Circle of Reign (64 page)

Without breaking stride, Aiden grabbed Hedron by the back of his neck and forcibly pulled him off the street into an alley, leaving behind Ehliss and the wolf cubs. Huksinai, Alabeth and Thurik encompassed Ehliss, ensuring no passerby came too close.

“What are you—”

“Shut up!” Aiden spat as he shoved Hedron. “Why do you think we’re here?”

“So you can help! Ancient Heavens, what’s wrong with you?”

“And how are
you
going to help, Hedron? Seilia is right, but you’re not a boy anymore. You’re a man. We are here for you to take your rightful place as leader among these people!”

“No I’m not! I’m no leader!”

Aiden slapped him. Hedron was stunned.

“Don’t do that, Aiden!”

Another slap came faster than Hedron could react. Losing his temper, Hedron gritted his teeth and yelled, “Stop it!”

Aiden pushed him hard against a wall. Hedron swung his fist but he found his arm swept aside and his face stinging with another slap. Then another.

“Blasted Heavens, stop!”

He tried to raise his arms in defense, but Aiden swept his legs from under him and he fell hard to the ground. Hedron felt himself being raised up and back against the wall before the haze could clear from his vision, and another slap landed on his face.

“So, you’re a boy, are ya?”
Slap
. “Fine, I’ll treat you like a boy!”
Slap
. ‘I just want to run free through the Realm,’ he mocked and landed another slap. “Free like a little ninny bastard boy!”
Slap
. “Aye, like a bastard!”
Slap
. “No responsibility, no concerns or cares! What? You have nothing to say, ninny boy!”
Slap
.

Hedron was embarrassed but more furious. He pushed Aiden back and swung his fist. Once again, his blow was easily deflected and followed by another slap.

“Maybe you should try crying again!”
Slap
. “That always accomplished a lot for me when I was a boy.”
Slap
. “Or just curl in a ball like a scared puppy!”
Slap
. “Will that save ya?”
Slap
.

Every attempt to try and defend himself or counterattack proved futile. Hedron’s anger was acute, more than it had ever been.

“I was more of a man at twelve than you ever have hope of becoming!”
Slap
. “Pray, maybe that wench girl in the south can save you, aye?”
Slap
. “Aye, I think she might be more of a man than you! And she probably fights better than you! Too bad your daddy wasn’t around more, perhaps then you’d have
the stones he had!”
Slap
. “And maybe,”
slap
, “if you had been a man instead of a boy when your mother needed you,”
slap
, “she would still be alive!”

Hedron caught Aiden’s hand when the next blow came. His jaw quivered and lips curled into a sneer. In primal rage, he screamed and pushed Aiden back. They crashed through crates and pottery basins that filled an abandoned merchant’s cart. Bloody saliva sprayed from Hedron’s mouth as he bellowed curses. He delivered a forceful punch to Aiden’s midsection, then again, screaming and heaving with fists flying. His knee found Aiden’s stomach followed by a double hammer fist crashing down on his spine.

“Stop it!” Ehliss screamed, but Hedron did not heed her words. He was in a blood rage, boiling inside beyond control. Lifting up Aiden’s head by his hair, he struck him in the face, again and again. Aiden finally recovered slightly and kicked his leg out to sweep Hedron off balance once again, but the Kerr heir jumped over the legs and continued administering his wrath to Aiden’s face.

“Please! Stop it!” Ehliss screamed again. Onlookers had begun to gather. Every crowd attracts a larger crowd, and so the audience continued to augment itself.

Aiden blocked the next punch and sent his foot into Hedron’s gut, knocking the wind out of him. Crumpled over and heaving for air, Hedron knew Aiden would be coming fast for a follow-up blow. With his lungs still burning for breath, he reached up and caught Aiden by the sides of his head, grabbed two handfuls of hair and pulled Aiden’s head down as hard as he could. Simultaneously, he straightened himself and brought his knee up with terrible velocity toward Aiden’s face. In a show of breathtaking speed, Aiden moved his hand in front of his face to buffer the blow, but the force of the hit was still incredible. As he stumbled off balance, Hedron reached down toward Aiden’s hip and drew the sword from its scabbard. He leveled it at Aiden’s neck.

