"A cherished one, Kira."
"A cherished one has passed. Born out of dust and moonlight, release him to me at last."
Sirene embraced her. "Every word, perfect." Setting Kira back, she turned her toward the valley below. "Don't look behind ye or to what happens around ye. Go now, ye must reach Balion with the medallion."
Kira drew a long, deep breath and sprinted down the hill, clutching the talisman around her neck.
* * *
"Sweet Mother of Jesus," Kira whispered. "The dawn of darkness has come."
Dying men grabbed her ankles, their faces contorted in pain as they clutched their stomachs and heads, their limbs shattered, lying at strange angles. Hundreds lay dead and broken, their eyes open in the blank stare of death. "So many gone, so many," she cried, stumbling through the battlefield, falling over broken bodies, only to rise again and press on toward Balion.
It wasn't difficult to distinguish Umargo's men from Roldan's. Dressed in ebony kaftans beneath their shiny armor, black turbans sheathed their heads, adorned in brooches of emerald green. Roldan's gallant men wore simple peasant garb, sleeveless, collarless jerkins of brilliant yellow above a linen purple shirt.
A voice called out to her. "Kira, come to me, lass, come." Jarlock, his face awash in blood, motioned her forward with one hand as he dispatched two of Umargo's men with the other.
Pride and tenderness marked his face as their eyes met. She veered left to reach him when a hand caught her about the throat, almost strangling her. Her body pitched forward for a brief moment and flipped around until she stared into the face of a Jangamoor! A sinister laugh left the man's lips. The battle screamed around her, yet time stood still as she and the monster faced off.
"A bitch on the battlefield, what more could a man ask?" He reached out for her. "Come here, wench."
Kira ducked beneath his outstretched arm and ran smack into a trio of his comrades. She was trapped. They circled her with stealth. Palpable fear crushed her heart, not for herself, but for all those who would die if she failed in her mission. Squat and thick, the man grabbed her wrist and yanked her to his chest, only to release her seconds later to pass her on to the next. Around and around she spun like a top. Nausea swirled up her throat and she could no longer stay on her feet, her sense of balance long ago having dropped into parts unknown. Someone grabbed a lock of her hair and in one swift, brutal motion, ripped her bodice down the middle, exposing her breasts.
The man reached for the medallion. "Well, well, what do we have here?"
Kira flew at him in a rage and delivered a hard blow to his groin.
Pain and fury banked in his cold, black eyes. "Ye are dead, bitch!"
Kira saw stars when his fist slammed into her face. White-lights exploded in her brain. She struggled to rise and the taste of warm blood streamed from her nose and trickled into her mouth.
Through blurred vision, Kira detected a solitary figure behind the outlaw, her voice spewing hatred. "Nay, ye are dead!"
Her name fell from Kira's lips on a whisper. "Ainsley."
Shrouded in the gray smoke of battle, the female warrior moved with speed and agility, striking faster than an uncoiled pit viper. Her silver sword came up high, whirred through the air and keened its death knoll. The blade sank deep into the Jangamoor's skull before shock and disbelief crossed his hard features. He fell to his knees and seconds later, hit the ground with a resounding thud. Kira's stomach heaved while looking at the broken body at her feet. Blood oozed from the open cavity of gray matter and splintered bone.
On a half-breath, Ainsley yanked her sword from the man's head and whipped her slender body around to face his comrades. Her legs spread, her back rigid, she raised the blade skyward, circling it over her head like a giant scythe. "Come, ye cowards, taste the kiss of my blade, embrace the arms of death."
Kira's feet felt nailed to the ground. Never had she imagined this wisp of a girl could fight with such skill. As black luck would have it, the Jangamoors were soon joined by two of their friends, surrounding Ainsley like a pack of wild jackals.
"Run, Kira!" the girl screamed. "Find Balion!"
A sob tore from her throat. "No! I won't leave you!"
The enemy advanced one agonizing step at a time as if the entire scene played out in slow motion.
Ainsley taunted them with the silver rapier, slicing it through the empty air before them as she called them forth. "Are ye frightened of a wee woman? Come ye bastards, I beg of ye, come."
