been.
Lyrak burst into laughter once more, turning to crouch before me. “You may pose no threat to me,” he whispered with a rasp, “but just as Raijom feared, you do pose a threat to him. With you in my hands, Raijom no longer holds the advantage. Because of you, my dear Ingran, the world will be mine.”
Chapter 56
Grave Sacrifice
I really want to put down my quill and tuck this journal away for good. There are just some events I have no desire to ever relive, not even through written word. My reasoning is selfish; I simply don’t want to put myself through the pain. To leave this next part out, however, would be a grave injustice to everyone involved. So here goes nothing.
Lyrak was still crouched before me, chuckling madly. Bearing the power of Rizear’s essence, he was poised to gain control of Amirand, if not the whole world. I couldn’t help but feel it was my fault.
Due to their misplaced faith in me, my friends were either dead or on to the verge of being so. Five dragons—six including Bhaliel—had lost their lives helping me. I’d become nothing more than a bargaining chip in a sadistic game to determine which Rizear-possessed wizard would rule the world. It was enough to make me want to cry.
In other words, things looked bad. Really bad. Cataclysmic, even.
Lyrak smiled cruelly with my father’s mouth. “Do not worry. You will not die yet. You be kept alive until Raijom fully accepts my power over him.”
I responded with snarling and screaming as I fought against Lyrak’s magic trapping me on the floor. Lyrak reached forward, his hand passing through the force pressing down on me. He gripped my chin, digging in his nails until blood trailed down my skin. He wrenched my head upwards, forcing me to look into his cold eyes.
“You will calm yourself,” he snarled. “If you are injured beyond healing, Raijom will be less likely to believe you a threat. Continue to fight, and I will make your lady’s death all the more painful.”
The thought of Sal’ suffering immediately sucked the fight from me, my concern for her superseding my anger. My body went limp. Lyrak’s smile widened.
And then his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened in shock.
“Impossible,” he growled, tearing his hand from my chin. He was on his feet and facing the iron-banded door in a blur of motion.
Looking up, my own mouth dropped. The soldier who’d been holding Max was slumped against the wall, his eyes glazed over in death. Max, showing no sign of injuries and wearing the Reservoir strapped to his back, was on the floor beside his body. The other two soldiers were nowhere to be seen. In their place stood Til’ and Ithan, Til’ with his dagger bared and Ithan with his hand in the leather case at his hip.
Standing before them was Briscott, bow in hand, with an arrow drawn back to his now injury-free face and aimed directly at Lyrak. One of the green rocks, or Soul Crystals, rather, was affixed to the tip of the arrow’s shaft. If not for Lyrak’s shocked expression, I would’ve believed myself hallucinating.
From this point, everything occurred much too quickly. Even so, it lasted an eternity.
Max screamed, “Now, Briscott!”
Before Briscott could release the arrow, Lyrak lifted his right hand. The air around it distorted, and his arm recoiled. The world seemed to warp with undulating pulses in a straight line towards my friends. I tried to scream a warning as I realized that Lyrak had cast the same spell that had torn the dragons from the sky, but I was too late. Each beat of my heart slammed violently against my ribs as my mind prepared for Lyrak’s spell to rip through Briscott.
Only, at the exact moment Lyrak released his spell, Til’, without hesitation, slammed into Briscott, knocking him aside with a strength that belied his diminutive sta
ture. Til’s eyes met mine for the briefest of moments. His glistening silver eyes seemed to say goodbye before being covered by his long raven hair as it whipped across his face from his sudden movement.
Lyrak’s spell ripped through his chest.
Til’s body flung backwards, his blood splattering against the wall just before he slammed into it with the sickening crack of breaking bones. He collapsed in a heap to the stone floor.
Time went from a slow crawl to a complete halt as I took in the Kolarin whom I’d grown so close to, his bloodied, lifeless body crumpled on the floor. The selfless Kolarin who’d more than once saved my life with no regard for his own. The Kolarin who was supposed to return home, find love, and live out his days among the Kolari once this was over. Tilrook Brinsir, one of the greatest people I’d ever known.
