Namber motioned casually to someone behind him, and a large, creaking wagon was pulled forward into the open space between Namber’s army and the city walls. Torches on top of the wagon lit up the area around it. The back of the wagon fell open, creating a ramp to the paving stones, and Kestrel watched in horror and disdain as a pair of lizard monsters, the Viathins in the form they most often used in his land, came sprinting down to the plaza, their tongues flickering out in front of them as they spread out.
“These friends of mine are hungry,” Namber said. “Poma, come forth,” the prince called, and the ambassador from Uniontown came up, riding his horse to a position next to Namber’s. The ambassador’s arm was in a sling, and the side of his face was bruised and scraped, a result – Kestrel was sure – of the battle at Hydrotaz.
“The foul half-breed you allow to soil our land is hostile towards our pets,” Namber pointed at Kestrel, “so Poma, please protect them while they have a small snack,” the prince ordered.
Poma made a motion with his arm, and a hazy red dome formed over the open plaza, covering the Viathins, the prince and the ambassador, and several troops. It was the same type of dome Kestrel had seen before, when he had fought against another champion of Uniontown in Estone.
“Now, allow our pets to see what they will have for their snack,” Namber spoke, his voice sounding hollow as it penetrated outward from the interior of the red dome.
“No!” Kestrel shouted, as he saw a woman’s body roll down from the other side of the same wagon the Viathins had been in. The woman had strawberry blonde hair, and an athletic build. She was bound by ropes around her hands, legs and torso, with a gag around her mouth. It was Picco, the fun-loving younger sister of Creata. During his residence in Graylee she had been a close friend of Kestrel’s, a positive, cheery companion who he cherished as a friend.
“Goddess help us!” Philip moaned in an anguished voice, as he watched Picco’s body squirm, while the lizards began to shuffle around the vicinity of the girl.
“If you surrender now, the girl will be spared,” Namber spoke loudly.
“No!” Kestrel shouted, he pulled his knife from his hip and hurled it towards the Viathin closest to Picco. The blade flipped through the air, traveling along its enchanted path, until it struck the red dome, and stuck to the surface of the protective cover.
“Weak! So weak!” Poma cackled.
“Lucretia!” Kestrel called in panic, “return!” he stretched his hand out to catch the knife, but it remained frozen in the magical substance of the dome. He watched it shiver as it tried to free itself and answer his call, but the dome’s substance held the knife in check.
“Oh Kestrel, what can we do?” Philip softly moaned. “Creata will be heart-broken.”
Kestrel held out his hand again. “Give me back my knife!” he shouted in extreme frustration, his emotions boiling over at the sight of Picco’s plight.
His hand suddenly felt a burning, tingling sensation, and then it began to glow, as he held it outstretched. The knife began to glow as well, growing brighter and brighter, until its incandescence flared to a blinding flash and the square was momentarily filled with a deep tolling sound like a vast, heavy, metallic bell tolling a death, that made the wall they stood on – and everything else around – shiver, then Kestrel’s extraordinary light vanished, a great crack appeared in the dome, running in a jagged network of lines that spread in every direction from where Lucretia had landed, and the knife came flying back to Kestrel’s hand.
“Killcen, Odare, Stillwater! Go get the girl and bring her here!” Kestrel’s words tumbled out rapidly, as he sought to seize a chance to rescue his friend.
Killcen and Odare went darting through the air, dodging and passing his knife as it flew in the opposite direction. Stillwater materialized in the air and immediately began following them as they shot through the hole in the red dome and descended upon Picco. The three imps ignored the lizards that screamed in outrage at the defeat of the dome, and the small blue bodies gathered around Picco in an instant, then disappeared with the girl, just as the first of the monster lizards reached the spot and angrily snapped their jaws shut on empty air.
“No!” Poma shouted in outrage, so angry that veins popped up at his temples, his face grew red, and spittle flew from his mouth. “You are an abomination!” he screamed, pointing at Krestrel. “No mortal should be permitted to do such, to hold those abilities!
