Royal House of Shadows Box Set: Lord of the Vampires\Lord of Rage\Lord of the Wolfyn\Lord of the Abyss (72 page)

H
e didn’t flinch. “You trespass,” he said, his voice amplified a thousand times over. “Turn back before you fall into the Abyss.”

A high keening sound was his only answer, an unintelligible noise from minds that knew nothing but destruction and pain. The Arachdem didn’t only kill; they ate the bodies of their victims until not even the slightest sliver of bone remained. But they weren’t scavengers. No, the Arachdem were hunters, eating anything living in their path. They didn’t mind if it was still screaming as it went in.

He didn’t know how he knew that, but he had no doubt of its truth.

Now, their heads lowered and they resumed their relentless march. At this pace, they would hit the perimeter of the village in an hour. Narrowing his eyes, Micah flew back toward the Black Castle, speaking on
channels of magic that were of the Guardian as he did so, commanding the land to awaken and protect itself.

The rise to consciousness of that land was a languid stretch at the back of his mind, a near-sentient presence that said,
???

Trespassers,
he said.
Those who should not be.

!!!

Below him, the ground began to roll and ripple, cracking open to expose huge chasms filled with noxious gases and ropes of liquid magma. Shrill screams pierced the air at his back and he knew some of the Arachdem had fallen prey. Still more fell when the land rose up into mountains, then crashed down on the invading army.

But the Arachdem were creatures of blood magic, and they had their defenses. They stabbed the earth with poisons enhanced with sorcery, tainting its strength. It cried in Micah’s mind, and he told it to rest, to hide, to regroup. It had done enough, for when he circled back, the army had been cut in half, the formation straggling and broken, the bridge of bodies having sunk too deep for the survivors to cross the lava pools.

The Arachdem would recover, but the earth’s rebellion had brought Micah and his people more time. At least another hour, perhaps even two. It would have to be enough. Diving through the clouds, he made his way back to the castle, where Bard had formed the able-bodied into a last line of defense, their backs to the castle walls.

A small group of men, however, stood apart, on top of the battlements. If Micah fell, they would lower the final gate, sealing the Black Castle from intruders. The defenders had orders to run inside, but some would in
evitably be left behind, prey to the Arachdem. It wasn’t an outcome Micah would permit.

Landing beside Bard and Liliana, he said, “Send them all through the gates.”

“They want,” Bard boomed, “to fight. To protect.”

But Liliana was nodding. “They possess no offensive magics and thus stand no chance against the Arachdem.” A pause. “Though if Micah were my father, he’d send those men out in front—the Arachdem slow when they are feeding.”

“Your father doesn’t sound like a good man, Liliana.” Micah couldn’t imagine such a man having fathered someone like his storyteller—who cried because she’d torn her red dress and kissed him so sweet and tender.

“No.” A choked laugh. “He isn’t.”

“Bard.” Micah nodded. “Lead them inside. Tell them they must save the castle from falling, for if it falls, all is lost.” The truth was, if the Arachdem reached the castle, it meant Micah was dead, at which point the defenses of the Black Castle would engage on their own. Those defenses were impressive—a shield of black nothing could penetrate—but it took the death of a Guardian to raise them.

However, every man had his pride, needed to know that he could protect his home and his family, and so Micah said this thing that Bard’s eyes told him wasn’t the truth. “They must,” he said to the big man.

Bard finally rumbled his acquiescence and began to head back, but Micah stopped him. “Do not return, Bard.”

A silent look that made the air go still.

“You cannot.” He held the man’s intelligent, scholarly eyes. “If I fall, the next lord will need your guidance.”

Bard’s expression filled with defiance, but Micah shook his head and, at long last, Bard nodded. His footsteps thundered on the earth, followed minutes later by the sonorous echo of his voice as he gave the villagers their new orders. There were raised shouts, resistance, but Bard was a general. He got what he wanted.

Soon, only Micah and Liliana stood on the edge of the village, the Black Castle looming beyond the Whispering Forest. “If I order you to leave,” Micah said, knowing she wouldn’t go, not his brave Liliana, but needing to protect her, “what will you do?”

“Hit you with a stick.” She followed her words with a gentle Liliana kiss. “I stand with you, Micah.”

