The Ranger: Apollo's Story (Tales of Welkinia Book 2)
Page 33
“I’m very much alive.” I looked at him, “Have you seen Zahra?”
He shook his head, “No. Nora hasn’t seen her either. Azu and her have been journeying, and there hasn’t been any contact.”
My heart groaned.
“How did you survive?”
“I have important news which I need to discuss with you… it’s far more important than how I survived,” I said, gesturing to the men that were around the valley. “You and your men need to evacuate the area, and you need to go into hiding. Perhaps you should come with me instead, that may be your best option.”
Gaillard’s brows stitched together in a tight frown, showing me he was as confused as I expected.
“Apollo, come with me. Perhaps a cool drink of water will set you at ease and cause your words to be a bit more clear.” Gaillard gestured to a tent on the side of the Kasai Mountain.
When we entered, I looked at him. “The Fiermontian Senate has devised a scheme to have you killed, Gaillard. I cannot let that happen—I won’t let that happen!”
“What are you talking about?” Gaillard walked over to a roughly made settee and poured a glass of water. “The Senate and I are on excellent terms. I cannot think they wish me harm.”
“You need to believe me, Gaillard!” I refused the drink, unable to stomach anything at that moment.
“Apollo, please, explain everything.” Gaillard sat, his dark eyes staring straight into mine as he gulped down the drink I’d refused.
“The Senate is not who you think. They have lied to you about their intentions—”
“What are their intentions, Apollo?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. It’s… dirty. This whole thing.”
“I can’t accept that as an explanation.” There was a venom that laced his words, stabbing at me with its poisonous point. “I know Fiermont has never seen eye-to-eye with the other islands, but this is us bridging that gap! Think about the unity that will follow this project, Apollo.”
“Gaillard—” The words became stuck in my throat.
The tent flap opened, and I turned to see Barak’s tall figure duck in through the opening. His eyes settled on Gaillard with cutting exactness. The stiff Fiermontian wind brushed against his red poet shirt and tousled his black hair. “Seems as if I have arrived just in time.” Barak grunted as he sat on a stool. He absently adjusted the leather armguard on his left forearm.
“Baron Heti-Giconi, I assume?” Gaillard stood and stared down Barak. “My sister told me much about you, Baron. She was quite enthralled with you. Tell me, why was that?”
Barak tilted his head. His relaxed and even tone came in stark contrast to the fiery gaze that settled on Gaillard, “I have not the slightest idea.”
“Neither do I.” Gaillard looked at the contents of his glass. “I’m not one to give into prejudices… so, when I say this, I am not saying it because of the gap between our islands.” He blinked, looking Barak up and down. “You, Heti-Giconi, are the farthest thing from good for my sister. So please, stay far away from her.”
Barak scowled. “I am unsure whether those accusations have been thought up by you, or whether your sister had thought my actions were anything but in friendship.”
“Are you accusing my sister of—”
“My fight is not with you, Baron, but it can be if you make it.” Barak drummed his fingers against the chair’s handle. Everything about him remained cool and calm, except for the fire that raged in his black eyes.
Gaillard paused. “Well then.” He placed his cup down and stood, adjusting his collar. “Gentlemen, I am sorry. I have not the time to spend on this nonsense—” he stopped. In a moment of frantic horror, Gaillard brought his hand to his chest. His face paled, turning an ashen gray and losing all the bright fervor of life. “Poison!” his voice was grating, dry, akin to the sound of sandpaper. He stumbled to his knees
Barak dashed with me to Gaillard’s side. “Quickly!” Barak looked around. “Do you have anything for this?”
Gaillard shook his head, “I—not here.”
Barak cursed loudly, running out of the tent. The sound of the wind whistling through the canyon pass added to the ominous presence in the air. Silence? The music of clanking metal and tools had stopped. Everything was quiet.
“Barak!” Time was wasting, and the eerie and unholy feeling that loomed in the air was overwhelming.
