Shaking his head, Heldon reached out with his left hand and grabbed her wrist, stopping her actions. He locked eyes with her. “The password—it’ll only come off when you say the password.”
“Oh...right.” Vixen withdrew her hand from Heldon’s grip then looked at the handblade. The word came to mind, and it weighed on her tongue before speaking, “Asema’alokech.” The bracelet opened, and she pulled it off then offered it to Heldon.
Taking it from her, he latched it onto his wrist near the stump where his right hand had been and snapped it shut. Immediately the handblade began to shift and change, and then it began the familiar transformation of the gauntlet—only there was no hand for it to cover. It formed a hand and completed the transformation, and Heldon turned his hand over and over again then willed it to close into a fist.
When the fingers curled into a fist, he sighed and smiled. “It worked!” He looked at Vixen with bright eyes. “I have a hand again!”
Relieved the theory had been right, Therth stepped up to his cousin and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Good. Now...” his gaze drifted to Vixen. “Why don’t we join the battle? I believe there is much vengeance to be had.”
Vixen nodded and stepped closer to them. “They’re beyond the city in the valley.”
Caleth accepted this with a nod. “Then let us be off.”
A rogue gust of wind was the only remnant of their departure from the corridors.
26
Honroth lifted his hand and held up a fist as he steered his horse round and round in the chaotic battlefield to comprehend what he was seeing. Roskelem’s men retreated alongside the Jechorian. They offered little resistance as they fled from battle.
Frowning at this abrupt turn of events, Honroth signaled for his men to take their positions on the hill once more. He spurred his battle-weary horse into a gallop out of the field in order to survey the true situation of the battlefield.
Once on higher ground, he narrowed his eyes when he realized what he had suspected was true. “They retreat from the field.” He shifted his gaze to Verddra, who came beside him. “Now, what purpose would that serve? Their numbers are still strong.”
“Perhaps they realized what a formidable foe you are, Sire, and they wish to resume peace talks.”
“Roskelem is only fighting us because of you,” Honroth told her then glanced back to the battleground, looking for something to indicate what was happening, yet from his position he could not see the camps of either army. This did not sit well with him.
“Your Majesty, allow call me to test their true intentions—”
Honroth laughed at this and turned to Verddra. “And what will you do? Storm their camp?” He gestured back to the hill on the other side of the field. “You are the reason Roskelem is battling us. I do not venture to think he will take your presence lightly among their camp.”
Verddra smiled. “Then he shall never know I was there.” With that, she faded from sight, and Honroth sighed, not knowing where she was but knowing she was somewhere in the enemy camp now.
For a long time, he sat on his horse, watching for activity on the horizon, waiting for Verddra to return.
“Sire.” Constable Zhirak drew his attention away from the opposing hill as he approached his king. “The number of our men has been greatly depleted. Their strength is failing as well. If we engage in battle again...”
He didn’t need to finish his statement. Honroth already knew what he meant, and he cast his gaze back to the horizon and prayed for a miracle. “Gershom and Tradek?” He shot a look back at his constable.
“They are well, my liege, but the battle has drained them as well.”
Honroth frowned but accepted this with a nod and glimpsed back to the hill. He did not expect that Verddra would be successful in securing the peace between the three kingdoms, but he hoped she might achieve the impossible. “Return to your post.” He glanced back at the constable. The officer bowed his head then trudged across the hill to his squadron of men.
Once alone with his thoughts, Honroth reflected on how quickly everything had escalated to a war. After weeks of fighting Jechorm along the border, he felt this would be the decisive battle. If they won or lost this, then they won or lost Cuskelom. They needed to fight with all their strength though they had little or none left. “Please give us strength.” He lifted his gaze heavenward with the prayer then glimpsed back to his men.
They looked to him for encouragement. They would fight with him no matter the outcome.
Turning his horse back around to face them, Honroth rode before his army—far smaller than he had at the beginning of the fight. Dirt and grime and blood marred each man’s face, but there they stood, still clenching their weapons. They stared at the battlefield where many of their fellow men and brothers lay dead or dying.
