There was a moment of hesitation, but as the beast launched itself toward the ice, Jikun could see the soldiers around him stumble away.
“Get everyone out!” Jikun hollered again. The shadow of the beast flickered for a moment outside the wall. His heart froze.
The ice before him shattered, spraying tiny shards across the nearest soldiers. Jikun instinctively closed his eyes, raising his arm to block the fragments.
He felt a hand grip onto his raised arm and his eyes flashed open. The face of the beast was mere feet from him, smooth and unscarred. He could detect a powerful odor of sewage and dirt, with a lingering scent of rotting meat. The black pupils dilated to mere slits as the creature gazed back. Jikun could see the muscles in the creature’s thick neck flex. Its top lip curled, revealing several unnaturally sharp teeth vanishing into the darkness of its mouth.
Where the creature’s grip tightened Jikun forced his attention, feeling a rush of strength leave him as his concentration increased. There was a sharp cry of alarm and the beast released his arm, hissing vehemently as it flexed its suddenly stiff and frosted hand.
Not nearly as potent as he had intended, but it would have to do.
Jikun swept his hand down as he launched his body forward, picking up a shard of ice that lay in the long blades of grass. He shoved it into the calf of the beast’s leg as he moved, diving out of the broken wall of ice at his side. A breeze swept past his skull in deadly force and he imagined that he had just narrowly dodged a bulging fist.
The beast snarled in pain as it turned with him, its yellow eyes narrowed in rage.
The shouts of fleeing soldiers still sounded from nearby as the army gave the two a wide berth, but the beast’s attention remained locked on Jikun. It rose up and pushed off the ground suddenly, ignoring the shard of ice still protruding from its calf.
Its rage was far greater than its pain.
‘Damn it! I’m even less equipped to combat this creature than usual!’ Jikun whirled to the side, focusing on the earth at the creature’s large, tattered boots. Stalagmites of ice burst from the ground, piercing through the legs and feet of the beast, tearing through the other side of its brown, thick flesh, shattering against its powerful bones.
A scream of agony was the only reaction the beast gave. Rather than fall to its knees, it tore forward with greater anger and determination, slamming its fist through the desperate shield of ice Jikun formed before him. Horrified, Jikun could do nothing as the fist carried forward and collided with his shoulder. The general could feel his arm snap clear from its socket, the flesh swelling as blood rushed to the wound. He plummeted into the ground with a shuddering cry.
“Damn. It!” he gasped as he used his remaining arm to raise himself from the ground, forcing his body up through the pain. ‘Don’t stop moving!’ he warned himself. But he didn’t need to attach a threat—that was right behind him.
And the creature carried forward, no hesitation between attacks. Jikun raised a hand again, desperately trying to gather the water in the air to form a barrier around him, but he knew his pathetic grasp of magic outside of Darival would not be enough. The ice above him shattered like glass and the fist came crashing down toward his skull.
There was a sudden eruption of smoke and force beneath them, hurling their bodies as one into the air. Jikun felt the weight of his body arch and then drop. Beside him, the beast flailed out in confusion, slamming its wing into the side of Jikun’s chest, pitching him back to the earth. With an agile twist, it landed away from the smoke, snarling cautiously at the ground as it retreated a step. Jikun landed clumsily on his feet, off-balanced by the uneven ground as pain ripped through his shoulder. He exhaled heavily and raised his eyes.
Navon. His captain was crouched not far from them, trembling slightly as he held himself upright on an abandoned cart, his clammy face twisted in concentration. His skin was deathly white.
Murios’ words rushed back to him. Even through the agony in his shoulder, his answer did not waver. “No,” Jikun whispered, hardly audible to himself.
He could see the smoke vanish into the earth and a sudden, eerie twist of faint, spectral faces rose from behind the beast.
As though sensing the aura behind him, the beast whipped around, stumbling now as though pain seemed to finally reach it. Perhaps it too had been rushing through a fog of adrenaline.
