The Restored King (The Fallen King Chronicles Book 4)

by Richard Fierce

  Focus.

  I can’t, his mind groaned.

  Focus! Pierce the veil that hides your power.

  How?

  Focus.

  And then the voice was gone. Aramis writhed in agony. In the haze of his vision, he could see the Warlock moving toward Lynessa. Tears of pain filled his eyes and he knew in that moment he was going to fail her. She would die while he laid there powerless. He clenched his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to watch.

  There, in the darkness of his mind, something flashed. Something small, but sharp. It was silver and triangular, like the tip of an arrow. The tip of an arrow. Aramis grasped desperately at it, trying to pull himself away from the pain. Clutching it with everything he had, he drove it into the slippery wall around his flow of power.

  A small crack.

  He stabbed the wall again. The crack, almost imperceptibly, widened. Striking the weakness repeatedly, he could feel it growing larger. It became like a spider web, branching out in every direction. The searing pain threatened to break his concentration. He drove the edge as hard as he could into the crevice.

  The wall threatened to collapse. The power of Mordum began to flow through the gap. Slowly at first, but then it began to pour through. It rushed through the wall, tearing it apart. The power invigorated him. Aramis breathed in deep. The searing pain was suddenly snuffed out by the power. Regaining control of his body, he opened his eyes and saw the Warlock strike Lynessa in the head with his staff.

  “No!” he screamed. He reached toward the Warlock and the power flowed from his hand. It was like a thick, black river flowing through the air. It struck the Warlock in the back, flinging him forward. He crashed into the wall with a groan.

  Aramis stood up. He had never felt the power so strongly, so powerfully. His arms began to tremble. It threatened to overtake his willpower. He forced himself to control it, to bend the power to his will. It took tremendous effort, but he managed to keep it in check. The Warlock got up and staggered toward him. Aramis crafted a shield of power and kept the Warlock at bay.

  The power wanted him to drain the Warlock. Faint wavering colors danced around the man. The colors jerked away from his shield as if in fear. Somehow, Aramis knew the colors were the Warlock’s soul. With one hand, he reached out and grabbed one of the waves of color. He gripped it tightly and the Warlock cried out in agony. In a quick, sudden movement he yanked the color.

  Blood began flowing freely from the Warlock’s nostrils. He coughed several times and bloody spittle flew forth from his mouth. The knowledge that he was killing the Warlock suddenly revealed itself to him. A sinister smile crept onto his face. This was power! This was what it was like to have endless power at your disposal.

  Aramis drew near to the Warlock. He sent a powerful kick into the Warlock’s knee. With a snapping noise, the Warlock dropped to the ground. The lower part of the man’s face was covered in blood. He smiled up at Aramis, but not in defiance. Aramis wanted to crush the life from him.

  “Welcome … to … m-madness,” the Warlock uttered softly, still smiling.

  The words immediately sobered him. Aramis stared around in confusion, not realizing what he was doing. He saw Lynessa lying a few feet away. The Warlock lay at his feet, choking and laughing at the same time. He dismissed his armor and pulled the rusty dagger from his belt. Kneeling besides the Warlock, he held the blade over the man’s neck.

  “Madness,” the Warlock uttered again. He repeated it over and over between his coughs. The word sent chills down Aramis’s spine. With a suddenness that surprised himself, he cut the Warlock’s throat. Blood spurted from the wound immediately and the Warlock jerked. Aramis watched as the life slowly left the man, then he closed the Warlock’s eyes.

  He took a few steps toward Lynessa’s still form. An intense weakness overcame him and he staggered briefly before collapsing to the ground. The last thing in his mind before unconsciousness took him was how cold the floor was.

  “The impact of our actions goes far beyond our own lives. Be heedful of what you do, for it will affect those around you.”

  —Garrick

  CHAPTER five

  Garrick drove his horse as fast as it would carry him, pushing it to its limit. The landscape whirled by him in a flash. Whatever Laracova had seen, it was terrible enough to urge him to leave immediately. She’d promised her priests would follow quickly. Kelvin had used his power, after knocking him unconscious again, to take him as close as possible to the fortress they’d set out from.