S I X T Y - E I G H T
ROCKS AND BOULDERS CRASHED on the rocky earth around me. My heart drummed wildly with dread. “Gaillard—” I knelt down beside him, looking into his eyes. They were glazed over—hollow and transfixed on the stained tent roof. His breath was labored and struggling. I swallowed the fear and nausea swelling my throat. I watched—helpless as the Reaper slowly wrapped its dark fingers around his soul.
“Gaillard!” I grabbed his shoulders, hoping and praying he would be all right.
Gaillard’s head lolled. “I promised her.”
My heart skipped a beat. He was dwindling, “Promised… who… what?”
He coughed and gasped. “I—” he choked. “I promised I’d keep them safe…” His eyes glossed. The world quieted, and Gaillard breathed his last breath.
I stood—barely able to understand what was happening. My ears rang and my throat constricted. I ran out of the tent, looking out into the dusty Fiermontian air around me. As soon as I exited, a whole new horror greeted me. Men were scattered everywhere. Dead.
I ran. I didn’t know where, but I ran. I ran over to the side and away from the Kasai mountain pass. My heart jerked into my throat and a hollow formed in the pit of my stomach. The mountain pass connected with the Kasai plateau, edging onto the Fiermont escarpment. This separated Northern Fiermont from Southern Fiermont, though, it wasn’t as simple as it appeared.
I stood at the edge of the plateau, staring out into the vast expanse of desert-like valleys. At the border of the escarpment, cracks revealed the ocean miles below. The drop was long and deadly. One wrong step would mean death. My shoulder scraped against the dusty fissure, taunting fate and death. Somehow, I jumped onto a long plateau. The air felt different up here. Cold and stale. As if a winter wind froze above the rocky mesa.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Ryanne. The voice was all too familiar.
I hadn’t even the time to react before a man’s figure moved in the corner of my vision.
I spun around, grabbed a handful of dirt, and threw it into his eyes.
His groan bounced off the canyon walls, though, it sounded more like a clap of thunder.
“Niall?” I scrambled and drew my ax in time to see another figure bound onto the plateau. Her lithe body was only annulled by her broad shoulders. Short, dark hair whipped around in the wind, and calculating, blue eyes locked with mine.
“Crimsyn?” I didn’t know what to do. She had her maces drawn, “What—what is this?”
“Niall gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse. I had no idea it would involve you!” She grinned, flipping her weapons over in her hand, “Guess it’s fate.”
“Three to one doesn’t seem like fair odds.” I took a cautious step back. I felt like prey.
“Make that three against two—”
I turned and saw Barak, claws drawn, standing on the cliff just behind me.
“If you think we are here to kill you,” Ryanne said, his stance relaxing, “then you’re mistaken.”
Barak stiffened, and I ventured to ask, “Why are you here?”
Niall had finally blinked away the dirt. “We are here for justice.”
“To be free,” Ryanne added.
“Free?”
Ryanne nodded, inclining his head to the valley. “We can never be free—not while that monster still walks these lands. Not while he lives.” Niall shifted uneasily as Ryanne moved closer.
Barak scowled, facing the east, “Do enlighten, Ghost, why we are all here?”
“Jensen comes,” Ryanne said, “and it will take us all to take him down.”
Niall nodded, “We caught wind of this attack here. We came to help.”
Ryanne’s animalistic scowl only deepened. “He has been waiting for the moment where he can put us all in our place. To begin again. To wipe the slate clean. United we fall.”
The sound of metal grating against stone echoed in the fissure. As silent as a specter, Jensen approached. His tall form cast languid shadows across the copper earth.
Fighting leathers clad tight around his muscled form; the symbol of the Rangers glinted on his chest. “You’re all here, I see.” Jensen’s eyes flicked to each of us, roaming over our new member. “And a guest.”
“Time has been kind to him,” Crimsyn purred, readying her maces.
Ryanne’s body twitched, his voice silken as he looked at her, “It’s three against three.”
Lightning quick, Ryanne was upon Crimsyn, and Niall plowed my direction.
