King's Folly (Book 2) (2 page)

“Curse Zander’s incompetence!” Tharios hissed, twisting his features into a mask of rage. For the first time since Isek undertook this dangerous game of betrayal, he felt a knot form in his stomach—the game had just taken an unexpected turn.

Tharios turned to Isek. “Get us down there, now!”

As the five Wise Ones sped back down the hallway whence they came, each of them asked the same silent question: How did the bound prisoners manage to escape their guards?

Round two to you, Marsais
. Isek slapped his palm on the teleportation rune with more force than necessary, and as Tharios disappeared into the stone, Isek knew he was going to have to find some new leverage for himself, and fast.

The seer had had a trick up his sleeve after all. This left Isek in a very precarious position, but more importantly, the most powerful being to walk Fyrsta in over two thousand years—a sixteen year-old nymph—had slipped through his fingers.

COOL
AIR
SLAPPED
the nymph’s face. Isiilde Jaal’Yasine dangled over a broad shoulder, staring at moving boots and the ground far below. The ferns and earth were bathed in blue. She craned her neck, gazing at the Runic Gateway. One step from crushing stone to open air, but where had they stepped into?

The twin pillars of the Gateway swirled with chaotic runes. She blinked against the light, twisting her body to take in the view.
A forest of ancient sequoia stretched towards the sky. Silver moonlight pierced the distant canopy, caressing a maze of ruin and a toppled tower. Wherever they were, the tangle of stone and vine mixed with shadow did not look hospitable.

As if sensing her thoughts, the portal snapped out of existence, plunging her into darkness. The nymph dropped her head. She did not care if the darkness swallowed her, but she did care for another.

She struggled on her perch, shifting weakly. Oenghus helped her down, lowering her some seven feet to the earth. Her guardian’s sapphire eyes glinted in the night, and his hand steadied her until her legs stopped wobbling.

A shadow fought with a fern on the ground. Moonlight touched a cascade of luminous white hair, and Isiilde rushed to her Bonded. His hands were crushed, bound in hasty bandages, and utterly useless. She could feel his pain as if it were a dim memory, lurking beyond the veil that he had forged between their intertwined spirits.

Weak with exhaustion, she stumbled on a root, and fell to her knees. Something stirred in the shadows, but her eyes were fixed on the rangy seer. Her heart was numb, it had been frozen and shattered, then stitched back together with his light. The battered organ gave a frantic lurch.

“Marsais,” she breathed. He wheezed her name in return, climbing to his knees. Isiilde looked to her giant guardian, who stood on a fallen pillar. “Heal him, Oen.”

The towering Nuthaanian quieted her with a gesture. And then she heard it—a soft scrape and a click, followed by another in the pattern of a predatory gait.

The Runic Gateway pulsed, the runes flared to life, and the air between pillars rippled. With a squeal of delight, a flapping fiend flew out of the portal, fleeing into the night. Luccub the Imp was free.

The Gateway pulsed once, and died. Shadows shifted in the ruins. A flash of ice blinked and disappeared. Marsais’ head snapped towards the flash. His long, lean body tensed.

“I can’t heal him here,” Oenghus growled, backing off the pillar. “It’s too dangerous.” He summoned the Lore, weaving a rune of light around his shield. White light replaced the fading blue, pushing at the shadows, but it failed to pierce their depths.

The Gateway activated, the air between the standing stones distorted again, and Knight Captain Acacia Mael stepped out of the portal. She took in the forest, the ruins, and the night, and moved beside the nymph, shield and sword held at the ready.

“We’re not alone,” Oenghus warned the new arrival. He shifted hammer to shield arm, and yanked the seer to his feet. Isiilde put a shoulder under Marsais’ arm, but he was heavy and she was weak, and she was not sure who supported whom.

Power gathered again, and the world exhaled, spewing two more paladins into the land: one young and smooth and the other seasoned and scarred.

A hiss rose with the wind. The shadows beyond the light writhed like a pit of snakes. Clicks and scrapes and a sibilant chorus whispered between trees.

Isiilde froze. “What is that?”

