King Of Souls (Book 2) (38 page)

Jeremy offered a short salute. “I’ll see to it Your Majesty.”

“One more thing.” Ronan paused taking in his young officer’s distressed appearance. He’d noticed the pain behind Jeremy’s eyes. “Thank you for taking care of my sister. If you’d done anything foolish, I wouldn’t know where to find her.”

Jeremy tightened his jaw and offered his king a short silent nod. He whirled and raced toward a nearby guardian tending the flow of refugees. He shouted orders and pointed toward Elan’s Gap.

Rika beat her wings and loosed a war screech. She lifted off and pitched left climbing skyward before leveling out above the blackened forest.

Ronan surrounded him and Rika with fresh shields while scanning the horizon for any sign of threat.

Rika built up blazing speed aided by a stiff eastern tailwind and set off on the long eastward flight.

As the hours slipped by, gray, low-hanging clouds thickened. Wispy black smoke clung to the forest canopy rising from the fire devastated forest.

As the first tree drew nearer, a few heartwood tree’s showed signs of life. Ripe fruit, thick leaves, and living red branches offered signs of hope in an otherwise devastated forest.

Ronan’s shoulder muscles tightened, and he kept a wary eye trained on the bleak clouds. Something about them tugged on an important memory he couldn’t quite place.

Rika flew straight and true like a homing pigeon desperate to reach her cage.

The smell of hot burning cinnamon tickled Ronan’s nostrils, and a sense of looming dread fell like a black veil over his thoughts.

Ronan’s senses screamed at him to move a moment before his mouth gave warning. He lunged forward and shouted in Rika’s ear. “Move!”

Rika pitched right as three jagged streaks of lighting flashed inches beneath her left wing.

Ronan’s breath caught, and a sharp flare of adrenaline surged through his arms and legs. He opened his palm demanding spirit energy and shot a quick glance over his shoulder.

A trio of mid-sized dragons appeared on Rika’s flank and raced toward her closing the gap. Atop glistening jeweled saddles three sorcerers held glowing crystalline whips. They beat the dragons beneath them and shouted commands lost in the wind.

Ronan hurled a spirit attack toward the nearest sorcerer.

Rika dove flying beneath the blackened tree line.

The gray scaled dragon shifted right avoiding Ronan’s attack.

Ronan swore under his breath while the dragon curled upward breaking toward the low hanging clouds.

The image sparked a memory in Ronan’s mind. He recalled Tiamat’s attack over the Araxis Sea, and the elusive memory snapped into place like a missing puzzle piece. She’d used the clouds for cover cloaking her angle of attack. Ronan’s gaze locked on the thick overhead clouds, and he couldn’t help wondering how many more dragons lay in wait.

Like a mouse racing through its hole, Rika dove hard dipping beneath the thicket of blackened limbs and branches. Overhead, two of the three dragons followed, tracking Rika like a pair of hungry bears following a prize fish upstream.

Could he reason with these dragons as Gabriel had centuries ago? How would he start the conversation? The idea felt foolish, but Moira had warned him of the desert dragons and the traitorous Obsith. That fact gave her words added weight. Abzu and Tiamat claimed he held potential equal to Gabriel’s. What had he to lose? Ronan closed his eyes and held his magic while reaching outward with his mind. He pushed his thoughts skyward hoping to call the dragons stalking him above the canopy.

Wind gusted sending the biting stench of smoke across the forest floor. Rustling leaves hanging from living heartwood trees mixed with the sound of Rika’s beating wings. But, the dragon’s remained silent.

Ronan’s unspoken request went unanswered. He released a held breath and opened his eyes.

Thin strands of white, blue, and yellow trailed outward toward Elan’s Gap. Each thread led to a knight commanding Elan’s magic.

Ronan had seen those strands last summer in the arena, but they wouldn’t help him now. He gazed up at the dragons still tracking Rika’s flight path.

They held a steady silent path above the canopy.

Ronan didn’t see any of Elan’s threads connected to the dragons.

A low faint thumping noise sounded faraway to the south.

Ronan perked his ears and enhanced his hearing while focusing on the strange noise. Was that Rika’s heart beating? Or his maybe? He leaned forward and pressed his open palm against Rika’s chest.

