Enflamed (Book 2)

by R. M. Prioleau

  Gaston’s expression remained stony. He kneed Thokas in the groin. The orc dropped to his knees with a howl. Gaston gave Raban another nod, to dismiss the entanglement spell.

  He grabbed a tuft of Thokas’s scraggly hair and yanked his head to one side. As he had done with Searil, Gaston carved the brand from Thokas’s neck and shoved him into the dirt, where the orc lay gasping and bleeding.

  Gaston wiped his bloody blade on Searil’s robes, sheathed it, and then spun around and faced the ring of pale-faced onlookers. “Honor is not won through selfishly sacrificing others.” His voice boomed, and he pointed at those who watched. “You would do well to remember that, all of you.”

  Carver gasped and ducked his head behind the tent to avoid Gaston’s gaze. I sure hope I don’t get on his bad side.

  Something furry brushed against his leg. He jumped from his hiding spot with a yelp. A weasel was slinking away toward a tent. Carver exhaled and relaxed. Ha! He must be looking for breakfast.

  * * *

  Gaston faced the rest of his men. “Let this be a warning—to all of you.” Gaston glanced at Raban—who answered with look of contempt—then turned to leave. “Now, let us break camp.”

  He took a step and felt a sharp pain in his lower back. Several of his comrades gasped.

  Rattled, Gaston reached back for the source of the pain. He grabbed the hilt of a small throwing knife lodged in a gap in his cuirass and tugged, grunting. When he yanked the blade out and examined it, it was covered with blood—his blood.

  * * *

  Raban’s eyes widened in astonishment. “We are under attack!”

  The other warriors scrambled about in a panic, unsheathing their weapons. One of them ran to Gaston. “Sir!”

  Gaston flung the dagger to the ground. “Warn everyone!” he ordered, returning to his tent as he held his injury. “Guard the egg! To arms!”

  Raban looked around wildly for the attacker, then heard a faint squeaking sound above him. He snapped his gaze up to look at the red-orange sky. The small fruit bat he saw had an unnatural aura. Raban raised his fists, and called forth the spirits of nature. He transformed into a crow and flew off, chasing after the bat.

  * * *

  “They’re scareder than a ’erd of deer!” Nester beamed proudly at Kaijin and Omari.

  Maybe. Kaijin wasn’t entirely convinced.

  Omari frowned and carefully pushed a stray branch out of his line of sight. The three had posted themselves not far outside the camp’s perimeter, with an ideal view of its center. “Thank Malik your little stunt did not expose us, Nester.” He glared at the brownie.

  “‘Stunt’? Now look ’ere, mate. If I wanted to be seen, I’d ’ave done so.”

  “Enough, you two,” Kaijin cut in. “Remember the plan?” We attack from the south; Sigmund, Zarya, and Aidan flank from the north. Then we take advantage of the uproar. He turned to Omari. “Did Percival find anything?”

  Omari’s gaze went distant. “He has tracked the scent of the egg. It will not be long before it is located. How is Miele faring?”

  Kaijin shook his head slowly. “She’s not found anything yet. She will alert me if—” Pain cut him off. He looked to the sky, hearing Miele’s panicked fluttering, followed by a squawk and the sound of larger wings flapping.

  “What is it, Kaijin?” Omari asked.

  “Miele ...” Kaijin muttered. “I must save her. I will catch up with you.”

  Omari gawked at him. “Are you mad? We have to do this together if we intend to succeed!”

  “Oy! What are you two waitin’ for?” Nester motioned for Omari and Kaijin to follow. “Let’s go before th’ blokes get themselves organized!”

  Kaijin glared at Omari. “Miele is in trouble. I have to help her. Go, now!” Another surge of pain pounded in his head, and he winced, dropping to his knees. “Erg!”

  “Kaijin!” Nester exclaimed.

  Omari stuck out his arm and barred the brownie from stepping closer. “Wait.” He scanned the sky briefly and withdrew his quarterstaff from behind him. A crackle of electrical energy leapt from his weapon hand.

  Nester flinched. “Woah! Watch it! I don’t feel like gettin’ shocked again, aye!”

  Omari uttered “Fulgori” toward the sky, summoning a bolt of lightning.

  Gasping, Kaijin lunged at Omari, in his last attempt to break his concentration. “No! Don’t hurt her!”

  But it was too late.

