The Ajoiner Realm (Defenders of Radiance Book 1)

by Rebekah Carroll

  “Hey!” Warren shouted.

  The creature ignored him. He tore a dagger from its sheath and hurled it at the Waasnut.

  The dagger did little more than infuriate it. Still, he got it to turn away from Paladin, who finally stirred. His stomach clenched as the Waasunt charged him. He clenched his second blade with sweaty palms as he bent his knees to dive out of the way. As the beast swung its head at him, Warren dove to the side, barely dodging the creature’s jaw.

  Fortunately, the Waasnut lacked agility and struggled to pivot and attack again. A ball of light zipped past his head and exploded in the Waasunt’s face. The creature reared, releasing a deafening roar. Before it regained footing, a second bolt struck its underbelly, and the explosion ripped through the Waasnut, casting it to the ground. Warren turned to see Paladin standing with a hand outstretched, smoke still curling off his fingertips.

  “Come on, it’s not much farther,” Paladin said.

  Warren walked behind Paladin, past the burning corpse, and into a deeper tunnel. A sudden coldness caressed his skin. He drew his one remaining dagger.

  “It is the chill of that foul artifact’s magic. We are very close now. Be ready, boy.”

  Warren nodded and edged around a bend in the tunnel. The other side opened into a vast cavern with sharp teeth spiraling toward a spire. A pale, leather book floated above the spire, which emanated black light. How could the Dysniict Council use such wickedness for good? Whatever their reason, it was the only way to save his team.

  “Move carefully. The worst of the book’s abilities is bound to be here,” Paladin warned.

  Together, they slid past the jagged rocks, vigilant of what lurked behind the stones. They reached the spire. Not a single sound echoed above their footsteps. Warren looked to Paladin, who nodded him ahead.

  As Warren reached toward the book, a wave of light hurled him backward. His body ached.

  He blinked the spots from his eyes. Am I dreaming? All around the cave, spikes and debris drifted through the air. Blue light radiated from the book now, and behind it was a man. He was dressed as though he were royalty, but his eyes were black and his skin gray.

  Warren tried to sit. Pain drew a gasp from his mouth. A large splinter of stone was embedded in his abdomen.

  “My prince!” Paladin dropped to his knees.

  “Saltaar, why? Why didn’t you come? It’s been two centuries,” the prince asked as if speaking with two overlaid voices.

  “Paladin, what’s going on?” Warren grimaced as he tried to move.

  “Forgive me, my prince. I believed you dead,” Paladin said, still bowed.

  “When I have kept you alive all this time?”

  Every word the prince spoke scratched painfully in Warren’s ear. It sounded wrong—voices that refused to harmonize. Whatever that thing was, it wasn’t Paladin’s prince.

  “My prince, please, I did not know.”

  Warren shifted. He had to get the book. “Paladin, don’t trust it.”

  “Saltaar, I shall forgive you, but this man who has followed you is an enemy to the kingdom. Kill him,” the prince ordered.

  “As you command,” Paladin said.

  As Paladin turned, Warren saw the same darkness in his eyes as in the prince’s.

  “Paladin, don’t. You saved my life. Why would I betray you?” Warren reasoned, sliding his injured body across the ground. Fiery pain ripped through him.

  Paladin drew his blade.

  “Saltaar, it is Saltaar, right?” Warren spoke to Paladin. “You’ve been in this cave for two centuries. The kingdom you once fought for is gone. I can’t be your enemy. That thing is not your prince—he died a long time ago. It’s a ruse made up by the artifact to prevent us from ending this madness.”

  Paladin’s step lingered.

  “If he takes the book, you’ll die. He’ll kill you. He’ll kill both of us,” the prince said.

  “I won’t let him do that.” Paladin raised his blade.

  Warren withheld a painful scream as he rolled to the side, leaving the sword to clang into the ground.

  “Paladin, you’ve sacrificed so much to get me this far. Maybe I’m just a boy, but you’ve put yourself at risk to be here. I don’t know why, but you’ve fought by my side, believe me. Remember, I am the only thing you can trust,” Warren pleaded.