Dismounting in order to be on the same level as them, Honroth walked before them. Some caught Honroth’s gaze in passing and offered him an encouraging smile, and Honroth returned the gesture. He saw the weariness in their souls, but he still needed them to stand by him and fight if Verddra returned unsuccessful.
Gathering a breath, he continued his trek in front of his men and addressed them in a strong voice. “I have sought a way to find peace this day.” His men cheered when they heard this, but Honroth lifted his hand, beckoning for silence. “Yet I ask you, do not lay down your arms. Peace may not come this day, and we must be ready to fight even into the night. I will fight until I die or peace comes to Cuskelom, and I would be honored to have you by my side. Shall we stand and fight?”
“Aye!” The men shouted, pounding their weapons on the ground.
“Cuskelom will stand!”
“Aye!”
“We will fight for our families! Fight for our land! Fight for—” His breath hitched, and he stiffened then lowered his eyes to see a sword sticking out of his chest.
Confused, Honroth glanced over his shoulder and saw Verddra standing behind him—a sword conjured from magic stabbed through his back. She wore no grin of glee or even a cold glare, but stared at him with eyes of full sorrow.
All around him he sensed his men exclaiming and startled into action, but Verddra leaned in close to his ear. “They agreed to no peace, but your men will fight stronger now. Revenge always fuels men to fight faster than any simple words of encouragement, and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. You were only trying to do what you saw was best, and I would have liked to have seen how our own conflict would have ended if this battle had ended in your favor, but now we will never know—”
A sudden gust of wind cut her off, and Heldon appeared with the others.
Verddra narrowed her eyes, and then she saw how Heldon’s hand had been replaced with a handblade. She yanked her sword from Honroth’s back.
Heldon blanched as he watched his twin topple over, but he didn’t move to catch him—he couldn’t. Fear held him back—fear of the power he knew Verddra had, but slowly that fear melted into fury as his gaze locked onto her wrist, and he recognized his handblade there.
“Cas’semfaleemoka!” The handblade opened and fell off her wrist at Heldon’s command, and Caleth realized what he had done, and with his magic he caught the handblade then flew it to the prince of Cuskelom. Heldon held out his left arm, and the bracelet fastened itself to his wrist. Instantly the gauntlet scaled over his hand. The blade slid out, mirroring its twin on his other hand. Heldon lifted his armed hands, crossing the blades, and scowled at Verddra. “You will pay.”
She smiled at him then lifted her brows. “Ah, but not here and now—too many others are bound to interrupt us. We shall fight elsewhere.” She snapped her fingers, and both of them disappeared.
“Heldon!” Honroth tried to sit up to reach for his brother, but he cried out as pain overwhelmed him, sending him crashing back to the ground, gripping his chest.
Vixen and Therth raced to his side, and Vixen examined the injury then frowned. She lifted her gaze to Therth with the tiniest shake of her head
before shouting over her shoulder, “Adonis, Skelton, Caleth—someone come and heal him!” She withdrew in order to allow them to come to Honroth then looked down at her hands and realized they were shaking.
She had just witnessed Tobias’ death, and now Honroth? She didn’t want to think of it—didn’t want to comprehend or imagine it.
The sound of Honroth’s sharp inhale yanked Vixen’s gaze back to him, and she frowned when she saw Honroth gasping for breath with eyes wide. He shook his head again and again and finally shoved Adonis and Skelton’s hands away. “Not...working...”
The sorcerer brothers exchanged a look then furrowed their brows. A healing spell was one of the simpler tasks for a magic user, so why was this not working?
Caleth stepped forward, and the brothers moved back when he approached. “King Honroth,” one king greeted the other. When Honroth realized who he was, he tried to sit up, but Caleth halted him by lifting a hand then crouched beside him. “Allow me to try.” He reached for the wound, but Honroth flinched away. Caleth withdrew slightly and met the other king’s eyes. “Pure magic is different from tainted magic. I only wish to help.”
At first Honroth hesitated, glimpsing to Therth then to Vixen, but then nodded and relaxed.
