The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  Sidra threw her hands in the air. “What is there to understand? That you will do anything to please others even when it requires the sacrifice of long observed alliances and traditions?”

  “I always sought peace!” He marched up to her but then stopped, certain that he would not be able to restrain himself from killing her if he got too close. Instead he stayed back and clenched his fists. Magical blue fire encircled his hands. Finding himself unable to stand still, he began to circle her.

  He noticed several thieves finally saw Sidra’s predicament and came charging at him, yet he cast them aside with a simply gesture of his hand, and they cried out as they flew back into several trees.

  “Roskelem, no!” Sidra reached out to her husband but stopped short when he turned to her with eyes ablaze.

  “And why not? Because you care about them?” Roskelem kept shaking his head and clutched his fists to restrain himself. There was so much he wanted to say—so much he wanted to prove, but words were useless now. Sidra always looked for a way out of their marriage, and she refused to see how powerful he was and how much good he could do, and that hurt—deeper than he could explain, deeper than she could ever imagine.

  He shot his gaze over to her then made up his mind. He began speaking in an unknown tongue, and Sidra widened her eyes as she realized what was happening.

  “Roskelem, don’t!” She stretched out her hand to touch his arm, but starting at her fingertips and spreading to her arms, chest, head and legs, she turned into stone—her face pleading with him.

  “Mother!” Gremina’s shriek cut her father’s concentration, and he twisted his upper torso to see his daughter—and Haskel not too far behind her—racing toward them. Gremina’s astonished eyes focused on the statue that had been her breathing mother.

  Her gaze traveled up the statue, seeking the smallest sign of life. When she saw nothing, grief tore at her heart, and she spun around to her father in a rage. “Why, Papa?! Why?” She went to pound her fist at his chest, but Haskel stepped between her and their father, grabbing her wrists and pulling her aside.

  “No—don’t.”

  “But, Haskel—” She pulled against him, but he held his grip.

  “Don’t.” He willed her to lock eyes with him, and when she finally did, he did not break eye contact.

  She stilled, recognizing the unspoken horror in his soul. Their father did this to their mother—the one person who had crossed him and had been unafraid to stand up to him. He had no qualms against doing it again to his own children. Gremina shifted her gaze back to her brother and gave him the slightest of nods. She understood, but what were they going to do now?

  Haskel didn’t know. All he knew was that Atheta had been taken from them and now their mother—by their own father. He couldn’t fathom this, but all he knew was he had to keep his little sister—and all that remained of his family—safe.

  He turned to his father—alert as any commander. “What is your command, my liege?”

  Before Roskelem could reply, Adonis and Skelton magicked in, soon followed by Mordora. Skelton caught sight of the king of Serhon and twisted his face in fury. “You mind bending, word twisting, idealistic, and selfish coward!” He sent a blast at him, but Roskelem caught it in his hands and blasted it back.

  Skelton stepped back to capture the energy then kept spinning with the momentum and hauled it right back at Roskelem, only for Mordora to blast Skelton from the side, flinging him into a tree.

  “Woman!” He grumbled as he climbed to his feet and shoved aside the length of his trench coat. He glowered at Mordora. “Are you seriously that dense in the brain? He!” Skelton motioned sharply at Roskelem with a gesture of magic, which caught the king off guard and blasted him back, but the blond-haired sorcerer stayed focused on Mordora as he stalked up to her. “He has nothing to offer you!” Skelton towered over her and pointed in her face. “If anything, he will find a way to drain your magic for his own use, and you’ll become nothing more than a puppet!” He began flipping his fingers, mimicking a puppet. “That’s all you’ll be! His pawn and puppet! You know, when I first saw you I liked you. I thought, ‘hey look, there’s an intelligent, beautiful woman with magic. Hmm, wonder if she’ll ever notice me,’ but you know what? You’re just beauty in the face and crazy in the brains—if you even have half a brain!” He swirled his finger near his temple for emphasis as he leaned into her face, and she stepped back, but he stayed with her. “You’re no better than Roskelem. You just want the easy way out of things, don’t ya? You’re just—”

  With a shout, Mordora shoved him away with both her hands and a rush of magic. He flew back, and she straightened—finally free from his overbearing presence.

