Several soldiers tripped over tree stumps that Nabal had never removed after clearing the small forest that once surrounded Grey Ashland. The stumps were kept for just this reason. It made attacks on the castle, not impossible, but more difficult.
Knights charged him with swords drawn. They let out battle cries. Their combined voices rose into a roar, and actually hurt the inside of Mykal’s ears.
They flanked his position. He wasn’t picking them off fast enough. There were far too many, and they were fast, and limber. The soldiers under Cordillera’s command were well trained, athletic, and fearless.
Mykal heard the sound of bow strings thwarp as arrows were propelled at him. Mykal reacted as fast as possible, and extended his shield like a bubble around him. The shield fell in place, and sliced through the shaft of one arrow; the severed half inside the shield fell at his feet. While a second arrow punched through his upper thigh before the shield was in place.
He dropped to a knee inside the bubble, wincing. He felt warm blood seep from the wound. Standing up, he grunted through the pain, grinding his teeth together. There was nothing life threatening about the injury. Even if there had been, there wasn’t time to fret over it. The knights surrounded him. Their swords had no effect against the electric field, either. Instead, the connection shook the steel out of the knight’s hands. His bolts of lightning cracked against their armor, cooked many of them inside the metal skins they wore.
The shield wasn’t going to hold forever.
He felt his energy draining fast. It was almost as if he hadn’t had food or water in days. His mouth was dry.
He was not as aware of his surroundings as he should be.
That didn’t stop him from listening to the sound of their screams. The cries would haunt him forever. The knights that caught fire died horrible deaths.
Their skin blackened, and eyeballs melted.
Mykal wouldn’t look away. He caused the destruction, and their deaths. He forced himself to watch, knowing he had a responsibility to understand consequences of his actions, whether justified or not.
Magic was not invincible.
The knights continued wearing away at his shield, tapping his energy.
Cordillera, also weakened, and wounded, was still out there. Somewhere. The Mountain King could be anywhere.
The Mountain King.
He had controlled the weather. More than shooting bolts of lightning, he had brought in storm clouds, and made the sea turbulent.
Mykal had an idea. He closed his eyes and raised his hands, fingers extended.
For a brief moment, he knew the knights must have become curious and stopped their attack. The few seconds of silence that surrounded the bubble brought with it a much needed calm that Mykal drank in.
His fingers slowly curled in, one at a time. He started with his pinkies, the ring fingers, the middle and index fingers, and then closed up his fists with the thumbs lying over the top numb knuckles.
When Mykal opened his eyes, he was astounded by the sight before him.
Black tornados swirled down from slate grey skies and touched down on the ground. Loose snow and mud sprayed out in the meteorological outburst.
There were six twisters in all, and at Mykal’s direction, they moved with speed toward Cordillera’s men.
The funnels sucked up knights and tossed them through the air. Bodies slammed back down onto the ground, and never moved again.
Others tried outrunning the storms, to no avail. The heavy armor they wore restricted movement, despite training and strength.
Mykal spun in slow circles guiding the twisters with his hands, with his eyes, and with his mind. Only three funnels remained, moving through the enemy knights with speed, and ease. The downside was the amount of energy it drained.
Dropping onto his knees, Mykal did his best maintaining focus on the tornados.
They lost strength, as well.
It didn’t matter. As the last of the funnels climbed back into the clouds, the devastation was evident around him.
The bubble that shielded him from attacks faded away.
Panting, Mykal stayed on his knees. He reached around and took hold of the arrow’s shaft in his right hand.
Bodies were strewn about the landscape. Too many to count.
They might not all be dead. Currently, though, they posed little to no threat.
He tugged on the arrow.
The broad-head was lodged against something. Flesh, or bone. Either way, he couldn’t pull it out of his leg. He didn’t have the strength to try magic.
He fell forward, onto his chest. His face was pressed against cold, hard ground. The magic used had depleted him.
His eyes wanted to close. He fought keeping them open. The fear was that if he let them shut, he might never wake up again. He worried he might be dying.
I stopped them, Mother, he thought, with no way of knowing if his message could even be delivered. I stopped them.
Chapter 39
“Mykal? Mykal wake up!”
Mykal recognized the voice, even though it sounded muffled. “Mother,” he said.
He opened his eyes, blinking. He shut them. The bright light burned.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said. She had him by the shoulders.
He thought his head might be in her lap, and tried opening his eyes a second time. “Where am I?”
“On the road,” she said. “On the road to the castle.”
He was right where he had been. “I am so tired.”
“You’ve done well, son. I am proud of you.”
“Is it over? Has the war ended?”
As if in response to his question, cannons boomed in the distance.
“It’s not over. It won’t be over for some time.”
It was dark outside. This confused him, until he realized the bright light that hurt his head had been something inside his skull, behind his eyeballs. As he blinked, his eyes slowly brought his vision into focus. “Help me sit up,” he said.
“You need to rest.”
“There isn’t time,” Mykal said. He couldn’t keep from worrying about the others. “Blodwyn.”
“He is a man who knows how to take care of himself,” she said.
