“He’s a fool,” Hector cried out. “It almost killed him last time.”
“No!” Water yelled, aiming her hands at Angst once again.
“Yes!” Air replied, redoubling his efforts and forcing Water to defend herself. “Distract her while I kill her!”
“You are a silly mortal,” the tall, bald man warned. “You can’t wield another foci!”
ANduaut flew across the room like a tiny rock tossed down a hallway. Faeoris stood strong, her high boots and scale armor shining, and a wicked, hungry grin on her mouth.
Angst took a deep breath and blocked out everything in the room. He blocked the sounds of the elements battling. He blocked the cries of ANduaut as Faeoris beat the life out of him. Blocked the old man’s threats and warnings and Victoria’s desperate sobs. He even blocked Dulgirgraut begging him to stop. All so he could listen. He could hear this foci, his foci, Chryslaenor. It was the faintest of songs, but Angst remembered it well, and as he focused, he could feel his sword shrouded in something dark and forbidding. Slippery like the statues of people covered in stone that attacked them at Camfeld, or the lake that tried to suck in Victoria. A sickeningly sweet smell made him want to gag.
Chryslaenor wanted free from this darkness, and Angst wanted his sword back. He raised his hand, fighting through the black lightning and dark shadows to reach the blue light hidden within. Angst could feel his friend with his mind. The sword struggled against Magic. It was tired and ready to give in, but Angst wouldn’t let it. Dulgirgraut couldn’t stop him; the foci was held back by Jormbrinder still at his hip. It tried. It fought, and so did Chryslaenor. Neither sword wanted to be joined together like this.
“I’m almost done!” the bald man yelled. He reached out and thick bolts of black lightning struck Rose’s body, making her scream in pain. “You can’t do this!”
“I thought you were bluffing! This will kill you,” Air warned. “Help me instead!”
“You can’t wield another,” he heard Aerella whisper.
Dulgirgraut glowed bright red in his left hand. Chryslaenor was just within reach. He turned his head to face his friends. Faeoris had returned to stand with them, and her face, all their faces were filled with worry.
“Don’t do this,” Victoria cried out. “Angst, I love you!”
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got this.”
With a deep breath, Angst faced the sword and wrapped his hand around the hilt. Black lightning instantly surrounded him, biting and stinging his flesh like a thousand bees in a windstorm. The pain reached deep, and it felt like his insides were being ripped apart. Angst was struck by a moment of doubt. Had he made a mistake? Was this it? Was he finally going to die? To leave Heather to be a mother to their child alone?
He didn’t have a choice. Rose would die, Victoria could die, Unsel could be destroyed...so many depended on this. Dulgirgraut vibrated in his left hand as he gripped Chryslaenor with his right.
An impossible jumble of people, elements, foci, creatures screamed in his mind. Angst wanted to pull away. The red surge of Dulgirgraut’s cloud attacked both Chryslaenor’s blue lightning and the black lightning of Magic. Chryslaenor continued to defend against itself against the darkness of Magic, while simultaneously attacking Dulgirgraut. They were like aged siblings brimming with hate, battling each other without reason. Magic spewed black lightning at everyone and everything in a desperate attempt to fight. Jormbrinder clung to his side, a silent void siphoning a little of everything.
The first time Angst had held Chryslaenor at Unsel, and later Dulgirgraut in Gressmore Towers, he wasn’t Al’eyrn. He hadn’t truly bonded to any foci. Now he was bonded to Dulgirgraut, and with every ounce of will, he struggled to bond again with Chryslaenor. His flesh burned, his head pounded, his heart raced. It felt as though his skin couldn’t contain the power and was ready to peel from his bones. Dulgirgraut had filled the place in his mind left behind by Chryslaenor, finally finding peace with the help of Faeoris and her sealtian. Now he struggled to force his old sword to occupy the same place. It was like cramming two square pegs into the same round hole. They hated it, and so did he.
The second half of Jormbrinder lying beside Rose shot like an arrow. It struck ANduaut in the eye, tearing away part of the man’s forehead and flipping him over like a coin. The tribesman lay on the ground, his muscles jerking like a dying animal.
