A Sky of Spells (Book #9 in the Sorcerer's Ring) (3 page)

Elden reached out and
grabbed it, and held it out to Indra.

“Ladies first,” he said.

She grimaced.

“I don’t need pampering,”
she said. “You’re big. You might break the vine. You go, and get it over with. Don’t
fall in—or else this woman will have to save you.”

Elden grimaced, unamused, as
he grabbed the vine.

“I was just trying to help,”
he said.

Elden jumped off with a
shout, sailed through the air, and tumbled on the far shore beside Centra.

He sent the rope back, and O’Connor
went, followed by Serna, then Indra, then Conven.

The last ones left were
Reece and Krog.

“Well, I guess it’s just the
two of us,” Krog said to Reece. “Go. Save yourself,” Krog said, glancing back
over his shoulder nervously. “The Faws are too close There isn’t time for both
of us to make it.”

Reece shook his head.

“No man left behind,” he
said. “If you won’t go then I won’t.”

They both stood there,
stubbornly, Krog looking increasingly nervous. Krog shook his head.

“You are a fool. Why do you
care so much about me? I wouldn’t care half as much for you.”

“I am leader now, which
makes you my responsibility,” Reece replied. “I don’t care for you. I care for
honor. And my honor commands me to leave no one behind.”

They both turned nervously
as the first of the Faws reached them. Reece stepped forward, beside Krog, and
they slashed with their swords, killing several.

“We go together!” Reece called
out.

Without wasting another
moment, Reece grabbed Krog, draped him over his shoulder, grabbed the rope, and
the two of them screamed as they set off through the air, a moment before the Faws
stormed the shore.

The two of them sailed
through the air, swaying across for the other side.

“Help!” Krog screamed.

Krog was slipping off of Reece’s
shoulder, and he grabbed the vine; but it was now wet with the spray of the
rapids, and Krog’s hands slipped right through the vine as he plummeted down.
Reece reached down to grab him, but it all happened too fast: Reece’s heart
plummeted as he was forced to watch Krog fall, just out of his grasp, down into
the gushing waters.

Reece landed on the far
shore and tumbled to the ground. He rolled to his feet, prepared to rush back
to the water—but before he could react, Conven broke from the group, rushed
forward and dove headfirst into the raging waters.

Reece and the others
watched, breathless. Was Conven that brave, Reece wondered? Or that suicidal?

Conven swam fearlessly
through the gushing current. He reached Krog, somehow not getting bit by the
creatures, and grabbed him as he flailed, draping an arm around his shoulder
and treading water with him. Conven swam against the current, heading back to
shore.

Suddenly, Krog shrieked.

“MY LEG!”

Krog writhed in pain as a Fouren
lodged in his leg, biting him, its shiny yellow scales visible over the
current. Conven swam and swam until finally he neared shore and Reece and the
others reached down and dragged them out. As they did, a school of Fourens
jumped into the air after them, and Reece and the others swatted them away.

Krog flailed and Reece
looked down and saw the Fouren still in his leg; Indra pulled her dagger, bent
over and dug it into Krog’s thigh as he shrieked, prying the animal out. It
flopped on shore, then back into the water.

“I hate you!” Krog seethed
to her.

“Good,” Indra replied, unfazed.

Reece looked at Conven, who
stood there, dripping wet, in awe of his fearlessness. Conven stared back,
expressionless, and Reece noticed with shock that a Fouren was lodged in his
arm, flopping in the air. Reece couldn’t believe how calm Conven was, as he
reached over slowly, yanked it out and threw it back into the water.

“Didn’t that hurt?” Reece
asked, confused.

Conven shrugged.

Reece worried for Conven
more than ever; while he admired his courage, he could not believe his
recklessness. He had dived headfirst into a school of vicious creatures, and
didn’t even think twice about it.

On the far side of the
river, hundreds of Faws stood there, staring out, infuriated, chattering their
teeth.

“Finally,” O’Connor said, “we’re
safe.”

Centra shook his head.

“Only for now. Those Faws
are smart. They know the river bends. They’ll take the long way, run around it,
find the crossing. Soon, they’ll be on our side. Our time is limited. We must
move.”

They all followed Centra as
he sprinted through mud fields, past exploding geysers, navigating his way
through this exotic landscape.

They ran and ran, until
finally the mist broke and Reece’s heart was elated to see, before them, the
Canyon wall, its ancient stone shining. He looked up, and its walls seemed
impossibly high. He did not know how they would climb it.

Reece stood there with the
others and stared up with dread. The wall seemed even more imposing now than it
had on the way down. He looked over and saw their ragged state and wondered how
they could possibly scale it. They were all exhausted, beaten and bruised,
weary from battle. Their hands and feet were raw. How could they possibly climb
straight up, when it had taken all they had just to descend?