  Kaijin shut his eyes, preparing for the pain—perhaps for death itself. Several seconds went by, but he remained mentally unscathed. Instead of Miele’s death cries, Kaijin heard something else—the raspy cries of a crow. He opened his eyes and gazed at the dawn sky. The bird soared unsteadily toward the camp, a portion of its tailfeathers ablaze. It didn’t make it very far, though, and crash-landed in the brush several paces away from them.

  “Soddin ’ells! Did you see that?” Nester stood on tiptoe to get a view of the smoking crow. “Strange, that was!”

  Omari pushed Kaijin aside and approached the fallen bird cautiously. “Strange, indeed. All the more reason for me to shoot it down.”

  Kaijin was about to reply when he felt Miele approach. She landed on his shoulder, shrieking happily. He smiled and stroked her underbelly. “Miele! Thank the gods you’re safe.”

  As they drew nearer, a strange transformation overtook the crow. It grew and reformed into a man, who rolled over and extinguished the fire that smoldered on the hem of his black robe.

  Nester blinked. “A man?”

  “Not just a man—a mage,” Kaijin said.

  The corner of Omari’s lip curled. “Not just a mage. A renegade.”

  XX

  The crow-turned-man drew himself up and glared at Kaijin, Nester, and Omari. “How dare you call me some filthy mage!” he spat. He got up and brushed himself off. “I am Raban, and my powers far exceed the unnatural scope of the arcane.”

  Kaijin raised an eyebrow. “How, exactly?”

  Omari studied the dark-robed man a moment and then shook his head. “He is right. He is no mage. I do not feel an arcanic aura about him.”

  “What? Then how do you explain—” Kaijin stopped himself and realized Omari was right. Raban’s aura radiated something unfamiliar. He’d never felt anything like it before, and it was certainly nothing he recalled from Jarial’s teachings.

  Nester sniffed at Raban and wrinkled his nose. “Nay, ’e ain’t a fiddler. ’E’s a foresty bloke. They always smell like old cabbage.”

  Omari confronted Raban, his hands clenching his quarterstaff. Lightning crackled from the tip of the staff. “You bear the symbol of the Legion on your robe.” He scowled and spat at Raban’s feet. “I will only ask you once. Where is the egg?”

  The druid chuckled darkly. “You think I am intimidated by your magic?” He extended his glowing fists to the ground. Moments later, vines began to sprout from the soil.

  Kaijin, Omari, and Nester jumped back. Miele flew off Kaijin’s shoulder and hovered just above him.

  Omari positioned his staff defensively. “Get going, you two! I will handle him.”

  Kaijin stepped forward, reaching for Omari’s shoulder. Electricity arched from Omari’s body to Kaijin’s hand, and Kaijin yelped and jerked it away.

  Kaijin’s cry made Nester gasp and instinctively rest his hand on the hilt of one of the daggers sheathed at his belt.

  With his eyes glowing white, Omari swept a quick, sidelong glance at Kaijin. “Confound it! I said ‘Go!’ You two must help the others!” The vines drew closer to Omari’s feet and began twining around his ankles. Omari unleashed his lightning spell, searing the grasping vines to ash.

  Kaijin started following Nester, then stopped to look over his shoulder.

  Raban smirked. “So you want to play with lightning, do you, mage?” He stretched his hand toward the sky and began chanting in an unfamiliar language. His hand emanated a green glow, and he closed his fist. Grey clouds formed, blotting out the morning light and dim
ming the area. Raban quickly lowered his fist in front of his face. A bolt of lightning shot down from the sky toward Omari, but the mage raised his staff toward the bolt just as it struck him. A near-deafening crack of thunder followed.

  White, blinding light encompassed Omari. His eyes lit up, pupilless, and his entire body jolted. He stumbled backward and redirected the lightning from his staff toward the druid.

  The counter-attack knocked Raban off his feet. He stood back up. Omari went at him more swiftly than before with seemingly renewed energy. Raban called forth more spiraling vines to block the incoming mage, creating a tangled, thorny thicket of plants that seemed to move on their own.

  Kaijin moved to assist Omari, but Nester grabbed his hand and tugged him away from the danger. “Nay, Kaijin. We should go before that foresty bloke starts shootin’ lightnin’ at us next!”

  “But—!” In his gut, Kaijin knew Nester was right. He reluctantly followed Nester toward the southernmost part of the camp.