  Perspiration dampened Warren’s skin. Holding his head up took a great deal of effort.

  Warren stared into Paladin’s eyes, searching for the slightest sign that he heard him. When the broadsword screeched from the ground. Warren had no escape—not this time. Paladin raised the blade over his head and swung it down. Then, in a swift flick, he shifted the swing away from Warren and sent the blade flying straight into the prince. A ghastly wail burst from the creature as it crumpled into dust. The floating debris in the cave smashed into the ground, leaving the area quiet once more.

  “Paladin…”

  “Stay still, boy,” Paladin ordered, kneeling by Warren’s side.

  “What happened?”

  “It’s like I said, the book is treacherous. Now, hold still and don’t speak.”

  Paladin examined Warren.

  “Roll on your side.”

  Warren forced himself to lie on his injured side. Paladin picked up a nearby stone with one hand and placed the other hand on the spike. As Paladin muttered a spell, the spike grew warm. When Paladin moved his hand, the spike glowed bright red where his hand had been. In a single movement, Paladin struck the molten stone with the rock in his other hand. Warren grimaced as the spike shook inside him. Before Warren had recovered, Paladin ripped it through his back.

  Warren screamed, red obscuring his vision. As his vision cleared, Paladin’s hands on his side came into focus. Gold light sputtered between his fingers. He chanted furiously with sweat rolling down his own face. Paladin swayed to the side. He jerked himself upright several times, but after each attempt he slumped farther. His voice trembled with pain. Finally, he pulled his hands away from Warren and sat hunched over like a dying tree.

  “I can’t—I don’t have the energy,” Paladin huffed.

  Blood and pain still spilled from Warren’s side. Warren dropped his head against the ground. At the rate he bled, he’d never escape the cave. The book had to get to the council in time.

  “Paladin, you have to take the book back,” Warren grimaced.

  “Boy—”

  “There’s a map in my horse’s saddlebag. Follow it into the heart of the swamp,” Warren continued.

  He wished he could see the day when the Darkness was vanquished, but now that task fell to his team. He hoped they were all right.

  “You’re not going to die,” Paladin growled, shuffling to his feet.

  “Please.”

  Paladin stumbled to where the book floated above the spire.

  What is he doing?

  Paladin returned with the book in hand.

  “This accursed tome should amplify my magic.” He flipped the cover open.

  “Paladin, wait!” Warren cried as Paladin slammed his hand onto the page.

  The second he touched the page, green light arched up Paladin’s arm and burst through his eyes. Every muscle in his old body tightened. He thrust his other hand over Warren and chanted. Warren’s side burned as Paladin’s gold light penetrated his wound. Nausea roiled within Warren and a black cloud fuzzed his vision as his body threatened to pass out from the sudden burst, but it faded quickly. Paladin closed his fist, and with great effort, slammed the book closed again. Warren panted, expecting excruciating agony to fill his side but found himself able to breathe unhindered. Pushing himself onto his elbows, he examined the restored skin, then turned to thank Paladin, but stopped. His companion had collapsed on top of the book.

  “Paladin,” he called, rolling the man to his back.

  When Paladin didn’t respond, he put a hand under his nose. A slow breath eased across Warren’s fingers. He sat back. Paladin would be all right.

  W
arren picked up the book and scanned the cover. No markings or words titled its face, only blank leather. It sobered him just to look at. He shook his head and set the book at his side.

  Paladin groaned.

  “How do you feel?” Warren asked.

  Paladin sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Looks like it worked.”

  “Yeah.”

  “We need to keep moving. Now that the book is contained, you shouldn’t have any trouble reaching the surface.”

  Warren followed Paladin back through the caves—his energy drained. Nothing lurked in the shadows waiting to claim their lives. For the first time since he had entered the cavern, he wasn’t looking over his shoulder, which left him suddenly aware of his exhaustion. He stumbled, hungry, over weak knees.

  When was the last time I ate?

  When Paladin stopped at the base of the cliff where Warren had first entered the cave, Warren’s knees quivered under him.

