The Sword of Einiko (Swords of the Bloodline Book 2)

by A. R. Wilson

  I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. She rocked herself back and forth. Gently she swayed her precious, innocent son. I have to protect you. I must protect my son.

  “Tascana, it’s getting late.” Jerricoh’s words felt like pelting sand, invading her solace. Why couldn’t he give her two minutes to herself? “Look, the sun will set soon.”

  She finally opened her eyes. What she assumed were only a few minutes lost in thought had actually been over an hour.

  “Oh.” She accepted his hand as he reached to help her up. “I didn’t notice.”

  As she stood, a peculiar strength girded around the vine within. Audacity choked the life out of her anxiety and dread. Like a tree growing in her soul. A towering ghostwood causing her shoulders to pull back and her chin to rise. She had never been alone in this place. And she would never feel that way again.

  Looking around, she saw the unicorns had gone. But rather than open fields of green, a wide expanse of stone floor led to a dense, thorny bramble where the gate hung open. The grass was gone, as though they had traveled into some kind of outdoor dungeon. Was this the illusion the unicorn tried to tell her about?

  Beyond the dying hedge stood long rows of barren vines. No flowers or leaves, only thorns. Dead trees stood gaunt and cracked. Gone were the rows of beautiful color and lush foliage. Only death as far as she could see. In the distance rose The Master’s (no, Einiko’s) castle. The only thing not an illusion in this dying land. Was his power over creation so great that he could will others to see life in the face of death?

  I choose to be here. It is my choice to stay. The land rippled into a vision of a well-manicured gardens, resting in the glow of a setting sun. But Einiko is not my master. The leaves along every shrub and tree vanished. Flowers turned into vapor.

  With one hand wrapped in the crook of Jerricoh’s arm, she placed another on her belly. The awareness of her son’s presence blossomed, swelling her heart to bursting. So tiny and helpless. So dependent on her strength.

  I’ll find a way to protect you. To protect us. I promise.

  CHAPTER 21

  Four days had passed since the encounter with the spider woman, and Jurren’s nerves continued to stand on edge. Each day that passed without another creature trying to kill one of them increased the likelihood today would be the day. The Inner Kingdom and Einiko’s monsters roamed everywhere in this part of the world.

  “Jurren, I believe I may have had a vision.” Kidelar sat with his elbows on his knees.

  Looking over at him, Jurren frowned. Why had he lost his connection to the seer’s gift?

  “I see feathers, talons, and screaming. Like that of a woman.”

  Understanding swept over Jurren, and he had to close his eyes a moment.

  “All right, I’ll take the bait.” Arkose unsheathed his sword. “What’s coming for us?”

  Jurren looked at him. “You had to ask.”

  “There’s the annoying little elf I know and love so much.”

  The jabs proved less irritating than before. “These creatures are women, too. Like the spider from before. But these have the body of a great eagle.”

  “Another griffin mutation?”

  The heart wrenching story crashed to the front of his mind. Woman crying out in agony, begging for the pain to stop. Einiko taking his time to make their transformation as slow as possible, for no other reason than to savor their cries.

  “No.” Jurren had to shake his head to get the other words to come. “They were human once. Centuries ago. Like the Chandrin, they changed into the embodiment of their worst character trait.”

  “I’m guessing it isn’t fear.” Arkose rubbed the back of his head.

  “Their strongest quality is anger. Rage.”

  “How long until they come?”

  “Soon.”

  Azredan slapped a hand on Jurren’s shoulder. “Then let us embrace the day, and get moving.”

  An hour later, they came to another grove. Jurren led them across the usual grassy field. It transitioned to a tall forest. The trees boasted thick branches overhead. Leaves were reserved for the topmost limbs. No birds or insects greeted them or scurried out of their way. Nothing but empty branches networking under a thin layer of leaves. The stillness of the air assured they would hear whatever came for them.

  An hour of walking brought them to the much anticipated spring of fresh water. Only this time, the water did not look clear as had always been the case before, but murky.