  Men and women scrambled from their tents to fend off attacks from Sigmund, Aidan, and Zarya. Miele flew around above the camp, and then dove for one of the tents. As Aidan stood his ground, Kaijin could see the rage in his eyes. Aidan savagely attacked one of his opponents with his claws, effortlessly ripping through scale armor like paper. After his victim had fallen, an unknown caster unleashed a binding spell at Aidan, which trapped the giant in place.

  Zarya rushed to his side. Her eyes darted back and forth, searching unsuccessfully for the spell’s caster. She summoned a shield of blinding light around them both. Two attackers flanking them dropped to their knees, cried out, and covered their eyes.

  “Goddess have mercy ...” Sigmund drove his longsword through the back of one of the warrior’s necks, severing the spinal cord. He impaled the other through the liver.

  “Sigmund! Look out!” Zarya jumped to her feet.

  As Sigmund withdrew his blade from one of the corpses, another warrior shoved him from behind. Sigmund grunted as he fell, and the warrior closed in, his weapon pointed at Sigmund’s throat.

  “You get Zarya. I’ll get Sigmund.” Nester told Kaijin, then ran out to help their comrades.

  Kaijin began heading toward Zarya, but his steps slowed as he felt his feet grow heavy. He looked at the ground. Everything seemed normal, but somehow, he was unable to run.

  What’s going on? I feel like I’m walking through mud! As Kaijin struggled, someone grabbed his arms from behind, immobilizing him. Panic fluttered in Kaijin’s chest as he desperately attempted to locate his assailant.

  A man in a cloak materialized in front of Kaijin.

  “Our brethren will be avenged—starting with you.” The man raised a fist that glowed red.

  Gritting his teeth, Kaijin struggled against his captor, but he was held fast. Kaijin felt the fire charm slip out from beneath his robe’s collar as he struggled. “Your men attacked my companions. You stole a Dragon’s egg!” Kaijin panted.

  Not far away, Miele flew out of a tent, followed by Percival. The two animals dispersed, Miele returning to the sky, while Percival scampered out of the camp.

  The cloaked man laughed. “The Legion does not steal, boy—they earn.”

  Kaijin’s left eye twitched. The man’s jeer ignited rage deep inside him. “I am not a boy!”

  The man raised his fist, about to chant a spell, and his gaze focused on Kaijin’s necklace. The man’s eyes reflected the charm’s pulsating, fiery glow. “What is this?” he whispered, lowering his hand.

  Kaijin felt the heat of the charm, and he struggled to get out of the man’s grip. They must never have it. “No! Stay away! Leave it alone!”

  “Keep him still,” the cloaked man ordered his armored comrade. “Amazing. Gaston would love to have something like this.”

  No! Kaijin attempted to kick the cloaked man, but his feet remained like stone. The more he struggled, the more his captor’s iron grip tightened. His shoulders strained under the pressure.

  The cloaked man grabbed the necklace. His face contorted in pain, and he quickly uttered a spell; an orange glow encompassed his grasping hand.

  Kaijin wanted to burn him to death, but he was too distraught to concentrate on a single spell. He can’t ... He won’t have it! He smelled burning flesh.

  The cloaked man snapped the hemp cord from Kaijin’s neck.

  “What is that thing, Devyn?” the armored man asked.

  Devyn grimaced and hissed, quickly prying the charm from his flesh and holding the necklace by the broken cord. He glanced at the imprint scalded into his palm. “I don’t know, but I will find out soon enough. Find what other valuables he has on him, then kill him and go help the others deal with his friends.” He turned and walked away.

  “Yes, sir,” the armored man responded.

  Kaijin swallowed. The world around him blurred. He felt naked, as if a piece of him had been taken away. “Ignis!” his mind called out. But there was no response. Kaijin’s heart raced.

  So I am truly alone. I have finally lost everything I’ve ever loved....

  He went limp. He no longer had the strength or will to fight back. The armored man jostled him and shoved him to the ground. He ripped Kaijin’s haversack from him and tossed it away. The orb spilled out through a gap in the top.

  Kaijin curled up and awaited his fate. The last thing he saw before his eyes closed was the orb emitting a faint, fiery glow.

  * * *

  Aidan felt no pain, only rage and contempt. The sensation confused and frightened him. Was it instinct? Slayers are your enemy, he kept hearing in his mind. Though he was not a full Dragon, he shared their sentiments. It was time to bring those lowlifes to justice—for his blood’s sake.

