Son of Ereubus (21 page)

“You know that none of us would do anything to betray you.”

“Even if it meant holding a pledge beyond my death?”

Duncan had been taken aback. “Certainly. But what talk is this?”

“Simply talk of what will come to pass. This is a reality for all of us; I am not excluded.” Gabriel said. “Eidolon grows in power each day, with every stronghold they overcome. Middengard is vanishing before our eyes. We may no longer count on our victories as our ancestors once could.” Taking the twig from the table, Gabriel had tucked it with care into the inside flap of his cloak.

“True, but you’ve never spoken like this before. What’s brought about this change of heart?”

“I wouldn’t call it a change of heart, Duncan. I’ve always carried these sentiments, but my dreams have been dark of late. My heart is heavy for the future. I see my son, my vision in his eyes, and my sweet daughter. It reminds me of the things that I never wanted for them. I envisioned a world without darkness and ruin, as things once were in Middengard.” Gabriel had shifted in his seat, placing his back against the wall, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Palingard will be the last to fall, but it will fall.”

Duncan had looked at him, bewildered. “Don’t be so pessimistic, there’s still hope for its survival. As long as there exists one kingdom in the world of man — ”

“Palingard’s fate is already sealed. Middengard’s enslavement under Ciara has been established irrevocably.”

“Then what have we been dying for? What purpose can be found in preventing the inevitable? If we don’t have faith the Laionai can be overthrown, we’re more than wasting our time — we’re sacrificing all of Adoria. Braeden or citizen, it makes no difference. Every Adorian has been touched by loss in some way due to this guardianship. Are you telling me all of that is for naught?”

Gabriel said nothing for what felt like an eternity. “The spell separating our realm from Middengard is powerful, but it isn’t eternal. Once Ciara has spread her sickness unto all of man, Adoria will not be far from her path. I’ve told you on more than one occasion that I believe her intent has never been carried in human souls, but in Adorian power. Our realm, carrying the seed of immortality itself, has far more worth to her.”

Duncan had scarcely been able to believe what he was hearing. Gabriel had never been so forthright. “You are grave. Whatever ails you, I pray it passes. Have you lost faith entirely?”

“The very nature of faith is to believe when all else fails — when reason or logic cannot provide proof of hope. It’s easy to leave with nothing left behind. A true test of character is if one is able to willingly leave what means the most to him, his very heart, for the sake of a greater cause. This is the fear that creeps into my thoughts when I set it free from my subconscious. I didn’t come here to burden you — these things are of no consequence to you yet.”

“You speak in riddle this day, friend.” Duncan had laughed. “Just send me in the right direction with arms, and I’ll serve you well.” He hadn’t known how else to answer.

Now, Duncan rode in silence as he thought of the irony of their conversation. He never had the chance to mention it again. Gabriel was killed soon after. Any death wrought by Morior hands was a violent, merciless death and he shuddered to think of it.

Ariana’s gaze was fixed upon the scenery, in deep thought as well.

“You are thinking about Palingard,” he murmured.

“Are you not?”

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

T
OURNE
E
THLIS

M

ichael’s horse was a few lengths ahead of Jareth and Caedmon. He’d roused them early to ride with him. He wished to find out why Garren had been riding alone — it wasn’t like him and it bothered Michael. He sensed dark intents being set into motion. They sped across the field into the woods. Every muscle in his body was tense, his senses trained on his surroundings. He’d given the two Adorians a stern lecture concerning their attentiveness before they’d saddled their horses. If any blood was shed this day, it wasn’t going to be Adorian.

They rode in complete silence for hours. Michael tried his best to clear his mind and focus only on what was at hand, but that in and of itself was a cause for irritation. Everything surrounding the death of his men should’ve shown his reasoning for heightened protection over their realm. His father would have felt the same way. He could almost hear the words coming from his father’s lips — “There is much reason for provision,” he would have said.

Michael felt a hollowing in his gut. It had been awhile since he’d thought about Gabriel. Since finding Ariana, he was more aware of his father’s presence. At times it was as if he were in the room with them. He wanted to go back in time, do things differently, say all the things that he’d never had the chance to say. It pulled at him constantly now.

