King's Folly (Book 2) (5 page)

“Who gave the order?”

Acacia pressed her lips together. Her eyes flickered to the slumbering seer. “A Cleric of Chaim,” she said, simply.

“I’m honored you would have defied a holy man to avoid me.” Oenghus grinned wolfishly. “I don’t care one bit about my hairy hide, but no one touches my Sprite.”

“Except the seer.” She smirked at his scowl and then turned serious, standing to meet his eye. “With the Sylph as my witness, I’ll watch over her as I would my own daughters, Oenghus.”

“You have children? Must be an uptight lot.”

“There is nothing wrong with a little discipline.”

Oenghus loosened his leather breast plate. He leaned against a rock, slid his forearm through his shield’s straps, and folded it close. His right hand rested on the massive rune-etched hammer,
Gurthang
. Ready for battle at a moment’s notice, Oenghus relaxed. Acacia slipped a hand beneath his armor, resting it over his rock hard flesh and the heart beneath.

“Never could resist a woman with calloused hands.”

Slanted eyes narrowed. “I’m surprised you can feel a thing under that layer of fur.”

“You’d never go cold.”

“Does comparing yourself to a dead animal pelt usually work with the whores?”

“I like a sharp tongue too.”

“Remind me to introduce you to my Commander. He has a sharp tongue
and
calloused hands.” Before Oenghus could comment, she bowed her head in prayer. A warm glow surrounded her hand. Slowly, the Gift seeped into his body. She drew out the poison and mended flesh, leaving the Nuthaanian snoring contentedly.

THE
EARTH
SHOOK
. Rock pelted her head and dust brought tears to her blinking eyes. Chaos echoed in her ears. Isiilde was being shaken, dragged to her feet, but every muscle ached and her recovering body resisted. Marsais shouted, propelling her with an arm towards a wall of stone.

Reapers filled the cavern. Steel flashed in the glowing light. She tripped on the uneven rock, falling into a shallow pool. Marsais slipped bandaged hands under her arms and dragged her upright. Terror urged the nymph forward.

“Back up!” Oenghus shouted. The paladins gave ground, fighting in a tight knot of shields. Reapers littered the floor. The creatures of scale and shadow lapped up the life that trickled from their dead kin’s bodies. The sight of their eager forked tongues rolled her stomach.

Something scratched and growled at the back of the cave. Oenghus raced across the uneven rock. With a mighty heave and word of power, he drove
Gurthang
against a boulder. The barrier cracked and splintered and fell to pieces, shaking rocks loose from the ceiling. Marsais pressed her against the wall, protecting Isiilde from falling stones.

A giant bristling beast charged into the cavern. Grey and scarred as the granite, the bear opened its mouth, challenging the Reapers with an earth-shaking boom. Her heart froze. The noise was deafening. And the massive bear went after the Reapers like a dog after a bone.

Marsais goaded Isiilde towards a bleak hole in the rock. Panic gripped her frantic heart. She resisted. Acacia grabbed her arm and pulled her forward, plunging into the void with Marsais on her heels.

The captain muttered a prayer. Her shield glowed to life, easing Isiilde’s fear of the deep dark. The cave was not cramped, and it smelled surprisingly clean, of earth and grass and berries. The jostling of armor echoed off the rock as the others took refuge in the den.

“There’s bound to be another way out,” Oenghus called from the rear.

“There is a passage.” Without waiting, Acacia walked into the darkness. The passage was wide and jagged with fallen stones on the floor, as if something had torn its way through the mountain.

“Pick a bloody direction. I don’t want to be caught in here when our friend has had his fill of Reapers.”

They shuffled forward, stooping beneath the low ceiling, and, in Oenghus’ case, crouching. Slowly, the sounds of carnage fell behind. Only the hollow echo of shifting armor and weary footsteps filled Isiilde’s ears.

“Why did the Reapers wait so long to attack?” Rivan’s hushed voice bounced in the tunnel. Isiilde glanced back, startled, but Marsais was there, stooped and attentive, followed by the rest of the party. He reached out to her through their bond, soothing and strong, like a blazing sun on a winter’s day. His wounds had been healed, but the ache of bruises lingered. She did not mind. The nymph gladly shared his pain.

“Didn’t you see the scars on the bear?” Oenghus rumbled.

“It was covered in them.”