  “Get that thing out of this place.”

  “You’re not coming?”

  “This is where my prince died. It is still my duty to watch over his final resting place. Now get going, boy,” Paladin said, nodding him forward.

  Warren stepped past him.

  “Saltaar,” He said. “Thank you.”

  The man nodded and retreated. Warren watched him for a few steps before turning to his own path.

  19

  V allerie’s grip on her throwing knife tightened and she prayed the pheasant didn’t hear her stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten in two days, and she had been chasing the bird for several hours. Lack of nutrition had made her approach and aim sloppy during earlier attempts.

  She licked her cracked lips. She couldn’t fail again. Her leather armor moved soundlessly as she drew her hand up and back. Muscles contracted and her focus sharpened. The hen continued pecking at the dirt.

  Snap! Her arm flew into motion, hurdling the knife through the air. The bird screeched as the blade sunk into its thigh. Vallerie cursed as she sprang forward. She refused to let it escape this time. The bird scuttled across the ground, flapping as it tried to evade her.

  No! Vallerie lunged forward and caught a fist full of feathers. The pheasant squawked and bit her hand, but between her thick gloves and determination, she held firm. A swift twist of the neck silenced the thrashing fowl.

  An exhausted grin plastered her face as she sat down on the forest floor. She hadn’t taken a bite, but already, her energy levels rose. Vallerie bounced back to her latest camp, where a few embers smoldered in her fire pit. After refueling the flames, she plucked and cleaned the bird. She tucked the best feathers into a pouch for Cassidy so he could make and repair arrows. If the spiders he tracked were half as bad as they sounded, he would need new arrows when he got back.

  If he comes back.

  Her hands slowed. Vallerie sniffed and set back to work. He’ll come back, he has too. They’d made too many plans for once this horrific war ended for either of them to die along the way.

  Prepping the bird took almost as long as it had taken to catch it. Her stomach groaned resentfully. As hungry as she was, she knew better than to rush the process. A stomach full of worms from undercooked meat was the last thing she needed. She chewed her tongue as the sweet aroma of the cooking bird filled the air.

  Vallerie cut the pheasant breast with her knife. No pink, perfect. She alternated fingers to keep from burning herself as she cut a piece of meat free. Eagerly, she plopped the slice into her mouth. She knew it was too hot to savor when she cut it, but her ravenous hunger finally got the better of her. She stubbornly chewed and exhaled to cool the food in her watery mouth. She couldn’t help but smile as she swallowed. The bird was sweet enough on its own that she didn’t even mind the absence of seasoning.

  Once she’d filled her stomach, she put out the fire and resumed her hike. She hoped to reach the border of the adrax fortress by nightfall. If she was still traveling in the right direction, that was ten miles west of her camp. Although she left behind the bulk of her gear when Echo died, she still had her pace counter wrapped around her belt. It only took a moment to free the rope ring. She held onto the smooth wood beads and shifted them along the rope as she walked. With each step she took, she moved a bead. Once she had moved all the pellets to the knot on the string she should have traveled one hundred meters.

  Vallerie cross-checked her heading with the sun and adjusted her bearing. What did ordinary girls learn? She’d left pretty dresses and colorful dolls in Methril when her mother sent her to Hilltop. She’d forgotten most of what she knew about being a proper lady as she learned battle tactics and how to be an effective killer. As grateful as she was for her training, she resented the fact that she’d lost so much of her womanhood. She didn’t know much about what a dutiful mother should be; she had her own to thank for that. But she sensed there was more to it than just dressing and feeding babies.

  It didn’t matter. Before she could even worry about being a mother, she had to survive the war. Right now, that meant getting to the adrax fortress.

  The sun hovered ahead of her. As the hours and miles passed, she continued west, the signs of civilization remaining hidden. She still had a few miles until she reached the encampment, but she expected to see some signs of patrols or hunting by now.

  Vallerie fought aside the anxiety swelling within her. She was slower on foot, but not having any sign that she was going the right direction left her heart racing. Maybe she should have gone back and waited for the others.