So soft was his Lily. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t strong. He didn’t attempt to send her to safety again. “They haven’t lowered the final gate,” he said, having risen into the air to check.

“Of course not. They’ll wait until the last possible moment, until they’re certain we won’t make it.”

“Do you believe we won’t?”

“Never.” Her voice was fierce. “You carry the heart of a kingdom, Micah. This will not defeat you.”

He didn’t understand her words, though they nudged awake that violent pain in his head once more, stabbing and jabbing. “Your blood is strong,” he said, shoving away the excruciating sensation.

“Not as strong as his.”

“I give you mine freely.” He curved his hand around her nape. “If the time comes, take it and use it to protect my people, my realm.”

Her changeable storm-sky eyes filled with power compelling and haunting. “Whatever happens, you
must return.
Do you understand?”

He assumed she spoke of the Black Castle, and so he nodded.

Liliana’s expression changed to one he couldn’t read. “Micah, I have something to tell you. I thought to do it this morning, but—”

“After, Lily,” he interrupted. “I sense them closing in. It’s time.”

“Wait!” Grabbing his arm when he would’ve lifted it to call upon the dark strength of the Abyss, she rose on tiptoe to press her lips to his own.

Not at all averse to this, he reached down to squeeze her bottom. Gasping, she broke the contact. “You’re not supposed to do that when I give you a kiss on the eve of battle.”

He squeezed again, pulling her into a deliciously deep and wet kiss. “More later.” With that, he released her and threw his arms wide in a call to power.

Awaken. Arise. Defend.

Again, the earth trembled, but this time, it was not to act against the menace, but to disgorge the inhabitants of this realm that lived in layers deep underground. The kitchari were large sluglike creatures, pale, heavy and slow, their many eyes milk-white with blindness, their legs clawed and stumpy, their mouths wide maws filled with sharp teeth that constantly shifted. Making an eerie screeching sound, the lumbering creatures heaved themselves up onto the ground, their bodies gleaming in the red light that was the sky.

“They’re so slow,” Liliana said in horror. “They’ll be slaughtered.”

Smiling, he called a second time.
Fly. Fly and protect.

A rush of air pushing back his hair and then the sky filled with another kind of darkness. Huge black birds
with serrated beaks and clawed wings squawked and screamed their way into battle.

At the same moment, the kitchari met the Arachdem.

Liliana wanted to avert her eyes from the slaughter she was certain was going to ensue, but she owed it to the innocent lives about to be lost to stand witness.

The first spider reared up, ready to strike down the awkward creature below. Its poison-tipped leg sliced down into that pale body…to break off with an audible snap. Disabled in one leg, the spider foundered—and found itself being consumed in a rather methodical fashion by the large clumsy creature with milk-white eyes.

Liliana’s own eyes went wide. “Goodness.”

Beside her, Micah laughed. “The kitchari can eat for days without stopping, and they aren’t picky about what they eat.”

However, in spite of the considerable damage the creatures were doing, they were slow and single-minded. So when one spider was being consumed, the other Arachdem climbed over their unfortunate brethren to continue on toward the village. And, it appeared the kitchari did have one weakness—their eyes. A stab from a razored leg into those orbs had them writhing in pain before the poison turned their bodies bruised and rigid in death. “The Arachdem can communicate!” she yelled to Micah, slicing her arm to release her blood.

Using her sorcery, she crushed the spiders back with a gale-force wind she could only maintain for a bare instant. However, it was enough time for Micah to warn the kitchari. Instead of sliding away into their tunnels, they simply lowered their heads, hiding their vulnera
bility from the Arachdem, who weren’t flexible enough to reach under and through to the eyes. And they continued to eat.

At the same time, the birds Micah told her were called the anubi dove en masse toward the army, heading straight for the vulnerable joint between neck and torso. The attack was stunningly successful, leaving the front wave of Arachdem bleeding and paralyzed. Of which the kitchari took absolute and loud advantage, their teeth crunching through bone and flesh and tendon with calm, steady relish.