  Around them, Roskelem, Adonis, Gremina, and Haskel—and all other thieves who stood with Sidra—watched the two, but then Roskelem shrugged. “As entertaining as this has been, I have other business to attend.” He then blasted them all away then vanished.

  Vaguely recalling how the statue of Sidra had been directly behind him, Adonis magicked in order to avoid smashing her as he flew back, and he reappeared behind her just as Esdras hastened to the scene.

  Esdras halted in front of Sidra, took in the sight of her, and frowned then turned to the prince and princess of Serhon as they picked themselves off the ground. “We mustn’t move the queen.”

  Gremina grimaced as Haskel pulled her to her feet. “Is there any way to turn her back to flesh?” She adjusted her quiver of arrows on her back then fixed her eyes on Esdras—the Guardian of the Statues in Serhon.

  Looking back at the queen, Esdras recalled his own wife back in the Field of Statues. He had stood watch over her and all the other statues for years. “Princess,” he glanced to Gremina, “I have sworn to protect all the statues until my death or until a spell is discovered to undo the magic.” He shook his head as he regarded his newest charge. “And I have found no sorcerer to work such a spell.”

  “What of Lorrek?” Gremina shot her brother a wide-eyed look. “He is powerful.”

  Esdras shook his head. “Prince Lorrek has seen the statues, and he has admitted he knows no such spell.” He looked at the princess. “I am sorry, Your Highness, but for now your mother’s state is unchangeable, and all we can do is protect her in this battlefield.”

  Haskel recognized the suggestion for action and nodded then looked at the thieves gathered round—clueless of who to follow. “I am Prince Haskel of Serhon—son of Queen Sidra. Set a perimeter around these woods, but especially around the queen.”

  “Stand back.” Adonis motioned for Esdras to move away from the statue, and then he began chanting a spell.

  “What are you doing?” Gremina moved to stop him, but Haskel grabbed her arm.

  Finally, Adonis completed the spell, and a blue hue draped over Sidra. Nodding with satisfaction, he turned back to Gremina. “A shielding spell. No one will be able to touch her now.” Just then, the Jechorian machines came charging through the woods, opening fire on everyone they saw.

  Haskel yanked his sister behind a tree, and instinctively they readied their bows and shared a look.

  “Need help?” Previan ran up to them, ducking to avoid random shots. Around them Kedessa, Dustal, and Aradin took shelter behind the trees and looked in at the fight. Each person had their bows ready, and they all looked at the prince and princess for direction. Gremina looked at her brother, and he gathered a breath then nodded.

  “Let’s go!” Stepping around the tree, he opened fire again and again into the fighting as the other thieves joined in.

  Adonis blasted away those closest to him, but a Guardian tackled him.

  Esdras fought with his katana until it was knocked out of his hands, and then he dove in with fists and kicks, strikes and throws.

  Theran made his way to the gates of the black castle. Along the way, he met Therth leading a troop of men, but his cousin didn’t recognize him, and Theran didn’t bother him. Vixen had said Honroth was seriously injured, and nothing was
going to stop him from reaching his brother in time.

  He pressed on. People came running at him, but he lowered his stance and charged straight for them—throwing them over his shoulder. One soldier opened fire on him, and the laser shots struck Theran’s chest over and over again. Theran strolled right up to the man, grabbed his gun by the barrel, and smiled at the satisfying sound of the gun crunching in his fist.

  The soldier widened his eyes, looked at the crumpled weapon then up at Theran before the prince of Cuskelom slapped him aside with a backhand to the face.

  Theran resumed his march to the castle—such a strange and unfamiliar sight in this field.

  Worry for his brother’s condition consumed his thoughts.

  After all these years of simply shrugging off his birthright of the throne to Honroth, and assuming his younger—but far more mature and responsible—brother would always be there to cover his tracks and right his mistakes, guilt finally sank in with every step Theran took. He knew the crown was ultimately his, and he knew one day he would have to assume his rightful place on the throne, but he dreaded that day and kept it out of his thoughts. Maybe if he was gone and out of sight the people of Cuskelom would forget they had an older prince, and they would accept Honroth as absolute king.

