The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal)

by Beam, Brian

  The men, just steps from where we’d stopped, were dirty from mud and ash, their hair plastered to their heads from snow and sweat. Two were shirtless with glowing green crystals poking out from blackened skin. All four carried swords. Their eyes were filled with pure terror. These men didn’t want to be here. They didn’t want to hurt anyone. The green rocks in their chests took any alternative away from them, though.

  One of the shirtless men’s eyes landed on us. I’d instinctively dropped into a defensive stance, my sword ready. Briscott had his dagger out with a vicious gleam in his eyes, and Ithan had one hand on Fleet with the other held out towards the four men. We were immediately classified as enemies, and though I could see in the men’s eyes that they didn’t wish to hurt us, they turned away from their previously intended course to focus on the three of us instead. Without a hint of reservation, they attacked.

  I caught the lead man’s blade against my own. “Try not to kill them; they’re enslaved!” I screamed to Briscott and Ithan as I deflected the man’s attack. I hated qualifying my statement with “try not to,” but there was a chance that killing them would prove to be necessary. That I’d accepted that fact created a sour pit in my stomach.

  “Please,” the man I fought pleaded as he adeptly continued his assault. If the rock would’ve let him ask someone to kill him, that’s probably what would’ve come out of his mouth instead. After my own time with a rock in my chest, I understood, yet this man had probably been through far worse than I had.

  With another metallic strike of my attacker’s blade against my own, I shoved my shortsword up and forward with both hands, pushing him back. He lost traction on the slick mud and ice beneath his feet, falling to the ground. In one fluid motion, I kicked the man’s wrist, causing his sword to drop from his grasp while parrying the blade of another one of the men.

  This is where I’d like to give a huge thank you to Chasus for training me to fight in any and all weather conditions. I’ll never forget sparring with him on the slopes of the ice-capped Ravenspire Mountains through snow, rain, and wind.

  Briscott rushed up beside me, tackling one of the remaining men to the ground. It wasn’t until I saw the man go down in my periphery that I realized his blade had been inches from giving me a reprieve from life.

  “Thanks,” I shouted, deflecting another attack.

  “No problem,” Briscott grunted as he wrestled with the man he’d tackled in the muddy slush of the street.

  The man I fought was meeting me blow for blow. With a forceful strike, I knocked his sword aside. I quickly brought the pommel of my sword’s hilt back towards his head, connecting with his temple and sending him limp to the ground.

  The first man I’d fought was almost back to his feet, but I was able to deliver a sharp, spinning kick to his head to knock him back down, conveniently rendering him unconscious. The third man was still pinned under Briscott with the fourth crumpled before Ithan. We hadn’t killed any of them, and given that we were also still alive, I couldn’t have asked for a better victory.

  “Let’s get these rocks out of their chests,” Briscott groaned, trying to hold the fourth man down. The man’s eyes flared open and shone with what appeared to be hope.

  “We can’t,” I answered regretfully. “We’d risk killing them. We have no medical supplies, and we don’t have the time for Ithan to heal them.” Ithan nodded his head in agreement, and Fleet gave a flap of her wings as if to second the concept.

  “Well, that’s too blighting bad.” Briscott reared back and punched the man’s face, leaving four unconscious bodies around us.

  The scar on my chest burned as I took in the unfortunate men. They’d just wanted to be free, whether by death or removal of the gem. We couldn’t grant them that freedom yet, but maybe they’d live to see it if we could kill the one behind the rocks, even if that person was my father.

  I helped Briscott to his feet, and we all turned towards the battle. No one seemed interested in diverting from the main fight to come after us, so we ducked between the houses where the men had come from. We had to step over several dead bodies, none of them appearing to be twice-dead.

  To our right, the wall of a two-story house had a massive hole torn through its ground floor as if something large had crashed through it. The boards around the edges of the hole were splintered and blackened. Acrid smoke billowed out from the opening along with the groan of burning wood ready to collapse.

  We stopped before the hole, making sure there were no enemy troops inside ready to emerge and attack. I jumped back as a large wooden beam crashed to the floor just inside the hole with a boom and a shower of sparks.

