He looked up at the Risen orc before him. Its dark eyes were glazed and dull. The arrow that had pierced his heart still stuck through his chest, though the heart that it’d pierced in the Orcish War didn’t affect the necromancer’s conjuration.
“No!” Kyrn heard the muted shout pass through the air.
Before him, Alathain spun past, his twin blades removing the Risen orc’s head as they crossed one another. With the same movement, he dropped his blades and plucked the stone from Kyrn’s numb hands. Quicker than the young half-elf could react, Alathain placed a firm boot at his chest, sending Kyrn sliding backwards.
The half-elf hopped back to his feet, but he was too late. The amulet around his neck fluttered in the night, the lively wings whipping so violently they tore through his vest and slashed his chest.
“You’re too young,” Alathain whispered to him. “Do what the fallen king could not, and bring light to the darkness I helped shadow these lands.”
Kyrn took a step forward, but Alathain had already raised the Stone of Ezroch above his head. The fallen king’s gem connected with the necromancer’s vortex above. The blue lights intertwined with the necromancer’s green conjuration, a dazzling struggle. He watched as the scarred man shook and trembled, falling to his knees.
Alathain’s eyes and mouth shot wide, fully engulfed in the blue glow.
Kyrn fought against the surge pushing him away, still determined to stop Alathain. “You don’t need to die for what you’ve done,” Kyrn tried to say, but as he opened his mouth the wind stole his breath.
The Risen on the roof seemed drawn to the stone, they dropped their weapons and piled quickly on top of Alathain, until there was nothing more visible.
A quick, blue light flashed under their reanimated bodies, and they turned to ash. The light shot from Alathain’s mouth, and a detonation of blue blinded all atop the roof.
Kyrn shielded his eyes, still inching his way closer to Alathain. His mind spun and rattled, or the temple itself shook, he didn’t know which. With one last wave of light, a blue ring expanded over the West Lands, stretching long past the Grey Seas to the east, far over the lands unknown to the half-elf in the west.
The sky was silent.
***
When the young half-elf’s vision returned, Alathain was gone, the ground before him filled with ash and bone from the Risen, nothing more than soot-like piles at his hands. He scurried forward, sifting through the remains. Alathain was gone.
Kyrn’s hand stumbled over the stone, and, with it in hand, he stood.
Brailen still stood at the edge of the roof, sword in hand and low at his side.
Abellia, hands over her mouth, sat before Magmi, his arms still wrapped tightly around her shoulders to keep her still.
Syonne stood next to Biddledur, equal heights, and her eyes were nearly closed from her ear-to-ear smile.
Kyrn saw Nylah, on one knee, holding himself up with his cane, its top smoldering with blue smoke. He’d channeled the stone, Kyrn thought.
The half-elf stood next to Brailen at the edge of the roof. The sun began to rise over the mountains, the rainclouds clearing as the green remnants of the storm overhead began to falter. The side of the temple was covered in remains and ash. And the grasslands, as far as the eye could see, were covered with the ash.
Kyrn knelt next to Gulor and bowed his head. He felt Brailen’s gentle hand on his shoulder.
“He fell so his people wouldn’t have to,” the golden-haired elf said.
Kyrn nodded. He watched as Nylah dropped to his knees next to the fallen orc chieftain. The old wizard chanted in a low, dulled hymn, twirling his staff over the chieftain’s chest. He could only hope that he wasn’t too late.
“He only wanted to avoid his wars,” Brailen continued.
Kyrn stood. His glaive low at his side. “The war has only begun.”
Epilogue
Elrich Fellenor woke in his chambers as the sun rose over the eastern mountains. He sat up from his bed and rubbed his eyes.
It felt so long since he was home in Grimmrich with his father, with Kyrn. So long since they roamed the forests outside the city walls together, playing in the snow-blanketed lands. He missed the frigid breezes and the shrill howls of winds rushing east from the frozen mountains.
