“If they are leaderless, it will be difficult for them to win. If they have no motive, no cause to rally, we will win the war.” Optimistic prompted. He lifted a leaf of murthweeld to his mouth, chewing methodically.
“You are right. It’s just… I can’t see the plan. There’s something in the way, and the Rakhai are coming…”
Eliesmore could not sleep that evening. He sat in the grass, facing west as they made camp, ignoring the easy chatter from Optimistic, Skip and Bruthen. Lythe rubbed up against his back and snuggled down with his head on Eliesmore’s knee. Lifting a hand, Eliesmore rested it on Lythe’s head, a calming sensation passing through his veins as Lythe purred.
Eliesmore sat still until Lythe drifted to sleep and the lights of the night winked into view. Even as darkness fell, his vision remained clear and pure as if a light glowed ever before him. The sounds of the night filled his ears. He could smell the rich soil, hear the growing grass and see the woodland creatures of the night, weaving in and out of the wheat-like grass. He opened his hands, and green and gold light poured out, drifting upward into the night sky. A thrill rippled through him as he watched, he was becoming powerful. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, allowing what was inside of him to grow and mature. There. He felt it. Power. Deep, intense power which shook him to his core. It was nothing like what he felt when he destroyed the Dark Servant; there was something else, something bigger and stronger. For a moment it became visible, and he could see it, swelling up inside of him before it blinked out and he was left with a strong knowledge, too comprehensive to understand. A voice sounded deep within, and he wasn’t sure if it were his voice or some outer being, existing within him. A riot of confusion twirled through his head, and he felt a laugh well up inside of him. Whether it was from mirth or something else, he knew not. A surge of power flooded through him again, and he sat up straighter, keeping watch while his companions drifted into a dreamless sleep.
34
Sarhorr
Year 797 (146 years ago). Daygone.
Striding up the steps, he uttered the words to release her from his spell. Her eyes flashed as she perceived her freedom, glowering at him. Before she could mutter a reproach, he spoke. “So . . . you are on my side.”
“I have always been on your side. You were the one who saw fit to send me away from you.”
“Hush. It is past now. I spoke with our daughter. Blood of our blood. She will walk in our steps. She will open the path before us, leading us to victory. You have done well.”
She grimaced. “You praise my efforts, yet you never entrusted me enough to disclose who you are. Do you understand what we can attain with your might and power?”
“I explained enough.” He waved his hand in dismissal as he approached her, taking pleasure in the aura of her indignation. "Oh, ye of little faith why did you not trust me with your name?”
“Given the way you reacted earlier, I believe it is a moot point. If you had identified me, you would have cast me away.”
“Perhaps. This makes vengeance all the sweeter. Tell me, do your parents still live? Do they know?”
Her eyes were cold as she froze. She did not want him to know. There were still secrets she held from him.
“Ah.” He spoke after a beat, allowing her space to answer. “Stay with me. Our daughter will travel back to the thickets whence she came. When she is ready, she will return. She has learned from you. When she comes back, she will study with me.”
“What are you going to do with me?”
He strode toward her, his movements as exquisite as the birds that flew from his tower. If she desired, he presumed she could fly away like those winged beasts. He shook his finger at her. “That is not the question. You should ask what you will do for me.”
She raised her chin in arrogance. “I am not your servant.”
“No?” He relished playing with her. “There is no servitude between you and me. You are going to Castle Range, and you will steal the Phutal from my brother and sister.”
Her eyes grew large. “The Phutal?”
“Consider. You know what it is. Your knowledge reaches deep. Think.”
Her eyes fell, examining the stone floor for answers. A hand quivered as it came up as if warding him off. “I know what it is. I assumed they were all destroyed.”
He arched an eyebrow. “You were concerned with the Green Stone; you did not study all sides of the equation.”
“What are you going to do with the power to teleport between worlds? You have previously sought to open portals into worlds and look what transpired.”
