The Lord Of Lightning (Book 3) (16 page)

"So this is how the hero who was to kill me will die," Deifol Hroth said with a frightening face devoid of emotion, his body relaxed, impassive. "Pathetic," Deifol Hroth frowned.

He again raised his hands.

The Archer struggled to raise Bravilc, which seemed to emanate a dull glow.

But before the Evil One could make the killing gesture that summoned the power of the sky, Grisn's mighty rack of horns slammed into the Dark Lord's back throwing him forward.

Deifol Hroth was tossed like a rag doll over the Archer's head. Grisn dug in his hooves and came to a sliding stop at the Archer's feet, spraying him with sand and bits of melted glass.

The Archer turned his head to see what had happened to Deifol Hroth. He saw him twisting, turning in the air from the impact, then right himself, hold out his hands and begin hovering once more, again haloed by an aura of intense energy.

"Run!" Grisn creaked to the Archer.

Derragen needed no other prompting. He scrambled to his feet and reached his bow and quiver, just as Josr vaulted past him.

The Archer set down Bravilc and the Lhalíi, and readied his bow. As he was drawing his last Arrow of Yenolah, he saw Josr duck under a lightning bolt arcing from Deifol Hroth's hands.

Josr cut into the water like a knife. But Grisn was right behind her to take advantage of the feint.

Deifol Hroth quickly put his hands up, and a flash lit up the darkening sky as he repulsed another titanic blow from Grisn's massive rack of horns.

As Grisn flew back to land with a thud on the sand, Josr burst up from the water, mouth open, and clamped down on the Dark Lord's legs. She quickly pulled him under the water, with a terrifying spray of agitated foam.

The sea just off the shore bubbled and steamed with the fierceness of their battle under the water.

Then all was quiet. The Archer looked to Grisn, but the huge animal was unconscious, lying very still.

"Get up!" The Archer kicked at Grisn. He held his Arrow of Yenolah ready, nocked against his bowstring. "I need you!"

Grisn lifted his large head, shook it, and began to rise to his feet.

Out on the water, all was still. Then Derragen saw the top of Deifol Hroth's head as he walked to the shore.

Grisn got to his feet.

"I need you to help me get a shot," the Archer said to the Kaprk-Uusshu. Grisn grunted in understanding.

As Deifol Hroth rose further out of the water, the Archer could see that he was dragging something. Then the Dark Lord swung his arm, and Josr's body came flying up out of the water, with a blinding wall of spray, landing on the beach with a sickening thud.

"I am becoming impatient!" The Lord of All Evil Magic angrily shouted.

The Archer looked to Grisn who was shivering with emotion at the sight of the motionless body of his sister.

A blast, a scream, a cry, so loud that the Archer took a step back, ripped from the great hairy throat of Grisn as he charged Deifol Hroth.

The Archer moved to his left, never letting Deifol Hroth leave his sight, bow held high, looking for his shot.

Just before Grisn reached the Dark Lord, he stopped, which momentarily confused Deifol Hroth. Grisn furiously whipped his tail up and over his body, letting his whole weight follow the colossal flail his body became.

Grisn landed on Deifol Hroth with a gigantic splash.

A raging foam began to churn up as Grisn tried to hold the Lord of Lightning under the water.

Derragen wondered if Deifol Hroth could drown. Most likely not, he thought to himself as he readied his bow.

The Archer could see Deifol Hroth rise up from the water as he struggled hand to hoof with Grisn.

Now, the Archer thought to himself. He calmed his emotions. For an imperceptible instant, the Archer worried about the Old Man, hoping he was clear of the melee, but Derragen quickly banished any and all thoughts from his mind. He regulated his breathing, slowing it. He pulled the Arrow of Yenolah tight to his cheek. The smell of the New Sea was suddenly very intense to the Archer. He realized all his senses were heightened to their maximum ability. Good, he thought. The bowstring was taut. Grains of sand on his hand sparkled like jewels with the errant light of the ending day. The Archer felt his hand waver for just a moment.

