King's Folly (Book 2) (11 page)

Guards patrolled the night, but they kept to the large manor house, moving silently beneath the glow of everlights.

If there was a guard nearby he’d likely be in front of the shed. Zoshi wasn’t about to go and peek. Instead, he spied a grouping of bushes that offered cover next to the outer wall. Keeping low, he darted to the bushes like a frightened rabbit and slithered under their protection.

The wall was high, but he was desperate. Some inner voice of survival screamed at him to keep going. Zoshi didn’t stop to think. He didn’t know what was on the other side of the wall; he only knew he couldn’t linger.

A section of wall caught his dilated pupils, and before he lost his nerve, the boy crawled swiftly towards the spot in the courtyard. He tested the corner. It wouldn’t be the trickiest thing he had climbed.

Placing one hand on either wall, he braced himself as before, and scuttled up the corner. Iron spikes decorated the top. They made convenient handholds for the nimble boy. Zoshi pulled himself up, squeezing between the rods to dangle on the other side.

The outer wall was completely smooth, and there was no convenient corner, not that he had expected any different. The drop would surely break a leg if not his neck. Farther down, a shadow rose from the darkness of the ground. He hoped it was a tree.

Swallowing his fear, he swung side-ways, using the spikes until the shadow was directly behind him. It was a tree, but the branches were a good five feet away from his perch. Zoshi tensed, braced his feet on the stone, bent his knees and sprang with all his meager power. He twisted in midair, trying to turn all around, but hit the tree with his side instead. Branches snapped as he whipped past raking needles.

He was falling.

His leg caught something hard and he was slapped to the side, slamming against a branch. The wind was knocked from his body, and he dangled, draped over the bough like a limp rag, over blackness.

There wasn’t any time to recover. Before his breath had returned, he let himself slide off the branch, hoping the earth would catch him. It did.

Shouts erupted from the courtyard as he hit the ground and rolled. Dazed and reeling with pain, instinct urged his legs to move. The boy staggered to his feet, stumbling beneath the undergrowth as torches pierced the night, bobbing between trees.

Nostrils flaring, vision blurred, the boy’s feet kept moving of their own accord—one in front of the other. He ran blindly, away from the limp body of Tuck, away from the twang of an arrow and Pip’s bloody flesh. Anywhere but where he had been. The mist embraced the boy, and eventually his legs failed.

“
I
WAS
WALKING
along the Mearcentian coast when I stumbled upon a young lady who had washed ashore.” Marsais’ grey eyes sparkled in memory.

“You’d think the scales would have warned him away,” Oenghus interjected.

“I did not immediately notice the scales because she was covered in seaweed. Naturally I hurried to help. When I neared, I noticed she wasn’t human. Pearlescent scales covered her body from head to toe. Her eyes were large and black and she had webbed fingers and toes.”

“Eyes like a Grawl?” Rivan asked in shock.

“No, nothing of the sort. Voidspawn, like Grawl are—” Marsais frowned, searching for words. “Their eyes are nonexistent, a hollow pit of nothingness that feeds on your life force. This young lady had eyes like black pearls. And she was injured.

“I carried her back to my cottage where I was living at the time and treated her wounds. She was awkward in her movements, clumsy, grabbing things faster than needed, as if they were an inch away.” He demonstrated the odd movements. “It was clear she wasn’t used to being on land.”

“Again. You’d think he would have gotten the hint.”

Marsais ignored the Nuthaanian’s comment. “She stayed with me a few days, eating only fish and clams from the ocean. She never said a word, but listened to me intently. I could only assume she understood what I was saying.” Marsais cleared his throat. “I swear I was a perfect gentleman, but for whatever reason, which to this day leaves me baffled, she climbed into my bed one night.” Rivan’s low whistle did nothing to cover up his slight blush and Lucas edged closer to listen.

“You probably got her drunk,” Oenghus grinned.

“Oh, you’re just smarting because it wasn’t your bed. She would have mistaken you for a walrus,” Marsais shot back.

“I know why she climbed into his bed, Oen.” The nymph gave a secretive smile and her guardian bristled.