  “Well, this changes things.” Arkose squeezed the neck of his waterbag.

  “There has to be clean water somewhere. Every creature needs to drink.” Jurren touched a finger into the pool, then wiped his hand off on his boot.

  Kidelar glanced skyward. “It would explain the bleak appearance of these trees.”

  “We will find water.” Azredan started walking. “We simply have to keep looking.”

  “Haven’t you traveled this way before?” Arkose lifted his chin to help carry his voice.

  “Yes. My last visit was more than a few years ago.” Azredan did not look back.

  “Then why not tell us the water is tainted?”

  “Such a thing was not so, last time I entered this grove.”

  “The land has changed?” Kidelar spoke with equal awe and concern.

  “Everything changes here. This is Einiko’s playground for those whom he wishes to harm the most.” Azredan paused walking, but kept his gaze ahead.

  “We will find water.” Jurren came and put a hand on the elf’s shoulder. “It is certain.”

  Azredan glanced over. The hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Indeed.”

  The pained cry of a woman pierced the air. Though Jurren’s heart demanded he rush to protect whoever was hurt, his mind knew better. This was not the scream of a woman, but the war cry of Einiko’s minion.

  He pulled out his sword. “Be ready.”

  Kidelar and Arkose unsheathed their swords, and turned their backs to Jurren. Stepping to the side, Jurren led them in a slow circle to scan the trees. Nowhere for anything to hide in this wood. No cave or outcropping of rock. Only flat dirt and empty branches. The scream called out again. This time, Jurren caught sight of the tip of a talon claw as the cry increased. He slashed at the movement. His blade hit nothing but air. The sound came again, and Jurren heard the grunt of Arkose taking a swipe. An eternity of seconds later, another scream. This time, followed by the panicked flapping of feathers.

  Jurren snapped his gaze to see Kidelar standing over a great eagle with the head of a woman. Her blond hair collected dirt and leaves as she thrashed on the ground. One of her legs lay a few feet away from her body.

  “I will drink your blood.” The eagle woman’s voice gargled in her throat.

  Kidelar stood over her to angle his blade against her neck. “I think not.”

  “My sisters will get drunk on the liquid pumping through your veins.” Her angular features hardened as she twisted her face into a menacing scowl. “And you will be the first belly they split open.”

  The sword of Azredan sliced in, silencing any future threats. “Never let them get inside your head.”

  “How many more are there?” Kidelar stepped back, looking away.

  “There are far more of these than the minotaurs. But they do prefer to announce their coming, which gives us the advantage.” Azredan stabbed his blade in the dirt to clean off the blood. “We should get moving.”

  An instant later, Jurren’s ears pulsed with the howling cry of countless eagle women. Their screams felt like boiling oil inside his head. His first instinct was to cover his ears, but his eyes had already caught a glimpse of a swift bunch of feathers. As he swiped forward, sharp points pierced into his shoulders. Shards of pain radiated from his neck to his thighs as something pulled him up. Wings slapped in his face as the talons lodged in his collarbone tugged harder and harder. The tearing sensation caused his vision to haze over. The ground slipped away under his feet. With the little strength rema
ining in his arms, he thrust his blade above his head. The tip embedded in the eagle’s chest, and the woman dropped him.

  He crumpled to the ground, losing his grip on his sword in the tumble of pain and feathers. A claw dug at his right arm. Rolling into a ball, he pulled a dagger from his side. The claw came at him again. He jabbed his blade twice into the stomach of the eagle woman ripping at his arm. As she fell back, he saw the hilt of his sword sticking out of the chest of the one who dropped him.

  Tightness seized the back of his head, then ripped him to the ground. Talons dug into his calf and he kicked hard against it with the other leg. Strong muscles wrapped over his biceps, pulling him in yet another direction. He punched at the eagle woman, then pulled his hand up to slash his dagger across her middle. Something bit his ear. He reached up with both hands, grabbed two fistfuls of feathers, then swung the screaming body in a wide circle. At least three other creatures flopped back from the spinning carcass. He jumped to a stand and took another swing with the flapping body. Feathers and dirt flew in all directions.