  Not knowing what awaited him, he rushed to get there quickly. His people were in danger, she had said. He knew it had something to do with the elves. Had they breached the walls again? He could only guess. The horse was foaming at the mouth. He’d found the beast roaming freely with no rider, yet saddled and ready for battle. It hadn’t shied away when he’d approached it. And so, he took it.

  As the fortress came into view, he could see smoke rising into the sky. He fought to push the fear down, to keep a clear mind. The distance felt like an eternity as the horse’s pace began to slow. After a quarter of an hour, the horse finally stopped altogether and collapsed. He didn’t have time to worry about the beast. He sprinted onward, closing the distance.

  The nearer he got, the more the damage became apparent. Where there had once been grass was only ash. Bodies littered the area, some of them still smoking. A trumpet sounded. Whether from his fortress or from the elves, he couldn’t tell. Sweat drenched his clothes. He slowed his pace as he rounded the side of the fortress. Garrick came to a dead stop when he saw the extent of the damage. The front section of the wall was gone. There were no signs of siege machines. No loose stones to show that it had been knocked down. The entire wall was simply missing.

  Scattered cries echoed from the men inside the fortress. Across the way, at the edge of the blackened landscape, a large force of elves dashed across the open field. With the fortress now open to them, the men had little chance of fending them off. He noticed someone standing in the field. From the distance, he didn’t recognize who it was.

  Another trumpet sounded. Waves of men poured out of the ruined fortress, forming ranks across the open gap. Swordsmen grouped together in tight knit squads and archers lined up behind them. Garrick’s heart swelled with pride as he witnessed the product of their training. He summoned his armor and his blade and ran to join them.

  He recognized Rycroft’s voice shouting orders and directing the men. Garrick changed direction and headed toward his general.

  “What happened?” he asked as he neared the man.

  Rycroft’s face brightened in surprise. “My King!” He bowed low.

  “Quickly! What happened here?” Garrick repeated.

  Rycroft pointed toward the lone figure out in the field. “She happened. It’s the girl that helped you when the elves broke through the wall. I don’t know what she did, but she used magic and … this,” he waved at the devastation. Garrick frowned. She caused all this, he thought.

  “Hold your positions!” Rycroft shouted.

  Garrick saw the elves were advancing quickly. They didn’t have time to talk. He nodded to his general, then took a position next to a group of soldiers. He pulled his helm down and prepared himself. The seconds felt like eternity as they passed. His adrenaline began surging as the first of the elves met their line. A war cry went up as a chorus from the elves and more trumpets blared.

  The two forces met in clattering press of shields and a ringing of swords. The sounds of metal impacting metal were punctuated by shouts of challenge and screams of agony. Here and there, explosions sounded and the ground shook as the elves unleashed their devastating magic.

  Garrick kept his gaze straight ahead, studying his enemy as they came rushing at him. He ignored the chaos around him as their defensive line shattered. Soldiers abandoned their formations, behaving as individuals instead of a unit.

  Two soldiers veered toward him. He used his body as a shield against the first, feeling the force
of the elf crash into his armor. His armor protected him and caused the elf to go flying backwards as he struck Garrick head on. The second elf fell to his blade quickly. Garrick stabbed his blade into the neck of the first elf as he stepped over the shocked warrior.

  Another elf wielding a longsword swung at him. Garrick parried the elf’s blade with the flat of his own sword, so ferociously that the elf wavered in his stance. Pressing his advantage, Garrick braced himself and swung his sword into the elf’s head. A wave of blood and gore washed over him as the blade sheared through flesh and bone, cleaving half of the elf’s face off.

  Garrick plunged his sword into another elf, piercing his thin armor. The elf screamed. Garrick kicked the warrior, then turned to face another elf. The sounds of battle filled the air, making it hard to hear any one sound over another. Screams of the dying, the clash of steel, and magical explosions were everywhere. Garrick fought with all he had, knowing that if the elves breached their line and reached the ruined fortress, their main line of defense against an invasion would be broken.

