Nightfall: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Fairhaven Chronicles Book 4)

by S. M. Boyce

  “Sadly, no,” Audrey said. She shot another bolt of energy at the ceiling, and a stalactite dropped. Victoria rolled out of the way as the massive rock smashed to pieces, shaking the ground beneath them. Fyrn, however, simply waved his hand, and a dome of energy surrounded him. The flying debris bounced off its surface.

  “What happened to them, then?” Victoria asked.

  “The parents and elder son are gone. Just…gone. The younger son, who’s about our age, insists they’re traveling, but I saw mercenaries going in and out of his house, and he’s a jumpy little fellow. Always looks nervous. I’m pretty sure he’s the last surviving member.”

  “That’s the third wealthy family to disappear since Luak overthrew the throne,” Fyrn said with a frustrated sigh. He leaned on his staff, apparently taking a break from fuming and grumbling to himself to join the conversation.

  “It seems like that asshole has the same idea we do,” Victoria said, leaning on her sword.

  Luak was already wealthy, and now he had even more money to spend on his mercenaries.

  Yippee.

  “How are we going to beat him, Fyrn?” Audrey asked.

  Fyrn nodded toward Victoria. “With the one thing he doesn’t have.”

  “Enormous boobs?” Audrey asked with a wicked grin.

  Victoria chucked a rock at her, but Audrey ducked out of the way, still laughing. The rock hit the wall so hard it splintered.

  Oops. Victoria would have to be more careful when it came to playfully hitting her friends. With her newfound strength, she might break them.

  “Real power,” Fyrn said with an eye roll. “And a secret weapon.”

  Victoria eyed him warily. “Are you referring to—”

  “You’ll see,” he interrupted, putting his finger over her lips to silence her.

  Victoria trusted her mentor, but she sure as hell didn’t like the sound of that.

  Chapter 2

  After several more hours of training, Victoria was barely winded.

  Mostly she felt pissed that her training had been interrupted by what could only be called utter nonsense.

  “For the last time, Shiloh,” she snapped, “you cannot call Elle a ‘psychotic idiot.’”

  The ghost stared at her with a lifted eyebrow as though baffled by the statement. “But she is.”

  She let out a string of curse words under her breath. Audrey, meanwhile, laughed so hard she doubled over. Styx held his tiny stomach, squeaking with mirth. Fyrn wasn’t much help, since even he could barely suppress a smile.

  “It’s not my fault she’s an insane little girl,” Shiloh said matter-of-factly.

  “Little!” a young girl’s shrill voice echoed through the cavern, though no one could see her.

  Elle.

  Victoria sighed and leaned on her sword, rubbing her temples. “Guys, I can’t have you bickering while I fight. You’re distracting, and you might get me hurt.”

  “How awful,” Shiloh said, his voice lacking any hint of remorse.

  Victoria frowned, eyes narrowing as she studied the ghost. He was tied to her dagger Artifact, and she had thought he had warmed up to her in the tunnels of Lochrose, even going so far as to warn them of coming danger. He had quite possibly saved their lives, and even though she didn’t particularly enjoy his company, it wasn’t like him to want her dead. “What’s going on, Shiloh?”

  “She’s obnoxious and invades my space.”

  “You’re a ghost. You don’t have personal space.”

  He paused his examination of his fingers to glare at her. “I have few joys in this world, Victoria. Solitude is hardly too much to ask.”

  She raised one hand in gentle surrender. “Fair enough. Elle?”

  “Yes?” Her sheepish voice echoed through the cavern.

  “Please leave Shiloh alone.”

  “But I’m BORED!” the disembodied voice screamed.

  Victoria lifted one eyebrow and leaned toward Fyrn. “Can ghosts get bored?”

  Fyrn shrugged. “I didn’t think so, but perhaps I was wrong.”

  “Or perhaps she’s batshit-insane,” Shiloh offered.

  Victoria, Audrey, and Fyrn all turned their heads to stare at the ghost elf, who never lifted his gaze from his fingernails.

  “Elle, come here please,” Victoria said, ignoring her other ghost.

