by Matt Heppe
Ayja clenched her teeth and cast her magic at him. The ethereal energy crackled as it streaked towards the varcolac, exploding so violently it threw everyone on the street to the ground.
Everyone but Ayja. She stumbled forward, weak and barely clinging to consciousness. Still, her silver rage kept her going. Just a little longer.
Cragor was dead. His twisted body lay on the ground at her feet. The Orb of Creation, still shining with its silver-gold light, rested on the bloody cobbles of the street.
Ayja fell to her knees and grasped the Orb. A thrill of power surged up her arm and through her body. She’d never felt more alive, more aware, more at peace than at that moment. She felt a brief flash of pain, and then pure pleasure as her collarbone knitted back together and her wounds were healed.
From the Orb came tendrils of power, glowing lines of silver and gold fanning out in different directions. A dozen of them flowed into the heart of the city. She looked in that direction and saw them approaching—a dozen eternal knights. The threads… these were their lifelines, the source of their power and of their eternal life.
Without a second thought she severed the lines. All of them. Completely. At that very instant the eternals fell. Never again would they be tools of power wielded by the owner of the Orb of Creation.
Ayja stared at the Orb, and her consciousness was drawn into it. Silver and gold fire surrounded her as the real world faded from view. She floated along paths of power, her silver rage fading the deeper she went. Here was Helna’s plan for the world—her Orb that would restore the world to the way she had intended it to be before Dromost and Forsvar had descended upon it.
Now Ayja saw the place where everything had gone wrong. Deep in the brilliant heat of the Orb of Creation was a dark flaw. Her consciousness plunged towards it. There, at a nexus of the paths of power was a black scar. It was Akinos—his taint was on the Orb, perverting it and changing it from what it was meant to be.
Helna, knowing she was banishing the Three Gods from the world, had left behind a gift that would bestow the power of creation to all her children. No longer would humans and spiridus and veden be at the mercy of gods and fate. They’d have the ability to alter their reality.
The flaw was a lock…a dam, blocking the Orb from doing as Helna had intended. It was never supposed to have been a source of magical energy for its wielder, it was a key that would unleash the gift of magic into the world.
Ayja focused her mind on the flaw. Akinos had placed it there, whether purposefully or in his ignorance of magic, she had no way of knowing. He’d placed the dam and diverted Helna’s power to himself, taking it for his own purposes instead of giving it to the world.
She could unmake the dam. She could break it.
Then something struck her and she fell. In the real world she clutched at the Orb, but someone else held it as well. Another presence entered the Orb with her. Morin.
Give me the Orb! he commanded.
Ayja’s mind was partially wrenched from the Orb. Outside she saw Morin atop her, his hand clutching the Orb along with hers. He placed his free hand upon her face and she felt the very life force being sucked from her body. Blackness overcame her as death drew near. For a moment her father’s touch held her powerless, but then she drove him from her mind and could move again.
Ayja grabbed her father’s wrist and tried to force his hand from her face, but he was too strong. Still he drew the life from her.
Just let go and I’ll let you free, Morin said.
Never!
Ayja reached deep into the Orb and drew strength from it. More than enough to replace what life energy Morin had drawn from her. With a shout of rage, Morin let go of her face and then made a fist and punched her.
Ayja’s head rocked back and struck the ground. Her vision closed to a black tunnel with only a faint glow of light at the end. Her only thought was to keep a hold of the Orb. He struck her again.
Instead of blackness her vision exploded in silver rage. Her father! Attempting to kill her so that he could take the Orb of Creation and rule the world. With a primal scream she lashed out at him, punching him in the face, and nearly throwing him from her.
Morin grabbed her throat and squeezed it, trying to choke the life out of her. He tried to paralyze her again, but her berserk rage was too strong. She seized his hand and managed to gasp out a breath.
Again Ayja delved into the Orb, drawing strength from it. But life-force wasn’t the same as air. She needed to breathe, but even in her silver rage, she didn’t have the strength to break his grip.
As darkness closed in on her and her lungs screamed for air, she looked deeper into the Orb for her salvation. Then she saw it again, the dark flaw deep in the heart of the Orb. She let her mind go there.