  To his right, he saw Kidelar on his back. Arkose stood to his left, sword producing a pile of dying forms all around him.

  Where was Azredan?

  Jurren swiped at another eagle woman, jumped over a body on the ground, hobbled a moment when he landed on his pierced leg, and then pulled his sword free. The ringing in his ears from their constant screams grew to beyond what he could bear. Nausea welled up, either from the growing pain or the piercing noise. He loped off the wings of one swooping in to land on him. Taking out another, he moved to help Kidelar but the scholar already dropped to one knee, driving his sword into the belly of an attacker.

  Nodding, Jurren shifted his attention to the sky. It was as though the clouds had broke loose to rain a flurry of death on them. He swiped at every talon, wing, feather, and biting face that came into view. Another set of claws dug into his shoulders. Crying out, he used the pain to give him the anger he needed to bend forward and flip her off his back. Stamping a boot, he crushed her chest, and probably her spine.

  His pack pulled away. He angled his arms to allow the straps to slip off. When they reached his hands, he gripped tight and pulled to the left. A screaming eagle woman plowed into two of her sisters. Their wings cracked into one other with a loud enough force to hear over their horrible cries. Something came up behind Jurren. At first, he turned to attack, but quickly sensed Azredan had come to stand back-to-back with him. With his rear guarded, Jurren put all focus on taking out the entities coming from the front and sides.

  The lumpy piles of feathers stacking in front of him made it difficult to move. He couldn’t step as hard forward as he needed in order to give a strike its full strength.

  And then they stopped. Rather than swooping in, they hovered above. Their massive wings barely missing each other as they moved to form a circle around Jurren’s men. They had stopped screaming. The only sounds were huffing breaths, and the moans of the dying.

  “Be ready, Jurren.” Azredan’s whisper came out as a single word.

  He didn’t need the warning. A host of creatures bent on death taking a break while they regrouped spoke louder than any words of caution. He needed to keep his knees relaxed, and his grip firm. Bouncing his stance, he felt the weak spots where he was bleeding and the tense places where he still had full vigor. Experience and training from decades ago had taught him how to compensate with the strength that he had. He would only get one shot to deflect whatever they had planned. Each breath felt like an hour of waiting. Their golden eyes stared down, pupils pulled into slits, like those of a goblin. Wing movements adjusted until each of them pumped at the same rate. As though they melded into a single mind.

  From the edge of his peripheral vision, Jurren saw Arkose poised in a similar stance. The man appeared ready for anything. Jurren hoped the new courage Kidelar found after surviving the Fear would carry him through here, too.

  The female faces parted their mouths in unison. Each took a long inhale. For a brief instant, he heard a piercing cry, then hot pain in his ears. A moment later, the world went silent, and something wet ran down the sides of his neck. The pain raced along his jaw and into his throat. But he didn’t have time to flinch or recoil. The wings had tipped up. Their talons extended forwards as they closed in. Something along the lines of ‘wait for it’ danced in his mind.

  He sliced hard, up and to the left. At least a dozen eagle-like feet sprayed red across his face. A claw bounced off his cheek, a slimy patch of exposed muscle skipped across his forehead. If they increased their screaming, due to their severed limbs, he couldn’t tell. A second strike, in the opposite direction, took out the rest of those immediately in front of him. Claws gripped the side of his right shoulder. He slammed his fist into its knee joint. His vision started to cloud again. Pulsing shards coursed through his body. If he died, then it would be while taking the lot of them with him.

  Another rip torn against his chest and wrist. He dropped his sword. Soft feathers settled around his face. Blinking, he noticed he lay on his side. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t right. How did he lose his footing? A thumb pushed his eye open. The earnest face of Azredan came in close. A wing flapped and the elf batted it away. Jurren closed his eyes. Warm comfort spread along his body, pulling him back from sweet oblivion. Searing pain increased, then began to fade. He heard the sound of his own pounding heart. The shock snapped his eyes open.

