Blade Asunder Complete Series Box Set

by Jon Kiln

  As the large dappled horse neared him, Ganry waited till the very last minute, watching closely as the General’s sword readied itself to strike him. Just before it did, Ganry swiftly twisted his body sideways and the sword harmlessly passed by his head. He swung his own weapon in an upward motion, aiming for the midriff of the General. His aim was true, but the General’s heavy armor repelled the blade. Ganry felt the sword jar in his hands as metal hit metal. There was no fatal blow, but at least he would have winded him.

  “You are a coward!” Ganry called after him as the horse rode away a short distance. “A murderer of women and children!”

  The horse charged again, doing its master’s bidding. This time, Jeon tried to knock Ganry to the ground by charging the horse into him. Again, leaving it until the very last second, Ganry spun away to one side, lunging at the General as he rode past and knocking him off his horse. He fell on Ganry and they rolled over together. Quickly, they jumped apart, each going for their own weapons. They stood facing each other, breathing heavily, both a little disoriented from the fall. Their eyes were locked on to one another, neither daring to take their gaze away, both with eyes filled with hatred for the other.

  “My son would be here today if not for you,” Jeon grunted in anger.

  “Your son was a fool and I was not his babysitter. He was constantly in trouble and you know it,” Ganry replied. “But you, you murdered my family to soothe your own grief.”

  “You needed to feel what it’s like for a father to lose a child. I taught you a lesson,” Jeon grunted again.

  Unnoticed by either of them, a crowd was growing around the two men. Mirnean soldiers were attracted to the fracas, their attack on the castle momentarily forgotten as they watched their General fight with an unknown man.

  Ganry threw down his sword. “I’ll kill you with my bare hands!” he cried, lunging at Jeon.

  Jeon threw down his own weapons and readied himself to fight in hand to hand combat with the man he hated. “For the memory of my son, I will finish you once and for all.”

  Neither of them was aware of the gathering crowd. They had only one goal, to kill each other. For the General it had been a long awaited ambition. Now they were together, nothing would keep them apart.

  They charged at each other, both big men, strong veterans of battle. Fighting hand to hand, they wrestled each other to the floor. Each one landed blows on the other. Heavy hard fists crunched into tissue and bone. Each one attempting to gain some advantage.

  Ganry was slightly younger and stronger than the General, who was fading fast, his strength lessening each minute they grappled. He was beginning to regret his foolishness in agreeing to hand to hand with Ganry. A sudden blow struck him on the side of the head, rocking his entire body. He knew it was over. Yet, he knew he had one last throw of the dice. Pulling a hidden dagger from behind his back, he rammed it into Ganry’s side, all the way to the hilt.

  Ganry felt a sharp pain in his ribs and broke away from Jeon. Quickly, getting to his feet, he reached around to his side to feel a sticky wetness. He knew it was his blood. The traitor had stabbed him. He could feel his own strength slipping away as the blood poured from the wound. Ganry knew if it was not tended to, it would be fatal.

  Jeon circled Ganry, a sinister smile pasted on his face. He now had the better of him. Sure, he had cheated, but that was his right, to avenge the death of his son.

  As Jeon circled his opponent, readying to strike the final blow, he noticed a silence around him. He quickly glanced at the field. He’d been so wrapped up in his personal battle, that he’d forgotten more was at stake here today.

  The soldiers had stopped fighting. There were no witches and no walking corpses to be seen anywhere.

  Ganry also surveyed the area. On the edge of the forest he could see the boy and the giant, surrounded by the wolves. It could only mean one thing, the witches were dead.

  “It’s over Jeon, the witches are no more. They are not going to bring your son back, not that I ever thought they could. Lay down your weapon. It is time for you to atone for your crimes.”

