Of course, however, she had fought her own wars, hadn’t she?
Akitla had spent all of her life a stranger in a strange land. Like her father, she had been goaded from the beginning by those bigger and stronger than she, and like her father, she never lost…
“Henry!” Sir Eldrick yelled, seeing his king regrouping with his men.
Many of the surrounding knights Sir Eldrick knew by name, for he had fought alongside some of them for more than twenty years. One and all offered him nods of respect and let him pass.
“Sir Eldrick,” said Henry just before breaking out in a coughing fit. “Of all places, I should have known I would meet you here.”
“Sire, what are you doing? You’re sick.” Sir Eldrick turned to a knight he knew well, a big man with a merry smile and a war hammer that could crush an ogre’s skull. “Gregorn, can’t you see that he is not well?”
“He has made up his mind,” said the man.
Sir Eldrick turned to his king, not understanding.
“I’m dying, you fool. And what better place to go than on the battlefield?”
“Sire…”
“Do you think that they write songs about kings who die in their sleep? Have you ever sung along to the ‘Ode to King Stefen,’ who died while taking a shit? Of course not! But dying during the ‘Battle of the Jade Army,’ now that has a ring to it!”
“Sire, all due respect, but you are giving up!”
The king and his men were sobered by Sir Eldrick’s booming voice, and they regarded him with uncertainty.
“I know many powerful wizards, Sire. Please, there must be a cure that can be found. And if not, one surely can be created for the king of Vhalovia.”
“You know that it is against my religion,” said the king.
“To the hells with religion! The gods will not help you—it is up to us to help ourselves, and if magic can do it—”
“I have made up my mind!” the king bellowed, and for a moment, his voice was what it had once been.
Sir Eldrick took a knee.
“I am sorry, my lord, it is just…” Sir Eldrick broke down but quickly composed himself.
“Rise, Sir Eldrick van Albright, and drink a toast to my life with me.”
Sir Eldrick rose, and he glanced at Akitla briefly. The thought of drinking made his inner demons scream and quiver.
“Sire, I…”
“Yes, yes,” said King Henry, gesturing to his squire to bring the steps. He dismounted, and with help, walked to stand before Sir Eldrick. “You have given the stuff up, but you owe me…And hells, you can quit again and say that the last time you drank was with your king, just before he charged into battle, never to return…”
“As you wish, Sire.” Sir Eldrick whispered the words, and he felt that he too, like Henry, was giving up a battle that he had never wanted to fight. Henry wanted to die, and Sir Eldrick couldn’t help but think that he had played a part in the man’s weakening. The thought alone made him want a drink.
The squire brought tankards and a small barrel of beer and handed them to the king. Henry in turn gave a tankard to Sir Eldrick as well as Akitla. “And for you, my lady…”
“This is my daughter, Akitla,” said Sir Eldrick as his glass was poured. He lowered it and nodded to the squire, who smartly filled it to the top.
If Sir Eldrick was going to drink, he was going to DRINK.
“Greetings, and my condolences as well,” said the king, somewhat drunkenly.
“Well met, King Henry. Sir Eldrick has said many good things about you.”
For a moment, Sir Eldrick recognized how strange it was to be standing in the middle of a battlefield making formal introductions and holding a tankard. The Fallacetinian forces had pushed back the jade army, but they still fought violently less than fifty yards away. Bows twanged, catapults released their payload, and swords clashed all around them. But to the king, it might as well have been a July afternoon in the gardens of Castle Winterthorn.
“Yes, and I have many good things to say about him.” The king raised his glass, and the knights did the same. “To Slur Sirsalot!” he said with a playful grin. “The best damn knight that Vhalovia has ever seen, and the worst damn drunk.”
“Here, here!”
Sir Eldrick downed his tankard in seven heartbeats and wiped the foam from his mustache with a contented, animalistic growl. The king grinned. Akitla frowned. The knights slapped him on the back.
“To battle, men!” cried the king as he unsheathed his sword, the legendary Godseye. “Let’s show these magical twats what mortals can do with steel and blood and sweat!”
