“Is everyone alright?” he asked, suddenly remembering Luxon and his perilous predicament.
Sophia frowned.
“What is it?” Ferran asked, concern in his voice.
“Umbaroth says that he can help Luxon. But to do so means taking him somewhere far away. A place where magic has left its mark on the world.”
“Caldaria? That’s not a bad thing.”
Sophia shook her head.
“Not Caldaria. Where this place Umbaroth speaks of is, he would not say, just that it is far from here. He said he would also take Yepert with him.”
Ferran got to his feet, all thoughts of food now replaced with worry. Together they walked to where the others were resting in a large open glade hidden amongst the birch forest.
Faramond sat on a fallen tree branch and was prodding at a campfire. He stared into the flames, his expression fierce. He waved at them weakly as they approached. Ferran clapped the king on the shoulder as he walked past. His attention was fixed on Hannah who was trying to feed Luxon soup with a wooden spoon. With one hand she held his head, while the other held the spoon to his mouth.
“He won’t eat,” she said, her lips trembling and her eyes threatening tears. Ferran squeezed her shoulder. The girl loved Luxon with all of her being, that much was clear. The sight of him lying there, his skin deathly pale and his eyes open – but not seeing – was a terrible thing to behold.
Yepert sat nearby. The lad was sat on the grass, his cloak wrapped tightly about his shoulders. Some of his vitality had returned, and with Hannah’s healing magic he had regained most of his strength. His eyes were full of worry for his friend.
Lying at the back of the glade was Umbaroth and the smaller black dragon. The two massive creatures were locked deep in conversation. Ferran squeezed Sophia’s hand, and together they approached the dragons. At their approach, Umbaroth raised his huge head.
“Greetings, Ferran of Blackmoor, Sophia Cunning,” the dragon greeted in his deep, rumbling voice.
“It’s been a long time, Umbaroth,” Ferran said. “Where have you been all this time? Not that I’m ungrateful for you showing up when you did, but why did you?”
Umbaroth pointed a clawed talon at the smaller dragon.
“You can thank Tratos here for that.”
The smaller dragon lowered its head close to Ferran. It nuzzled its nose against the Nightblade. The move took Ferran by surprise, and Sophia laughed at his expression.
“You saved me from the N’gist,” Tratos explained. “You set me free. After I left Stormglade, I sought out help. I found Sarkin. He had been looking for me for months. I told him everything that had happened, and it was he who called to Umbaroth. Sarkin was my friend.”
Ferran nodded in understanding. Sarkin had been the dragon cut down by Danon. He remembered Luxon telling the tale of his and Yepert’s encounter with the dragon on the King’s Road.
“I heard the call from my kin,” Umbaroth interjected. “The first call since … my exile”
Ferran looked back to where Luxon lay. He had promised to protect him, but the Void sickness was beyond his ability to heal. Time was running out; with every passing moment Luxon was getting weaker.
“Where do you want to take him?” Ferran asked Umbaroth.
The dragon rested his head on the grass so that his enormous eye was at the same level as Ferran. The iris alone was as tall as the Nightblade. It blinked once before the dragon replied:
“Danon planned for this to happen. He knew what time in the Void would do to someone as powerful as Luxon. The magic that gives him his strength is tainted by the corruption of the Void. Every time he uses it, the Void sickness tightens its grip. His losing control of his anger and his power allowed the sickness to overwhelm him. He needs to be purified of the taint. To do that, he must go to the place where magic itself was born. Only then may he have a chance of surviving.”
Ferran stared hard at the dragon.
“The birth place of magic? You can’t mean …”
The dragon lifted his head and raised his body from the ground so that he now towered above the tree tops. His mighty wings spread out behind him, creating a breeze which shook leaves from the surrounding trees.
“Fear not, Nightblade, I will protect Luxon and his friend,” Umbaroth said striding over to where Luxon lay. Hannah cried out as the dragon carefully picked him up with his talons and placed him on the spiny ridge just behind his scaled head.