  The General looked around, he could not believe it had all gone wrong. Ganry was not lying this time. It was no bluff, the witches were gone, the boy had triumphed over them. Everything he had planned, his hopes for a life with his son, had been cruelly wrenched from him. All because of the man who stood before him. Jeon had some satisfaction in watching the blood pour from Ganry’s wound. Hopefully a fatal wound. Ganry still had the strength to kill him and Jeon could see it in his eyes. He would not give him that last satisfaction.

  “Nooo!” the General cried out.

  Before anyone could move to stop him, he raised the dagger above his head, the same one he had stabbed Ganry with, and plunged it into his heart. For one brief moment his features softened as he looked at his mortal enemy. He dropped to his knees in front of Ganry, the dagger protruding from his chest. The light of life in his eyes disappeared and he fell face forward into the dirt.

  40

  It was finally over. The General was dead as were many of the witches, the rest running for their lives. Ganry collapsed to the ground, the loss of blood from the wound in his side finally taking its toll. He lay still, looking up at the deep blue sky, and thoughts of his beautiful fair haired wife came to mind. How he had loved Annabella and his daughter, Ruby. Remembering the day she was born brought a smile to his dry lips, and a tear to his sore eyes. If only he could be with them.

  Perhaps it would be easier just to let go, here and now. The wound in his side was most certainly fatal, if not treated soon. He could easily let his life slip away, end it here, and join his family for all of eternity. Once he had lost his loved ones, his life had been a lonely one, until he met a princess. That princess was now a queen.

  Memories of the queen shook him from his lethargy, as much as he wanted to let go, he knew that he still had a role to play. His Queen was relying on him. He needed to get to the castle and see how Myriam was fairing. He knew the walls had been breached. The magic of the witches had caused damage and some Mirnean soldiers had invaded the castle. He hoped that Myriam had been kept safe.

  A strange silence had enveloped the battlefield. Was there some sort of witchcraft at play? Sitting up he could clearly see that the fighting had finished, the battle had ended. The Mirnean soldiers were walking around as if in a daze. To his right, he could see the prone body of General Jeon.

  He tried to stand but his legs simply did not have the strength, and he fell back down onto his backside. With a monumental effort he pulled himself onto his hands and knees, determined to crawl to the castle, if that’s what was required.

  “Ganry de Rosenthorn, you look quite the sight on all fours. Perhaps you have some wolf blood in you?”

  Standing in front of him, with a smile on her face, was Grecia, in her human form.

  “Come let me look at your wound. I can help.”

  Ganry collapsed down and rolled over onto his back with the last of his strength. As he looked to his side, he could see the ground was stained a dark red with his blood, and lots of it. Perhaps he was going to get his wish after all and meet his wife and daughter in the afterlife.

  Grecia moved over him and was shocked at his ashen face. He looked old, very old. She knew instantly that she had come only just in time. A few more minutes and there would have been nothing she could have done for him. Closing her eyes, she held her hand at Ganry’s side, pressing firmly into the area around of the wound, and started to chant. Repeating the same words over and over again, her face was a mask of concentration.

  Ganry felt an incredible warmness sweep through him, a heat that started at his wound and emanated to the very extremities of his body. It revitalized him. The pain from his wound subsided and he felt strength return to his limbs.

  “There, that should help,” Grecia told him. “You will still be weak for a while, you have lost much blood, but you will survive.”

  Although she smiled at hi
m, Ganry could tell that all the healing she must have done on this battlefield had taken much out of her. Her face was drawn and tired. He felt an immense fondness for this shapeshifter who had just saved his life.

  A rider approached them on horseback. Whoever it was, was looking for him, and had now found him. Looking up, he recognized Riley.

  “It is over, Ganry,” he informed him, excitedly. “The Mirneans have laid down their arms and are moving away from the castle. But the Queen is injured, and Artas is blinded. You must hurry, she’s asking for you.”

  Ganry slowly got to his feet, amazed that he could stand at all. With Riley’s help he managed to climb onto the back of his horse. Looking back at Grecia, he called after her.

