The New Age Saga Box Set

by Timothy A. Ray

  “Negligence? I wrought? I went after you! I sped across the breadth of the lands chasing the goblins that kidnapped you! I’m sorry I failed, but this wasn’t me; this isn’t you. Look at what that witch has done to my beautiful little girl!” Amysta cried, sorrow dripping from every word.

  Rain pelted the young girl’s face as she grinned wider. “Do not cry, I forgive you, Mother. Come, let us kiss one final time, have one last embrace before we part. Do not fret, my father will soon be joining you.” With that, she took another step forward, her arms spread wide.

  Riska planted himself between the mother and daughter, his axe held ready. “Dinnae listen tae 'er lass. Yer dochter is gain. Th' Horseman is aw 'at she is noo. Best ye kill 'er frae afar, dinnae lit 'er tooch ye.”

  “Meddling dwarf!” Bella screamed in rage as she lunged at the warrior.

  “No!” Amysta wailed. She leapt forward just as Riska brought his axe up to meet the oncoming Horseman.

  It was enough of a distraction that Riska paused and Willow watched in horror as Bella grabbed the dwarf, then planted her lips on the warrior’s face. Cries of pain echoed across the palace grounds as the dwarf was consumed by the evil magic brought to bear. Blood ran from his eyes, black sludge leaked from his ears, and the once hearty warrior was suddenly weak and hollow. He fell to his knees before the armored figure holding him and tried to groan, but nothing issued forth but bubbles of yellow ooze. Then he fell forward, his axe falling from his twitching, lifeless fingers.

  “My Master was owed that for the death of my predecessor, you piece of shit!” Bella raged, kicking the corpse of the fallen warrior.

  Willow’s soul cried out in absolute terror; the scene forever etched in her mind. She almost broke with panic and ran for it; her hand moving to her stomach as if shielding her daughter’s eyes from seeing it with her.

  “Thank you for saving me, Mother,” a composed Bella cooed, as she slithered forth, her soaked cloak dragging along behind her as her hands reached for the Elven Queen.

  “You are not my daughter,” Amysta proclaimed, drawing her sword. “But if you want to hug it out, fine! Let’s get on with it!” the queen roared as she brought her weapon up and prepared to strike.

  Bella cackled and moved to do just that.

  V

  Bella’s father had no clue what was going on back at the palace; he had his hands full. The mages had been throwing magic at the Horseman, giving everything they had to put an end to the fiendish monster, but very little damage appeared to be done to it. The gargoyle’s wings deflected the majority of their attacks, the scythe destroying the rest as if they were nothing but snowballs flung by children.

  Erik had been waiting for his chance to strike, keeping out of the path of the weapon arc, having seen what power it held; what it could do to a person. But his men were counting on him and he wasn’t about to give up that easily. He just needed to be patient and wait for an opening to present itself.

  Merlin sent another wave of fire at the creature as Serix began chanting, his eyes going white. The gargoyle lunged at the necromancer, taking the fire with his left wing and ignoring the temporary pain it caused; the flames quickly doused by the falling rain. The Horseman’s weapon had come close enough to stun the younger man and his magic failed him. His face turned pale, his lips cracked, and he looked to be on the edge of death.

  With a cackle, the lumbering creature pushed forward and was suddenly rocked by a small earthquake at its feet. Erik almost lost his balance, Excalibur held over his head, wavering. Merlin went down to one knee and Serix almost faceplanted but at the last second was able to get a hand up to break his fall.

  He could hear elvish words of magic being spoken to his right and the hairs on his arms began to rise. There was a loud clash and a flash of bright light as lightening lanced out of the storm above and struck the gargoyle at the back of the neck. The creature thrust its chest forward, his wings spread towards the heavens as he howled in pain.

  Revan stepped into view, his staff held before him, his mouth constantly moving.

  The scythe came up and severed the link between creature and storm, the lightening flashing and striking the ground around him in an arc. Though freed, the gargoyle was temporarily stunned as it reeled from the agony it was experiencing, the smell of burning flesh upon the air.

  “Sul!” his magister bellowed, waving the staff in front of him, and a gust of wind struck the gargoyle, forcing him back a step.

  “Dabit vitam!” Serix croaked, his fingers reaching towards the horde of goblins watching the battle hungrily nearby. White light spread forth, enveloping a dozen of the creatures and Erik watched as they suddenly fell to their knees screaming in terror. The life winked out of their eyes as the magic surged back into the necromancer, who suddenly regained his color and promptly rose to his feet; dusting off his robes as if nothing had happened. Then the mage screamed “resurgemus!” at the freshly-made corpses and they began to twitch and stir. Shakenly getting to their feet, the undead warriors steadied themselves, then glanced at their new master. With a wave of his hand, the necromancer sent them against the stunned gargoyle, their weapons raised, slacken jaws clicking as they marched forth.

  He found himself once more grateful that necromancer was on their side.

  “Erik! You need to finish this!” Merlin hollered at him as the mage sent another burst of blue fire straight into the gargoyle’s face.