With bloodshot eyes the young Kerr roared, “I am Hedron Kerr! The son of Lord Thannuel Kerr, to whom you swore allegiance! You will honor him and obey me or his sword will end you!”

Aiden proffered a bloody grin. “Finally,” he sighed and knelt down before Hedron with his head lowered. “I am your loyal servant, Lord Kerr. Where you go, I shall follow. My life will always be placed before yours and my blade in your defense. Never shall you fall while I yet stand.”

The crowd was in utter silence. The chaotic ambience that had been only moments before vanished. Hundreds surrounded the scene. After a moment, murmurs fluttered among the people. Hedron still wore a mask of indignation but that was giving way to puzzlement as he began to comprehend what had just happened. He wiped the blood from his lips and spat. The adrenaline that still pumped through him caused his body to shake like a stubborn leaf in the Dimming Season refusing to be separated from its limb by a constant wind.

To his right, someone knelt—an elderly man.

“Lord Kerr,” the man said softly.

Then another knelt and repeated the man’s acknowledgment. Within a few more heartbeats, scores had followed suit.

Hedron took a step back and finally lowered the sword. He still breathed heavy. The scene around him was surreal as he watched over a hundred people kneel before him.

“Just one small correction, my Lord,” Aiden said, lifting his head. “That’s not actually your father’s sword. Not anymore.”

Hedron looked at the sword with his mouth open, as if seeing it for the first time. “I am no good with a sword, Aiden,” he remarked just loud enough for only Aiden to hear. “I—”

“I know. That’s why I was hoping you’d let me borrow it. Just for a bit longer.”

FORTY-SEVEN

Reign

Day 4 of 2
^nd
Dimming 412 A.U.

FASTER!
THANNUEL DEMANDED.

Sweat drenched Reign’s ebony hair. It clung in a matted heap against her clammy cheeks and wet forehead. Her concentration and focus were not deterred by the stinging in her eyes as the beads of sweat above her brow made their way down.

I can barely keep up with my own limbs!
Reign protested in her thoughts.

The clang and clamor reporting from Reign’s sword as she chopped and battered the old oak tree resembled the percussive cadence of an aggressive drum line with its tempo ever increasing. She dove and sprang, defended and counterattacked as Thannuel projected one enemy after another advancing on her where the oak stood. The pile of wood chippings and dust soon became ankle high and covered the tops of the exposed roots close to the base of the tree.

Here on the border of Arlethia and the Northern Province, the Gonfrey Forest met with the trees of the Arlethian forests. Both trees that spoke and those that did not were interwoven amongst each other, ignoring the borders imposed by the inhabitants of the land. The giant oak Reign now sparred against and was thoroughly
thrashing was not a speaking tree, not of Arlethia. Thannuel had a plan for this and told Reign to pocket a single acorn from the tree before they began, though he did not fully explain why. Reign let him keep his secret for the time being.

Because of her proximity among trees that did speak, those that Reign now understood held and shielded the Lumenatis’ power, and with a Triarch leafling in between the palm of her hands and the sword’s hilt, she was able to draw into herself the strength of the trees. She directed that strength to increase her own, as well as provide extra endurance and stamina. Her muscles burned and ached from the extreme effort being exerted, but her determination was driving her more than the temptation to cease and give her body rest.

Your body will obey
, Thannuel promised.
Demand your limbs and muscles give heed and they will soon complain less
.

The phantom images she saw before her were so real that Reign felt true peril as she evaded and attacked. Her mind, at least in some instinctual area, believed the threats were genuine, for every blow or stroke she blocked jolted her frame as if it were a true physical weapon she defended against. Fractions of a second before every movement she saw how to react and counter as her father projected the proper angle, form and velocity to her. Her motions were raw and unrefined, but she exuded force and fluidity.

Scores of specters fell around her as she dealt out lethal aggression with every blow and strike. The blade of her sword appeared like a blurred image reflecting off swiftly moving water. Four enemies surrounded her and closed in.

Too many at once!
she screamed in her mind.

The Borathein will come at you relentlessly and not restrain themselves only to your abilities. Break the problem down, focus, and deal with it in smaller segments
.

