A Crumble of Walls (The Kin of Kings Book 4)

by B. T. Narro

  Half of the other men had split to pursue Basen and Vithos. There were ten, as those Basen had cut remained on the ground licking their wounds. That still left five for him, and he hadn’t been trained to defend himself against more than one opponent.

  He took his wand with his free hand as he backed away. The sight of it stopped all but two of them, and he hit them both with a single fireball.

  Once they were on the ground nursing their burns, the other three seemed uncertain whether to give chase.

  One soon did, yelling, “Come on!”

  The others followed close behind. Basen was about to shoot the man in front but noticed one of the three approaching from the side, much faster than the other two. Basen aimed as he gathered energy. The man turned his shoulder inward and cursed loudly, but neither reaction protected him from the enormous force of heat that lifted the man off the ground. He rolled away and left a trail of smoke.

  The other two screamed in aggression. Drained, Basen didn’t have the stamina to run from them. If he were to cast another fireball, it would be from his knees. He poured the last of his strength into getting his sword up and deflecting the first attack. He ducked under the second one, then stabbed his nearest enemy in the leg.

  It was enough to take the man down. Basen barely got his sword up in time to block the third attack. His assailant tried to kick Basen while their swords were locked, but he saw it coming and grabbed the man’s boot, Basen’s side absorbing much of the impact. He kicked the man’s other leg out from under him, then slashed the sword out of his hands. Basen brought his weapon down to stab this man in the leg as well.

  “Stay down,” he advised as he checked on Vithos.

  Only equipped with a dagger and psyche, the Elf pained the closest man chasing him to buy time. A couple of their attackers gave up and joined the main battle led by the giant, leaving Basen and Vithos to deal with only three enemies.

  Basen went for their legs as it was easier than killing them. He was stunned as he looked over to find the giant taking on three Elven swordsmen at once and making it look easy. He blocked the sword of an unseen attack with his shield while swiping his battle axe at the other two Elves. Only one Elf was quick enough to get out of the way. The other tried to block the attack, but there was too much force behind it, knocking his weapon away and cleaving off a chunk of his leg.

  Spinning to keep up his momentum, the giant brought his two-sided axe up and caught another Elf in the heart. The dead Elf’s body stuck to the axe, lifting off the ground as if he were as light as an empty satchel. The giant turned his weapon in the air to shake off the dead Elf, then brought the axe down.

  Fatholl was nearly chopped in half as he spun out of the way. A small gray cloud of his long hair feathered to the ground. Basen was running straight for the giant without a plan. He jumped as he neared the giant’s back, getting both boots up to kick him in the spine with all of his strength. Something cracked against Basen’s side, dazing him before he realized he was rolling across the ground.

  The shield. He’d been hit with it, and now the giant had chosen him as his next victim, practically shaking the ground as he stomped toward Basen.

  “Psyche no work!” Vithos yelled.

  “I told you!” Basen scrambled to his feet. “We have to run!” he announced to all, noticing Yeso’s Elves almost reaching them.

  Fortunately, Fatholl’s Elves had made good work of the normal-size men by then, and there were only a few left standing. The Elves were forced to leave some of their own behind as they ran, Basen at the head of the pack.

  “No!” the massive man shouted after them. “Return, you cowards!”

  Anger reddened his face. Veins in his neck bulged. He gave chase, only to give up after a surprisingly short effort. He threw down his shield like a child having a tantrum.

  Yeso’s Elves, however, were quickly catching up. The mountain slope was close enough that Basen knew they could make it. Everyone would be forced to descend slowly, giving them a chance to recoup their spent energy.

  It was almost steep enough for Basen to slide down on his ass, but he didn’t have the luxury of time or a change of pants.

  The scene was almost laughable as Elves skittered down after each other, Fatholl and Yeso continuing to yell in Elvish. Basen asked Vithos what they were saying, but all Vithos could gather was Fatholl mentioning something about a duel to settle their differences and Yeso refusing to agree. Basen wondered if Fatholl’s pleas were as heartfelt as they sounded, or if he meant to follow through with Basen’s plan.