“Oorah!” cried the surrounding men.
The king, with the help of Sir Eldrick and a thousand men at his back, charged into the fray for the last time.
Chapter 28
One’s Victory is Another’s Defeat
Murland deflected another of the glowing jade spells, which surprised as much as taxed him. He and Hinckley stood side by side as Kazimir and Hazel flew around Ravenwing and Zuul like two annoying deerflies. The Mother of Zuul shot spells at them all randomly. The child on Ravenwing’s back chittered like an excited—yet demonic—chipmunk while Ravenwing glared at her attackers with the green fires of hate burning in her eyes.
Murland could feel the incredible power emanating from the two. It was like nothing that he had ever experienced. He could only liken it to the power of Drak’Noir. But while the dragon’s energy had been that of eternal darkness, the Mother of Zuul radiated a power filled with malice and hatred, one which stunk of death and decay. It was not the inevitability of darkness that had been Drak’Noir, instead, this was the path to such bleakness, one filled with rotting corpses and dead flowers, lifeless trees and waters thick and dark and dead.
He cringed every time his energy met theirs, and he knew in his heart of hearts that he could never defeat such a horror. It would take someone with a heart like Gibrig’s to do so, or Brannon’s passion. Murland realized in that moment just how insignificant he was.
Hinckley deflected a spell and glared at Murland. “Do not let them into your mind,” he said. Conjuring a cold fish in his right hand, Hinckley slapped Murland across the face.
The blow cleared his mind, and Murland aimed his wand at Zuul and released a fireball.
“No, you fool, shoot to kill!” cried Hinckley as the fireball was easily deflected by the tiny Dark Lord.
No sooner had Hinckley spoken than Zuul’s retaliation spell hit the ground beside Murland. He was caught unawares, but Hinckley had been ready, and he produced a globe of energy to shield them both right before the blast hit. The explosion kicked dirt fifty feet into the air and sent Murland and Hinckley tumbling inside their globe as it rolled away.
Hinckley unraveled the spell, spilling Murland on the scorched ground. Murland leapt to his feet and looked back at the Mother of Zuul. He was surprised and startled to see Ravenwing being battered by spells from both Kazimir and Witch Hazel.
“We’ve got to help her,” said Murland.
“Stop thinking with your other head,” said Hinckley, who looked weakened by the blast. “Zuul must be defeated, no matter who he is attached to.”
“But I can get through to her,” said Murland.
Just then, Zuul gave a terrible high-pitched shriek that left Murland covering his ears.
“Mother!” he was screaming at Hazel. “You are no mother of mine. You made me think that I was sick. You said you were giving me medicine!”
“Zuuly, please, you must believe me,” Hazel pleaded while Kazimir stood beside her with his staff at the ready. “I know that you are confused. But I love you. Your mother loves you. That is what it is called, Zuuly, love.”
“It’s called Munchausen by proxy, bitch!” Zuul screamed, and he shot a bright green spell at Hazel that shattered her wards and disappeared into her chest.
Hazel took in a breath like she had just been doused by ice water before turning to Kazimir and reaching out a hand
pleadingly. Kazimir cried her name and reached out as well, but just before their fingers touched, Witch Hazel burst into jade flames, and her ashes blew away in the wind.
“Now, Murland, while they are distracted!” said Hinckley.
Murland didn’t waste another moment. He leapt from the ground and Packy spread his wings, speeding Murland into the fray at breakneck speed. Murland gathered his strength, set his sights on Zuul, and unleashed his spell.
“Morietur!” he bellowed, releasing all his hate, his anger, and his fear with the spell.
It would have hit home, but Zuul deflected it at the last moment, and Ravenwing retaliated with a death spell of her own.
The streaking green spell zipped through the air like an arrow, too fast for Murland to deflect, and hit him in the chest. Murland cried out, but there was no pain. As soon as the incantation met him it shot back at Ravenwing, and in an instant Murland remembered how the witch Gurtzarg had tried to kill him with his own wand, and how the spell had backfired…
“Ravenwing!” Murland cried as the spell hit the sorceress.
