Tears poured down Brock’s cheeks. One hand remained on Wraith’s head while he stared at Tipper’s dead eyes. Brock began to shake, as if an internal struggle was waging within him. After a moment, the look on his face morphed from sorrow to anger.
“No.” Brock whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t let them win.”
Screams sounded, and Tenzi tore her gaze away, shifting from a scene of sorrow to one of horror when it began to rain fire.
CHAPTER 30
Brock felt broken, as if a banshee had punched a hole in his chest. He knew Wraith was dead the moment the fireball struck, the severing of their connection hurting more than anything he could imagine. Tears blurred his vision and sobs of overwhelming anguish shook his body. Ashland’s voice echoed in his head.
Brock, she sent. What happened? Are you okay?
Brock’s thoughts were jumbled, his inner-self distant somehow. He blinked his eyes clear of tears and tried to focus, tearing his gaze away from Wraith as he turned toward Tipper.
Much like Wraith, Tipper’s body was broken, bloody, and burned. Scrapes and bubbled flesh showed in the spots where his clothing had been burned away. His dead eyes stared at nothing as Libby cradled his head. Libby looked up at Brock and screamed something, but Brock didn’t hear the words over the battle that waged within him
Brock could bring them back to life. He knew the way. Already Chaos-charged with Power, he could force his own Order, his life force, into them and bring them back. He had done it before with Ashland but the effort had left him unconscious for days. Not caring, he began reaching for his source of Order, preparing to revive them. Unbidden, the image from his nightmare flashed before his eyes, the giant black dog whimpering as she used her front legs to drag her burnt and broken body through the dirt. The image shifted to Tipper’s shambling corpse stalking him, crying out Why did you do this to us, Brock?
“No.” Brock whispered, shaking his head. “I can’t do it. I can’t let them win.”
He now knew what his dream meant. Attempting to revive what remained of his dead dog and childhood friend would be for his own selfish desires. That act would consume his precious abilities for the wrong purpose, incapacitating him for the remainder of the battle.
The sense of loss had been too much to bear, almost causing him to lose control. It was a near thing. Wrapped within his pain, Brock had almost done the unthinkable. Brock decided to use his pain and convert it to focused anger. He needed to use it to save the living, not to reclaim the dead.
He grabbed his staff, stood, and wiped his eyes dry. Brock glanced about his surroundings, seeing dead people among the burning wagons and tents within his camp. Turning to look east, he saw another flaming missile launch from the high bluff that overlooked the plains. Somehow, The Horde was using Chaos against them. Brock knew what he needed to do.
Without pause, Brock leapt over the crowd, landing at a run as he headed toward a tall youth standing beside a supply wagon.
“Adam!” he shouted as he ran toward the young man.
Adam’s gaze turned from the burning tents to look toward Brock.
Brock slowed as he reached the teen. “Give me a chunk of coal.”
Adam handed one to Brock, who quickly traced a rune on his forearm.
“You need to charge me with Chaos.” Brock commanded.
Adam glanced down, seeing the rune. His eyes flipped up, meeting Brock’s. “But my ability is weak. It won’t do much compared to others.”
“That’s why it must be you,” Brock replied. “While I need to reduce my weight, someone more powerful might go too far and cause me to float away.”
“Okay. I’ll try.” Adam nodded and took a breath as he concentrated.
Brock waited impatiently, feeling the need to strike before more people fell to The Horde Arcanist. After a moment, the tall boy’s eyes flashed open. A faint red glow emitted from them as he focused on Brock’s rune. The symbol came to life, glowing bright red and pulsing before fading. Brock’s stomach began to flutter as gravity loosened its grip on him and left him feeling queasy. He nodded to Adam and turned to find Salina standing behind him.
Inspiration struck.
“Salina, charge the rune on my hand.”
She glanced down, seeing the rune of Power. “Didn’t you already charge it tonight?”