  There was a pause. “Do I have to?”

  Victoria let out an exasperated sigh, but Audrey stifled laughter. “You’re like a mom, V.”

  “Shut up, you.”

  That just made Audrey laugh harder, and this time Fyrn joined in.

  “Fyrn, this is serious,” Victoria said, gesturing to Shiloh. “What if they bicker during a real fight?”

  Fyrn nodded, his expression sobering. “You’re right, Victoria, but you’ll have to figure out what to do about this. I’m afraid I know nothing of the way Rhazdon ghosts interact with each other.”

  “We don’t,” Shiloh said, gloomily.

  “Well, you’re going to have to learn how,” Victoria snapped at him.

  He frowned and disappeared, and the lingering echo of Elle’s voice faded as well. Victoria sighed and tried to piece together what they’d been fighting about.

  A flicker of inspiration hovered just out of reach in the back of her mind. It was an incredible sensation, as though someone were handing her the answer on a silver platter…if only she could reach it.

  She furrowed her brow, diving deeper toward the elusive thought, but it vanished.

  With a sigh, she wished away the sword and shook out her hands to keep her blood pumping. “That was odd.”

  “What?” Audrey asked.

  Victoria frowned again. “I’m not sure. I asked myself a question, and it was as though the answer was suddenly there in my mind, just out of reach.”

  Fyrn nodded, a small but undeniably proud smile on his face. “You’re already accessing more of the bear figurine’s power, no doubt.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It offers you enhanced intelligence, which means better pattern recognition and deductive abilities. Even without full information you’ll instinctively know the answers to the questions most of us don’t even think to ask. Pursue that flicker of thought, Victoria. Don’t let it fade.”

  She nodded. “I’ll try.”

  “Good. For now, I’m going to retire to do more research. Perhaps my fairies or I can find information on how to manage the warring personalities of multiple Rhazdon ghosts.”

  “Good luck with that,” Audrey muttered.

  Victoria shot Audrey an annoyed look.

  Her friend just shrugged. “What? You’ve seen the way those two bicker. Fyrn will need every ounce of luck he has to figure this out.”

  Victoria frowned. She hated to admit it, but Audrey was right. If those two bickered during a battle with Luak, Victoria wouldn’t get out of it alive.

  ***

  Fyrn let out a slow groan as he sat back in his office chair. His back cracked from hours of leaning forward as he read through his various tomes, and a sliver of relief snaked down his spine.

  His boot kicked over a pile of books, and a plume of dust mushroomed into the air. He eyed the toppled volumes, wondering if Victoria had a point about hiring a maid.

  Nah.

  He tapped his finger on the armrest, eyes slipping out of focus as he stared at the door. As the gemstone sky darkened outside, several enchanted candles flickered to life in the sconces on the wall and in the hallway, and long shadows stretched behind the various piles of research and papers throughout the room. Each pile was a reminder for an unfinished project, and the layers of dust told him which was more urgent.

  Victoria, of course, had interrupted most of his plans.

  Bickering ghosts. Newfound powers. Enhanced intelligence. She had much on her plate, and yet she always remained focused on the ultimate goal: freeing Fairhaven by killing Luak.

  Her time would come. In fact, he wondered how much longer she would
even need his help.

  His shoulders drooped slightly. One day she would surpass him. It had already begun, and her growing powers made it inevitable. Her glares at the castle had gotten grimmer, so it seemed that day would come sooner than he had originally thought.

  A draft swept past him and the office’s candles were snuffed with a hiss. His eyes narrowed as he eyed the dark sconces warily.

  He didn’t get drafts in this house.

  It had dimmed to near pitch-black outside as the night progressed, and Fyrn had lit only the few candles in the hallway sconce to cast a dim light into the office. With a second gust of air from nowhere, those went out as well.

  In the darkness, Fyrn listened.

  Nothing.

  No footsteps. No breathing. Not a peep from the hallway, living room, or kitchen.

  He stood and snapped his fingers to summon his staff, and it sprang from its place in the corner and nestled into his palm as he waited for something to happen.