With my attention on my fallen friend, I didn’t even notice Briscott regain his stance and let loose his arrow. Lyrak brought up his hand for another attack, but the arrow stabbed into the center of his chest first, sending the evil bastard reeling backwards to the floor. The air rippled as his spell left his hand too late and cut through the wall above Briscott’s head. The force pressing against me vanished.
“Don’t you blighting make a blighted move!” Briscott screamed when Lyrak reached for the shaft protruding from his chest, his voice cracking. Lyrak’s hand stopped just short of the arrow, his arm shaking. Briscott rushed to Til’s side, Ithan quickly joining him. Max started forward but collapsed. He pushed himself up on shaky legs only to fall again. Whatever magic he’d been using had pushed him well beyond his physical limits. It didn’t matter. Til’ was gone.
My reddened vision shifted to where Lyrak lay unmoving on the floor, the feral rage within me threatening to tear me in two at the sight of Til’s killer. The Soul Crystal embedded in his chest had given Briscott control over him. Briscott had told him not to move, so he didn’t. He couldn’t.
Suddenly, I was on my feet, the ropes around my wrists gone, my shortsword in hand. I didn’t recall standing, freeing myself of the ropes, or taking my sword from the table. I didn’t care to. Only one thing mattered.
I limped to the fallen wizard king, my pain only a distant distraction. The frantic voices of the others as they hovered over Til’s body seemed nothing more than a muffled collection of sound.
I stopped at Lyrak’s side. His appearance had returned to his own, his breath coming out in ragged gasps from trembling, bloodless lips.
“You were wrong,” I sneered. “I pose you the greatest threat you have ever known.” With those words, I dropped to my knees and shoved my sword through his face. I pulled it out and stabbed again. And again. I kept stabbing, the bastard’s blood splattering across my face, hands, and armor.
“Korin, stop!” Max rasped, too weak to intervene.
But I didn’t stop. Violent rage had taken complete control of my body.
I started in on Lyrak’s chest. Tears cut through the blood on my face as vicious screams tore from my throat. At some point, a pair of hands gripped my shoulders, attempting pull me away from my assault on the dead wizard. I tore from their grasp and continued jabbing my blade through his body.
Eventually, two sets of hands clasped my arms and dragged me back from Lyrak. I struggled to break free, but to no avail.
“Let me go!”I screamed. “He has to die! I have to kill him!”
“Korin,” Briscott sounded softly from beside me. “It’s over.”
“He is already dead, Korin,” Ithan whispered from the other side.
Through my piercing anger, I continued to fight against them, wanting to make sure that Lyrak would never harm another soul. I wanted to ensure that Rizear would lose his hold on Amirand.
“Korin, please,” Briscott murmured, his voice catching between the words.
Something about the pain in Briscott’s voice gave me pause. My vision began to clear, revealing Sal’ still slumped on the floor. Til’s body lay broken and torn across the room.
My sword dropped from my trembling hand. The anger siphoned out of my body, replaced by a massive wave of physical and emotional pain. I remember screaming. I remember a sudden blast of familiar silver light. I remember the world going black.
****
I stood upon a precipice overlooking a large circle of barren land, a massive castle surrounded by a sprawling city at its center. The bright sun illuminated a lush green landscape beyond the desolation, the verdant fields serving as a beautiful contrast to the death surrounding the city. The soft grass beneath my feet had also been spared from whatever had destroyed the land before me.
The wind whipped at my hair, making me acutely conscious of my footing. The precipice towered over the city below; a fall from such a height would’ve easily killed me several times over.
I took a couple of cautious steps back, crossing my arms over my chest in a vain attempt to ward off the cold. My back collided with something. I gave a startled twitch and turned to see my birth parents. My father wore regal robes of blue, and my mother wore a flowing, gossamer gown of teal.
My mind shouted a warning, prompting me to retreat a few steps. I stopped abruptly, realizing that I’d reached the edge of the precipice. My heart thudded in my chest as fear shot through my nerves.
“Stay back,” I warned, tears springing to my eyes. I couldn’t let myself be fooled again. Fooled of what, I had no idea. I reached to my waist, but my sword was missing.
