The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  She tired—he saw the slight slip-ups of her hands as she worked hard to defend herself. Sweat glistened on her forehead mingled with dirt from the field, and the complexion of her features paled with the constant fighting from before he had engaged with her to now. Her dark eyes remained locked with his—never watching her hands parry the assaults. She only broke eye contact when she twisted her torso or ducked to dodge a strike, and then she spun back around and leapt to her feet and met his gaze once more.

  Determination shone in her eyes, and Lorrek respected that, but this had to end—now.

  She brought her hand up to parry a high strike, but Lorrek phased his blade through her block. He shoved the dagger hard through her bladed vest straight into her chest.

  She gasped.

  He leaned close to her ear. “I wanted to give you a fighting chance, and you have my respect as one warrior to another.” He pulled back and saw her stare at him—brows creased, lips parted.

  Lorrek bowed his head to her then stepped back, pulling the blade from her chest and let it fall from his hand.

  Vixen stared at him as she sank to her knees. In a way, as he stood over her in his dark clothes with his dark hair in the unnatural wind of the storm above them, he reminded her of the darker side of her late husband Loroth. With the two men identical, she couldn’t help but see Loroth in this moment, but she would have hoped Loroth would have come to her side and eased her down to the ground and heal the wound rather than stand above her, staring down at her. It was as if he were possessed with a demon, and that demon was Lorrek.

  “What have you become?” She shook her head and pressed a hand against the wound, but she knew she couldn’t stop the bleeding.

  Chaos reigned in the city of Jechorm. The people ignored traffic laws and swerved their hover vehicles through all the designated lanes in the air in an effort to reach the Guardian Tower swiftly. Police forces clashed with them, and the people fought back with fists, shards of glass, homemade grenades, and plasma guns.

  In the Guardian Tower, Ceras and Aden raced through the corridors, listening to Lyston’s every direction. “All right, left here, and...there’s something coming on your right. I don’t know what it is, but it’s coming fast.”

  They snapped their gaze to the window on the right, and Aden frowned and narrowed his eyes upon the two lights heading straight for them. “What the—”

  Ceras shoved him aside, and the two of them slammed to the floor as a hover vehicle crashed through the window, showering them with glass. The driver and his passengers shouted at each other as they leapt out of the car. “You go that way. We’ll go this way! Shoot everyone you see!” They ran away, and Ceras saw how they carried large plasma guns.

  She narrowed her eyes then brushed her red hair out of her face only to wince at a sliver of glass in her forehead. Plucking it out, she cast it aside and saw Aden had already climbed out from under the vehicle and offered her a hand up. Taking it, she let him pull her to her feet, and she straightened her clothes. “They had better not get to Asalda or Pelham before I do.” She glowered down the corridor where the men had gone.

  “Not to worry,” Lyston voiced in her ear. He sounded pleased with himself. “In an almost ironic way, your determination for them to see justice from your hands personally will protect them from any rioting citizens of the good city of Jechorm.”

  Ceras shared a confused look with Aden, and when he shrugged just as clueless, she brought her hand to her ear. “What do you mean?”

  “I locked them in the room.” Lyston smiled. “No one can get in, and no one can get out unless I say so.”

  “Lyston, you are a genius.” Ceras shared a smile with Aden, and then the two took off running through the chaos created by the riot and past the fights among the people in the corridors and offices.

  “Now, right in front of you. That’s the room they’re locked in. They’ve been trying to override the security lock, but I’ve blocked all their attempts. Be ready for them at the door as soon as it opens.”

  Aden unsheathed his katana as he ran, and Ceras double-checked her pistol without slowing her pace. She fixed her eyes on the door. “Ready.”

  “Door opening...now!” He tapped on the screen to unlock the door.

  It slid open, and Pelham stood, bewildered, on the other side. He looked up, saw Ceras and Aden, furrowed his brows then realized who they were and what they were after. Alarmed, he backed into the room and pressed the button over and over again for the door to close, but nothing happened.