From out of nowhere Jarlock appeared, his massive frame defending his beloved. Beckoning them to come taste the sting of death, he sneered, "Let us see what ye can do now against a man. Come, my pretties, let us finish this now."
Stricken with fear, Kira could only watch as the first one attacked, only to lose his head moments later by a broad sweep of the giant's sword.
Ainsley's voice cut through the mayhem as she cleaved a head from its shoulders. "I said run!"
The girl's frantic scream bolted Kira into action. Turning on her heels and sprinting as fast as her weak legs could carry her, she glanced over her shoulder. Simon the Brave had jumped into the fray to help Ainsley and Jarlock. The boy raised the King's sword up high and brought it down hard and swift to cut down another enemy.
On the rise ahead, Balion's sword flashed silver beneath the golden rays of the sun. A Goliath of a man—wide of girth and a head taller than the Light Prince—challenged Balion, his broadsword a frenetic motion of parry and thrust, retreat and advance, too many times for Kira to count.
"Umargo," she whispered, her hopes sinking.
Metal clanked and echoed across the smoke-filled sky as their broadswords crossed, only to part and meet again seconds later.
Don't let me faint, God, please, don't let me faint.
In the span of a heartbeat, Balion dropped his guard, his blue eyes piercing the distance between them. A fleeting play of emotions crossed his features—joy, compassion, and love.
A scream tore from her throat as Umargo's sword plunged through Balion's shoulder. The Light-Prince crumbled to his knees. Horror gripped Kira when Umargo placed both hands on the weapon and yanked it from his flesh. Blood arced and streamed through the air. Kira felt the ground rise up to meet her as the villain advanced, a vile grin etching his dark face. Umargo raised the sword over his head and inch-by–gut-wrenching-inch it descended.
Help him, Grandmother, please I beg of you, help him.
Kira heard the thunderous flapping of wings. Dark shadows dipped, soared, and glided, hovering above them, their backs arched against the red-orange sky. Led by Sirene, the birds descended–golden, spiny dragons, their massive wings open in graceful flight, thief-vultures, shiny black and sleek, screeching their outrage, hooded eagles, their beaks splashed in brilliant turquoise. Winged mongoose with their white bellies danced across the sky.
Kira turned her back to the scene. She couldn't watch the monstrous creatures tear the skin from the Jangamoors' bodies and peck their eyes from the sockets with their razor-sharp bills. Kira glanced toward Umargo and the great falcon smothering his head. The man stumbled back and clutched his face, his bloodcurdling scream roaring above the din of the battlefield.
Lightheaded, Kira fell to the ground and looked at Balion. A thin filament connected him to reality as his life's blood seeped into the earth beneath him. She crawled over the blood-soaked dirt and fell against his chest unable to restrain her hysterical sobs. "Don't die, please don't die."
Cloudy, pain-filled eyes locked with hers. "The sun," he whispered. "Ye are my sun."
"Don't talk, save your strength." She kissed his eyelids, his cheeks, his lips. "Sirene has saved Locke Cress."
"My father, the King…."
"I know, darling, I know."
A frigid blast of air swept across the ravaged land. Thunder rolled and silver flashes of lightning streamed from the heavens drawing Kira's gaze to a tall, rocky crag. There stood Sirene and a man in long, black robes. "Oh, God," she utter
ed. "The man in my dreams, The Story Mage." Voices drifted down, their words lost on a cyclonic wind, but Kira knew she had only to watch and the macabre scene would soon unfold.
The wizard raised his hand and hurled a liquid ball of scarlet fire into Sirene's chest. The sorceress toppled to the ground like a wayward leaf, and for a timeless moment, lay as still as a marble statue, her limbs flaccid, her face contorted into a grotesque mask of pain.
"Get up. Please, Grandmother, get up," Kira sobbed, her voice cracking.
He advanced and stood over her, his anguished words whipping through the air sharper than an electric current. "I loved ye!"
With great effort, Sirene struggled to her feet, working herself upright until she stood before him, eye to eye. "Ye love no one; love nothing but your cursed stories. Ye are a cur, lower than a spiny beetle!"
