The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3)

by K. J. Hargan

  "Close to what?" Deifol Hroth asked, gasping for breath.

  Arnwylf continued to crawl away from the Evil One. Deifol Hroth wearily followed.

  "Close to the right place," Arnwylf said, beaten, near to death.

  "And what would the right-" But Deifol Hroth never finished his sentence. He turned slightly to discover, behind him, the Archer, with the Arrow of Yenolah already leaving his bowstring, frozen in the air.

  "This is the right place!" Arnwylf cried and, pulling the iron dagger from his belt, jammed it into Deifol Hroth's foot, pinning him, grounding him to the earth.

  The Dark Lord didn't even have time to scream as time snapped back, and the Arrow of Yenolah went into his head with a sickening, sudden sound.

  The Archer stepped back in amazement to suddenly find the Lord of Lightning in front of him with the Arrow of Yenolah well into its mark. The whole battlefield seemed to pause as Deifol Hroth shook with anger, as energy coursed through his body. Great ribbons of power arced from the tower of energy pulling the Wanderer down over to the Dark Lord, who reached up and began to pull the Arrow of Yenolah out of the back of his head!

  Arnwylf forced his weight onto the iron dagger that pinned Deifol Hroth to the ground.

  The Archer pulled his elvish sword, Bravilc, and slashed at the Dark Lord. Bravilc shone bright as the sun and trailed a burning flame. Deifol Hroth deflected the blows with blinding bursts of energy thrown out with his free hand.

  A look of hideous pain and true, twisted evil played across the visage of the Lord of Lightning. All of the misery and torture in which he delighted was revealed in the fearsome, monstrous, carnal gurning of his features as he continued to pull the Arrow of Yenolah out of his head.

  "No, no," Arnwylf moaned in fear.

  The elf stood, and through a fog of pain said, "The Ar is activated with the act of giving." With a supreme will, she staggered to the assembled objects of magic, thrust her hand into the fire and took the Yarta, the Heart of the Earth, the Ar off the top of the Heaven's Key. Her hand was not burned in the slightest. Then, with a speed that made her form seem a blur, she ran to Deifol Hroth and put the Ar into his free hand.

  The entire tower of energy blasting up at the Wanderer suddenly arced over to Deifol Hroth, who screamed in pain and fear. His body began to burn black and violently shake.

  The Archer grabbed Arnwylf and the elf, and ran.

  A gale force wind rushed in towards Deifol Hroth, as if all the air in the land was being sucked into the Dark One. The Archer struggled against the sudden hurricane. Then, a blinding, white hot flash of energy exploded out from Deifol Hroth as he died.

  The Archer could feel the heat of the explosion on his back and he ran as fast as he could. The force of the blast caught up to the Archer and sent him flying.

  Arnwylf, the elf, and the Archer tumbled to the turf of the Plain of Syrenf. The Archer had gotten far enough away that the rippling explosion coursed wave after wave of hurtling energy over their heads.

  Every single combatant on the field was knocked flat.

  "Elf? Elf?" The Archer asked, shaking Iounelle, but she had lost consciousness.

  "It's still going," Arnwylf said to the Archer, pointing. Then, Arnwylf collapsed into unconsciousness, too.

  The Archer turned in horror to see that the Heaven's Key continued to pulse its massive tower of energy up to the Wanderer, which was now twice its previous size in the sky. The Archer looked down at the elf laying still on the turf. Derragen knew what the difficult decision was, the decision hinted at by the Green Man.

  In the middle of the River Syrenf, Conniker slashed his fangs at Klaaug, again and again. The white wolf could see down the river, humans with sparkling knives slashing at the vyreeoten downstream. The vyreeoten were losing numbers quickly.

  Klaaug backed its vile bulk up with a sickening undulation.

  "Too long have I waited for this, White Thing," Klaaug drooled. "I nearly took your tail last time. This time I take your head." Klaaug thrust his enormous horse-like head with the last, mandibles out, squealing.

  Conniker ducked his head, turned his body, and then leapt. In it's rage, the vyreeoten extended its head, a tactical mistake. The white wolf clamped onto the yellow vyreeoten's throat. Conniker shook his head and tore Klaaug's throat away with a spray of purple blood.

