Circle of Reign (31 page)

She opened her hand to the trunk of the tree and put her palm flush against its bark. The vibrations all around her became amplified, but she singled out the footfall that had caught her attention.

Dancing?
she wondered. If so, it was an extremely odd rhythm, if a rhythm at all. But then other sounds found her: steel clamoring, bodies thudding against the earth, staccato vibrations like small rocks striking the ground but with sharper intonations.
Arrows
, she realized.

The vector from whence the sounds came was familiar to her.

“Hold Therrium?” she asked aloud.

And then, she felt an all-too-familiar bloodcurdling stride, one that lived in the dark hollows of her memory. She froze, but only for an instant. Despite all the warnings she felt roaring through her, Reign ran toward the sounds of battle.

Aiden’s sword was humming loudly enough for him to audibly hear it amid the battle, not just feel. The Triarch leafling between his hand and the sword’s hilt felt warm, but perhaps that was just the heat and sweat of his hand. The word that had come to him in Therrium’s chambers returned to his lips.

“Faerathm!”
he yelled, as he once again brought his sword down upon a black-clad soldier. The sword cleaved the man in two and
the smell of burned flesh once again permeated the air. The humming of the sword quieted.

Suddenly, a man cloaked in a hooded robe broke off from the group of soldiers with speed that caught Aiden’s attention for the briefest of moments. His cadence was a new one in the fight, fast and heavy. Aiden realized he hadn’t felt this man’s movement since he entered the fight. Was he still for the duration? Did he just arrive? No, that could not be; but this man certainly had not moved since Aiden had arrived on the scene. His movement was at high velocity toward the outer parts of the hold where the servant chambers were—where Lord Therrium remained hidden and safe with his family and Archiver. Hopefully. But this man, with the speed of a wood-dweller, moved toward the chambers where Therrium had been sequestered. A chill reverberated through Aiden’s body as he remembered a similar creature that had outrun him years ago.

Could it be?

His mental break of concentration, though brief, was enough. A blow came to his side that he too late reacted to and deflected awkwardly, the enemy sword grazing his left side just under his elbow. The pain was searing but not debilitating. He took off the advancing soldier’s head while his short-blade found the torso of an axeman. An arrow pierced the fleshy part of Aiden’s underarm, causing him to release his short blade still embedded in the axe man’s chest. He had heard the arrow coming, but the wounds of his thigh and torso were beginning to scream in protest, slowing his reactions. He cursed himself fiercely for his breach of concentration, twirling his body in a 180° downward motion. Down on one knee, he broke the rear end of the arrow and pulled it through his arm in one fluid motion. His attackers hadn’t yet realized where Aiden had disappeared to, so swift had been his dive cloaked by the mask of night. Refocusing, Aiden worked on the legs of those surrounding him, cutting tendons and slashing muscles, disabling half a dozen men.

The man
, he remembered.
Therrium
.

Bounding up from his crouch, Aiden sprinted across the heads and shoulders of the black soldiers, feeling the heavy cadence of his new prey.
Faster
he chided himself, trying to compel his aching muscles to higher velocity.
I will not fail another lord. I cannot
. The pain from his wounds would have normally incapacitated a man, even a wood-dweller. Despite this, his pace quickened, dealing death to those below him, slashing his sword downward and up again as if he were a bladed windmill in stride.

He caught sight of the man, standing outside the humble stone servant chambers, where Therrium lay hidden. How did the man know exactly where Therrium hid? Even more frightening was the inhuman speed this intruder displayed.

It has to be him! I’ll not lose him this time!

The cloaked enigma stopped suddenly, short of the entrance to the chambers. Aiden ran toward him with fury in his eyes. The man reached up and slowly, unconcerned, removed the hood from his head. Revealed were a shorn head and a calm and confident demeanor. But the face itself was nothing Aiden had ever seen before. A pattern of some create covered his face, almost looking as if someone had carved a maze into his skin but leaving only the effect of the carving and no scar tissue. The man’s nose had horizontal slits going up the bridge that flared as he approached. It struck him how this man could make a facial expression of serenity whilst also appear so menacing. Aiden stopped roughly ten paces from the man, glowering with rage and fury.

“I can smell it,” the man said. “I smell your anger, your rage. Even the curious but misplaced recognition you think you have of me. I see I am not the first of my kind you have met. But you need not fall here.”

As the man turned completely, now facing Aiden, he could see the sigil of House Wellyn that hung upon the amulet over the man’s chest.
House Wellyn?
Confusion was followed by utter bewilderment. Aiden’s head spun, coming close to madness as he considered this new information.

“Flee.” The words were almost a growl. “Do not make an end of yourself this night. You need not be brought to dust. My Charge is not for you.”

Aiden stopped trying to understand and returned to his basic mental position.
Protect the Lord of the Western Province
. Slowly, he walked sideways in a circle, never shortening the distance between himself and the man, but placing himself between this aggressor and the servant chamber’s entrance.

“No, you must not—” the man protested, but it was too late. The nose gills flared again as Aiden’s resolve hardened.

Now Aiden, master of the hold guard, stood between the enigmatic marred predator and Banner Therrium’s family.

Not again
, he promised himself.
Not tonight
.

Aiden’s blade rested on the compact soil beneath him as he struggled to ignore the pain of his wounds. His focus was more difficult to maintain, like trying to catch a rapidly moving fish in a rushing river with bare hands.

Fallen Ancients!
he cursed inwardly.
Focus, Blasted Night!
Then, a memory came back to him, something that Lord Kerr had told him.

“You, like all living things, Aiden, are a current,” Lord Kerr had said. “A current of Light. Perhaps one day you will comprehend this.”