“Yes!” Faeoris said vindictively, and then looked about guiltily. “What?”
The twin brother swords despised each other, but they hated the darkness more. Their rivalry was temporary, brief, and together they began to fight off the dark lightning. The raw power flowing through Angst was unforgiving. Pain, physical and mental, poured through him. He wanted more than anything to let go. Yet if he did, Rose, Victoria, Faeoris, and all his friends would die. Why did it always have to be so hard? Fury crept up from deep inside, and his jaw set. Angst was tired of elements, of foci, of magics he didn’t understand, and it made him so upset, he began to shake.
“That’s enough!” he said in his mind, his will bearing down on the swords. “You are both mine!”
“Why is he screaming?” Victoria begged. “Please make it stop. Please pull him away.”
“This fight isn’t for us.” Hector grunted as he struggled to hold her in place.
“She’s right,” Faeoris said, taking a step forward. “He needs his friends.”
“He’s saving his friends,” Tarness said, standing in her way. “All of us.”
“You are both mine!” Angst shouted. “Now!”
There was a loud pop as the black lightning flashed out of existence and the tall man was thrown to the ground as if knocked from his feet. The room became deafeningly quiet and all eyes turned to Angst. The red glow of Dulgirgraut darkened, as did Chryslaenor’s blue lightning. Air and Water lowered their arms and turned to face the human bonded with two foci. The tall man sat up, his eyes wide and face gaunt.
“I did it,” Angst called out, his teeth chattering. It felt like he held two lightning rods that were being struck simultaneously. The hairs on his neck and arms prickled unnaturally. “They’re both mine!”
Jormbrinder fell from his waist, landing on the stone floor with a metallic clunk.
“Ouch!” he cried as he felt a sting. “What was that?”
A thin glowing crack opened on Angst’s forearm, deep enough that a light shone up from his bone and through his armor. He grimaced as another appeared on his other arm. The foci flooded his brain with information, too much, too fast. He buckled as light poured from burgeoning cracks in his chest and crept up his face. He felt like a shattered mirror, the fractures in his skin glowing and throbbing brightly. Jormbrinder no longer dampened the magic, possibly burned out from all it had absorbed during the bonding. Angst was unable to contain the power, and it was finding a way out.
“You can’t control it, Angst. You have destroyed yourself, your friends, everything,” crowed the tall man. “It’s over.”
The cracks hurt like open wounds filling with acid, and he wanted to scream. Grotesque splits in the metal and his skin grew in size, exposing more light. Blue lightning crawled along his arms and legs while fissures in his chest and face leaked power, like a volcano ready to erupt. The glow became brighter with every passing moment. He swallowed hard and opened his eyes.
“Oh, really?” Angst asked maniacally.
“You’re going to die, Angst!” the tall man yelled. “Finally!”
“Then I’m taking you all with me!” Angst roared.
“No!” Victoria yelled. “Please, no. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”
“I can see him, so clearly,” Dallow said in amazement. “Everyone down!”
“He’s going to explode!” Victoria clawed at Hector and Tarness, frantic to break free of their hold.
“Is there anything we can do for him?” Hector yelled desperately. “Anything at all?”
Before Dallow could answer, Victoria stopped struggling an
d turned to Hector. “No,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
Hector stared at her for a brief moment. “Fall back!” he yelled. “Faeoris, hurry!”
It was euphoria and pain. Memories and thoughts and power flowed through his mind like an endless waterfall. His strength was gone, as was his capacity for reason. The twin swords embraced and battled, and he was their catalyst. Their battlefield. His muscles clenched and his stomach churned. Angst didn’t want to die, but more than anything, he wanted his friends to live. He wanted them safe. Thinking about Victoria, and Moyra, and finally, Heather, gave him the final bit of strength he needed to keep it restrained.
“Are you clear? Are you safe?” Angst yelled in an unnaturally deep voice that echoed through the cavern.
“I’m safe, Angst. I promise,” Victoria said from far away.
“Me too!” Faeoris shouted. “All of us!”
“Die,” Angst said bitterly to the elements.