He had dreamt of adventure with his brother for so long. As long as he could walk, and as long as he could remember. Though, now that it had come, it didn’t feel the same. He was no hero. Now, he was nothing more than a prisoner, separated from his family, he felt no more than an orphan.
When he remembered where he was, he quickly tip-toed to the door of his room. With a quick jiggle of the handle, Elrich found it still locked. His shoulders fell with a heavy sigh.
In the corner of the room, he found his sword leaning against Kyrn’s that he’d left behind so long ago now. He lifted it in both hands. It was much heavier than his own, but it seemed the same size. Elrich carried it awkwardly to the window by his bed and carved another crooked line under the handful that were there.
He’d stopped counting how many days he’d been locked away in the room. It didn’t matter. He heard the lords whispering in the halls of the old baron’s castle. She’d been taken across the grey seas. And Elrich was certain he’d never see her again.
He let Kyrn’s sword fall to the floor.
Elrich leaned against the windowsill, resting his chin on his palms. The breeze cooled his face, reddened with anger. More than once, he’d thought about climbing through the window, attempting to scale the castle’s side. Though, he’d never be any help to his sister splattered on the filthy streets of Stalholm.
So, instead, he gazed over the docks below, seeing the ships coming and going, as he did nearly every day. Even when Abellia had still been in Stalholm—when he was allowed from his chambers—he’d sneak down to the docks. It’s what Kyrn would have done.
Today, a few fishing ships sailed back into port, their hulls only shadows as the sun glared off the morning mists atop the Grey Sea’s surface. Elrich squinted from his chamber high above the docks. He saw another rolling through the fog. A large shadow of a ship with a square deck. He’d never seen a ship built so jaggedly before.
When the strange vessel cleared the fog, the wooden hull was mossy and worn, and the mast was brown and blank. He sighed through his window. Never anything so strange, he thought. Though, he kept an eye on the ship, watching it anchor by the harbor. He’d not seen many crewman aboard the ship, but two figures walked the slanted plank that was draped over Stalholm’s docks.
They were both cloaked in brown, ragged cloaks like burlap sacks, hoods drawn tight. The first to descend was small from Elrich’s vantage point. The second, however distant Elrich was, towered over the first. Towered over the men working the docks. Elrich leaned further out his window, squinted harder.
He caught the flickering cloak of Lord Tymlan briskly rushing towards the newly-anchored ship.
Elrich watched Tymlan quicken his pace to meet the two newcomers to Stalholm, though he didn’t seem to greet them. Elrich could see his arms flailing angrily.
The large man turned to the smaller, and the little one must have said something, Elrich couldn’t tell. A glare from the sun blinded Elrich, and when he shielded his eyes, he saw the cloak flung from the tall man, and the ragged thing fell to the dock. His green skin was calloused, and Elrich could tell even from his height. “Orc!” Elrich said, excitedly. He hung halfway out his window now, and he saw the metal strap draped across the orc’s massive chest. A newly healed scar, thick enough to be seen by Elrich’s young eyes, ran across, just under the orc’s collarbone, from shoulder to shoulder.
The orc’s arm swung high, and his sword pointed into the air.
All was still until Lord Tymlan’s head rolled upon the docks.
THE END
About Michael S. Gormley
Michael Gormley lives in Ohio with his wife, Jacque. He was born in Upper Sandusky, Ohio in 1991. He was ra
ised there by his grandmother and mother. Michael grew up with his younger brother and sister in Bainbridge, Ohio. He received his Associates Degree in Graphic Design from Lakeland Community College; however, his true passion has always been writing. He later attended Cleveland State University, where he graduated honors with a Bachelor’s in English: Creative Writing. A Flutter in the Night is his second novel.
Social Media Links
Twitter: https://twitter.com/Gormley_Author @Gormley_Author
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A Flutter In The Night (Kyrn's Legacy Book 1) Page 29