The animal uttered a pained shriek and he yanked his sword from its head as the two others bounded to the side. Startled, they watched their mischief mate convulse and fall still and silent. The boy turned his attention to the one on the right and lunged toward it with his blade aimed at its chest. It jumped back as he tried to strike, then responded with an angry hiss as it retaliated with a vicious pounced attack. The one behind him pounded its feet on the forest floor before it jumped into the fray and the two tried to pin him between them.
He flung himself aside and they both missed him and narrowly avoided colliding with each other. Devol darted away and glanced over his shoulder to see if the racket had alerted the man. He could no longer see him, assumed he must have run off in fright, and sighed with relief. At least he only had one person to worry about now—himself.
His furred adversaries crept cautiously toward him and he held his blade up. He inched back slowly, looked over his shoulder again, and noticed a small clearing in the woods a short distance behind him. Instinct told him he should get to it in case other giant creatures nearby were summoned by the pained cries of their brethren.
One of the rats launched into an attack, its claws and teeth ready to sink into his flesh. Devol flipped his blade on its side, pushed forward to catch the rat's claws, and parried to the right of the oversized vermin. As it landed, he flipped his blade and stabbed it down and behind him, deep into his adversary’s back and through its stomach.
It responded with a pained hiss and its tail waved wildly and almost tripped him. Thankfully, the young swordsman managed to sidestep the erratic appendage and ran toward the clearing with the other creature in pursuit.
The glade was almost circular with an odd extended area at the north end. Dead branches and pieces of bone lined the edges of it. The boy bounded over what appeared to be a large broken femur and slid on the wet, brown, and sickly-green grass. He spun as his would-be attacker hurdled its large body over the bone. Once it landed, its head jerked from side to side and it made a nervous clicking sound with its teeth.
He didn’t know what caused the sudden change in behavior but decided not to waste the opportunity. His Mana flowed to soothe his legs and seep into the muscles, and when he felt he was ready, he bent at the knees and launched himself at the rat. It snapped its head toward him and opened its maw as it stood on its hind legs, surprising him. As it began to fall forward, he wondered if it had anticipated the charge and been ready for it. He stopped a few feet in front of the rodent and thrust his blade forward as its claws lashed at his face. This was a moment when the winner would be decided by who made the killing blow first.
The light in the blade flared and the sword enlarged and lengthened. Devol was shocked and told himself it was merely a trick of the light. Or perhaps the shadows in the woods? It sank into his adversary’s head and stopped it in its tracks. The large claws dangled mere inches from his throat, lifeless and pointing uselessly at the ground.
The rat did made no sound as it fell heavily on his sword. He had to wedge his boot against its stomach and push hard to free his weapon. Once he’d shaken his weapon to get some of the viscera off, he took a handkerchief out and ran it along the blade to clean it more thoroughly. He checked the sword while he did this. It seemed to be the same measurements it had always been—the blade about thirty-two inches in length and slightly longer than a standard sword.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary except for the shining blade itself, but he was already aware of that. He grimaced at the handkerchief, a little queasy at the thought of keeping it in his jacket pocket, and wondered if it was even salvageable. The sound of someone clapping behind him distracted him from his debate.
He spun with his sword raised and frowned at the man in the dark cloak who applauded him, as far as he could tell. Devol was somewhat surprised to see him as he’d thought he had run off. This close, he was able to see more detail. The stranger was dressed all in black—a long-sleeved black shirt and trousers with black boots and gloves to match his cloak and cowl. On his back was a large pack, and around his waist, a leather belt held a white gourd filled with liquid that sloshed when he moved and something else wrapped in a black cloth attached to either side. The boy couldn’t get a good look at his face as it was obscured by his hood and the shadows from the forest.
“Well done,” the man said and lowered his hands. He had an incredibly deep voice and it rattled as he spoke like his throat was producing its own echo. “That only took you a couple of minutes. For a boy your age to not only wander into this nasty place but to fell three giant rats with little difficulty means you are very gifted.” He folded his arms and inclined his head as he stared at him. “Not to mention that you have something special with you as well.”
“Who…are you?” Devol asked hesitantly, not sure if he should lower his blade in a show of peace or hold it ready.
“Me?” the man asked and took a few steps forward—not toward him but to the center of the clearing. “I suppose today, I am something of a groundskeeper.”
Before the boy could ask him what he meant by that, he heard more breathing, this time sharper than the rats and very agitated. He spun and held his sword with both hands as he and the stranger looked toward the odd narrow extension of the clearing directly ahead of them
He saw eyes before anything else—broad, somewhat bulbous, and white. The next thing he noticed was a glint from long talons caught in one of the few beams of pure sunlight streaming into the woods. A beast stalked into the clearing. It walked hunched on all fours and stepped over the branches and bones.
When it stopped several feet away from them, it leaned upon two angled legs and stood easily at over seven feet tall. A long, curved maw held thin, spike-like teeth and pale, ashen colored scales covered its flesh. It extended its sinewy arms and its long claws moved closer to them.
“A flayer?” Devol asked quietly and steadied his hands after a moment of surprise at the sight of it. This one was much larger than the bones at the museum had led him to believe them to be.