  Aden marched up to him and hit him across the face with the hilt of his sword, sending him sprawling to the floor. This startled Asalda, who stood on the other side of the room at a window looking down.

  With a gasp and a hand at her chest, Asalda spun around and saw Pelham on the floor. Then she saw Ceras and Aden. Ceras she knew, but Aden was just another Hunter. Asalda narrowed her eyes. “What do you want?”

  Ceras gave Aden a sidelong glance then looked back at Asalda. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe the last eighteen years? Oh, and my daughter’s life. Oh, and we mustn’t forget my fingernails.” She lifted her hand to show Asalda the damage they had done. “Those were specialized nails.”

  “We have the technology that could replace your nails.” Asalda lifted her chin and maintained the air of confidence, refusing to allow a single shred of insecurity to surface least Ceras take advantage of that.

  Thinning her eyes and clenching her hand on the pistol at her side, Ceras stalked up to Asalda. “But you can’t give me back my daughter.” She lifted her weapon and leveled it at Asalda’s forehead.

  Asalda did not flinch but met Ceras’s hazel eyes. “And you think killing me will resolve all your issues?”

  Ceras kept the gun pointed at Asalda’s forehead, but the muscles in her face twitched as she struggled with the decision of what to do next.

  In Cuskelom, Haskel rode toward the castle. The loyal men of his father rode beside him. Silence consumed them though all around them chaos screamed. Haskel kept his eyes on the castle while around him his men raised swords and battle axes against the charging opponents; they ducked and dodged attacks, slamming their foe in the face with their shield then grabbed the man by the chest armor and shoved him back into the sword of his fellow soldier.

  Throughout it all Haskel kept riding—unhearing, unseeing. His attention entirely fixed on the castle—his eyes scanning its structure for a possible weakness.

  His father had commanded they attack the castle, and Haskel obeyed his father’s every order. He had no reason not too. Yes, he had witnessed his father turning his mother into stone, but that was all the more reason for Haskel to obey. He worried for Gremina and wished he had not left her back with their father, but he had no choice.

  Now he rode toward this imposing fortress, and Haskel did not like what he saw. It had walls made of smooth stones, no cracks in the walls, and no faults in the structure, as if made from a single stone. Haskel frowned and lifted his gaze up to the top of the wall where he saw many of Honroth’s archers positioned. Unlike most walls that alternated between high and low points to allow for a view below, the top of this castle’s walls was curved over the walkway with arrow slits perfectly spaced throughout the structure. This prevented easy access to the top of the walls by ladder, and it meant the archers were well-protected at all times until the walls were breached.

  “Every wall has a weakness,” he muttered more to himself than those around him. They were too busy fending off the last of the attacks on the field to hear him. He pressed his lips together into a thin line and narrowed his eyes.

  The only possible way—he fixed his eyes on the slender arrow slit in the wall then reached back for an arrow from his quiver. “Their strength is their weakness.”

  “Sir?”

  Startled out of his thoughts by the voice, Haskel looked down from where he sat mounted on his horse and saw one of his captains looking up at him—weary and worn from the battle but determined t
o press onward. The man watched his prince with puzzlement, and Haskel ignored him but took a rope from his saddle, he tied it to one end of his arrow then set his eyes once more on the castle as he placed the arrow in the bow.

  Lifting his weapon, he pulled the string back and anchored his thumb at his jaw with his nose pressed against the string. His eyes set on the very narrow slit in the wall. He calculated the height of the wall, the distance, and added the increasing wind into the equation.

  Without changing his posture, he took his eyes off his target to glance upward at the sky and the growing storm. “Magic,” he concluded as he brought his gaze back to his target. “It has to be magic.”

  He took a deep breath.

  In a tower, Verddra stood in the center—her broken arms at her sides, but she didn’t need her hands. She tilted her head back to look up at the darkened skies, and the wind whipped stronger and stronger around them. Magic grew around her.

