Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (21 page)

Through its magic, the weapon loaded itself and she
fired, aiming high to account for the rain. The missile sped
to its target and into the back of his head as the sound of
another shot filled the heavy air. The second missed and
Ofeldar took over as the surviving forangen fell out of
sight. She turned to the closest four soldiers and yelled,
“Chase him, then when you reach sight of the force, lead
them back this way. Quickly!”

Two mendar and two humans sprinted after the fleeing
enemy. Lendril and Ofeldar broke into a jog and the rest
followed. In two more minutes they reached the mounds
and Ofeldar broke left, twelve soldiers following her.
Lendril broke right and fourteen followed her. Once she
reached the other end of the backside of the mound, each
leader stopped and went back to count. Lendril discovered
the discrepancy and sent one of the humans to the other
side.

Each group spread out, leaving two holes on each end
for the bait to fill and climbed to the short bushes that ran
along the top of the dirt. As trained for this type of
situation, each archer fell to one knee, laid their quiver of
arrows or bolts against their thigh and placed their close
combat weapons on the ground in front of their knee on the
ground. They unslung their bows, loosely nocked an
arrow or loaded a bolt and waited.

A long wait ensued, or what seemed to the
uncomfortable soldiers a long wait. Finally, three
humanoid sized figures sped by Lendril and Ofeldar and
each soldier raised their weapon to fire. Lendril had to hold
her fire as a fourth figure came into to the entrance of the
ambush, stumbling. In a dangerous move, she did one
somersault down the hill and stood up next to the wounded
human. An arrow protruded from his thigh and another one
from his shoulder. She took his arm and placed it over her
shoulder and helped him around the edge of the mound to
the backside.

Moments after resuming her position, the first forangen
entered the ambush area. Trained in the art of ambush from
day one in the army, the archers waited until the front of
the group reached the end of the ambush area. The soldiers
on the end fired first, then arrows rained on the twenty
forangen that had followed the bait. It only took one round
from everybody but Ofeldar and Lendril to drop every
single one.

Ofeldar jumped up and ran down to the path and
gestured everybody should join her. In a few minutes, only
a river of green blood thinned by the rain flowed down the
trail in the direction the bodies had been dragged, which
was away from the entrance, and the archers kneeled down
into position again.

An hour passed and the rain let up a little, allowing
Lendril to see Ofeldar opposite her. She pointed down the
path, to herself, at Ofeldar and finally to the entrance. Then
she brought her two index fingers together, still pointing at
the entrance. Ofeldar nodded understanding and they
waited.

Mere minutes passed before the ground shook with the
approaching weight. The warrior and the scout climbed
down onto the trail and stood shoulder to shoulder, arms
crossed defiantly. A moment later the first forangen saw
them and cried a horrible, snorting battle cry. As hoped,
the enemy rushed headlong after them, oblivious to the
clearly visible archers on their sides. At the end of the trap,
the archers turned, unslung their weapons and aimed. The
forangen pulled up to a halt, sensing something awry and
all in between the mounds died. Lendril and Ofeldar fired
the first arrows, and then began each of the next two rounds
of missiles. A few forangen tried to climb the mounds but,
as expected, couldn’t get enough footing to beat the reload
of the archer above.

Still, after three rounds of fire, twenty or so injured
forangen had come close enough to Lendril and Ofeldar for
them to split behind their respective mound. They reached
their combat weapons and didn’t stop. The two warriors
rushed right back down into the trail and quickly engaged
two monsters. Some soldiers fired another round while the
rest picked up their hand weapons and rushed the trail.

The magicians and soldiers arrived in the castle of
Efreidenak, the capital of Efreiden, in a light rain. Upon
arriving, Tych said, “Kill no soldiers, use webs,” and began
to create his own web spell. He had to use it almost
immediately, as did every other magician. “Quickly, close
the gates.” The soldiers and Aquendar rushed to the
abandoned posts at the gate and released the pulleys to
close the heavy wooden doors. As Aquendar barked out
orders to seal the other doors, Tych led the magicians into
the castle.