  The garonds began to jabber to each other in fear. Their Dark Lord was dead, and panic began to take hold of the garond army. Where was their general?

  "At them!" Stralain bellowed, seeing the uncertainty on the faces of the invading army. "Push them down to the sea!"

  The human army, as one, let out a war cry that started a retreat among the garond ranks. A great route of the garond army began. Garond soldiers, as one, dropped their weapons and ran south.

  Hetwing slashed at the flood of stampeding garonds as they charged south. But she had only to deflect the fleeing garonds, as no garond now wished to fight.

  "Finish him!" Hetwing called over her shoulder to Ronenth.

  Ravensdred snarled at the glaf boy hopelessly entangled with him in the jumble of the interlocked elvish paricale and his dark weapon.

  Perhaps I can just lift him and crush him, Ravensdred thought. But, a scream started on his lips and was never finished when he saw what the black haired human boy was doing.

  Ronenth realized he could let go of one hand, and the paricale would stay locked up with the Ulokem Swogger. Ronenth carefully threaded his arm towards Ravensdred. The garond general was about to scream as Ronenth grabbed him by the throat.

  Ravensdred struggled, his eyes bulging. He began to raise Ronenth, but the garond's face was going blue.

  Not like this, Ravensdred screamed in his mind. I mustn't die like this. He strained at the web of silver and black metal, but there was no extricating himself. He felt the world slipping away and going black. I was going to be a king, a god, was Ravensdred's last thought to himself.

  Ravensdred looked Ronenth right in the eye. The glaf boy had a look of determination that was unmistakable.

  Tears streaming down his face, "This is for all of Glafemen," Ronenth whispered between clenched teeth as Ravensdred's eyes went glassy with death.

  "I think he's dead," Hetwing said, as the last of the garonds ran past.

  "Would you mind running him through, just to be sure," Ronenth said, his hand still gripping Ravensdred's throat.

  "With pleasure," Hetwing answered.

  Ronenth saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hetwing's sword slide into Ravensdred's body with a gush of blood.

  "Now would you help me out of this?" Ronenth said with an exhausted smile to Hetwing. The reian girl smiled as if she was going to let the glaf boy stayed entangled with the corpse of the dead garond.

  The ghaunts, though barely a hundred left, and their Dark Leader slain, still advanced. Much of the human army had run south to pursue the fleeing garonds. Halldora looked over at Frea.

  "Get the Ar when I say," Halldora yelled over to her daughter as she fought. "It's over by where Deifol Hroth was killed."

  "Very well," Frea cried as she too battled with a ghaunt.

  Halldora lopped the arms off the ghaunt she faced, then stepped back. Halldora let all the emotion in her well up into a great scream. She dropped her sword and raised her open hands. A stream of fire, from the burning citadel bowed across the battlefield to her open hands. Halldora was wreathed in a halo of flame. The ghaunts all around her stepped back.

  "Now!" Halldora screamed to Frea.

  Frea cut the ghaunt she was fighting in two, then turned and ran for the place where the Lord of Lightning had exploded. On the ground, a small, smoldering, black stone waited.

  Frea saw the Archer approaching the Heaven's Key, but had no time to converse with him. She grabbed the Yarta, the Heart of the Earth, the Ar, and ran back for her mother.

  Frea instantly understood what her mother wanted her to do. Frea had told her mother of her adventures in the Far Grasslands, and how she
had used the Ar to make the wind move.

  The ghaunts had moved back from Halldora with an instinctive fear of the flames.

  "Get back!" Frea called over her shoulder to the humans that remained. Without fear, Frea stepped into the halo of fire circling her mother. Frea carefully put the Ar into Halldora's hand, and covered the stone with her own.

  Halldora felt the full force of the Ar. The power of the object welled up inside of her like a scream that had to come out. Halldora opened her mouth and a sound like a wail came. She heard her daughter, next to her, doing the same.

  The empty faces of the ghaunts almost registered something like fear. The undead humans turned to run, but it was too late.