Ashcrayss, I call upon you! Grufsttudt, I call upon you! Enable your servants to fight against this semi-divinity! Bring more power to your children!” the ambassador screamed.
All other sounds in the vicinity ceased, except for a gentle wafting sound as the imps appeared next to Kestrel, bearing Picco with them. Kestrel used his knife to slash the ropes that held her, and the gag tied round her head, even as he watched warily to see what Poma had unleashed, if anything.
“Kestrel, oh lord, Kestrel!” Picco cried and grabbed Kestrel in a tight clinch. “Thank you so much, so much,” she was crying, her endurance broken after her captivity and mistreatment by the prince’s men.
Kestrel looked down at her face, and saw a bruise on her forehead, and he suddenly felt a tenderness towards her, a wish that he could protect and comfort her to save her from any further pain or danger. She stared at him in return, and he saw that fear still lingered in her eyes.
“It’s amazing the lengths a girl will go to in order to get a piece of chocolate cake,” he told her with a gentle smile. “All you had to do was ask for one instead of staging all of this.” He saw her smile, and felt pleased that he had managed to lure that grin onto her face. “You’re safe now,” he assured her.
“How did they come to have you?” Philip asked her even as he, like Kestrel, kept an eye on the unfolding drama in front of the palace gates.
“Their ship stopped at mother’s estate. They killed her, ransacked the villa, and took me captive,” the girl cried.
Kestrel tried to sooth her by running his hand up and down her back, but when the skies overhead suddenly turned even darker with ominous, churning, inky black clouds that descended rapidly, his hand motions stopped.
The clouds hovered overhead, almost brushing the tops of the buildings in the city, and the failed red magical dome dissipated into misty nothingness, then a fog descended from the clouds in a wide column that encompassed the plaza where the prince’s army stood, and where the Viathins stood, and tendrils of the dark mist even fell upon parts of the palace walls and gate. The fog felt clammy, but more than clammy to Kestrel, who sensed an evil hunger within the shapeless threat.
“Get down! Everyone get down off the wall!” he suddenly shouted, driven by some instinctive perception that something terrible was about to occur.
Soldiers reacted instantly, beginning to scramble for the ladders. “Take Picco!” Kestrel told Philip, thrusting the battered girl towards the leader of the rebellion.
“You can take her, can’t you?” Philip asked. “You’re going down too, aren’t you? Because if you’re not, I’m not!”
“Go,” Kestrel urged. “Just go. Take her!”
Philip’s arm was wrapped around Picco’s shoulders, and she looked up at him. “You better come down too,” he said to Kestrel through clenched teeth, and then they shuffled off to the ladder.
“Kestrel, be careful!” Picco called out, and then she started to climb down, her eyes fixed on him.
He turned, and looked out over the plaza, where to his horror he saw that the fog was beginning to glow where it touched many things, and as it grew brighter it crawled along the ground towards the Viathins, as though it were a pool of shallow water being drawn to a drain. A pair of Namber’s soldiers suddenly collapsed, as bright pulses of light were drawn from them by the mist, and Kestrel heard the timbers of the palace gate and walls below him suddenly start to groan and crack as they grew weaker, while light energy leeched away from them as well.
The buildings facing the plaza began to suffer, and the
front of one collapsed, while the cloud overhead ceased to drop its hungry mist upon the scene, and then rose higher, disappearing from sight. The Viathins remained stock still and let the glowing mist approach them each. As it reached them, it started to flow into their bodies, and they too began to glow.
No further light left any of the sources after they were drained empty of life force and energy, as the last of the hungry mist was absorbed into the monsters. Kestrel heard the wooden posts and beams in the gates below him give a series of loud, splintering cracks, and the whole edifice he stood upon shuddered dramatically, and then began to topple outward, carrying him with it as it crashed to the paving stones outside the palace grounds. Kestrel scrambled upon the falling mass and watched the ground approach. He dodged a beam that thrust upward through the tumbling wreckage, then leapt away from the tumult as the ground drew close. He hit the stones in front of the gate, and rolled, then rose to his feet and pulled his staff off his back, prepared to fight.