I brought my ax up, blocking the sudden attack. His knives dug deep into my ax. I threw him off, and the wood of my weapon healed… as if a scratch had not even been etched into its rough handle.
“What…” Niall growled as readjusted his grip on his knives. He must have seen it the same moment I did… the magic infused into my ax.
Jensen and Barak’s figures darted in the corner of my eye. A tornado against a raging fire. Light reflected off their weapons like mirrors. Every strike, every dodge, calculated.
Niall’s hulking figure slammed against me. His dagger sank into my shoulder, piercing through the other side.
I roared in pain, black dots shattering through my vision. Niall’s large body moved in my peripheral, edging behind me.
His eyes, like black holes, looked as if he had seen death and came back. His face hardened as he dropped, nicking my ankle with his foot.
I toppled down, landing on my elbow with such force I yelled out in pain. Niall’s boot slammed down on my bones. My right arm, throbbing, fell limp at my side.
“You’re right-handed, aren’t you?” he jeered, popping his neck. “Looks like I have the ‘upper hand.’”
Fighting back the pain, I thrust my knee into Niall’s stomach, then grabbed the knife with my left hand.
Something—realization perhaps—flitted across his face. With gritted teeth, he dropped to a battle-stance. His feet parallel to his massive shoulders.
He had the advantage… two hands against one. It didn’t matter. The shock to my left-handedness was enough to upset his confidence.
I ducked, feeling the air behind me warm as Niall drew closer. I had watched him fight in the labyrinth. He always went for the head or arms.
Always.
His attacks came in swift kicks and jabs. Some I blocked, some I took.
Pain reignited when Niall threw his foot into my arm, inciting the blood to flow.
I reeled back, evading Niall’s strike. By reflex, I grabbed my ax which lay mere inches away. I threw it. As if propelled by an invisible being—the ax met its mark.
Niall staggered a step backward. The ax embedded into his thigh.
“Why are you doing this?” I pressed my hand against the throat of the ax.
“I am not with the Rangers.” Niall gripped my limp arm, pain streaking through my body. “Neither is Jensen.”
Between my scream, I tried to keep my body under my control. “What then?”
“The Talismen. You’ve never seen it?”
My arm bent, twisted beyond the natural. I tightened my grip on my ax, pressing the sharp blade further into his body.
His bellow of pain shook the earth. I groaned, thrusting the blade into his back. “How long? How long have you been with them?”
Niall nearly laughed, spitting the blood from his mouth. “Years. Think of it. What happened to your prodding friend Zane? The events on Arclend? You think the attack on the Woodlands was by chance?”
I swallowed. Every piece clicked. Niall had been the one who went missing moments before Zane’s disappearance… The random explosion of Cakolo. Crimsyn remaining unscathed. Niall and Crimsyn were conveniently absent during the attack on the Woodlands. The Talismen had been far closer than I had even thought. I was never a step ahead. They were.
Jensen was.
“He sent me to find if Zahra was a Peculiar…” the thought pounded in my head. “To recruit her if she was.”
Niall grinned, blood pooling below the blade of my ax. “Guess, once we are done here, she will be next. She will join you in death.”
It was there. The line I couldn’t find. The line I didn’t know existed. No one was to harm the innocent… and definitely not my wife.
I didn’t bother removing the ax. I didn’t even register the pain in my arm as I slit his throat with his own dagger.
One down.
Two to go.
Ryanne climbed the wall of stone, his thin fingers and toes curved into the jagged edges and grooves. Crimsyn, she battled him like a warrior, keeping pace with the Ghost. She was a fit opponent.
I pulled my ax, ready to charge. A blast of hot desert wind pushed me back.
Pushed us all back.
Jensen stood, his hand ungloved, with a feline smile across his face. Those onyx eyes turned green. Glowing as bright as the sun.
Barak dug his claws into the earth, skidding to a halt. My back collided with the wall of stone behind me, pain searing through my body as rocks embedded into my wound.
Jensen wasn’t just skilled.
He’s a Peculiar.
I peeled myself away from the wall. I needed to free Ryanne from battling Crimsyn… praying to Sotiris that Barak could hold Jensen off long enough.