She might not be able to defeat her father, but she could still unlock the Orb.
No! Don’t do it!
She felt her father’s presence in the Orb with her. He was too late though—too focused on defeating her outside the Orb. He threw his mind at her, trying to dislodge her, but here, within the Orb she was his match. She pushed him aside and drove herself at Akinos’s dam.
Stop! Do you know what you’re giving up?
Power, she replied. She threw herself at Akinos’s dam, shattering it.
Light exploded as the dam burst. A shockwave flew out from the Orb, passing through every creature and object it encountered. Faster and faster it swept outwards, seemingly across the world.
For a moment Ayja saw only white, but then, as her vision returned, she saw the strings of magic. They were everywhere. It was more, far more, than she’d ever seen before. The strings, the chords, the music of magic was in, and around everything. And it could do far more than she had ever imagined.
Morin was still there—on top of her, pressing down on her, his one hand on the Orb of Creation, the other at her throat. Shattering the dam had taken only an instant.
She was still going to die.
In the strands of music surrounding her father, Ayja saw cords of power stretching out, like those she had seen going from the Orb out to the eternals. These cords though, led from Morin to his pyren.
Ayja let go of her father’s wrist. The pressure on her throat increased and darkness drew nearer. In her last moments of consciousness, she reached out and strummed the strings of magic and sent an ethereal blade to cut the cords connecting Morin to his pyren.
Morin screamed in agony as the severed filaments withdrew into him. In his moment of shock, Ayja knocked his hand from her throat and desperately gasped for air. She tried to wrench the Orb from his grasp, but still he held it tight.
Morin drew his dagger. Ayja raised her arm to block his blow, but before it fell, someone struck him, throwing him from Ayja. She rolled to her side and saw Cam and Morin struggling to their feet.
Cam’s face was covered in blood. He no longer wore his helm and Ayja saw the terrible wound in his head. He reached down and picked up her sword, her mother’s sword, from where it rested on the ground next to her. He held it one-handed, the point dragging on the ground.
Morin stood unsteadily. His face no longer shone with the unnatural light of just moments before. Now it looked like the face of a corpse. He raised his dagger in both hands and crying out, “Traitor,” lunged at Cam.
Ayja raised herself and reached for the strands of magic, but was too slow. Cam was faster, his sword suddenly rising as he grasped the blade like a spear and drove it into Morin’s chest.
Cam’s blow pierced Morin’s armor and drove straight through his body, but even then, Morin struck, plunging his dagger down through Cam’s collarbone and into his body. For a moment they stood there, leaning against one another, supporting each other, and then they collapsed.
“Cam!” Ayja shouted. She rolled to her knees and reached for him. “Cam! Please!”
His eyes blinked open. “Watch out,” he said.
Ayja looked up. From both ends of the street unluks and varcolac ran at her.
Ayja stood. Everything was clearer now…the strings and music of magic, its source of power, the many paths it could follow. The Orb had contained all of those secrets, waiting to give them to the world. Those secrets were out now, waiting to be discovered.
Raising the Orb above her head, Ayja strummed the strands of magic and called a wall of fire to surround Cam and her. Plucking at the ethereal, she pushed the ring outward so that it became two walls blocking the street in either direction.
The effort to sustain such a fire would have easily drained her before, even with her strange silver strength upon her. Now the Orb would keep the fires burning. Shouts echoed from beyond the flames, but no one passed.
She knelt beside Cam. “Can you hear me, Cam?”
His eyes were closed, but he nodded. “You got the Orb. Well done.”
“Can you move? I have to get your armor off of you.”
“No… can’t move. Not going to make it.”
“Yes you are, Father. I won’t lose you.”
“Father…” He smiled and went still.
Chapter Thirty-three
Orlos limped forward onto the bridge, barely able to stand on his broken ankle. He was certain it was broken now—each step hurt more than the last. Across the bridge Cragor’s soldiers fled, the last of them just entering the opposite gate tower.
“Make way for the King,” someone shouted behind him.