Nearer the shore, Deifol Hroth gripped the Kaprk-Uusshu's hooves, holding Grisn back from the vicious bites the animal snapped at him.

Deifol Hroth's back was to the Archer. He had a clear shot. He aimed for the back of Lord of Lightning's head, and released.

The instant his fingers let go of the bowstring, Deifol Hroth turned to stare directly at the Archer.

Derragen was shocked to find all of time standing still. Water splashing up on the shore was frozen as foamy diamonds suspended in the air. A snarl of rage was rigid on Grisn's paralyzed face. The shaggy, wet hair of the rampaging Kaprk-Uusshu was stiff with the suspension of time.

In a blur, Deifol Hroth moved up to stand directly in front of the Archer. The Arrow of Yenolah was still released from the bow, but hanging in the air. Derragen couldn't move.

Deifol Hroth held up his hand, palm flat to the arrowhead. The Evil One closed his eyes, and slightly bowed his head in great concentration. An orange light glowed from Deifol Hroth's palm. Derragen could feel a sudden intense heat on his paralyzed cheek. Deifol Hroth let time barely crawl forward.

Slowly, the Arrow of Yenolah inched on, melting, burning, the metal arrowhead white hot, incinerating as it floated towards the Dark Lord's palm, until there was nothing left but falling ash and smoke.

The Archer was fascinated to see the Great Evil One so close. He appeared to be a handsome, young human in his late twenties, with sandy blonde hair. Deifol Hroth opened his sea green eyes, and calmly looked up into the Archer's eyes.

The Great Darkness smiled.

The Archer couldn't move. Time was still held tightly at the command of the Dark One, but no such restrictions applied to the Lord of Lightning.

The Archer looked out of the corner of his eye to his left. Josr still lay very still on the beach. The Archer looked out of the corner of his eye to his right, able to slightly move his head. Grisn slowly rolled in the surf. The great beast, like his sister, was also very still.

"It will give me great pleasure to finally be rid of you," Deifol Hroth breathed with a sweet voice of confidence.

The Dark One raised both hands high to the clouded sky. With his eyes locked on the Archer, only two paces away, lightning bolts arced from his hands up to the clouds.

The Archer could feel the heat and energy of the lightning bolts as they played about the hands and shoulders of Deifol Hroth. He's taking his time to enjoy this, the Archer thought. The brilliant light hurt Derragen's eyes.

Deifol Hroth began to move his hands, arcing blinding energy, towards the Archer. Behind the Dark Lord, the Old Man plunged his metal fishing pike down into Deifol Hroth's shoulder. The Old Man, obviously not bound by the suspension of time, thrust the pike with such force, it came out of Deifol Hroth's abdomen and struck the sand.

The Archer fell to the beach, as time resumed its normal pace. He looked up.

The Lord of Lightning shook as the energy of the sky coursed through his body. His mouth was agape as he shook with pain. So, the lord of Lightning can be surprised, the Archer noted. The Old Man rushed to the Derragen and pulled him to his feet.

"Get the sword!" The Archer cried to the Old Man, who turned and scrambled for Bravilc.

Deifol Hroth grimaced and began pulling the metal fishing pike out, through his abdomen. All the while, lightning arced around his body. The sand under his feet began to melt to a sickening, blackened, puddled glass.

Deifol Hroth breathed heavily for a moment as he concentrated. The wound from the fishing pike, completely bloodless, began to close and instantly heal.

The Old Man pressed Bravilc, the elvish sword, into the Archer's hands. The Archer felt weak and unsteady. Deifol Hroth locked eyes with the Archer. The Archer bellowed a war cry and ran at the Lord of Lightning.

But, Deifol Hroth was a blur, moving past the Archer, a whip of wind, to where the Lhalíi lay on the sand.

Deifol Hroth had the Lhalíi cradled in one arm. He sneered. Then he burst upward with a blink of the eye, his evil form quickly disappearing in the heavens, flying to the southwest.

The Archer dropped Bravilc and ran to Josr. The mighty beast groaned at his touch.

"She's alive," the Archer breathed in thanks. Then he stumbled to where Grisn was beached. The massive Kaprk-Uusshu also stirred at his touch. "The brother lives, too."

