Severed Destinies (38 page)

Afaron drew in a deep breath as he prepared himself for the inevitable attack from Saroth. He
had
been foolish, coming to the settlement himself, but how could anybody have known they were walking into a trap. However, the fact that Daen was involved unsettled him more than anything. He assumed that the rest of the Turambar survivors at the front of the house were also traitorous and had been turned against the kingdom somehow.

The attack came and Saroth tested the king’s skill by first slashing high with his sword then stabbing low with the knife. Afaron parried the sword and leapt backwards to avoid being skewered by the second blade.

As Ilkar avoided Daen’s sword once more, he caught sight of the king bravely standing his ground against an opponent who would eventually best him. The corporal had no time to consider how surreal their predicament was.

Daen swung at him but it was a clumsy attack. Ilkar ducked the blade then powered upwards, smashing his sword hilt hard into Daen’s jaw. To the corporal’s surprise, there was no cry of pain and the soldier did not even stagger back. Instead, he attacked again, forcing Ilkar to parry. If Daen was tired, he did not show it now as the strength in his attack nearly knocked Ilkar from his feet.

There was a shout from Afaron and Ilkar saw that the king’s thigh was bleeding.

“
Daen, this is the last time I tell you to cease this madness,” cried Ilkar.

Daen’s eyes seemed black and cold in the gloom. There was no recognition in them and Ilkar knew that this was not the man he had served alongside at Turambar. With a snake-like hiss, Daen leapt forward swinging his sword over his head in an attempt to cleave Ilkar’s skull apart. At the last moment, Ilkar dodged to the right and, pulling a dagger from his belt, plunged it into the soldier’s side.

On the opposite side of the room, Afaron realized that Saroth was toying with him, like a cat who had caught a mouse but who wanted to enjoy the moment before delivering the killing blow. The king saw Ilkar stab Daen but the soldier did not even flinch and turned to continue his relentless assault. Afaron caught Ilkar’s eye and the corporal nodded towards the doorway.

“
Finish him.” Saroth directed the order at Daen.

Afaron took the opportunity and fled the confines of the bedroom, sick at having to leave Ilkar. Saroth strode after him and vanished into the hallway.

“
Daen, listen to me please,” begged Ilkar. “I don’t know what they have done to you but you have to stop. I have to protect the king at whatever cost.”

Daen raised his sword again, but the finesse and technique that he had once had when in close combat had been forgotten. Ilkar prepared himself then noticed the blood running down Daen’s side from where the dagger had stabbed into his flesh. Wisps of black smoke were being expelled from the wound.

Daen’s sword sliced the air and Ilkar nearly mistimed his parry as he struggled to believe what he was seeing. A second and third attack followed, which Ilkar managed to avoid, but Daen reached out and caught him by the throat. As the larger man tightened his grip, Ilkar felt as though talons were ripping into his flesh. Mustering all his strength, the corporal stabbed his sword upwards and the blade impaled Daen under the chin, pushing upwards through brain and bone until the tip emerged from the top of his skull.

The soldier staggered back, releasing Ilkar but wrenching the sword from his hand. Ilkar grimaced as blood and the bizarre black smoke oozed from the entry and exit wounds in Daen’s head. Much to his horror, Daen then dropped his own sword and began tugging at the hilt of Ilkar’s. With a sickening crunch, he pulled the weapon free and threw it down. As blood began pouring from his chin, the soldier let out another unholy cry which did not stop even when the blood and smoke seeped from his open mouth.

“
Ardan protect us,” muttered Ilkar, reaching down for his second dagger.

Daen’s body convulsed violently and he suddenly sprang forward. He had not even bent his knees to make the leap. He landed on Ilkar, smashing the corporal against the wooden floor. Despite having his breath knocked from his lungs and being temporarily blinded as Daen’s blood poured into his eyes, Ilkar wildly stabbed out with his dagger. The unnatural shriek echoed loudly in his ears but the pressure on him eased slightly so the corporal kicked out and managed to push Daen back.