Over the years since Gabriel’s death, he’d often had nightmares of the Moriors entering Adoria. He could smell their stench as they flew past him. He would always be unable to move; he could only watch helplessly as they destroyed everything in their path.

The same dream always repeated itself in Michael’s mind. He would wake up, sweating and out of breath. He supposed it was the result of how his father died. Now to have Ariana wake up, scarred in any way whatsoever by them, only motivated him more. He’d avenge his father’s death and keep her safe, if nothing else. He still felt in his heart that Middengard was not beyond saving, but should fate be against it, he’d at least restore what had been taken from his own flesh and blood.

It was no wonder the terrifying creatures gave him nightmares. The Moriors’ wings were thin, fleshy sheets covering brittle bones. Their scaled skin appeared rotted, hanging from their skeleton in patches, exposing cavities devoid of living organs.

Their faces were their most disturbing feature. They had a human cheek structure, dark seething eyes, and their teeth were uneven in length. They tore flesh into pieces, a single bite a condemnation of death. Their bodies were long and thin with abnormally narrow torsos. Piercing claws extended from hands whose strength had surprised many Adorians over the centuries. Hooves descended from thick, muscular legs.

Jareth and Caedmon sped up to Michael’s side as they came to the edge of the woods. Beyond them lay the plains that marked the border of the outer regions. Several smaller provinces surrounded this area, including Ruiari and what was once Palingard. Michael slowed down, dismounting near a large series of stones. The other Adorians did the same.

“Do you hear it as well?” Jareth whispered to Michael. Michael nodded. There was a low rumble in the distance. As he looked closer, he saw a cloud of dust on the horizon.

“Riders,” Caedmon growled. He had pale skin and bright blonde hair and a warrior’s build, with broad shoulders and strong limbs. His wings were larger than average. Respectful in his mannerisms, he was always well thought of by any under his command and certainly by Michael.

Michael motioned for the men to tie their horses behind the shelter of the rocks. They’d be less visible if they were aloft.

Rising into the air, Michael stretched his wings, the wind carrying him higher. Michael and his men flew swiftly along the forest canopy. They would be virtually invisible to anyone on the ground.

The riders from Eidolon followed the edges of the plain. He guessed there were about twenty of them. Several miles later, the Adorians came to Ruiari. Characterized by its dark red clay, once it had been a thriving center of culture, renowned for its pottery and sculpture. The buildings were still there, the majority of the city intact. Even though humans still populated it, it was nothing but a shell of what it had once been.

They watched as the leaders of Ruiari met the riders at the city’s gates. They’d been expected. Michael, Caedmon and Jareth settled themselves in trees as close as they could. For a moment it appeared to be a visit of little importance, perhaps just a checkpoint for the riders on their way to somewhere else. But Michael’s blood ran cold as he watched human soldiers fall into perfect alignment before the riders, heard the click of their boots as the men pivoted on their heels, stamped their feet to the ground and turned to face the Ereubinians. It took him a moment to take in was happening before him. There were hundreds of men, all of them built for war, standing motionless as one of the riders walked between the rows. Michael leaned in closer to see if he could recognize the Ereubinian’s face. He narrowed his eyes, and though he could be mistaken, it looked like Jules. Not Garren’s worst commander, though no less vile than the rest.

Jules observed the humans as he walked between them. He occasionally found one who didn’t please him; he would tap the human once on the shoulder and a second rider would slay the human.

Michael, hearing Jareth mutter in disgust, held up his hand to quiet him.

It was a long time before Jules finished his inspection. He handed one of the Ruiari leaders papers bound by twine. Michael feared what the documents might contain. The riders then mounted their horses and turned toward Eidolon. Michael stayed fixed in his position until he was certain the enemy had all retreated behind the walls of the city. One by one, Michael, Jareth and Caedmon dropped from their perches.

Jareth was the first to speak, which wasn’t unusual. “They’ve left the bodies of the slain men to rot in the sun?”

