Kings of Euphoria (Euphoria Duology Book Two)

by Franc Ingram

  "You up to this?" Leith asked, catching Lysander's eye.

  Lysander stared through him at first. The pinched look on his face suggested his mind was on an unpleasant memory. There were so many to choose from, Leith couldn't begin to guess which one haunted him so.

  "I built the one around Evermore. This will be nothing," Lysander said, his tone clipped and hard as if he were trying to convince himself. He held himself so stiff, feet spread wide, chest out, as if even the ocean breeze was trying to knock him over.

  "'Twas different. You were different. Maybe you have power to do. Question is, what it do to you?"

  "...think this tactic is short sighted and hinged on the shaky supernatural abilities of one person. This kind of strategy won't last for a drawn-out war, which we're headed into," Jonathan yelled, interrupting any possible exchange with Lysander.

  Lysander pushed Leith aside, moving toward Jonathan on his left. "My abilities aren't shaky. If you want proof of my strength, go back to Evermore and cower behind the living wall I built," he yelled, spittle flying from his mouth. The erratic, angry Lysander was back that quick. Jonathan opened his lipless mouth to object, but Lysander powered through. "I agree, putting up walls everywhere won't solve anything. We aren't seeking to throw up walls wherever. It's a temporary measure in response to a direct and eminent threat to my people, not some indication of plans to be defensive only. That would be foolish."

  “By that logic we should just completely wall up both cities and skip the fighting all together,” Jonathan added snidely.

  Leith could see the wheels turning behind Lysander’s eyes, wondering if he should push himself. Leith didn’t need Lysander falling out just to prove his worth. “To big an area to be covering,” Leith replied quickly. “We protect what we can, funnel the fight where we want.”

  Jonathan wouldn’t let the argument go. "Then what?" Jonathan asked, looking past Nadir to glare at Lysander. "We leave up the wall and go back to Evermore hoping it does its job. Hoping it doesn't cause long term problems for this beach or the inhabitants of the city behind us? If the fishing boats on the dock are any indication, these people rely on the sea for their livelihoods."

  "What I erect, I can just as easily remove. If you have a better solution for the incoming problem, speak it now. Otherwise, shut your mouth and trust in your king."

  Jonathan stared daggers at Lysander, then he scanned the horizon. His shoulders dropped, and Leith knew the fight was over.

  "We vote on it. Who says we put up the wall?" Lysander yelled, capitalizing on his victory.

  Nadir's hand went up, then Mason, and Paley followed. Lorn made no move to indicate he even heard a word.

  "Lorn," Lysander shouted.

  The boy shook himself out of it, as if shedding bad memories. "What?"

  "We're voting on whether to move forward with the wall or not."

  Lorn looked around at the other raised hands then raised his enough to be counted, but he stared past them, slipping back into whatever world his mind was trapped in more and more each day. Jonathan gave up and raised his hand as well.

  Leith hesitated. Lysander's words may have sounded strong, but Leith knew his fellow king better than that. Lysander was holding himself very stiff, taut like a coil ready to pop. On first meeting Lysander, Leith could tell the young man wasn't as confident as some, but he was smart and knew how to handle business. Now he was jumping at shadows.

  Leith got close to Lysander's ear. He kept his voice low to stay between the two of them. "We might find another way."

  "I'm fine." Lysander rubbed his eyes. "I can do this." He sounded less confident with each word. He stepped away from Leith and barked, "Lorn, if you'd do your thing, please, we can be done with this."

  Lorn nodded. He lifted his face toward the sky. A thrill of excitement spread through Leith. No matter how often he watched his fellows at work, he always felt amped up, as if his body was preparing to do its part even though it wasn't his abilities that were needed.

  When they first arrived, the heavy sun cut through the random clouds that floated by, dusting the sky with bright oranges and reds. Now the clouds coalesced over their heads, bringing with them the chill of the coming winter.

