Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  “Light your torch! Let the witch burn!” Richard hollered, glee within his voice.

  A man with a torch stepped forward behind Melissa, her eyes turning to him as realization that this was actually going to happen dawned on her face. What have you done? Two thousand years I’ve lived in peace and now you have killed me, she roared in his mind and he flinched.

  Every word was true.

  If they hadn’t gone after the sword, if they had left her alone, she wouldn’t be here at this moment. She had been forced to help them and as the flames leapt to the wood and hungrily started spreading, he could find no words to express the apology in his soul.

  Melissa began to scream from under her gag, her face contorted with agony, as the flames engulfed the pyre beneath her. He could feel her pain through their mental connection, every moment seared into him. As she began to burn, he burned with her. His chest ached with his sobs as he cried out, begging for them to stop.

  Fire raged around her as the pyre blazed at full intensity. He could smell burnt flesh, her eyes rolling in her head, the scream tearing from her body. He fell forward in pain, crying out with her, but a hand grabbed him on the back of his neck, forced him back up and made him watch.

  “No!” he bellowed.

  Then time stopped.

  The crowed froze in place and he looked around stunned by what had just happened. The flames still roared from the pyre, Melissa’s poor body writhing upon it, but everything else seemed to have ceased in mid-action. He turned away from the grisly sight and looked to his comrades, their heads turned, tears leaking from their eyes. Willow’s found his and he realized that whatever was happening had not affected them.

  Brushing out of the man’s clenching fist, he stood and turned to face his uncle. The man was standing there, mid-clap, a large grin upon his face. Selena stood silently by his side and though her eyes looked his way, her body remained motionless.

  A loud roar split the heavens and he glanced up to see six large beasts soaring into view. One was an enormous orange dragon, its fierce teeth barred as it swooped down upon the silent crowed. The other five were creatures he’d never seen or even read about. Their bodies were a mix batch of breeds, with a fierce looking white head in the form of an eagle, beak barred in a piercing scream, talons for forward feet. The rest of the body was that of a lion with a long winding tail. Upon their backs rode Jared, Kore, Merlin, and Reyna, fully armored and weapons held high.

  His heart leapt in his chest with joy, until his eyes turned back to the dwindling pyre and the burnt soul upon it. Cursing under his breath, he knocked the frozen man down before him and took his keys, undoing his shackles. Then he reached down and took the man’s sword. Turning to the gallows, he sliced through the nooses and freed his companions from their bindings.

  The large dragon let loose a very long gust of fire, which hit where the pyre had been and buffeted the crowd. More burnt flesh stung his nose, but it no longer bothered him, he was beyond caring what happened to these people. He turned to the platform where his uncle stood. Head lowered, he began his way forward.

  Whatever had been controlling the crowd let go and screams suddenly filled the air around them. The griffins landed with a crunch and he heard Kore and Reyna’s battle cries as they launched themselves at the soldiers rushing forward. Blue fire arced around him, hitting one of the guards that had been coming his way. The dragon was soaring to his right, letting loose another burst of flame upon the nearby structures; setting the castle ablaze.

  None of it phased him.

  His uncle had been released from what must have been Jared’s control and his eyes had grown in panic at the chaos suddenly unfolding before him. He scrambled backwards but tripped over his own wooden throne, falling out of sight. That didn’t matter, he’d deal with his uncle soon enough. His eyes were fixed on Selena.

  Whatever had released the rest of the crowd had not let her go. She was still frozen in place, eyes watching as he approached.

  “Tristan!” he heard a cry from behind, but he was beyond stopping now. He mounted the steps to the platform, rage forcing him forward as he reached the witch that had violated him, and grabbed her by the neck.

  He pulled her face close to his, making sure they were eye to eye, his hot breath upon her frightened face. “There’s other ways of doing this, but this is the most fun,” he said into her ear as he drove his blade forward and felt it slide into the woman’s flesh. Her eyes told him how much agony she was in and his heart savored every moment. As he felt the hilt hit flesh, he yanked his arm upward, her body convulsing around his embrace.

