The Forgotten King (Korin's Journal) (47 page)

My eyes met a half-rotted creature standing above me, a green rock glowing brightly in its naked, rib-exposing chest.  In one skeletal hand, it held the spiked mace that had caught my hood as opposed to smashing in my skull as intended.

One undead creature really didn’t seem too threatening after everything I’d been through, so even though I was laid out on the ground, I wasn’t too worried.  Of course, then four of its friends emerged from the smoke behind it.

Chapter 41

Seriously, Just a Little Break, Please?

No matter how many times I found the odds stacked against me, I was constantly surprised each time it happened.  Case in point: I’d already fought and emerged victorious over a group of the undead.  By Rizear’s blood, I’d even done the same with eldrhims.  Yet, when I saw the five undead creatures looming over me, my first thought was,
Well, I’m dead.

And then I remembered the tiny, precious life that Ithan was caring for. 
The miniscule spark that had yet to burst into flame.  The uncooked salmon, as Max would say.

It was time to turn the undead into the twice-dead.

They say that parents, if their child’s life is put in danger, are able to find inhuman strength and resolve in order to ensure their child’s safety.  You know, felled trees being lifted from a child by a lone mother, or a kidnapper being chased down by a corpulent father who has never run a day in his life.  The unrequited love of a parent becomes akin to an Esuria-blooded force of nature.  Esuria is the goddess of passion.  Not
that
kind of passion—the conviction kind. 

I may not have been the infant’s parent, but despite being weary, in pain, and holding a squirrel in one hand and a sword in the other, I ended up on my feet with the mace-wielding undead’s desiccated head rolling across the ground away from me.  Its body staggered a single step before collapsing.  I didn’t even remember standing and attacking. 

With one undead down, there were still four left to jeopardize the life that Ithan was working to preserve at the expense of a screeching Fleet.  Two were newly dead men, their stiff movements the only factor betraying their undead nature.  I guess their ripped, mud-caked clothing and vacant, milky eyes were a bit odd as well.  The nature of other two was more obvious: one was missing an arm and a decent portion of its face, and the second had maggots dripping from gaping eye sockets.  Each branded a sword, except for Maggot Eyes, who gripped wicked, curved daggers in both sinewy hands.  All four had green glows emitting from their chests. 

So, going back to the fighting styles that Chasus taught me, I prepared to fall into the Henreti mindset.  Henreti isn’t the most honorable way of fighting; I’m pretty sure it originated among cowards, swindlers, or possibly bandits who understood the benefits of efficiency. Though it has its own set of fighting techniques, Henreti is known mainly as a tactical way of thinking.  It basically follows the general rule of predators in the animal kingdom: pick off the weakest, most lame of the pack first.  Doing so is an easy way of sweeping into a group of attackers and methodically reducing their numbers. 

I went after One Arm first, believing that having only one arm made him the weakest of the group.  My sword arced towards his neck, but unexpectedly, his sword met mine with impossible speed.  Not only did he ward off my attack, but he knocked me back with the strength of his parry as well.  Up until this point, I’d assumed that all the undead were the same: mindless, unskilled, unnaturally fetid creatures.  But now, One Arm had proven that some were better fighters than others.  So much for Henreti.

Throwing a leg back to maintain my balance, I circled my sword towards his unarmed—literally un-armed—side.  He again parried with a speed that would put even a living swordsman to shame.  I just barely twisted away from a stabbing attack aimed at my gut by Maggot Eyes while having to parry One Arm’s sword at the same time. 

The two fresher undead were coming at me from my right side.  I had to hold them back, keeping them from Ithan and the infant.  I couldn’t understand what had happened to Briscott.  He’d almost closed the distance between us before the fight had started, so there was no reason why he shouldn’t have been by my side well before now.

Briscott’s whereabouts were revealed when an arrow struck between One Arm’s milky eyes,
its fletching stingly slicing across my cheek.  Not a single, vaporous breath after, another arrow slammed through Maggot Eyes’s throat.  Both of the undead let out ear-grating groans, the force of the arrows momentarily jarring them enough to throw off their attacks.  I took advantage of the distraction and sliced through Maggot Eyes’s neck, causing maggots to cascade through the air and pock-mark the snow as his body fell thrashing to the ground.