“Deactivate the traps,” Nandel ordered as they went up
the stairs just inside. They made steady progress, until they
reached the two forangen soldiers standing at the door at
the top. With a shout, Tych released the energy that came
unbidden. It vaporized the pig-men and blasted the door
open.

The magicians rushed into the room and fired at the
black-robed man standing in surprise in the middle of the
room. Only one shot hit, however, as the sorcerer
vanished. The missing firestreams and lightning bolts
slammed into the wall opposite them and expanded the
window there considerably.

There hung the sorcerer in mid-air, laughing but
burned. “Ah, Tych di Corl, you have come as Rangdor
promised. Now I will do as I promised him.” With this,
his staff flew from the room into his hand and he pointed it
at Tych. A firestream arched from its tip towards the
warrior-magician, who calmly dove out of the way and
came up with a throwing dagger. Two of his magicians
fired, and as Blackdrad turned to defend, he tossed the
blade at the sorcerer. Not expecting such a banal weapon
to fly at him, the sorcerer caught it in the stomach.

With a gurgled cackle, the sorcerer vanished. In the air
a voice boomed out, “We will meet again, Prince of the
Endarils, we will meet again.” Blackdrad had escaped.

Even though he had wounded his opponent, he had not
defeated him, and Tych yelled out in anger. “I WILL KILL
YOU!” he bellowed, his rage releasing energy, which
coursed through Gaylin as the sword touched his thigh.
Nandel didn’t have to push the others out of the room but
he did just the same. They all barreled down the stairs as
energy filled the room above them. When they reached the
bottom, Tych stood waiting for them, Gaylin in his hand.
The craziness in his eyes made them all stand back as he
turned and ran towards the gate.

Glowing as energy continued to build in his body, he
showed super-human strength and pulled one of the doors
open at the entrance. There, his eyes filled with delight at
what he saw. A group of soldiers, free from the spell over
them, fought three times as many forangen. With a yell, he
charged into the melee.

So dangerous was he, that in trying to avoid him, a
soldier fell to a forangen blade. All the others did manage
to disengage as the enemy turned its attention on the
madman in their midst. Gaylin first hummed, then sang as
Tych vanished from sight in a nimbus of light. Pieces of
forangen literally flew into the air above the battle. The
blade’s blur matched the song as the hum of a blade going
as fast as Gaylin through the air would seem to sing. In a
moment, no whole forangen remained and the soldiers had
to force their mouths shut.

Every magician rushed forward, his or her spells
prepared as Nandel had instructed. They used what little
energy remained in the well of magic and cast various
spells designed to calm or put to sleep their target.
Dropping Gaylin, Tych fell to his knees. Before he could
fall face-first into the green blood, a couple of soldiers
picked him up and carried him to the sidewalk.

Aquendar had arrived and picked up Gaylin, which
seemed to struggle for a moment before letting him carry it
to Tych. A soldier handed him a rag and he cleaned it. As
he sheathed it, he turned to the magicians. “Has a large
enough amount of time passed?”

“Yes, he is safe to wake, but we must remove the magic
first.” Nandel pointed his staff at the prone warrior and he
radiated light for a moment, which made everybody jump
back a step. The ageless wizard turned to a soldier nearby.
“Get a bucket of water,” he ordered and the soldier ran off.

He returned a few minutes later and doused Tych, who
came up sputtering. He jumped up and made fists, ready to
take on all challengers. Then, the Prince of the Endarils
relaxed, seeing he stood among friends. Everything came
back to him and he moaned. As if to everyone he said, “In
our language we have a saying, ‘Elef fredair thigen,’ which
means ‘fate rides wicked.’ Fate gave me the ability to
channel energy but was wicked enough to force me to
suffer and learn how to control it.”

A soldier, about a hand taller than Tych, with a scruffy
beard stepped forward, ending the laughter by saying,
“Why should we even listen to an endaril like you.
Endarils are slimy little worms that have no courage, only
little tricks up their sleeves to fool us normal folk.”

Tych began to charge the soldier with a snarl on his
face but Aquendar restrained him easily in his relaxed state.
A man wearing plate mail and a brown and yellow band
across his chest stepped in front of the insolent one. “I
want you out of ‘ere by tomorrow mornin’, got that slime
booket.” His accent revealed southeastern heritage.