As he leapt up, ignoring the fact that his ribs had most likely been broken, Ilkar wiped the blood from his eyes and saw Daen continuing to convulse. The dagger had stabbed deep into one of his eye sockets.

Without hesitation, Ilkar ran across to where both of their swords lay and picked them up. Daen emitted a snarl from deep within and the corporal saw black lines appearing under the soldier’s skin, as if his veins and arteries were darkening. Black smoke continued to drift up from the wounds and was gathering in a small cloud on the ceiling.

Daen charged forward, sheer rage etched on his almost unrecognizable face. Ilkar leapt to the side and hacked both blades into the soldier’s neck, decapitating him. Black smoke billowed from the headless body and Ilkar was further unnerved when the same noise continued to emanate from it.

As the corporal ran to the doorway, he took one last look back into the room and saw the body still standing as the smoke rose from it. Then, simultaneously, the smoke dissipated, the horrific noise ceased and Daen’s body toppled to the floor.

Ilkar fled the gruesome scene and ran as fast as his aching muscles would allow, heading to the front of the house and hoping that he was not too late. The sound of battle could be heard and, as the front door came into view, his heart sank. One soldier lay dead in the hallway and Ilkar arrived just in time to see a second slain by two of the Turambar men. Afaron stood with his back to the front door, locked in combat with Saroth. The king was dripping blood from several wounds.

Ilkar charged forward, swords slicing towards Saroth’s exposed back, but, just as they looked to bite into the assassin’s flesh, he nimbly leapt aside.

Behind Afaron, the two Turambar men were advancing and the sound of metal upon metal from the sitting room had ceased. It was at that point Ilkar noticed the strange symbol etched into the surface of the front door. Someone was throwing their weight against the other side of it and calls could be heard outside from the confused Rotian soldiers.

Saroth stabbed out at Afaron, who barely managed to push the long knife away. The curved sword arched towards Ilkar, who brought his two blades up to block.

“
Sire, get to the back door,” shouted the corporal.

Afaron moved towards him but Saroth flicked his wrist. The knife cut through the air and embedded itself firmly in the side of the king’s knee, causing him to cry out and stumble. As Afaron landed heavily on the floor, Saroth held his free hand up to the approaching Turambar men.

“
Hold,” he commanded them. Then, he turned to face Ilkar. “You do not have to die here today. You are a skilled swordsman and your talents would be put to better use if you allied with us.”

“
Turn against my own people?” Ilkar spat. “Never.”

“
Your kingdom is already lost. Allow me to finish what I came here to do then surrender yourself to me.”

Ilkar laughed, but it was without humour. “There are hundreds of Rotian soldiers outside. How exactly do you plan on walking out of here alive?”

Saroth glanced down at Afaron, who was trying to get to his feet. “You are brave, I admit. I admire the courage that has been shown by your people.” He looked back to Ilkar. “How did you survive the wounds I inflicted upon you at the fortress?”

Ilkar’s surprise was obvious. “You remember me?”

“
I remember the faces of everyone I encounter.”

“
Enough,” cried Afaron, standing but leaning against the wall for support. “If you kill me, you seal your own fate. You are a cowardly race, who use our own men against us. We will crush your attempt to take this kingdom and we will show you no mercy, just as you did those in the north.”

Ilkar saw a window of opportunity and lunged forward, stabbing both blades at Saroth’s abdomen. The foreigner was not surprised and dodged one sword, parrying the other away. He then lashed out with his free hand, striking Ilkar across the face with such speed and force that the corporal’s vision swam and he fell to the floor.

Afaron gritted his teeth and dived forward, swinging his sword in an attempt to sever Saroth’s head from his shoulders. However, the assassin brought his own sword up and, as it deflected Afaron’s attack, Saroth reached down and wrenched the knife from the king’s knee. Afaron’s leg buckled.

“
Sire…” Ilkar’s dazed voice trailed off as he struggled to remain conscious.