“Aye, Reapers can’t tolerate sunlight; they need shelter during the day. This cave is a perfect spot. I’d wager it’s a nightly battle.”

“Which means dawn is approaching.” Acacia paused, directing her shield down a smaller side passage. She smelled the air and frowned, then continued, following fresher air.

Rivan gazed into a narrow diversion that smelled of rot. “The Reapers must get past him at some point. More could be down here, couldn’t they?”

“Unless there is something worse down here.”

“Worse than Reapers,” Rivan swallowed, “like Fomorri?”

Oenghus looked at the pale young man. “Remind me to tell you some stories, lad. As the Scarecrow is fond of saying, there’s terrors in these realms that would make a god weep with fear.”

Sharp rock dug into Isiilde’s bare feet, but she did not react. She was numb, shivering beneath her guardian’s voluminous shirt—too frightened to feel pain’s sting. She glanced back at Marsais to reassure herself. His robe hung loosely, sleeves undone, as if he had hastily donned the garment.

“Eyes ahead, my dear,” he reminded, softly. But his voice came from far away, and she stared, as if trying to make sense of a simple command. He urged her forward with a gentle nudge. “One foot in front of the other. That’s all it ever takes.”

Isiilde closed her mouth and swallowed. She nodded slightly, and focused on her feet, wading through shadow and shifting light.

One foot in front of the other. That was a simple task. Far better to dwell on the present than what was ahead, or worse, what she had left behind. Isiilde drifted, and time hovered, somewhere distant and forgotten.

❧

Water trickled over the rock. The ground was slick and the air cold. A steady howl droned in Isiilde’s ears. She closed her eyes and inhaled. Air stung her nostrils, sharp and fresh. It gave her hope that there was an end to the darkness.

Acacia followed the streaming water, searching for the source. The uneven tunnel turned, and the paladin stepped into a swift stream. Isiilde followed her into the icy water, taking care not to slip on the rock. In another life, she might have flinched from the cold. Presently, she was simply thankful, because the water soothed her aching feet.

The ground climbed and the passage narrowed. Acacia shuffled sideways between two jutting boulders and a tangle of roots. Isiilde walked through, and looked up. A narrow waterfall came down and
 
pooled around her ankles.

Marsais slipped through the passage, gazing at the slice of grey. Acacia looked at the lanky seer. “Can Oenghus fit through that?”

He shrugged. “He’ll find a way, but it’s always best if no one else is present when he does.”

Acacia nodded in understanding, and turned to Isiilde, handing over her helm and shield. “Hold this, Nymph.”

Isiilde nearly dropped the heavy armor. The paladin braced one foot on either side of the rock. Fighting a stream of water, she climbed, using roots to pull herself upwards. When she reached the top, Acacia crawled through the opening. Her legs disappeared, and finally her boots.

Oenghus stood at the narrow passage, eyeing it with distaste. He removed his breastplate, tossed his round shield into the pool, and exhaled, wedging himself between the rocks. Marsais pulled Isiilde against the cave wall, giving the giant more space.

Rivan and Lucas pushed from the other side. Their struggle knocked dirt and rock loose. For a moment, Isiilde feared that her guardian would be stuck. But Oenghus slapped a large hand against the wall, grabbed a handhold, and pulled. With the combined effort, the giant broke free with a barrage of tumbling rocks that splashed into the underground stream.

A pale head appeared above. “It’s a dark day, but it’s morning. All appears clear.”

Isiilde itched to climb out, to be free from the earth. Oenghus took the helm and shield from Isiilde and passed them up to Acacia. When they disappeared through the hole, he hoisted Isiilde through the opening. She scrambled out, dodging Acacia’s attempt to help.

The sky was bleak and grey with cold rain and thunderclouds and the forest was bursting with greenery. Moss, lush as a carpet, covered towering redwoods. Isiilde moved beneath a canopy of branches, resting her forehead against the soft bark. The ground was slick but warm—life filled her senses and she breathed in deeply, feeling as if it was her first breath in weeks.

How long had it been since the duel? Only yesterday, she thought. Marsais moved beside her, and rested a hand on her shoulder, gazing at the forest, alert and watchful.

“Blessed be Zahra,” Rivan breathed when he emerged from the ground. He frowned, attempting to wipe the mud off his golden tunic, but it was hopeless.