  Theran and Heldon—on opposite sides of the tower from each other—lifted their arms to shield their faces from the biting wind, and every time they tried to stand, they were knocked back down again.

  With a growl, Theran climbed to his hands and feet to crawl toward Verddra, but as soon as his gloved hands touched the magical black stone of the castle, a brilliant vivid light shot out from where his palms touched the stone then toward Verddra and Heldon. Theran’s eyes widened because he remembered how the last time he had touched the castle it mistook his ability for magic and attacked him though Caleth had magicked him away before he understood the consequences.

  Just as suddenly as the light shot out away from him through the stone, it rushed back toward him—blasting him off his feet—and Heldon and Verddra.

  Across the field, Fawn bent back as Roskelem’s sword swept over her. Because he could not kill using his magic, he snatched a sword off a fallen soldier and attacked her with it. However, Fawn merely stepped back, twisted her torso, dodged left, dodged right, bent back, or straightened and let the sword pass through her.

  Roskelem shouted in frustration as he swapped the sword back and forth through her, and she smirked. “Irritating, isn’t it?” She swirled her wrist, closing her fingers as if holding dust in her palm. A smile played on her face. “You are not as powerful as you think. Your magic is my magic and that of my mother’s. Do you seriously think I could not control my own magic?” She tightened her fist.

  Feeling every strand of power in his being pulled as if by an unseen force, Roskelem gasped and stiffened, trying not to show his struggle, but he knew exactly what she was doing: restraining his magic just as he had done to Lorrek. “Ironic.” He almost chuckled but focused inwardly to counter Fawn’s spell on him. There was a way to disperse the grip—there was always a way.

  “Are you so sure?” Fawn’s voice in his head startled him, and he looked up to her face to find her still smiling the small smile that barely upturned her lips. Laughter danced in her sapphire eyes, and he narrowed his eyes, clenching his fists. He wanted to drain her dry of laughter, but with the slightest shift of her hand, she tightened her grip on his magic. “Don’t tempt me,” she warned, “Don’t even try.”

  Roskelem’s mouth ran dry, but then he set his jaw. His eyes hardened. “You underestimate me.”

  Fawn arched a brow at his declaration then rolled her eyes. “Isn’t that what they always say?”

  “I may not be able to kill you with my own power, but I can use someone else’s just as well.” With that, he lifted his eyes to the blackened sky, and Fawn followed his gaze.

  She frowned, trying to figure out what Roskelem would use to achieve his goal, but it didn’t make sense. She held his magic bound, and as long as she held that grip, he could not use his magic without her knowledge.

  A shout yanked her attention back down, but Roskelem slammed into her, knocking her to the ground and breaking her hold on his magic. Holding her wrists above the ground, he pinned her down then smirked at her. “Shall we see what I mean? Shall we see how powerful both of us really are?” With that, he hauled her to her feet, spun her around at the same moment as he directed a lightning bolt down upon them—with him behind Fawn, using her as his shield.

  Her dark blue eyes widened at the brilliant light charging for her, and then a calm covered her.

  She smiled then narrowed her eyes.

  As soon as it hit her, it hit an invisible forcefield she had conjured. All the energy from the bolt of lightning slammed into it, hissing loudly with steam as it slammed into the shield.

  This surprised Roskelem, and he released his hold on Fawn and stepped away from her. The energy from the lightning didn’t dissipate on impact, but rather he realized Fawn was gathering it into herself.

  She turned back to him—her eyes glowing bright blue—and she smiled. “I hope that was worth it.”

  She thrust out her hands toward him and shot all the power of the lightning at him.

  32

  Lorrek stared down at Vixen as she remained on her knees and had yet to topple over completely to the ground and simply die. He recognized her resilience and respected her for it, but this puzzled him. Roskelem told him if he killed Vixen his memories would return—or at least that was how he understood it. Lorrek didn’t remember exactly what Roskelem had said. Yet, as he stood over her now as her life bled from her, not a single memory of his past surface in his mind. Creasing his brows, he dropped to a knee before her, and the movement caught her attention.

