CHILD OF DESTINY (The Rising Saga Book 1)

by M. K. Adams

  Through blurred vision, he could make out the bodies of his enemies. Their armour had been torn open, as if a creature had escaped from the inside, and their blood was scattered across the battlefield. He saw his allies too. Knocked to the floor from the explosion but unharmed. Then the pain started to flow through the rest of his body. The spell had been the most powerful he had ever conducted, and the pain was equally as magnificent. Every bone in his body felt like it was on fire, and his organs felt as though they were withering into nothing.

  He screamed, but no one came to his aid. Those who remained standing had started fighting again, and the ones who had been knocked to the floor were slowly regaining their footing. He screamed again. This time someone did pay notice to him. A hooded figure moved in close from beyond the enemy’s lines.

  The hooded man mouthed something, but with the ringing in his ears blocked out all other sound. Pain seared through his body once more, and this time he knew that it was the pain of a scar being left behind. The pain coursed through his leg and up into his back. His body arched and contorted itself as if with a mind of its own as it tried to shake away the agony. Then it stopped, as swiftly as it had started and Turiel knew from experience that the worst of it had passed. Only this time it hadn’t. Instead, the pain resurged into his body, but vastly different in its feel and less precise in its location.

  As he writhed on the ground Turiel caught sight of the hooded man again. His arms were outstretched, with the white streams of magic swirling around his fingers.

  He’s doing this to me, Turiel realised through gritted teeth as he tried his best to hold in the screams. He knew he couldn’t withstand the pain much longer; his body was already slipping into unconsciousness.

  Then she appeared, cleaving through the air like a griffin through the sky. She was a Hemeti, and in his dazed state Turiel mistook her for Jocelyn, the way she moved, the twin blades… but that wasn’t possible, she was safe.

  The Hemeti danced with the king’s warlock. Each trying to outdo the other, but it wasn’t a fight the Hemeti could win. Even with the pain of his most recent spell holding him back the warlock would likely be too much to overcome.

  • • •

  Jocelyn moved with precision. Her swords glided through the air, but her opponent wasn’t playing the same game. The hooded man who had been torturing Turiel danced out of her reach, his every step intent on keeping distance between himself and the opposing Hemeti woman. If he wasn’t willing to partake in this battle then she would struggle to win.

  The man was tall. His face covered in scars similar to Turiel, but where Turiel’s skin was a ghostly white, this man’s was red and misshapen, as though terribly burned many years prior. The brown eyes entrenched deep into his skull appeared hollow, as though long devoid of life, but Jocelyn knew not to underestimate her opponent.

  There was movement to her left as a man clad in the king’s colours darted through a series of trees and shrubbery in her direction. His sword was raised high in the air and was aiming for her. Jocelyn’s attention flitted between her assailant and the warlock she was still trying to catch with a lucky swing of her blade.

  There was no one in the area that could help; it was just the four of them as the rest of the remaining combatants had drifted off throughout the forest. She wanted to turn towards Turiel, who was still laid out on the floor, to pray that he was in a state where he could help. But she knew that was a fool’s hope for now. Instead, she turned her attention to the onrushing attacker. It left her open to the warlock, but she doubted he would have the strength to do any significant damage for a few minutes still after his attack on Turiel.

  The soldier was unimpressive. He wore garb different to that of the others, an officer and likely the man who had been put in charge of the company. He was younger than Jocelyn would have expected, not much older than herself, nut she held no sympathy and gripped onto her twin blades as she braced herself for his assault. The officer wielded a rapier instead of the traditional long sword. Jocelyn knew it would give him more movement, and with her severe lack of armour she’d be vulnerable to nicks and small cuts that could steadily wear her down. She didn’t intend on giving him the chance.

  The man rushed head first into Jocelyn’s counter attack. He leaped forward, rapier in hand and aimed directly for her heart, but she had been ready. Jocelyn parried the rapier away with her weaker sword arm and as the man rounded his attack to come back from underneath she brought down her second blade. The fight was over quicker than it had begun as her blade cut through the man’s striped shoulder-wear and down into his chest. His life left him instantly.

