Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy (7 page)

Lendril had her crossbow in her hand and loaded before
a second had passed from when she saw the three figures.
Cautiously, she approached, sensing Tych’s presence. The
archer stepped through the last few trees. “Turn around
slowly, please. I’m here for my friend.”

She lowered the weapon when she saw the distinctive
light brown skin of her cousins. Their many-colored eyes
looked on her with such fear that she felt terrible for
threatening them. Then she noticed the three bodies,
heavily bandaged. “What happened?”

The female spoke up. “A demon set upon us near here
and, though we fought hard, he killed off ten of us. Then
he showed up,” she pointed at Tych, “and killed the
creature in less than a minute. The explosion must have
injured him. It’s strange though; there are no marks.”

Lendril looked bewildered. “Explosion? What do you
mean?”

The thrandril quickly described Tych's heroics.

“I understand and I know what happened. You do not
know who this is?” Lendril took the bolt out of the
crossbow and pulled the trigger on empty air.

“No. Who is he and who are you?”

“He is Prince Tych di Corl. I am Lendril di Rutif. We
both visited your village fifty years ago. Who are you?”

The woman, her eyes wide with shock, responded, “I
am Gref di Yul, a foot soldier.”

The taller male introduced himself as Polin di Quev and
the shorter as Jylen di Elosi. They also claimed to be foot
soldiers. Each wore leather armor, boots and a long sword.

“I’m using my rank as an endaril to take command. I
think I can revive Tych, but if not I will split with you at
the protective field.”

“We are at the field.”

Lendril walked past Tych towards the mountains but
the shield bounced her back. She heard weapons being
drawn and spun. “Hold it. He’s been framed and exiled
and Corl exiled me to find and help him. I can’t prove it
but you know an endaril would not lie to a cousin. I could
have killed all three of you already if I meant you harm,
and I could still do it now.”

Slowly she approached the prone body of Tych. The
weapons’ points followed her. She bent down and touched
him on the lips lovingly. He stirred.

Gref put away her sword. Lendril kissed the dirty lips
of her lover and after a moment he responded. Polin and
Jylen sheathed their blades and knelt next to the body.
Lendril backed away as Tych sat up.

Quickly, Gref asked, “Who are you?”

Without hesitation, Tych said, “Tych di Corl, framed
and exiled prince of the endarils and warrior of the white
order.” The spell had worn off.

Polin frowned. “Was his guilt challenged?”

Lendril knelt behind Tych and he fell back into her
arms, his smile broad. “Corl has reasons which only he
knows. He exiled him for a purpose.”

Tych frowned at Lendril. “He sent me out to get killed.
Look at me.” He smeared the smoke on his skin and
touched the scar on his side. “He left me without anything
to defend or protect myself but an uncontrollable, infinite
well of energy.”

“For some reason, Tych, he didn’t want you taking the
Oath of Isolation which would have forbid you from
dealing with humans.” She looked up at the thrandrils.
“Continue on your way. Any more Corl must tell you
himself. We’ll do just fine now that I’ve brought Tych’s
weapons and armor. Your friends need help only those
inside the valley can provide.”

Gref nodded. “We would insist on staying but for our
friends. Good luck out here. If you’re as good as he is I’m
sure we’ll meet again.”

“A long life, Gref, Polin and Jylen.” Tych repeated this
after Lendril.

“To your health, Tych and Lendril.” Polin and Jylen
each lifted the end of a litter and Gref walked behind them
as they dragged on the ground. They looked back to see
Tych kissing Lendril and laughed. With that sight,
memories of two young endarils kissing in the woods
rushed back to them and they remembered the young
warriors that visited them fifty years earlier.

Large dark clouds rolled by overhead and the rich scent
of imminent rain filled the air. From the hill where they
stood lightning could be seen crashing among the trees.
Never in the confines of the valley, with its natural shelter,
had such a display been witnessed by the warriors. The
pure might of it startled them so badly that they failed to
think of finding protection. Though the fury of it merely
warned of the destruction to come, the bright blue rents in
front of a falling sun dazzled every creature that watched
with them.

