Silently, he thanked whoever it was for saving his life.
Arrows were being fired their way, the wind knocking some of them off course, the rain affecting some of the rest. A few found a home and he felt the jerk of the beast overhead. They started to lose altitude and he was forced to reach up and cover his face as the griffin glided into the grasslands just shy of the northern army’s position. They weren’t in the middle of the battle, but they weren’t that far off either. He was sure they were being chased down by the opposing force as they impacted the earth and he lost consciousness; his vision fading to black.
IV
Willow was standing before the palace where tents had been erected for the commanders of the fortresses’ defenses. Amysta was busy talking to aides; barely pausing for breath, as she barked out orders to the runners constantly flying in. Riska was standing off to one side, eyes looking wistfully at the western horizon and the battle raging on without him. She could sympathize. Almost her entire family was out there and she was at home grounded; with a babysitter to boot.
“You should go, no point in being here. There are plenty of soldiers around to protect me should things get this far—and let’s be honest, if they do, we’re fucked anyways,” she told the dwarf, kicking at the cobblestone with her foot and trying to not look worried.
The warrior gave a loud belly laugh, drawing a few curious glances from aides rushing past. “Lassie, ye gonna kiss yer bairn wi' 'at gob?”
She had to giggle, despite the nerves firing; sometimes you just had to laugh to relieve stress. “I haven’t told him, but you should hear Tristan in his sleep. Cusses like a drunk getting kicked out of tavern.”
He cocked his head and looked at her. “An' whit is a lassie loch ye daein' in a tavern?”
Shaking her head, she looked at him squarely. “Just because I’m a princess doesn’t mean I can’t drink the likes of you under the table. If you had to hear what I have to at court all day, you’d drink yourself to sleep every night as well.”
He sighed, then frowned deeply.
Shit, she forgot he was exiled from home and he was the King of Branhams’s first cousin. “My bad, sorry.”
“Nae, ye’re reit lass, Ah shoods be it thaur fightin' alongside mah coontrymen, nae kickin' it back haur while guid men ur dyin'. Still, it wasn’t a lecht request yer guidman gart an' Ah shoods be honored 'at he speart—,” he trailed off, looking west.
“Go, I can take care of myself,” she persuaded, not wanting to be the reason the shorter man had to remain behind.
“I’m sure ye can, but Ah gart an oath,” he told her firmly.
“Aww, how sweet,” came a slithery voice from behind them.
She gave a start, not realizing that anyone had been back there, much less someone with a voice like that. Upon turning, she saw the large chimera straining it’s three heads against the storm raging around it, and a black and green armored figure standing not more than ten feet away.
“Makk aln ha'ak!” Riska cursed, bringing his axe up and moving between the two women.
“What the hell?” she heard Amysta ask, as the elf turned to gaze at the newcomer staring into their tent. “Guards!”
The female warrior took a step towards them, the rain pelting her hard, her cloak dragging along the ground. “Oh, mother, is that how you greet your long-lost daughter? Why not embrace me instead?”
“Lass, don’t come onie closer ur I’ll cleae yer heed frae yer shoolders,” the dwarven warrior warned, getting ready to follow through should the woman not take heed.
“Bella?” Amysta suddenly interrupted, coming to stand by Willow’s side and giving the armored woman a good look. Her eyes widened, as if not believing what she was seeing, but surely Erik had told her what he’d seen on the grasslands the night before; had warned her what had been done to their daughter.
She threw her arm out and slammed it into the Queen’s stomach as the elf next to her began to move closer. “Your Majesty, do not move.”
Bella’s eyes found hers and she felt a chill run up her spine. “Do not interfere bitch. This is between me and my mother.”
Amysta’s face was full of motherly warmth and horror at the sight of her daughter standing there in the rain. “What has that witch done to you?”
“Done to me? She has made me powerful. She had made me a commander in her armies. And when Forlorn is made to kneel, I will be installed as ruler and claim my rightful place at the throne. More than you or my cowardly father have ever done for me,” Bella snarled.