She stopped dead, and with a look of shock, glanced down at the smoldering hole in her chest, before falling over dead.
“Kill him, Murland!” came Hinckley’s distant voice.
Murland didn’t answer. His attention was on Ravenwing, who seemed to fall like a lazy snowflake onto the ground, burning with jade flames. He urged Packy on, flying over Zuul and landing beside the sorceress.
“Ravenwing!” he cried, kneeling and cradling her head in his arms.
“Nobody kills my mother but me!” came a demonic, infantile voice.
Murland looked up—straight at Zuul’s tiny wand, which was aiming at his head.
“Demori—” Zuul began, but then a spell from Hinckley hit him in the shoulder, taking his right arm in the process.
Zuul cried out in terrible pain, and suddenly Kazimir was there beside him. Murland watched, frozen with grief and fear, as the Most High Wizard hit Hinckley with a spell that shattered his wards and left him face down on the ground.
Kazimir turned his hateful gaze on Murland and grabbed Zuul by the horns. “This isn’t over, Murland Kadabra.”
With that, Kazimir and Zuul disappeared, leaving behind them a smoldering battlefield and a teary-eyed Murland.
“Ravenwing?” he said through his sorrow, shaking her gently.
“Mur…Murland,” she said with a sigh. She opened her eyes, and to his relief, they did not glow bright green.
“You’ll be alright. I’ll take care of you,” he said, trying desperately to remember a healing spell.
“I…” she began.
“Don’t talk. Save your strength, there will be time for words later.”
“I…” she struggled to get the words out as blood bubbled on her lips. “…I’m sorry.”
She let out her last breath, and Murland shook her. “Ravenwing? Ravenwing! Headmaster, help!” he cried, but Hinckley wasn’t moving.
“No, no, no,” he said, shaking his head and desperately trying to remember a spell. Finally, one came to him, and he took up the wand of Kazam. “Vetam reditus…vetam reditus,” he said, tapping her chest with his wand. The spell surged through her body, causing Ravenwing to arch her back and go stiff. But she just fell back lifelessly once it dissipated. “Vetam reditus!”
It hadn’t worked the first time, and it didn’t work the third. Murland cradled Ravenwing, saying over and over that he was the one who was sorry.
***
Sir Eldrick, Akitla, King Henry, and the knights of Vhalovia tore through the skeletal ranks like a hurricane. The fae blade sang, joined in its chorus by Godseye as together he and Henry bellowed the Vhalovian war song and laughed with delight. It was just like the old days, when Henry had been a young king trying to make a name for himself that might outshine the shadow of his late father, and Sir Eldrick had been rising through the ranks. They should have died a hundred times on a dozen different battlefields, but they never did. Together they were a force to be reckoned with—Sir Eldrick with his infamous agility and legendary skill, and King Henry with Godseye and his seemingly endless supply of energy and battle lust.
Twenty years had passed since those glory days, but the king, sickly as he was, nevertheless found his strength when faced with an enemy. Sir Eldrick needed not help him to stand, for indeed, the bards would sing for years about the last charge of King Henry the Fearless.
Sir Eldrick was on top of the world. To his right, Akitla turned skeletons to ice and shattered them with giant crystalline sabers, and to his left, King Henry made quick work of any who got too close. Like a well-oiled machine, Sir Eldrick and the King danced around their opponents. One moment the king was blocking a strike meant for Sir Eldrick, and in the next, the knight was decapitating a skeleton charging the king. Together with Akitla, they slew more than one hundred skeletons.
King Henry drove his sword through the skull of his latest opponent and turned to Sir Eldrick with a smile on his face. Behind him, Sir Eldrick saw a skeleton cocking back a spear. He moved to intercept the spear, but the king grabbed him by the shoulders with a vise-like grip and stared into his eyes, refusing to let go.
“It has been a pleasure being your friend,” he said as light caught the sailing tip of the spear.
“Henry!” Sir Eldrick cried, trying to move the man aside.
