by M. M. Whan
Eferath grabbed Morgan, returned the favor by slamming the boy’s face into the wall, then he yanked him backward. As soon as they stood at the centre of the hallway, Eferath shoved the dazed young man toward the railing, then threw as hard a right hook as he had ever thrown. It connected with Morgan’s face with a heavy crack. The force of the blow sent Morgan staggering backward until he hit the railing and tumbled over. He hit the ground hard with a heavy thud and as Eferath looked over the railing, he saw Morgan laying perfectly still.
Eferath breathed a sigh of relief and sank to the floor as he clutched his wound, feeling blood pulsing over his hand. He wanted nothing more than to lay down and curl up into a ball and let the warmth of sleep take over for him. But he wasn’t done yet. No, there was still the matter of the soldier holding his mother and sister hostage. With weak, rubbery legs, Eferath shuffled to the door to his parent’s room after retrieving his discarded sword. The man seemed a lot less sure of himself now than he did before. His sword and dagger hands trembled, and he had the look on his face of a frightened rabbit looking for a way to escape.
“Your man is dead.” Eferath said weakly, and the man stared at him with eyes full of fear. “Make the right choice, and you may leave with your life. Make the wrong one, and you’ll regret it for the rest of your life. Both moments of it.”
The soldier seemed to think about his options for a moment. He could fight – and most likely die in the attempt – or he could kill the girls and seal his fate. The man decided to take the third option and opted to dive out the window and trust his fate to luck.
“By the Gods, Eferath! Are you all right?” Lillyan sobbed breathlessly as she and his sister enveloped Eferath in a tight hug. Eferath winced and gently eased his mother and sister away.
“Aye, I’ll be… fine. Father…” He couldn’t finish, and his eyes burned fiercely and he had to squint to keep tears from streaking down his face. His mother reached up and cupped his face with her hand. He could see that her heart was torn in twain, but she remained strong for them. That’s who she was.
He briefly told them what had happened, but stopped as soon as he heard what sounded like booted feet running downstairs.
“Both of you stay here.” Eferath told them, taking his mother and sister’s hand and giving them a reassuring squeeze. “This is by far the safest place for you to be right now. As soon as things start to die down, I want you to run. Flee this place and make for grandfather in the woodlands.” Ordinarily, Eferath never would have spoken to his mother thus, neither would she have tolerated it. But this wasn’t an ordinary circumstance, so she nodded and accepted his orders as if they had come from his father and huddled with his crying sister at the corner of the room.
Eferath raced out of the room and peered down over the railing.
Morgan wasn’t there.
He made it down stairs in record time, hurriedly looking left and right and all around for some sign that Morgan was nearby. He cursed himself under his breath for not coming down here sooner to ensure the rat was well and truly dead. He shook himself out of his anger. There would be plenty of time for recriminations after all was said and done. Now, in order to keep his family safe, he would need to track Morgan down and finish the job.
Eferath shoved the main door open and stepped outside into the chaos that was the town. Everything was on fire. People ran in every direction, horses and livestock with them. Dogs barked at it all. The worst part was the bodies. Townsfolk and elites all lay eerily still on the ground amongst pools of crimson. There were less elites than his own people, Eferath noticed, and that struck him straight to his heart. These were simple folk! Some were retired military, but none of them were a match to an elite trained soldier. It was nothing more than a slaughter.
The pure injustice of it all sickened Eferath, and offended him at a very fundamental level. He knew beyond a doubt who was behind it all, and though these men and women were just following orders, they were the unjust messengers from an unjust king.
And they would all die, along with the usurper Dorien.
Eferath took a single step off the front porch of the house and he felt his skin tingle. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end and his arms were covered in gooseflesh.
Lethaniel stood up the street back toward the town square. He was filthy, and his tattered robes and bent, lopsided posture made him look like nothing more than an old beggar. An incredibly powerful wizard beggar. Eferath thought to himself with just a hint of fear. Going by what his senses were telling him, Lethaniel was preparing something extra special for Eferath, and if he had to guess, the spell contained what was left of the old man’s reserves. Lethaniel could barely hold himself up, and his burned and charred face and hair didn’t hide the many winces he made while going through the runes of his cast. Judging by the amount of magical energy build up Eferath could feel, time was running short.
