*****
Valor’s heart pounded against his chest. It nearly burst when Roland intercepted a harpy’s leap from behind. After shoving it through a nearby window, he turned his attention to others. Those who made it past the guards soon met the same fate.
A feathered head rolled beside Valor’s foot. It was all he could do to keep from spewing stomach contents at this point.
“Watch my back!” Roland lopped off part of a wing, sending a harpy recoiling with a painful screech.
Valor swung – missed. Talons caught on his armor. In panic, he beat it off with the hilt of his sword. When it came again, the blade’s tip scored a victory. Valor’s dazed vision watched the creature slump to the floor. He pulled back, nearly bumping into Roland, who was still fighting two others.
A slot opened between defenses. Unable to take the heat of battle, Valor dashed down the hallway!
Believing his back was still covered, Roland continued to fend off those in front of him. While guards were busy fighting their own battles, they failed to realize their prince was at risk.
A harpy rushed at the opportunity. Arrows protruded from its wings, a failed attempt that only deepened its lust for bloodshed. A wild screech made Roland turn, surprised to find a feathered face instead of Valor.
There came a snap of bone just as Shy burst through the window in his harpy form. For a moment, Roland just stood staring at the Healer. Then his eyes rolled up. The three Wings who had been fighting him stepped back, and in that moment Shy knew Roland was dead.
He could hear Glory scream inside the necklace as she witnessed her father fall. Shy could only guess what had happened, as harpy wings were usually stronger than their own bodies. To confirm this, when the man’s body slammed the floor, his head twisted back around. His neck had been broken.
There came a woman’s scream from inside the room the men had been guarding. Though few were left to help defend, they continued battling while the creatures began ripping into the heavy doorframe. At the sight of Shy, a guard approached with raised axe.
“Hold! I’m on your side!” he said, forgetting his appearance matched that of the enemy. Quickly shifting to his true self was little convincing enough, as the men only advanced. It was not until the remaining White Wings inside the building came at them that Shy proved himself.
Extending a hand, he released a burst of energy. One harpy was instantly crushed against the wall. The incident raised feathered eyebrows from those surrounding the halls. A Healer fighting against them?
Shy scattered a few more when he commanded plants from hanging baskets along the windows to stretch their vines and catch hold of their wings. While temporarily held, the guards were able to finish them off.
A shrill whistle finally announced the rest to fall back. A human magic-user would have been one thing, but a Lo-ans’rel on the humans’ side was confusing.
“I didn’t come to aid you,” Shy whispered in the language of Lo-ans’rel. A young fledging got the point after staring around at its fallen comrades. It quickly departed through the window.
When the hallways were clear of fleeing harpies, Shy approached Glory’s father. He held a hand over the necklace to shield the view from those inside, then knelt beside the body.
There was little he could do except close those glassy eyes, the whites a disturbing blood-red now.
I’m sorry, he thought to Glory. He then glanced over to Roland’s men, who bowed heads in silent prayer.
No words could express the grief Shy knew Glory felt, or for the men. It was not long before he stood and faced the armed doorway.
“Who else is inside?”
One of the guards stepped forward and saluted him. “The Lady Pena, Master Roland’s wife, Sir.”
“I need to take her to be with Roland’s daughter in the Realm of Trully,” Shy stated in a stern voice. “It’s no longer safe here for the Elite family.”
“Understood.”
“I would also suggest that you take refuge yourselves.” Shy motioned to the rest. “More will be coming, some of those my own kind.” He lowered his voice. “And there will be no mercy when that happens.”
*****
Rusha’s wing dangled uselessly by his side. The other was a tangled mess of briars, leaves, and loose plumage – and it was stuck. His fall from above had landed him in a thick bramble. It was all he could do to keep from screaming out his rage every time broken bones grated together. He needed to get out, and quick! His lifeblood was emptying. It was only a matter of time before his strength played out as well.
He wiped damp lips. Red stained the pallid feathers along his wrist. A futile attempt to wrestle his good wing loose came to a standstill. Not far from Central Valley Clan’s main entrance had entitled him to hear the battle between his people and the clan’s guards. When those sounds died, it was not long before something else took its place.
Hoofbeats.
Painfully, Rusha stilled his breath. All around, white feathers littered the forest floor, mixed with blood and even a bit of flesh. With the fear that he was not far from the roadside, he prayed none of the travelers were looking for stray harpies.
A slew of horses galloped past, some slower than others. Rusha could not be sure how many were in the group, but he guessed they were heading for the city to help in battle.
A shrill whistle announced its engagement with the group. Rusha could hear horses whinnying in the confusion of screeching and men shouting commands. Steel clanged against talon. He heard the shred of feathers and bone as wings failed to take flight in time. The shout of men taking their own flights when thrown about in midair horrified Rusha as one man was tossed through the trees in his general direction.
The noise allowed Rusha a brief moment to dislodge his wing long enough to clear the bramble. It took a good yanking to get it out, causing more feathers to shred down one side. He barely registered the twin sets of pain in his wings, and began to wonder if he had broken something in the other. Though glad to be free, the effort left little strength for climbing to safety. And now he could not even fade his wings from view.