He nodded. “Yes, but that was a while ago. The effect is half of what it was.”
“Won’t this overdo the effect though? Is it safe?” The concern in her eyes was apparent.
He glared at her, his anger resurfacing. “Do it.”
She nodded, closing her eyes as she focused. Her eyes flashed open and red sparks danced and sizzled within her pupils. The rune on Brock’s hand flamed a bright red before it began to pulse and fade. A white haze clouded Brocks’ vision, and he stumbled to one knee. He took deep breaths, his vision slowly returning although it felt unstable. He rose to his feet and flexed his free hand in wonder. The Power from Salina’s Chaos-charge combined with the residual from his own charge made him feel as if he might burst. He looked east, his eyes narrowing as he gazed toward his target.
Brock launched himself forward, taking two steps before leaping high over the burning tents. Almost as if he were flying, Brock landed three hundred feet away in the long grass east of camp. He continued toward the cliff edge, taking massive loping strides, forty-feet apart.
As he reached the catapult, Brock slowed to a stop. The siege engine appeared lonely and unused, its ammunition consumed and Nindlerod wreaking havoc elsewhere with the trailblazer. Brock looked toward the archers standing along the cliff edge, periodically firing arrows upon The Horde below them. Mixed in with the Tantarri warriors, he found someone he knew.
“Parker!” Brock shouted as he began to crank the launch arm in place. “Come over here!”
Parker lowered his bow and jogged over to the catapult. Brock finished cranking the launch arm and stood behind the machine. Without effort, he lifted the back of the 1,200-pound siege engine, shifting the aim from the lower plains to the ridge high above them.
“What’s up, Brock?” Parker asked. “Do you have something we can fire at whoever’s launching those fireballs toward us?” He pointed toward the bluff, looming a thousand feet above their position.
With the catapult in place, Brock hopped up into the launch basket, gripped his staff in both hands, and gave a nod.
“Yes. You’re launching me.” He gestured toward the release. “Pull the trigger.”
Parker glanced at the release, then back to Brock. “Are you crazy, Brock? You can’t survive that.”
Brock sighed. “Just do it, Parker.”
Parker shook his head but stepped over to the catapult anyway. He hesitated, raising an eyebrow in question. Brock gave him a nod, and Parker pulled the release.
Brock knew it was coming and thought he was ready. However, he had underestimated the suddenness of the launch. With a violent burst of acceleration, he shot into the air, the world passing beneath him in a blur. Up and up he arced, exceeding the elevation of the bluff by a hundred feet. His speed slowed as he reached the peak of his path and began to descend. Ahead, a group of banshees milled around a smaller form. The small one must be the Arcanist, Brock thought.
Bracing himself as he sped toward the surface of the bluff, Brock prayed to Issal that his weight was reduced enough to handle the impact. He crouched with the landing and rolled with the momentum. After the world spun two full revolutions, Brock regained his feet and launched himself toward the nearest beast.
Moving with inhuman speed, Brock flew over the banshee and caved its face in with an underhand swing of his staff. The re
coil of the strike caused Brock to flip forward. As he rotated, he brought his staff down hard to smash the next banshee on top of the head. He stumbled as he hit the ground, the recoil causing him to fall onto his back.
Brock regained his feet and turned to find a banshee swinging a thick log toward him. He leapt high, and the crushing swing from the banshee passed beneath him. The banshee looked up as Brock descended and drove the butt of his staff downward. The metal-capped end shattered the banshee’s teeth and plunged down the monster’s throat. Brock held tight to the staff, dangling above the banshee until it collapsed, bringing Brock down with it. He rolled when he hit the ground but the staff remained half-buried in the dead beast.