  So far south winter didn't have the iron grip it often held on Solon, yet the bitter bite of the building winds caused Leith to pull his leather vest closer to his chest. Once the clouds were thick enough to block out all warming rays of sun, the skies rumbled like a bear waking up from hibernation. Lightning crackled in a wicked white line across the heavens. Rain fell in thick rivulets, saturating the ground and the people foolish enough to be standing around unprotected.

  Jonathan, Paley, Nadir, and even Mason scrambled to find whatever shelter from the downpour there was available. The abandoned docks of Caledonia had a few bait and supply shops that provided enough cover. Leith knew in the back of his mind that he should hide from the chilling rain, but an excitement burned its way through him, making his muscles twitch with the trapped potential energy. He turned his head up into the downpour, letting it splash against his closed eyelids. The cold invigorated him, but it was more than that.

  The excitement wasn't his alone. He could feel the rush of pleasure Lorn got when he called to the skies, twisted the weather to his will. He could feel the tension building in Lysander as he prepared the seeds scattered along the beach to take in the needed nourishment from the rain and the softened earth.

  After the clouds depleted themselves, and a gust of wind cleared the sky, the sun was once again free to beat down on them without obstruction. Leith shook himself out like a wet dog. He wanted so much to be able to just lay in the sun for a while, to forget the troubles headed their way, forget the stresses of being a ruler. He longed to let go of the tension between him and his fellow kings.

  The ground rumbled beneath his feet, banishing any thoughts of relaxation. Fear wrapped its icy fingers over Leith's heart and he wondered if the enemy was already on their beach but then the first tendrils of a plant broke free from the sand, like a bright green headless snake. It was the beginning of the wall. Leith followed the line of the tendril with his eyes, trailing it back to its point of origin in the trees behind them.

  The roots of the trees mixed and wound around the growing pyracantha seedlings they'd spread along the beach. Further down the beach, at the outer edge of the city, the cliff face was twenty stories high and so sheer there was no way to get up. Around the curve of the coast, a mile the other way, was the rocky coast protecting the city of Startis. The Rangers were already set up to defend it.

  The stretch of beach they were on was the only unprotected area, but Lysander's wall would fix that. More and more of the roots burst up out of the sand along with the dark, rich green of the foreign pyracantha. Leith felt a twinge of jealousy, he so wanted to know what the heart of a plant felt like. There were hundreds of thousands of different species, all with their own feeling. How Lysander kept them straight, Leith would never know.

  The vines and roots merged, forming the solid wall of plants in a three-foot-wide base as far as Leith's eyes could see. It didn't take long for the wall to grow large enough to block out the sight of the beach and the water on the other side. Then it was tall enough for Leith to look at the top head-on. A minute later it was so high he couldn't see the top of it without craning his neck as far as it would go. The sun was shut out and the air was permeated with the spicy smell of the red and white pyracantha blossoms.

  The ground stilled, and the flowers opened up wide, reaching for the sun. Leith stood inches away from a new living wall, amazed by how intimidating and beautiful it was. Even the gnarled, brown wood of the ancient tree roots held a wild beauty. In contrast the blossoms were delicate, nestled against thorns as long as Leith's index finger and as sharp as his dagger.

  Jonathan must have felt the same way. "It's impressive," he amazed, starring up at the wall with eyes wide. He reached one hand out to touch it.

  "I wouldn't," Lys
ander warned. "The thorns are sharp enough to cut through the yetis, and toxins along the flesh of the vine will burn your skin as well as fire."

  Jonathan stepped back, his gaze still fixed on the wall. "I hope it does exactly what you wish it to do."

  "Now it's time for us to fall back to the valley where we'll make our stand," Tycho said.

  CHAPTER THREE: BATTLE

  Leith still wasn't used to the armor. Though the dragon scale design was light and flexible, Leith still felt constricted. He ran his hand along the crimson scales covering his wrist, hoping the tactile reminder of their protection would calm his nerves. In the back of his mind Leith knew it wasn't the armor that had him so on edge. He didn't like going into battle so ill-prepared.

