“Lay down your sword, Vrykol!” commanded the elf. “Or I will take her head.”
Hearing the ancient language of his people spoken from elf lips made his mouth curl in disgust. “Harm her and I will cut you to pieces.” He could see the fear in Basanti’s eyes, but there was something else as well. Her mind was begging him to obey.
‘No more,’ she pleaded.
Behind him, Yanti could hear bowstrings being drawn.
‘Better to die,’ her inner voice cried out.
The elf pressed the blade to Basanti’s flesh, causing a thin trickle of blood to run down her neck. Blocking out his sister’s voice, Yanti covered the distance between them with unearthly speed and drove his sword hard into the elf’s chest. No sooner had he done this than the thwack of bows being loosed was followed by the hiss of arrows. He twisted and dove hard down, but three deadly missiles had already buried themselves deep into his back. He let out a tormented roar as his body slid across the ground. Pain was raging through him, but he still somehow managed to rise to his knees and turn. The remaining elves had dropped their bows and were drawing their swords, vengeance flaming in their eyes.
Yanti glanced at Basanti, who gave him a sad, forgiving smile. A sudden wave of regret washed over him. He found himself unable to look at her any longer. Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath and waited for the elf blades to release his spirit.
It was then that he heard a sharp thud. His eyes snapped open. One of the advancing elves had fallen. Then another dropped, and another, until only two remained standing. Gripped by sudden panic, they turned and ran, disappearing into the forest.
Stunned, Yanti stared after them for a moment before crawling over to Basanti, the arrows spitefully digging themselves deeper with every small movement.
She had already pulled the arrow from her own body. “Turn around.” Her voice was soothing and filled with pity.
Yanti obeyed, never once taking his eyes off their surroundings even as the cruel arrows were pulled free, the tips taking with them a measure of ruined flesh. Whatever had struck down the elves could very well now be coming for them. The snap of a twig from behind a nearby pine tree forced him to his feet, the pain ignored. Basanti reached up and grabbed his sleeve, clinging desperately.
“No more bloodshed,” she cried.
“There is nothing to fear,” called a voice. It was rich and deep, and spoke in the ancient tongue.
“Show yourself,” commanded Yanti. His muscles tensed as he realized that he had dropped his sword several feet away.
“Of course.” From behind a tree, though far to the left of where Yanti had first heard the voice, stepped a young human male. He looked to be no older than twenty, with shoulder length flaxen hair and a golden brown complexion. His ice blue eyes twinkled and his bright smile was friendly and warm. A white cotton, open-necked shirt and blue trousers were well fitted to his athletic frame, and though not exceptionally tall, his broad shoulders and thin waist gave him the illusion of greater height. He moved with nimble, effortless ease, quickly spanning the distance between them.
Basanti gasped. “You…you’re beautiful.”
Yanti looked at her, his brow furled. “What are you talking about? It’s just a human.”
Basanti cocked her head, looking confused. “A human? Are you blind? No human looks like that.”
The newcomer laughed. “He can no longer see. The taint that now inhabits his spirit has blinded him.”
Yanti was not amused. “Who are you?”
The man bowed low, his gaze fixed on Basanti. “I am Felsafell.”
“I have heard the name,” she said. “Though the stories that surround it are…well…unbelievable.”
Felsafell smiled. “And many are not to be believed. The lies of rumor can blacken a good name.”
“It is said that you are the oldest being that walks in the world,” said Yanti, doubt in his voice. “Yet you look little more than a boy.”
“And how old were you when the gods changed you?” Felsafell countered. “Twenty-five? You look young, yet you have lived for many lifetimes.”
“How can you doubt him, Yanti?” asked Basanti. “Can you not see that he is something…different?” She struggled to her feet and took a step forward.
“He cannot,” said Felsafell, with a hint of sadness. “His crimes have taken his sight.” He looked at Yanti. “Can you not feel it?”
Yanti sneered. “And what is it that you think you know about me - or my sister?”
“I know that you were created by the gods to shepherd human and elf through this world,” he replied.
“Then you know nothing,” shot Yanti. “Elves are our enemy. They have hunted us, and all like us, until we are all that remains.”
Felsafell shook his head slowly and sighed. “I know it may seem so. But I assure you that Pósix never intended for you to abandon elf kind. That the Vrykol, as they have named you, ignored them is why their hatred for you has festered.”
Yanti fumed. “So all of this is our fault?”
Felsafell shrugged. “In a way, yes. You became obsessed with freedom for humans - guiding them against their masters - rather than influencing the elves to change their hearts.”
Yanti glared. “It is not you that they hunt, and it is not you they have enslaved.”
“True,” said Yanti. “But it is not me who violated the laws of my maker. Your actions have justified those of your enemy. They feared your immortality and your power. Now you have shown them they were right to fear.”
“And what should I have done?” shouted Yanti. “Allow them to slaughter us?”
Basanti touched Yanti’s hand. “Yes, dear brother. You should have.”
He turned to his sister, an incredulous look on his face. “What are you saying? You would have me permit them to cut off your head?”
She cupped his face in her hands. “I’m saying that I would rather die than have you spill blood in my name. Felsafell is right. What you have done has changed you. I can see it now.”
