The Willbreaker (Book 1) (27 page)

              "Gotcha," he said.

              With the sword still buried in his chest, Brandon brought the tip of his sword up into the belly of the Bauth'Dok King, pushing it up into his chest cavity. With a final thrust, the tip of the sword pushed out the back of the King's neck. Brandon could feel Ingtar's body losing strength, overcome with convulsions. Blood splattered Brandon's face as the last bit of air released from the creature's lungs. Brandon let go of the King as he stumbled backwards onto the ground. The King's body fell away from him and toppled into the street.

              Brandon's knees buckled as he stared at the sword buried in his chest. He grabbed the handle and pulled it free. Although the wound healed instantly, it did not free Brandon from the pain. He took a deep breath as he stood. Raising the sword, ready to fight, Brandon said, "Your King is dead. Who is next?" He did not want to fight the remaining creatures, but he could see no other way of escaping. The power of the sword made his healing ability mindless, and if he had to kill the entire tribe, he would.

              He stopped the man responsible for creating the Bauth'Dok society. He said he would kill the King, and he did. He felt vindicated. He earned a victory for the captives, but this fight was far from over.

              The surrounding Bauth'Dok moved around Brandon like flies around a dead mouse. One of the creatures wrapped its fingers around the handle of the trexalite blade and withdrew the sword buried in the gut of the Bauth'Dok Blademaster. It looked at Brandon, and moved towards him. Brandon eyed that creature cautiously. 

              As the creature approached, Brandon tightened his grip on his sword and spread his feet for balance. The creature walked forward, bowed its head to the floor, and held out the sword towards him in its open hands. The surrounding area opened up as the other creatures followed, all bowing to the ground towards Brandon.

             
"Vol-De'Parmo, the Challenge of the King. One winner, one master. It is a rite of passage to our people, passed along from a time long dead. He who holds the swords, holds the power. You have earned them, Willbreaker. You are the Master, Willbreaker."

             
Brandon stared, astonished at what he heard. He waited, trying to figure out if this really happed or if the creature attempted to deceive him. All of the Bauth'Dok pressed their heads to the floor.

              "I don't want your swords. What happens if I refuse to take them?" he asked.

              The creature spoke, never taking its head away from the floor.

             
"If a wolf does not howl, does that make his howl any less his own? If you leave them here, they are still yours, Willbreaker. What you do with them is your choice, but it does not make them any less yours."

             
"Those swords are evil. Much blood has been spilled by them. Many lives have been lost to them."

             
"The swords are just a tool. It is he who wields them that decides what they are used for, and how much blood will be spilled by them."

              "Challenge me to the Vol-De'Parmo and I shall secede, then you may have your swords."

              The creature never lifted its head.

             
"It does not work that way, Willbreaker. The Vol-De'Parmo is no joke; it is a fight to the death for Kingship of our People, written in our laws thousands of years ago. No more than a single challenge can be called forth within a hundred years, so as I stated, the swords are yours. Take them, Willbreaker."

              "Why do you keep calling me Willbreaker?" Brandon asked, trying to understand. He did not comprehend the ways of their culture and did not understand how their society worked. After a moment of silence, and realizing he would not get an answer, he stretched his arm out and took the sword from the creature before him.

             
"What will you have of us, Blademaster?"

              He hesitated only slightly. "Free the miners. There will be no more pain. If you want the trexalite, you mine it yourself." Brandon looked over the Bauth'Dok. "Let me out. I'm leaving," he said. The world blurred.

              Brandon's eyes opened, his head resting in Jasmine's lap. She dipped a cloth in a bowl of cool river water, and rubbed it across his forehead.

              "It's okay, Brandon. You are safe." A gentle smile formed on her lips. She brushed the cloth down his cheeks and across his lips.

              "He's awake? Brandon!" Edward shouted, running around the fire to get to him. The night sky shined with thousands of stars. As Edward rushed over, Brandon sat and whispered a "thank you" to Jasmine. She blushed and looked towards the ground.

              Edward threw his arms around Brandon's neck, nearly choking him.

              "I am so glad you are alive! We have been worried sick about you! Is everything okay? Are you hurt? Do you need anything? I can get you some water if you need it, and we have fish. Do you want some fish? Wow! Your aura is brilliant!" Edward stammered, looking at the aura surrounding Brandon that no one else could see. "Brilliant!"

              Brandon held up his hand to Edward, quieting him. "I am fine, Edward. Exhausted, but fine. It is good to see you," he said, looking around to Jasmine. Donald stood and approached Brandon with his hand extended.

              "I am Donald Granitefist," he said, smiling. " I have heard so much about you. Glad to see you are alive."

              Brandon pulled a small smile and nodded.

              Edward spoke. "There is so much we have to talk about!"

              Brandon did not want to relive his experience again, but his eyes caught the two red-glowing swords that sat alongside his backpack and the other camp goods. He stared at them, catching Edward's attention. The swords were a sobering reminder of his captivity. He stared unblinking at the swords as he told his story.

              He told them of the day of his capture; how the creature came from the trees, bringing to life all the nightmarish tales Margaret told him as a child. He told of his dear friend Galadin Bloodbark, the man who befriended him when he awoke in the bone cage, and who stayed by his side through thick and thin. Brandon's eyes welled up in tears as he spoke of his departed friend. He would never forget Galadin.

              His story continued through the night. Brandon told how they tortured him when he would not comply with Florian's rules, and how Florian starved and beat him. It all came out. He spoke dearly of his friends, those who died, and how he thought of Edward and Jasmine at night. If it were not for those thoughts, he would have given up and succumbed to the torture and slavery of the creatures with no eyes.