“Indeed, and an alpha at that,” the stranger stated. He removed the gourd from his belt and took a quick sip before he replaced it. “Although that may be by default. It seems only a few flayers take refuge in these woods at a time and quickly eliminate the others who are weaker. They aren’t particularly good neighbors, even with their kin.”
As if in response to the comments, the beast’s head twitched from side to side and it clicked its teeth together a couple of times before it uttered a loud, shrill shriek. The boy gritted his teeth rather than trying to cover his ears. He would prefer to not let his guard down at this moment.
“Think you can take it?” his odd companion asked and fixed him with what might have been a challenging look.
He broke his determined gaze briefly to glance at him with an exasperated expression. “I’d rather not,” he admitted and braced his legs in preparation for either fight or flight. “But even with my Mana, I don’t think I can outrun it. So if it comes to it, I will fight.” He focused on the spindly creature again and his sword began to glow as if to corroborate his words.
The stranger chuckled, unfolded his arms, and motioned for him to lower his blade. “I admire your resilience and your courage, but you can try your hand at it some other time.” He proceeded to walk forward toward the creature with what seemed like suicidal calm.
Devol almost dropped his blade in his panic. “Wait, don’t!”
The flayer shrieked again as it lunged at the man, its front limbs stretched to either side. The arms moved together toward his head so fast that Devol could barely comprehend its speed. Unperturbed by the fact that he was about to be beheaded in moments, the stranger ducked quickly, and the massive curved talons missed his neck and each other. The trace of wind created by their passing dislodged the man’s hood as he placed one finger under the flayer’s chin at the point where the creature’s head and neck met. “Bolt.”
In a moment, a red ar
row made of Mana pierced its head and protruded at a point where it looked like it came out of the man’s fingertip. The beast seized instantly and gurgled for a moment as its attacker stepped to the side and let it fall to the earth with a loud thud.
The boy was speechless, not only at the sight of the terrifying creature felled so quickly and casually but at finally seeing the man, if that was what he was. His skin was as dark as ink but with white markings around his eyes, the curves of his ears, and the bridge of his nose. Devol couldn’t tell if it was some kind of paint or natural. He had narrow eyes—silver like his but with no irises—and his long, thin alabaster hair was tied into a bun. Something was different about it, though, and it looked more like twine than healthy hair strands. He looked at his young companion, amusement on his face when he saw his bewildered expression.
“Their scales offer them some defense against blades and the like, but the flesh on the underside of their head is surprisingly thin.” The stranger held his gaze and grinned. “Why so surprised, my friend?” he asked and slid his index finger and thumb under his chin as he observed him. His slightly pointed teeth were more noticeable when his grin turned to a smile. “Have you never seen a mori before?”
“A mori?” the boy asked, his blade in his hand but pointed toward the earth. “You’re a realmer?”
“Indeed, and from the sounds of it, you haven’t seen one before, have you?” the man asked and took another sip from his gourd.
Devol shook his head. “Not a realmer, no. I’ve met wildkin and even seen a fleuri—well, I think it was but I don’t remember if they are purple.”
“If they sprout in the winter, it is a possibility,” his companion told him, placed a hand on his chest, and extended the other arm as he bowed. “But I suppose I should introduce myself properly. My name is Vaust Lebatt, formerly an Archon of House…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter with it being formerly.” He stood and folded his arms. “I am more of a drifter now. Care to share something of yourself with me? What brings you here?”
Despite a little inward hesitation, the boy sheathed his blade. “My name is Devol Alouest, son of Victor and Lilli Alouest. I’m here because I’m on a journey to the Templar Order and this forest is on the path I was told to take.”
“The Templars?” Vaust questioned and stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Not many look for them these days. Usually, it is the other way around. What reason could you have to look for such people?”
He scratched his head and sifted through his memories. “Well, a couple of weeks ago, I was with my mother in the Emerald Forest outside Monleans, and a large dire wolf attacked us—the biggest I’ve seen in person.” He drew the sword again and held it up, and his reflection caught in the blade. “It immediately attacked us. I wanted to protect her but I had no weapon. I…well, something happened only moments before it struck. A flash of light almost blinded me, and I felt something or someone take my hand. When the light disappeared, the wolf was dead and I was holding this sword.”
Vaust studied the blade curiously and didn’t initially see anything of note. After a few moments, however, he saw it gleam— perhaps it had caught a beam of sunlight? He shook his head when he realized it was still in the shadow of the forest. The shimmer flared to a bright achromatic light, and it encompassed the blade before it grew to an uncomfortable glare and glowed around the edges of the blade.
It was magical, without a doubt, and it was not only for illumination. He could tell right away that the sword was far more than the standard exotic. When the boy looked at him, the sword still bright in his hand, Vaust nodded. “I see you have something special indeed,” he said, his voice almost a purr. “That, my young friend, is a majestic.”
Chapter Three
“It’s what?” Devol asked as the light faded from the sword.
“You’ve never heard of a majestic?” Vaust asked as he approached him. “Given your talent with Mana, I assumed you’d had some training… Well, that and the blade itself.”