Looking past his victim, Brock found five more monsters between him and the Arcanist. He darted forward, landing a crushing punch to the first monster’s groin as he passed through its legs. The banshee crumpled to the ground, throwing up blood. A pair of monsters standing side-by-side blocked his path. Brock jumped up, spinning to lightly land with his feet straddling the two banshee’s shoulders. He grabbed a handful of hair from each monster, pushed off them, and smashed their heads together as he fell toward the ground. A repulsive crunch sounded as the banshee’s skulls crushed together, their heads imploding as if they were two large melons. Brock landed and backed from the dead beasts as they toppled to the ground.
Brock turned to find another monster lunging toward him. He leapt into the air, flipping as he sailed over the beast. He grabbed its long black hair and yanked hard, expecting to pull the beast over, but he found that he didn’t weigh enough to take the banshee off its feet.
A crushing pressure clamped onto Brock’s lower leg. He looked toward his foot to find himself in the grip of a banshee. Brock kept a firm grip on the other beast’s hair, pulling it off its feet when the other banshee began dragging Brock. The monster kept a firm grip on Brock’s leg, pulling both Brock and the other beast across the bluff in jerking motions. Despite Brock’s added strength, the weight of the banshee dragging behind him felt as if it was going to pull his arm out. After a number of strides, a tearing sound preceded a release. Brock suddenly found himself whipping forward with a handful of greasy black hair, torn from the banshee.
The world flew past Brock as he swung around in circles, the blood rushing to his head while the beast swung him about like a rag doll. The banshee released its grip and launched Brock into the night sky, beyond the cliff edge and far out over the lower plains.
CHAPTER 31
Ashland leaned over the side of her seat, finding only dark fields below the flyer. Benny pulled both flaps, and the flyer dove downward, not leveling it until they were less than two stories above the grass. Now far from the battle, the night seemed quiet and peaceful again. Ashland found herself worrying about Brock. She pumped her legs harder, eager to return to the battlefield.
The flyer banked left, circling about until it pointed toward the ridgeline where the fireballs had originated. As the imposing walls of the ridgeline drew near, Benny guided the flyer into the mouth of a narrow canyon, the dark maw swallowing them as they entered.
Tall rock walls sped past them, seemingly threatening to close in on them at any moment. Ashland gripped the rails at the sides of her seat, her knuckles white as images of the flyer hitting a cliff wall flashed in her head. Benny pulled a flap lever and the flyer banked hard to one side. Just when it appeared they would smash into the cliff side, he pushed both levers, and the flyer jerked upward to rise toward the starry sky. Pinned against the back of her seat, gravity eased its grip on Ashland as the flyer lost momentum. Worried about not clearing the ridgeline, Ashland pumped harder. Her thighs were burning, exhausted from hours of pedaling.
They crested the ridge, and Benny eased the levers until the flyer leveled. Ashland leaned over and found banshee bodies scattered on the ground. Movement caught her attention. Her gaze shifted toward the cliff edge to find a banshee dragging a human and another banshee across the ground. The monster being dragged suddenly stopped, and the other beast began to swing the person around as if they were a sling.
Eager to help, Ashland grabbed a flash bomb and made ready to strike. They drew closer and she gasped when she realized that the human was Brock. Ashland froze, not even breathing as shock took over. Gripped by horror, Ashland watched the banshee step to the cliff edge as it swung Brock about. The monster released its grip and Ashland felt her world crashing in as she watched Brock spin and tumble through the air, soaring impossibly far until he disappeared into the night sky.
Ashland screamed, “Brock!”
Tears blurred Ashland’s vision, as she stared into the darkness. Her breathing was a series of gasps, her heart racing. She saw nothing but the darkness, locked in a state of shock.
“What are you waiting for?” Benny shouted. “Throw the bombs!”
Ashland blinked in confusion. She looked down and saw the banshee run toward a smaller form as the flying machine sailed out past the edge, revealing the horrific drop to the dark plains below.
Leaning over the edge of her seat, Ashland wiped the tears from her eyes as she desperately searched for Brock. The ground was so far below them, so very far. Are you there, Brock? Please, answer me. All she heard was the buzz of the flying machine’s blades.
