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 he 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, but he didn’t want to push it any further than they already had.
Merlin bounded into view on the left, his bag 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 enough 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 consuming him.
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 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 creatures 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 23
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 thou? 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.
<
br /> “My name is Revan, my Lord,” he told the confused man staring at him with wide eyes.
Erik shook his head. “What are thou? 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.
“Wherefore thy knowest mine 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 mine pate again? This one of his infamous pranks? Well, cheers, thou got me. Hie get that miserable pest and summon mine wife, I want 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 right now 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 didst thou aye let that magician doth that thee? Didst thou lose a bet?” the king asked, 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. “Thou wot, I once told that crazy corky 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 corky bat of a witch. You’ve got to watch what thou say around him, he tends to take thou literally. Not all there 'i the pate.”
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 hast 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.
“Where’s Amysta? Why isn’t she here?” Erik croaked, head turning towards him, his face strained.
“My Lord?” he asked, surging to his feet. He went quickly to the king’s side and sat on the bed next to him. “Is it really you?”
There was the low rumble of a chuckle. “Who else would it be? Where’s my wife? What happened?” Revan placed a hand over the king’s out of relief, and the odd gesture was not lost on his old friend. “What is it? Did something happen to her?”
Erik was struggling to sit up in bed and Revan didn’t have to force the smile that stretched across his face. “Not that I know of, Sire. You got sick and we were forced to bring you back to your chambers. Everyone was ready to depart, so she got her armor and led the men west after your daughter.”
“And you let her go?” the king asked in a groan.
“Do you think I could’ve stopped her?” he returned with a chuckle. It felt good to talk to his king again, a feeling that he wasn’t sure would ever return. “Sire, are you aware of what’s going on?”
“You mean that my daughter’s been kidnapped, and I’m supposed to be out there right now hunting them down? But instead, I’m here in bed and my back feels like I’ve been in one position way too long? How long was I out?” Erik asked, wiping his arm across his eyes.
“Almost a week, Sire,” he told the other man, and saw the confusion on his face. “Listen, something happened when we were talking. Do you have any recollection of that?”
Erik’s eyes shifted to the side as he tried to recall everything that had happened before blacking out. It was a struggle for him, but he saw a flash of pain cross the king’s face and knew that he was slowly starting to remember.
“You were talking about some mage and a sword. I don’t recall what else, just that I had a flood of these nightmares that’d been plaguing me rush through my head. Then only black,” Erik told him somberly, fingers massaging his temple. “I don’t understand what happened.”
He spoke slowly, trying to keep his voice even as he explained to his sovereign everything that had happened and what he suspected was the cause. As Erik listened with widening eyes, he saw the grief and confusion intensify, and hoped he wasn’t making matters worse.
“Are you saying that I woke up just a bit ago, but it wasn’t me?” the king pushed, trying to figure out if he was being lied to and not sure of the purpose if he was.
“Yes, Sire,” he nodded.
Jarel entered the room behind him with a tray and quickly came to the bedside upon seeing his King awake and alert.
“What’s with the soup?” Erik asked the excited aide.
Jarel chuckled and quickly apologized, looking to Revan, who nodded in return. The aide rushed from the room to get something solid for the King to eat and hope began to fill Revan’s heart. Maybe they’d dodged an arrow after all.
When he turned back to look at his revived friend, he paused at the change that had come over the other elf’s face and his hope quickly vanished.
“Is this Merlin’s tonic?”
II
They had taken a more southern route as they made their way back to Forlorn, the queen insisting that they avoid the villages they’d passed on their first journey through. Pendoran had wanted to take the more direct approach, but she was unwavering in her determination to not see those tragic ruins again.
As they set out towards the rising sun, she battled with grief over the loss of her daughter. For surely, there was no way she’d ever see her again. How would she explain to her husband that she failed? She grieved enough already without seeing the pained look of guilt on her husband’s face. He would blame himself for not going himself, despite the sudden illness that had afflicted him. Could he have done better?
She shook her head and tried to clear the questions away. It was doing her more harm than good, and she had to focus on just putting one foot in front of another, or hoof in this case. Lost in thought, she let the sudden showers soothe her hot skin, the raging storm overhead reflecting her dispirited soul.
“Halt!” Pendoran suddenly commanded to
her right and she jerked out of her grief and looked widely at the world around her.
The other knights suddenly came to a stop and her eyes searched her surroundings, trying to spy what had caused her companion’s sudden need to stop their trek forward.
Gusts of smoke billowed on the horizon and suddenly she knew that she was witnessing the death of another village. All the grief that had been filling her was now pushed down by sudden rage. The loss of life, the way these people had died, had angered her to the core, and now it rose unchecked as she kicked her horse forward and charged ahead.
“My Queen!” Pendoran suddenly called in panic, but she ignored it. She couldn’t help her daughter, she’d be damned if she’d let these people die as well.
She heard the thunder of hooves behind her, but her mount was swiftly keeping her ahead of their chase. Reaching for her waist, she withdrew her sword, ready to meet whatever danger lay ahead head on.
The roaring infernal slowly came into view and she once again saw the slain livestock and farmlands around her. It was happening again! Cries of stricken peasants pierced the air and with a violent scream, a winged creature burst from the flames and hovered over the billowing smoke. Her eyes traced it and lingered on the horror that emerged above.
A very large harpy was soaring over the village with bright silver feathers and orange tinted skin. Large talons gripped at the air as it dove towards the ground in search of new prey. Rising from the smoke seconds later, it held a flailing human within its scaled monstrous talons. Before her eyes, she watched as the body suddenly shriveled into nothing but bone, and a shriek of pleasure erupted from the evil creature gripping it. Then the talons let it go and the wings once more pumped and soared looking for another victim to attack.
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