  “I thank you for everything you have done. I thank you on behalf of our Queen, who I am sure will thank you herself when she can. The Wolves of Palara will be written into legend and forever revered.”

  With that, Riley spurred on the horse and they quickly rode off. He could not lose Myriam now that the Mirneans were surrendering. The battle was over, she had won.

  As they approached the castle, he saw the large gates had been opened and the townspeople were out helping the injured, of both sides. Once in the courtyard he gingerly dismounted the horse and headed straight for the royal quarters.

  Riley, watching him go, was amazed to see him moving so freely. He had seen the blood on his clothing and on the ground where he lay, and had momentarily feared the worse. Dismounting the horse, he handed the reins to a stable hand and he followed Ganry into the castle.

  Myriam had been placed in her own bedchamber, though when Ganry arrived she was sleeping from a potion. The Duchess greeted him.

  “How does she fair?” he asked with urgency, still knowing nothing of her injuries.

  “She took a deep injury to her leg, but she’s going to be fine. It looked bad at first but the healers have treated her. She lost a lot of blood and now needs to rest.” The Duchess paused, noticing Ganry’s condition for the first time. “It seems she’s not the only one to have lost much blood. Perhaps you should be resting too.”

  “I’m fine. The wolf shaman, Grecia, has tended to my injuries. They are an amazing people. Our kingdom is deeply indebted to them.”

  Ganry sat in a chair by her side and he noticed Artas asleep on a couch in the bedchamber. “How is he? I understand he, too, is injured badly.”

  “It is a magic spell only, it will wear off. But until I speak to Grecia, I don’t know how long it will take. She will put him to rights when she has a moment to spare.”

  “I think you might want to come and look at this, Ganry,” Riley said from his position by the window.

  Ganry stood and went to the window, briefly pausing at Artas as he did. He was grateful that those he cared for had survived. Following Riley’s gaze, he looked upon a strange event.

  The boy, Cronos, was seated upon the giant’s back, surrounded by Mirnean soldiers. All were kneeling in his presence. It was a curious sight, to see so many men prone in front of young child.

  “I need to go speak to them,” he said to Riley, who nodded, ready to follow him. “I’ll be back when they wake up, Duchess. Thank you for caring for them. They both mean much to me.”

  The Duchess smiled kindly at his words. “And me too, Ganry, me too.”

  They left the chamber, making their way towards the assembled soldiers. Most of the wolf people had returned and were gathered by the gates, also watching the amazing scene unfold. Ganry approached Grecia to see what she could tell him.

  The wolf shaman frowned at him as he approached. “You should be resting.”

  “Yes, I know, but there is much to do. Time to rest later.”

  He nodded at the strange scene before him. “He will make a good Emperor, one day. Hopefully his father Nestor still lives, but if not, I feel Mirnee will be in safe hands.”

  Ganry said no more but walked closer to see exactly what was happening. As he approached the Mirneans, he felt a melodic tune rising from the soldiers. They were humming as one. The boy was seated high, perched on Rochmyr’s back, his arms stretched open and his eyes closed. Ganry looked at Riley, who had followed him to see if he could provide him with any answers.

  “It is a long lost tradition after a battle, for the Emperor to heal the wounded, but it is a practice that hasn’t been seen in many years. The last few Emperors did not have the skill. If truth be told, most believed it to be folklore. It has not been seen for many generations. He is easing the pain of the injured and the grief of those who have lost friends in battle.”

  “Yes, I remember such tales as a child,” Ganry said. “But, like you, I never really knew if they were true. It seems from what we see here today, it is.”

  With an entire army bowing down for his blessing, it was indeed hard to imagine that an eight year old was held with such high reverence. Hopefully, this meant that Palara and Mirnee had many years of peace ahead of them.

  41

  It was decided that the Mirnean soldiers would keep the camp where it was for another night, before they returned to their own land. It was felt necessary to keep them separate from those they had just been fighting. Many Palarans had lost their lives, and forgiveness would not come easily. Rumors were spreading that the Mirneans had been entranced by the witches and had no idea of the atrocities committed. But, wounds were still raw and it was deemed best to keep the two kingdom folk apart.