“Why thank you, my dear.” Marsais moved on the other side of her, away from the scowling giant. “You had your one shot,” he warned Oenghus before continuing. “About a week later, I woke up one morning and the girl was gone. Thinking some ill fate had befallen her, I searched for days—”

“Hold up, what’s that?” Acacia pointed towards the snow-capped mountains.

The group stopped, gazes pinned on the horizon. Two large, bird-like shapes were approaching, but they were far away and another, smaller creature, flapped in front. Isiilde narrowed her eyes. It was Luccub the Imp. Unfortunately, the two larger shapes were not birds.

“Off the ridge!” Oenghus shouted.

The group plunged over the side, down the steep slope. In the rush to take cover, Isiilde glanced over her shoulder and stopped dead in her tracks. Marsais had not moved. He stood in the open, utterly exposed, and altogether lost.

“Oen,” she squeaked, scrambling back up the mountainside. The winged monsters were approaching.

Isiilde reached Marsais first. She grabbed his wrist and tugged, hissing his name, but the rangy seer was all muscle and bone and height, and therefore heavier than he appeared. She could not budge him as the flying trio neared.

Desperate, Isiilde summoned the Lore, fingers flashing. In quick succession, she wove a feather rune around his ankles, and a layer of air and spirit overtop. When he drifted an inch off the ground, she pushed him towards a boulder, toppling his height. As he hit the ground, his coins chimed in warning.

Luccub zipped from the sky, flapping wildly towards Oenghus. The giant smacked the Imp out of the way, and paused, catching sight of the nearing monstrosities. His gaze flickered to Isiilde, who had shoved Marsais behind cover. Gripping his hammer, Oenghus hesitated, and then ducked, pressing himself to the mountainside. He motioned for the paladins to follow suit.

Two monstrous, leather-winged reptiles landed on the ridge with a roar. Isiilde clamped her hand over her mouth and pressed herself against the rock. Marsais blinked. Tails lashed over their heads with a scorpion’s speed. She locked eyes with her Bonded, who kept himself as still as stone. She could feel the beasts on the other side of the boulder, pounding and huffing—something cracked, and a clawed foot, larger than Oenghus, stomped on the dirt beside her. Marsais scrambled forward on all fours, pressing himself against the rock, nudging her to the side.

As the beasts battled like bulls over the ridge, Marsais and Isiilde skirted the boulder. A stinger thundered from the sky, impaling the earth. The tail was thick as a tree trunk.

Fear engulfed Isiilde, muscles tensed to run, but Marsais grabbed her arm, anchoring her in place. A shadow blotted out the sun, and she breathed in noxious air as a presence hovered above.

Marsais’ eyes rolled upwards. Against her will, Isiilde’s gaze was pulled in the same direction. A head the size of a boulder sniffed the air overhead, nostrils flaring, tongue tasting. The scales along its throat were like armor, thick and scarred.

Something moved off to the side, drawing the monster’s attention. Its head snapped towards the edge of the ridge. Luccub rolled through the air, end over end. The beast bellowed in triumph, lunging towards the Imp, catching him in its maw, crunching and gnawing in satisfaction—until it began to gag.

The beast’s jaws worked and its tongue extended, stiff and rigid, choking on its meal. A moment later, a slimy Imp emerged. Luccub flapped into the air with a cackle and a prize. He clutched a dagger-sized fang in his feet.

Both monsters roared, one in pain, and the other in pursuit. A whirlwind of dust and wind beat at the nymph. Marsais hunched over her, shielding her from the force as the monsters took flight.

No one dared move for a time. When the monsters finally vanished on the horizon, Marsais blew out a breath.

“I am going to chop that Imp into a thousand pieces and send each to the four corners of the realm!” Oenghus growled. He stomped into view and looked down at the two. “Right after I kick your bony arse down this mountain, Scarecrow.”

“I’ll let the Imp have its turn first,” Marsais nobly offered, climbing to his feet. “Besides, you’d need to send the pieces to a thousand corners—not four.”

“Were those dragons?” Isiilde’s voice trembled. She found she could not move.

Oenghus hoisted her to her feet. “Wyverns. One’s bad enough; two will give you trouble.” Anything that gave the berserker trouble was best avoided.