“I succeed,” he clenched his fists, despising the reminder of what happened in the Western World. “I called all kinds of dark creatures to wreak destruction on the Western World, and I prevailed. Do not challenge me. Nay, do not mock me with your words.”
“Please,” she twisted her hands in front of her, a gesture he suspected their daughter had picked up from her. “Our intention was never to destroy the world. If the dark creatures come forth, the mortals will not have a chance.”
He locked eyes with her. “The mortals never had a chance.”
"If I refuse?"
"No one ever refuses me."
He seized her in his arms, one hand coming up to graze her cheek. She leaned into his caress torn between desire and propriety. "Did you take a mate when you were away from me?"
Her face flushed with the accusation. She lifted a hand to touch his face. “You know better than to ask such a question.” Her voice became gentle as she leaned into him. “As great and terrible as you are, there is no one like you.”
Lifting her hair, he ran his fingers through it, threading bunches of it through his hands before he yanked her, tugging her by her fine threads and spinning her away from him. Gasping in surprise one of her pale green hands flew to her head to fight him away. He batted her hand away, growling behind his teeth as he clasped his free arm around her waist, pulling her firmly against his body. Using her hair as a leash, he pulled her head back until she arched her back, her light eyes rolling upward to look at him.
“You are hurting me, let me go,” she cried.
Ignoring her request, he shoved her against the stone wall, letting go of her hair to move her hands up above her head, trapping them with one of his. Writhing she attempted to escape, even as he slapped her bottom. One slow ringing slap after the other, listening to the echoes across the chamber.
“One day,” his voice grew deep with his arousal as he growled into her ear. “One day you shall worship me, as the stars do. You will show your respect for me.”
She twitched once more before giving in, relaxing under his grasp. “I have done nothing but adore you,” she objected, tilting her head, attempting to catch his eyes again.
Slacking his hold, he leaned his face down toward the nape of her neck, inhaling. Before he could react, she spun, fingers out as she ripped his shirt down the front, her sharp nails ranking across his body. He roared, tossing the shredded shirt away. She darted just out of reach as he bellowed, unable to resist. Leaping after her, his hands caught the back of her dress and ripped, almost choking her before the silk came apart in his hands, displaying the fine lines of her green back.
The dress collapsed around her feet, and she kicked it aside, brazenly showing off her round navel and curvaceous hips. She walked toward him, tossing her hair over one shoulder, her eyes traveling across his muscular physique. His breath came rapidly as she stared up at him, throwing her hands around his shoulders. In one movement she captured his lips with hers, her kiss hard and insistent, drawing him to the brink of sanity. One of her legs came up, twisting around his as she moved over his length, moans escaping from the back of her throat. Discarding his pants between breaths, he pulled her down to the cold stone floor with him, turned her over and took her again and again as if his lust would never be sated.
35
Eliesmore
Days later, Eliesmore and his companions fell silent as they
walked through the gates of what seemed to be a dead wood. Thick, gnarly branches twisted into short and stunted shapes, creating faces that lined a dusty path. Dead leaves crackled underfoot, helping them keep their footing against the slick pine needles that sought to trip them up. Eliesmore held his face up, listening for the friendly wind which seemed to always be at their backs, yet there was nothing. A sixth sense itched, telling him something was wrong. Glancing back at his friends, Eliesmore noted Flywinger and Lythe trotting in the back as if nothing were wrong, while Skip and Bruthen marched behind Eliesmore and Optimistic, their eyes wide with eager expectation. Turing back to face the front, Eliesmore continued to lead them onward.
The trees held out their bare brown branches as if they did not want to carry them anymore. Eliesmore imagined, if they had been people, they would have walked hunched backed with shoulders sagging toward the ground, unwilling to stand tall and fight another day. A mix of sadness and anger permeated the air, and an angry shout came. Eliesmore.