  More than ever, I worried for Max’s and Sal’s safety. The streets were packed with fighting, and the house next to us was far from the only one close to burning to the ground. Terafall was a lost cause.

  “What now?” Briscott stared back towards the chaos along the main street, his dagger clenched so tightly in his gloved hand that his entire arm trembled.

  Before I could answer, I heard a strange wail from the other side of the gaping hole beside us. “Did you hear that?” I asked, my eyes trying to pierce the curtain of smoke inside. Both Briscott and Ithan took a cautious step forward. The wail sounded again.

  “There’s a blighted baby in there!” Briscott screamed, his face a mask of terror. He started to enter the building.

  I stopped him with a hand to his chest. “Briscott, we can’t go in there. You saw that fallen beam; this place is ready to collapse. You’ll end up buried if the smoke doesn’t kill you first.” I saw the sense in my words, but my heart wasn’t in them. As they escaped my lips, I realized that there was no way I could let a baby die within that buring hell, no matter the danger of rescuing them.

  “I’m going in there, Korin,” Briscott declared, his eyes burning with pure resolve. “I lost two children of my own, and nothing is going to stop me from preventing the same from happening to others.” I dropped my hand from his chest, letting him shove past me. I made to follow, but Ithan grabbed my cloak in his fist, holding me back.

  “You’re not both risking your lives in there,” Ithan choked, the smoke thickening around us. His reached up to grab Fleet, and the smoke cleared from the area in a sudden gust of wind. He cast a regretful glance to the featherswift owl, making me realize for the first time that the bird that had been his companion for years had a very poor chance of making it through the day. Ithan’s magic was most likely going to be called upon several more times if we were to make it out of Terafall alive.

  Briscott’s rough coughing brought my attention back to the gaping hole in the building’s side. He rushed forward with an ash-stained bundle, dodging around charred and burning debris. That’s when it happened.

  There was a loud snap followed by an ominous groan, and then the entire top floor started to collapse with Briscott still beneath it. I remember screaming while Ithan struggled to hold me back. I remember closing my eyes, unable to watch the death of my friend and the tiny life he was trying to save. Then I remember noticing the glaring absence of the crash that should’ve sounded.

  Opening my eyes, I was met with an unusual sight. Actually, unusual really doesn’t cover it. Charred wooden beams, flaming furniture, and other items burned beyond recognition danced in the air just above a cringing Briscott, who was huddled tightly over the baby held to his chest. It took me a moment to realize that the debris was simply held back by an invisible barrier and was bouncing soundlessly against it. Ithan watched with wide eyes and mouth agape, indicating that he’d had nothing to do with what was happening. Briscott warily tilted his head to look above him, his own mouth dropping.

  After a moment of stunned silence, I called, “Briscott, get out of there!”

  Briscott snapped from his awe and ran to meet us. Once he was safely out, whatever had held back the collapse faded, allowing the house’s upper floor to come crashing down with a near-deafening roar. Dust, ash, smoke, and sparks violently billowed fro
m the hole in a violent gust. Scortching heat washed over us. We retreated from the hole and away from the main battle.

  As we all coughed the smoke from our lungs, I noticed something that I should’ve noticed sooner. There was no sound or movement coming from the bundle in Briscott’s arms. I didn’t have to point it out to the bearded Gualainian.

  “Ithan, you have to do something,” Briscott urged, frantically unwrapping the blackened blanket from around the baby. It seemed so tiny and frail, only a few weeks old at best. Its skin was gray from ash, and some nasty charring edged with dark, crusted blood ran down its right arm. Its eyes were closed. Its chest was still.

  “We could be attacked at any moment. We don’t have time to . . .” Ithan trailed off, gazing at the poor, innocent infant in Briscott’s arms.

  The infant wasn’t even old enough to hold up its own head, and here it was thrust into a war, its parents probably dead in the crumbling house beside us. It deserved more. It deserved to live. There’s something precious about the life of a child, something that validates any risk necessary to preserve it.