Rika’s heart beat strong and steady, but out of rhythm with the steady thumping sound.

Ronan leaned forward and spoke into Rika’s ear. “Can you hear that?”

“Hear what?” Rika said.

The thumping sound faded and disappeared.

Ronan sat upright in his saddle and shook his head. He couldn’t make sense of it. “Never mind.” He turned his gaze skyward.

The third dragon returned and they flew three abreast tracking Rika and Ronan toward the forest’s heart.

Why hadn’t they gave chase? Ronan’s face went numb as a horrible thought blossomed in his head. They wanted him and Rika to fly ahead. His head snapped forward, and he scanned the approaching thicket of trees.

Beneath Rika, a worn footpath heavy with gray ash and downed tree limbs led to an intersection two-hundred feet ahead. A large sign welcoming visitors to the forest’s heart stood where the path diverged. Arrows pointed in opposite directions toward the Ayralen Assembly and the Warden’s Council.

Ronan pitched forward keeping a tight grip on the saddle. “Something’s wrong Rika. Why are they letting us get so close to the first tree?” He searched the forest floor with enhanced vision and his skin crawled. “Land Rika. We’re flying into a trap.”

Rika extended her talons pitching her rear legs forward readying herself for landing.

From behind a blacked heartwood tree, a half-dozen blond haired children leaped outward. Orange flame blossomed from the outstretched hand of a nearby sorceress with blond pigtails. Lightning crackled from two tattooed sorcerers beside her.

Heat slammed into the back of Ronan’s shield while orange flame hammered his shield from the front.

Arcs of white lightning flashed then slammed into Rika’s shield from the front. Waves of blue spirit energy raced across Ronan and Rika’s shields. The shields absorbed the physical attack, but heat seeped through searing Ronan’s skin.

Red-hot pain flashed across Ronan’s back, chest, and face. He clenched his jaw refusing to buckle under the sneak attack. His mind recoiled from the pain as a second barrage of attacks battered his shield sending smoke curling skyward.

Rika screeched beating her wings with abandon slowing her descent. Smoke curled from the feathers along her spine and chest filling the air with the putrid stench of burning flesh.

“Up!” Ronan found his voice as a third round of attacks blistered his and Rika’s shield.

A small army of sorcerers swarmed the ground launching fire and lightning at Rika and Ronan.

Ronan channeled spirit and reinforced his and Rika’s shields. He leaned over Rika’s shoulder and flattened his palm against her singed flesh.

White healing magic flowed over Rika's body closing her wounds.

Ronan closed his eyes and focused inward directing healing flows into his own body. Relief, instant and complete, allowed his mind to focus. He channeled enhancement magic toughening his flesh and bone.

Like a hunter’s prey flushed from hiding, Rika climbed higher. She tore through the canopy’s lowest branches and set a course leading into the waiting jaws of the circling dragons.

Ronan’s stomach hardened, and he pushed away rising panic. In either direction, disaster waited. Which path offered the best chance for survival?

Ronan clenched his jaw and raised his gaze toward the heavens. With steeled determination, he pulled free his sheba blade and channeled magic through its core. He leaned into Rika’s ear. “Fly straight upward as fast as you can and don’t stop for anything!” He swung his blade high overhead in tight fast circles.

Rika broke through the canopy like a fiery comet trailing a thick tail of blue smoke. With a burst of speed she soared into the open sky. Her wings beat faster and she surged forward setting a collision course with an oncoming dragon’s open mouth.

The gray dragon stretched its mouth wide displaying glistening rows of sharp white fangs.

Ronan leaned to his side clinging to the saddle using only his leg strength to hang on. With both hands, he tightened his grip on his blade and drew it backward readying a swing.

The sheba blade glowed streaking the overcast afternoon sky with a ribbon of cherry-red light.

Rika dodged left missing the dragon’s fangs by a hair’s breadth.

Ronan loosed a guttural shout swinging his blade like an executioner’s ax.

The dragon chomped its mouth shut finding empty air while lowering its head as Ronan’s blade flew past missing by an inch.

The sorcerer seated atop the gray dragon’s saddle raised his whip trying to stop the blur of red death flashing toward his neck.