“No!” the old man, Air, and Water cried out simultaneously.
He set it all in motion. In the moment just before he let go, Rose’s cool hands gripped his ankles. Power. Power flowed through every fiber of his body, looking for any means of escape. It poured out the cracks in his skin, some of it flowing into Rose. She screamed. He screamed. It felt like a thousand, thousand suns. With the knowledge that his friends were safe, Angst let his shoulders drop and with one last sigh, stopped holding it in.
56
Scar lay on his side as he howled and cried and scratched at the air. With tears streaming uncontrollably down Kala’s cheeks, she sniffed loudly. She was trying to be brave for her friend, but she felt so helpless. He was big again, tall like the mountain he was tethered to, and he wouldn’t have grown so much if he could’ve helped it. Colors of magic flowed through him like the brightest rainbow. He was frightening like the sun and beautiful like a storm. She took a deep breath and willed herself not to be scared.
Kala carefully stepped forward. Scar didn’t seem to notice as he rolled on his back, his whimpers ringing in her ears. There were no scary bubbles or helpless animals floating to feed him, but he was a giant and frightening. Her favorite puppy was covered in steel daggers, and with his three tails and six eyes, he couldn’t help but be scary. In spite of this, she knew he was still Scar. He just didn’t remember, yet.
Scar pushed at the collar with two of his six paws, his loud coughing blowing away dead leaves and dust. He scrambled to his paws and leaped forward, making rocks bigger than her jump like they’d been surprised. Still, she inched forward. He was so scary, but she loved him so much.
His monstrous head whipped about to face her, and his enormous steel-covered nose, almost the size of her entire body, huffing out clouds of steam in the cold winter air. She held her hand out and turned her head away. Her eyes squeezed shut, her hand shook, and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering. She wanted to scream, but the sound caught in her throat. The monster dog’s nose sniffed deeply enough to draw in her long black hair. Scar yelped in pain, and the quake knocked her down.
Kala rolled to her knees, getting her rust-colored leggings even muddier. She crawled forward once again. His eyes were barely open, and his leg twitched as if he were dreaming. She placed a hand on his muzzle, pulling back as the sharp edges pricked her. Her hand was cut, but it only stung like a rose thorn. Kala reached out again, carefully, and tried petting him.
“It’s okay, Scar,” she said. “I’m here.”
With a shuddering sigh, Scar shrank like a melting ice cube. Six eyes became two, four tails became one, harsh blades split into fine puppy hairs. The lab’s tiny body showed no signs of life. She placed her hand on his full belly and shook it gently. Scar remained still. She petted him frantically but nothing happened. He wasn’t breathing. She grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him to her lap.
“Please, Scar,” she pleaded. “Please! You’re my best friend! Get up! Get up!”
She lowered her face, pressing her cheek against the lap pup’s soft fur, sobbing loudly. Her friend wasn’t breathing, he wasn’t moving, he wasn’t playing with her. It was so unfair. She hated it. Now she was scared.
“Please,” she whispered.
Unsel
Rook led the seventeen wielders, Maarja, and Jintorich through the castle to the west side. It was deserted, save for the occasional frantic maid or page scrambling to find safe passage. The hallways were strewn with rubble. The group jogged around destroyed furniture, small fires from toppled lanterns, and piles of stone from collapsed walls. The air smelled like oil, smoke, and dust from old tapestries hanging by threads. Throats dried and eyes widened in trepidation as the sounds of battle became louder with every step.
Their race to the unknown stopped before the closed door of the maiden’s courtyard. Thick beams of sunlight shone through holes in the wall surrounding the tall wooden door. This had to be it, yet he hesitated. His heart raced and sweat beaded his brow. Not only did he worry over the lives of those in his charge, he’d never been through these doors; it simply wasn’t allowed.
“What is it, Butter?” Janda asked, resting a hand on his outstretched arm.
He didn’t want to admit the truth, so instead faced the wielders. “You can do this, all of you. Steel yourselves!”