“Oh yes, I have.” He lowered his sword and focused on the mori. “My mom taught me the basics of Mana, but this isn’t anything like what I’ve seen someone use before—at least outside some of my father’s comrades, and even they don’t talk to me much.” He looked at the weapon again and slid his hand over the flat surface of the blade. “And as I said, I’ve never seen this before it appeared a few weeks ago.”
The man considered this as he stared absently into the trees. “I suppose there is still something of a stigma attached to them in this realm.” He focused on his young companion again. “So you discovered this blade—which appeared magically out of nowhere in a time of need—and your first instinct was to go on an adventure to the Templar Order?”
Devol slipped his pack off. “It wasn’t my idea, to be honest,” he said as he rummaged through his belongings. “My parents suggested I go to the Templars and said it was important.” He took the folded map out and handed it to the mori. “They said a friend of my father’s gave this to him around the time I was born and after they had done a mission together or something like that. He said that if anything odd happens or they need a favor, to search them out.”
“Well, this certainly qualifies.” Vaust took the paper, opened it, and glanced casually at the map until something caught his eye. He frowned slightly as he registered a symbol on the bottom of the page that depicted a nine-pointed star. “This is…” he said, his voice almost a whisper. “Indeed, I most certainly see…” He folded the map again and handed it to him. “Tell me, Templar-hopeful. What do you hope to achieve once you reach the order?”
“Achieve?” the boy asked as he slid the map into his pack, flipped the top over, and tied it down. His face contorted in thought while his fingers were busy. “I…uh, I guess to learn more about this sword—or majestic, right?” He slung his backpack on. “Maybe get some more training in arms and things like that.”
“You have no desire to join the order?” the mori asked.
“I don’t know much about it,” Devol admitted and shrugged as if joining the order was a decision he could make later when he did know. “My father told me what he could. He said that at one point when he was young, he wanted to join the Templars. But even with that, he did not know much. He seems to trust his old friend, though, and said that this would be for the best and that I should trust their instruction.”
“It depends on the instructor,” his companion muttered. Although he’d spoken to himself, the boy's sharp ears caught it.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
The man gestured vaguely. “It’s merely my personal biases. Tell me, young man, would you like some company to their keep?”
He raised an eyebrow quizzically. “With who?”
Vaust rolled his eyes. “With me, obviously.”
“Really?” He gasped. “I thought you said you were this forest’s groundskeeper?”
Vaust was sorely tempted to slap either himself or the boy. “That was something of a metaphor. I was here on a mission to keep the forest relatively clear. There isn’t much a single man can do about that, in all honesty, but I was entrusted to eliminate anything too dangerous.” He approached the dead flayer and retrieved a large sack and a dagger. “With that done, I have to return to Fairwind, where I was given the task.”
“Oh, so you’re heading that way?” he asked with a smile. “That would be very helpful. I’ve made the trek alone, for the most part, but it would be nice to have company for the rest of the journey.”
“Agreed.” The mori severed the head of the flayer and shoved it into the sack, which he tied to his belt. “We can probably be there by tomorrow if we hurry.”
“Do you know a quick way out of this forest?” Devol inquired and looked around dubiously. “To be honest, I don’t think we’re even that far in and I feel a little disoriented.”
“A skill to work on, then,” the man reasoned and drew his hood over his head. “Later, though. I do know the way out of the forest, b
ut we still have much ground to cover today.” He hopped a few times and the boy noted that he had kept his Mana flowing the whole time. “I wonder if you can keep up.”
Devol smiled and let his Mana flow a little. “Back in Monleans, I was the best user of Vis amongst all the kids, even the older ones.” He hopped a few times as well to loosen his limbs and muscles. “Show me what you can do.”
“All right.” Vaust spoke from behind him and he spun in alarm. The mori had seemingly teleported and now laughed at his reaction. “Sorry. I was merely having a little fun.” He walked a few paces ahead toward the edge of the clearing. “It shouldn’t take us very long to get out and from there, I’ll let you set the pace. I’ll do so until then.” He looked over his shoulder, his face shadowed by the hood. “Let us see how much you can push yourself.”
He composed himself and responded with a challenging grin. “Let’s go!”
The mori made good on his promise and they were out of the forest in no more than ten minutes. Devol kept pace but it had been a long time since he had been pushed this hard and he almost lost sight of his guide a couple of times before they stepped beyond the tree line. Not since his races with his father—the serious ones, at least—had he felt so winded. Once they were a few miles out, Vaust stopped to let him catch his breath. They then plotted a course that would be almost a straight line to Fairwind and set off with the boy leading the way.
After several hours of travel, his companion noticed a cave and they decided to make camp. After a good rest, they could start early and possibly reach the town before noon the next day.
They split up to prepare their camp. Devol cleaned the area, made a fire, and fetched water from a nearby spring while his companion went to hunt their dinner. They both finished their respective tasks in under an hour and soon feasted on a young boar the mori had killed, along with some berries and nuts. He chose the ribs and flanks of the beast while Vaust seemed to prefer other parts of the animal such as the eyes, cheeks, and even a few pieces that made him somewhat skeptical as to whether an average person should eat them.
A New Light (The Astral Wanderer Book 1) Page 3