I brought my sword back around to deliver a similar fate to One Arm, but his decayed flesh turned out to be tougher than Maggot Eyes’s, and my sword lodged halfway through his neck.  I tried to pull it free, but I only succeeded in jerking his body violently to the side, the abrupt sideways motion snapping his right ankle like a stick.  One Arm fell like a chopped tree. 

I released my sword to prevent falling with him, unfortunately opening myself up for one of the freshly undead to stab his sword through my left shoulder.  The blade pierced completely through, exiting my back.  I let out a ferocious scream as pain lanced from the sword’s point of entry.  My arm spasmed, causing me to drop Max’s limp body to the ground, kicking up a dusting of powdery snow. 

It may not have been the best of ideas, but I leaned away, letting the sword slide out of my shoulder.  This prompted a sudden rush of blood and likely worsened the injuy since we were both still in motion.  My right hand reflexively shot up to staunch the flow of blood.  There was a lot of it.

My legs went weak and collapsed from underneath me.  My breath came out in ragged puffs of vapor from my burning lungs as the undead stepped forward.

All of this happened in the duration of a handful of heartbeats, but that was enough time for Briscott to arrive, putting himself between me and the undead.  His bow was slung back over his shoulder, and in his hands he held a broken wooden plank from the burning house. 

“Stay back, Korin,” he commanded gruffly as he introduced the undead who’d stabbed me to a wooden board across the side of its head.  The creature’s head whipped to the side, and Briscott kicked one of its knees inward, snapping its leg backwards.  The undead monstrosity fell to the ground. 

Briscott’s foot slid across the slick ground, and he fell forward, catching himself with one hand while still holding the plank in the other.  He swung the plank upwards as he stood, just barely deflecting the final undead’s blade.  Briscott, back on his feet, gripped the plank in both hands and smashed it into the undead’s jaw, unhinging it with a grotesque tearing sound.  The force was enough to send the creature reeling back against the side of the burning house. 

The first undead Briscott attacked latched onto Briscott’s boot with cruel, bony fingers.  Briscott wheeled around in a fluid motion and slammed the plank’s edge down onto the undead’s head.  Its skull promptly caved in with a sickening squish, like the sound of stepping on rotted fruit.  Briscott brought the plank up and drove it down once more.  Grayish brain matter oozed from the undead’s mangled head.  I was surprised that there was still moist tissue in the creature’s body, yet there it was, splashed onto my face.  I know—it’s disgusting.  And stinky. 

From behind me came a whooshing sound.  White hot flame, coalesced into a massive ball, soared above me and collided with the undead that Briscott had knocked into the house.  Everything above his waist was turned to ash in the blink of an eye.  The flame dissipated upon impact. 

Briscott, breathing heavily, stepped up to OneArm, who was trying to claw his way towards us.  He slammed the plank against One Arm’s skull a few times before letting the gore-covered plank drop to the ground.  There were bits of brain and flesh in his beard.  It made me want to sick up for the both of us.  We shared a fearful, “did we really just live through that?” looks. 

Ithan rushed forward and crouched at my side.  “Korin, are you okay?”  His eyes flashed to the blood gushing between my fingers.  “Dammit,” he muttered. 

“What?  It’s not the first time I’ve been impaled,” I joked through the pain, having to force my words through chattering teeth and heaving breaths.  Ithan didn’t seem to find it funny.

“Briscott, take her,” Ithan commanded, holding out the bundled baby.  The infant girl was crying hysterically.  We’d saved her.  My blood-spewing wound was completely worth it.

Briscott rushed forward, gently accepting the infant into his arms with a smile on his lips and sadness in his eyes.  “Loranis bless you,” he whispered.  I’m not sure if the words were meant for Ithan or the infant.

“Hold still,” Ithan commanded, pushing my hand away and laying an ungloved hand on my shoulder.  With a penitent glance at Fleet, he put his other hand on the owl’s side.  Fleet didn’t react to his touch.  Aside from her breathing, there was absolutely no sign of movement from her.  I cringed at the implications.

