The Battle of Ebulon (34 page)

Suddenly he fell to his
knees, his sword before him as he dropped the head of Grock. The
mages moved to help until they understood what was happening. He
hadn’t fallen from injury but from gratitude. The demonic legion of
thoughts left his head and for the first time in over two days he
felt he could breathe freely once more. He could feel a tear form
and slowly fall from his right eye. He did nothing to hide it; he
would not be the last king of Ebulon, something that terrified him
beyond words. Closing his eyes he called upon his powers, giving
thanks to the heroes, in all their shapes and forms for saving his
beloved kingdom.

He concentrated hard, his
eyes remained closed. He wanted to ensure that they all knew of his
gratitude. With the last of his thanks given, he violently opened
his eyes at the sound of something heavy and wet crashing before
him. All except one of the mages shared his confusion at the pile
of half-cooked Orcs in front of him. Narrowing his eyes, he found
himself asking. “Why do they smell of Honey Glaze?”