“I can’t go on,” Krog said,
wheezing, his voice cracking.

Reece was feeling the same
way, though he did not say it.

They were backed into a
corner. They had outrun the Faws, but not for long. Soon they would find them,
and they would all be outnumbered and killed. All of this hard work, all of their
efforts, all for nothing.

Reece did not want to die
here. Not in this place. If he had to die, he wanted to die up there, on his
own soil, on the mainland, and with Selese by his side. If only he could have
one more chance to escape.

Reece heard a horrific
noise, and he turned to see the Faws, perhaps a hundred yards away. There were
thousands of them, and they had already skirted the river, and were closing in.

They all drew their weapons.

“There’s nowhere left to
run,” Centra said.

“Then we’ll fight to the
death!” Reece called out.

“Reece!” came a voice.

Reece looked straight up the
Canyon wall, and as the mist cleared, there appeared a face he at first thought
was an apparition. He could not believe it. There, before him, was the woman he
had just been thinking of.

Selese.

What was she doing here? How
had she arrived here? And who was that other woman with her? It looked like the
royal healer, Illepra.

The two of them hung there,
on the side of the cliff, a long and thick rope coiled around their waists and
hands. They were coming down quickly, on a long, thick rope, one easy to grasp.
Selese reached back and threw the rest of it down, dropping a good fifty feet through
the air, like manna from heaven, and landing at Reece’s feet.

It was the way out.

They did not hesitate. They
all ran for it, and within moments were climbing up, as fast as they could. Reece
let everyone else go first, and as he jumped up, the last man up, he climbed
and pulled the rope with him as he went, so that the Faws could not get it.

As he cleared the ground,
the Faws appeared, reaching up and jumping for his feet—and just missing as
Reece climbed out of reach.

Reece stopped as he reached
Selese, who waited for him on a ledge; he leaned over and they kissed.

“I love you,” Reece said,
his entire being filled with love for her.

“And I you,” she replied.

The two of them turned and
headed up the Canyon wall with the others. They climbed, higher and higher. Soon,
they would be home. Reece could hardly believe it.

Home
.

Alistair sprinted her way
through the chaotic battlefield, weaving her way in and out of the soldiers as
they fought for their lives against the army of undead rising up all around
them. Moans and shrieks filled the air as the soldiers killed the ghouls—and as
the ghouls, in turn, killed the soldiers. The Silver and MacGils and Silesians
fought boldly—but they were vastly outnumbered. For each undead they killed,
three more appeared. It was only a matter of time, Alistair could see, until
all of her people were wiped out.

Alistair doubled her speed,
running with all she had, her lungs bursting, ducking as an undead swiped for
her face and crying out as another scratched her arm, drawing blood. She did
not stop to fight them. There was no time. She had to find Argon.

She ran in the direction she
had seen him last, when he was fighting Rafi and had collapsed from the effort.
She prayed it had not killed him, that she could rouse him, and that she could
make it before she and all her people were killed.

An undead appeared before
her, blocking her way, and she held out her palm; a white ball of light struck it
in the chest, knocking it backwards.

Five more appeared, and she
held out her palm—but this time, only one more ball of light emerged, and the
other four closed in on her. Her powers, she was surprised to realize, were
limited.

Alistair braced herself for
attack as they closed in—when she heard a snarling noise and looked over to see
Krohn, leaping beside her and sinking his fangs into their throats. The undead
turned on him, and Alistair found her chance. She elbowed one in the throat,
knocking it over, and ran.

Alistair pushed her way through
the chaos, desperate, the ghouls increasing in number by the moment, her people
beginning to be pushed back. As she ducked and weaved, she finally emerged into
a small clearing, the place where she remembered seeing Argon.

Alistair scanned the ground,
desperate, and finally, between all the corpses, she found him. He was lying
there, slumped on the ground, curled up in a ball. He lay in a small clearing
and clearly he had cast some sort of spell to keep others away from him. He was
unconscious, and as Alistair rushed to his side, she hoped and prayed he was
still alive.

As she came closer, Alistair
felt enveloped, protected in his magic bubble. She took a knee beside him and took
a deep breath, finally safe from the battle all around her, finding respite in
the eye of the storm.

Yet Alistair was also struck
with terror as she looked down at Argon: he lay there, eyes closed, not
breathing. She was flooded with panic.

“Argon!” she cried out,
shaking his shoulders with both hands, trembling. “Argon, it’s me! Alistair!
Wake up! You
have
to wake up!”

Argon lay there, unresponsive,
while all around her, the battle was intensifying.

“Argon, please! We need you.
We cannot combat Rafi’s magic. We do not have the skills that you do. Please, come
back to us. For the Ring. For Gwendolyn. For Thorgrin.”

Alistair shook him, you
still he did not respond.