  By nightfall, a camp had appeared around the castle and all was peaceful and quiet. The Mirneans had been in much confusion once the witches had been killed. The spells held over them had dissipated, and each of them reported that they felt as if they were just waking up from a heavy trance. It seemed that their minds had not been their own. They were aware they had been ordered into battle, but they had no idea who they were fighting or even that they were in another kingdom.

  No one was certain if this was true or not, although virtually as one entity, they had all laid down their arms once the witches were dead. Myriam, in her wisdom, decided that revenge was not the way forward. Enough had lost their lives and killing more would not change that.

  The Queen lay in her bed, recovering from her wounds, with Ganry and Artas, her most trusted advisers, at either side. Artas’s blindness had been cured by Grecia and he was seeing again, much to his relief. Cronos stood at the end of her bed, informing the Queen of how the events of the last few months had really unfolded.

  “I would ask one thing of you and your father, Cronos,” she said, once he had finished. “Do not let the witches gain such power ever again.”

  “I understand how you feel, Queen Myriam,” he said, bowing his head in respect of her wishes. “Yet, controlled correctly, witchcraft can also have a good influence, such as healing.”

  “One of my closest companions is a witch, of sorts, so I do understand that,” she smiled back at the boy. “Hendon is at one with nature. He uses his magic purely for good, to heal, to ease suffering, not to kill. His skills seem to me to be so different from the coven of witches who plotted against us.”

  “My father will have much to think about, Queen Myriam, but you are right, we do need to have a better understanding and control of all magic.”

  “It seems that magic is a fact of the world, and we must all learn to live with it. Controlled and harnessed for good, I believe it will benefit us all. Even Ganry, here, has been convinced of its existence, and never was there a truer skeptic.” Myriam smiled at Ganry, feeling now was the time to lighten the mood.

  “I have seen much in the last few years, and seeing a human turn into an animal was perhaps the most startling,” Ganry said. “Our shape changers are truly magical creatures. We owe them much, both for the safety of the boy, and the death of the witches. Without them, this could have turned out so different.”

  “I agree with you, and they will be honored, Ganry,” Myriam said at him. “But, we’ll save all the politics of this war for another day. For now, we need to recov
er and regroup. Also we need a celebration to cement out new ties with Mirnee, but first your army will need to retreat back across the border. Whilst many understand that they were bewitched, the wounds are too fresh for complete forgiveness, just yet.”

  “Yes, of course, Your Majesty,” the boy agreed. “I have already informed the Commanders that they are to march out at dawn, and make their way home. By the time the sun sets, not one Mirnean soldier will be standing on Palaran ground.” Cronos paused for a moment, as if only now fully realizing the horrors of what had happened. “It is to our shame that much of your kingdom lies in ruins and many of your people dead. Some having suffered unspeakable abominations. When the time is right, we will offer proper reparations, and, if you deem it acceptable, help in the rebuilding of the villages on the borders.”

  “Wise words, well-spoken young Cronos.” Ganry said aloud what most of them were thinking. “You have a sensible head on such young shoulders, and it bodes well for future relationships between the two kingdoms.”

  The party broke up with the agreement that Cronos and his bodyguard, Rochmyr the giant, would stay for one more day to say his personal farewells. That would be acceptable, as the boy, although a Mirnean, was also their savior.

  The following morning, when the people in the castle rose from their beds, they found the grounds outside the walls completely deserted. The Mirneans had packed up and left. Despite knowing the truth about the Mirneans involvement in the attack, each and every Palaran breathed a sigh of relief to see them gone. It would be a while before they could be completely forgiven.

  ***

  The Queen ordered a feast which was a splendid affair, but the atmosphere was rather subdued. Virtually everyone knew someone who had died in the war, and rather than a celebration of victory, it was a celebration of remembrance.