“Can we get off this ridge?” Acacia hissed from the slope.

“A grand idea.”

“Next time move your feet sooner, Scarecrow.”

“He was lost, Oen.”

“Well he would have been dead if it wasn’t for you, Sprite.” Oenghus grabbed Marsais’ arm and propelled him towards the waiting paladins.

Isiilde followed. “Did Luccub save us again?”

“No,” Oenghus bared his teeth. “The bastard was trying to hide behind us. Lucas pinned the Imp under his shield, I grabbed it, and hit it towards the Wyverns with my hammer.”

“Can the Imp be killed?” Acacia looked to Marsais, but the seer’s eyes were a thousand miles away, staring, yet not seeing, turned inward to only the gods knew where. Isiilde took his hand.

Acacia frowned at Marsais.“Does he do this often?”

“Aye,” Oenghus grunted. “At the most Void cursed times.”

The stern-faced woman accepted the seer’s limitations with a nod before turning to other matters. “I was hoping to keep to the ridges and avoid the forest, but I don’t think that’s wise with those two battling over their territory.”

“At least there are signs of civilization in this valley.” Far away, over a sea of evergreen, trails of smoke slithered into the sky.

“And who knows what’s in between,” Acacia added.

“Civilization,” Lucas said with contempt. “Valyinish barbarians are Void-worshiping heathens. They offer their women to Grawl.”

“Not all of them, Sir Lucas,” Marsais said, suddenly. All eyes looked to the recovered seer. “There are numerous tribes in Vaylin, not all of them revere the Dark One. It could be a Medwin or a Da’len village—both are reasonable tribes. And even some of the Lome and Suevi tribes have been known to provide help for a price.”

“It’s the Ardmoor who we don’t want,” Oenghus explained.

“And heathen is such a narrow term.” Marsais scratched at the scar beneath his robe. “Before the Shattering, many of the Guardians, such as Zahra and Chaim, revered the Eldar gods. The same gods who the Medwin and Da’len currently worship. So have a care—we are not in a heathen land, but rather, an ancient one.”

Lucas did not respond.

“How can we tell the tribes apart?” asked Rivan.

“Oh, we’ll know.”

“And hopefully it’ll be from a safe distance when we find out.” At the captain’s tone, Isiilde moved closer to Marsais. She did not like the forest, or the expanse, or the smoke, but they had little choice, or they would never return to the Isle. And as the day wore on, the ground plummeted and the trees grew, until the forest blotted out the sun, feeding the nymph’s growing unease.

DUSK
CAME
SWIFTLY
beneath the trees. With little conversation, the weary group made camp beside a stream and the toppled statue of a forgotten king. His moss covered head was half buried, and one eye watched the group as they ate a sparse meal. Marsais volunteered for first watch, and the others put their backs to the king and slept.

Isiilde joined her Bonded. He sat on a rock by the stream, away from the firelight, unwinding his bandages. She could feel his pain, if dulled, like a dim thought at the back of her mind. Exhaustion and worry lingered inside of him, yet none of this was betrayed in his face.

Would she ever be able to conceal her emotions, she wondered, easing her aching feet into the water. The cold cut through her skin and gripped her bone. She grit her teeth.

“Are my hands bothering you, my dear?”

“The only bother is that you’re in pain,” she said softly.

“Only a trifle now. I don’t want to cause you any discomfort.”

“You’re not. I don’t want you to leave me—when you do, I feel so empty.”

The moon shone through gaps in the distant canopy. She focused on the tiny window of light, trying to ignore the darkness.

Marsais flexed his hands. They were bruised and clumsy and he thrust them into the icy water.

“I think I chose the wrong Gateway, Marsais.”

“You chose what was familiar.”

Isiilde tilted her head. “I’ve never been here.”

“No, but
I
have,” he smiled. “These trees remember me.”

“I hope you didn’t anger them.”

Marsais chuckled. “Let us hope not.”

Isiilde hugged her knees and watched the moonlight seep through the shadows as he soaked his hands. Slowly, her eyes adjusted to the deepening night. Insects danced over the water, bats swooped to feast, and an owl asked an eternal question.