“Keep my family safe,” said the king, and he jerked as the spear tip suddenly protruded from his chest, speckling Sir Eldrick’s face with blood.
“No!” Sir Eldrick cried, as the king went limp in his arms.
The knights of Vhalovia cleared out a wide circle around them as other knights knelt at the king’s side. Sir Eldrick let Henry go as the others cried over their fallen leader.
“Father?” he heard Akitla say.
Sir Eldrick glanced around at the jade army and the many armies of Fallacetine fighting them back. He saw Murland cradling Ravenwing, and Hinckley face down in the dirt. He saw the hundreds of dead humans, elves, dwarves, and ogres, and the crushed bones of the jade army. The fighting was still fierce, but he felt no urge to rejoin the fight. He felt nothing.
“Father, I’m sorry for your loss.”
Sir Eldrick pushed his daughter away weakly and wiped the blood from his eyes. He heard himself let out a furious cry, and he staggered away from his brethren, eyes on the distant supply wagons.
“Father!”
He didn’t stop when he heard his daughter’s mournful plea. He was no good for her, he was no good for anyone. He felt the alcohol coursing through his veins, and as he reached the supply wagons of the Vhalovian army, he pushed a squire aside, meaning to drink straight from the tap of a barrel.
“Stop!” Akitla cried, and even as the beer began to flow, it turned to ice.
“Why did you do that?” Sir Eldrick growled.
“Eldrick, listen to me—”
He moved to the next barrel, and she turned that one to ice as well.
“Godsdammit, girl! Leave me the hell alone!”
“I will not let you drink yourself stupid over this. That is no way to deal with your emotions.”
“It has worked just fine up to now.”
“Has it?” she asked, arching a brow.
Sir Eldrick turned from the ruined barrels of ale and watched as the battle ensued. The knights of Vhalovia took up their king and began carrying him to the camp. He fell to his knees, defeated, and began to cry. Akitla knelt beside him and put a hand on his shoulder as tears pooled in her eyes as well.
“Henry was never a man who gave up,” said Sir Eldrick as he wiped his eyes angrily. “I did that to him. I—”
“He said that there was no cure for his disease. You cannot hold yourself responsible. Why do you insist on punishing yourself?”
Sir Eldrick tried to speak, but no words would come.
***
Gibrig smashed skeleton after glowing green skeleton with his golden shield, and finally, tearfully,
he reached Wendel.
“Wendel!” he cried, slamming into the latest green clone to tear itself from Wendel’s body. “Stop this!”
“You think I like this?” Wendel screamed as another skeleton magically stepped out of his body.
“What ye want me to do?”
“Die! Die! Die!” Wendel screamed as he birthed another abomination. But then his face went slack. “I didn’t mean that!”
Gibrig slammed his shield into the latest foe, sending his bones flying high into the air. “Ye got to stop, there be too many!”
“There’s a curse on me, you numbnuts!” said Wendel.
Gibrig looked around at the battlefield. The jade skeletons numbered in the thousands, and with more coming out of Wendel every other second, the armies of Fallacetine were being pressed hard. Among the mud and jade fires burning all over, there lay humans, elves, dwarves, and ogres.
“I can’t let ye keep doin’ this,” Gibrig warned.
“It’s not me!” Wendel cried as yet another jade skeleton erupted from his body.
Gibrig tapped him with his shield, which sent Wendel flying back onto the ground.
“I be sorry, Wendel. Ye ain’t never had a fair shake in life as far as I ever heard, and ye ain’t gettin’ one now.” Gibrig raised his shield over Wendel’s head.
“NO!” Wendel cried.
Gibrig’s eyes blurred, but he reminded himself that he would be saving countless lives by doing this.
Suddenly, all around them, the light went out in the surrounding skeletons’ eyes, and they fell apart and dropped to the ground in a heap of useless bones.
Gibrig stared down at Wendel, waiting…
“Look, they’ve defeated the Mother of Zuul!” said Wendel.
When another skeleton did not erupt from the quivering wretch, Gibrig dropped his shield to the side and, shuddering, began to cry.
The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4) Page 22