Brothers of Blood (Fall of a King Book 2)

by James Fuller

  A wall of flames sprung up in front of the doorway, forcing the wizards and soldiers back a step at the intense heat. Astaroth had to deny every fiber of his being to not fight his way clear. “Come, Keithen!”

  Keithen watched in utter amazement at the sudden change of circumstance and was only pulled from that shock when he heard his name; he turned just in time to see Astaroth jump from one of the room’s windows. He darted over, leaping out after him.

  “Keithen, stop!” Regis’s voice bellowed out through the flames.

  As Astaroth fell, he smiled, glad he had chosen a room above the stables. He had chosen it simply because it was the more secluded room but now had to believe fate played a small part in his choice. He landed hard on the bales of hay that were stacked below and they barely budged under his weight. The air escaped his lungs, but he forced himself to roll off the haystack to the ground, knowing Keithen was only moments behind him. Keithen hit the hay hard and on his side - he lay there, coughing madly.

  “Get up, damn it, we do not have time for weakness!” Astaroth screamed, looking up to make sure the wizards were not already above them.

  “I think I broke my arm,” Keithen groaned, slowly making his way to the edge.

  “It is just an arm, you have another!” Astaroth barked, grabbing Keithen’s legs and pulling him to the ground.

  “What are we going to do?” Keithen whimpered, cradling his broken arm.

  “Follow me!”

  Before they had a chance to move, an arc of power exploded into the pile of hay from above, knocking them from their feet, though the spray of straw and smoke hindered the wizards from attacking again. Astaroth and Keithen fled through the stable yard.

  “What is going on here?” Two drowsy-eyed soldiers called out as they stepped out of the stables in front of them, completely unprepared.

  Astaroth’s attention turned to the two oblivious men, a wicked snarl across his face. “I do not have time for you!” He howled angrily, about to obliterate them with wizard’s fire. Instead, his howl turn to a cry of agony as two arrows embedded into his lower back, dropping him face first onto the hard dirt.

  “Keeper’s balls!” the soldiers cried in unison, realizing they had almost been killed.

  “Kill them!” Astaroth screamed at Keithen.

  Keithen snapped out of his haze and looked down at Astaroth then back at the two soldiers. They were looking at him now, as if they were waiting to see what he would do before they reacted.

  “You useless whelp, kill them!” Astaroth raged as he pulled one of the arrows from his back.

  Anger flashed in Keithen’s eyes at being called useless again. Ursa had always muttered that word about him when he had failed at something. A dark red flame formed in his hand as he began walking towards the two guards. His mind fixated on one thing and only one thing - to prove his worth.

  “What are you doing, Keithen?” one of the soldiers asked, his hand slowly moving towards his sword hilt nervously.

  “I am not worthless!” Keithen screamed, releasing the flames. The soldier put his arms up to protect his face from the attack, though it did little good.

  The other guard watched in horror as his friend rolled back and forth on the ground, wailing in agony. “Why, Keithen?” It was all he had time to ask before he was impaled, the ice blade sticking out of his chest.

  Astaroth gripped the second arrow protruding from his back and was just about to tear it out when he felt the static in the air and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He threw himself to the side, just as a crackle and explosion hit the ground. He knew he had not escaped unscathed, a searing pain burned through his shoulder and arm and he knew that the arrow had broken off in his back.

  Astaroth was an easy target for the wizards in the window above him. He rolled onto his back, grimacing at the lancing pain from the arrowhead, his hand crackling to life with energy as he aimed up at them. Before he could release his attack, several more arrows thudded into the earth around him and he was forced to forfeit his plan.

  Keithen smiled smugly to himself at the two bodies on the ground in front of him. The power of taking lives so easily was intoxicating and he nearly forgot where he was. He heard Astaroth getting to his feet behind him and turned to see three soldiers moving in on them. An arc of energy disemboweled the first as Keithen moved towards them.

  “We do not have time for this!” Astaroth hissed, a torrent of air taking the remaining two soldiers from their feet. “This way!” Astaroth snapped, running for the fenced off pen of startled horses. They mounted the skittish beasts and smashed through the wooden gate.

  “Halt or we will kill you!” A soldier barked out as a score of men formed ranks in their path, bows at the ready.

  Astaroth kicked his horse’s flanks hard, driving it to go faster, knowing if he stopped now they would be over taken.

  “Loose!” the Captain ordered, seeing that they were not going to surrender.

  A burst of air erupted from Astaroth’s outstretched hand, scattering the arrows that cut through the distance towards them. His horse thundered forward, fear driving it more than Astaroth’s vicious kicks, and it crashed through the formation of men, sending battered forms all around.

  Chapter 7

  Titus paced the open arena mindfully. He watched Meath grow more and more frustrated with each failed attempt to form ice blades. It was not an overly hard summon, once learned, but often took time and much focus to achieve. Focus and time - two things Titus knew Meath was lacking.

  The entire morning, Meath had only been able to summon three sets of icicles; crude as they had been, they had still worked, taking out the targets provided. But, he had thrown them like a soldier would a dagger, which was not a wizard’s way. He needed to create the daggers and when releasing them, summon air to propel them faster and deadlier than any man could throw. This practice would help train his instincts; to be able to achieve two areas of his powers with one thought. It was not going well.