Orlos stopped and turned back to the tower, as did the soldiers with him. He couldn’t see the king, but he did see, through the press of the crowd, Telea and Escalan. They also had turned at the shout.
“The King! The King!” the shout went up. But then there were shouts of dismay. “He’s fallen,” someone said up ahead. “The king is wounded.”
Orlos gave one last glance at Cragor’s retreating warriors and then pushed through the crowd, back towards the tower. “Make way!” he shouted. “Move aside.”
Men parted at a single glance at Orlos and Forsvar. Telea and Rayne joined him. Then, at the entrance to the tower gate they found Sulentis sitting on the ground, supported by two knights. His helm was off, and a bloody bandage wrapped around his head. He had other wounds as well.
Sulentis’s eyes were closed, but he opened them as the light of Forsvar shone upon him. He smiled and said, “Forsvar. You did well, Orlos.”
Orlos knelt beside Sulentis. “Are you gravely wounded?” he asked. Telea and Rayne joined him.
Sulentis took a deep breath. “It isn’t my wounds,” he said, “although someone did try to dash my brains with a pole hammer.” He managed a weak smile.
“There were three eternals in the tower,” one of the knights supporting the king said.
“I exhausted my power on them,” Sulentis said. “It almost wasn’t enough.” He reached out his hand and touched Forsvar’s rim. “You did it, Orlos. You took Forsvar and turned the tide of battle.”
“I had to leave you behind—back in the castle,” Orlos said. “I’m sorry. You’d been knocked out, and I had to flee.”
Sulentis shook his head. “You did what you had to do. And you came back.”
“Cragor is still out there, Your Majesty,” Escalan said. “We’ve turned him back, but he still has the Orb of Creation.”
“Yes. Help me up. We must finish this.”
With the help of the two knights, Sulentis attempted to rise to his feet, but he immediately collapsed and was gently helped to the ground again.
He grimaced. “You must do it, Captain Rayne.”
“Rayne?” Orlos asked.
“The time for hiding is over,” Escalan said. “I am Rayne, Valet at Arms to King Handrin.”
“Not any longer,” the king said. “Captain Rayne. Sir Rayne.” He smiled at his friend. “Take Forsvar and defeat Cragor. Take the Orb of Creation. Bring them back to me at the Great Keep. I’m ashamed of my weakness that I can’t join you.”
“There’s no shame, Your Majesty,” Rayne said. “You defeated three Eternal Knights and seized the bridge tower.” He paused a moment and then said, “Perhaps you should stay here, Your Majesty. And me with you. You might be safer here, surrounded by your loyal knights.”
Orlos glanced back towards the Great Keep, although the tower blocked his view. Was Queen Ilana still there? Did Escalan—no, Rayne still fear her?
“But Forsvar…” King Handrin said, touching the shield once again.
“Orlos will take Forsvar,” Rayne said, meeting Orlos’s eyes. “He will defeat Cragor and return with Forsvar and the Orb.”
“Will you do this?” Handrin asked. “Swear to it, Orlos, that you’ll bring Forsvar and the Orb back to me.”
Orlos swallowed. He was no great warrior. He’d never claimed to be one. Yet here he stood with the Godshield, Forsvar, on his arm, asked to take an oath to lead men of Salador into battle.
Forsvar protect me. If anyone ever needed your protection, it is me. “I swear it,” he said.
“You as well, Telea,” Handrin said.
She paused a moment. “And you swear to keep your promises to me?”
“I do,” Handrin said.
“We will bring Forsvar and the Orb of Creation back to you,” Telea said, although something in her tone didn’t ring true to Orlos.
She didn’t say when. Orlos let his thoughts go unspoken.
“Lift me up,” Handrin commanded. His knights pulled him to his feet, but both had to support him or he would have fallen. “Men of Salador,” he called out. “You’ve won a great battle, but now you must win the war. Follow Forsvar! Follow my faithful companion, Orlos, Champion of Landomere. Follow him to victory!”
Handrin sagged in the knights’ arms, the exertion of his short speech seemingly having exhausted him.