  A sudden burst of fear struck her chest. What if she went back and the city guard saw her? They would likely have orders to keep an eye out for the team and report back to the council if any of them failed. Sobered by the thought, she pressed on. The adrax must be ahead somewhere.

  20

  T he torches blackened. Emron stood with his back to the wall, twisting to see both ends of the tunnel. Icy wind swept through the tunnel. He readied his war hammer. Several moments passed and nothing happened.

  His heart stopped when all sound ceased. He strained his good ear but couldn’t even hear his own breathing. He tapped his hammer on the wall—silence. Then the shuffle of bare feet disturbed the darkness. Emron’s knuckles whitened on the grip of his hammer. In a flash, the torches lit themselves, blinding him.

  His vision cleared to reveal a featureless figure—its pale, naked body void of reproductive organs. Without warning, it fell on him, sapping strength from his body. His fingers trembled with the effort to keep ahold of his war hammer. Emron groaned and tried to pull away, but collapsed backward, the figure falling with him.

  His face hurt as though it were being crushed by some unseen force.

  Then he noticed it. The creature on top of him had a face, or more accurately, it was growing one. Slowly its facial features formed. Emron struggled for air as the creature developed a nose. Shock washed over him as he realized it wasn’t just forming a face, but it was forming his face. The webbed scar tracing his cheek and leading to his deaf ear took shape. Heart pounding, he screamed, but no sound came out. The creature used his replicated mouth to smile at him; a copy of his hand shushed his cry.

  Emron tried to escape, but only twitched his hand. He couldn’t breathe. The creature had almost finished stealing his body. Desperation coursed through his veins. He slowly lifted one heavy hand off the ground and slammed it to the ground. Pain cracked through his fist. The creature screeched and pulled away from Emron, making the first sound he’d heard since the encounter. The separation gave him enough strength to snatch the dagger from his belt and stab the near complete image of himself in the chest as it lunged for him.

  Choking for air, he watched his expression on the thing as it died. A chill ran through him as life vanished from its eyes. As it tumbled to the ground, Emron’s features faded from its body. He lifted a hand to his face. His facial features had returned. The second he was able, he gasped for breath. Over the course of a minute, he regained his full features as he leaned against
the side of the tunnel and recuperated.

  Emron gently pulled the folded parchment from his pocket. His damaged hand hurt, but at least he was alive. His eyes traced every quill stroke, forming his name with love as though this were the first time he’d read it. Emron ran the tips of his fingers over the frail surface and time-worn edges. It had yellowed over the years, but that had never once mattered to him. Even without unfolding the letter, it gave him the strength he needed to rise to his feet and press on. He slid the page back into his pocket and pushed himself off the wall.

  As he ventured farther down the tunnel, he heard a roiling liquid. Condensation dampened the eroded walls. Whatever lay beyond that corridor must be too dangerous to touch. Around the corner, Emron stood at the edge of an enormous dome. A hundred foot round pool of boiling black liquid roared in the center, while loose rock covered the ground surrounding it. Emron searched the room from one side to the other. His heart thumped.

  At the opposite end of the dome, he could make out the shape of an altar with a thick book locked within a steel cage. An acrid scent wafted from the liquid. He stepped inside the space and paused. When nothing happened, he began his journey to the other side, giving the pool a wide berth.

  Twenty feet into his course, a loud explosion echoed from the lake as a blackened tar-like substance flew through the air. A massive creature sprung forth, towering twenty feet over Emron. Slick, black scales dripped burning acid. All six of its reptilian eyes locked on Emron. The beast reared, flaring its wings as it roared. The sound shook Emron’s bones as he grabbed his war hammer.

  Fearlessly, he raced forward with his own battle cry. The beast charged. Emron hadn’t had a good battle like this for a long time. He felt it in his blood.

  The creature blew a fountain of black tar from its fanged mouth at Emron as he dove past. Landing at the beast’s side, he delivered a mighty blow to the creature’s leg. The limb held firm against his attack. Its head whirled around and snapped, ready to claim its prize.