A click of bolt gave little time to react before it was released from its crossbow. The strike brought the leader stumbling to his knees, causing a scream of new pain. Instinctively, he reached for the protruding bolt from his leg.
There came another click, briefly distracting the agony in his limb to the human sprawled on his back not far away. Having survived a crash-landing through the trees, the man retaliated by firing a second bolt at Rusha’s chest.
It was a dead-on shot.
Rusha listened to the wheezing breath forcing its way through his lungs. What he should have felt, he speculated shock had replaced. His body lay facing up. Wings sprawled in who-knew-what direction. Yet there was no fixing it. Rusha understood the moment the bolt had punctured his snowy breast.
Now as he lay, gasping certain last breaths, he sensed a presence and flicked his weary gaze to the shadow looming above. Relief washed over him, and he tried to say something.
At the hint that he was needed, the Healer approached. A hand reached down as if to touch the broken wings. Only magic could heal them now, though that hand paused a finger-length away from the soothing healing that was sure to come. A gesture from the second hand, and he heard choking gasps from the human. Thankful at the last minute save, Rusha waited.
“How noble this would be,” Chronicles bent so Rusha could hear, “if the others thought you had taken a hit meant for me.”
Rusha stared. He had always known the Healer to be snide. But this? He tried to understand, even as the cold feeling of death began stealing his remaining life-force. The White Wing held his breath – still no healing.
“I cannot thank you enough for your...usefulness to me.” Chronicles lifted his hand away. “Just as you would never let humans enslave your kind, I would never let humans attack mine as they’ve done in the past. No. Instead, I used you. You take the blow while we take the land. And
for that...I’ll leave you in peace.”
Rusha’s fading breath released a word, but by then the Healer had moved silently away. The dying ‘Keyarx stared after, his thoughts at last relaxing on the one thing he cared about most, the one thing he should have tried to protect more, against humans, against his kind.
And now...the Lo-ans’rel.
If I could only tell Chanté…Corrigan’s his brother.
CHAPTER 3
The smell of burning grass stirred on the wind. While the borders of Trully were ablaze, Wisdom helped direct it by raking dirt through the tall, grassy fields. Several others accompanied his efforts as they contained it just enough to clear the ground of foliage. Now and then Wisdom tested the strength of Nature’s connection. With each passing hour it weakened until he could barely feel anything.
Several hours of churning ash and burning grassy stems expanded well past the border. It was not until the crunch of charred foliage under his boots and all around as members worked that he finally put his tools aside for an aerial view. A quick shift, and a sparrow form took him above the blackened fields to gaze upon the amount of coverage.
Smoke billowing into the wind reminded him of the fog created from the darkening storm that ever threatened his home. He could hear it rumbling in the distance. Like the fields below, the sky matched. From this altitude, he could see it over Sapphire, a massage storm cloud of flickering lightning and constant thunder.
I’ll be glad when this is over!
He made his way back down and returned to his true self near a fire pit. It was here he found the Western Prince stoking the flames by sticking different swords in a center ring of stacked wood. Just high enough, it provided fuel for the flames to build while giving the metal something to lean against. It was not long before each piece was smoldering hot.
“Don’t forget to add your shields,” Wisdom said.
Alexander pointed over his shoulder. “Back at the smithy.”
“Good. You’ll need all you can.”
“How’re the fields coming?”
“It should be large enough. Mididus and his clan will project their mental images where it doesn’t cover.”
“Illusion mixed with real?” Alexander shook his head. “Should be an interesting battle. I don’t care to wonder what might happen should they discover the truth.”
“I trust the Simpletons with this task.” Wisdom picked up a sword from a pile. The cold metal was quickly thrust in the smoldering pit. “They’re very strong.”
“Stronger even than your own kind?”
Wisdom plopped another sword into the fire. “It’s all just a diversion, Alex. My kind don’t really know what they’re fighting for. They follow the words of my father, but even he doesn’t know the true threat of that storm.”
“Are you hoping it will stop him?”
“I’m hoping he’ll come to his senses!” Another sword-thrust sparked a burst of heated flame that popped and sizzled around the wood. Emotions flared within just like the fire, and he said no more. Better to save my anger toward the fight. No use getting upset now.
Around the two, others worked quickly from multiple fires. As heated weapons were pulled from the pits, they were then placed on warming racks. A low flame beneath allowed equipment to retain its heated surface. Metal shields were beginning to fill the top racks, their wearable surface facing upward to keep cool.
Eventually, the two were joined by the Mystic doctor, who greeted them with raised hand.
“How’s everything in town?” Wisdom said.
“Nearly evacuated. Mr. Phine and his crew are preparing the last of the ships. A few Simpletons will be with each one. That way they’ll mask themselves should war break out along the shoreline.”
“Well, at least the people will be safe for a time.” Wisdom glanced to the Western Prince.
“Until they run out of supplies,” Alexander said. “What then should this fail? Where would they go?”
Wisdom was silent a moment, the words of Osha echoing in the back of his mind.
“It’s more than just a battle,” he said. “It’s about the truth. Hopefully, we shouldn’t have to detain them long before that truth reveals itself.”