  Either way, Basen wasn’t about to let Yeso walk out of this with his life.

  It’s his fault some of the Elves have joined our enemies. They need to go back from where they came from or die.

  The descent was slow enough to give Basen time to ponder the exact reason behind Yeso chasing his brother all this way. Surely, he meant to kill Fatholl, but was it to protect himself or was it solely out of anger?

  The ground came as a welcome relief when Basen reached the bottom. He could barely make out the blurred leaves on the trees ahead after running for this long, feeling as if he would collapse the moment he stopped. Yeso’s cries of anger finally subsided. Basen turned to find that he and his Elves had halted, most of them with their hands on their knees as they fought for breath

  No, just a little farther.

  “This is ridiculous!” Yeso announced. “We are away from everyone here. Let’s settle this like Elves.”

  “Fine,” Fatholl spat back, motioning for his Elves to stop.

  What are you doing? Get him into the forest!

  “Admit you came to the mountains to kill me,” Yeso said, then pointed at Basen. “This human brought you here to do it. You’ve decided to stand with them against me.”

  Fatholl took a moment to regain his breath. “As I’ve said, I take no side in this war…just like in Greenedge. I only do what I know to be right.”

  Yeso spat out an Elvish word that was probably a curse. “You think yourself to be the god of Elves ever since our exile from Meritar. It’s as if you’ve forgotten that we trained in psyche together. I was the one who convinced you it needed to be done. I told you what could be accomplished with that kind of power.”

  “And yet you accomplish nothing but destruction! You are an embarrassment to all Elves.”

  Yeso took in a sharp breath. “I will not have this conversation with you again.” With his Elves gathering behind him, Yeso started toward Fatholl.

  He didn’t move, nor did any of his Elves. Basen’s fingers twitched as the urge to grab his wand overcame him.

  No, Yeso is quick. He’ll see me and dodge it again.

  Besides, Fatholl would kill Basen if he tried to interfere now. He might try to kill me anyway. Basen wrapped his hand tightly around the warm akorell bracelet in his pocket.

  “I have always been able to tell when you lie to me,” Yeso said, giving Basen a quick look that warned him not to move. As Yeso’s full attention returned to Fatholl, he turned his lips inward as if unable to contain the fury causing deep lines in his forehead. “So tell me the truth! You came here to kill me.”

  No one was watching Basen anymore. He slunk into the forest behind him.

  He found some shrubbery growing around a tree, grabbed it low near the soil, and pulled it until the dirt came up. He stashed his akorell stone underneath, then reburied the roots, patting around until it looked just as he’d found it.

  “Answer me!” Yeso yelled.

  “You already know the truth,” Fatholl said. “What you choose to do about it is what makes us who we are.”

  “You were the one who chose to come here. I didn’t force you.”

  “You did force me,” Fatholl argued, “when you joined Ulric. I should’ve killed you back in Greenedge for your betrayal. We lost hundreds making the continent safe again. You could’ve helped, but you didn’t.”

  Yeso drew the dagger from his belt. He surprised Basen by looking straight a
t him. “Kill the mages first while I deal with Fatholl.”

  The enemy mages aimed their wands. There were too many of them. A battle of fire would result in three times the casualties on Basen’s side, and he appeared to be the target for most of them.

  He spun and ran for the trees. A fireball flew over his shoulder and exploded against the trunk of the nearest one. He shielded his head as best he could as he hid behind another tree.

  “Vithos!” he called to the Elf. “Don’t fight!”

  “I don’t,” Vithos said from the cover of a tree somewhere to Basen’s side.

  Good. Basen didn’t care how many Elves on each side died as long as Vithos wasn’t one of them.

  Another fireball blasted Basen’s tree, keeping him from peering out as screams of aggression and pain mixed together. Someone behind him yelled out in Elvish. Fatholl stopped his spell of psyche on Yeso to drop flat to the ground. He screamed something to the Elves around him, and they, too, dropped.