The sky finally grew so dark that they realized the
implications. Like a deep, blinding night, a shroud
threatened to challenge their lives. With all suddenness, a
brisk, foul wind blasted down from the north, buffeting
their cloaks.

Tych braced against the force and yelled to be heard by
Lendril. “It looks as if our three days of sun are about to be
wiped out! We must find shelter!”

Lendril leaned into the gale as a crack of thunder
followed the splitting of a tree. “The hills have been void
of caves for miles!” she yelled. Pelting rain began falling,
whipped by the wind. “We should head for the forest there,
to the south of us!”

“In any case we should leave the top of this hill! We’ll
look for shelter on our way south!” Tych stepped into the
bushes on their right and Lendril went with him.

For three days they had traveled east, after circling the
valley. The decision had been made to look for work in the
Kingdom of Lake, the most northeast on the continent. It
sported the largest infantry of all of them and its politics
attracted a lot of free armies that were looking to serve one
disenfranchised lord or another. Their journey ended up as
one boring day followed by a repeat.

As they crashed down the hill for the valley below,
branches pulled at their armor and cloaks. Several times
one of them slipped in the rapidly increasing mud and
reached for one of the sparse, short trees that dotted an area
around the forest. Sometimes it failed to stay planted and
the desperate endaril would slide several more feet.

Thus, when they reached the bottom, they resembled
mud-monsters. Fortunately, a troll sitting nearby sat
oblivious to their arrival because of the storm’s noise and
the cold earth, which hid their heat from his vision. Tych
did see him, sitting on a fallen tree, eating the remains of a
hapless deer. Lendril reached for her axe but Tych
restrained her. Hoping the rain would go slow in cleaning
off the mud, he quietly began to circle around the creature
to get behind it. Lendril unshouldered her crossbow and
removed a bolt until only the metal tip hid in the leather
case.

In a moment Tych stood behind the unsuspecting
creature and slid a dagger out of his belt. Lightning lit the
clearing and the troll’s eyes opened wide in surprise at
seeing Lendril. Then his head fell with a mucky thump.
They moved rapidly to ensure the troll would stay dead, for
they have a habit to rebuild themselves, even if decapitated.
Already the body thrashed in the mud, trying to stand up.
With her axe, Lendril cleaved the skull of the regenerating
monster. Over and over again she chopped until the body
stopped. Tych had removed the fingers, arms and legs of
the body to prevent their usage. Without a word, they
cleaned their weapons on the troll’s cloak and charged
onward across the valley, the trees growing thicker and the
storm getting more dangerous with every step.

The slick surface slowed them, but in a matter of
minutes the edge of the forest rose before them. Suddenly,
a deep rumbling filled the air. They knew instantly that the
sound was not thunder. Panic hitting them, they picked up
the pace. A few feet from the edge of the trees and safety
from the new threat, Tych’s scar tore and he fell,
screaming.

Lendril turned to help him but Tych yelled, “No, reach
the trees and climb one. I’ll be alright.”

She kept coming and reached for him. They could only
see for a foot in the rain and as she reached for him, she
failed to notice the wall of mud that knocked down some
nearby trees. One of the cracks forced her to look up, but
the waist high flow of earth flowed over Tych and knocked
her down. They both used what muscles still worked to
swim up, but the limits to their endurance approached
rapidly.

Briefly, they both surfaced and caught sight of each
other. Tych felt his strength leaving as his armor filled
with blood and he struggled against the raging flood. His
head came out for a moment and he gasped for breath
before the rolling tide took him under. The river seemed to
take him sideways for a moment and he realized it had
encountered a tree. With the strength of desperation he
reached out to it but it was too hard to fight the force of the
flow.