Rayne, clapped Orlos on the shoulder. “You can do this, Orlos. I must stay with King Handrin and keep him safe. Cragor is fleeing. Keep pressure on him. Don’t let him escape. The brave soldiers of Sal-Oras are with you.”
All around Orlos men stared at him from under helmet visors. They were silent, waiting. He didn’t know what to say. He had no idea what to do. Charging into the tunnel had been one thing, but leading men into battle?
“I have faith in you, Orlos,” Telea said in his ear. “I’ll be with you. I’ve seen war.”
Orlos grimaced. He wanted nothing more than to stop and rest. He was exhausted and his ankle burned, but he knew he had no choice. Everything…saving the Spiridus, Telea’s quest, ending Cragor’s threat, all depended on him.
He didn’t even have a weapon.
Orlos raised the Godshield high. “Come, knights of Salador. The Orb of Creation waits for us!”
Then, not knowing if anyone would follow, he started across the bridge. He limped for several strides, but then Telea snatched up a fallen spear and gave it to him, and he used it as a staff.
“Are they coming?” he asked her, afraid of what he might see if he looked over his shoulder.
She smiled. “They’re coming. All of them.” As she spoke, soldiers flanked them, and he heard more coming up from behind.
“Where Forsvar goes, we go, Champion of Landomere,” a grizzled veteran said from beside him.
A third of the way across the bridge they passed the bodies of the giant demon and of the eternal it had slain. Orlos pushed on as fast as he could go. He saw no sign of Cragor’s men, but smoke rose from the city ahead of him, and bells and horns still sounded.
Orlos feared Cragor’s men might hold the opposite bridge tower against them. It stood tall and silent though, and Forsvar gave him no warning of danger. The danger was scattered and more distant. Perhaps Cragor had already fled the city? Or did Forsvar’s power not reach that far?
They passed the far tunnel tower, the darkness lit only by the light of Forsvar’s blazing rim. There were bodies in the tunnel, both Saladoran and varcolac. Some other misshapen creatures as well. He glanced up at the ominous holes in the roof above his head. He imagined enemies up there waiting to drop stones or shoot arrows at him,
but he knew there was no one there.
The tunnel echoed with the clank of weapons and the rush of booted feet. No one spoke. The Saladorans advanced with grim-faced determination.
As he exited the tunnel he heard screams and heard the clash of arms. Near the bridge, on a side street, there was fighting at the entrance of a large house. There were creatures there with long arms and bowed backs. Creatures like he’d seen in the tunnel, but very alive.
More of the creatures lurked on other streets, looting or consuming the flesh of their victims. Some fled at the light of Forsvar. Another scream drew his attention to the house under attack. The creatures there, too intent on their attack to notice Forsvar’s appearance, hadn’t fled.
Orlos slowed. Cragor wasn’t here, but the people needed his help.
“Send twenty men,” Telea said. “It will be enough. We must pursue the Orb of Creation.”
“She’s right,” the old veteran next to him said. “I’ll drive those beasts off.”
Orlos nodded. “Good, then. Do it.”
The old soldier turned and called out to those around him. Men formed up and started down the street. Orlos stood, watching them, until Telea said, “We must go on, Orlos.”
“Thank you,” he said so that only she could hear. “I…I don’t know what to do.”
“Just keep going,” she said. “You are the army’s banner. Where you go, the men will follow.”
Orlos turned his attention down the main street. It was dark, and bodies lay everywhere. The doors to homes were broken open, and in some of them, fires had started. He heard the sounds of fighting and the screams of those in peril. Even with Forsvar on his arm, pressing onward was the last thing he wanted to do.
He took a deep breath and started forward.
Cragor’s soldiers fled before them. Some ran from houses they were looting. Others appeared from alleyways. None wanted to fight, even the varcolac. Orlos pushed himself faster, limping badly, but knowing he couldn’t stop.
Ahead of him, the fleeing creatures turned and ran down two side streets, their advance halted by a wall of fire. At first Orlos thought it a burning barricade, but the closer he approached he saw it was if a curtain of fire had been drawn across the street. The buildings on either side of the street were untouched.