“That is not my daughter talking. I know you Isabella Pendragon, this is not you,” Amysta proclaimed, trying to reach the armored youth before them. She was pushing against Willow’s arm but made no move to step any closer.
Soldiers had formed a ring around them, swords at the ready, and Willow’s eyes widened as the forgotten chimera stretched its three heads forward and yanked men away swiftly; throwing them like they were made of nothing but a feathered pillow. Harsh screams followed as the men suddenly threw themselves into battling the beast, the four of them temporarily forgotten.
A light shone in the Horseman’s eyes as she looked upon her mother. Hands raised and lifted her helm; revealing the horror beneath. Poison appeared to be dripping from the corner of her mouth, her lips black, eyes sunken, yellow splotches staining her cheek bones. She had fading bruises around her neck and face and they were peppered with black spots. Her once beautiful hair was dirty and hung in clumps. The evil smile that formed on the young girl’s face defied the look of death that hung upon the air.
“Look upon your daughter, see what your negligence has created! For I am what you have wrought!” Bella suddenly snarled.
“Negligence? I wrought? I went after you! I sped across half this land chasing the goblins that took you! I’m sorry I failed you, but this wasn’t me; this isn’t you. Look at what that witch has done to my beautiful little girl!” Amysta cried, sorrow dripping from every word.
Rain pelted the young girl’s face as she grinned wider. “I forgive you Mother. Come, let us kiss one final time, have one last embrace before we part. Do not fret, my father will soon be joining you.” With that, she took another step forward, her arms spread wide.
Riska planted himself between the mother and daughter, his axe held ready. “Dinnae listen tae 'er lass. Yer dochter is gain. Th' horseman is aw 'at she is noo. Best ye kill 'er frae afar, dinnae lit 'er tooch ye.”
“Meddling dwarf!” Bella screamed in rage as she lunged at the warrior.
“No!” Amysta wailed. She leapt forward just as Riska brought his axe up to meet the oncoming Horseman.
It was enough of a distraction that Riska paused and Willow watched in horror as Bella grabbed the dwarf, then planted her lips on the warrior’s face. Cries of pain echoed across the palace grounds as the dwarf was consumed by the evil magic brought to bear. Blood ran from his eyes, black sludge leaked from his ears, and the once hearty warrior was suddenly weak and hollow. He fell to his knees before the armored figure holding him and tried to groan, but nothing issued but bubbles of yellow ooze. Then he fell forward, his axe falling from his twitching, lifeless fingers.
“My Master was owed that for the death of my predecessor, you piece of shit!” Bella raged, kicking the corpse of the fallen warrior.
Willow’s soul cried out in absolute terror; the scene forever etched in her mind. She almost broke with panic and ran for it; her hand moving to her stomach as if shielding her daughter’s eyes from seeing it with her.
“Thank you for saving me, Mother,” Bella cooed as she slithered forth, her soaked cloak dragging along, hands reaching forth.
“You are not my daughter,” Amysta proclaimed, drawing her sword. “But if you want to hug it out, let’s do it!” the Queen roared as she brought her weapon up and prepared to strike.
Bella cackled and moved to do just that.
V
Bella’s father had no clue what was going on back at the palace; he had his h
ands full. The mages had been throwing magic at the Horseman, giving everything they had to put an end to the fiendish monster. The gargoyle’s wings deflected some of the attacks, the scythe destroying the rest as if they were nothing but snowballs flung by children.
Erik had been waiting for his chance, keeping out of the path of the weapon arc, having seen what power it held; what it could do to a person. He was not going to give up that easily. Merlin sent another wave of fire at the creature as Serix began chanting, his eyes going white.
The gargoyle lunged at the necromancer, taking the fire with his left wing and ignoring the temporary pain it caused; the flames quickly doused by the falling rain. The Horseman’s weapon had come close enough to stun the younger man and his magic failed him. His face turned pale, his lips cracked, and he looked on the edge of death.