“King Cordillera is hurt, worn out, too. I injured him,” he said.
“I haven’t sensed him or his magic in sometime.”
“He’s hiding somewhere. He’s restoring his energy.” Healing himself, he thought. “Help me up.”
His leg was sore. It felt as if a horse had stomped on his thigh. He put all of his weight on the left leg, and kept an arm draped over his mother’s shoulder for support. “Where is my father?”
The silence spoke louder than if she had replied.
“Mother?” He needed an answer, though.
“He tried stopping Cordillera’s men. We both did. I tried protecting him, but there were more knights than the two of us could handle.”
He heard her sob, but closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see her tears. He cried as well, and hoped she wasn’t looking at him. He wasn’t ashamed, but thought the tears showed weakness. There wasn’t time for mourning. He didn’t think his soul could handle the blow at the moment, not when he was trying to regain his strength.
“Can you get us back to the Delta Cove? We need to help King Nabal hold the inlet. We can’t let those knights gain any ground.”
More cannons fired. In the darkness of night, the multiple fires by the sea burned as if merely candles placed peacefully on windowsills. That couldn’t be any further from the truth.
“I can.”
“And then, I want you to go to the Cicade Forest and check on Uncle Quill,” he said.
“I will.”
Nothing happened. He didn’t want to snap at his mother. She was as distraught, if not more than he was. “Please, Mother. Now.”
She spoke the smoke into existence. It swirled around their feet, and swallowed them whole.
***
Anna droppe
d Mykal off behind battle lines. They were close to the fires. The cannons fired at the structures from Cordillera’s ships, obliterating shops along the cove. Swords clashed, ringing out like demonic bells. The sound vibrated throughout Mykal’s body and shook the core of his soul. He wished he could plug his ears from the yells filling his head with the pain and suffering of others. Men screamed endlessly for help, while others called desperately for healers.
Some knights, carried away from the fight on make-shift stretchers, looked as if they might be beyond saving. Others, missing limbs, used their swords like walking sticks and dragged themselves across the snow-mixed mud. Their eyes silently pleaded for help, or mercy.
“Help Uncle Quill and Coil as best as you can, and as soon as possible, I will join you in their fight before long.” It might have been a stretch of the truth. The battle at the Cove was not over. And, while he couldn’t explain why, he suspected the Mountain King was close by, recovering from his wounds, as well.
She smiled. “You’re so brave.”
Bravery had nothing to do with it. His family, his friends were in trouble. It was that simple.
“I think first, we need to remove the arrow from your leg,” she said.
Without enthusiasm, he nodded.
“On three,” she said, taking hold of the arrow in one hand, and placing the other hand onto his shoulder. “One, two—”
She yanked hard on the arrow.
Mykal bit his tongue. Blood seeped into his mouth. He spit a wad onto the ground. “What happened to three, Mother?”
“I’m sorry. I thought it best to do the deed on two.”
He groaned, and rolled his eyes. “I see,” he said, somewhat thankful. “Thank you.”
She untucked Mykal’s tunic, and tore a strip of material from the end. She tied off the wound with tight knots. “This should help stop the bleeding.”
“Does it look bad?”
“You’ll live,” she said.
“You should go now. They may need your help,” he said.
She looked away.
He sensed her doubt. It was discouraging. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said.
“I should have been able to keep the both of us safe,” she said. “He died protecting me.”
“He died protecting us all,” Mykal said. He didn’t want her in harm’s way, either. He did not think the enemy had reached the foothills of the Zenith Mountains. It could be weeks before they crossed from the east to the west. Anna could help the others barricade the lands and prepare for that encounter. And she would be safe doing so. There was no reason to share this information with her. Otherwise, she might not go to the forest if she knew the truth. “Please, go and help Uncle Quill.”
His friends, his family, would be safe. He wanted to save Blodwyn, too, to find him and get him out of harm’s reach. He didn’t want to risk losing anyone else close to him. He wouldn’t allow himself to think about his Father. Not now.
Anna touched traced her palm over the side of his face. “I don’t want you facing the Mountain King alone.”
“I hurt him already.” Mykal hoped King Cordillera was still injured. He wasn’t positive how much time had lapsed since their duel. It had been enough time for him to repair internally, so he had to assume the king also spent the same time getting well.
“And he hurt you.” Anna stared into his eyes. She couldn’t seem to look away. Her eyes were wet, as if she was fighting to hold back tears.
Mykal hugged her. She stood on tiptoes and kissed him on the forehead before taking herself away from the cove in a spinning cloud of smoke.
Alone with the horrors of battle surrounding around him, Mykal limped toward the King Nabal’s tent. His vision was blurred, and it seemed like he was inside someone else’s dream. Or nightmare.
No one stopped him as he ambled forward with his sword drawn. The tip of the Jian blade dragged across the ground leaving a jagged trail in the mud alongside his footprints.
As he passed the king’s tent, he parted the dropped curtains with the back of his hand and found the inside empty.
Beyond was the Delta Cove, and then the Isthmian Sea.