  Someone meant to unsettle him by invading his home. This was an attack, though it had yet to turn bloody.

  It would.

  Whoever was orchestrating this had access to powerful magic if they were able to get past his spelled perimeter without him having known. He or she would need to have access to the highest-quality potions and mastery of the magical arts to rival his own. Few had such potential, and the only one he knew of who was still in Fairhaven was loyal to Victoria Brie.

  But Diesel would never invade his home.

  This was someone else. Someone deadly, and they weren’t here for tea.

  An arrow whizzed past his ear, and he instinctively tilted his head to avoid it. It landed with a thunk in the wall behind him.

  After that shot, all hell broke loose.

  Bolts of magic blew his precious piles of books to dust and scrap paper and blinded him, the searing slashes illuminating the darkness like flashes of lightning. He cast a magical shield, summoning the energy deep in his core to ensure it would be strong enough to block the volley of spells tearing his home to pieces.

  The bolts ricocheted off the magical dome protecting him, burning holes in every surface as they rebounded. Battle cries drowned the sizzling hiss of magical energy tearing through paint and wood. Fyrn grimaced and strained as the onslaught slowly wore down the shield protecting him.

  Hand crackling with blue light, he released a torrent of spells at his still-unseen attackers in the hallway. The light shot out like a single bolt of electricity, then the edges splintered off in erratic arcs that stung any living creature they could find.

  By the spells’ light he could finally see into his hallway, or rather, what used to be his hallway.

  A chunk of the wall had collapsed in the attack, revealing at least eight elves kneeling as they pressed themselves against the remaining surface. A few ears poked out of the ruins, and the rest were scrambling to find cover.

  Damn.

  This was worse than he had imagined. If this many were in the hall, more would be waiting in the other rooms and outside.

  His house would not survive this attack.

  “This will be fun,” he grumbled under his breath.

  He launched several more blistering attacks into the hallway to distract them as he inched toward the secret door in his bookcase. If he could get to the tunnels, he could outrun them.

  If forced he could probably kill them all, as long as they had only a handful of wizards aiding their attack. However, he preferred to keep his house in one piece, and he doubted they cared as much about his possessions as he did.

  A bolt of light from the hallway shattered his bookcase and tomes tumbled to the floor. He waved his staff and the books flew across the room, giving him a moment of cover.

  Now for a proper exit.

  The crystal on the top of his staff glowed white, filling the room with a light as bright as the sun. Several of the mercenary elves covered their eyes with their hands and temporarily stopped attacking.

  “Perhaps we can resume this another time, gentlemen,” Fyrn said. He lifted his staff and struck the ground with it, and a ripple of light radiated outward. A gust of wind surrounded him, kicking up the loose pages in the room, and the paper circled him like a tornado. After a sharp crack the entire house trembled, and a burst of energy knocked out the remaining wall in the hallway.

  Mercenaries screamed and fell backward. Bones cracked. Bricks and wood buried several of the soldiers, and they would have a hell of a job escaping.

  That should buy him time.

  With a smirk, Fyrn slipped through the secret door and shut it quickly behind him.

  He trotted as fast as an old man could through the tunnels, his feet taking him toward Bertha’s old shop. She had run back to get a few things, but he feared she would be next on the hitlist. He would need to warn the ogre before heading to Victoria’s safehouse.

  It seemed Luak had changed the game.

  “Where are you off to, wizard?” a deep voice asked.

  Fyrn slowed, his back stiffening as he scanned the dark tunnels. Nothing lurked there, and he would have sensed someone running after him. His grip on his staff tightened.

  From the darkest shadow a white grin emerged, and seconds later a familiar Light Elf’s face followed.

  “Luak,” Fyrn said, tensing.

  Luak nodded. “Bravo for making quick work of those idiots. They were supposed to wait for you to leave your office to avoid this very scenario, but I suppose they got bored. You do sit still for quite a long time.”

  Fyrn scanned the darkness, wondering if Luak had been foolish enough to come alone. He stood a chance against the elf in honest combat.

  But this was Luak. He didn’t do honest.