Desperate, an idea came to
her. She lay both palms on his chest, closed her eyes and focused. She summoned
all of her inner energy, whatever was left, and slowly, she felt her hands
warm. As she opened her eyes, she saw a blue light emanating from her palms,
spreading over his chest and shoulders. Soon it enveloped his entire body. Alistair
was using an ancient spell she had once learned, to revive the sick. It was
draining her, and she felt all the energy leaving her body. Getting weak, she
willed for Argon to come back.

Alistair collapsed,
exhausted from the effort, and lay at Argon’s side, too weak to move.

She sensed movement, and she
looked over and to her amazement saw Argon begin to stir.

He sat up and turned to her,
his eyes shining with an intensity that scared her. He stared at her, expressionless,
then reached over, grabbed his staff, and gained his feet. He reached out one
hand, grabbed hers, and effortlessly yanked her to her feet.

As he held her hand, she
felt all of her own energy restored.

“Where is he?” Argon asked.

Argon did not wait for an
answer; it was as if he knew exactly where he needed to go, as he turned, staff
at his side, walked right into the thick of battle.

Alistair couldn’t understand
how Argon was not hesitant to stroll into the soldiers. Then she understood
why: he was able to cast a magical bubble around him as he went, and as the
undead charged him from all sides, none were able to penetrate it. Alistair
stuck close to him as he marched fearlessly, harmlessly through the thick of
the battle, as if strolling through a meadow on a sunny day.

The two of them made their
way through the battlefield, and he kept silent, marching, dressed in his long
white cloak and hood, walking so fast that Alistair could barely keep up.

He finally stopped at the
center of the battle, in a clearing, opposite which stood Rafi. Rafi still
stood there, holding both arms out at his sides, his eyes rolled back in his
head as he summoned thousands of undead, pouring out of the crevice in the earth.

Argon raised a single palm
high overhead, palm up, facing the sky, and opened his eyes wide.

“RAFI!” he screamed in
challenge.

Despite all the noise, Argon’s
scream cut through the battle, resonating off the hills.

As Argon shrieked, suddenly
the clouds parted high above. A white stream of light came flying down, from
the sky, right to Argon’s palm, as if connecting him to the very heavens. The stream
of light grew wider and wider, like a tornado, enveloping the battlefield,
enveloping everything around him.

There came a great wind and
a great whooshing noise, and Alistair watched in disbelief as beneath her the
ground began to shake even more violently, and the huge crevice in the earth
began to move in the opposite direction, slowly sealing itself backup.

As it began to close on
itself, dozens of undead shrieked, crushed as they tried to crawl out.

Within moments, hundreds of
undead were slipping, sliding back down to the earth, as the crevice became more
and more narrow.

The earth shook one last
time, then grew quiet, as the crevice finally sealed itself, the ground whole
again, as if no fissure had ever appeared. The awful shrieks of the undead
filled the air, muted from beneath the earth.

There came a stunned silence,
a momentary lull in battle, as everyone stood and watched.

Rafi shrieked and turned and
set his sights on Argon.

“ARGON!” Rafi shrieked.

The time had come for the final
clash of these two great titans.

Rafi ran into the open
clearing, holding his red staff high, and Argon did not hesitate, racing out to
greet Rafi.

The two met in the middle, each
wielding their staffs high overhead. Rafi brought his staff down for Argon and Argon
raised his and blocked it. A great white light arose, like sparks, as they met.
Argon swung back, and Rafi blocked.

Back and forth they went,
blow for blow, attacking, blocking, white light flying everywhere. The ground
shook with each of their blows, and Alistair could feel a monumental energy in
the air.

Finally, Argon found his
opening, swinging his staff from underneath, upwards, and as he did, shattering
Rafi’s staff.

The ground shook violently.

Argon stepped forward, raised
his staff high overhead with two hands, and plunged it straight down, right
through Rafi’s chest.

Rafi let out an awful
shriek, thousands of small bats flying out of his mouth as his jaw remained wide
open. The skies turned black for a moment, as thick black clouds gathered from
the heavens, right over Rafi’s head, and swirled down to earth. They swallowed him
whole, and Rafi howled as he spun through the air, yanked upwards, into the
skies, heading up to some awful fate that Alistair did not want to imagine.

Argon stood there, breathing
hard, as all finally fell silent, Rafi dead.

The army of undead shrieked,
as one at a time, they all disintegrated before Argon’s eyes, each falling into
a mound of ashes. Soon the battlefield was littered with thousands of mounds,
all that remained of Rafi’s evil spells.

Alistair surveyed the
battlefield and saw there was only one battle left to wage: across the
clearing, her brother, Thorgrin, was already facing off with their father,
Andronicus. She knew that in the battle to come, one of these determined men
would lose their lives: her brother or her father. She prayed that it was her
brother who came out alive.