Jikun focused on the ground behind it. “Come on,” he whispered. “Come on, damn it.” He tried to remember the feeling at the tent when he had formed the stalagmite—the feeling of harnessing his power away from the abundance of water in Darival. But he needed elements larger than the ice he had conjured in his tent. Much larger. He bit his lip, digging his fingers into the soil. “Come on…”
Navon’s shadows suddenly burst for the beast and, as it leapt aside, a stalagmite tore through the earth and pierced its chest, pulling the creature inches off the ground and hanging it before the wisps.
Jikun could not see the creature’s face, but the cry that it emitted was one of terrible fear and agony, as though for the briefest moment it could feel as mortals did. The blackened, twisted wisps enveloped it in a thin, surreal mist. And the beast’s cries grew louder.
Jikun opened his mouth in a shout of triumph, the shock of victory momentarily elating him, but the sound of shattering ice cut off his call.
The ice had shattered beneath the force of the beast’s heavy fist and it dropped to its feet on the still and silent earth. As though it had forgotten the pain, it tore away from the wisps, moving across the ground unhampered by its injuries. It hardly glanced at Jikun as it fled away in desperation toward the east.
Jikun felt his chest expand suddenly, his mind recalling the need to breathe. He inhaled sharply in relief, his legs growing stronger as fear fled with the last visible remnants of the beast’s form. The troops remained in disarray behind the general, but his attention slowly shifted toward the other solitary figure: the only one remaining nearby. He ignored the tensed muscles flickering pain through his shoulder and merely pursed his lips in an attempt to push the pain aside.
He rounded sharply on his captain, his eyes meeting Navon’s. “How dare you…! I told you! I told you!” he breathed venomously, even above the knowledge that the necromancy had saved them once again.
His captain smiled faintly and lurched forward onto the earth, a sudden glaze falling across his eyes as they locked blankly out into the grass.
Jikun’s gut dropped. ‘The Realms are not a place for mortal men,’ Murios had warned him. ‘And souls do not freely leave it.’ Jikun stumbled, hearing the distant sound of soldiers hurrying toward him, their panic just as great as when they had fled. “Navon? Navon?!” He fell to his knees beside him and reached frantically for the captain’s neck.
Navon blinked slowly, causing Jikun’s hand to snap away in surprise. “Gods, it takes it right out of you, doesn’t it?”
“So help me, Navon,” Jikun growled in relief. ‘He could have died!’
The soldiers behind them had grown close again, murmuring in nervousness even after the beast’s figure had entirely vanished into the distance. “Are you alright, General?!” several called from across the field, but Jikun merely raised his good hand to signal his response. They moved away then, through the chaos left in the creature’s wake, to filter though the bodies in order to find the living and burn the dead.
Jikun pulled Navon to his feet and supported him around his shoulders. ‘How many soldiers saw his necromancy…?’ he reflected stiffly, eyes flicking across the silent field.
Navon smiled weakly, chuckling as though they had merely tussled with a girl. “Just like the time you got wasted in Raestra and picked a fight with that huge human. And I had to run to your aid and got punched out for it…” he trailed off in an attempt to lighten the mood.
‘No, this is nothing like that time,’ Jikun thought darkly, but he feigned polite amusement as he helped Navon back into the cart. “Stay here,” he ordered. “We�
��ll be moving out shortly.” He glanced into the distance. The wounds the creature had sustained were severe… still, Jikun did not feel they would stop it for long.
*
The sight of Elvorium on the horizon could bring nothing less than the greatest cries of relief from Jikun’s soldiers. He could barely keep himself from falling to his own knees and kissing the earth, even within vision of the arrogant king’s palace rising up at the forefront of the capital.
“Navon, do you see that?” he breathed, dragging his ragged feet toward the southern bridge spanning the canyon of the city. Across the way he could see the gates open, but the guards raised hands against their approach. Thousands of tents reflected the sunlight before them.
No doubt the city would place them in this quarantine.
“I’ve never seen anything so beautiful,” the captain replied from his ogling seat on the edge of the wagon.
The soldiers pulling it stopped, collapsing in relief and tears, sickening Jikun with cries of “praise Sel’ari!” that dared escape their lips.