  Zarya summoned a shield of light, shattering the spell that restrained his arms and legs.

  Aidan sought the caster and then sniffed the air. The mage was well hidden, but his scent was strong. Aidan followed the trail, ignoring the two warriors closing in on Zarya and Sigmund.

  “Aidan! Where are you going?” Zarya yelled after him.

  Focused on his unseen enemy, he didn’t respond.

  “Zarya and I are being flanked, Aidan!” Sigmund called.

  Another scent caught Aidan’s attention. Gaston. Aidan ran. The trail was hot, and he would not let anything stop him.

  He followed the trail to a large tent. His invisible assailant fizzled into view out of thin air, blocking his way.

  Aidan narrowed his eyes and growled at the red-cloaked human, who quickly retrieved something small from his belt pouch. “Where is Kyniythyria’s child?”

  The mage stepped backwards, closing his hand over the dark-colored object. He uttered a phrase, and his hands glowed purple.

  Aidan stepped forward. “Aidan asked you question!”

  Something large and firm bashed him from behind. Aidan grunted and fell flat on his face.

  Gaston secured a steel shield to his back and loomed over Aidan. “So, the half-breed pacifist has finally shown his true nature.”

  Aidan dug his claws into the ground and bared his fangs. His voice crossed from his own to an animal’s growl. “Gaston ...”

  Gaston tilted his head. “My, what has incited such rage in you, my friend? It is something worth studying your corpse over. I have a few friends that would love to acquire you for their research—and they are willing to pay quite a large sum, too. But first ... Devyn?” Gaston nodded to the mage behind him.

  Devyn returned the nod and, smirking, unleashed two bands of purple light that extended toward Aidan.

  Aidan roared and snarled, twisting, trying to get away, but the bonds restrained his hands and feet. He turned his head and glared at Gaston, vision going red.

  What is this? The red scared Aidan, and yet he knew what he had to do. Something sharp prodded in the side of his neck; Aidan suspected it was Gaston’s sword. He winced, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath.

  “Carver, now begins your first test,” Gaston said. “Come here and m
ake your first kill.”

  Footsteps approached Aidan from the side. “Y ... yes, sir.”

  Carver? Aidan exhaled and opened his eyes. Carver had donned scale armor that bore the Legion’s symbol. The eagerness and enthusiasm Aidan remembered had left the boy’s face; all that remained was fear and uncertainty.

  Carver took the sword from Gaston and slowly aimed it at Aidan, but he did not attack.

  “Hurry up, boy!” Gaston barked. “We must deal with the rest of his friends.”

  Aidan’s rage ebbed, leaving a hollow sadness. “Carver ...”

  Carver swallowed and bit his bottom lip. “I can’t believe I trusted you, Aidan. I had no idea you were so dangerous.”

  “No, Carver,” Aidan said. “Gaston has deceived you.”

  “But your kind has killed innocent people!”

  “No, that is not true.”

  Gaston scowled. “Enough. Give me that.” He snatched the sword from Carver. “Hesitation means failure, Carver. You have failed this day. You are not worthy of joining us. You seem to still hold some feelings toward this stinking half-breed.”

  Carver gasped. “N–no, sir! I swear, I pledged my allegiance to you and the Legion!” He tried to grab the sword, but Gaston shoved him away. Carver stumbled and hit the ground hard.

  Aidan’s rage returned, and he fought the magical bonds. He dug down deep and tapped into something he had never touched before, something that felt strangely familiar.

  He stared at Gaston. He recognized the man’s scent, yet he didn’t know how. It was blood—Dragon blood. Aidan deflated a little. “Aidan has question.”

  Gaston raised a curious brow and looked back at Aidan. “A final question before your death?” He smirked. “Very well, half-breed. Entertain me.”

  “Where did you get that armor?”

  Gaston blinked. After a moment, he laughed. “My ... armor? A rather odd but ironic question to ask. I suppose I can understand your curiosity. It’s quite lovely, isn’t it? I paid a hefty sum for it on the black market a few years ago. The armorsmith, also a brother of our cause, obtained the Dragon scales himself. The female he’d slain was rumored to have also been a descendant of a royal Dragon clan that has been extinct for over three hundred years. Amazing, is it not? My armor has history and purpose. That is why I wear it proudly. Now that I’ve answered your question, it’s time for you to answer mine—in blood.”