My parents wore expressions of honest shock and pain. “Ingran, what has happened to you?” my mother asked, tears welling in eyes that mirrored my own. Her ringlets shone in the sunlight, casting a halo around her face.
“My son,” my father intoned, also on the brink of tears, “why do you fear us?”
I struggled to remember why I feared them. Briefly, a scene flashed in my mind of my father’s face changing from his own to another, one of evil. With that fragment of memory came a deep sense of loss, though I couldn’t place the reason for it.
My eyes shifted between the two people standing before me. Their eyes shimmered with both love and sadness, the emotions pure and honest. These were truly my parents: Galvin and Kailyth Lemweir. I had no reason to fear them. I dropped to my knees and began to sob uncontrollably, muttering apologies that were swept away by the wind.
The ground shook beneath me, a loud rumble echoing all around. A sound like tumbling rocks followed. My face and hands stung from dozens of sharp pricks from an unseen force.
Before I could question what had happened, two sets of arms encircled me. I looked to see my parents embracing me from either side. The scent of fresh flowers filled the air, offering me a strange sense of comfort. Their warmth masked the chill of the wind.
“It hurts my heart to see you in so much pain, my dear Ingran,” my mother wept into my shoulder.
“What have they done to you?” my father questioned sorrowfully, his eyes pained.
“I . . . I don’t remember,” I sobbed. “I’m so scared.” I was, but I wasn’t sure why.
“Son,” my father began, leaning back from me. His crown shone brightly in the sunlight, the reflection hurting my eyes. “Everything will be okay.”
“But the land is dying,” I argued, gesturing behind me. “Look at it! It’s my fault!” I knew that I was to blame for the desolation, though I couldn’t puzzle out why or how I knew so.
“Everything is as it should be,” my mother whispered. “You are partially responsible for this, but that is your destiny. You must embrace it.”
I pulled back from my mother, shocked at her words. Why would I need to embrace such death? I almost expected to see a sinister glint in her eyes, but I was met instead with sincerity and love tinged with sorrow.
“No, I’m supposed to preserve this world. I have to . . .” I trailed off. I couldn’t remember what I was supposed to do. My tears continued to flow, trailing cold, meandering lines down my cheeks.
“You will, son,” my father assured me. “You will. But not w
ithout great sacrifice.”
I squeezed my eyes shut against the torrent of grief that washed over me with his words. I’d already sacrificed so much. Hadn’t I? My memories were just out of reach, tickling the edges of my thoughts but retreating whenever I tried to grasp them.
“I can’t,” I cried. “I’ve tried so hard . . . but everyone around me suffers for it.” Where had those words come from? Who had suffered?
“Stay strong.” My father’s hand clasped my shoulder. “Come back to us.” He started shaking me.
“What? What do you mean?”
“Come back to us!” he screamed, his eyes widening as he shook me more fiercely.
****
Sal’s beautiful visage hovered over me, her tears dripping onto my face and running down my cheeks. Her face bore only faint traces of bruising. My head was propped on her lap.
“Sal’?”
Sal’ smiled through her tears, brushing my hair back. “Korin,” she began before breaking into convulsive sobs.
I sat up stiffly, sending shards of gray stone tumbling down my front. Ignoring the stone fragments, I wrapped my arms around Sal’, pulling her close. I licked my dry lips, realizing just how thirsty I was when I felt how chapped they were against my too-dry tongue.
“I’m all right,” I whispered, kissing the top of her head. I didn’t know if I spoke the truth or not, but it seemed the right thing to say. “Are you okay?”
Sal’ pressed closer, sniffling. “Ithan filtered most of the poison from my blood,” she explained, wiping at her nose with her sleeve. “Once I was cognizant enough, I was able to use magic again and finished the process on my own.” Her words sent relief through me, but something felt wrong, something that tugged at the margins of my memory.
I looked around, confused. Max gazed upon me from atop a cluttered table, his beady eyes shining sorrowfully. Briscott and Ithan stood behind the table, casting weak smiles at me. When my sight landed on a pool of blood in the center of the room, the memory of what had happened there stabbed painfully into my consciousness, catching my breath.