“Two years from home and they cheer. Half a year from home and they weep.” But Jikun did not rebuke them. He helped Navon down and held him steady for a moment, feeling a sudden wave of protectiveness for the frail male beside him. He scowled at the palace and away to the scattering of white tents across the canyon. “It appears the city has had the decency to prepare a place for us to be kept.” He could hear his own unintentional cynicism as he spoke.
Navon nodded and leaned against the wagon for further support, seemingly ignoring the implications of his statement.
Jikun turned his attention back to the gates of the city. He could see faces peering up over the wall cautiously, as though the plague itself would leap over the canyon directly into their bodies. He scowled in disgust.
Still… his eyes narrowed along the expanse of the capital’s canyon bride. One figure had abandoned the safety of the gates and dared approach them.
Jikun felt his heart rate quicken and his gaze harden as his eyes distinguished the male. The king. He ignored the shouts of the guards across the bridge as he took several brisk steps onto it.
A sudden clink of metal bouncing off stone brought him to an abrupt stop.
‘Damn it…’ he thought to himself angrily, looking up to the soldier along the wall who had fired a warning shot. He saw Hairem raise a hand to the guards and they lowered their weapons.
“Jikun, stop.”
The warning came from behind him this time. Jikun turned to see that Navon had made his way to his side and was leaning precariously on the archway of the bridge. Jikun glanced once over the side and felt his stomach drop like a stone. “Navon, you shouldn’t be here,” he growled.
“Jikun, they have good reason to keep us away from the city,” Navon insisted. “Come away.”
Jikun did not move forward, but neither did he leave. He stood quite still, feeling his anger boiling up inside him as Hairem slithered closer.
And when Hairem finally stopped before him, Jikun did not hesitate. The thoughts assaulting his mind were too many to distinguish. But they all chorused the same verse: Damn the king to Ramul. He charged in a single, swift thrust of his body to punch Hairem in his clean, healthy face, but arms swiftly wrapped around him from behind and wrestled him back.
“JIKUN!” Navon roared in rebuke.
Hairem paused in a slow, considerate blink, but his face remained quite calm. He raised his hand again against the city watch. “General, there is no apology I can give you for what has happened to your army. But outside the city, they will be well taken care of until the healers can determine that their disease is no longer infectious.” He looked past them to the male-pulled wagons and piles of soldiers draped across the wooden plank. “How—”
“WHAT IN RAMUL IS WRONG WITH YOU BASTARDS?!” Jikun bellowed, hurling Navon aside angrily, his fury only heightened by the restraint his sickly captain had managed to muster. “MY SOLDIERS WERE OUT IN THAT SWAMP DYING OF PLAGUE FOR MONTHS.” His hand shot out, grabbing the king by the front of his abhorrently clean shirt, to jerk him forward and nearly off his feet. “I lost thirty thousand good elves, Hairem. THIRTY THOUSAND. Do you understand this number?! HALF OF THE MALES I TOOK SOUTH ARE DEAD. And do you know what else?” He shook him, striving to shake some expression out of the king other than calm collectedness. It enraged him further. How dare he look so calm! “The supply caravans? Eaten. The horses? Eaten. The dead soldiers? Eaten. AND THEN WE WERE NEARLY SLAUGHTERED BY THE BEAST! While you fucking bastards sat behind those pretty pearl walls whoring and eating and wasting away on fine wines, my soldiers…” He felt a wave of exhaustion hit him in the chest, the walls of his rage breaking to release his adrenaline as well. He caught the archway for balance. “My soldiers died…” His hand fell from Hairem and he stumbled. “Suffered. And…” His knees gave out and he lurched forward.
Hairem caught him under the arms, a pained grimace splitting his face. “Captain,” the king barked to Navon. “Help me take the general to his quarters. He is clearly unwell. I will send a healer to him straight away.”
Jikun’s head rolled to the side weakly, his mind growing hazy. The strength he had fought to sustain for months was gone. He let his body sink entirely. Damn… into the arms of the king, of all the damned people… Hairem grunted as he repositioned his weight to support him and Navon made his way over to assist.