  Theran had never imagined outliving his younger brother. In the wilderness he had encountered far more dangerous people, places, and creatures while Honroth had been safe in the palaces of royalty. However, only kings could call to war, and when that happened, everyone was equal, and Theran hated himself for not being there to protect Honroth—and then he hated himself for wishing to protect him for the sole reason of keeping him on the throne so he could disappear again.

  At last he came to the black gate, and he stared up the walls. “Allow me entrance! I am Prince Theran of Cuskelom!”

  No reply.

  The men on the wall rushed around, too preoccupied with the battle at hand to notice the man at their gate, and Theran narrowed his eyes; these men were trained better than that.

  Angered that the gate remained closed to him, Theran lifted his black armored fist and moved to pound it on the gate. “Open to me!” As soon as his fist made contact with the stone, a strange light flared out from around his hand and spread throughout the gate before halting—then zooming back to where Theran’s hand was still on the stone.

  Suddenly Theran found himself no longer in front of the gate but in an unfamiliar room. His posture stiffened—ready for any attack, but then he recognized the man standing in the shadows. His pale features and blond hair were unmistakable. Theran rose from his crouched position and frowned. “King Caleth...?”

  Caleth nodded to him then tilted his head, regarding him. “Do not attack the walls of this castle. The stones of this castle are fused with magic. When it is attacked, it will defend itself.”

  “What?” He lifted his hand to ward off the accusations. “I didn’t attack...” He trailed off, looking at his hands. “The power...” He realized whatever magic had been fused into the suit to give it its unique ability had been identified by the stones as simply magic. Since he touched the gates, and his touch was offensive, the castle reacted as if attacked, and Theran didn’t want to imagine what might have happened to him if Caleth hadn’t wordlessly magicked him here. This caused him to pause. “Where am I? Where are we?”

  With the grace of a ghost, Caleth stepped aside and gestured for Theran to follow. “We are where your brother is.”

  At the mention of Honroth, Theran’s insides churned, and he swallowed back the bile in his throat as he followed Caleth’s soundless steps into the neighboring room.

  As they walked, he glimpsed around to take in their surroundings and felt as if something was missing.

  The silence—an unnatural occurrence in the midst of a battle. Theran supposed the stones must have muted the sounds, and that unnerved him.

  Ignoring the silence, he took in the sights he saw. Few torches and candles were lit thus giving this black-stoned room an even darker presence. The furnishing of this room puzzled Theran—a table with a bench beside it, seating area off in the corner near a hearth, a desk—empty from any documents or work and bare of any dust. “Where did all this come from?” He knew his brother hadn’t ordered the building of any castles recently, and even if he had, this one was completed too suddenly.

  At last they came upon a sleeping chamber, and Caleth stood outside the room but motioned for Theran to enter.

  Theran moved to enter but then hesitated and pulled off his helmet. He wanted Honroth to recognize him immediately because he did not want to distress his brother. Tucking the helmet under his arm, he stepped in—his gaze sweeping around the room.

  He noted the window on the far right side of the room, but it still perplexed him why no sound disturbed the silence.

  Shaking off this feeling, he fixed his eyes upon the prominent feature of the room—a black wooden bed on which laid a figure as pale as ash, and Theran’s throat tightened as he recognized the face. “Honroth.” He swallowed hard and went to his brother’s side.

  Theran took Honroth’s right hand, and instantly Honroth’s back arched as he shouted—his left hand flying over his body to grab his right wrist—the hand Theran held.

  Startled, Theran released the hand and watched as Honroth gasped, only breathing shallow breaths. At first, he stared at his younger brother, confused, but then he looked at Honroth’s hand and noticed the unnatural bone structure. “I broke it...” He shot his gaze to Honroth’s anguished face and found his brother staring at him with hurt and bewilderment.

  Theran swallowed hard and moved away, shaking his head. “I...I don’t want to touch you. I’ll break your bones.” Guilt and shame draped heavily on his shoulders, and he bowed his head.