  Ithan’s eyes shot up to Briscott and me. “Keep me covered,” he ordered, reaching to take the infant from Briscott’s arms.

  Briscott’s eyes glistened, a solitary tear cutting through the black ash staining his face as he watched Ithan delicately lay the infant on the ground. He pulled his dagger back out from its sheath and turned in the direction of the battle, watching for any sign of approaching enemies.

  “You did well, Briscott,” I assured him, turning the opposite way with my sword in hand. There were only two directions we could be approached from, and they were both firmly in our sights now.

  “We’ll see,” he replied softly.

  Fleet let out a squawk behind me, bringing my thoughts back to the likelihood that her hours were numbered. I hoped that Ithan was prepared for that possibility. Given how I’d felt when I’d nearly lost Telis before, I understood just how close to family animals could become.

  “She is breathing!” Ithan announced with a strong sense of relief in his voice. “She is not out of this yet, though. I need a little more time, but she should live.”

  Glancing down, I saw the baby’s stomach rise and fall with her breathing. It was the most beautiful sight I’d seen in some time. “Thank Aryllin,” I breathed unconsciously. She’s the goddess of new life.

  Briscott let out a relieved laugh, wiping at his teary eyes. “Ithan, you’re a blighted miracle worker, Loranis bless you! Don’t worry; we’ve got you covered. Just make sure she’s okay.”

  I turned my attention back towards the rear of the houses on either side of us. “We’re looking good so far. Maybe whatever saved Briscott and the baby back there didn’t use up all of our luck.”

  “Luck my furry ass,” a raspy voice groaned from behind me.

  I turned towards the voice and saw Max emerging from the hole in the burning house’s wall. “Max!” I yelled, running to meet him as he staggered forward, his fur stained pitch black.

  “You owe me, Lunkhead,” he muttered before collapsing.

  I frantically scooped Max up in my free hand. The Reservoir on his back was dull, a sign that it was completely empty of magic energy. “Max!” I screamed again.

  Max’s eyes fluttered open. “Can you not just let a tired rodent get some rest?” he groaned before closing his eyes again. I laughed, happy for yet another sliver of good fortune. I had nowhere to put his limp body, so I simply held him to my chest.

  A sudden thought struck me. I stabbed my sword into the ground and frantically searched for Saiyre’s ring. It was still fitted around one of Max’s front shoulders. I slid it from his arm and over the tip of my first finger. The ring itself wasn’t moving, but I could feel a slight pull against my finger. The pull was directed towards the riotous battle we’d fled from. I tried to not let my thoughts fill with fears of what that could mean. I failed.

  “He’s okay, and I have the ring,” I called to Briscott who was watching me with widened eyes. “What?”

  Briscott broke into a full-out charge towards me. “Behind you!” Without his warning—along with a bit of luck—these words would never have made it to paper.

  Not knowing what to expect, I yanked my sword from the ground and rushed forward, wanting to put some distance between me and whatever Briscott had seen before I turned to meet it. Something snagged my cloak’s hood, though, stopping me dead in my tracks. My cloak’s clasp dug chokingly into my neck as my feet slid out from under me on the snow-slicked mud. I went down hard on my back, the air visibly knocked from my lungs in a great cloud of mist. Miraculously, I was able to keep hold of Max. He remained asleep. Seriously.

  My eyes met a half-rotted creature standing above me, a green rock glowing brightly in its naked, rib-exposing chest. In one skeletal hand, it held the spiked mace that had caught my hood as opposed to smashing in my skull as intended.

  One undead creature really didn’t seem too threatening after everything I’d been through, so even though I was laid out on the ground, I wasn’t too worried. Of course, then four of its friends emerged from the smoke behind it.

  Chapter 41

  Seriously, Just a Little Break, Please?

  No matter how many times I found the odds stacked against me, I was constantly surprised each time it happened. Case in point: I’d already fought and emerged victorious over a group of the undead. By Rizear’s blood, I’d even done the same with eldrhims. Yet, when I saw the five undead creatures looming over me, my first thought was, Well, I’m dead.