In the next instant, Ronan’s blade severed the sorcerer’s hand holding the whip and never slowed as it bit through his neck. The sorcerer’s face froze in an expression of wide-eyed horror. His head rolled from his shoulders dropping into the smoldering forest canopy. His disembodied hand followed, and hot blood gushed in a misty spray from the stump of his neck and wrist.

The gray-scaled dragon climbed higher shucking off the sorcerer’s headless corpse. It pitched right and streaked southward avoiding further confrontation.

Rika broke into clear sky and dove left toward a fresh section of the forest canopy.

Ronan’s gaze locked on the first tree providing his first clear view of the tree where his father fought for his life.

Two dozen dragons circled above its smoking hulk bombarding its branches with fire and lightning. The sorcerers riding atop their backs launched elemental attacks from outstretched hands. Burned corpses of Ayralen archers and soldiers littered the tree's smoldering decks.

The final remnants of the proud Ayralen Assembly burned inside the charred remains of the dying tree.

Ronan’s jaw hung open, and he felt the blood drain from his face. An earsplitting screech jolted Ronan while numb shock rolled over his body. He reached down sliding his hand along Rika’s trembling flank. His sheba blade hung loose dangling from his hand, and he gaped in horror at the unfolding disaster.

A heavy groan rolled over the forest floor shaking the ground like an earthquake. For miles in every direction, the forest’s canopy rattled and shook. The first tree’s trunk burst into orange flame and caved inward. A wave of black death rolled across the remaining trees as they stopped moving and death descended on the Heartwood.

Confession

The sound of crackling fire mixed with the stench of smoldering wood and burned flesh. Both hung heavy in the stronghold's night air.

Tara had lingered, unmoving for hours, long after the battle shouts had faded. Even now, well after sunset, she rocked back and forth above Bawold’s courtyard. She stared into the darkness stretched like death’s blanket across corpses spanning the courtyard.

She’d collected a bounty of souls inside the fortress. A small but formidable force of dark soldiers and souleaters stood ready in the courtyard below. But, she’d lost her will to fight. Her lifeless minions couldn’t touch the brilliant, untamed vitality of the soul knights. Her pets served as tools, nothing more. She cared not a whit for their existence, but her heart ached for General Demos.

Three months ago, General Demos had argued his case before the Baerinese war council. He brought forward sound facts arguing that rising water had rendered the continent uninhabitable. General Andreas and General Pietro disagreed believing the floodwaters would recede. But, Tara had sided with Gregor and agreed to return to Meranthia. Over the centuries, Tara had tried to stay out of Baerinese politics. But, General Demos made such a convincing and impassioned argument, she found refusal impossible.

Of course, her fondness for Gregor Demos went beyond the political. He’d never shown a hint of fear or hesitation around Tara. During his life, he’d treated Tara as a daughter instead of a human oddity. He'd shown her compassion even when she deserved none. In return, she’d allowed the Baerinese to live their lives without her interference.

Despite her pact, the clan leaders still reacted with hesitation and fear whenever Tara spoke. The war council deferred to her leadership without question. Many Baerinese recalled darker times when she’d not shown such restraint. Not a citizen among them showed any desire for a return to her bloody reign three centuries ago.

Gregor Demos, chief of the largest war clan in Baerin’s central plains, had uncovered Tara’s lost humanity. He had somehow triggered emotions she’d buried since her apprenticeship to Elan. He’d provided Tara a sense of family and place from the moment she’d met him two hundred years ago. But, he never failed to remind her how humankind had mistreated her and the lost civilization of Baerin.

A heavy ache settled in Tara’s chest. She’d not remembered feeling so alone since she’d left Meranthia’s shore two-thousand years ago. She played back Elan’s words in her head. Words she’d recalled countless times. Despite the fact she’d saved his life, Elan had flown into a rage when he discovered Tara’s secret experiments. He’d claimed her research on the human soul’s trapped energy potential an abomination. Tara had unlocked mysteries surpassing the legendary magician himself. Elan turned his back on her. She’d seen the revulsion in his eye. The utter contempt in his icy glare had cut her far worse than any blade ever could.