  Jocelyn was about to wrench her sword free of his limp body when a wave of energy bolted into her side and sent her crashing into the nearby trunk of a tree. The bones in her arm that had taken the brunt of the impact shattered on impact, and her swords scattered across the battlefield. She was defenceless as the hooded warlock lowered his hands and approached, dagger in hand.

  Chapter 34

  Lyvanne knew that Jocelyn would kill her, if one of the king’s men didn’t get to her first. But she wasn’t about to let all her friends die whilst she sat quietly on the edge of the woods. She gave Jocelyn a head start and then gave chase.

  With Kwah’s dagger, tucked inside the pocket of her travelling cloak, she gripped her bow with one hand and an arrow in the other. Her heart was pounding faster than it ever had done before. Everywhere she ran in the trees there were bodies, or the clatter of the final throes of the battle. It was chaos and she wasn’t entirely sure how she was convincing her legs to carry on further into it.

  The camp was on fire. Smoke billowed into the air and made it difficult to see where she was going. She’d lost sight of Jocelyn as she ran head first through the fire and smoke, but that wasn’t about to stop her.

  Weaving her way through the battlefield, Lyvanne found a surprising well of confidence that she hadn’t known existed within her. She darted out of the path of combatants the way she had done on the streets of Astreya. Passing by many without them even realising she had been there.

  The faces of the fighters had all become a blur. She avoided them all, regardless of the colours they wore. She treated every person she came across as dangerous, with the only exception being the green skinned Hemeti who she passed sporadically and with less frequency than she had expected.

  As she searched the camp, hoping that Jocelyn would suddenly appear she came upon her hut. It wasn’t on fire like some others, and it hadn’t been torn down for the defences she could see throughout the camp. But one of the walls had been brought down during the battle, and as Lyvanne crept around the corner she saw why. The battered and bloodied body of a Hemeti had been thrown into the structure.

  Her heart skipped a beat as she briefly considered the thought that it might be Jocelyn, but as she turned the body over she was met with the lifeless face of the elder Hemeti who had been rescued on the North Road. She wanted to feel sad, she wanted to cry for him and to tend to his body there and then, but will compelled her on and she darted onwards in search of her friends as the battle slowly died down around her.

  • • •

  Jocelyn crawled towards one of her swords. The impact with the tree had all but crippled her, and she knew that her chances of making it out of this alive had taken quite a significant downward turn. But she couldn’t give up yet.

  She could see Turiel lying on the ground just beyond the sword. His body had gone limp and his eyes were closed, but his chest rose steadily with each breath. Saying a silent prayer of thanks to Iridu, she continued her crawl.

  “Filth!” The robed warlock shouted as he came towards her. He’s over exuded himself, Jocelyn thought as she noticed a limp in his walk. The cost of using magic taking its toll on him.

  The insult washed over her, and she took some solace in the fact that this man appeared more intent on throwing emotional barrages rather than just finishing the job. If she couldn’t make it to her s
word and back up onto her feet then it wouldn’t matter much.

  The warlock caught up to her. He pressed the full weight of his body onto her bruised back as he trod over her and put his body between her and the sword.

  “How dare you attack me, you Hemeti scum,” The man said, saliva pouring through his jaws.

  Jocelyn didn’t cower. She was completely defensceless, but she wasn’t going to show any fear. Her eyes peered through the gap between the warlock’s feet. She could see Turiel on the other side, still unconscious. She looked around, there was no one nearby, the battle had long since moved on. For all she knew it could be over by now, there was little sound of warfare anymore and it was entirely possible they’d already lost.

  “Finish me,” Jocelyn snarled at the man towering over her.

  She half expected the man to smirk, to be taken over by the same lust and anger that had consumed Drystal. But he didn’t. Instead his eyes moved beyond Jocelyn.

  “Finish me!” Jocelyn shouted again, sick of the games, sick of the waiting.

  The man’s eyes didn’t move. “You’re her…” he said, his eyes still focused beyond Jocelyn.