Instead, what he saw before him made him freeze, just as the spectacle made every other observer from both sides of the confrontation freeze and stare.
The two Viathins had absorbed all the light energy that the unearthly cloud had transferred to them, and they remained still as a swirling, glowing black column of air and dust and debris and insubstantial elements encircled each of them, obscuring them from clear view. The columns twisted with increasing speed, and as they did, their circumferences began to shrink, while they grew taller. They spun faster and higher and thinner for several seconds, and a low moaning squeal burst forth from each. With a sudden blast, the twisting columns blew apart, their disintegration spewing a shower of filthy fragments that struck, wounded or pierced every target they reached – one particle passed through Kestrel’s sleeve and left a rip in the fabric.
Where the columns had stood, where the monster lizards had squatted, there now stood two man-like, reptilian monsters, the same type of creatures Kestrel had seen so many times before – twice posing as Moorin, and once posing as the king of the imps.
One of the creatures stalked towards the two dead soldiers, and casually stripped their swords from them, then tossed one blade towards its mate, after which they both turned to face Kestrel.
“Leave the elf abomination for our champions!” Poma cried aloud. “The rest of you, attack the palace! Kill the rebels!” the ambassador seemed to seize control of the prince’s army, who responded by rushing forward towards the rubble that lay where the destroyed palace gate had been, leaving a wide berth around Kestrel and the two Viathins.
Kestrel looked at the two Viathins who were stalking slowly towards him, and he focused only on them, blocking out all awareness of the masses streaming past him on their way to slaughter and mayhem. He pulled Lucretia from the sheath on his hip and stared at the Viathin on the right, then tossed his knife at his opponent.
As soon as the knife left his hand, the Viathin raised its own hand, palm facing outward in a gesture that meant stop. To Kestrel’s amazement and horror, his knife immediately ceased to fly forward, and instead dropped to the ground like a stone. It clattered upon impact, then lay still.
“Lucretia, return!” Kestrel called urgently, and felt partial relief when the knife flew back to his hand. He tossed it again, at the second Viathin, only to watch with horror as that creature also blocked the flight of the attacking knife. Both creatures gave a throaty chuckling sound that Kestrel assumed was laughter, and he called his knife to return, then resheathed it as the two Viathins approached closer.
He felt a hint of panic creep into his awareness, as he thought about the monsters’ ability to stop his enchanted knife. He had no way of knowing what other powers and abilities they might have, and he likewise knew that he was ignorant of how to control the extraordinary energy that had entered his own body.
At some unspoken signal, the two of them closed in on Kestrel and began to attack, one on each side of him, their swords swinging swiftly and surely. Kestrel’s staff swiveled and turned, desperately managing to maintain his defense, but finding no opportunity, no time, to try to go on the offensive to attack either Viathin as they controlled the flow of the engagement. The small, personal battle seemed to last indefinitely, as Kestrel vaguely heard the sounds of the greater combat carry on beyond him. He sensed that Prince Namber, Ambassador Poma, and their select guard remained in their original spots, intently watching the battle of the champions in the plaza carried out.
The hooked end of Kestrel’s staff finally managed to snag the arm of one Viathin, inflicting a minor wound that only seemed to enrage the warrior to battle harder, and Kestrel received his own first wound, a slice across his shoulder that blossomed with bright red blood on his shirt, a shallow wound though it was.
Kestrel felt the other Viathin swing its blade high at the same time he was reacting to the slice on his chest, and he ducked just in time to feel the second blade painfully skim across the top of his head, and then he was horrified to see a small patch of his own scalp drop to the ground. He felt blood welling up on top of his head, and as he spun away from his attacker to find a more defensible position, he felt drops of blood starting to trickle down his forehead.
Kestrel jabbed his staff end at the knee of a Viathin, then blocked a thrust by the other opponent. He felt a blade tip pink him in the knee, but he swung his staff effectively and smacked the end across the face of his attacker.