  The Archer stumbled towards the Heaven's Key. He saw Frea run past and join her mother in a cloud of flame. The fire rose up from the two as they joined hands. The humans fighting the ghaunts fell back. The ghaunts turned to run.

  The Archer shielded his eyes as a great shape of flame rose up from the two women holding the Ar. Wind seemed to be whipping up from Frea, feeding the fire bursting out of Halldora. The flame expanded and unfurled like a titanic Bird of Fire.

  The Archer stopped, and his mouth involuntarily opened as the colossal Fire Bird spread its wings of shimmering flame, rising up in a soaring spectacular blaze of feathers of spurting fire. He saw Halldora being pulled up into the titanic Bird of Fire.

  Frea pulled at her mother, but Halldora continued to rise up into the huge Fire Bird.

  "Mother! Don't!" Frea cried as her Halldora's hand pulled out of hers.

  Halldora pulled away and soared into the heart of the Bird of Flame. She felt no heat, although the blazing light was acutely painful to her eyes. Halldora felt the fire growing under control. She moved her arms and the enormous conflagration of the Fire Bird beat its fiery, outstretched wings.

  Halldora could feel the energy of the Fire Bird coursing through her body. It was frightening to know she was at the center of a focusing of power that could easily overwhelm her.

  Halldora knew she was far above the earth. For a moment she felt euphoric and wanted to fly away to the sun. But, then she remembered her family. She remembered beautiful, virile Haergill, who would do anything to protect his family, even give up his crown. She remembered Miri, her mother, strong and loving, such a pillar of certainty and stability when her husband was drawn away to war, who made the ultimate sacrifice to save her daughter and granddaughter. Halldora had been surrounded by love, even in an age filled with violence and tragedy.

  How can I do any less for my daughter, Halldora thought, suddenly filled with courage and love.

  Halldora, daughter of Miri and Nanmund, High Atheling of Fjindel, wife of Haergill, son of Aneagill, King of the Northern Kingdom of Man, knew what she had to do.

  The massive Fire Bird flapped its burning wings, rising in a brilliant display of beating orange, red and yellow streaks of flame resembling feathers. The Fire Bird continued to rise and grow in size and intensity. The gigantic Harbinger of Flame swooped down on the fleeing ghaunts and incinerated them.

  "No! No!" Frea cried, but Halldora was gone, burned away with the falling ashes of the diminishing Fire Bird as it dwindled to a fluttering wisp of flame that twisted in the wind, high in the sky, then snuffed out with a billowing column of faint smoke.

  Frea fell to her knees, weeping, and let the Ar drop from her hand.

  The Archer stumbled towards the Heaven's Key pouring energy up at the second moon. As he got closer he could feel the power of the device tingling on his skin. The battlefield was quiet. The ghaunts were annihilated. Every human left alive joined in to chase the garonds down to the coast. The turf was littered with the dead and dying.

  The Archer looked back to where Arnwylf and the elf lay unconscious. If he didn't stop the Heaven's Key, everybody would die.

  She would die.

  How could there be a world without her? The thought was too much for the Archer to bear. After losing his wife and family in Kipleth, and finding love once again with Iounelle, he couldn't withstand the idea of losing a loved one again. Even if it meant losing his own life.

  The Archer turned back to the assemblage of magic charged objects throbbing with immense power. He had no choice.

  Derragen stepped into the halo of energy. For an instant, he felt warm and buzzed with numbness. It felt as though he was submerged completely in a warm, blue lake. The world started to go white before his eyes, and he knew he had to hurry. He reached for the crystal attached to the two swords thrust into the earth. He wasn't burning, that was a good sign, the Archer grimly smiled to himself. He had seen what the Heaven's Key had done to Lord Stavolebe at the Battle of Byland, and could expect no less. But he had to stop the thing.

  He really had no idea of what to do. But, then a simple idea struck him, an idea so obvious, he almost laughed as the skin of his hands skin began to blister.

  He reached for the Heaven's Key and was surprised to find it cool to the touch. He could feel the energy pouring out of it like numbing water flowing over both his hands.