              Edward watched Brandon closely, studying him. Something about him had changed. As Brandon spoke of the events, it came to Edward.
Innocence. He has lost his innocence, thrown into the wide, unforgiving world as a babe, to come out after months of punishment, cruelty, and torture as a man who has seen the worst of life's ways.

              Brandon went into detail about the day he escaped, from when he stopped Florian to the battle with the Bauth'Dok guards, and most of all, the fight with the Blademaster. Brandon told nearly everything, except the parts of the story that made him uncomfortable, like
how
the two Bauth'Dok guards died and what he saw after the Bauth'Dok King stabbed him in the heart. As he finished, Edward piped up.

              "Brandon, those swords are known throughout the world. Do you know how many 'would-be heroes' have tried to attain them? They have caused entire Kingdoms to collapse; princes and Kings have died in attempt to attain those swords. Some say they are the swords of the Gods, made when power flowed like rivers, and energy pulsed through the world in shockwaves. Those weapons are no secret to the world. It has even been said that trexalite is the solid form of the blood of the Gods, rained down into the earth at the times of creation, when the Gods fought for rulership."

              Brandon shook his head. "Well, I don't want them. You can have them," he said, looking deep into the fire. "Much blood was spilled by those weapons. They are a symbol of evil to me."

              Edward spoke quickly, as if trying to add power to his words. "The swords are not evil. They have great potential to be used for good. It is the holder that makes them good or evil. And I dare not touch them."

              Brandon chuckled. "That is what they said."

              "Who said?" Edward asked.

              Brandon shook his head. "Never mind."

              Edward moved away and sat down, looking down to the ground. His face conveyed worry.

              "What's the matter, Edward?"

              "Brandon, there are some things you need to know about."

              "What. What is it?"

              Edward brought his eyes up to meet Brandon's gaze. "While you were captured, Lord Reinhold attacked Orlimay. In retaliation for the attacks, Aurora razed two cities and six villages along the border into Karpathos Kingdom."

              Brandon came to attention. "Did she kill Lord Reinhold? Is he dead? Did Aurora cut off his head?" he asked with urgency, vivid images of his vision flashing throughout his mind.

              Edward scrunched his brow. "No, Reinhold is fine, alive and well, but the people of Karpathos Kingdom did not fare so well. She burned the cities to the ground, and left no one alive," Edward said.

              Brandon looked as if he saw something through Edward. "Then it has started."

              "What has started? Brandon, of those two cities, Greylin . . ." Edward let the words die.

              "No . . ."

              "They had the cities surrounded. Those who tried to flee were murdered on the spot. They destroyed them, Brandon, worse than Darrow's hold," Edward said, voice shaking.

              Donald spoke. "Word has it that Aurora marched her primary defense force from Orlimay, around two-hundred and fifty thousand strong, into the unsuspecting towns. They had no reason to prepare their defenses; Aurora has left those cities virtually untouched since the war has begun. This was deliberate retribution for Reinhold’s assault on her capital city; a way for her to tell Lord Cedric Reinhold that she is willing to strike anywhere he is vulnerable. It is a crushing defeat for our side; Reinhold lost over ten thousand soldiers in the war at Orlimay, including some of his top gifted and council members."

              Edward cut in. "Brandon, we have to help. We have to do something. You have to accept your role in the prophecies. You are the hero-"

              Brandon stared at the ground in a trance as he spoke the words. The layering of the words gave Edward chills and sounded unnatural to normal tongue.

              "
If the Red Star fails, fire and ash will overtake the world. Only one may stand against the scorn of the Woman gone mad. The lives of many innocent rest in the hands of the man who can stop death
." Brandon looked at Edward, concern stricken across the old man's face.

              "Where did you hear that, Brandon?" He voice rang with danger.

              "It came to me, after the Bauth'Dok King stabbed me in the chest. I saw things, Edward. I saw what would happen if Aurora wins this war. The entire world will burn in her wake, fire and death will be the footsteps of her travels. People will cower in her shadow and ash will blanket the world. She will dominate the lands and there will be no one left to stop her. She will change the lives of everyone on this planet. No one will be safe from her rule."

              Edward stared at Brandon in wonder. "Are you saying . . .?"

              "Yes. It came to me in the same fashion as Darrow's Hold. That is twice, Edward. I saw what would happen to Darrow's Hold, and it did. What I saw in these nightmares cannot come to pass. People die. Men, women, and children alike, there will be so much blood. I
have
to help. I cannot sit here and wait for that to happen."

              Edward's look softened. "Brandon, that frighteningly sounds like a prophecy. Do you remember when I told you about your aura, the golden one that was so strong? It is there now, as it always has been, but it is much more vibrant, like it’s alive. I have never seen it like this before. When you came out of the cave, it was the same way. Maybe it is growing with your powers. You have become quite the healer, I would imagine?"

              Brandon gave him a small nod. “I think it is the reason I am still alive. I kept myself clean of the radiation from the raw trexalite, but no matter how I tried, I could not do the same for everyone else. I was only able to heal myself as those around me died.”

              "I’m sorry, Brandon, magic works in mysterious ways, sometimes you can use it for others, and sometimes it limited to the user. Your magic, the ability to heal, is part of Spirit, and so is Vision. Brandon, I have strong suspicion that you have Unity of Spirit, Life and Vision, which is two sides of the Spirit sphere. I have Unity as well, but my power is in Mind. Only eight percent of the magic population is able to do so, so if it is true and you can wield two sides of that magic, then I would consider this a very big coincidence, and us very lucky."