Yepert looked up at the dragon, then at his friends. He couldn’t leave Luxon. Whatever perils awaited them, they would face them together, and the dark voice in his head insisted that he go. He hugged Hannah tightly.
“We will be fine. I’ll get him back to you, I promise,” he said with more confidence than he felt. For a moment he considered telling her of the voice, but a lancing pain caused him to wince and hold his tongue. He clambered onto the claw offered to him by Umbaroth, and soon he was sat on the dragon’s back.
Ferran, Sophia, Hannah and Faramond stood together to watch them go.
“Luxon will return, I promise you,” Umbaroth said solemnly before taking to the sky.
Epilogue
Ricard knelt before his nephew. His face was red with shame and his eyes were dark and tired. All he had wanted to do was to protect the realm; he wasn’t the monster his enemies made him out to be. The assassination of Davik had taken a heavy toll upon him. The arrogant confidence he felt in the days leading up to that dark deed was long gone; instead, guilt and fear reigned supreme. The realm was in chaos. Accadus of Retbit had marched his army across the Zulus River and advanced to the walls of Balnor. Ricard’s knuckles went white as he pressed them against the marble floor. The reports he had read had made his blood run cold with horror. The bloodletting had been horrific; tens of thousands had been slain, and the city had been sacked with a savagery not seen since the Magic Wars. Worse of all had been the fate of the city’s young baron. As an example to the rest of the realm, Accadus had flayed the boy alive and strung his corpse from the city walls.
Now, Ricard had more bad news to deliver to his king. The Watchers had fallen, thousands of tribespeople had poured into the Westerlands and Bison unchecked, and Danon had returned. His huge army was on the move, defeating any force that tried to oppose it. The city of Bison was crying out for aid. In his heart, Ricard knew the city would fall.
“Do you have news of Luxon Edioz, uncle?” Alderlade asked.
The boy king’s voice was full of hope. He was sitting on a throne that was far too big for him; his feet didn’t even reach the ground.
Ricard shook his head. “I have heard nothing of the wizard Luxon Edioz, sire. It is presumed that he perished at the Battle of the Watchers.”
Alderlade banged his fist on the side of his throne.
“I commanded him to find my stone!” the boy whined. “Where is it? I want it?”
Ricard frowned at his nephew. His kingdom was falling apart all around him and yet he was on the verge of tears because of a stupid stone.
The thought had crossed his mind before, but this time a resolve firmed inside him. Slowly, Ricard stood. He turned to the guards stood nearby and caught their eye. They were his men. His hand drifted to the hilt of his sword. He was already accused of murdering Davik. Of that he was innocent. Would the people forgive him for what he was now thinking of doing? Surely they would. The realm was on the verge of destruction at the hands of the enemy. Now was the time for leadership: a true king, not some snot-nosed child. Nephew or not, it was for the good of Delfinnia.
He gestured to his guards to seal the doors that led into the throne room. The king … no, not the king, the boy was still whining about the stone. Ricard drew his sword, stood before the king and gestured to the guards.
“Long live the king,” Ricard whispered as his men roughly grabbed the screaming boy and dragged him out of the throne room.
The End
Matthew Olney lives in Bristol with his partner Chloe. By da
y he works as a copywriter for a financial company, but at night he writes novels.
Matt graduated from University College Falmouth with a degree in journalism, and has had news stories published in a number of regional newspapers.
msolneyauthor.com
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BLOOD OF KINGS
M.S. OLNEY
As the kingdom teeters on the edge of chaos, King Edward the Confessor dies without an heir, sparking off events that will see three of the most powerful men in Europe fight to the death for Christendom’s greatest prize: the crown of Saxon England.
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WAR FOR THE SUNDERED CROWN
The Sundered Crown Saga: Book Two
Copyright 2015
M.S. OLNEY
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher.
Published in 2015 by Firebound Books
War for the Sundered Crown (The Sundered Crown Saga Book 2) Page 25