  A dragon roared overhead, griffins stomped and snapped at the crowd behind him, and joy lit up his face at the dying light in the witch’s eyes. “Guess you were wrong about whether I’d kill the mother of my unborn child. That abomination will die with you,” he spat, giving one last tug, then releasing the sword and pushing the vile woman away from him.

  His vengeance sated for a moment, he let out a brief gasp of relief and looked upon the hated woman that had violated every core of his being.

  Movement caught his eye and he turned just in time to see his uncle bringing a sword in a downward arc at his head.

  A blade suddenly emerged from the man’s chest right above his heart, his eyes wide, hands letting the weapon fall to the ground forgotten. His mouth worked as his body fell to his knees at Tristan’s feet. Willow stood behind the fallen King, a look of defiance on her face.

  Everything else was forgotten as he stepped over the dying corpse at his feet and embraced his fiancé. Their grip was fierce as they clung together, reunited once more. He cried with the joy in his heart as he kissed her violently, saying everything in one moment that he’d been forced to hold back.

  “I love you I love you I love you,” Willow whispered quickly, her fingers digging into him and holding him close.

  “Hey! Do you want to get out of here or what?” a voice called from behind them. Yet for a moment, they ignored it.

  Reluctantly they released each other and turned to the chaos still gripping the town square. Reyna was fighting a group of soldiers, her sword slicing torsos open, feet kicking the dead men away. A griffin was directly behind her and he watched as the beast snatched another soldier in its beak and broke his neck, flinging it away.

  Token was climbing onto the back of one of the beasts, sharing a double saddle with Jared. The blind boy had white light arcing from his fingers as he burned any who approached. Blood was gushing from the young man’s face and he knew in that instant that they needed to move and get out of there.

  Kylee was raging against a fallen soldier, hacking the body to pieces as they came down the steps of the platform. Her eyes were full of violence, her hatred funneled into every thrust. Willow reached out and grabbed her sister’s hand, almost getting a sword swipe in the process.

  “Let’s go,” Willow told her, as Tristan clung to his fiancé’s side.

  “We have to get to Melissa!” the ranger roared, fixing to dash across the square.

  “It’s too late,” he told her, the grief filling his voice. “There’s nothing we can do for her.” He hated saying those words, but he refused to give into the sorrow that came with it. They were not out of danger yet. There would be time to grieve later.

  “Come on people, we need to go before the rest of the garrison gets here!” Reyna yelled at them, as she cut another soldier in half.

  He looked to the south and watched as the dragon torched the city beyond. He thought that they had enough on their hands than dealing with them at the moment, but he didn’t want to push it any further than they already had.

  Merlin bounded into view on the left, his pouch in hand. He was racing from the keep and a fireball flew from his hand as a group of guards moved to cut him off. Kore was right behind him, protecting his rear. With a giant leap, the mage landed on the back of one of the griffins and he turned the beast to fend off the guards streaming from the keep; allowing Kore eno
ugh time to climb on after him.

  They didn’t need any more encouragement.

  Kylee streaked towards an awaiting griffin and climbed onto the front saddle as Willow drug him to another awaiting near the rear. People were fleeing the town square, half of them bleeding, the other half burning. The hate in his heart wanted to chase them all down and put them out of their misery. Yet he felt a hand tug on him and he was pulled up into the saddle behind Willow.

  Jared’s griffin took flight as Merlin’s continued to stave off the attackers emerging from the keep’s interior. He felt a mighty thrust between his legs and the wings on either side shoved them suddenly into the air. His heart leapt and he tightened his hold on the saddle, trying not to be flung free.

  Reyna climbed up next to Kylee and hollered something at Merlin. As his griffin turned and began its ascent, he saw the other two griffins begin to rise and follow after. Arrows streaked by, but luckily none of them found its mark as the enormous beasts began to gain altitude and pull away.

  To his right, he watched as the large orange dragon burned its way across the front of the keep, torching the defenders that had come racing out of it. Then it turned its head and followed after them, bringing up the rear.