  Death reeled from the sudden onslaught and the undead corpses descended upon him in a haphazard fashion. The scythe flew overhead but the corpses kept coming, their weapons hacking at their former master. They were already dead, and Death had no life to free from them.

  He stepped into the grasslands, determined to do as Merlin bade, trusting that he would not do so if it would end up costing him his life. The magician had never steered him wrong; he trusted the man completely. So, with a grim set of his lips, he brought up his shield and went to meet the Horseman in battle.

  The gargoyle roared as the undead goblins began attacking him from all sides, physically kicking them off and tearing into them with his claws. Torn limbs flew in all directions and a head bounced past his right leg as he moved forward.

  The scythe came around again but this time, Erik was ready. He used Excalibur to parry the blow and the blade came to life, white light flaring into existence and engulfing him entirely. It surged down the length of the blade as the enemy’s weapon acted like a conduit for the sword’s magic. It shot down the shaft and into the gargoyle’s wrist, attacking it with vigor. With a grunt of pain, the fingers opened, and the reaper’s weapon fell to the ground with a soft thud.

  He could hear people chanting around him, but he ignored it as he moved forward once more. Vines shot out of the ground and wrapped themselves around the gargoyle’s legs, as white light hit the creature’s snout. Blue fire set the black robes on fire as he closed on the Horseman; bringing Excalibur to bear.

  Wide eyes full of terror, the beast watched as the Sword of Kings plunged forward and pierced it’s thrumming heart. The agony that ripped out of the creature was beyond any that he had ever beheld, and he almost had to cover his ears against the ferocity of its voice.

  “Go back to hell!” he screamed at the creature, as he twisted his sword and watched as the light suddenly left the gargoyle’s eyes, the specter of Death sent spiraling into the afterlife where he belonged. The large Horseman fell backwards, yanking Excalibur free, the black robes twitching as if in death throes of their own. Breathing heavy, he looked towards the other magicians and smiled; they had conquered Death.

  Roars of rage issued forth from the army around them and it suddenly occurred to him where he was standing. Taking a step back towards his front lines, he brought Excalibur around and prepared to meet the oncoming horde. Magic was brought to bear, as the three magic users attempted to give him cover, but they couldn’t stop them all. With a firm grip on his sword, he went to battle once more.

  Chapter 28
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  Cousins

  I

  Tristan snapped awake, aware that he was vulnerable and face down on a battlefield. His head pounding as he forced himself to his knees and looked around.

  A griffin was breathing rapidly on his side just to his right, dirt ripped up from where the mighty beast had impacted shortly after dropping him. He saw no sign of the bearer of the black boots and he prayed that they had survived being thrown free.

  There was no sign of pursuit yet from the armies battling to the south, but upon taking a closer look, he was shocked to see most of both sides were standing still; as if waiting on something. They all were looking in one direction and he wondered what had drawn so many combatants to pause and forget what they were doing? Even the whips were silent, and it caused an eerily silence that made him nervous.

  Getting to his feet, he brushed the dirt off his armor and checked himself for injuries. He was a bit banged up, but all things considered—in good shape. At least he was still alive. He knew that he would be feeling it later after things calmed down; if he lived that long. Yet for now, there was nothing for it but to push on.

  Movement to his right caught his eye and he turned to see a man in red armor standing thirty yards away, the helm removed, eyes fixed and watching him. A head wound had caused some bleeding down one side of his face, but he was still easily recognizable; Clint.

  Adrenaline immediately started pumping through his veins as he drew Purity and Justice, the swords sliding easily free and held at the ready. His helm felt stifling but there was no way he was going to remove it. If he was going to die, let the Horseman work for it. “What are you waiting for? I’m right here you bastard! I’m still waiting for you to try and make good on your promise, or does your black heart not care that your father is worm food?” he taunted, the long seconds that followed were agonizing as his body had anticipated immediate conflict.

  Clint drew his greatsword and walked towards the fallen griffin. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?” the former aide sneered. “Always got someone watching your back. Well, let’s take care of that, shall we?” The large weapon came down and pierced the injured griffin in the chest and the labored breathing suddenly stopped.

  “You fucking asshole! I’m the one you want—let’s end this,” he pursued, anger flashing hotly beneath his skin; forcing him to move in a semi-circle around the armored figure.

  “You really have changed. It’s not just whatever some witch did to your body; you’re completely a different person inside as well. Shouldn’t you be off reading a book somewhere instead of playing hero?” the man returned, eyeing him closely. They had known each other for over a decade and it was like they were seeing each other for the first time.

  He laughed, unable to help it. “That your plan? Bore me to death? I thought you wanted revenge for what I did to your father?”

  The Horseman shook his head. “You might have got the best of me last night, but see, I know different. I know what really happened. My Queen showed me every detail. Every—detail,” Clint sneered.

  He had to be talking about the black witch that raped him. Well—so be it, he was beyond that and there was no point in even thinking about it now. “Then you saw me kill that witch and the death of your father. The feeble old man couldn’t even put up a fight.”

  The calculating eyes of his enemy watched him closely and then smirked. “Pestilence is currently taking care of the whore that killed my father. I’m just waiting for confirmation before I end your life. I want you to know that your wife and daughter died slowly, your infant fetus ripped from your elven bitch’s stomach and thrown to Pestilence’s chimera as a midday snack.”

