The Reborn King (Book Six) Page 33

  It soon became clear that the Dark Knight was growing frustrated. He had not faced an opponent able to withstand him in many years.

  Eventually, he stepped back for a moment, a sinister grin on his face. “You should know that once you are gone, I will take great pleasure in flaying your wife and child alive. Their screams will fill my heart with joy.”

  Gewey felt the rage within him building. But this is what he wants, he thought. He wants me to fight with blind fury.

  “Or perhaps I’ll spare them,” the Dark Knight continued. “I will make a slave of the boy and your wife into my concubine.” He grinned viciously. “I very much look forward to meeting them.”

  “The only thing that you will be meeting is your Creator,” Gewey told him. His voice was calm and purposeful.

  He stepped in, bringing his sword down in a sweeping arc that the Dark Knight was able to block without too much trouble. Undeterred, Gewey spun and struck out hard with his fist. This was more successful, and connected solidly with his opponent's jaw. The Dark Knight staggered back, but many years of experience controlled his movements. After shifting right, he thrust at Gewey's throat, forcing him to turn and step away.

  With his enemy slightly off-balance, the Dark Knight pressed his advantage. In a series of calculated strikes, he maneuvered his way to Gewey’s right. A dagger appeared in his left hand just before he dived forward and rolled behind him.

  Gewey’s eyes shot wide as the weapon plunged into his back. Pain racked his spiritual body. He spun around and tried to back away, but a fist smashed into his temple. This was quickly followed by a knee to his abdomen. In desperation, he swung his sword at the Dark Knight's legs. Though this made him step back for a moment, Gewey knew he was still losing the fight.

  The pain was increasing from the deep wound, and this time he was not able to heal himself as he had done before. He somehow managed to defend against the next series of blows, but his strength was depleting…and the Dark Knight was clearly aware of this.

  “It’s over,” he said triumphantly. “You are done.”

  Gewey gritted his teeth as another wave of pain shot through him. “That’s not for you to say,” he roared defiantly.

  The Dark Knight laughed with contempt before moving in for the finish. It was in that moment that Gewey saw it. His opponent's overconfidence had left an opening. He could see it clearly. But if he exploited this opportunity, it would also mean his own end. He would be leaving himself wide open, and they would die together. Was he prepared to make that sacrifice?

  Thoughts of Kaylia and Jayden only weakened his courage, and the possibility of surrender flashed through his mind for the first time. He remembered the vision that Ayliazarah's essence had shown him. He had surrendered then, and it had cost him everything. He had sworn that it would never come to pass. Even so......

  Have courage, came a voice.

  At first he thought it was Gerath again, then realized that there were two voices speaking in unison. He looked across and saw that the spiritual aspect of the Dark Knight was completely frozen, just like their physical bodies below.

  Have faith, said the voices.

  “Father?” cried Gewey. “Where are you?”

  We are here, they replied. Both of us.

  Two figures appeared between him and the Dark Knight. At first Gewey refused to believe what he was seeing. It was the familiar smile of Harman Stedding. Gerath was at his side, his hand resting on Harman’s shoulder.

  “Have faith my son,” Harman said. “Be strong.”

  “Father,” Gewey cried out again, now utterly convinced of their presence. He desperately wanted to embrace them both, but like the Dark Knight, he was unable to move. “Please forgive me. I have failed you. I tried to be brave, but my end has come and I am so afraid.”

  Harman shook his head and sighed. “You have failed no one. Least of all me. Now though, you must face your true destiny. I know you are afraid. But be assured that we will be there with you all the way.”

  “We will see you through this trial,” added Gerath. “We love you, my son. And now it is time to come home.”

  As the two fathers faded, Gewey could feel their love penetrating his spirit.

  “Yes,” he whispered. “It’s time.”

  The Dark Knight’s form burst back into life. Gewey stepped forward. The opening was still there, and he no longer hesitated. Both men gasped as their swords plunged into each other's chest.