The Mage tossed his head back and roared, his eyes glowing like golden shards of ice. The ebony robes billowed around him with a life of their own as he stretched an arm toward her, his fingers crackling with an eerie orange glow. Kira held her breath and prayed as life and death mingled, hung suspended somewhere between this world and another.
Her grandmother stared him down and pride swelled Kira's heart. More dazzling than all the stars in heaven, she appeared as a surreal vision, her long hair fanned out behind her, her exquisite features masked with the strength and courage of an invincible Goddess.
Shimmering silver beams flared and spread outward from her pale hands as she sent them crashing toward The Mage. His robes sparked and hissed, engulfing him in cloud of fiery flames. With a cry of torment, he clutched his head and staggered back, clawing at the vacant air is if struck sightless.
In the time it took Kira's heart to beat, the sorceress pulled something from the sleeve of her ethereal dress. "Come, wizard," she rasped. "Kiss my blade, drink of my poison."
With lightning speed, the dagger soared through the air, its cold, steel humming with speed and accuracy. A look of shock crossed The Mage's face when the knife found a home in his neck. His face shriveled like a dried potato, a fetid green liquid seeped from the wound and ran in streams down his chest. He toppled to the ground, his death rasp echoing across the windswept terrain, sounding to Kira as if it came from the belly of a large beast.
Cloaked in a pale cloud of vapors, Sirene fell to her knees. With her face turned toward the heavens, her lips moved in frantic incantation.
Kira could watch no more, for out of the lightning mist surrounding them, she heard Balion moan. Tears fell from her eyes and soaked his face. "My Light-Prince, you must call back her son." Taking the medallion from her neck, she placed it in his hands. His eyes rolled in the sockets and closed. "Balion, please, listen to me!"
He struggled to lift his eyelids and the ruby stone pulsated and keened louder than a wounded spirit.
"Repeat after me," she cried. "In me resides a great sadness, a cherished one has passed. Born out of dust and moonlight, release him to me at last. Say the words, darling."
His voice thick, his words slurred, he repeated them, but in perfect order. Kira held her breath. The sky overhead broke from its silver cast and turned blacker than tar pitch. The wind no longer howled, but moaned and screamed until the trees swayed and twisted as though struck by hurricane breaths from the Gods. Kira clung to Balion even as his face receded before her eyes.
For one brief moment, he opened them and held hers. "I love ye."
"And I love...."
Her vision blurred and the ground beneath her shook. "No!" she screamed. "Don't take me, I must stay with him."
Brilliant flashes of fuchsia, orange and yellow swam before her eyes. Voices hummed around her–Ainsley's and Jarlock's–growing fainter by the second. Balion reached for her and she tried to cling to his hand.
"I love you, Balion, I love you," she sobbed.
She tumbled through the great abyss, her body floating, falling free.
Chapter 16
Jarlock picked up his wounded comrade from the battlefield and carried him to his steed. Balion's face was whiter than clouds, his skin feverish and clammy, and he had lost an enormous amount of blood.
"Balion, ye stubborn jackass, ye die on me, and I'll hunt ye down in hell and beat ye."
Balion moaned, his dry lips trying to form the words.
"Don't speak, me Prince, I'll get ye to the keep."
Despite the great loss of life, people milled about the center of the village and celebrated the great victory. The colors of Locke Cress hung from every turret and battlement as Jarlock and Ainsley passed with their wounded prince. The villagers dropped to their knees, their eyes downcast, their heads bowed. As the giant neared the gate of the keep he spied his beloved King. Laid out on an old wooden door near the entrance, the holy men chanted and prayed over Roldan's battered body. Women wailed and men cried as one-by-one they passed his still form and stared into his bloodless face. Roldan's body would be washed and dressed for burial before they laid him on a floating raft and set him adrift at sea. His broadsword and crossbow would travel with him to the other world amid whispered prayers from those he'd served for over fifty years.
Jarlock climbed from his horse and lifted Balion into his arms. "Send for the healers, and quickly, man," he shouted to a passing servant.
He climbed the stairs, entered Balion's chamber and placed his friend on the bed. Nonsensical words fell from the Light-Prince's lips and his arms failed about. "Kira, stay with me, don't go."