Michael was surprised to hear this question. It was something Jareth should’ve known. Caedmon responded before Michael had a chance.

“Their souls are already in captivity, what importance do the empty vessels carry if they aren’t fit for servitude?” Caedmon’s tone was dark, changed since he’d returned from his confrontation with Garren. Reese, one of the fallen, was his cousin. “Had I the ability, I would bury them myself.”

Jareth leaned over, and squeezed Caedmon’s arm. “And I would aid you, my friend.”

Michael was too distracted by his thoughts to comment. There was only one reason for Eidolon to commission a human army. He’d already started to rise back into the air when he spoke again. “Fly swiftly; it’s not wise to linger here.”

They returned to where they’d hidden their horses. Michael could see one. It stood unmoving before one of the rocks, having pulled its reins loose from the tree. Jareth skipped as his feet touched the ground, landing closest to the horse. He walked up to it, placing his hands on the reins.

“How did you manage to free your ...” he stopped as, suddenly, the horse fell to the ground, its body completely gutted of bones and innards. Jareth stepped back in horror, his mouth open.

“Such a pity. All three beasts seemed to have been fine specimens. Though, I do believe you’ll be missed a bit more than your horses.” Jules, along with the other riders, materialized before their eyes. They were completely surrounded.

Michael had been close on his estimation. He now counted twenty-two of them. He drew his sword, bending his knees as all three of them backed into the center of the circle, keeping their eyes on the opposition. Michael ran through their options in his head. He’d seen too many Adorians assume flight was an appropriate course of retreat, only to lose their lives to the arrow of a crossbow. That’s when he saw the movement in the trees beyond.

“Nethlo lai werndt ados.”
Michael tightened his grip on his sword.

Caedmon murmured in response. “
Tourne ethlis.
”

Jules laughed as he stepped forward. “Your commands will do your companions little good, Michael. No matter the meaning behind the words, you are marked for death.”

A grin spread across Michael’s face. Garren wanted Michael to cease with his infantile efforts? So be it. “You arrogantly assume to know both the purpose and directive of my commands.” Michael folded his wings behind him, a sign of ease. “It isn’t my immediate companions to whom the words were intended. It is to my legion.”

Jules watched with horror as seven hundred Adorian fighters descended from the trees and surrounded them on all sides. A rumble sounded as several hundred more, mounted on horseback with their swords held readied in their hands, emerged from the forest.

Kendall, one of Michael’s commanders, dropped to the ground nearby to address him. “I received word of the High Lord’s undetected advance on Caedmon’s men and figured there was a good chance that His Loathness wasn’t the only one with newly formed abilities. I am well aware of the severance, my Lord. The elders can rot in Hothrendaire for all I care.”

Michael stepped forward, torn between gratitude for Kendall’s loyalty and quick thinking and frustration for his having gone against the elders’ wishes. At the moment, gratitude was the greater of the two emotions. He looked at Jules.

“I could choose you, but perhaps I will offer you clemency. Pick for me your weakest soldier, his life in exchange for your freedom.” Jules paused a moment, hesitant to trust Michael’s words. “The choice is yours. Do you not have a single dispensable soldier among them? Or are you telling me that you’re willing to die for your men?”

Jules scanned the lot of them, finally resting his eyes on one who stood behind Jareth. He was one of the younger, thinner men. Jules, his hand shaking, pointed him out.

“You’re certain? This is whom you’ve appointed to whatever end I deem fit?”

“I don’t understand the reason for your mercy, but I’m indebted to you.”

Michael took the fated one by the shoulders, looking down at him. He was but a boy in a man’s suit of armor. “As you should be, Jules. I’m granting you freedom from a long lifetime of depravity and wickedness.”

A brief shadow of fear fell across Jules’s countenance.

“Tourne ethlis!”
Michael shouted.

Jules never had a chance to respond. Michael raised his wings around the boy, shielding him from the carnage that roared around them.

Michael made eye contact with the boy. “I need you to deliver a message for me.”