While Caleth sank into the magic realm, Vixen cast Therth a look and saw the cousin of the king stood in utter silence. She approached him and spoke in a low tone. “Verddra did this, and knowing her, she probably enchanted the sword so only she could heal him. That is how the magic user assassins would ensure their kills stayed dead.”
As soon as she had said this, Caleth pulled out of the magic realm and placed a hand on Honroth’s shoulder, firmly meeting his eyes. “Your Majesty, the weapon used to inflict this wound was conjured from Verddra’s magic, and she used a spell to block any healing. There is nothing I can do.”
Honroth nodded, resigning himself to his fate, but Vixen shook her head. “But somebody who trained with her might be able to break the spell and heal him in time, right?”
“Yes.” Caleth nodded as he cast the assassin a look. “I suppose he might.”
Pressing her lips together into a thin line, Vixen went to Honroth, kneeling beside him and gripped his hand. “Honroth, I need you to hang on, aye?” But all he could give her was a pained look—and a grimace as pain shook his body—and then he gripped her hand in confirmation, and Vixen nodded. “Good—good because Lorrek is alive.”
“Lo—Lorrek?” Honroth gasped and twisted his face in confusion and pain. “But...how?”
She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter, but he’s alive, and he trained under Verddra with magic. He’s here...” She lifted her gaze to the battlefield below the hill. “Somewhere.”
A thin black line grew on the horizon, and she narrowed her eyes as the line grew thicker and thicker. After a moment, she realized they were shuttles. “Carrying the Guardians and Hunters.” She looked back at Honroth. “The second stage of this battle is about to unfold.”
Squeezing his hand, she offered the injured king a small smile. “He’s lost, but I’m going to find him. I’m going to make sure he comes to you.” She left out the part that Lorrek had no memory of his past but identified her as his primary target. Though she had no idea how to keep her word to Honroth, her promise made her more determined to find Lorrek and help him see the right—though she realized she wouldn’t have the pleasure of avenging Tobias’ death if Lorrek came back to Honroth and healed him.
With all this weighing heavily on her mind, Vixen rose to her feet and looked at Therth. “Keep him safe.”
“Where are you going?” Adonis called after her as she headed down the hill.
She turned back and smiled. “To the battle. Care to join me?” She resumed making her way down the hill, but Adonis and Skelton shared a frown.
“What battle?” They wondered aloud, and in that moment the shuttles landed atop the neighboring hill and lowered their ramps. Out marched thousands of armored Guardians, and Roskelem’s army came around the hill.
Skelton rubbed the back of his neck and grimaced. “This should be entertaining.”
“Very much so.” Adonis nodded.
“Think we should go with her?” Skelton jutted his chin to the lone figure of Vixen making her way down the hill.
“Of course.” Adonis smiled then glimpsed down at Honroth. “Sire, your men are enraged by what has happened. Shall we take them into battle with us and hopefully win the day?”
Honroth labored for each breath but nodded. “Therth...he shall lead them.”
Therth shook his head. “Nay, Sire. I will not leave you.”
“Therth.” Honroth waited for his cousin to lock eyes with him then gave him a small nod. “You must. You must...” His grip loosened on Therth’s hand as his strength faded, and he closed his eyes to find strength once more, only to struggle to breathe.
Not knowing what else to do, Therth looked over his shoulder to Caleth, wishing that the king would take lead of the charge into battle, yet Caleth approached Therth and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Go, and take most of the men. Leave a squadron with me, and I shall protect the king with my life.”
Sighing, Therth bowed his head with closed eyes then nodded. He opened his eyes and locked gazes with his cousin. “Don’t die. Please...” He couldn’t explain why he had made that plea, but he felt as if these last few days he had gained so much that he had thought he lost, and now he stood a good chance of losing it all again, and he feared that.
Swallowing, he pushed all these fears and concerns aside and rose to his feet. “May you be spared.” He bowed to Honroth then turned to address the army, but Honroth’s soft voice stopped him.