  Luak sneered and opened his mouth to say something else, but Fyrn knew how this would go. Banter, banter, banter, and then surprise attack from behind.

  Not today.

  Fyrn shot a bolt of red-hot light from the tip of his staff without giving Luak the chance to finish his thought and it hit the elf square in the chest, shooting him backward into the wall. He cracked his head against a jutting stone, grunting from the blow, and a massive crack ran toward the ceiling as the force of Luak’s impact split the rock wall in two.

  Without giving the elf a moment of reprieve, Fyrn followed the bolt with a volley of blows. Every attack hit something on Luak’s body and he grunted and groaned with every blow, body trembling from the force of the magic slowly cooking him. Smoke streamed from the elf’s shirt and ears.

  This was the only way Fyrn could win. Fyrn was immensely powerful, but Luak had a deadly Rhazdon Artifact on his side, or maybe more than one. If Luak ever dealt him a blow it would be over.

  “Enough!” the elf snapped. A tornado of fire erupted from his palms and scorched the cave, and the blast of heat knocked Fyrn to his back. He rolled and got back to his feet.

  The elf walked through the inferno as though it didn’t faze him, and considering the elf’s Rhazdon Artifact, it probably didn’t.

  “I had hoped we could speak like civilized men,” Luak said coldly, “but it seems like you need some sense knocked into you first.”

  He swung at Fyrn too fast to see, and his fist connected with Fyrn’s temple. The old wizard grunted and shuffled backward, head spinning as he tried to catch his balance. He blindly shot several bursts of blistering light toward Luak, not sure of his aim, and Luak grunted in pain.

  Good. One of his blows had hit.

  They cast at each other for several minutes, their deadly dance slowing as two of the most powerful men in Fairhaven dueled to the death.

  At least, such was Fyrn’s intention.

  He could not retreat. He would either kill Luak or die trying, and with every passing second it became less clear what the outcome would be.

  Luak scowled, the lines in his face deepening as the combatants retreated farther into the dark tunnels. He kicked Fyrn in the chest, knocking the wizard onto his back. Fyrn grunted, gasping for air
as he tried to get back on his feet, but he didn’t get the chance.

  Luak’s hand glowed blue, casting dim light in the tunnel around them. Beetles scurried along the walls, scampering away from the sudden illumination, and Fyrn lifted his staff to block whatever attack was headed his way.

  “No,” Luak said simply. He spread his fingers, and Fyrn’s staff began to tremble violently in his hand. Fyrn summoned his magic to quell the shaking, focusing all his energy and power into the crystal at the tip of the staff, but even his painfully tight grip couldn’t keep it still.

  “What are you doing to…” Fyrn gritted his teeth, losing his train of thought as he fought the violent tremors.

  He couldn’t let go of his staff or he would lose.

  “Let’s see how strong you are without your precious magic,” Luak said, his eyes glowing the same color as his hand.

  The shuddering staff began to hum, and with a pang of terror Fyrn realized too late what was happening.

  Beneath his fingers, the staff snapped.

  The painful crack echoed through the tunnel like thunder, shaking Fyrn to his core, and the shattered remnants of his staff fell to the ground.

  He now held only the top portion in his hand, and as he watched the light within the crystal faded. As the magic disappeared, his body groaned, his muscles weakened, his legs ached, his back curved, and he fell to his knees.

  “That’s better,” Luak said, breathing heavily. “I thought I would never get a clear shot. You’re a quick draw, Fyrn Folly, but you’re no match for me.”

  Fyrn tried to stand—he would not die on his knees—but the battle had zapped nearly all his energy. Instead, he glared at the Light Elf before him with all the composure of someone about to deal a fatal blow. “I refuse to bow to you, Luak.”

  “You’re doing a pretty good job of it,” the elf said, with a nod at Fyrn’s slumped shoulders.

  Fyrn tried again to stand, but his legs would not hold him. He fell hard on his palms, grimacing as pain shot up his arms.

  He sighed, more disappointed with himself than afraid. He’d had a full life, one of adventure and discovery, and if this was his time he would go without complaint. His only regret was leaving Victoria when she needed him most.