  Instantly, their spirits evaporated and they were back in their physical bodies. Gewey could see the Sword of Truth protruding from his chest. At the same time, his sword hand had punched right through the Dark Knight's armor and pushed the man's heart out on the other side. Blood dripped from both of their mouths, spilling down into the vortex directly below.

  Gewey looked into the Dark Knight’s eyes and could see the vacant stare of death gazing back at him. As their bodies plummeted, darkness took him. Only the whistle of the wind in his ears told him that some life still remained. But it was to be fleeting, and he knew it.

  When their bodies reached earth and plunged into the gaping depths, the world shook from its core one final time. The vortex gradually slowed its spinning and then began receding. When it was only a few yards across, the sands burst up in a mammoth explosion. It took many minutes for the earth to settle again.

  The vortex was gone…and with it, both Darshan and Aremiel.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  As the dawn rose, King Lousis said a silent prayer. The vast army of the Reborn King would soon be upon them. And though his men would fight with valor and honor, he knew that this would be his final battle.

  His thoughts turned to Selena. He could still see her smile when laying with him on their wedding night. Their love had made them both young again. For the briefest of moments there was no war, no death, and no sorrow. There was only their love…and that was enough.

  And if that is all I shall ever have, he told himself, it was still far more than I deserved.

  Mohanisi and Lord Chiron rode up to join him. To Lousis, they looked like warriors of legend. Tall and proud with unwavering courage. To think that this would be the day that claimed the lives of such of such magnificent elves brought a monumental sadness to his heart.

  “They come soon,” said Mohanisi.

  Lousis gave him a thin smile. “Then let us ensure that this is a day they will never forget.”

  As if in response to his remark, the ground began to tremble with the pounding of thousands upon thousands of boots. Lousis surveyed his army with immeasurable pride. Not one man was so much as stirring in the face of their oncoming doom.

  Drawing his sword, Chiron spurred his horse toward the vanguard. “For freedom!” he shouted. “For freedom and King Lousis!”

  The army of men and elves erupted in thunderous cheers. Lousis felt a lump in his throat as he heard his name called out repeatedly.

  “And for Selena,” he whispered.

  Mohanisi closed his eyes and said a prayer.

  The long ridge on the horizon was soon filled with the banners of Angrääl. Armor-clad warriors and their swords glittered in the sunlight like a vast galaxy of stars. Wave after wave of them descended, ready for battle. Lousis shook his head and drew a nervous breath. There were so many of them.

  He steeled his nerves and drew his weapon. “I will not wait to be trampled over,” he grumbled. He looked to Mohanisi. “Are you with me?”

  The elf simply smiled and drew his own blade.

  “Sound the advance,” Lousis shouted.

  Trumpets blared out the order. Within seconds, his men were screaming the bloody cries of war. As they charged forward, Lousis could see that this aggressive tactic had taken the enemy by surprise. Angrääl had halted and was hurrying to form tight battle lines.

  He knew that this would be only a momentary advantage. Prince Lanmore would quickly adjust. Lousis could only hope that his men engaged the enemy before they had time to unleash their ter
rible weapon.

  But these hopes were quickly dashed as hundreds of white balls came streaking across the sky. The elves desperately tried to deflect them with the flow, but many still got through. One bolt landed directly in front of Lousis, but thankfully the speed of his horse carried him beyond it a moment before it exploded. Even then, the force of the blast sucked the air from his lungs and very nearly threw him from the saddle. The sounds of the repeated explosions were soon joined by a macabre symphony of screams from the wounded and dying.

  Two more volleys were loosed before the armies came together. However, in anticipation of facing such blasts, Lousis’ commanders had spread their advancing ranks well apart, so greatly reducing the casualties. This tactic had weakened their lines though, and almost from the onset of battle, Angrääl was pushing them back.

  Mohanisi maneuvered his horse in front of Lousis and began shouting for the guards to surround the king. Lousis roared with anger.