“Tell your brother what you see when you look at me,” said Felsafell.
She didn’t take her eyes off Yanti. “I see a being with ebony skin, long silver hair and striking features: elegant, almost elf-like ears and piercing grey eyes. But I also see the human that he chooses to appear.”
Yanti struggled to break his sister’s gaze and looked at Felsafell. “Why can’t I....?”
“Your actions wounded you,” explained Felsafell. His tone was as a father speaking to a confused child. “It has left you vulnerable.”
Yanti clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. “Vulnerable to what?”
“Look at you now,” said Felsafell. “Can you not feel the anger in your heart? The blackness?”
A tear ran down Yanti’s face. Catching it with the tip of his finger, he smeared it between his thumb and forefinger, staring at the dampness with a mixture of sorrow and fury. “What would you have me do? I cannot change what has happened.”
“You must leave,” said Felsafell. “You must stay away from your sister. If you do not, you will certainly bring violence with you.”
Basanti stepped in front of Yanti, her gaze defiant. “I will not be parted from him. No matter what he has done, he is my brother.”
Felsafell smiled. “You must.” His eyes shifted across to settle on Yanti. “And in his heart, he knows it too.”
He reached out and placed a hand on Yanti’s shoulder. “I will protect her. I will weave a legend and spread it throughout the land so that she will be kept safe.”
“What legend?” asked Yanti.
“Better that you do not know,” he replied. “But rest assured that the protection of Felsafell, last of the first born, is not a thing to be taken lightly. While I live, no harm will come to her.”
The elves began to moan and stir.
“But you must decide quickly,” continued Felsafell. “I have only incapacitated those you did not kill. Soon they will wake, an
d we must be gone.”
“And what of my brother?” asked Basanti, gripping Yanti’s hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.
There was a long moment of silence. Finally, Yanti lowered his head and gave a long sigh. “He’s right. You must go with him. My crimes have changed me. I can feel the wound inside.” He backed away several paces. “I will always love you, my dear sister.”
Basanti immediately rushed back and threw her arms around him, clinging tightly. “No! You cannot. I will not let you.”
Taking hold of her shoulders, be gently eased her away from him. “I must. But don’t worry. We will see each other again one day. Until then, I must try to heal my wounds.” His eyes shifted to Felsafell. “Watch over her and keep her safe.”
After a final tearful embrace, without any real knowledge of where he was heading, he quickly turned and ran off through the forest.
Felsafell took Basanti’s hand. “Come. We must hurry.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes as the figure of her brother disappeared. “Will he be alright?”
“Yanti’s path is unclear,” he replied. “But I suspect he was right. You shall see each other again.”
“Where will we go?” she asked.
Felsafell pointed north. “We go to the mountains. There, we will create your legend.”
Chapter 1
King Lousis stared despondently over the ruined battlefield. Countless columns of thick, black smoke rose skyward, serving as a reminder of the carnage that the Reborn King’s armies had wrought. The smell of burned timbers and charred flesh filled his nostrils, making him want to empty his stomach.
His thoughts turned to High Lady Selena. Each day he was filled with more and more doubt that he would be able to keep his promise to her and return alive.
The cries of the wounded and dying raked at his ears and seemed to surround him. The hilly and broken terrain had forced them to set dozens of small healing areas rather than create just one in a single location. The healers were doing their best to tend the overwhelming numbers put in their care, but they had not the tents nor pavilions to accommodate everyone.
Lousis’ guard stood a few feet away, their faces showing increasing signs of despair and fatigue. Since they had joined the southern armies, these men had saved his life on three separate occasions. But the cost was high. Six of them had so far paid with their own lives in order to ensure his survival. Angrääl’s new weapon had made every inch of the battlefield a deadly place to be.
A rider approached from the north, his face smeared with grime and blood. One of the king’s guards leapt in front of the horse, while the rest surrounded their lord. Lousis waved them off and allowed the man to come near.
The rider dismounted and bowed on unsteady legs. “I bear ill news, Your Highness.”
Lousis sighed heavily. It seemed as if he had received nothing but ill news ever since leaving Althetas.
“The royal caravan was attacked on the road north,” said the messenger, his voice wavering. “All but King Victis were either captured or killed.”
The words hit Lousis like a blacksmith’s hammer. “Are you certain?”
“I am,” he replied. “King Victis is an hour behind me. He sent me ahead to bring you the news. He would have rode harder, but he has captured one of the enemy weapons and fears what may happen if it’s treated roughly.”
“What of his army?” asked Lousis.
“They flee north, led by Lord Chiron,” he replied. “Angrääl is giving chase, but Lord Chiron has been able to stay ahead of them…for now.”
Lousis’ jaw tightened. “Is there anything else?”
The man shook his head.
Lousis dismissed the messenger, then made his way to his horse. The ride to his tent was short, yet hard to bear. Anguish showed clearly on his face as he passed the ever-increasing number of makeshift hospitals.
Eftichis awaited him just outside the tent, his armor stained with dried blood and much damaged from enemy blades. “Angrääl has retreated south for the time being,” the elf said. “But driving them back has cost us dearly.”