With a cackle, the lumbering creature pushed forward and was suddenly rocked by a small earthquake at its feet. Erik almost lost his balance, Excalibur held over his head; wavering. Merlin went down to one knee and Serix almost faceplanted, but was able to get a hand up in time to break his fall.
He could hear Elvish words of magic being spoken to his right and the hairs on his arms began to rise. There was a loud clash and a flash of bright light as lightening lanced out of the storm above and struck the gargoyle at the back of the neck. The creature thrust its chest forward, his wings spread towards the heavens as he howled in pain.
Revan stepped into view, his staff held before him, his mouth constantly moving.
The scythe came up and severed the link between creature and storm. Though freed, the gargoyle was temporarily, stunned as it reeled from the agony it was experiencing.
“Sul!” his magister bellowed, waving the staff in front of him, and a gust of wind struck the gargoyle, forcing him back a step.
“Dabit vitam!” Serix croaked, his fingers reaching towards the horde of goblins hungrily watching nearby. White light spread forth, enveloping a dozen of the creatures and Erik watched as they suddenly fell to their knees screaming in terror. The life winked out of their eyes as the magic surged back into the necromancer, who suddenly regained his color and promptly rose to his feet; dusting off his robes.
Then the mage screamed “resurgemus!” at the freshly-made corpses and they began to twitch and stir. Shakenly getting to their feet, the undead warriors steadied themselves, then glanced at their new master. With a wave of his hand, the necromancer sent them against the stunned gargoyle, their weapons raised, their slacken jaws clicking as they marched forth.
Once again, he was glad that necromancer was on their side.
“Erik! You need to finish this!” Merlin hollered at him as the mage sent another burst of blue fire straight into the gargoyle’s face.
Death reeled from the sudden onslaught and the undead corpses descended upon him in a haphazard fashion. The scythe flew overhead but the corpses kept coming, kept hacking at their former master.
He stepped into the grasslands, determined to do as Merlin bade. The magician had never steered him wrong; he trusted the man complicity. So, with a grim set of his lips, he brought up his shield and went to meet the Horseman in battle.
The gargoyle roared as the undead goblins began attacking it from all sides, physically kicking them off and tearing into them with his claws. Torn limbs flew in all directions and a head bounced past his right leg as he moved forward. The scythe came around again but this time Erik was ready. He used Excalibur to parry the blow and the blade came to life.
White light engulfed the blade and the enemy’s weapon acted like a conduit for the sword’s magic. It shot down the length of the shaft and into the gargoyle’s wrist. With a grunt of pain, the fingers opened and the reaper’s weapon fell to the ground with a soft thud.
He could hear people speaking, but he ignored it. Vines shot out of the ground and wrapped themselves around the gargoyle’s legs, as white light hit the creature’s snout. Blue fire set the black robes on fire as he closed on the Horseman; bringing Excalibur to bear.
Wide eyes full of terror, the beast watched as the Sword of Kings plunged forward and pierced it’s thrumming heart. The agony that ripped out of the creature was beyond any that he had ever beheld and he almost had to cover his ears against the ferocity of its voice.
“Go back to hell!” he screamed at the creature, as he twisted his sword and watched as the light suddenly left the gargoyle’s eyes.
The large Horseman fell backwards, yanking Excalibur free, the black robes twitching as if in death throes of their own. Breathing heavy, he looked towards the other magicians and smiled. They had defeated Death.
Roars of rage issued forth from the army around them and it suddenly occurred to him where he was standing. Taking a step back towards his front lines, he brought Excalibur around and prepared to meet the oncoming horde. Magic was brought to bear, as the three magic users attempted to give him cover, but they couldn’t stop them all.
With a firm grip on his sword, he went to battle once more.