He paused, his fingers dancing to his sword hilt as his eyes narrowed. Why should the Rakhai come bother him and his friends? He was tired of being chased, tired of his friend being wounded, tired of the journey ripping them apart. Why should he run? Why should he hide? He was the One.
“Eliesmore?” Optimistic asked.
Eliesmore blinked, clearing the maddening glaze out of his eyes as Optimistic, Skip and Bruthen stared at him. “Listen,” Eliesmore pulled his sword out of its sheath. “There is a Monrage out there, following us. I will confront the Monrage. Don’t try to stop me.”
“At least let me come with you,” Optimistic offered.
“No,” Eliesmore shook his head, even though he’d never fought a Monrage without a power keeper nearby. “Optimistic, this is my battle. Our lives are at risk, run on, out of danger. I will rejoin you when I can.”
Optimistic opened his mouth to argue. Instead, his face turned pale and his hand dropped to his old wound, where a Monrage had stabbed him months before. Skip and Bruthen stood to the side without a word although he could see the terror written on their faces. Flywinger nodded his head in encouragement while Lythe whimpered, not understanding what was about to happen.
Eliesmore walked down the brown path, curving back toward open meadows. Terror and fear were emotions of a past life, he moved with a certain determination until his feet picked up and he was running. He held his sword in both hands as he dashed forward. He was strong. He was the One. He was born for a purpose, to defeat evil, to restore balance to the Four Worlds. He had to finish what he started.
The forest seemed to close in around him as he moved, and a vague fog rose from the ground. He heard a voice chanting in the Valikai Dialect. You will fail. You will fall. The power doth belong to us.
He slowed down to a walk as he listened, the voice echoing around him. He came to a stop, standing still he listened to the voice, absorbing the disgust, the hate and the disgruntled pain which flowed from it. As he listened, he recognized his sword would not be enough. Unlike his fight with the Dark Servant, it wasn’t solely based on his ability to wield the sword. He shuddered, attempting to block out the words. Throwing back his head he sought the sky and through the fog he saw the Green Light, winking at him as it hung in the heavens. Relief swept over him and involuntarily he lifted a hand, feeling for the Light of Shalidir. The emerald in the center of the jewel shone out, and for brief moments he felt a deep kinship with the immortals of the Shimla. The encouragement was all he needed. Placing his free hand on his sword hilt again, he took a step, his feet crunching the ground beneath him. When he looked up, she was there.
She was not close enough to strike him with her sword, yet near enough that he could see the details of her physical appearance. She stood six and a half feet tall with her long transparent hair trailing down her back. It rippled in waves like water, taking on the shadows of the forest. Her dark eyes were narrow as she watched him, expression void on her wasted face. The glimmer of small white horns on her head caught his eye. She raised her hands, crossing them in front of her chest, displaying the two blades she carried. One seemed to be an ordinary sword, the other was a black-light-sword, with red-eyed black horses running across the steel. A brief scream of agony flashed through the air; a sound Eliesmore thought originated from the black-light-sword.
I will serve no longer. Your power belongs to me.
No. He countered, not noticing he replied without opening his mouth. The power of the Green Stone will save this world. You and your kind must be destroyed.
You understand nothing. Fool. They are using you.
He did not understand her meaning, nor did he wish to. Lifting his sword, he ran toward her. She swung both of her blades outward, leaving her body vulnerable as he raced toward her. He leaped, swinging his sword as she ducked out of the way and slapped his back with the flat side of her sword. Her foot came up, kicking him into the ground. He rolled over, spitting out dust as he regained his footing, turning to face her again.
She clicked her tongue behind her teeth as she moved forward, swinging both blades toward his neck. He brought his sword up, and a clang rang through the air. He saw glimmers of green light spring forth, a reminder of his power. Taking a deep breath, he allowed the light to flow through him as he swung toward her midsection. She bent forward, narrowly missing his blow. A whoosh of air blew between them as she spun, one blade aimed for his head, while the other spun dangerously close to his waist. Eliesmore ducked and backed away, kicking out a foot to trip her up as he prepared for her next onslaught.