  “Fight!” he cried. “Forget about me and fight!”

  He looked up as yet another salvo of explosive bolts were launched. After passing over his head, it appeared as if they would land exactly where his reinforcements were waiting at the rear. But just as the deadly missiles were reaching the apex of their trajectory, the ground began to shake ferociously. Lousis' horse reared in terror, throwing him from the saddle and dumping him hard onto his back. The bolts overhead exploded in mid-air, sending tiny balls of fire raining down all over the battlefield.

  The violent earth tremors continued for more than twenty minutes, keeping both armies too occupied with their own survival to bother fighting. A wide fissure suddenly opened just beside Lousis, and he was only just able to scramble away in time to avoid plunging down into the bowels of the earth. The desperate cries of terrified men told him that not all had been so fortunate.

  When the quake finally subsided, an eerie hush settled over the field. Stunned men and elves cautiously regained their feet, and the two armies simply stared blankly at one another.

  King Lousis surveyed the scene. Neither side knew what to do next. He grabbed one of his guards by the collar and shook him until snapping the man out of his stupor.

  “Tell the commanders to pull back,” he ordered. There was no other choice. They were in disarray and needed to regroup. He could only hope that Angrääl would do the same.

  A minute later the trumpets blared and the lines slowly backed away. The enemy did nothing to stop them. When they were far enough out of bow range, Lousis ordered them to halt. By then, most had recovered their wits, but still the mystery of what had happened remained.

  One by one, Mohanisi, Chiron, Bellisia and the other commanders joined Lousis.

  Finally, Mohanisi said what the others dared not to hope. “The war may be over. I believe Darshan has won.”

  “I pray you are right,” said Lousis. “But until we know more, we should reform ranks and prepare to charge.”

  Chiron and the commanders departed to carry out his orders. Only Mohanisi and Bellisia remained.

  Gradually the lines came together and the soldiers readied themselves for more battle. But across the devastated field, things looked very different. The Angrääl troops still appeared to be in total disarray. They had yet to make any attempt at regrouping; in fact, most of them were wandering back and forth with no obvious purpose in mind. Confused shouts and desperate calls were the only sounds that could be heard coming from their direction.

  Though Lousis was still unconvinced that it was all over, Mohanisi was not. He sat atop his horse with a wide smile on his face.

  “Could it really be true?” said Bellisia. A single tear fell down her cheek.

  Lousis called for a messenger. “Send word to our commanders that if the enemy begins to regroup, we charge. Otherwise, we will hold our positions.”

  Two hours passed, and the king was still staring intently across the field. But his optimism was growing, albeit cautiously. Please let Mohanisi be right, he prayed. Let this be the end.

  A few minutes later, a group of three men on horseback emerged from the scattered Angrääl army. They were carrying a flag of truce.

  The sight of this caused Lousis' heart to nearly rupture from the elation he felt surging in his breast. He spurred his horse to a run, leaving his guard struggling to catch up and place themselves between the enemy envoy and their king. They halted at the edge of bowshot range and waited. Mohanisi and Chiron rode up just as the enemy soldiers arrived.

  “Are you King Lousis?” asked the man in the center. He was clearly the eldest of the three. His face was scarred and weathered: his eyes full of fatigue.

  “I am,” Lousis replied. “And who are you?”

  “I am Dwylin, Your Highness. I come seeking your terms.”

  Lousis struggled to keep his hands from shaking. “In whose name do you speak?”

  “My own,” he replied. “Our commander, Prince Lanmore, is dead, and our officers have lost their wits. I have been chosen to represent Angrääl in their stead.”

  “And what is your rank, soldier?” asked Lousis.

  “I am a sergeant, Your Highness.”

  Lousis shot a quick glance at the elves, then turned back to Dwylin. “And what of your king?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “But as near as we can tell, we believe that he is also dead. That is what our officers keep mumbling to themselves, though none of us are really sure.” He reached to his saddle and drew an elegantly decorated sword.