  A hundred arrows buzzed by and found the torsos and legs of Yeso’s Elves.

  No Elves were left standing. Swarms of Fatholl’s Elves emerged from behind the trees. Wielding daggers, they stood menacingly over their enemies, yet did not attack.

  Soon Yeso was the only one left struggling. He writhed on the ground as Fatholl approached. Both had their arms outstretched toward the other, though Yeso looked as if he was trying to block a bright sun while Fatholl’s fingers were crooked as if reaching to grab something. Fatholl came near enough for their hands to meet and closed his fingers tightly around Yeso’s fist.

  “I hate that you made me do this to you,” Fatholl announced over Yeso’s screams. He knelt down and drew his dagger with hesitation.

  “I’ve always hated you,” Yeso forced out behind gritted teeth, his lips red with blood. “I know you’ve felt it.”

  “You haven’t always,” Fatholl said sadly, then grimaced as he pushed the blade into his brother’s chest.

  Yeso screamed as he grabbed Fatholl’s dagger-hand. But the surrounding Elves extended their arms and sapped Yeso’s strength. He went limp as if falling asleep, looking oddly peaceful as his eyes shut. Fatholl took out his dagger and then pushed it in one more time. Yeso gave no reaction.

  Fatholl pushed himself up. A single tear fell down his cheek before he swiped it.

  Although all of Yeso’s Elves were on the ground, many had fallen voluntarily in surrender and were without injury. Fatholl lifted his arms and spoke to them in Elvish. They rose hesitantly, the fear of death on each of their faces.

  “Do all of you know common tongue?” Fatholl asked them.

  They nodded as they eyed more archers moving out from the trees with arrows at the ready. Basen tried to back farther into the forest without being seen, but Fatholl pointed at him. “Don’t move!” His eyes showed fury, but there was a hint of pain behind them.

  “How many more Elves came with you?” Fatholl asked them.

  “Three hundred,” one answered.

  The same number of Krepps we recruited from Fatholl’s village. But there was no doubt in Basen’s mind who would win a battle between equal numbers of each race.

  “You will go back to fetch them,” Fatholl said. “Then you will have two choices. You can return here before sunset and be brought to Regash Forest, where you will help Krepps build their new home. There are other Elves there, who will bring you to Merejic to live with us when we are done. Or you can return to Greenedge. I don’t care if you decide to stay together, or if half of you go back while the other half join us. But if you try to do anything else, I will find you just like I found Yeso.”

  Basen had made it to the next row of trees, now motioning for Vithos to follow. But as he came toward Basen, Fatholl noticed.

  “I said don’t—!”

  Basen and Vithos ran.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Of all the unknowns of this plan, one thing was for certain. Basen and Vithos had decided at the start of this they would flee the moment they had the chance. Unfortunately, the moment had never arrived, so Basen had to create one.

  Fatholl was too powerful and too emotionless. He didn’t care about the needs of others. If taking the akorell stone wasn’t reason enough for killing Basen, he would come up with some other excuse.

  Vithos would survive if captured, being an Elf, and there was some solace to that. But Basen needed his assistance as the two of them ran.

  Basen could come back for his akorell stone later. First, he had to lose the horde of psychic Elves…who could sense him no matter where he hid. God’s mercy, he could think of no worse predicament.

  He was glad Vithos was fast, as it helped them get a good head start. Basen didn’t chance a look behind him, focusing all of his efforts on speed. He zipped around trees, separating from Vithos by accident.

  “This way!” Basen called to him.

  Vithos replied with a scream. The psychics had gotten to him.

  “Keep going!” Vithos yelled.

  Basen turned and saw a few veer off toward a fallen Vithos. The rest came for Basen as he made a split decision to follow Vithos’ advice. There was nothing Basen could do to help his comrade against so many.

  His heart jumped into his throat as he spotted more Elves in front of him. Not all of them had come through to join the battle! He stopped, and before he could figure out what to do, his body convulsed with pain.