Her lip curled back in laughter as she moved forward, twirling her blades. The time for games is over. If you want to fight. Fight.
Eliesmore paused his onslaught, stepping backward to assess her anew. You are the one who stabbed me.
She flared her nostrils at him and dropped her hands to her side. Her blades pointed down, winking in the dim light. Cocking her head to one side she studied him, a red flash glowing in her sinister eyes. A low hum vibrated through the wood as a black crown grew on her head. Giving herself a running start, the Monrage dashed toward Eliesmore, leaping, swords out, as she reached him. Eliesmore lifted his sword, knocking away her blades as her foot slammed into his jaw. His head rocked back as his hands came up, protecting his head from the onslaught as the Monrage growled. Spinning, she kicked Eliesmore’s feet out from under him. He landed hard on his back, the breath knocked out of him. He brought up his sword, but he was already too late, the Monrage stood over him, her eyes glowing red as black light poured out of her crown and drilled into his body. A yell of rage erupted from his throat as he rolled over, fleeing from the light. Dropping his sword, he brought his hands up across his body, causing a ripple of green light to surge from his hands. A bolt struck the Monrage, and she backed away, hissing. Eliesmore took advantage of the lapse to snatch up his sword. He bounded up, his body sore from the impact of her darkness. Swinging with one hand he ran toward her, his face contorted in fury as he brandished his sword. Jewels glided through the air as they struck tree branches, the Monrage twirling out of the way. Cartwheeling through the air she crouched on the ground, snatching up her sword again and waiting. The smell of burnt leaves waffled in the air as Eliesmore turned, moving too quickly to stop. He swung for her neck. She blocked it with both swords, drawing back for a rebuttal before swinging toward his head, his side and his feet, the blades moving so quickly Eliesmore could only guess where her next strike would land. They twirled through the trees, ducking the whittled branches, dodging from brambles, leaping over underbrush as they fought.
Rage. It was all Eliesmore felt as his feet moved. There were no thoughts, no reasoning, only the rage that struck him, making his movements faster, better, showing his strength as he kept up with the Monrage and began to surpass her. Instead of backing away he moved forward, pressing his attack, forcing the Monrage to lose her footing and back away. She snarled yet hints of fear never touched her wasted face. Her crown shrank and
grew, black light hurling itself from every strike, yet Eliesmore leaped forward in a bold rage, sure of his attack, confident in his win.
At last the Monrage stepped back, throwing herself out of reach from his sword. Her arms fell to her side and Eliesmore narrowed his eyes as his chest heaved. Sweat rolled down his forehead, and his shirt was wet from the effort he’d extended in battling the Monrage. He expected her surrender. Instead, a smirk came over her lips. Her cheeks pulled back, baring her teeth in what would have amusement on any other’s face. Yet on hers, it sent a deathly chill through Eliesmore’s body. You think highly of yourself, young hero. You will have to do better, much better if you desire to beat my father.
Your father? A slow niggling crept through Eliesmore’s mind. Father.
Sheathing one of her swords she waved a hand in dismissal. Your failure is imminent. Go to Daygone. Go to your ruin.
Heat flowed through Eliesmore’s body, he squeezed his fists and gritted his teeth as the light intensified, building into something bigger. With his mind’s eye, he watched it grow until it was a ball of fury. Opening his hand, he let go, and it hurled out of him, shaking the ground with the intensity of his will. As the stream of flight hurled toward the Monrage, she tilted back her head and spread open her arms, accepting her fate. In the few seconds she had left she hurled her black-light-sword, and as the light consumed her, the sword sank into Eliesmore’s shoulder. His rage turned into a scream of agony and he fell to his knees as the light consumed the Monrage. Body and soul.
The Complete Four Worlds Series Page 117