  Honroth knitted his brows, puzzled, and inhaled a shallow breath, only to wince when pain stabbed through his back. Fatigue encompassed him, and pain overwhelmed him, but he held on to the slender strand of life because he knew he couldn’t die yet. Cuskelom still needed him. His brothers still needed him, but he was glad Theran was here—though the black suit and his new ability to break bones with a touch confused him. “Theran...” He croaked. “What...happened to you?”

  Feeling terrible for his brother and even worse for breaking his hand, Theran tried to pull off the gauntlet from his hand but found it unmoved. Frowning, he turned his attention from Honroth to focus on the glove, but it remained fastened on his hand. With a sigh, he determined it might require technology from Jechorm to remove parts of the suit, so he gave up and fixed his eyes on his brother.

  He offered him a small smile but was careful not to touch him. “Do not worry for me, brother. What happened here?”

  “Verddra,” Honroth wheezed then grimaced.

  Theran frowned. That woman was responsible for more headaches and heartaches than he cared for, and if he saw her again, he wouldn’t mind breaking a few of her bones. He clenched his fist.

  However, Honroth went on to whisper, “Theran…Heldon… he went after her.”

  Dread sank into Theran’s bones, and a chill settled in his soul as he realized what Honroth meant. Heldon went after Verddra—someone far more powerful than he could imagine. The thirst for vengeance blinded Heldon to reality, and she could toy with him until she tired of that then finished him off.

  Not wanting to lose yet another brother, Theran made up his mind. “Honroth, stay here, and don’t worry. I’ll get Heldon, and I am going to kill that witch.”

  “Don’t!” Honroth reached out with his good hand to touch Theran’s arm and stop him, but afraid he would break him, Theran withdrew then cast his brother an apologetic look. Honroth paused. Confusion clouded his eyes, but then pain racked through him, causing him to seize.

  “Honroth!” Theran came close. He reached out to grab his shoulders and still him but hesitated, knowing he would break both Honroth’s shoulders if he touched them, and he refused to be the cause of more pain for him. Curling hi
s fingers into fists, he brought his fist to his chin and sucked in a breath, forcing himself to remain still while his brother suffered through unspeakable pain.

  “Why wasn’t Caleth here? Why hadn’t he healed him yet?” Realizing the sorcerer king was in the next room doing nothing, Theran narrowed his eyes and tightened his fist. “Caleth! Why have you not yet healed my brother?”

  Caleth came to stand in the doorway, but Honroth shook his head. “Theran...Theran...not possible.”

  “What do you mean?” Theran furrowed his brows, confused, then glimpsed over his shoulder to see the king of Athorim standing in the threshold of the door. “He’s right there. He can heal you.”

  “Verddra used an enchanted blade to stab him. It prevents any magic users other than herself from healing him.” Caleth explained for Honroth, and Theran shifted his mouth, trying to find what to say but only found himself speechless.

  Theran looked back at Honroth. He understood now. “That is why Heldon went after her.” Nodding, he made up his mind. “I will go after them, and I will bring her back here to save you. Hang on a little longer, Honroth. I’ll take care of this for once.” He swirled around and headed for the door but paused beside Caleth. He looked at the king of pure magic. “Heal his hand if you will. I broke it by accident.” Lifting his gauntleted hand, he clenched his fist, hearing the leather and armor crackle with the action, then moved past Caleth.

  His mind fixed on locating Verddra and Heldon.

  30

  In the field, rushing toward the castle, Vixen, Nyvera, Wol’Van, and Mel’Nath, who carried Ardenn’s body in his arms, caught up with Haiken and the other rebel Guardians and two others Vixen didn’t recognize. “Noden and Pelkin,” Haiken introduced them as they stopped behind a massive pile of rubble from Jechorm’s machines in the battlefield and tried to determine the best way around it without exposing themselves to too much fire.

  Vixen focused on Haiken. “Jarovit...” She shook her head then skimmed the field. Cuskelom, Serhon, Jechorm, and Verddra’s men were engaged in a tense battle all around them. The Guardians and Hunters were scattered throughout the field. She saw no sign of her father or of Lorrek yet, and she supposed that was a good thing.