“Therth...” When his cousin looked back at him, Honroth lifted his right hand and whispered, “Sum’mocila’hetik...” The handblade on his wrist split open, and he fumbled to remove it, managing only with Therth’s help, and he pressed it into Therth’s hand. “Take it…I have no need of it now...”
With a sigh, Therth took the weapon and clamped it onto his wrist. He didn’t know what to say to his cousin. He was afraid if he said goodbye then Honroth would surely die, so he clasped Honroth’s shoulder and looked him in the eye. “Don’t go anywhere. I will care for the men, and we will fight for you.” He then rose to his feet, and one of the soldiers brought him Honroth’s stallion.
Mounting the steed, Therth looked over the army and saw they quaked with unleashed fury. On the field below, he noted how the Jechorians and those of Serhon’s army charged into battle against Verddra’s army. After a moment, he realized how the Guardians did not attack the sorceress’ men but bypassed them, heading straight for this hill while Roskelem’s men occupied Verddra’s forces.
The sword unsheathed from its bracelet form, and Therth lifted his gauntleted hand in the air. “For Cuskelom, and for the king!” He pointed his sword down toward the battle, and they charged into the fight while Skelton and Adonis magicked ahead of Vixen and engaged with the enemy.
Caleth remained behind. He surveyed the situation—Skelton, Adonis, Gershom, and Tradek blasted through the enemy forces and deflected plasma shots, bullets, and laser blasts. Vixen charged through the battlefield with a purpose, and at times Radim fought alongside her.
A blast from the opposing army caught Caleth’s attention, and he saw Mordora on the field, blasting back the Cuskelians and even the Guardians from Jechorm. Near her, he located Roskelem, fighting with a sword—forged and strengthened by magic, and Caleth recalled how the king of Serhon had yet to successfully kill using his magic.
Drones shot overhead, and Caleth glanced up then narrowed his eyes. His magic latched onto them, fusing itself into their systems. The drones began to smoke and then spiraled down to crash into the ground around them.
Satisfied but aware of the constant danger, Caleth looked down at the ailing king and frowned. Out here in the field was no place for the dying royal, but he suspected Honroth would refuse to leave his men. Nonethele
ss, something had to be done to ensure his safety.
“Sire.” Caleth dropped to a knee beside the fellow king then fished in his pocket and retrieved the black stone his sister had given him. “With your permission, I would like to plant this stone.”
Honroth looked at it with furrowed brows then glanced up at the king of Athorim. “It’s...just a rock.”
Caleth chuckled. “It is far more than that, Sire, and it will protect you far better than any mere man.” When Honroth relented with a reluctant nod then laid his head back on the ground, wheezing with each breath, Caleth dug his hand into the ground and then placed the stone onto the broken ground. “Stand back!” He commanded the remainder of Honroth’s men as he rose to his feet and levitated Honroth off the ground with a gesture.
On the ground, the rock began eating away at the ground, leaving black tiles in its wake. The men watched in amazement as a foundation spread across the ground, and they moved in circles to get out of the way. Strong walls and towers scaled upward all around. Pillars went up, and the ceiling closed.
They now stood within a new fortress.
“How...?” Honroth’s awed voice drew Caleth’s attention to him, and the king of Athorim muttered a word, and a bed appeared in the room.
Lowering Honroth to the bed, Caleth glanced over his shoulder to the awestruck men. “Fetch a healer. The king may not be healed by ordinary means or magic, but he should be made comfortable.” A man broke off from the rest to run the errand, and Caleth fixed his eyes on the remaining men. “Man your stations as you would in any normal castle. This is your new defense!”
Once they scurried around to find their posts, Caleth turned his attention back to Honroth. “Congratulations, Your Majesty. Cuskelom is now the only other kingdom in all worlds and realms which possess a castle of Athorian stone. The stone is alive, and it possesses its own magic.” To demonstrate, Caleth motioned toward the wall with a slight gesture of magic, and once the magic hit the wall the black stone awoke with waves of light across its surface. “It will protect us,” Caleth continued as he focused once more on Honroth, and he offered the king a smile. “Why else do you think Athorim has enjoyed such peace for as long as she has?”
The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set Page 65