Benny pulled hard on a flap, and Ashland gripped her seat as the flying machine banked hard.
“What are you doing?” Ashland asked through her sobs.
“Those bastards killed Brock!” Benny shouted. “They die now!”
Benny was right. She wanted them dead.
They soared above the lower plains and toward the bluff, the cliff wall approaching fast. A ball of fire lit the sky again. Benny banked hard in an attempt to dodge it. The fireball nicked the wing, causing the flyer to rock violently. Benny banked hard the other way and swept toward the cliff edge where a small form stood near two large banshees, one of which was in the process of scooping a large stone from a rock pile.
Ashland gritted her teeth in hatred for these monsters, for what they had done to Brock. She scooped up two flash bombs and tossed them in succession as the flyer circled back toward the open plains. Both flash bombs struck near the huge banshees, splashing a green flash of fire as they exploded. Ashland held her hand to her eyes at the heat and light that had flared. She lowered her hand and saw a banshee shambling about, its arms failing as the beast burned. Moments later, it stumbled off the cliff, leaving an orange trail as it fell. Ashland didn’t look away until it smashed into the grass far below.
“Oh no,” Benny exclaimed.
Ashland turned to discover the wing on fire.
“We’re losing altitude!” Benny cried.
Looking down, Ashland could see that they were far too high to survive a crash. She decided that it didn’t matter. She couldn’t live without Brock.
Ashland glanced toward Benny and saw the fear on his face. Her focus shifted to the rune she had drawn on him. She latched onto Chaos and drew in the raging torrent of energy with ease. Feeling as if she would explode, Ashland released the energy into the rune she scrawled upon Benny’s cheek.
“What are you doing?” Benny shouted. “What about you?”
His body began to float above his seat as he held onto the flap levers. They were losing altitude quickly now.
“I’m saving you, Benny,” Ashland said as she slammed the last flash bomb canister into his knuckles.
“Argh!” Benny screamed as his grip released and he broke away from the burning flying machine.
Ashland set the canister back into the basket as she watched him drift away. She thought about Brock, praying that she would meet him in her next life while asking Issal to have pity on her soul.
The flying machine lurched, t
he force driving her deep into her seat. Ashland opened her eyes to find that she was still alive, her arm clutching the outside of the cockpit. She sat upright and looked over the edge to discover what she had hit and realized that she was still hundreds of feet above the ground.
Brock’s face was a grimace as he held the bottom of the flyer, his face flickering orange in the light of the burning wing. She noticed that Brock’s eyes were glowing bright red, crackling with sparks of energy. His eyes dimmed and the rune on her exposed hand flared red. The rune pulsed and faded, Ashland feeling gravity’s grip release as she floated off her seat.
“Let go so I can, too,” Brock said.
Stunned, Ashland did as he asked. She pushed herself away from the flyer, drifting from the flaming contraption. Brock heaved, launching the machine away from him just before he and the machine smashed into the long grass.
“Brock!” Ashland shouted in fear as she drifted from the site of the fiery crash.
Desperate to go help him, she wiggled and kicked, trying to get herself to land. After drifting a few hundred feet, she dropped low enough to reach the long shoots of grass below her. A dozen failed attempts to grab ahold of the grass left narrow cuts in her palms before she could get a grip and stop drifting away. Pulling her feet to the ground, she began to work her way toward the site of the crash, the grass and flyer burning as her guiding beacon among the dark fields. With her heart caught in her throat, she closed the distance as fast as she could, but movement wasn’t easy because her feet kept floating upward as if gravity were reversed.
When she neared the crash site, she found Brock buried in the tall grass, just strides from the growing fire. Fearful of what she might find, she bent to grab his hand. Upon her touch, Brock stirred and his eyes opened. A smile stretched across his face as he looked up at her.
An Empire in Runes (The Runes of Issalia Book 3) Page 19