He tried to rise, but Jarlock eased him back onto the mattress and allowed a tear to slip from his eye. "Hush, now, Balion. Ye must fight to live."
* * *
The First Lieutenants of Roldan's army made the decision to wait seven suns before sending their king on his final journey. The ancient healers had assured them the Light-Prince would recover to personally send his father to the Gods. For the first time in twenty-eight years, Balion floundered in agonizing despair as he stood beside his sister and kissed his father goodbye. Hand-in-hand, they lit the funeral pyre, and moments later, the people of Locke Cress sang the ancient hymn of the Old Code as the fiery raft sailed the rolling tides of the ocean.
After the service, Balion escorted Ainsley to her room before seeking out Jarlock. "Ye have searched everywhere for Kira?"
His friend answered with a solemn nod.
Balion ran his hands through the hair at his forehead. "She spoke the truth from the day we found her in the forest. I can only pray she has been returned to her people."
"Aye," the giant said. "Her words were faithful and pure, like her love for ye, my Prince."
"By the saints, man, do ye desire to torture me?"
Jarlock's outstretched hand came to rest on his shoulder. "I would be the last man to rub ye about such things. I know your heart is sore, but ye have a people to lead now, Balion. Your word is law now, and no other's."
Balion turned to watch the minstrels wring out another haunting dirge on the didgeridoos, a melody the king would have been proud of. The voices of the people rose in song, the primordial incantation meant to bid Roldan a fond farewell. In that moment, the solution came to him, Jarlock's words serving as the awakening—Your word is law now, and no other's.
Gathering his composure, Balion stepped back and closed his eyes. When he opened them, his friend watched him with the sight of a hawk. "Kira spoke to me of other things before she left."
"Is that so?" Jarlock said. "What other things might that be?"
Balion followed the giant's gaze while he watched a procession of villagers amble toward the manor for a feast. "Nothing of importance, idle banter the fairer sex share, talk of forsaken hearts and lovesick fools." Jarlock shuffled his feet in the dirt and Balion knew the man wondered if Kira had told him about his love for Ainsley. "Ye are right, my friend," he continued. "I am king now and my word is the law of the land. Ye will promise to uphold and defend my first decree no matter the consequences?"
"Have I not always done so, Balion?"
<
br /> "Aye, but I fear this one will be the most difficult of all for ye to carry out."
"How so? Are ye planning to cut off heads, draw and quarter some mingy fool? If that is what ye have in mind, tell me, and I will carry out your wishes."
"Aye, he is miserable fool. This cur has gone behind my back for years, coveted secrets I should have been privy to. What think ye his punishment should be now that I will name ye First General of the King?"
His eyebrows shot up. "Ye would name me First General?"
"Who else has saved my sorry carcass time and again?"
"I did not do so because ye were the prince, but because I have loved ye since we were tadpoles."
"Like ye have loved Ainsley?"
A fine bead of sweat broke out on Jarlock's forehead and his brown eyes darted left to right. "As I have loved your sister, aye."
In the discord of silence, Balion studied him at length, enjoying the unusual phenomena of seeing this bulk of a man sweat. The Light-Prince had fought beside him, slain wild beasts with him, shared his food, his triumphs and even his sorrow the day his parents were killed by Umargo's henchmen twenty years ago. The thought his sister, a mere slip of girl, however beautiful, could bring the giant to his knees amused him.
"Here is my first decree and I will hunt ye down and whip ye senseless if ye do not follow it."
Jarlock nodded.
"Ye will go to Ainsley, get down on your knees and ask for her hand."
Stunned, Jarlock's chin fell to his chest.
"Did ye not hear your king? Must I take ye by the hand and drag ye to her?"
He shook his head.
"Go now, and be quick about it. We have a feast to plan."
"What about the one she is promised to—Hendrick?"
"Ye let me fret about it, friend. It was not me who gave the promise."
"Balion, I would have told ye, but I thought your father would send her away. I could not―"
The new King clasped him by the forearm. "I can think of no other who suits her more than ye. It is proud I am to call ye brother."
Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1) Page 56