Saroth stepped back from the king, watching with silent respect as the ruler of the Rotian people managed to rise again. Afaron lifted his head defiantly, raised his sword and charged him. Saroth’s curved blade flashed, knocking the king’s sword aside. The assassin then plunged the knife into Afaron’s throat.

Ilkar gave a weak cry at the sight.

Saroth saw the corporal stand but remained holding the knife until Afaron fell backwards off it. “Kill him.”

The Turambar men advanced once more and Ilkar saw a third enter the hallway from the sitting room, his sword dripping fresh blood. He looked down at Afaron and saw the life seeping from the king. Knowing he could do nothing more, the corporal turned and fled back towards the bedrooms.

Saroth knelt down alongside Afaron and watched as the Rotian king died. “Rest now and know that your passing heralds a new era for the kingdom,” he said softly.

The sound of a window breaking echoed from the back of the house and Saroth smiled at the thought that the soldier from Turambar had once more managed to survive their encounter. This time, he would take the news back of the king’s demise. This was the beginning of the end for the Rotians.

Chapter 31

Kithia walked confidently up the path leading to the front door of Jolas’ house. However, her stomach was turning with anxiousness at the thought of seeing Rynn again. They had not seen each other since the acolyte had stormed into the gardens of Karrid’s estate and spoken so harshly to her. That was two days previous and she now hoped that he had rested, as well as had time to reflect on his actions.

“
Must you walk so fast.”

Looking over her shoulder, Kithia smiled at her brother as he tried to keep up. Behind him came Khir, who shared her amusement at Gorric’s discomfort. Her expression faded momentarily as she glanced to Arlath, who had insisted on accompanying them to see Rynn. The recruit was deep in thought and had been brooding ever since finding himself the target of Rynn’s unpredictable power.

She entered the house and was immediately met by one of the staff, who invited them to wait in one of the adjacent rooms whilst she informed Jolas of their arrival. As they awaited the councilor, Kithia scowled as Gorric impatiently tapped his foot.

“
You didn’t have to come,” she snapped. “If you would rather be somewhere else then just leave.”

Gorric shook his head. “Devanor has given us leave to come here and I would like to know what is happening.”

“
As would we all,” muttered Arlath, his blue eyes watching Kithia closely.

“
Rynn is not dangerous,” she stated, wondering if she had sounded uncertain. “He is confused, angry and exhausted. He needs us.”

“
You still defend him, even after what happened,” said Arlath, disbelief in his voice.

“
You did not spend all that time travelling with him.” She looked to Gorric for support, then Khir. “He is my friend.”

Arlath sighed. “That is true, but I care about you, Kithia. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Gorric shifted uncomfortably. “My sister has always been able to look after herself. However, I have to agree with Arlath in that Rynn may not be able to control what is happening to him so we need to be cautious.”

“
Perhaps we should speak to him before we begin condemning him,” Khir said, glaring at the other two men. “This power he wields has only been seen twice so far, once when he healed Ilkar and then when he…pushed you away, Arlath.”

Kithia nodded her agreement. “I want to speak with Rynn alone first of all.” She saw Arlath’s body tense. “No arguments.”

At that moment, Jolas entered the room. Despite the smile on his face, he was clearly troubled. “You may be the only people who can help me,” he said.

“
Apologies, councilor,” frowned Gorric. “Help you with what?”

“
Something happened to Rynn yesterday and we are unable to determine the cause.” Seeing the blank faces, Jolas continued. “My staff heard Rynn cry out and they found him unconscious in his room. He has still not awoken yet.”

Kithia gave Gorric and Khir a concerned glance. “This has happened before, back in Turambar. He read the scroll that he and Varayan had found at the temple.”

“
Was there ash in his room?” Khir asked Jolas.

The councilor nodded slowly. “The staff mentioned a burning smell when they entered and there was a small amount of ash spread across the floor.”

“
Varayan told us back at the fortress that there was a second scroll,” Khir reminded them. “With everything that happened there, I had forgotten about it. He must have read it.”