Chapter 17
Cousins
I
Tristan snapped awake, aware that he was vulnerable and face down on a battlefield. His head pounding, he forced himself to his knees and looked around. A griffin was breathing rapidly on its side just to his right, dirt ripped up where the mighty beast had impacted shortly after dropping him. He saw no sign of the bearer of the black boots and he prayed that they had survived being thrown free.
There was no sign of pursuit yet from the armies battling to the south, but upon taking a closer look, he was shocked to see most of both sides were standing still; as if waiting on something. They all were looking in one direction and he wondered what had drawn so many combatants to pause and forget what they were doing. Even the whips were silent and it caused an eerily silence that made him nervous.
Getting to his feet, he brushed the dirt off his armor and checked himself for injuries. He was a bit banged up, but all things considered—in good shape. He would be feeling it later; if he lived that long.
Movement to his right caught his eye and he turned to see a man in red armor standing thirty yards away, the helm removed, eyes fixed and watching him. A head wound had caused some bleeding down one side of his face, but he was still easily recognizable, and adrenaline immediately started pumping through his veins.
He drew Purity and Justice, the swords sliding easily free and held at the ready. His helm felt stifling but there was no way he was going to remove it. If he was going to die, let the Horseman work for it.
“What are you waiting for? I’m right here! Still waiting for you to try and make good on your promise,” he taunted, the long moments agonizing as his body anticipated immediate conflict.
Clint drew a broadsword and walked towards the fallen griffin. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch, you know that?” the former aide sneered. “Always got someone watching your back. Well, let’s take care of that, shall we?” The broadsword came down and pierced the injured griffin in the chest and the labored breathing suddenly stopped.
“You bastard. I’m the one you want—let’s end this,” he pursued, anger flashing hotly beneath his skin; forcing him to move in a semi-circle around the armored figure.
“You really have changed. It’s not just whatever some witch did to your body. Shouldn’t you be off reading a book somewhere instead of playing hero?” the man returned, eyeing him closely. They had known each other for over a decade and it was like they were seeing each other for the first time.
He laughed, unable to help it. “That your plan? Bore me to death? I thought you wanted revenge for what I did to your father?”
The Horseman shook his head. “You might have got the best of me last night when you threw that at me, but see, I know different. I know what really happened. My Queen showed me every detail. Every. Detail,” Clint sneered.
He had to be talking about the black witch that raped him. Well—so be it, he was beyond that and no point in even thinking about
it. “Then you saw me kill that witch and the death of your father. The feeble old man couldn’t even put up a fight.”
The calculating eyes of his enemy watched him closely and then smirked. “Pestilence is currently taking care of the person that killed my father. I’m just waiting for confirmation before I end your life. I want you to know that your wife and daughter died slowly, your infant fetus ripped from your elven bitch’s stomach and thrown to Pestilence’s chimera as a midday snack.”
He had to fight with every ounce of his soul not to charge the man right then. Was Willow in danger? She was surrounded by the entire reserved army. She had Riska and Amysta there protecting her, as well as fairy bodyguards. It seemed too remote to be true, yet there was something in the man’s eyes that spoke a darker truth that made his spine shiver in fear.
“You really are a bastard, you know that?” he countered, trying to simmer his anger. “We took you in, gave you a place at our table, and you repay my father’s generosity with murdering my mother and then the man himself. What kind of monster does that? What does it take? Do you even have a soul left or did you give it all to her?”
Clint’s face went passive. “Surely you realize that I was sent there with a purpose from the very start? None of it was actually real. It was a long-con designed to install me on the throne and allow my Queen to easily take Lancaster without a fight. I’m glad it didn’t work, because this way, I get to kill you all, instead of watching you sent into slave camps. That would have been—unfortunate.”
He paused where he was, ten yards from the man that murdered his parents and it took everything he had, but he sheathed his swords.
Confusion filled the other man’s eyes and for the first time since he’d known the former aide, Clint was a loss for words.
Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3) Page 26