  “Let her go, you’ve lost,” The voice came from behind Jocelyn, she knew it instantly and tried her best to swivel on the floor.

  “Lyvanne!” Jocelyn shouted, unable to control her anger. “Get out of here now!”

  The young girl stood a few feet behind Jocelyn, her bow raised and an arrow pointed directly at the heart of the warlock.

  “All these people have died for you little girl… is it not time you repay them?” The warlock said, goading Lyvanne into action.

  Lyvanne stood there rigid in her spot. She didn’t break her gaze from the man’s eyes.

  “They died because of the king, they died because of you.”

  The warlock finally let out a smirk. “Melruin said you had fire within you. It’s almost a shame that I have to snuff it out.”

  Jocelyn tried to rise to her feet. She used anything and everything she could get her hands on as leverage, but nothing worked. She had been injured too badly and now Lyvanne was facing down impossible odds on her own.

  “Run, Lyvanne! He’ll kill you,” she pleaded. She was meant to stay behind, she shouldn’t be here.

  “You’ve lost, consider it a courtesy that I’m giving you the chance to run.” Lyvanne replied, as coolly as the adrenaline would allow.

  Jocelyn looked at the fire behind Lyvanne’s eyes, there was something different about her. Like she had found a well of confidence that hadn’t been there before.

  “What do you mean I’ve lost?” The man replied.

  He didn’t wait for her to answer. His gaze darted beyond their own small plane of battle and into the woods and camp surrounding them. There was no one nearby, but there were figures moving in the distance through the smoke. None of them were sporting the king’s colours. The Spring had won the battle.

  Jocelyn could see the conflict in the man’s eyes. If he stayed then he would die, but he would be able to take Lyvanne down with him before he did. If he ran, then he and Lyvanne would likely survive, but he would have to explain what happened to the king. Jocelyn wasn’t sure that cowardice would win out this time and she tried one last time to put herself in the firing line between the man and Lyvanne. Using the last of her strength, she pushed up onto her knees and finally back onto her feet, though she felt like they could give way at any second.

  “Your friend is foolish,” the man said to Lyvanne, who Jocelyn was now shielding with her one good arm.

  Leave, Jocelyn pleaded with Lyvanne internally as she felt her discretely press something into Jocelyn’s one working hand. Kwah’s dagger she realised as her fingers curved around the smooth ebony handle. At the very least she wasn’t defenceless anymore, and the warlock knew it too.

  Their opponent surveyed the situation one last time. There were people calling out now, voices in the smoke searching for survivors, no doubt they would find them soon. If they did then it wasn’t very likely that they’d let a warlock stick around alive. Self-preservation and exhaustion won the hour. The man pulled his hood tight around his face and began to run for the edge of the woods where the battle had first begun, his cloak whipping in the smoke clouded air behind him.

  Jocelyn collapsed. She wanted to go after him—the prospect of letting any of the enemy get out alive, let alone a warlock seemed like a bad idea—but she didn’t have any strength left after being blasted by the magic that he had used against her.

  “Are you okay?” Lyvanne asked as she knelt down by Jocelyn’s side.

  “Yes… check on… Turiel,” Jocelyn said through gritted teeth as she tried to conceal the pain from her broken arm.

  • • •

  Lyvanne ran over to Turiel’s side. The smoke was beginning to seep into her lungs as it drifted through the woods, so she tore off a piece of her tunic and held it against her face.

  “Turiel,” she said, using her spare hand to shake him by the shoulder. “Wake up.”

  She was still scared. Her hands shaking as she tried to revive her friend. She’d dropped her bow by Jocelyn, and she had to keep swinging her head to look through the blurred world all around her to make sure she didn’t need it again.

  “Wake up!” she said, louder this time.

  “Lyvanne?” The reply came not from Turiel or Jocelyn, but from a barely recognisable figure wading through the drifting smoke and feint rays of moonlight.

  “Kwah? Over here,” Lyvanne shouted towards the man who had now broken into a quick jog in her direction.