  Most of the people had been evacuated from the two cities, or hunkered down in secure buildings. Rangers from three different realms were scattered over two miles trying to keep an eye out on every angle of attack. The living walls Lysander created, along with the cliffs perfected by nature, would funnel any seaborne troops along the twenty yards of beach the rest of them were crowded on. All they had to do was hold the beach and save the cities, and therefore control the river.

  While it sounded simple enough, Leith knew having so many moving parts complicated things quickly. Even though he was waiting in the back as support, Leith felt exposed. He felt alone in the middle of a crowd.

  Leith couldn't see Lorn's face clearly from his perch on the near-by cliff, but the boy had been distracted for days with no signs of changing. Now he had a platoon of soldiers behind him. Men and women under his command, counting on him to keep them as safe as can be, given the situation. If Lorn didn't get it together, his life and theirs would be at risk.

  Lysander stood with his father at the heart of the moon and fire squads waiting at the edge of the beach. Nadir sat atop his mount calm, steady, ready. Lysander fidgeted on his saddle. The difference was so obvious, it was like a beacon shining at the end of the pier.

  Leith turned to his own set of protectors. They were the last line of defense: a line of warriors from three different realms standing between the two cliffs and in front of the forest beyond that led straight to Startis on the left, and Caledonia on the right. Leith stood with Jonathan and his men knowing that if their line broke, the fight was over.

  The waiting was unbearable. This time he could see the war canoes of Gaeth approaching. He counted at least thirty boats. It was hard to make out individuals, but there must have been around fifteen people to each craft. The canoes themselves were works of art. Leith had never seen the like before.

  Long, flat bottomed, two level canoes made of wood so dark it looked black when wet. There was a large protrusion at the front of each boat with varying images carved into it. Leith made out the faint outline of an exploding volcano carved onto the lead canoe.

  As they approached the shores, the Gaeth intruders reeled in the triangular sails at the back of their canoes. When the first sail went down, Leith noticed the jet of steam coming out of the back of the canoe. He couldn't image what was causing the phenomenon.

  "All positions at the ready," Lysander yelled, his voice cutting through the tense silence that had settled like fog over the lot of them.

  Leith squeezed the handle of the new set of crystal daggers he'd been given by the Keeper, Kameke. They felt so delicate they didn't feel like they could cut through tissue paper, but days of practice with them proved otherwise. They were perfect for throwing and large enough to give him maneuvering room in hand to hand combat. The crystal structure was sturdy. After all the abuse he'd given them fighting against Lorn and his short sword, his blades showed not one nick.

  Kameke fashioned him a set of eight, four of which were strapped to his vest, two in his boots, and two in his hands. Leith was armed enough to take on the world. Jonathan beside him, like most of his men, carried a long sword and a buckler. Jonathan was wearing the dragon scale but there wasn't enough time to fit everyone with it. The red armor marked the leaders. Leith wondered if he would be more of a target because of it. Too late to rethink it.

  A loud thwap split the air, and before Leith could wonder where it came from he saw a fireball headed for them. "Down!" he yelled, grabbing Jonathan's shoulder as he dove for cover.

  The fireball sailed wide landing uselessly behind them, kicking up the fine white sand. The ground shook as another fireball broke up against the cliff to the right of them sending dangerous shards of fiery rock flying. The noise was loud enough to rattle Leith's teeth. Then came the fire.

  Leith got his feet under him, brushing bits of the rock and sand off his head and shoulders. Jonathan stood, scooping up his dropped sword from the ground a foot away.

  "Thanks," he nodded to Leith. "Shore up men, we're in for a rough start," Jonathan shouted over the ruckus around him.

  Thunder crackled in the air and Leith was reminded there was more than one way for them to fight back. The skies opened up and rain poured down on them, putting out fires all over.

  Leith smiled. "Fighting in the rain."

  Jonathan looked at him sideways. Leith felt some of his gloom lift. Lorn was focused and in control. Leith would take the good news where he could. When the wind picked up, Lorn ordered his troops to let loose with the arrows. Leith didn't follow their path, he trusted them to fly true.