The scrape of armor brought her around. Lucas was not having an easy time squeezing through the opening. The keg-shaped man had to push his mail through first, and like a mangled worm, he shimmied through on his belly.

“You may want to give the hole a wide berth,” Oenghus called from the cave.

Marsais led her around the tree trunk. The rest of the party followed. When they were clear, a dull boom rose with the wind—a hammer against rock. A tremor ran beneath her toes. The nearby stone cracked and the ground split. Rubble fell inwards, creating a wide pit. The paladins rushed forward, preparing to dig the giant out of the wreckage. Marsais, however, simply waited. A muddied hand appeared, and then the rest of the Nuthaanian emerged from the sinkhole, covered in mud and blood.

Oenghus turned his face towards the storm and let the rain wash him clean. He shook himself like a dog, spraying mud in all directions. When the mud settled, he bared his teeth at the paladins and hoisted his hammer and shield.

They stood on a mountainside. The peak rose over the treetops, far in the distance, obscured by black clouds and angry wind. Isiilde gazed down the slope and her feet followed her eyes, walking over a carpet of moss that blanketed the forest.

“Is that where we came from?” Rivan asked, nodding towards the valley floor.

“I don’t think so,” answered Marsais, hastening after his nymph.

Oenghus eyed the mountain peak. “We need to find our bearings.”

“We need fortification, shelter, and food first,” Acacia corrected. “Then we can find our bearings. It’s sure to be another long night.”

A voice spoke in the nymph’s ear. “What is it, my dear?”

“The ground is warm,” she murmured. Isiilde hopped over a fallen log and ducked between ferns, quickening her pace.

“Oen,” Marsais called. He did not wait to see if the rest followed, but remained with her. Rain drummed on the canopy, slipping through grasping pine needles to patter softly on the red tinted earth.

Marsais kept pace as she hopped on top of another slick log, but at the last moment he thrust out his arm, blocking her path. When she stopped, he braced himself on a nearby tree and leant forward, peering over a tangle of fallen branches and moss covered rock. They stood on a ledge. Fifteen feet separated them from the sharply sloping ground.

Isiilde blinked and stared, teeth clacking together, leaning precariously forward, held back by her Bonded’s arm.

“Perhaps a less direct route would be best.”

As she stepped backwards, Oenghus stomped beside her, taking her place on the log. He looked down, grunted, and circled around and down. Moving at a slower pace, they followed.

The ledge that they had stood on was a massive slab of stone that jutted out from the slope, creating a natural overhang. A curtain of water dripped over the ledge, but beneath the rock, deep into the earth, the ground was dry. And nestled in the tangle of deadfall, of soft bark and roots, was a patch of strawberries.

Oenghus scratched his beard. “What are the odds?”

“Rather good, I should say.” Marsais glanced at his nymph, who stood in a daze. He walked over to the strawberry patch, selected an enticing berry, and placed it in her hand.

A barrage of memory assaulted her—of flashing eyes and greedy hands. She stared at the perfect strawberry. Such a little, innocent thing to evoke such pain and shame.

“Eat,” he urged.

But it seemed too much effort.

“Well, if you’re not going to eat it, Sprite,” Oenghus said with forced casualness, “I don’t mind if I do.” The giant reached for the berry, and long habit leapt to her rescue—Isiilde stuffed the berry in her mouth. The burst of sweetness unraveled something inside her breast, it penetrated the fog, reminding her that she was alive.

Marsais looked to Oenghus with gratitude, and the two ancients exhaled as Isiilde fell on the strawberry patch with trembling fingers.

“Strawberries,” said Rivan in surprise. “Can I have one?” He moved towards the nymph and she stuffed the last in her mouth, glaring dangerously at the dark-haired man. Marsais cleared his throat, stepping between nymph and paladin.

“We appear to be in Fyrsta at the very least,” Acacia noted.

“Strawberries are universal, my dear Captain.” No one questioned the ancient’s assertion.

Lucas frowned at the small cave. “This doesn’t make for a very defensible point, not with the Reaper’s hole only fifty paces away.”

“No, but we could—”

Isiilde closed her mind to their conversation. Exhausted, she staggered to the very back of the cave, climbed in a cradle of roots, softened by feather-like leaves, and curled in a tight ball. The moss was warm and she slipped away, but not before an authoritative voice cut through the drone of the others, “This will do.”