I threw my shoulder against Crimsyn’s back, toppling her over. She regained her balance quicker than any human could.
Ryanne spun from his spot, slipping his arm around her throat. His white skin, stained with blood, pressed against hers. “You fought worthy of your race,” he breathed.
She threw everything she had into the kick. Ryanne tumbled to the ground, his extremities shaking. Anger. The first time I ever saw it in such a raw form in him.
Another blast of desert wind threw thousands of small pebbles into our skin. Only Crimsyn seemed untouched. “What did he offer you?” I asked, my body wishing to collapse under the radiating pain.
“My throne.” She looked at Ryanne, grinning like a snake, “But I said no. There’s nothing there. No one is waiting for me… no one stood by my side. I asked for revenge instead.”
My tongue turned dry. My heart hammered—thudding and roaring in my ears. “Is it worth it?”
Ryanne’s red-bladed sword found its mark.
She dropped to her knees, looking at the vibrant blade that protruded from her chest. “Every second,” she said. Her ice-blue eyes glazed, “I loved seeing them die.”
Her body fell.
Barak’s yell cut through the air. A new sandstorm erupted around us, whipping the air and pummeling our faces. Whatever this power was Jensen controlled, it cleaved through the atmosphere, pushing his three Rangers back.
The loyal Hound gritted his teeth.
The Ghost, drenched in blood, hungered for more.
And the Destroyer… every fiber in me thirsted for Jensen’s life to end.
For this all to end.
Jensen stood, a statue of unmoving power, hands outstretched, pushing that hurricane of dirt toward us. My feet… dangerously close to the edge of the precipice.
Barak shouted, his native tongue unable to express the hatred that poured into each word. “Enough, Vinadi!”
And it was.
Jensen’s hands relaxed as he looked at Barak, his eyes focused on the Fiermontian warrior. “I will not allow you to leave here alive, Chigaru-Baraka…” Jensen’s voice was nothing short of menacing. “Do you wish to surrender?”
“No,” Bara
k knelt, his breath jagged and uneven. “It will be between you… and me…” He looked at me and Ryanne. “If I kill you, we all walk free.”
“And if you die?” Jensen’s eyes slid to us, “They die.”
A nod from Ryanne.
Yet I couldn’t. I couldn’t stand by while Barak took him on alone.
“And you, Destroyer? Do you agree?”
I tightened my grip around my ax. “Never.”
“Brother—” Barak glared. “This is… personal.”
I tilted my head.
“You’ve finally figured it out?” Jensen grinned. “After all this time.”
Barak’s fists clenched so tightly around his weapons, his knuckles turned white. “A spider can only live so long in his own web.”
Jensen turned to me.
“Han-Zul.” Barak’s burning anger coiled around me. “You were each of our nightmares. You made us creatures of greed and hate.”
Ryanne moved, his figure a white-shadow in my peripheral. “You did this…” A snake-like shiver slid down my spine. “You’re that monster…”
Jensen grinned, looking at me, “Niall was the Ranger I saw most likely to follow the Talismen. The most open. Yet, you Apollo, you are the one who shattered everything I worked so hard to create. Why was it you?”
Barak’s rage released. Every instinct, every bit of sense he had, he hurdled in Jensen’s direction. Ryanne and I followed.
A wall of sand threw me backward… closing Barak and Jensen inside the dome of glassy dust.
Ryanne cursed, his weapon clattering to the ground within the gale. “We need to get inside that dust storm.” He looked at me, eyes tracing the blood that dripped from my shoulder. “You don’t have any magic up your sleeve, do you?”
I shook my head, heart hammering. “No…” Inside, I saw Barak, his tall figure dwarfed by Jensen. Dust erupted from below them as Barak kicked upward. Jensen expected his every move. How he held both the dust wall and battle Barak, I didn’t know. I didn’t want to wait long enough to find out.
Not when blood dripped.
Not when the blood was Barak’s.
Not when I watched my brother fall; knees pounding against the stone and sand.