“Reapers,” the seasoned warrior spat. Lucas Cutter and Rivan moved into a defensive position, forming up around their captain. The single word clutched Isiilde’s throat. Fear trickled down her spine. Voidspawn. Creatures of nightmare with a thirst for fresh blood.

Isiilde wanted to stop time, to halt the moment and run back through the portal, but Marsais’ arm circled her neck protectively, pressing her back against his chest, rooting her in place.

The Runic Gateway flared to life, signaling another arrival—an unwanted one. Oenghus twisted, and swung as an Isle Guard stepped through the portal. The startled guard caught the steel fist with his face. Blood and bone and brain misted the night. The guard fell at the Gateway’s threshold.

A hundred eyes snapped open, burning with icy hunger. Blood was in the air. And the darkness exploded. The shadows converged like a pack of dogs after a hare.

“Shields on the nymph!” Acacia ordered, catching a dark shape on her own heater. A barrier of steel and flesh surrounded Isiilde and Marsais as darkness gave birth to terror. A roar shook the forest, lightning crackled, blinding and bright, illuminating the Reapers in a bluish light.

Something moved overhead, and Isiilde jerked her head up. A humanoid shadow leapt from a branch—all fang and claw and sleek scale. It landed in the middle of the circle, in front of Isiilde. The Reaper lashed, quick as an adder, but Marsais’ boot was quicker. His foot slammed into a fanged mouth.

The captain twisted, slicing her sword at the creature, felling it with one sweep, before returning to the wave of Reapers. Claw scraped against steel with ear-piercing shrieks.

Acacia chanted in a clear, ringing voice. Her shield burst with light, glowing as brightly as the silver moon. It cut through the murk, slamming into a knot of wiry Reapers. The Voidspawn spat in pain, shrinking from the blinding brilliance. A path opened through the tangle.

“Move to the tower,” Acacia ordered. As one, the fighting unit moved forward in a tight formation, all save Oenghus. The Nuthaanian waded into the fray, harvesting Reapers with broad, pounding strokes.

Behind the wall of shields, Isiilde struggled to maintain her footing, slipping over the mangled corpses of Reapers. But Marsais steadied her, providing a buffer against the paladins’ movements.

Air gathered, as if the earth held its breath, and then it burst with a wave of power. Isiilde peeked between the paladins’ shields. The Runic Gateway spit a cloaked figure from its portal. Above the clamor, she could hear the Lore, could see the runes the stranger traced, and the urgency in his weave.

Marsais shouted an alarm. And quick as a viper, he broke through the circle, racing heedlessly through the ruin, back the way they had come, towards the traitorous Wise One at the Gateway.

Isiilde moved to follow, but Acacia shoved her against Lucas, and shot after the seer. Isiilde watched her Bonded slam into the Wise One. Both men fell with a bone jarring force.

The Wise One came out on top, raising a wicked dagger. Acacia was too far to help. Isiilde screamed. The dagger plunged downwards, piercing flesh and heart, but not Marsais’. The traitor drove the blade into his own chest. His fingers spasmed, he twitched, and fell to the side.

“No,” Marsais rasped.

Acacia kicked the Wise One off Marsais, and the Reapers fell on the corpse, fangs sinking into flesh. As the cadaver began to harden, the captain dragged the seer to his feet, pulling him away from the transforming remains. A wave of Reapers converged, crashing against shields, and for a moment, the pair was lost.

Before Isiilde could dash into the fray, a single word of power split the night, pounding into her ears. Energy crackled around Oenghus’ hammer. A chain of lightning lashed towards the standing stones, slicing a path through the horde. Marsais and Acacia raced through the opening. Behind them, in the clear path, the stone like corpse cracked and eerie light seeped from hardened flesh, burning brighter with every heartbeat. The Reapers recoiled and fled, scattering like rats.

The corpse was consumed, and in its searing light agony was born. An inky spot appeared in the brightness, devouring the dead Wise One’s spirit. It grew and slithered until there was nothing left save an eternity of torment.

Isiilde could not tear her eyes from the abomination. An inhuman screech sliced the night. She was jostled, and dragged, and finally her feet remembered that they were attached to legs. The nymph ran.