  The first canoes made landfall and warriors spilled out like a black-clad wave of death. Leith didn't know what he expected from the people of Gaeth. He'd never seen a native islander before. Solon was known for having visitors from all over the globe, but Gaeth was the most isolated realm of all. Not just because of its location, but also because of the iron rule Emmaray exercised over them.

  The lot of them had dark brown skin, a deeper shade than even Oleana. The first ones to hit the docks were tall, broad men with tribal markings down the side of their faces, a dark blue ink. They wore layers of woven fabrics of varying dark shades of gray and black.

  They broke across the first line of Rangers like a wave against land, spreading through what few gaps they could find. Leith watched as Nadir and Lysander encountered the first set of fighters. Father and son split, coming at the enemy from two different angles. They had the elevated position on horseback, but the Gaeth fighters adjusted quickly. They proved to be more agile than their size suggested.

  Leith watched as one man grabbed the reins from one of the Rangers, arresting the horse's forward charge. It gave the Gaeth male enough leverage to swing up onto the back of the horse, knocking the Ranger off.

  Leith started forward. He didn't want to sit and watch a slaughter. Jonathan held him back. "It's not our time yet," he warned. "We must hold the line." Leith nodded. He'd agreed to the plan, now he had to stick with it.

  Instead, Leith reached out for the horse. He'd spent time in the stables with all the mounts of the Rangers, getting to know them individually. The horse with its unseated rider was Azcabal, a calm and sturdy gelding. He took the fighting on top of him in stride. As long as there was pressure on his reins he would do as he was led. Leith needed more from him, needed the horse to fight.

  Leith shared his own excitement with the mount. He let the gelding feel his fear concerning the new rider. Azcabal reacted in kind, rearing up on his hind legs, catching the Gaeth warrior off guard and dumping him on the ground backwards. The unseated Ranger took advantage of the distraction and ran the man through with his sword before taking the reins back. He patted the horse's neck to calm him. Leith released his hold on the horse's mind and slid back into his own.

  The rest of the canoes were finally pushed up against the golden sand of the beach, its warriors crawling across the docks like angry ants. The magnitude of their press forward forced the first line of defenders inland. Even with tight ranks, some of the intruders slipped through. There were enough of them to put Jonathan on edge, so he readied his men.

  Leith tightened his grip on his daggers. He looked to Jonathan for his cue. He may have been the king, but le
ading men into battle wasn't his area of expertise. Leith knew when to delegate to the superior experience of others. That's the reason Jonathan had come, to advise them on things they had no real experience with.

  Cold air moved in and Leith clenched his jaw tight to keep his teeth from chattering. He shut his eyes tight, trying to avoid seeing who was behind the sudden and oppressive chill in the air. Cornelius stepped off the last boat, the picture of calm, unaffected by the chaos around him. Leith was torn between running away in terror and running forward until he beat Oleana's location out of the false ice god.

  Once Leith was sure he had himself under control, he opened his eyes to see the crowd part as Cornelius moved forward. Lysander and his squad of Rangers automatically moved back, even though the Ice Ultra wasn't close enough to engage them. It was the air of ice-hard cruelty that surrounded Cornelius that made even the bravest of men cower in his presence.

  The rain had stopped, but what was once a bracing cool now had a bitter bite that made it hard for Leith to stand still, to put on a brave face. "Hold the line," Jonathan ordered. While that seemed reasonable moments ago, with Cornelius in the mix, Leith saw it as a demand that would end his life.

  The wind changed sharply, and a string of arrows went flying across Leith's vision. He didn't have to guess where they were headed. Cornelius towered above the rest, so it was clean sailing straight for his head.

  Cornelius caught sight of the projectiles. He called moisture from the soaked sand beneath his feet forming a frozen shield faster than Leith's eyes could track his movements. The arrows splattered across the irregular circle of ice, falling to the ground in pieces. Leith heard Lorn's anguished yell cut through the noise of battle, as if it was shot straight into his ears. Cornelius looked up, over Leith's shoulder. An arrogant smile spread across Cornelius' face, showing off his sharpened teeth.