The Apostate Prince (Godswar Chronicles Book 2)
Page 17
“I will kill you, Victor.”
The Empress tugged on Celia’s hair and the dagger broke the skin on Celia’s throat. A trickle of blood ran down her neck. His mother glared at him. “And I will cut her throat.”
Victor rushed him and Justin took a clumsy swing with the sword. Victor parried with his staff and a purple light flashed through the grove – the meeting of darkness and light. The end of the staff hit Justin in the belly and he doubled over. It smashed into his chin and he flopped onto his back. Justin rolled onto his side, sword still in his hand, and spit out a mouthful of blood. His ears rung and his vision blurred, already half-obscured with blood.
Victor’s boots walked up next to Justin’s face. He squatted down and reached for the sword.
“Victor! Don’t!” his mother screamed.
His hand touched it and the sword flared with white fire. Victor hollered, snatching back his hand. Justin summoned the last of his strength and swung the blade at Victor’s heel. It bit through the leather of the back of the boot, cutting deep. Victor tried to step back but his foot twisted to the side and he fell backward.
Justin rolled over and pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from his face and splashing on the pebbles. Victor scooted away on his backside, his half-severed foot leaving a trail of blood. Justin limped after him, pointing the sword down at Victor’s chest. Victor swung with his staff but Justin lifted the sword out of the way and brought it down on Victor’s wrist. Victor roared once more as the staff fell, his hand severed. He clutched the bleeding stump to his chest and prayed.
“Goddess of Night, your son is in need-”
Justin stabbed the sword down through Victor’s stomach, interrupting him. Victor ground his sharpened teeth, his body trembling.
“Shut up,” Justin ordered.
Victor grabbed the blade with his remaining hand. It burned and smoldered as he strained, but he could not lift it out. Eggs howled, a mournful sound wrought with desolation and heartbreak.
“Only a servant of the Light can lift the sword,” Justin said, and pulled it out for him.
Victor lurched and pressed his good hand to the wound as red expanded over his tunic. His breathing came fast and shallow. The wolves snarled and barked at the edge of the sword’s power, frothing with rage. But they were trapped some twenty feet away, unable to abide the Light of the blade. Justin lifted the sword over his head for a killing blow.
“No!” his mother yelled.
Justin turned just in time to see the blade slice across Celia’s throat. Blood sprayed in a fan over the ground in front of her. Justin ran over to her and his mother ran past him to Victor.
He rolled Celia over and pressed his hand over the gash in her neck. Blood poured between his fingers. She bled from a hundred other bites and wounds. He kissed her on the forehead and whispered the prayer, eyes flooding with tears. “By Your Light, she is healed.”
Nothing happened. He had not taken communion and without it the prayer was just words. The God of Light heard him. His robes had gone white but he was still a wizard, not a priest, and wizards did not have the ability to heal.
If he put down the sword to do anything more, the wolves would attack. Behind him, the Ghostly Steed neighed another warning - the spell would fizzle if it did not have a rider soon. If Justin had not accepted the sword from Celia, she would be on the Steed riding away from here. He lowered his forehead to hers and pressed the side of her throat to stem the flow of blood. His grip on the sword weakened and his body trembled.
He kissed her head again. “Please. I know ... but please. By Your light, she is healed.”
No light came. A building cry of anguish ached in his chest, but he held it in. He let go of her neck, foreheads together, tears spilling over onto her cheeks.
“You were right.” He had nothing to cover her body with. He kissed her forehead again and whispered past the lump in his throat. “I never belonged here.”
Celia’s mouth moved but no words came. Justin leaned down and turned his ear to her mouth. Celia whispered, gargling blood, breath as light as a butterfly’s wings.
“The sword. Kill me.”
Justin laid her head back on the ground, hands trembling, eyes filled with tears. She intended to keep her vow to him, or perhaps she wanted to reunite with her father. He lowered the shining sword and put it to her chest.
He pushed the blade into her heart, and Celia’s body tensed one last time before going slack. Justin’s heart went numb. The colors of the world dulled to the gray hues of misery. He crossed Celia’s hands over her chest.
He could not bring her body on the Steed with him. He used the sword to cut a lock of her red hair for later use. A piece of the deceased was necessary for any number of spells but mostly he wanted a piece of her to remember her by. He had loved her fiery hair from the moment he laid eyes on her. He kissed her on the forehead one more time and then walked over and climbed up onto the Steed’s back.
His mother prayed over Victor and blue-white light spread over his body, healing him. She looked up and Justin met his mother’s blue eyes. The urge to dismount and run and have his mother hug him made it hard to breathe. But they would never be mother and son again. She was slipping further into the darkness. The woman that raised him died the moment she cut the throat of the woman he loved.
He gave the spectral horse a kick and it galloped up the river. He made it a half mile, just far enough for the him to settle in the saddle, before he slowed down. His ears rang; the message he had waited for from Rashidi all day had finally come. Justin spoke the command word and the message whispered in his ear.
My apprentice,
The Guild has forbidden my interference. They have heard the prophecy of dragons and have assured me it is not false. But there is more, my apprentice. The prophecy warns of war, in the wake of the rise of one in the north called The Shadowalker. It is said he shall bring a storm of dragons, and an end to the Age of Light.
Much is unclear and the Guild is still investigating, but one thing is certain, Justin: You must flee that place. I trust your resourcefulness can help you find your way to the town of Shamoh with haste. I will meet you there. We must discuss this prophecy, and your part in it.
Your Master and Friend, Rashidi
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CJ Perry is sarcastic liberal nerd that played too much Dungeons & Dragons in his youth and never learned respect for authority, couth, or how to line dance. He is a NY transplant in the swing state of NC trying to vote it blue. He enjoys; writing, fantasy, writing fantasy, commas, and long, redundant lists.