Another slice by the stronger of the two Viathins laid open the flesh on his thigh, and he went to his knee in pain, then swept his staff to knock the feet out from under the monster. Blood started to drip into his left eye, and he swiveled his head just in time to see the Viathin that was on its feet come charging at him with blade extended. He laid himself flat on his back and thrust his staff upward viscously, catching the Viathin under the chin and knocking its head backwards with such a great impact that he heard the Viathin’s neck snap.
He awkwardly rose to his feet, but even while one adversary was fatally removed from, the other Viathin began to slash with great, sweeping swings of its blade that drove Kestrel back to his knees, then knocked the staff from his hands.
“Now you’ll finally pay for all the pain you’ve caused our race,” the monster croaked at Kestrel, and raised its arm over its head, blade ready to cleave downward upon the defenseless elf; he had a momentary pang of regret that he was about to die, without accomplishing so many goals that had been set for him, when suddenly an arrow struck it in the back and ripped through its torso with such force that the head of the shaft emerged in the center of the Viathin’s chest. A second arrow struck before the Viathin could even fall dead, knocking the sword from the weakening grip of its raised hand.
“We’ll save you, Kestrel wounded,” a swarm of imps shouted as they suddenly appeared around him and pressed their bodies against his, and in that moment of confusion, delayed despair, and hope, Kestrel passed out.
Chapter 6 – Picco’s Departure
When Kestrel awoke, he was lying on the grass by the healing spring, and Picco was stroking the hair above his ear.
He blinked his eyes and enjoyed the moment of peaceful contentment that seemed to be a blissful reprieve from all the recent stress.
“You’re finally awake,” Picco said. “I wasn’t sure who would wake up first, you or the imps,” she gestured over to where Kestrel saw a pile of blue flesh nearby.
“Thank you for saving me,” she said, “back there in the city.” She leaned down and kissed him gently on the lips.
“I’ll go away if you two would like some privacy,” Kestrel heard Wren’s voice nearby, a voice that at that moment seemed as musical as a screech owl’s call.
Picco lifted her head, and Kestrel realized that neither of them was clothed. He raised his head, saw his clothes in a pile next to him, and reached over hastily to grab his pants.
He sat up, saw a pile of clothes next to Picco, and started to reach for it, only to stop when she blocked his hand with hers.
“After the way those guards threw me around, shredding my clothes, and then the rips and tears they got in the rubble of the gate, those rags aren’t worth putting back on.” She leaned across him and grabbed his shirt, then slid it over her head.
“There; does that make you feel better?” she asked.
Kestrel stood as he pulled his pants up, and saw Wren, lazily floating in the pool of water, looking over at him with a sly look on her face.
“What are we doing here? Why are we here? Don’t we need to be in Graylee? What happened?” he spewed out questions as his memories came flooding back to him.
“We’ll go back, but there’s no hurry,” Wren told him. She stroked over to the shore and lifted a tunic that discretely hid her body as she got out of the water.
“Is everyone okay back in the city?” Kestrel asked.
“They’re fine, Kestrel, most of them,” Picco told him, stepping over and resting her fingers on his shoulder.
“We won the battle for the palace. The prince’s forces were beat by all the rebels and the Hydrotaz soldiers, and the prince and the ambassador were shocked by the fact that you beat those two monsters. They’ve retreated from the city, going into the western countryside, she told him.
“I didn’t exactly beat both those monsters,” Kestrel said, remembering the moment of sorrowful regret he had felt when he had looked up at the Viathin that had stood over him, just before the providential arrows struck and killed the monster.
“You beat one all on your own, I’ll grant you that,” Wren said.
“Wren shot the arrows that killed the other one. Then she talked to the imps,” Picco explained.
“I told the imps to bring Picco here to watch over you, after they told me where they had taken you,” Wren picked up the narrative. “And of course once they realized there was another trip involved to the spring, they felt the need for a little relaxation of their own.
“We’ll probably spend the next month here taking care of all the imps and sprites who claim the right to come to the spring based on carrying all those Hydrotaz soldiers back and forth for you.”
The Inner Seas Kingdoms: 04 - A Foreign Heart Page 10