The king grunted. “I do not need you to point out the obvious.” He pushed his way past and entered the tent with Eftichis close behind.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” Eftichis said, lowering his eyes.
Lousis sat down heavily in a chair that had been placed beside his cot. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “No. Forgive me, my friend. I should not be harsh with you. But the past several weeks have not gone as I had hoped.” He told the elf about the fate of the southern rulers.
Eftichis listened grimly. “At least it is good that King Victis escaped, and that he has obtained one of the enemy’s weapons. Perhaps we can learn its secrets.”
“I pray we can,” agreed Lousis.
The sight of his lines being blasted apart by the fiery bolts was still fresh in his mind. After the first explosion, he imagined that Angrääl had somehow gained the same ability as Darshan. But that quickly changed when he spotted the enemy catapults sending white balls streaking across the sky – one after another. Almost as soon as they struck the ground, a fireball burst forth, ripping apart flesh and bone and scattering his lines like leaves in the wind. Without Darshan, he knew there was little hope for victory. Nehrutu and Aaliyah had still not arrived from the south, so Lousis could only assume they were still engaged with Angrääl, or worse….
He pushed the thought from his mind and reached under his cot to retrieve a bottle of wine.
“Join me,” he said to Eftichis.
The elf nodded and took a chair from the corner. For an hour they sat quietly, passing the bottle back and forth while Lousis tried hard to block out the sounds of the battle’s aftermath that continued to drift relentlessly into the tent.
He was still sitting wearily when King Victis entered. The slumped shoulders and dark circles under the new arrival’s eyes caused Lousis to spring up and help his friend into the vacated chair.
Victis was unable to protest and groaned as he leaned back. “Thank you. This old body is ill suited to such hardships.” He eyed the wine in Eftichis’ hand, who immediately handed the bottle to the king. After a long drink he closed his eyes and sighed with relief. “It’s strange how such simple pleasures become infinitely more important in dark times.” He handed Lousis the bottle. “I assume you received my message.”
Lousis nodded slowly. “Do you know how many survived?”
Victis grimaced and shook his head. “I had just departed to bring you the enemy weapon we had found when I heard the battle erupt behind me. If I had stayed behind just one minute longer, I too would have suffered the same fate. All I could do was watch from the tree line as Angrääl soldiers swarmed over the caravan.” He held his head in his hands. “It’s my fault. I told them we should flee north. My cowardice doomed them all.”
“You did the only thing you could,” said Lousis. “There was no way for you to know what would happen.” He placed his hand on Victis’ shoulder. “And this is no time to despair. What is the state of your forces?”
Victis took a deep breath. “Nearly destroyed; fewer than fifteen thousand swords. What remains is fighting its way east to join you here – but I doubt they will make it. Angrääl moves to cut us in half and surround us. They level every city and burn every village as they march, their infernal weapon causing the bravest to flee. There is no refuge.” His eyes were pleading. “How do we fight such an enemy without Darshan to aid us?”
“With heart and courage,” interjected Eftichis. “Nehrutu and Aaliyah will come, and Theopolou will not fail us in the north. Besides, Darshan will return.”
Victis shook his head. “I wish I had your spirit. There has been no word from Nehrutu or Theopolou. For all we know, we are alone. And as for Darshan…he has his own battles to fight.”
There was a long silence. Then Lousis held out his hand. “Come,” he said. “Show me the enemy weapon.”
The ol
d king gratefully took hold of Lousis’ hand and heaved himself up. He led them outside to where five soldiers stood facing outward in a tight circle. All around them, the camp was beginning to buzz with renewed activity as the commanders made plans for the next assault.
“Where is the enemy now?” asked Victis.
“The elves are driving them south about five miles from here while we recover,” Louis replied. “But they will return soon. I’ve ordered scouts posted to inform me of their movements.”
Victis looked around disapprovingly. “It seems you are scattered. Can you even withstand another assault?”
“Not if it came at this very moment,” admitted Lousis. “They blasted our lines and decimated our heavy horse. It will take until nightfall to regroup - if not longer.”
A runner approached and bowed to King Lousis. “The elves are returning, Your Highness. They wish me to inform you that the enemy is in retreat for now, though it has been at a tremendous cost.”
Lousis sighed heavily. “Let us hope they have bought us the time we need.”
The circle of guards surrounding the captured weapon parted to make way for the two monarchs and Eftichis.
“And let us also hope that we can learn something from this,” added Victis, pointing to a small wicker basket resting on the ground.
Inside the basket was a white ball about the size of a man’s head. It looked to be made from cloth, though of a weave Lousis had never seen before. From the top protruded a thin black cord, with tar surrounding where it entered the ball.
Lousis bent down to run a finger over the surface. It was hard and smooth, almost as if made from steel. “We need to see what is inside of this,” he said.
After a long moment of thought, he stood. “But we must be cautious. From what we have learned, they appear to light the black cord before hurling it at us. Whatever is within, I believe fire is what causes it to erupt.”
Eftichis drew his dagger. “Then let us reveal its secrets.” He motioned for the guards and the kings to move back.
The Godling Chronicles : Bundle - Books 4-6 Page 34