“General?” Navon asked in concern. “General are you—”
“No,” Jikun breathed softly. “I just need rest…”
He felt the two move back across the bridge toward the sprawling array of white tents. They took him into the nearest one on the canyon edge, laying him on a bed of furs and silks. A full pitcher of water was already sitting on the small table in the center of the tent.
“The kingdom spared no expense to ensure that you and your army are comfortable during your recovery. They shall want for nothing,” Hairem spoke, pulling the general’s ragged boots off and tossing them out the tent flap.
Jikun opened his eyes slightly to catch the horrified expression on Navon’s pale face. ‘What does it matter, Navon? The king owes us servitude,’ he thought irritably.
“I’m afraid it was not easy to return you to the city… Had I the courage to go against the council earlier, I would have done so. But, if I had, chances are your return would have been unwelcome. I acquired recent leverage that allowed this to take place. The crown doesn’t have the coin to cover everything you see here. The El’adorium assisted.”
Nilanis? Jikun frowned slightly as Hairem laid his head back. ‘I thought that snake—’
“But I thought the council was backing the return?” Navon inquired.
Hairem nodded. “They are now, but I’m afraid it is primarily to ensure the marriage of myself to Nilanis’ daughter.”
Jikun’s eyes focused. “You sold yourself out to the council?”
Hairem threw his last boot outside the tent. “No. My engagement and love to Ilsevel are genuine. General, is there anything I need to know before I send for a healer?”
Jikun raised a hand slightly. “I’ll need thirty thousand new swords, daggers, and sets of armor. And the council’s heads on pikes.”
Hairem grimaced slightly. “Rest, general. I will send for the healers. I shall pray to Sel—”
Jikun hissed venomously, “Do not ever say that name in my presence.”
Hairem and Navon exchanged a look before the king left the tent and Jikun closed his eyes. “Get out, Navon. Go take care of the troops and then get to your tent and get some god damn rest.”
“…General… your blasphemy is going to get you—”
“Necromancer,” Jikun hissed.
Navon’s jaw snapped shut and Jikun heard the tent flap fall closed a moment later. Already, he felt himself rapidly slipping into unconsciousness.
They were finally home.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“And that is why we will need to pull tog
ether in order to pay for the replacement armor and weapons that the general has requested.” Hairem leaned forward on his hands, eyeing the council solemnly. He felt guilt sink into him as he recalled Jikun’s anger and frustration… and his grief. If he had opposed the council, refused what he knew to be a mistake to begin with, thirty thousand more of his people would be alive today. They were his responsibility. His.
And he had failed them.
He remembered his confidence—his triumph when he had walked into the council chambers to announce his engagement to Ilsevel and his recall of the general. What a haughty fool he had been. “Even worse than the loss of their gear are the spirits of his—our—soldiers. They are fatigued and broken. As soon as I receive word from the healers that individuals are considered ‘safe,’ they shall not only be allowed into the city, but they will be given whatever assistance they need to recover. The families who lost their loved ones in the crusade shall be given ten years’ worth of soldier’s pay as compensation for the immeasurable loss they have incurred.”
Thunder rumbled in the distance as the room remained silent. Hairem could hear the rain pounding against the glass, dark grey skies looming ominously overhead. He wondered if the general’s troops were warm and comfortable. They had not had a morning quite like this in a while, and he counted it ill luck that such poor weather should come just days after the army had made camp.
Cahsari began to stand, but as he caught Nilanis’ eye, he returned to his seat, leaning back and scowling angrily. They had been far less difficult to deal with in the last month since he had announced his marriage to the daughter of their El’adorium. And he was relieved for this, if not a little ashamed that it was through Ilsevel that he had achieved their obedience.
Valdor stood instead, his eyes scanning the room briefly. “If the general requires new arms and weapons, then I shall certainly add what I can to the funding of such a request.”
Kings or Pawns (Steps of Power 1) Page 28