  Taking one last look at the town square, his eyes fell on the smoldering pyre and his heart burst with sorrow. Laying his head on Willow’s back, he let the tears come; the unbridled grief at the loss of one of their own.

  Then the square was gone and only the raging fire of the burning castle remained. The dragon pumped its wings harder and flew by them, taking the lead, a very loud roar erupting from his gigantic horned head.

  Crying harder, he let everything that had happened to him come crashing forward, and his sobs echoed behind them as they flew towards the southern horizon.

  III

  In the forest to the far northwest, a dwarf crouched in the darkness and watched as a small group of goblins marched past his position. He had spent the day tracking the vermin and now the moment that he’d been anticipating had come. The idiots were following the path that snaked between the two cliffs and right into his trap.

  Riska got to his feet and gave a fierce battle cry. Around him, his kin answered as they stepped from the brush and began firing their arrows upon the goblin patrol. Caught completely by surprise, the vermin had nowhere to go and not enough time to react if they had. They were decimated in under a minute and the dwarf proudly stepped forward and admired his handiwork.

  The other dwarves roared with victory and he added his own cry to theirs.

  His King had been ordered by the Rí ruirech to investigate what had fallen Kamdeac, and he had volunteered to see it done. Keegan was his first cousin, and though the dwarf made a fine King, he wasn’t anything close to a warrior. He had seen the look on his cousin’s face when he read the scroll from Grendweir, and knew what it had meant.

  When they set out, he thought they’d be searching for people afflicted with plague, as was the common rumor of Kamdeac’s fate. What he hadn’t anticipated was finding these vile creatures roaming the northern forest unchecked and unchallenged. The great wall to the north had been manned by the humans as long as memory served; Alamar forever keeping these creature’s out. Something evil must have befallen that ancient city, or these vile creatures had found another way around their imposed prison.

  Either way, he had pests to eradicate from his home.

  He’d sent a runner back to Branham to inform his cousin of the situation, but as of yet had not gotten a reply. As his kin began picking through their kills, he stood on the small cliff and stared towards the woods to the north. Kamdeac was only a few more miles, but he knew in his heart that no dwarf still breathed and let these creatures roam freely amongst forest; they had to be dead.

  He adjusted his chainmail and nudged his breastplate to the left, as it had begun to ride up his right armpit. Sheathing his bow, his thick fingers slid across the shaft of his large battle-axe, his mind lost in thought. His other hand stroked his long amber beard, his thick brow pulling together as he tried to think of what to do next.

  They didn’t dare get too close to the city without careful precautions taken. Not only did goblins seem to be infesting the woods, but he had no intention of stumbling on a plague victim and getting sick himself. It was a daunting prospect, but he knew that it must be done. The Rí ruirech had given a command and it must be followed to the best of his ability.

  “Whit noo, Sairrr?” asked his second in command and his large blue eyes turned to the grinning dwarf.

  “Got tae make sure we keep an yak it fur onie other patrols an' teel th' others 'at if they fin' onie ay uir fa'en kin, nae tae approach them, tae report it tae me immediately,” Riska told his companion; eyes watching as the others clapped each other on the shoulders and laughed at their short victory. “An' dae gie them tae haud yer weesht, we hae nae idea hoo mony mair ay these grobi bastards ur it thaur.”

  The dwarf nodded and briskly walked away to carry out his orders.

  Fingers still tracing the pommel of his axe, his ears strained to pick up the sounds of the forest around them. Uneasiness gripped his heart and his nose wrinkled, his teeth bared. Evil hung as a fog over the entire forest and his bones ached in its mist.

  With grim determination to see this done and over with, he began his silent trek towards the castle in the distance, ears listening, eyes searching; knowing full well that nothing good would come of any of this. Yet, someone had to do it and it might as well be him.

  Sighing, he plunged back into the trees of his homeland, heart armored against what he knew awaited ahead.