The Mountain King’s knights fought King Nabal’s knights in duels between swordsmen, and in hand-to-hand combat. The men fought not so much for their king, as much as for their own survival.
Mykal looked for Blodwyn. That was his first concern.
As he walked closer to the fight, the screams became louder. Flames from the fires rose higher into the sky, the crackle of clapboard crisping, and glass shattering from the heat mixed with the roar of the infernos. The heat from the flames warmed Mykal’s skin in a way that did not remove the chill from his bones. The smell of burning wood, upholstery, and cooking flesh filled the evening.
All at once he sensed only his biggest adversary.
He turned around. It was painful, and he cringed as he pivoted on the one strong leg.
The wizard, the Mountain King, stood before him. The man’s deep red cape flapped behind him in the steady breeze coming at them from the sea. He didn’t look injured at all. If anything, the king looked stronger, rejuvenated, and it didn’t help that the evil ruler was wearing a sinister grin.
Chapter 40
Mykal replaced his Jian sword into the sheath on his hip, and folded his hands together. Blodwyn’s training prepared him for most any fight. He could hold his own with a sword, or in close fights utilizing his fists, or a dagger. This confrontation would not involve steel.
It was still a fight, a battle of wits. Mykal knew it came down to matching mental strength against mental strength, and mental ability against mental ability. The fight required skill, talent, and discipline. He breathed in through his nose, and exhaled out of his mouth.
He slowed his heartbeat down, and concentrated on his breathing.
Part of him expected Hermon Cordillera to say something before they fought. It didn’t surprise him, however, when the sorcerer clapped his hands together and a wave of energy rippled toward him, crossing the distance between them like a blinding red flash of light.
Unprepared, Mykal was lifted into the air and thrown backward. He fell on the ground several yards away. His tailbone crashed onto a rock. Pain shot up his spine. He rolled onto his side, reaching around with a hand to comfort his lower back. With his eyes closed, and his hands balled into fists, he cringed against the agony.
The Mountain King shot bolts of lightning into the ground. Smoke rose from the mud. He strode toward Mykal. The path burning the earth ahead of each step he took.
Mykal forced himself up onto all fours, and then up onto his knees.
The sorcerer lifted a hand.
Lightning bolts sped forward and upward. Fire rose from the charred earth. Mykal dropped back onto his knees and rolled away from the sizzling streaks of energy. On one knee, Mykal returned fire.
He rolled his hands together. A ball of electricity crackled as it grew between his palms. He launched one wad of spherical power after another at the sorcerer.
Cordillera was ready for the attack, and with a flip of his hand batted the bundles of electricity over his head, and off to the sides.
That didn’t extinguish the magic inside them. They struck trees, and structures, and added to the mounting destruction in and around the cove.
The fighting between knights continued around them, although the they moved their swordplay back, and back, and further back still, giving wide berth to the sorcerers exchanging cracks of lightning and fire.
Cordillera swept his hand in an arc in front of his body. As if a tall tree being chopped in two, a beam of fire fell over from the sky toward Mykal. Diving out of the way, Mykal rolled across the ground and jumped back up onto his feet. The pain in his leg throbbed, and he bounced his weight on the other leg to keep his balance.
The beam of fire crashed, and the flames exploded outward. Waves of fire covered the ground like ripples from throwing a rock into the sea.
Mykal thrust both
of his hands at the ground. His mind froze the spread of fire. The red and orange flames became green and blue waves of ice.
“You’re good, but you are no match for me.” The Mountain King wiggled fingers toward the sky.
Mykal brought up his left hand, and then his right.
The bolts of lightning sped toward the intended target.
Cordillera dropped his right hand, and then his left, swatting the bolts into the ground.
A swirl of purple and black smoke spilled around the two wizards.
Mykal almost shot lightning and fire into the cloud.
He stopped as soon as he sensed Anna.
Positioned around the king stood Coil, Quill, and Anna.
Quill immediately loosed arrows at the Mountain King. Finally caught off guard, one of the arrows pierced Cordillera’s lower hip.
Annoyed, Cordillera whipped around and sent a rolling wave of blue fire toward Mykal’s uncle.
Mykal panicked, and acted fast. He lifted Quill off the ground and out of the way of the wave.
Cordillera took advantage of the confusion and cast a bolt of lightning at Mykal.
It struck the young wizard in the shoulder. His clothing caught fire, and his skin bubbled. His left arm felt useless, his hand numbing from the pain. He lost his concentration. Quill fell out of the air, and landed hard on the ground. His bow cracked in two. He didn’t move, but lay crumpled in a heap.
Anna was chanting. Mykal wasn’t sure what incantation she would bring to the fight.
With one hand Mykal pushed.
Air became visible as white smoke and sped at Cordillera.
The sorcerer flicked fingers at the air, and it dissipated around him, leaving him untouched by the powerful force contained.
Coil charged the sorcerer at the same time, his sword raised over his head.
The blocked gale force in Mykal’s magic, slammed into Coil and knocked him off his feet. He rolled feet over head, in reverse somersaults, for several yards before finally coming to a motionless position on the cold, muddy ground.
Severed Empire: Wizard's War Page 32