The back wave of her father’s menace halted, waited. When the anubi sounded the next aerial attack, they raised their front legs and sprayed poison directly at the birds. Screaming, half of them fell to the ground, while the others beat frantically up into the sky, scared into keeping their distance. Still, between them, the anubi and the kitchari had given Liliana time to spin a more complex bit of blood sorcery, while beside her, Micah literally hummed with power, so much of it that he was a gleaming blade, covered head to toe in the black armor, his face threaded over by a network of fine tendrils.

Cold whispers along her neck, her sides, and she knew the ghosts were coming to aid them. She couldn’t harness their chill power, but she whispered her thanks and felt them flow into Micah, who was a black diamond, a living weapon.

Stepping forward, Liliana completed the line of blood she’d laid down earlier from one corner of the village to the other. A hazy shield sprang up in front of them. By definition, a line couldn’t be anywhere near as strong as a circle, for it was open, but it was enough to cripple the spiders who had survived the kitchari and
the anubi to slam up against it. Dissolving in the blood acid that resulted when they touched the shield, they fell to their deaths. But her father’s creations were not stupid creatures.

That was the Blood Sorcerer’s genius—he’d made them just smart enough to comprehend danger and respond to it in a logical fashion. Now, they fell back—waiting rather than wasting time by circling around the line. They knew her blood wasn’t as strong as their master’s, didn’t taste of innocent sacrifice, wouldn’t last long.

Already, her arms were trembling. “Micah.”

“When I give the word, Liliana, you must let it fall.”

She nodded, biting the inside of her mouth to spill blood onto her tongue as she tried to find the strength to hold her ground. When her legs shook, she went to her knees, but maintained the shield.

“Now.”

Her arms dropped and so did the acidic haze.

Shrieking, the Arachdem rolled forward. She scrambled backward on her hands, screaming for Micah to run. But he ignored her, standing rooted to the ground as the spiders arced up on their back legs above him, poisonous claws ready to slice down. Sobbing, she scrambled forward, thinking to create a desperate blood-circle to protect him. Her hand had just brushed his calf when a fury of knife-sharp black spikes taller than a man rose up in front of him. The spikes ranged deeper than the width of the Whispering Forest…covering the area where so many of the Arachdem had amassed.

Stunned at the sheer depth of his power, she sat silent, watching as the hideous creatures were impaled, their putrid yellow blood staining the earth.

Micah pulsed with power, with the heartbeat of the Abyss. But beyond the roar was another—that of memory. Of seeing the Arachdem advancing on his home. Their eyes had been red embers in the gray time before true dawn, their furred bodies making a susur-rating sound as the razors on their legs cut through those who tried so valiantly to defend the castle and its inhabitants. His father was out there, he knew, holding the line. His mother had put him in this room, told him to stay put. She was in another part of the castle, healing the injured, helping those she could. He knew that because Nanny had told him.

“Nanny,” he said, his fingers turning white on the windowsill. “Why are the monsters coming to get us?”

Nanny’s hands were warm and wrinkled on his shoulders. “Because the Blood Sorcerer wants to steal Elden.”

“He can’t, can he?”

“No,” Nanny said, but Micah heard a hesitation in her voice, and it scared him.

Below them, the horrible monsters crushed the soldiers, and though Micah knew he was supposed to love his subjects as family, he was only a child who knew the man who was the foundation of his world fought below. “Father,” he whispered. “Father.”

“He’ll be fine,” Nanny said, her hands tightening on Micah’s shoulders. “He is the king and kings do not fall.” The absolute conviction in her voice convinced him, but he couldn’t turn his eyes from the carnage below, the air filled with screams and scents that made his stomach churn.

It was as the Elden forces began to fall back that Micah saw the man in the center of the chaos of spiders.
Tall and spidery thin himself, he held a staff of twisted and blackened wood, his fingers appearing like claws to Micah’s suddenly crystal-clear vision.

Magic, he’d realize as an adult; it had been magic that had let him see so clearly, forged from his natural connection to Elden. But that night, all he knew was that he could see the monster within the other monsters, and a chill came into his heart, his young mind comprehending that that one was the worst of them all.

Then the man with the nightmare face looked up, his gaze zeroing in on the window from where Micah watched. It was a child’s urge to hide, to turn away, but he locked his eyes with those of dirty ice and saw the bad man’s lips form the words, “I’ll get you,
boy
.”