  “There you are. Don’t move.” Azredan’s cloak flapped over Jurren as the elf pulled away.

  Jurren paused. The pain had finally eased to a tolerable level, so he tried to sit up. The world spun inside his head, and he slumped back into a pile of bloody feathers. A leg squirmed under his back, causing the world to spin in a different direction. He leaned over and vomited. Heat filled the back of his eyes. Prickling cold ran down his cheeks. He pushed away from the acrid pile by pulling forward on his elbows. Whatever still moved among the dead might have the strength to give him one last slash. When cool earth met his hands, he pressed his cheek into it. Closing his eyes, he prayed for the sensation of churning fluid to stop.

  After several deep breaths, he felt able to try sitting up again. Propped on all fours, he scanned the area for Kidelar. Lumps of brown feathers and severed limbs blocked most of his view beyond a dozen feet. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back to sit on his folded legs. He saw Azredan bent over with hands spread across something. Probably saying one of his healing prayers, like he had done for Jurren.

  Feeling more steady, he came to a stand. “How did you stop them?”

  Azredan moved to hover over something else on the ground. “I didn’t.”

  “Then why did they leave?”

  Flicking his eyes towards Jurren, he shrugged. “That’s the real question.”

  Jurren glanced around. The sight of fluffy carnage brought another twinge of nausea. So many casualties. How did that halfling warlock become so bent on instilling a culture of death among his creations? Such a waste of life. And where did they all come from? How could a complete lack of males in a population allow for so many creatures to exist?

  Though he intently examined the trees, he didn’t expect to see one of the eagle women before it swooped. He had been ready and on alert when the first one attacked, and it didn’t do him any good. They needed to get out of this grove and back into the corridors. Hopefully, as soon as they found water. He climbed over two piles of eagle women to find Kidelar lying on the ground. The scholar gripped his forehead with closed eyes.

  “I didn’t know you had it in you, Kid.” Jurren reached out a hand.

  His glare quickly turned to a smile of relief. “Neither did I.”

  “We need to get moving.”

  Kidelar nodded, brushing himself off. “Where’s Arkose?”

  “He’ll make it.” Azredan helped the man to sit up.

  “Now I really miss feeling bored.” Arkose gagged on that last word, then bent over to purge himself of the lingering wounds.r />
  “Find your swords and daggers.” Jurren pushed a feathered body away from Kidelar’s blade. “We still need to find water.”

  A few minutes later, a screech filled the air. The same screech from the den of the spider woman. Jurren motioned for the others to run. Dodging between a tight grouping of trees, he hoped to keep them out of sight of the horsk dragon.

  The ground shook. Jurren paused to look behind him.

  Azredan came up close and put a finger to his lips. He mouthed the words, ‘It’s feeding on the dead.’

  Shivers ran along Jurren’s arms. Both in disgust, and fear. If this grove was part of the horsk dragon’s feeding grounds, then searching for water just dropped a peg on the priority list. The elf gave Jurren’s arm a tug, and pointed away. Following the lead, he motioned for the other men to walk. They needed to stay as silent as possible as the dragon fed. If it took its fill, it might see fit to take a nap afterward, giving them a head start to put as much space between them as possible.

  As they took a straight line away from the carnage, they stumbled upon two more springs. Neither fit to drink from. The next find, near the exit from the grove, gave them the relief they needed. Each drank as much water as they could handle, then filled their waterbags. The exit from the grove held a stark contrast to any other gap they had seen. A set of tall, iron gates stood on either side of the stone walls. Rather than a labyrinth passage on the other side, they found another field of grass.

  “This is new.” Azredan walked to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jurren.

  “How long exactly has it been since your last journey this way?” Jurren shifted his weight, uncertain how close he wanted to get to those gates.

  “Through the Inner Kingdom? Twenty years or more. The risks of approaching Einiko’s castle are great. I never take them without reason.”

  Arkose shot out a hand to the side. “Last time, you said it was a few years.”