  The Archer felt as though he were seeing through all spheres and worlds. Deifol Hroth was standing right next to him, but, no, it was his spirit. Then, Deifol Hroth's spirit dissolved into a shining being. The Archer felt pure evil radiating from this shining presence, and he knew it must be the King of Devils of whom Iounelle had spoken, Jofod Kagir. He no longer had a corporeal form and his spirit waited to rejoice in his moment of victory as all living things would die.

  The Archer was unafraid of the evil spirit, since he knew it could not physically harm him. But then, a mental anguish came over the Archer, a black depression of defeat, and he knew it was the King of Devils using the formidable power of his will to crush the Archer's spirit.

  There was a moment of glowing clarity as Yslyne, his wife stood before him, on either side, Tafflann, his daughter, and Theffwyn, his son. They had all been slain in his home town, Pelych, long ago. But here they were, in spirit, giving him love and strength. The Archer knew that the soul of his wife was happy for the love he had found with the elf.

  Derragen, the Archer from Kipleth, then saw the pageant of his life unfold; his difficult childhood; his desperately poor, yet loving parents; his years as a soldier; his rising in the ranks during the prolonged wars between the human nations; the return to find the Land of Kipleth shattered by the garond invasion; his years of bloody vengeance; his tutelage under Sehen; his years with the elf.

  The Archer realized that all these visions seemed like a hundred years, but was in reality only a moment. The Archer felt resigned to his task, but happy and grateful for the life he had, even with the hardship and sorrow.

  Derragen grasped the Lhalíi and with all his might, pulled. The crystal came away with the Sun and Moon Swords from the turf of Syrenf. Unlike at the Battle of Byland, when the Lhalíi had popped off the end of the combined Sun and Moon Swords, with the Ar was a containment agent, the energy being released now had fused all three mighty objects of magical power into one blinding, white hot unit.

  The Archer felt the energy all over, like thousands of hot needles puncturing his skin, rippling in waves up and down his whole body, radiating in and out in clusters, creating patterns of pain and supernatural strength.

  He ignored the pain. He thought only of saving her life. The Archer turned the Heaven's Key around, the sword tips pointing up at the Wanderer, the second moon being pulled down to smash the earth.

  With a flash of light, the Heaven's Key flew up out of the Archer's hands, along the stream of energy. The Heaven's Key hit the Wanderer, a small white flash on the surface of the nearing moon. The tower of energy followed the Heaven's Key up to the closing moon.

  The impact spread black cracks across the surface of the approaching satellite that was so close now, visible craters and mountain ranges were easily discernible with the naked eye. Slowly, the Wanderer shattered into huge pieces, menacingly hanging overhead.

  The enormou
s, threatening, broken fragments of the second moon drifted to the west, across the late afternoon sky, and then disappeared over the horizon.

  The Archer looked down at the blackened stumps that were once his hands, and collapsed, unconscious to the turf of the Plain of Syrenf.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Night On the Plains of Syrenf

  The night was calm and sweet. Spring had finally awoken and would quickly give way to summer in less than a moonth.

  The light wind from the south was cleansing and soothing. The scent of night flowers wafted across the flat, sorrowful plain, mixing with the stench of blood and entrails.

  Night birds and crickets mournfully sang for the deceased, slow and reverent.

  All about the Plain of Syrenf, the living made the dead their business. The garond soldiers and monsters were heaped into piles to burn on the morrow. The slain of humanity were laid out in rows for identification. The wounded and dying were taken to hastily erected tents set up near the river for the water needed for the suffering.

  Arnwylf stepped into the tent. Frea looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. She rose, and the two embraced tight and passionate, grateful for their lives, grateful to be in each other's arms.

  On two cots, side by side, lay the elf and the Archer. Kindoll, a Lady of the Weald, attended the elf, drenched in a fever sweat, eyes clenched tight. The Archer, the stumps where his hands were burned away bandaged, an unconscious twist of pain on his face, was attended by Prensy, who was also a Lady of the Weald, and sister to Kindoll. The Archer looked pale and stricken.

  "How are they?" Arnwylf asked.

  "The elf seems to be connected to the swords in her mind," Kindoll answered. "She speaks, sometimes, as though in a dream. Listen."

  "So fast," the elf mumbled in her fever. "It is going so fast, faster still. Headed home."