With a deep breath, he turned and opened the door. The cool light of winter illuminated a scene that didn’t seem real. Half the maiden’s courtyard was simply gone. The marble floor stretched out twenty feet before them, only to end abruptly at a cliff, like a cracker broken in half. Looking from left to right, Rook could see that this wing of the castle had not fared well. The sinkhole had taken a round, toothy bite, eating away a third of the west side, creating a U-shaped inlet, like a cove in a lake. Walls had fallen away on either side of the courtyard, leaving a rubble-strewn path that stretched across the entire side of the castle like an ugly stone porch. The remaining ruins were now wide open to attack.
Along the newly-formed veranda, enormous gargoyle creatures battled helpless Unsel soldiers. Teams of soldiers attacked their nigh-invulnerable opponents, but their blows were as effective as punching a giant tree trunk. Unsel was losing—he counted more piles of mangled bodies than actual fighters. Not only were the gargoyles almost impossible to kill, Rook couldn’t begin to fathom how many there were. Maybe hundreds? They glided through the air in flocks, taking turns plucking apart armored men and women. Many stood along the cliff ledge with arms crossed. And only one man seemed to be having any success. A hundred yards away, Vars leaped into the body of a gargoyle before splitting it in two. How could he do that without the aid of magic?
Jaden screamed in pain, dropping to his knees and squeezing his head as if to keep everything in. His eyes bulged unnaturally, and blood gushed from his nose and ears. Rook knelt by the young man, looking for a head wound and scoping the area for an attacker or hurled weapon, yet saw nothing.
“Jaden, what is it?” Rook asked. “What happened to you?”
“Angst has another,” he said, spit flying from his lips. He sounded mad, and rolled from side to side as if every muscle were cramping. He stopped, grabbing Rook’s shoulders and pulling him close. “I came back to stop him, to keep him from destroying Ehrde! I remember...I remember everything!” He slumped back, unmoving.
Rook checked to make sure Jaden’s heart still beat and then waved Simon, the young healer, over. “Drag him away from the battle. Keep him alive.”
“I...I don’t know if I can,” the skinny man stuttered, his eyes wild with fear.
“Just do it!” Rook barked.
“No!” Janda cried out. She was pointing at Vars.
Rook turned in time to watch Vars cut the head off an Unsel soldier. The orange sparks spewing from the soldier had burned a gargoyle to smoke, and the sparks followed him over the cliff’s edge as Vars kicked the body into the sinkhole. Rook’s jaw set in fury at the traitor, and he squeezed the hilt of his sword.
“Make a path for
Angst,” Rook cried out. “I’m going to start with Vars!”
Dozens of candles around the room burned like stars, and the woodless fireplace before Alloria blazed like a bonfire. Heather approached slowly, awestruck, circling the young woman with her fists raised defensively. Clad from neck to toe in black leather armor that gleamed in the firelight, and with a red cloak slung across her shoulders, Alloria no longer appeared sickly or tired. Her thin hair was once again a full mass of gorgeous light brown curls that draped over her shoulders and far down her back. Her eyebrows arched in the very embodiment of cunning, and her full lips pulled back in an ironic smirk.
“Your husband is safe, Heather,” Alloria said sharply. “My champion is coming!”
Heather side-stepped for a better view. The fire felt intense enough to heat the castle. The ten-foot marble hearth opened to a wide fireplace framed by a white stone archway. The beauty of the fireplace would’ve been enough to leave her awestruck, if it weren’t for the burning face inside. The bonfire had eyes like rocks in lava, and a mouth that billowed dark smoke with every breath. It filled the entirety of the fireplace, and made the room feel hotter than summer.
“His wife,” the fiery head spoke thoughtfully.
“Did you hear me?” Alloria asked, returning her gaze to the blazing visage. “I won’t kill Angst, and neither will you. Now leave, or I will call for Vivek!”
In a rush of air, the fire simply vanished, and the candles burned out, until the only remaining light was the stingy beams from the window.
Something hurt, deep inside Heather’s belly. Everything cramped so hard she didn’t remember dropping to her knees. It felt like a thousand wasps stinging to escape, and she looked down to see her stomach grossly distended. Alloria was suddenly at her side, kneeling beside her, holding her body.
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