  Basen lifted his wand toward the Elf hurting him and watched the psychic’s aggression turn to fear. Basen gathered energy and fired at the Elf’s feet. He would avoid killing any of them if he could, for it would only anger Fatholl more.

  Released from pain as the Elf somersaulted backward, Basen found a new route with no one in front of him. He would come back for the akorell stone and Vithos after he escaped.

  He was hit again with pain so terrible he lost control of his legs. It was a reflex to go down, submit, and scream.

  Fatholl’s furious voice rang out. “Don’t! Move!”

  Through the pain, Basen was overwhelmed with the urge to look up. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would raise his head. Feeling as if he were being crushed by a bed of nails, Basen strained to bend back his neck.

  Through blurred vision, he made out Sanya deeper in the forest. She was fully disguised again, a silver mask hiding her face. She held something in her outstretched hand that Basen had never seen before. It looked like a staff with orbs on either end that were as black as two holes deep enough to reach hell.

  She called to him silently with psyche, then moved to hide herself behind the nearest tree. The urge to go to her intensified.

  Groans slipped out of Basen’s throat as he tried to crawl away from the sound of Fatholl’s approaching footsteps. He’d never known such agony, as if every muscle was slowly expanding, ripping his skin from the inside out.

  Sanya wanted to help him—he just had to make it to her. He tried to keep going, but with Fatholl’s psychic spell came a weakness as if Basen had aged a hundred years. His arms shook under his weight, his muscles refusing to work.

  Why didn’t she just alter the energy in the air? Then he could run to her…the weapon needs bastial energy. He had to get closer.

  As he inched toward her, hands clutched him and turned him over. Fatholl still wouldn’t relent, giving Basen no opportunity to fight back.

  The Elf quickly searched his pockets.

  “Where is the akorell stone?” Fatholl demanded as he wiped his dagger on the grass to clean off his brother’s blood.

  They were all paining him now, he realized, feeling not one but countless minds inside his head. But the pain wasn’t any worse than if Fatholl was the only one. Perhaps Basen had reached the limit of agony he could possibly feel.

  He focused to remember what his father had told him about resisting psyche.

  “You must feel something stronger than the pain.”

  “Where is it?” Fatholl asked again as he pulled a small vial from his pocket. With ca
re, he wiggled off the cork and poured the viscous substance onto his dagger.

  Basen needed to buy time. While groaning in pain, he asked, “Will you…let me go…if I give it to you?”

  “Of course,” Fatholl said.

  Faintly, Basen heard muffled screaming. He managed to turn his head to locate Vithos being dragged off as he tried to yell a warning through a gag.

  Fatholl is lying.

  Yet what could Basen do about it? He searched for Sanya again, now unable to locate her. She had to stay back so as not to be detected with psyche, but then how was he supposed to reach her?

  At least Yeso is dead and his Elves will no longer fight in this war. Basen had done his part. His mother was free as well, probably back at the Academy already.

  The pain was beginning to anger him as he writhed helplessly. How cruel could one Elf be? He must know the torture he’s putting me through, yet he doesn’t care.

  Fatholl appeared to have finished coating his blade in what had to be poison. He held it away from himself as it dripped.

  Basen tried to think of his mother needing him, but she was free now. His father was safe back at the Academy as well.

  The Academy—he’d never felt a deeper connection to any other place. But the thought of returning wasn’t enough to override this agony. He screamed as his thoughts broke apart.

  Basen noticed something being dragged down his arm. He blinked to clear his blurred vision and saw Fatholl opening up his skin with the poisoned dagger, though Basen was already in too much pain to feel more.

  “You don’t have long,” Fatholl said. “I brought the antidote, and you’ll have it once you tell me where the stone is. Then this pain can stop.” He put his hand flat against Basen’s chest. “Your heart can’t take it much longer. It’ll give out, if the poison doesn’t kill you first.”

  Anger came over him again, but Basen felt so utterly weak he could do nothing about it. Yes, he could tell them where the akorell stone was, but if they were going to kill him anyway, he didn’t want them to have it.