Eferath threw caution to the wind. He knew that he needed to get to Lethaniel before the master magician was able to complete his cast. His wound forgotten at least for the moment, Eferath dashed forward with all of the speed his jelly-like legs could muster. Eferath raised his diamond sword high in the air and screamed at the top of his lungs, desperately trying to disrupt Lethaniel’s concentration.
But Lethaniel was a master magician. The only thing Eferath was able to disrupt was Lethaniel’s aim. The spell fired and a ball of pure fire streaked from the wizard’s outstretched palm, slicing over and singing Eferath’s right shoulder as it continued its flight.
Time seemed to slow to a crawl for Eferath in that moment. His head spun around to watch the fireball as it sizzled past, aimed unerringly for the top floor of Eferath’s home.
At his mother and father’s room.
Eferath could only watch in absolute horror as the fireball struck the side of the bedroom wall a few feet to the right of the south-facing window and detonated violently. It began as a giant fireball, blossoming out and sending shards of debris flying in every direction. Thick black smoke replaced the fireball, and Eferath sank to his knees as he saw that half of the entire top floor was missing. The rest was a raging hell-fire.
First, he heard the screams. Then he saw what would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life; Two bodies completely engulfed in flames, stumbling around as if they were blind and drunk before ultimately falling face down.
“Nooooo!” Eferath screamed. He screamed and he screamed until his voice went hoarse and he tasted blood in his mouth, then he screamed some more. Each breath became wracking sobs, and he gasped for breath that would not come. He gripped the hilt of his sword so tightly he felt his knuckles crack, then he spun around with the intention of cutting Lethaniel down.
His diamond blade passed through the image of Lethaniel, but nothing more. The illusory image wavered, then dissipated.
Lethaniel had teleported away.
Eferath raced into his burning home. He would save his mother and sister’s bodies and bury them next to his father. As soon as he passed the threshold on the main floor, he was assaulted by thick, acrid smoke. He tried to search for the stairs through his sobs and the smoke but he couldn’t even see his hand in front of his face. When he finally found the stairs, he scaled them one at a time, and he could feel the intense heat from the fire burning below the stairs through the soles of his boots. Somehow, the explosion must have sent burning debris all over the downstairs, lighting secondary fires all around.
“Ma!” Eferath cried, then went into a coughing fit. He knew she wouldn’t answer, but his heart demanded he at least try. “Emily!” Again, the only response he received was the crackle and pop of the flames.
Eferath didn’t even make it to the top level. Even as beams, boards, and thatch all fell from above and around him, surrounding him in hell-fire, it was the stairs that gave out first. Eferath suddenly felt himself go weightless as the floor dropped away, then he was falling. He landed hard on his back, the impact blasting the a
ir from his lungs. Eferath had just enough time to see the chunk of flaming wall come tumbling down toward him.
Then the world went black.
Epilogue
Morgan returned to the town square, sporting a noticeable limp, and several broken bones. He met up with the commander of the elites who definitely looked no worse for wear. For a moment he wanted to ask if she had even joined in the fighting at all but decided against it. He was in no mood for excuses besides. Eferath had nearly killed him, and Lethaniel was nowhere to be found. Morgan did not think it likely the mage was dead. Most likely he just teleported away as soon as it became too dangerous. The whole town was up in flames and a good portion of the buildings and houses had already succumbed to the structural damage and collapsed.
“How many have you lost?” Morgan asked through gritted teeth.
“Two score maybe.” The commander replied, her voice surprisingly husky for a female. “I won’t have a count done until everyone is captured and the town is secured.”
“Captured?” Morgan echoed incredulously, his expression turned sour. “Captured? No, there are to be no witnesses.”
The commander turned to look at him. “My lord?” Morgan liked the sound of the title.
“No witnesses, commander. No witnesses means no survivors.”
“As you wish, my lord.” She replied. Her tone gave no indication how she felt about those orders. Not that it mattered to Morgan anyway. He was a Lord now. Lords did not bother themselves with such trivialities.
The story will be continued in Book 2 of The Diamond Sword Chronicles – The Sorcerer’s Dilemma