“And what truth would that be?” Nickademis said.
“With luck,” Wisdom thrust another sword into the pit, “our true enemy will reveal himself. Only then will my kind understand that they need to fight alongside humans, not against them.”
Wiping his hands on his pants, Wisdom commenced to turn away when he felt a tug to the shoulder. A glance behind revealed Nickademis leaning in to whisper harshly, “You don’t mean Jenario, do you?”
“In this case, an enemy becomes an ally.”
Although Nickademis reframed from emotions, he still made his discomfort quite clear by letting his foot kick a nearby bucket of water as he turned away. The water sloshed alongside the firepit, allowing a brief reflection before soaking into earth. It was long enough, however, to catch the mouthed words, “They’re coming.”
“Alex.” Wisdom drew his attention to the warming rack. “Gather your men.” Around them, clan members paused. “It’s time.”
*****
It was the lull of pulsating power within the fog that drew him further south. As the Lo-ans’rel leader left the ruins of Lexington, he moved his kind toward the welcoming persuasion, and promise, of control.
Let the harpies deal with the half-breeds, it purred in Chronicles’ mind. There is more to conquer.
The speed of Lo-ans’rel was a considerable difference compared to humans. With magic flowing through their veins, they used it to speed up travel until they became a blur of colored garments between trees.
It was not long before the Realm of Lexington was but a memory. Now on the main road, Chronicles stopped to expand his animal-like senses and test the air. Nostrils flared to catch drifting fragrances of passersby...and something else.
The road had curved over a hill, revealing the next realm – and the source of pull each Healer had felt the closer they came.
The storm.
Chronicles cursed under his breath. Never had he seen anything so massive. The sheer volume of black clouds building up completely vanished in itself. He could see no end to its height. Even the fields leading down into its core were devoured into spreading darkness.
A nervous growl escaped his throat. All of his senses were alert in warning, and yet he could not turn away.
“What are you?” he breathed.
What you are, came a whisper on a brisk breeze that beckoned the Healers closer to the storm. The human kind has misused us – forgotten what magic really means in their lives. Without us, their world would be nothing but a dead and broken wasteland!
A piece of cloud broke off from the rest. It swirled gently down until touching ground in front of the leader. Chronicles knew he should be wary, so his gaze stayed transfixed to its curving body forming an archway. While its outer layer thickened, its center thinned to a fluxing, transparent mix of light and color. It was not until an image began to emerge that Chronicles realized what they were looking into.
“A portal?” He glanced to the rest of his kind, then back to the way that opened before them.
The door is unlocked, the voice coaxed. Finish it.
Chronicles hesitated before tentatively stepping through the opening. That draw to complete the elimination process grew stronger the moment he was within Trully’s borders.
Yet while the urge to fulfill his task grew stronger, his connection with Nature suddenly weakened. Perplexed, the Healer dug his magic into the earth, seeking any living source.
Crunch! Blackened blades of grass drew his attention to where he stepped. Kneeling, he took some of it between his fingers. The distinct smell of still-burning ash rose from the earth. And with it came a distant memory.
Something about fire.
“It must be hard,” a familiar voice said, “to not have access to Nature.”
C
hronicles lifted his gaze to a solitary figure. Between the two and all around was little more than a blackened landscape. Flaring nostrils filled with the scent of scorched earth, and he glanced over his shoulder to see how many of his people had come through.
They were all present. The portal, however, was not.
Chronicles slowly stood, letting the dry remains fall from his fingertips. His gaze immediately flicked to the sapphire-tipped staff planted firmly in front of his oldest son. With a vicious stare, he hissed, “What have you done?”
“There’s nothing here now,” Wisdom said in a calm tone. “The humans are gone. They destroyed themselves in the chaos to get out. I saw to that myself.”
Chronicles released a deep, throaty growl. A crimson glow lit those silver eyes, and a crooked smile cracked one corner of his lip.
“Your insolence knows no bounds, does it?” Chronicles cocked his head all-knowingly at his son.
Wisdom recoiled with precaution, and his grip on the staff tightened. That voice was not of his father’s, but the raspy tone of the horn. While the other Healers did not seem bothered by the peculiar change, a quick glance to their faces confirmed that they, too, were under its influence.
“You are the one driving this war, not my kind,” Wisdom said with a low growl.
A chuckle. “When the time of Purification draws near, there will nothing to stand in my way. The less interference,” eyebrows lowered in sincerity, “the better.”
“Get out!”
“But I’m not really in, am I?” the horn continued speaking through Chronicles’ tongue. “Such hatred – only empowers my storm.”
He began a slow circle around the young man. While the rest of the Healers patiently waited, the two studied one another. Their circle slowly tightened.
“There’s no deceiving me,” the horn said. “I know you’ve a clan that lay in wait.”
“I said, get out!” Wisdom picked up the pace. He recognized the dance they had entered. It was the same when he had trained with his grandfather, one that could only end in total submission. Experience heightened his awareness. One flawed step and it would be over. As their circle narrowed, Wisdom held the staff out in a defensive manner, although it was not the horn he feared first strike.
Healer Page 22