  He swung his sword at another elf, but his blade bounced harmlessly off the elf’s skin. Garrick cursed, remembering the last time he encountered one of the stone skinned elves. The only way he knew to overpower them involved magic, and he was no wizard. He risked a glance to Jovanna, the woman who had found a way to defeat the elven magic. He needed her help.

  He launched himself into a furious offensive, hoping to push the elf close enough to the woman to get her assistance. He scored several hits that would have killed anyone else. The elf’s skin turned his blade aside every time. Since the elf had no concern for his safety, his plan quickly crumbled. The elf pressed his own attack, driving Garrick back towards the failing line of defense.

  Three more elves joined the fray. Not only was he now outnumbered, he also couldn’t kill half of his enemies. He focused his attention on the two elves who did not have the stone skin spell. He took several blows from the other two, but he had to slim their advantage. Garrick managed to cut one across the stomach, spilling his blood and organs. The other elf seemed to be more trained in battle and put up a better fight.

  Garrick cursed in frustration. He knew they were losing. He stepped over more of his own men’s bodies than he did those of elves as he back peddled from their attacks.

  A trumpet split the air. Garrick couldn’t turn his attention away from his enemy. He was on the defensive, mostly trying to keep from getting struck. He caught a flash of silver in his peripheral. Then another. His enemies halted their attack long enough for him to turn and see that Zevea’s priests were beginning to arrive. The air pulsed in random spots as their forms magically appeared on the battlefield. As soon as they became visible, the priests charged toward the elves, bolstering the line.

  The sight of added numbers, priests with magical armor and blades no less, gave Garrick hope that they could turn the tide. He amped up the energy of his attacks, throwing himself bodily into the elves to drive them back. He managed to force them where he wanted, but realized Jovanna was gone. Garrick twisted his head left and right, trying to spot her. She appeared to have vanished.

  His only advantage gone, he gave up the fight and ran, trying to put distance between himself and the stone skin elves. Garrick noticed that Zevea’s priests also had trouble fighting them. Despite wielding god-blessed weapons, they were useless against the elven magic.

  The line was holding now. Garrick saw the soldiers regrouping. The archers, protected by the line of swordsmen, were firing arrows over their heads and into the elven ranks. It was working for now, but if they couldn’t find a way to kill the stone skinned elves, they would quickly lose the stalemate.

  And then something caught Garrick’s attention. A black robed elf. He stood amidst the battle, unperturbed by anything happening around him. He walked along the bloody field, touching human soldiers as he passed by them. The men crumbled to the ground, writhing in agony.

  Garrick grit his teeth and stalked toward him. As he closed in on the dangerous elf, he saw something else that shook his faith. When the elf raised his arm to touch another soldier, the sleeve of his robes fell back to reveal an upside down black cross. The Mark of Mordum. Confusion, then anger, filled him.

  Why was Mordum leading an attack against one of his own followers?

  He charged the elf, raising his blade and attempting to strike him down in one blow. His aim was off, though he didn’t know how. His sword glanced off the elf’s robe. It was like striking a shield. For the hundredth time, Garrick cursed the elven magic.

  The elf pointed at Garrick with one hand and touched one of his tattoos with the other. A great gout of flames rushed through the air towards him. Garrick could feel the heat before the conflagration reached him. He dove out of the way, rolling and coming back up onto his feet. The two stared at each other.

  “What are you doing here?” Garrick demanded. “We are both servants of Mordum.”

  The elf pulled his hood back and smiled. “I’m not here for Mordum’s cause,” the elf answered. “I’m here for my own.” The elf touched another tattoo and a jagged fork of white lightning zig zagged towards him.

  Garrick lifted his blade up and deflected the bolt into the sky. He knew the elf held the advantage. Aside from whatever gift Mordum had given the elf, he also had the tattoo magic. Garrick decided then that he needed wizards of his own.