  He had to fight with every ounce of his soul not to charge the man right then. Was Willow in danger? She was surrounded by the entire reserved army. She had Riska and Amysta there protecting her, as well as fairy bodyguards. It seemed too ludicrous to be true, yet there was something in the man’s eyes that spoke a darker truth that made his spine shiver in fear.

  “You really are a bastard, you know that?” he countered, trying to control his anger. “We took you in, gave you a place at our table, and you repay my father’s generosity with murdering my mother and then the man himself. What kind of monster does that? What does it take? Do you even have a soul left or did you give it all to her?”

  Clint’s face went passive. “Surely you realize that I was sent there with a purpose from the very start? None of it was actually real. It was a long-con designed to install me on the throne and allow my Queen to easily take Lancaster without a fight. I’m glad it didn’t work, because this way, I get to kill you all, instead of watching you get sent to the slave camps. That would have been—an unfortunate loss of opportunity.”

  He paused where he was, ten yards from the man that murdered his parents and even though it pained him greatly to do so, he sheathed his swords.

  Confusion filled the other man’s eyes and for the first time since he’d known the former aide, Clint was a loss for words.

  Fingers moving slowly, he undid the gauntlet on his left hand, flexing his fingers as he slid it free. Sweat and grime were caked over the scar, but the rain immediately started washing it clean so as to be visible to the naked eye.

  “Giving up so easily? Not even going to put up a fight? Well—that’s disappointing,” Clint remarked, disgust filling his voice. “After everything I’ve done to you and yours, you are just going to stand there and let me kill you? What are you really playing at?”

  He held up his hand, his thumb sliding across the scar on his palm. “I just wanted you to see something before you die. You see, I made an oath to someone, and I plan to see it fulfilled.’

  Clint’s eyes narrowed, eyes fixed on his open hand and Tristan forced a smile. He had found the owner of those black boots, and she was moving into a flanking position while he kept the man distracted. He had shifted his way around to give her Clint’s back, and now he just needed a few seconds more and it would be finished; one way or another. Though he had wanted this for himself, dead was dead; that’s all that mattered.

  His adversary must have caught the movement of his eyes, because Clint jerked his head around an instant before Kylee could strike and began moving in the opposite direction. The greatsword flashed as the armored warrior struck out against the elven woman, the ranger growling as she parried a blow with both her knives; white eyes flaring with hate.

  He had slid his glove back on, gripped the hilts of his swords and pulled them free, then charged the man who so foolishly turned his back on him.

  Whipping himself around, Clint tried to keep them both to his front, retreating a little to the left to meet Tristan’s oncoming charge just as he parried another of Kylee’s strikes. She had lost all sense of reason and was fighting with complete abandon. The feral look on her face almost gave him pause and he was glad that he wasn’t the one she had her sights set upon.

  He struck with Purity, and it glanced off Clint’s blade as he came up with Justice; striking Clint just beneath the arm pit. The sword bounced off the hardened armor, his opponent’s greatsword arcing down in retaliation. Stepping to the side, he dodged the blow intended to cleave his head from his shoulders, just as Kylee slipped in and tried to drive one of her daggers through a seam in the man’s armor.

  Clint howled with rage as he let go of his sword with his left hand and backhanded the elf across the face, her momentum carrying her swiftly past. She stumbled from the blow and Tristan used the opportunity to go on the offensive once more. Slashing with both swords, he met blow after blow as he drove the man backwards, raining hell upon him with every skill and trick in his ancient arsenal.

  The greatsword had been retrieved and caught the strike of both his weapons as the two men circled each other, a foot apart, both sets of eyes blazing. “You really are pathetic, letting a woman do your dirty work while you hide behind her skirt,” Clint sneered, giving him a shove.

  He growled as he pushed for
ward once more, dodging attacks; failing to land a good strike against the magical armor that the Phoenix had adorned her Horseman in. “You butchered her family for gold. You poison old men and women, murder infants, betray your blood to an evil bitch, and you call me pathetic?” He landed a hard blow against the man’s left arm at the elbow and he heard a quick hiss of pain from his opponent.

  Clint kicked out with his right leg, landing it against his exposed mid-section and sending him pinwheeling backwards. The Horseman launched himself forward, his weapon held high.

  He barely had time to parry the killing blow and ended up losing his footing altogether, falling flat on his back. Trying to catch his breath, he held his swords ready to defend himself, unable to reasonably get to his feet without exposing himself to another devastating attack.

  The Horseman towered over him, a smirk planted firmly upon his face. “When I finish with you, I’ll hunt down and kill that oaf of a brother of yours. Then make sure that your wife has been taken care of. If Pestilence hasn’t killed her yet, I’ll make sure to do it myself—after I finish what my father started.”

  He glowered back at the man, anger finally overwhelming him. The thought of Willow being touched by this fiend made his blood boil. His eyes darted for some way to break free and gain his feet, but any movement would be met with a swift strike of his enemy’s sword. He had to hope that he’d parry in time, then move as Clint drew back to strike again.