A frigid wind infused the scream beating at her back, sucking the air from her lungs. The nymph pressed her palms against her pointed ears, but the sound rattled inside her skull, until she forgot to think, forgot to move. She stopped, as did the paladin at her side. Terror rooted her and Rivan in place.

Frost climbed the trees, foliage wilted, and a great flapping form rose on the wind—of tatters and bleakness and hungry death.

Hardened warriors to the bone, Oenghus and Lucas turned to face the monstrosity. Tendrils of inky rot spread, snaking through the forest, striving towards life. She could feel its touch like a cold tongue, flicking beneath her skin to lick her bones.

Oenghus roared, sending a bolt of jagged blue into the center of the Forsaken spirit. It twisted and wavered and then snapped back into focus with renewed strength. A shadowy tentacle lashed towards the offender, and Oenghus threw himself to the side, bringing his hammer down on the limb. Steel passed harmlessly through, and her guardian shuddered. He bellowed the Lore, awakening the earth.

The ground shifted, trembled, and erupted, rising over the Forsaken blot. Trees groaned, dirt and vines surged like a wave and crashed with force, drowning the writhing tatters.

Isiilde’s roots were shaken loose and her knees hit earth. The ground shuddered, and in the settling aftermath, Lucas Cutter ran towards the center of misery. His blade burned white and pure, pulsing with a prayer. Inky tendrils whipped at the charging paladin, groping for his soul.

The warrior leapt from crumbled stone, to fallen tree, and off, plunging his blade into the Forsaken’s heart.

Rage filled the forest, pounding at her eardrums. The tendrils folded in on themselves, retracting into a shapeless mass. Life warred with misery. The Forsaken was pinned to the ground, twisting beneath the searing blade. With a snap of air, it broke free, fluttering towards the tree tops until it disappeared.

Isiilde could not breathe. Her heart spasmed, as if the abused organ could not remember its rhythm. Marsais reached her, cupping her face with bandaged hands. His lips moved, eyes urgent, but so very far away.

“Move!” His order slapped shock aside and Isiilde scrambled to her feet as Acacia shoved Rivan into action.

The darkness hissed.

“They’re swarming!” Acacia shouted.

Stone bit into the nymph’s bare feet as she ran, blindly following the captain. A jangle of armor, haggard breathing, and hurried boots joined her flight. The group raced towards a ruined tower, its top shorn but the foundations strong.

The Reapers struck, heedless of steel and crackling doom.

Thunder rumbled from Oenghus’ throat. Lightning charged the air, dropping the Voidspawn like flies. Their burning stink seared the inside of the nymph’s nostrils.

An archway loomed ahead. The nymph flew through its threshold with Marsais on her heels. The stench of decay crawled down her throat, oozing from a chamber filled with detritus. Another archway stood opposite. Marsais dragged her to a stop, but every instinct screamed at her to flee, to keep running until the ruins fell away.

Lucas and Acacia raced in front of her, planting themselves at the exit while Oenghus turned to face the swarming pack nipping at their heels. Over seven feet of fury, of death and carnage, made for a formidable gatekeeper.

All around, steel flashed against claw and unnatural shadow. Isiilde was lost in the chaos, detached from her body. Time moved sluggishly. As if gazing through another’s eyes, she watched a sleek form crawl across the ceiling with a click of claw. The Reaper clung to the stone like a spider on its web. Somewhere, in a distant corner of the nymph’s mind, beyond horror and shock, a voice urged her to scream.

She obeyed.

The Reaper sprang and a white-haired form rushed to her defense. Marsais slammed into her attacker, catching the Voidspawn in mid-air, knocking Isiilde to the ground. His hands were useless, but his body served him well. Marsais drove a bony shoulder into the creature, ramming it against the tower wall. Fangs flashed and bit into his flesh, as the seer growled, driving the Reaper mercilessly into the stone.

Rivan rushed forward, pinned the Reaper with his shield, and plunged his blade through the thrashing shadow. The fangs lost their will and Marsais staggered backwards. Isiilde steadied him, more clinging than supportive.

Oenghus roared, shaking loose dust and stone. White hot energy sizzled against scale, blasting a path through the mass outside. Reapers fell dead piling at the gate, as more surged to fill the gap.