  And then I remembered the tiny, precious life that Ithan was caring for. The miniscule spark that had yet to burst into flame. The uncooked salmon, as Max would say.

  It was time to turn the undead into the twice-dead.

  They say that parents, if their child’s life is put in danger, are able to find inhuman strength and resolve in order to ensure their child’s safety. You know, felled trees being lifted from a child by a lone mother, or a kidnapper being chased down by a corpulent father who has never run a day in his life. The unrequited love of a parent becomes akin to an Esuria-blooded force of nature. Esuria is the goddess of passion. Not that kind of passion—the conviction kind.

  I may not have been the infant’s parent, but despite being weary, in pain, and holding a squirrel in one hand and a sword in the other, I ended up on my feet with the mace-wielding undead’s desiccated head rolling across the ground away from me. Its body staggered a single step before collapsing. I didn’t even remember standing and attacking.

  With one undead down, there were still four left to jeopardize the life that Ithan was working to preserve at the expense of a screeching Fleet. Two were newly dead men, their stiff movements the only factor betraying their undead nature. I guess their ripped, mud-caked clothing and vacant, milky eyes were a bit odd as well. The nature of other two was more obvious: one was missing an arm and a decent portion of its face, and the second had maggots dripping from gaping eye sockets. Each branded a sword, except for Maggot Eyes, who gripped wicked, curved daggers in both sinewy hands. All four had green glows emitting from their chests.

  So, going back to the fighting styles that Chasus taught me, I prepared to fall into the Henreti mindset. Henreti isn’t the most honorable way of fighting; I’m pretty sure it originated among cowards, swindlers, or possibly bandits who understood the benefits of efficiency. Though it has its own set of fighting techniques, Henreti is known mainly as a tactical way of thinking. It basically follows the general rule of predators in the animal kingdom: pick off the weakest, most lame of the pack first. Doing so is an easy way of sweeping into a group of attackers and methodically reducing their numbers.

  I went after One Arm first, believing that having only one arm made him the weakest of the group. My sword arced towards his neck, but unexpectedly, his sword met mine with impossible speed. Not only did he ward off my attack, but he knocked me back with the strength of his parry as well. Up until this point
, I’d assumed that all the undead were the same: mindless, unskilled, unnaturally fetid creatures. But now, One Arm had proven that some were better fighters than others. So much for Henreti.

  Throwing a leg back to maintain my balance, I circled my sword towards his unarmed—literally un-armed—side. He again parried with a speed that would put even a living swordsman to shame. I just barely twisted away from a stabbing attack aimed at my gut by Maggot Eyes while having to parry One Arm’s sword at the same time.

  The two fresher undead were coming at me from my right side. I had to hold them back, keeping them from Ithan and the infant. I couldn’t understand what had happened to Briscott. He’d almost closed the distance between us before the fight had started, so there was no reason why he shouldn’t have been by my side well before now.

  Briscott’s whereabouts were revealed when an arrow struck between One Arm’s milky eyes, its fletching stingly slicing across my cheek. Not a single, vaporous breath after, another arrow slammed through Maggot Eyes’s throat. Both of the undead let out ear-grating groans, the force of the arrows momentarily jarring them enough to throw off their attacks. I took advantage of the distraction and sliced through Maggot Eyes’s neck, causing maggots to cascade through the air and pock-mark the snow as his body fell thrashing to the ground.

  I brought my sword back around to deliver a similar fate to One Arm, but his decayed flesh turned out to be tougher than Maggot Eyes’s, and my sword lodged halfway through his neck. I tried to pull it free, but I only succeeded in jerking his body violently to the side, the abrupt sideways motion snapping his right ankle like a stick. One Arm fell like a chopped tree.

  I released my sword to prevent falling with him, unfortunately opening myself up for one of the freshly undead to stab his sword through my left shoulder. The blade pierced completely through, exiting my back. I let out a ferocious scream as pain lanced from the sword’s point of entry. My arm spasmed, causing me to drop Max’s limp body to the ground, kicking up a dusting of powdery snow.