  Wheezing for each breath as the pain blossomed greater in her chest, she shifted her gaze up to his face and saw his confusion. “Still no...memories?”

  He nodded without realizing it and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Perhaps they will only come when you are truly dead.”

  She watched him pull back his other hand and conjure a fiery orb before she drifted her eyes back to his. “Well then...” She licked her lips. “You’ll simply have to...forgive me.”

  Confusion clouded his face. “For what?”

  “For this.”

  She drove Lorrek’s own dagger—his gift to her for safekeeping—into his chest, and the blade stuck.

  Lorrek set his eyes on the blade in his chest. It hurt—and it stuck there as if he were solid. Slowly a feeling spread across his chest, restricting him, containing him.

  Vixen lifted her bloodied and quivering hand to his chest and touched it. A faint smile ghosted across her lips, and she shifted her gaze back to his face. “You’re becoming solid again.” Satisfied, she sank back to the ground and closed her eyes.

  The feeling spread faster now throughout his body, and it hurt. With shaky breaths, he stepped back from Vixen only to stumble and sink to a knee. He looked at his hands, confused. “What is happening?”

  In front of the castle, Haskel took another deep breath then released the arrow—a signal for his men to do the same.

  A wave of arrows arched into the air toward the wall.

  On the wall, King Caleth stood and noticed the incoming assault. He shook his head. “Fools.”

  The arrows headed straight for the narrow silts along the walls. Yet as they were about to pass through the empty air and fasten itself on the wall for those below to climb up, they suddenly burned and crumbled to ash.

  Caleth shifted his gaze back to Prince Haskel and spoke though the prince could not hear him. “Do not tamper with magic, young man.” As he said this the blackness of the walls stirred with shades of gray, twisting and turning like fog but brightening.

  Below in the field, Haskel watched the color of the castle shift, and he frowned.

  “Your Highness, what is the castle doing?” One of his men asked the question on Haskel’s own mind, but Haskel shook his head.

  “I don’t know.” Narrowing his eyes upon this strange phenomenon, he realized how the black bled into gray and how the gray twisted into white, and how the white grew brighter and brighter. Haskel began shaking his head and reined his horse in as it grew antsy. “Something isn’t righ—”<
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  Suddenly, a massive blast shot out from the walls in all directions like a shockwave.

  “Get down!” Haskel dove off his horse and dropped to the ground, but one soldier did not hear his warning and remained standing but lifted his gaze to see the commotion—only to immediately deteriorate upon impact.

  Elsewhere in the field, Haiken heard a disturbance and looked away from where Nyvera, Wol’Van, and Priam still treated Sirros, trying to save his life, and he saw the blast of light heading straight for them. He watched it disintegrate everyone in its path. “Everyone, get down!” He yelled over his shoulder as he raced to the head of their group—toward the blast.

  Stopping a fair distance away, Haiken swallowed, stared at the oncoming blast, then braced himself with hands spread out. The blast hit, and he shouted, trying to maintain his strength as it rushed past the shield he erected over and around them.

  In the forest, guarding the statue of Queen Sidra with the others, Dustal saw the approaching light and frowned. “What is that?”

  Kedessa turned, puzzled, then watched as people crumbled to pieces as soon as it hit them. She widened her eyes and stepped back. “That’s not good!”

  “Drop!” Aradin leapt down from a tree and laid prone on the ground, and everyone else followed his example.

  Gremina saw her mother still upright though stone, and her heart clutched within her chest. If the blast hit her, she would crumble and die for sure, and Gremina couldn’t allow that. She shifted to climb to her feet, but Esdras grabbed her and held her down. “Stay down!”

  “Mama!”

  From his position lying on his stomach facing the distraught princess, Adonis looked over his shoulder at the statue then looked ahead at the approaching light.