  “Stop!” Titus commanded. “Fire cannot be the only thing you know of your Gift, Meath!” Titus barked. “You need to be able to use all the elements at your disposal, and use them with ease. They are as much a part of you as the skin that covers your flesh or the blood that runs through your veins.”

  Titus stepped within the training circle, two smooth blades quickly forming within his palms. With a frustrated growl, he unleashed them into two of the earthy mounds. The ice blades tore through the targets and before they could crumple in defeat - four more such earthy mounds rose to replace them, summoned by Titus’ own mind. Two more vicious, frozen daggers cut through the air, lancing through their intended targets. Titus quickly turned to face the final duo, an arc of power trailing off his left hand, sending a spray of earth everywhere as a sphere of flames engulfed the final earthly victim.

  “The powers within you are not meant to resist one another, but to harmonize together, as they are one and the same,” Titus explained as he stood in front of Meath, not a single iota of effort showing on his face from his display. “You need to open your mind, Meath, and stop struggling with the how and focus on the can. The powers are within you, they are you, and you just need to let them out.” Two more targets rose up to challenge Meath. “Now, try again.”

  Titus walked out of the circle, his thoughts troubled. He had always had an excellent sense of people; their thoughts, their intent and their abilities. With Meath he could read little and that made Titus uneasy.

  Meath said nothing as he squared off with the two targets, doing his best to suppress his growing anger and frustration. It had been nearly five full days since he had begun training with Titus and he felt no better than he had been when he had arrived.

  The first day Titus had simply told him to destroy the targets by any means he could. Meath knew it was so the powerful wizard could get a feel for what he already knew; ‘disappointing’, was Titus’ exact words by the end. Meath had argued that if he had a sword, he could h
ave done better, but Titus had scoffed at him - swords were for mindless brutes. A wizard did not need material things to conquer their foes.

  Meath glared at the targets before him, knowing he could easily dispatch them with fire. But fire was simple and Titus was right - he needed to know all he could if he were to avenge his friends. His palms began to tingle as he focused on the innate Gift that was his birthright. He could feel the slight prickling sensation as the very moisture within the air began drawing to the core of his palms. He closed his eyes, trying to envision the ice forming into long blades, but he quickly opened them again; he could not close his eyes in a fight. He needed to be able to see everything that was happening and still be able to call upon his powers with ease.

  Meath glanced down and was surprised to see two solid icicles within his hands. The soldier in him urged him to throw the shards, but he restrained himself. Against soft earth and unarmored flesh, his throw could kill, but if his target wore hard armor the ice would likely just shatter against it. He had used his Gift to propel a sword into a Priestess when he, Kara and Daden had nearly been captured, but that had been uncontrolled instinct. To duplicate the act now seemed unrealistic.

  “Come on, then,” Titus called out in encouragement, “release them just like you would fire, it is nearly the same thing.”

  He is right, Meath mused, when I release fire, I was not throwing it. It was my Gift propelling it from my hands, naturally. Meath released the first icicle and it fell to the earth, far short of its target. He heard Titus curse under his breath. Meath did his best to block out his own frustration, took a deep breath and tried again. The ice blade launched from his hand awkwardly and smashed into the target flat-sided, crumbling with it.

  “Not very graceful, but a target down none the less,” Titus said, “maybe it is time to call it a day.”

  “No,” Meath replied calmly, ice forming in his hand.

  “Only children and fools allow their emotions to get the better of them,” Titus called out, as the blade left Meath’s hand with lightning quickness and sunk deeply into the chest of the target. “Fine, have it your way.”

  Meath turned to his teacher and three more targets rose before him. He grinned, already feeling the cold tingle within his hands as he stalked forward. Two targets were quickly dispatched to his newly learned skill - the third he left smoldering in blackened defeat.

  “It is an improvement,” Titus said

  Meath turned to accept the unusual praise when a fourth target sprung from the earth, an arm’s length away. Both of Meath’s hands snapped out, instinct kicking in. The target ruptured in a spray of failure as a dense column of air struck it. Meath quickly stepped back, readying himself for another surprise.

  “Well done, Meath, well done,” he clapped, joining Meath within the magical training circle. “It is good to see that soldier’s training gave you something of worth. Nothing is more effective when the unexpected happens than instinct, and instinct is something you either have, or you do not. You have it and that means there may be hope for you yet.”

  “It has never before occurred to me that when I cast fire that I am in turn casting air to expel it as well,” Meath replied, ignoring the humorous jest.

  “Ay, it is an innate impulse that is often easily forgotten. It occurs so effortlessly with fire because fire needs air to survive, even wizard’s fire, and so they are nearly one in the same when summoned. But you have a problem, Meath, and I believe you know what it is.”

  Meath averted his eyes. “I know what you are going to say. I have heard it all before.”

  “If you have heard it before, then why are you still allowing your emotions to control your powers?” Titus sighed again, seeing Meath begin to close himself off. “Go eat and get some rest. Tabitha will come find you later. You will need a different set of instincts about you for what she is to teach you.” With that, Titus turned and left.