  Breaking through the line of smoke and into her clear vision Kwah appeared almost unrecognisable. A steady stream of blood trickled down his forehead from a small gash near the top of his scalp and the left sleeve of his gambeson was shredded in multiple places, leaving blood pouring down his arm.

  “Are you okay?” Lyvanne asked meekly as she stared at his injuries.

  “Never mind me, what are you doing here?” Kwah asked gruffly as he bent down beside Turiel and made to lift him up onto his shoulders.

  “I -

  Kwah waved her off after he spotted Jocelyn lying nearby. “Answers later. Can you help her walk? We need to get out of this wood.”

  Lyvanne nodded and ran back towards Jocelyn. “Come on, let’s get out of here,” she said as she put Jocelyn’s arm around her shoulder, picked up her bow with her spare hand and began to follow Kwah out of the forest.

  “You saved me, you know?” Jocelyn said through a forced smile.

  Lyvanne smiled back. She knew that the telling off would come later, but for now she was content to enjoy the praise. “I guess we’re even now.”

  Chapter 35

  Lyvanne collapsed on to the grassy floor at the edge of the woods, sending Jocelyn rolling onto her injured arm as she did.

  “I’m… sorry!” Lyvanne sputtered through a series of coughs. The smoke had filled her lungs as they tried to escape but she’d managed to get Jocelyn out of there unharmed.

  Jocelyn waved off her apology with her good arm as she went into a coughing fit of her own. Lyvanne lay down beside her, the morning dew was cool to the touch and was a refreshing change from the chaos of the woods. The scene around her was less calm. In every direction there were people pouring out of the woods, some carrying their friends over their shoulders and others looking worse for wear themselves. Lyvanne spotted Greyson, but not his brother Davidson, a weary and lost look behind his eyes as he slowly trundled out of the forest and fell down to his knees, exhaustion taking hold.

  Tyler the medic was already fast at work, tending to the more critically injured members of The Spring whilst leaving those who appeared somewhat unscathed to look after themselves. Whilst the rest of them had seen out the night, Lyvanne figured that Tyler’s night was only just beginning.

  “Where are you hurt?” Tyler said as he finally made his way around to Jocelyn’s side. The way she was holding her right arm indicated where the proble
m was, but she was stubborn and didn’t want the help.

  “Help the others,” Jocelyn said, trying to forcefully push him on to the rest of those waiting for his help.

  Lyvanne noticed that his left leg had been badly gashed around the thigh, and bandaged up with some torn fabric. “Are you okay Tyler?” she asked.

  “I’ll be fine, kid,” he replied, the usual care in his voice had been replaced by concern for the others.

  Lyvanne watched as Tyler tore off swathes of Jocelyn’s own tunic and formed a very makeshift sling which he wrapped around her broken arm. It left her side open to the elements, her green skin bruised from the battle. Jocelyn didn’t appear to mind the exposure as she felt the weight of her arm being taken away. “Thank you,” she said weakly “Now, please help the others.”

  Tyler nodded. “I can’t do much more right now, so stay off the arm and keep it elevated.” And just like that, he darted off to the next patient.

  Lyvanne looked around. She hadn’t seen where Kwah had carried Turiel off too at first, but now that the scene around her was beginning to settle she could see the pair off towards the edge of the cluster. Turiel had thankfully regained consciousness and it appeared as though Kwah was taking the opportunity to rest by his friend’s side as they both sat quietly in the grass.

  Lyvanne helped Jocelyn to her feet and the pair made their way over to Kwah and Turiel, knowing that it was better to talk to them now before they decided they were rested enough and wanted to get stuck in with helping the others.

  “Are you okay?” Jocelyn asked Turiel as they approached.

  Turiel met her gaze. “About as okay as I can expect to be.”

  Lyvanne could see the pain in his eyes as water welled in the corners. She wasn’t sure if he was still feeling the effects of whatever spell he had cast during the battle, or whether he had been hurt by a blade, but there was something which still haunted him.

  Kwah rose from his position on the grass and walked to meet Lyvanne. “You were supposed to be safe in a far off village by now, Lyavnne! You could have been killed.”