He still did not comprehend it, but something in this moment caught in him as he reflected on Thannuel’s words. That
something
found a center in him and his focus was revitalized. He immediately found a connection to the forest through the leafling in his palm pressed to his sword’s hilt, and the blade once again began to hum.

“Ah, you are one of them,” the man said. “This does make more sense.” He stopped speaking for a moment and broke his stare with Aiden. “But you do not know you are. I smell your confusion at my words. Interesting.”

Master Aiden was more indifferent but he supposed there were seeds of confusion within him. The man’s words did not matter to him as they did not pertain to the here and now.

“I,” the man continued, “am Maynard.” He bowed his head slightly and seemed to make a show of introducing himself, as if he had rarely done it in his life.

“I do not care what your name is!” Aiden responded. “You carry the High Duke’s emblem and you dare attack a Provincial Lord’s hold! What is this treachery?”

Maynard shrugged. “I have little knowledge of the Stone’s will. The
Urlenthi
commands and I obey its
Dahlrak
. It is the way of things, Light Shepherd.”

Now Aiden’s confusion did indeed find a more forward place in him. What were these words?
Urlenthi? Dahlrak? Light Shepherd?

“I have seen your kind before, many years ago, fleeing from my Lord’s hold. You will not escape me this time.”

“Before your end,” Maynard answered, “I will taste your fear, savoring it as I splash in your blood.”

The man crouched slightly and sneered, losing all semblance of civility on his countenance, and charged. Aiden barely noticed in the night’s light a dark blade in his grasp as he rushed toward him. Blood still coursing down his side, Aiden commanded his arm to react, raising his sword in defense.

The two collided with force and speed that would have left powder where bone had been for any normal mortal. The speed of their steel sparring was dizzying to the onlookers. The soldiers clothed in all black had followed Aiden in herd-like fashion, but had stopped short to witness this confrontation.

There was no understanding of this man he now faced. Aiden did not know him, or anyone like him. He only knew that any advantage of speed was nullified as their contest continued. It was now a show of strength and skill of steel, a contest from which Aiden was not confident he could emerge a victor.

But I must!

All around him the remaining short archers trained drawn arrows upon him, but did not loose them. Aiden fought fiercely, bringing his steel down relentlessly upon the man. Every stroke he intended to end the fray, yet the man was able to deflect and
counter with skill. His enemy fought with strength and intelligence—grace even—but this wasn’t all. He was seething, like a feral predator, as if in great anticipation. For the first time since the battle’s commencement, Aiden felt an embryo of fear. His opponent’s seething increased.

He felt the steel before he saw it, the blow sending fire from his shoulder down his arm. Aiden stumbled backward, struggling to defend against the strength and speed of his opponent. A breath was all that separated the man’s sword swipe from his throat. The next blow came from the man’s sword hilt to the side of Aiden’s head, jarring him severely and blurring his vision. The capillaries in his right eye burst and the knee to his already wounded side cracked ribs, sending breath fleeing from him. Aiden spat blood. Desperately trying to regain his equilibrium, he knew he was done for. He would fail in his duty again, but perhaps giving his life as his men had would offer some small redemption for him.

“Aiden!” The scream cut through the air and found him, like a streak of lightning clearly piercing an overcast sky. Its timbre was filled with terror. His opponent stopped at the sound and looked up toward the source of the scream. Aiden followed his gaze. Roughly thirty feet high, anchored to an Ayzish tree, sat a young woman, a face he had not seen for years but instantly knew.

“Reign!” he said through clenched teeth, his voice filled with pain.

“Reign?” Maynard repeated. Aiden saw through his wearied vision understanding come upon his face. “Reign…Kerr!”

The look on Maynard’s face became sadistic as he shuddered. Something changed; Aiden saw the insatiable thirst this demon had for Lord Therrium expand now to Reign. There was a drive in his eyes that bespoke his intent.

“No!”
The master of the hold guard, his body bleeding and hammering with pain, tackled Maynard just as he started to run toward Reign. Maynard scrambled to his feet and sneered, backhanding Aiden savagely, breaking his jaw and knocking him to
the ground. His sword went flying from his hand, but the leafling remained. He commanded his muscles to react but they refused, leaving him on the ground, face down in the dirt.

Please!
His heart raced so fast, struggling to believe who he had just seen.
Get up, Ancients help me!

Then the words came.

“Mylendia shaul.”

A push, a force flowed from the leafling up his arm. It was like heat he had never before felt and it radiated through his arm and into his head. His vision instantly cleared and his mind opened. Acute pain shot through his jaw as it snapped back into place, then faded quickly. Something from outside his own body guided his next fluid movements, as if on his right and left.

Aiden jolted up with renewed speed and strength. He found his sword and raised it just as Maynard’s strike came down on him. The sword’s humming returned. He caromed from the next blow and stepped back two paces, then lunged with all his speed, forcing his sword arm forward. The robed figure moved to parry the stabbing blow, but his sword found only air. This threw Maynard off balance for an instant and caused confidence to morph to confusion upon his face. A moment before Aiden had lunged with his sword in his right hand he opened his grip, letting his sword fall through the air. His right arm went forward, sword-less, effecting the feint. The blade fell parallel to the ground and found his waiting left hand. The momentum of his lunge carried him forward as he pivoted his hips to add force to his left-handed thrust. The end of the sword found a home in Maynard’s abdomen, just above his sword arm, which was still angled downward across his body from the failed attempt to parry Aiden’s feint. Aiden twisted his steel in the man, and then again. Retracting the sword, he watched the man stay on his feet for a time, but this was short lived. The ground raced up to meet him.