  Meath aimlessly wandered the skirting pathways around the small town of Salvas, getting lost in the vibrant beauty of nature all around him. Large, ancient trees surrounded the town, their branches so entangled together, it would be impossible to tell which belonged to which tree. His mind was muddled with things that he wished he could just shut out. The last few days had been overwhelming - exciting and yet, very disheartening.

  He knew that his training with Titus, though improving, was not as fast as it was apparently needed. Fire had always been easy, as it was for most wizards; even summoning ice was becoming more fluent and took less of his concentration. Air, too, was becoming something he was more confident in - not only to propel the other elements but also for defense. Earth and electrical energies still eluded him – all he had managed was frustrating himself and Titus.

  Training with Tabitha had also been crushing to his self-worth. She was teaching him one of the hardest things to learn - how to force-heal wounds. For many wizards, it could take years before they could so much as fuse together a scratch… some never learned. He had not even been able to come that close, yet, he would need to learn to heal himself during a battle while still focusing on attacking and defending. It seemed impossible to him and that only discouraged him further.

  Meath stopped and looked up at the evening sky; it would be dark soon and he knew he should find his bed, but he knew he would not sleep. Sleep was becoming a rarity for him - only when utter exhaustion took him did he seem to rest peacefully.

  The murmured sound of talking caught his attention and the urge to hide flooded him. He chided himself for that instinct. He had no reason to hide, or to avoid people. He had been in Salvas for over a fortnight and aside from his teachers and Zada, he had little to no contact with others. At first it had suited him just fine, but now he noticed others seemed to avoid him just as much, and the thought bothered him.

  The voices faded and he knew they had gone another way and continued down the path. There was one other teacher he had yet to meet – Donner.

  He had been a mentor to Astaroth in many ways. He was the only one in Salvas who was proficient in both his Gift and a physical weapon, a talent Astaroth had quickly become fond of. It was something Meath was sure he would excel at; however, he had much to learn from Titus before Donner would even consider seeing him.

  There were many more aspects to the Gift that were taught in Salvas, but for the course Meath was on he only needed to learn these. He had been told that once Astaroth was defeated, if he desired, he could return to Salvas and learn all there was to know of his talents. It was something that preyed on him in the corners of his mind, often before sleep took him at night. All he could think about was revenge on Astaroth - his brother. He could not even begin to think of what he would do after that. A large part of him doubted he would even survive the encounter, so to think beyond that point seemed pointless.

  Meath was so caught up in his thoughts that he did not notice the hooded figure, who was also distracted, about to cross his path. They banged into each other with enough force that the hooded figure fell backwards and his brown hood slipped back.

  The blond-haired man looked up. “My apologies...” his voice caught in his throat and he quickly became nervous, “I... I am truly sorry... I did not see you coming. I was too busy thinking about something.”

  Meath looked down at the gaunt man with near equal surprise. “No need to apologize, I am equally to blame.” Meath offered his hand and helped the man up, noticing the black design imprinted on his palm. “I, too, was lost in thought.”

  The man looked around awkwardly. “I am surprised you are still up and not resting.” The man’s face twisted in panic after the words left his lips. “I... I am sorry, I meant no disrespect, I have no right to question what you do... or do not do.”

  Meath held up his hands to stop the druid. “There was no disrespect taken, it is all right. I have too much on my mind and would not likely find much sleep right now.” Meath cocked a brow at the strange man. “I do not think I have seen you before, what is your nam
e?”

  The man smiled sheepishly. “Stefan, and…well… I spend a lot of my time in the archives studying its vastness. I was actually heading there now.”

  “I have yet to see the archives,” Meath replied. “Come to think of it, I really have not seen much of Salvas.”

  “Oh, there is much to see here! Salvas is an amazing place and its history is very fascinating.” Stefan beamed joyfully, his awkwardness seeming to fade. “I have actually been doing much reading of late - on how Salvas was created, almost a thousand years ago.”

  “I do not understand how our powers could create a living place,” Meath replied; it had been something that had also been playing in a loop at the back of his mind.

  “It was not ‘our’ powers that created it, just manipulated it.” Stefan paused. “You do not know how our powers really came to be, do you?”

  Meath’s brow rose at the question. “No, I guess I do not.”

  Stefan’s smile widened. “That surprises me, given who you are. Would you like to know?”

  “What do you mean…given who I am?”

  “You do not know yet, do you? Come with me,” he smiled, “I have something you will want to see.”

  Meath followed Stefan down a path to a large building jutting out of a small hillock on the southern side of Salvas. It was built of aged stone slabs and the very earth it was protruding from. A massive, thick-trunked willow tree grew at the top of the small hill, its roots entangled down across the stone walls, encasing a large part of the archive’s outer structure.

  Stefan held his hand over one of the thick roots that gnarled itself down into the earth, near the doorway. A soft aura of colors entwined together up into his awaiting hand from the great tree. Within a moment, he cut the flow of energy and pushed open the large door, a flame springing to life within his palm.