  Chapter 7

  Hunger

  I

  “Guinevere!” Erik suddenly yelled, sitting up in his bed, eyes searching the dimly lit chamber. The elf had been in a deep coma for most of the week, having to be spoon fed soup, his body cleaned and cared for by the druid and the King’s aide, who’d been awaiting patiently the return of their sovereign.

  Revan lunged to his feet and came to his King’s side. The eyes that turned to greet him showed no sign of recognition and his blood hammered through his chest. “My Lord, you’re awake.”

  “Who are you? Where’s Guinevere?” the elf asked him and though it was his friend’s mouth, it wasn’t his voice he heard gushing out of it.

  “My name is Revan, my Lord,” he told the confused man staring at him with wide eyes.

  Erik shook his head. “What are you? What’s happening to me? Am I still asleep?”

  What could he say? He watched as the man controlling his King’s mind looked upon him, eyes running over his face and lingering on his ears. He could tell from the startled expression that he must look very alien in the other’s eyes.

  “Arthur?” he asked, hesitantly.

  “How do you know my name, demon?” the King growled. He looked to be searching for a weapon and he was suddenly glad he had Jarel remove them to an adjacent room.

  He wasn’t sure how to handle this, did he restrain him? Bind him to his bed? “I’m not a demon, I’m an elf,” he told the other man calmly, trying to think of how best to explain what was going on.

  “That’s impossible. Where’s Merlin?” Erik pushed, shaking his head as if to clear it. “Is that magician messing with my head again? This one of his infamous pranks? Well, ha ha, you got me. Go get that miserable pest and summon my wife, I need to speak to her.”

  There really was only one way forward. “Sire, you are very sick and Merlin has asked that I watch over you while he brews you a tonic. Your wife isn’t here at the moment, but should be returning shortly. You’ve been asleep for days and it feels like you’ve finally broken your fever, but if you don’t lie down and get some rest, Merlin will strip my hide for letting you agitate your condition further.”

  Erik leaned back against the head of the bed, eyes searching the elf and putting a hand to his forehead, as if to check the validity of what he’d been told. Luckily it had been a rather hot afternoon
and the King was indeed covered in sweat.

  “How did you ever let that magician do that to you? Did you lose a bet?” the King asked him, eyes still being drawn from his ears to his dark blue hair.

  “I’m afraid I mentioned that I wondered what it’d be like to be an elf, and before I knew what had happened, Merlin had spoken these strange words and this ghastly face came into being. I apologize for my appearance my Lord, but Merlin refuses to change me back until you are healed,” he ventured, trying his best to sound sincere and contrite at the same time.

  Erik chuckled. “You know, I once told that crazy old fool that I wondered what it’d be like to fly, and he changed me into a bird. Almost got me eaten by a crazy old bat of a witch. You’ve got to watch what you say around him, he tends to take you literally. Not all there in the head.”

  He forced a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind in the future. Meanwhile, I must insist you lie down and get some rest. I’m sure he’ll be up here soon with your tonic and I’ll have someone check on the whereabouts of your wife.”

  The King sighed and gave him a resigned look. “Doesn’t sound like I have much of a choice.”

  “It’s for the best, Sire,” he responded with a smile. He watched as the other elf closed his eyes and slowly drift off to sleep.

  Letting out a very large exhale, he walked back over to his chair and resumed his silent vigil. When Erik began to snore, he finally relaxed and let his mind roam over everything that had just happened.

  Obviously, Erik’s mind had been wrestling throughout the week with the invasion of another mind, what appeared to be a past life rising to wrest control of the King’s body. Was this a sign that Erik had lost the battle? Was this change permanent? Was their King forever lost to them? He despaired at what would happen if it were. Maybe it was time to call one of the clerics—

  “Revan?” croaked the reawakened King.

  He growled at the prospect of having to play-act again. It was not in his nature and he gripped his staff tightly in his fist as he prepared to wrestle the elf back to sleep. Maybe he should just use his magic. He hadn’t so far because he had feared doing irreparable damage to the King’s psyche, but he could only take so much.