The Archer gripped the Old Man. "I have my life, thanks to you," the Archer said. "But I must catch him."

The Archer began to hobble in the direction the Lord of Lightning flew.

"You're welcome," the Old Man said. "And, can you fly as well?"

The Archer turned and stared at the Old Man.

"I have to stop him! He has the crystal!" The Archer cried in terrified frustration.

"I did not know you well enough," the Old Man said with slight shame. "And so I hid my Hadley from you." Then he  whistled long and loud.

From the high brush above the shore, a beautiful, roan stallion, with a brushy, roached mane, snorted and emerged from hiding. The horse trotted to the Old Man and received affection. As the stallion nuzzled the Old Man, the Archer could see the horse was clearly a battle steed that had seen better days.

"Hadley is old, but swift, take him," the Old Man said with sadness in his voice, as he patted the roan's muzzle.

"I will return him," the Archer said, sheathing Bravilc, and gathering up his bow and quiver. "I promise your horse will be returned to you. See to the great beasts. They will not harm you. Feed them fish, if you catch any."

The Old Man waved farewell, as the Archer leapt on the roan stallion and spurred him on.

Night closed fast as the Archer urged the stallion on, south, across the Eastern Meadowland. Hadley seemed to sense the Archer's determination and galloped with all his might.

Off to his left, the Archer could see on the horizon, a dark line of trees that was the northern edge of the Weald.

He rode Hadley in a straight line across the flat Eastern Meadowlands straight towards the River Syrenf and the citadel of Deifol Hroth.

The mother moon, Nunee rose. Soon behind her, the Wanderer, the second moon rose to trace its erratic path disturbed by the Lord of Lightning over a year ago.

The Archer thought he saw a line of human troops in the distance. But how can that be, the Archer thought. Every human in Wealdland is either hiding in Reia or amassed near the citadel. As he neared, the Archer saw that the troops were a transparent blue. He looked back and saw a line of garond ghosts gaining on him.

Hadley's eyes were wide and the animal whinnied in fear. The Archer reached down and patted the roan's neck.

"They have already left this world," the Archer said, "they will not harm us."

The Archer rode with the garond ghosts until they clashed with the human ghosts. Hadley plunged through the battle of specters with a high scream. But, the Archer and the horse rode on unharmed.

The Archer looked back to see the battling ghosts vanishing with the swirling mists of night. "The ghosts of the fallen of the Battle of the Eastern Meadowlands," the Archer said to himself.

More than halfway across the Eastern Meadowland, Hadley suddenly stumbled to a halt.

"What is it?" The Archer asked the horse. "Another apparition?"

The horse threw its head in answer.

"Who's there!" The Archer challenged.

"Did you bring me a goat to roast," a voice called from the shadows.

"Sehen!" The Archer cried and leapt from Hadley's back.

The blind sage stepped from the shadows to embrace Derragen.

"Are you real?" The Archer said with tears in his eyes. "Or just another specter?" The Archer gripped Sehen, still unsure if he was a specter, or flesh and blood.

"Nearly a ghost," the sage said, with a twinkle in his eye.

"But I have used the last Arrow of Yenolah!" The Archer cried. "All is lost!"

"Really?" Sehen said patting Hadley's neck. "After all I have taught you?"

"There may be hope," the Archer said controlling himself.

"There is always hope," Sehen said with a small smile. "Now, I have to teach you the last lesson."

"But-"

"Bow out, arrow nocked!" Sehen snapped.

As if by instinct, rather than choice, the Archer quickly flipped his bow off his shoulder and quickly nocked an arrow.

"Good," Sehen said. "What will you shoot at?"

"Deifol Hroth," the Archer said without thinking.

"Good," Sehen said. "Where is he?"

The Archer dropped his bow and arrow. "Far away," the Archer despondently said, "probably in his citadel by now."

"No!" Sehen snapped, twirling his staff up to knock the Archer's bow back up to shooting position. "Your target is where you want it to be, and you must trust your arrow to find it."