  The two circled one another. Garrick leapt into the air, raised his sword up and swung down hard. The elf lifted his arms up in an “X” shape, blocking the blade. Garrick scurried back in case the elf decided to launch his own attack and saw that while he had not struck a mortal wound, the elf’s forearms were bleeding. That gave him hope that his enemy could be killed.

  Suddenly, Garrick felt his feet leave the ground. He flew backwards a short distance and crashed to the ground on his back. He struggled to rise as he watched the elf come closer. A glow surrounded the elf and he raised his arm up. Garrick saw a flickering orb swirling in the palm of the elf’s hand. Garrick flinched as the magical ball suddenly grew blindingly brighter.

  From his peripheral, he saw a shadow rush by. Jovanna knocked the elf’s arm aside as he released the magic. The radiant globe struck the ground a few feet away from Garrick. The concussive force shook the ground and rattled Garrick’s armor.

  Tairu’s face was locked in a look of disbelief. Jovanna swung her sword at him, attempting to strike the elf in the chest. The blade deflected at the last moment, and Jovanna could feel the magic of the spell that protected him as it flared to life.

  She summoned her own magic. It flooded her senses and she almost lost control of it again. At the last second, she forced her will on the flow of energy and cast a shower of fiery darts at him with a wave of her hand. They fizzled out of existence as they neared him. She was impressed. His magic was strong.

  Jovanna staggered back as Tairu cast his own spell at her. A wave of cold air swept toward her, freezing everything it touched with tiny crystals. She summoned a shield of flame in front of her. The two elements crackled with bright flashes as the spells negated one another.

  Garrick stood up and began circling around Tairu, hoping to flank him. The elf saw him and turned himself at an angle so that he was facing both of his enemies.

  “Surrender,” Garrick demanded. “You can’t hope to win this battle.”

  Tairu laughed, but his gaze didn’t waver from Jovanna. “I don’t need to win. I have already set events in motion that cannot be stopped. Even if I fall in battle, my cause will carry on.”

  The air flashed and crackled as Jovanna and Tairu threw spells at one another. Garrick had to shield his eyes with his arm to keep from being blinded.

  “I can feel your strength,” Tairu said to her as their magical barrage faded. “The tattoos enhance it, but you are strong without them. Why are wasting your talent with them?” he sneered. “Join my cause and no one can stop us.”

  “Enough talk,” Jovanna growled. She jabbe
d her blade toward him. Tairu backed up out of her range.

  “As you wish,” he mocked with a bow. “Let’s end this!”

  A harsh wind picked up as he summoned the magic of every tattoo on his body. All of the symbols burst into life, glowing a faint blue.

  Garrick could feel the air humming. The ground around the elf split with small cracks. Not sure if his armor could protect him from what was about to happen, he sprinted towards the castle. Let the wizards duel it out, he thought. I’ll fight flesh and blood.

  Jovanna channeled the magic around her into a spherical barrier. She doubted it would hold up against the onslaught, but anything that could help her get close enough to him would be better than nothing at all.

  Tairu released his magic. Streaks of red fire, bolts of blue lightning, and many other magical attacks that Jovanna couldn’t name struck her shield. Her strength quickly faded and the barrier flickered, almost dissipating completely. She fought to keep the shield up as the attacks crashed into it.

  For a split second, a thin veil of space amidst the magical bombardment opened. She glimpsed the magic that fueled Tairu’s spells, a rushing torrent of energy that churned around him. She seized the opportunity. Closing her eyes, she envisioned the flow of magic and threw everything she had at it, trying to form a barricade around the elf.

  Jovanna could feel the darkness of unconsciousness clawing for her. As the magic howled around them, she unwillingly dropped to her knees. The magic whirling around Tairu began to slow. She could sense him fighting against her, trying to battle her will with his own.

  She felt the magic pulse once and opened her eyes. The magic blinded her and tears stung her eyes, running freely down her cheeks. A blazing white light was all she could see as the magic shuddered, flared and with a roar, shattered and exploded into a thousand fragments. An inhuman shriek tore from Tairu’s throat and the elf burst into flame.