The soldier glared, took a look at Aquendar and the
magicians, turned and marched away. As he left, he passed
a man dressed in a gold cloak leading a young woman a
few years younger than King Daubert. Tych threw one last
snarl in the direction of the soldier then stepped forward,
cautious, but inquisitive. Somehow, when the soldiers
kneeled in supplication, he knew who approached.

The priest came to stand before him, as if expecting
him to be the leader. “I knew you would come, endaril,
and while I have only a little more respect for your race
than that soldier, I hold you in particular in high regard. I
am the head priest of the Goddess Tifela, Goddess of
Rulers. May I present to you Queen Olera, Queen of
Efreiden from this day forward.”

Tych bowed deeply, in endarilan fashion, then crossed
his arms in human fashion. “It is an honor to meet you
even if your guardian pays us dubious respect.”

The young queen stepped forward, past her ‘guardian.’
“He means well. My parents and brothers died at the hands
of the wizard...”

Like a chorus, every magician said, “Sorcerer.”

The woman stopped and asked, “What do you mean?”

Tych smiled. “Has this wise priest not explained it to
you? A wizard is good at heart and a sorcerer serves evil,
for a wizard is free to be helpful and a sorcerer is a slave to
an uncaring master, called death, or evil, or Rangdor.”

“I understand. Now, as I was saying, the rest of my
family was killed but Priest Horatio here managed to spirit
me away and place me under spells, which protected me
from the hypnotism and detection. Now, answer me a
question. How did you know to come here? I recognize
Aquendar, but he could not have known.”

“King Daubert III of Polentair informed us of the plight
of this kingdom and made its release a condition of adding
his troops to my army.”

A smile spread across Olera’s face. “Daubert lives,
how wonderful. And he is king. I will also give you my
armies, my first act as Queen of Efreiden.” The priest tried
to object but she raised her hand to tell him the decision
stood. Tych could tell there were other reasons he was
happy to have her out of his charge. “I have seen that
sorcerer, I believe its called ‘teleport.’ Can one of you use
that to take me to King Daubert?”

“Nandel will take you to him. Aquendar will stay on
here to take care of the mop-up of the forangen. We’ll
come get him later. All he needs is your gift of command.”

The queen turned to Aquendar and said, “Old friend,
and I mean old in the best way, I name you commander of
my armies until Tych once again requires your service.”
Nandel came forward. “You must be the wizard taking me
to my lover. How nice.” She looked at his crew cut with
the long hair in back. “But you need a new haircut.”

Tych took Aquendar’s hand and shook it, a form of
goodbye used in the southern kingdoms, which he had
heard about during his trip south years earlier. “We’ll
come get you in a week. Take care my new friend and
good luck.” Aquendar nodded and Tych joined the
departing magicians. He cast his own teleport spell and
vanished, along with every other magician. Only Aquendar
and the soldiers remained with the priest, who grunted,
shook his head and left in disgust as the rain let up.

Twenty-six horses with soldiers and six without rode
into camp an hour after dark, soaked to the skin and
shivering. Only a drizzle remained but a roaring bonfire
showed them the way to the practice field. There, every
returning soldier, male or female, stripped to the bone and
waited for the rain to stop. Some of the other soldiers
insisted on staring at the trim bodies of the naked human
and daril women.

Just before the situation got uncomfortable for the
women, Tych arrived and ordered clean, warm cloaks and
rain gear brought to the survivors. Four of the soldiers,
including the one used for bait, had already been taken to
the infirmary for treatment. It took only a few minutes and
then the ambush squad wore warm, dry clothing. They
stayed in front of the fire until they felt comfortable to their
bones, as other soldiers came and went, pausing to get a
little warmth.

Lendril and Ofeldar left first and went looking for
Tych. They found him in the command tent with a
powerful man of the same height, wearing plain, but strong,
plate mail and holding a helmet under his arm. A long
tassel hung over the back of the headpiece, the same blue as
the eyes of the warrior. His short blond hair sat in curls on
his head.