She drew in more strength from the trees and felt her capacity peak like lungs that had over-expanded with air. Her sword hummed louder as she channeled portions of the power into it. The first blow came from one of the phantoms behind her. She
felt the air change behind and ducked just as a hammer with a head as large as her torso sailed through the air where her skull had just been. A second enemy sprang forward with a flail whirling and slung it forward to bash her head in. She rolled out of the way and felt the spiked ball hit the ground, leaving a small crater in its wake.

How can something not real leave a mark?
But when she looked again, the imprint was gone. Smooth soil covered by brown leaves and needles lay undisturbed. She rolled back the other way and felt the breeze of the massive war hammer again narrowly miss her as it hit the ground as well. She blocked an overhead axe attack next but before she could counter was forced to block another attack.

“Father stop! I can’t fight them all at once. I can’t even strike back. The attacks are coming too fast, all I can do is block!”

You are an Arlethian, Reign. A wood-dweller. They are not. You are faster than this. Feed on the fear and apprehension friction you feel. Recycle it into your mental processes and think! The only way I’m going to stop is if you lock me away again
.

Reign did as she was told, though it was not easy. Her focus and concentration increased amid the relentless attacks being levied upon her. Her mind split suddenly into two independent pieces. One continued to deftly defend against the advances of the Borathein mirages while the other piece, now freed from other distractions, focused on the problem.

Yes!
Thannuel roared inside her.
What do you see?

“A tendency. A tell.”

Which one?

“The flail bearer. He takes a large breath and holds it before each downward swing. I see his chest expand and shoulders rock back slightly.”

What else?

One of the men grabbed her from behind and squeezed her chest, trying to break her sternum. The pressure, though just in her mind, was very real and her breath left her. Her arms had
limited mobility while restricted by the hold, but her legs remained firmly planted. Directing the strength she held from the forest to her legs, she sprang upward, with the large man still clinging to her, roughly twenty feet in the air. The effort required was enormous to create that much lift. They came sailing down facing the gray sky. The man let go in surprise and Reign rolled off him and hit the ground silently. The would-be-bone-crusher landed back first upon a tree stump attended by the sound of deep snapping. He squirmed with his back broken upon the stump for only a few moments before laying still. Blood bubbled up from his mouth and drained down over his long beard. The details of this mock fight astounded Reign.

It is how the mind works
, said her father.
It can project sensory perception as well as images
. Reign’s torso was indeed sore from being nearly crushed.

“I noticed.”

The flail-swinging soldier stood in front of her now, menacingly whirling his weapon.

“Wait for it,” she mumbled to herself. He feinted twice, but she did not move. As his shoulders went back and his chest became rounder, she knew. Shooting forward through the air toward the man, Reign’s blade greeted his navel and snapped upward, lodging itself in his chin. She jumped, making herself horizontal, and kicked his chest squarely with both feet, sending him backward and freeing her sword.

“What else?” Reign said. “They all have beards with things woven into them.”

I mean something material, Reign
.

“It’s material to me.” With the part of her mind that controlled her motor functions, Reign continued to block and parry against the remaining two Borathein.

“This is the same style I saw that night, the night when Wellyn and the Helsyan beast were in the forest using a Dark Influence upon the trees. Turning them dark and dead. A tall man with trinkets in his beard just like this was there, except his was even longer.”

Her speed proved too much for the Borathein. When she decided it was time to end the match, Reign dove between the attackers into a forward roll. She arose with a reverse pivot, as shown to her mind, and swung her blade in a half circle. Her steel met the flesh of both Borathein and they sank to their knees before face planting into the mulch created from the oak tree. The tree had many limbs missing and looked tortured from all the punishment. The war hammer hit the ground head down with its handle vertical.

Ah yes, the Helsyan
.

The next image that formed before her eyes was ghastly. Mist seemed to coalesce and morph into the devil that had chased her six years ago and robbed her of her father and her innocence. The terror of being the target of a
Dahlrak
still wracked her and she visibly shook from the sight of the chase-giver. His white marred skin was stretched tight over ripped muscles. The smile came next, that same predatory expression that had haunted her for more than half a decade. She cowered and shrank inside.