Lendril lacked Tych’s physical strength, but since she
weighed less, made it to the top more often. After catching
sight of her companion, she centered her efforts on both
staying up and reaching him. She knew that his wound
would make it more difficult for him. A tree changed her
course and she cursed. Once, as she took air, inspiration hit
her at the sight of a tree branch passing overhead. While
being swept along, she let the current help her remove her
crossbow. Using all of her remaining energy, she struggled
to the top, the crossbow making it difficult. For minutes
that seemed to last for years she aimed towards the surface.

Finally, the crossbow broke through and she came up.
In a one-shot opportunity, if she missed the movement
would force her under, she swung it at a low branch. The
curved front bar caught and, with jolting force, her travel
stopped. For a moment she let the rest of her float up, then
with exhilaration buoying her, she pulled herself up by her
crossbow. When she reached the branch, the ache in her
arms and body turned into sharp pain. She could tell that at
least two muscles had been torn.

A sharp gasp rose above the low roar of the mud on the
muffled forest floor. She caught a glimpse of a head.
Desperation replaced pain and she stood. She removed a
bolt and cleaned it as best she could with her fingers. Her
rope had stayed dry in her backpack by some miracle and
she tied it to the front of the missile. Loading it, she aimed
at the tree farthest away which she had a clean shot at, and
fired. Praying it would hold, she tied the other end to her
tree so the rope was taught. Once again she hooked the
crossbow over the rope and began sliding towards the bolt.
Relief spread through her as she neared the tree.

The next thing she knew, her crossbow slipped from her
grasp as the mud pulled her under. All her strength
departed and she sank. Only a survival instinct kept her
mouth shut like a clamp. She resigned herself to death.

Cold water hit Tych’s face and he regained
consciousness. Then his good side hit a rock and he
bounced off. Opening his eyes, he saw he floated in a
raging river, flowing west. He turned and looked back to
see the wall falling into the river. A body fell in. Yet, his
lucid state left him and his fate was left to the river.

Rangdor bellowed with rage. He embodied evil, a
space of nothingness from which hate flowed. A random
number of glowing red eyes looked from the sphere that
hovered above one of his minions. The servant, a winged
demon, similar in appearance to the one Tych killed but for
the wings and its smaller size, stood in the long, unlit
cavern.

“You know what happens to the bearer of bad tidings,
fairy.” The demon grimaced. No term irked it more. “Do
you have a reason why you should live?”

“He who killed my fellow demon was an endaril, a
young one.”

Rangdor’s eyes glowed more brightly. “And do you
think it was our endaril?”

“Only he could have done it so easily, my Lord and
Master.” The demon hoped the guess was correct.

Rangdor quickly assuaged his fears. “Yes, yes you’re
right. Go and do whatever you feel is necessary to bring an
end to this one.”

“But, Lord, how do I find him?”

The evil laughed coldly. “Search for a very strong
concentration of energy and good, fairy. GO!”

The demon fled up a long hole to the surface designed
for him and the other flying servants of Rangdor. The evil
lord bore down upon a spell and soon his mind spent the
energy to bring it about. Immediately clouds began rolling
across the northern plain, building in strength and size. He
turned his mind to another task and soon thousands of
winged insects and creatures changed direction to the north.
The evil mind gloated in the darkness. The red, hot,
poisonous rivers above his underground complex began to
release increased amounts of steam and the lava started
boiling. Rangdor savored his power one more time.

Corl looked out the tower window at the light clouds
and soft rain. He knew this meant a storm raged beyond
the valley’s walls. Tych’s beacon of good lit his mind and
reassured the wizard that his grandson still lived. With
satisfied resignation, he turned back to his desk and
resumed his reading.

For twenty minutes he concentrated while Tych and
Lendril slid down the hill, unaware of their plight. As the
two exiles went under, a soft rap came at the door.
Standing, the realization came to him that Tych’s beacon
had left. When he opened the door, a look of panicked
worry had contorted his features. Morg stepped in quickly
with two other wizards from the village.

“I no longer feel Tych’s presence. He is lost physically
or mentally or both. I fear the storm has claimed him.”