  The guards immediately closed in, but Dwylin merely held it up by the blade and lowered his head. “This is the sword of Prince Lanmore. I offer it to you as a prize for your victory.”

  One of the guards took it from him and passed it to the king. For a long moment, all Lousis could do was stare at the weapon in disbelief. He then handed it to Chiron.

  “We can no longer fight,” said Dwylin. “Our army is scattered and leaderless, and we have no desire to continue.”

  Lousis thought for a moment. “And if I allow you to leave the field, what will you do?”

  Dwylin shook his head. “I…I don’t know.”

  “Then tell your men they are to lay down their arms and return to their homes. Those who do so will be allowed to pass. Those who remain on the field when the next dawn breaks will die. These are my terms, and they are not subject to debate. Do you understand, sergeant?”

  “I understand, Your Highness.” Dwylin bowed his head and rode away.

  The king sat motionless in the saddle for a full minute before also riding back. Once within his lines, he told the commanders what had transpired and had them form a path down the middle of the ranks through which the defeated enemy could pass.

  This done, he slid wearily from his saddle and started toward his tent. But after taking only a few steps, he fell to his knees. Mohanisi was at his side in an instant.

  “Are you ill?” he asked.

  “No, my friend. Not at all.” Tears soaked the king’s face. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. “Thank you, Darshan. Thank you.”

  Mohanisi helped him to his feet. Cheers and praises followed their every step. Chiron was already waiting just outside the tent, his face beaming.

  “I lied, Your Highness,” he called. He pulled a flask from his belt. “I saved us one more.”

  The old king burst into laughter. “You are absolutely forgiven.”

  They entered the tent and shared the brandy while listening to the joyous celebrations building outside.

  Bellisia came in soon after and placed herself directly in front of Chiron. Her face was grim, one hand gripping her staff, the other planted firmly on her hip. Chiron frowned with confusion at her demeanor.

  “Give me your sword,” she commanded.

  Without hesitation, he obeyed.

  She looked at the weapon with disgust before tossing it into the corner. “If you are to be mine, you shall never wear that again. Do you understand me?”

  Chiron could only look a
t her with his mouth agape.

  “That is, unless you object to a union with me,” she added.

  Lousis and Mohanisi both shifted in their seats, trying to contain their laughter.

  “I didn’t know that you held such feelings for me?” Chiron said. “I had always thought your heart belonged to Lord Theopolou.”

  Her features softened. “He was indeed dear to me. And yes, I loved him. But love takes many different forms.”

  Chiron rose to his feet. He met her gaze with a tender smile. “And what form has it taken for me?”

  There was a brief silence.

  “As when a fool has love for an even greater fool,” she then replied, feigning irritation.

  “Then there is little doubt that we are well matched,” he replied, taking hold of her hand. “And I will try to be less of a fool in the future.” He leaned down and kissed her gently.

  “This is truly a day of miracles,” Lousis remarked. “We emerge from the jaws of death and fall into loving arms. Though sadly my love is far from here, so I must wait a while longer to hold her.”

  They continued to sip the brandy together. Once it was all finished, Bellisia left and returned soon after with a bottle of wine.

  “The enemy is already leaving,” she said. “Across the field there is an enormous pile of weapons that they have abandoned.”

  The king nodded and took a long drink.

  “What happens now?” asked Chiron.

  Lousis leaned back in his chair and gave everyone a contented smile.

  “Now…now we can go home.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Basanti sat in the cramped shack she had built for herself, deep in thought. The sound of the ocean and seagulls were constant companions. In truth, they were her only companions. The tiny island where she now dwelled was not suited for any sort of life other than the occasional sea turtle and the ever present birds.

  On first arriving here, she had wept continuously for weeks. And when she could shed no more tears, terrible nightmares replaced her sobs with screams. The darkness that now lived inside her would not permit rest. She couldn’t imagine how Yanti had lived this way for so long.