Ithan closed his eyes, and warmth spread from my shoulder through my entire body.  I recognized the feeling of healing that I’d experienced from Max’s magic so many times before.  In the space of a gasping breath, the warmth fled my body as quickly as it had appeared. 

Ithan pulled a flaccid Fleet from his shoulder and into his arms.  She was still alive, but there was no soul behind her eyes, no awareness.  “
Thank you, dear friend,” Ithan whispered, his eyes sparkling with tears.  The battle, saving the baby, and my own wound had essentially taken Fleet’s life away, even if her heart still beat.  She was now nothing more than an empty shell. 

“Ithan, I’m so sorry,” I apologized, feeling at fault for the pain in his amber eyes.

Ithan didn’t look up from Fleet.  “Your wound has been sealed, but you may have some pain for a few days.  There is still damage deeper in the tissue.  I am sorry I did not perform a complete healing.  I just was not ready to . . .”  Ithan couldn’t complete his words, but I could hear them in my head. 
I just was not ready to kill Fleet.

I clasped Ithan’s shoulder.  “You saved my life, Ithan, and the infant’s.  Thank you.”

Ithan nodded sullenly. 

I wanted to say something more, but the pull of Saiyre’s ring on my finger reminded me of Max.  “Max,” I called, terror shooting through my body as I scrambled on hands and knees to where his ash-stained form stood out against the white of the snow.  I picked him up, having to brush off some maggots that had wormed their way over to him.  He was breathing, but I couldn’t tell if he was asleep, unconscious, or worse.

Gently cradling Max against my stomach, I stood.  Even though he weighed next to nothing, the extra pull against my left arm blazed pain through my partially healed shoulder.  My blood-soaked sleeve chilled my arm, clinging to my skin as it dried in the frigid air.  After wiping the globs of spongy brain from my face and wrenching my sword from a still spasming One Arm, I started towards Briscott to give Ithan a moment to grieve.  We had little time to waste, but I wasn’t about to just rip Ithan away from mourning the loss of a friend. 

Briscott had retreated towards the rear of the houses, shielding the infant from the smoke.  After a quick check to ensure no unwanted company was present, I looked to the bundle in his arms.  Briscott had hooded the blanket over the infant’s head, protecting her from the snow.  I could still see her tiny face, smeared with ashy soot.   She screamed hysterically, eyes squinted shut, toothless gums fully exposed behind quivering lips. 

The infant was probably hungry, cold, and scared, but there was little we could do to help.  That’s not to say that Briscott didn’t try.  He gently rocked her in his arms and whispered soft, comforting words.  It looked natural on him. 

“Thank you for saving my hide back there.”

“No thanks needed, Korin,” Briscott replied softly, concentrated on the crying infant.

“Is she okay?” I inquired, my knowledge of babies limited to newborn farm animals.

Briscott nodded, looking up with a fragile grin.  “The burns are gone.  She’s perfect,” he replied in a near whisper.  The news made me smile through the horror of our situation.

My attention was drawn back towards the front of the houses, where screaming and clanging metal sounded.  Silhouettes of fighting bodies were visible through the snow.  We were fortunate that the fighting hadn’t spilled between the houses where we stood any more than it had.  There was no telling how long it would remaing that way.

“What are we going to do with her?” I asked no one in particular.

“I don’t have a blighted clue.”

Ithan approached us, Fleet nestled in his arms.  His eyes were red, but he looked to be holding up well enough.  “There must be a group of townsfolk holed up somewhere in the town,” he croaked.  “We need Max.  Maybe he will know where they are.  We could take the child to them.”  He looked down at Fleet.  “The child
has
to live.” 

“I’m not sure I
can
wake him up,” I admitted, shaking the passed-out rodent for emphasis.  As expected, Max had no reaction. 

“Allow me,” Ithan offered, reaching a hand towards Max.  With another sad glance at Fleet, he put a single finger against Max’s side. 

Max’s eyes immediately snapped open, and his body giving a single, violent shudder.  He scurried up my arm and perched on my wounded shoulder, engulfing it with burning pain from his clawing climb.  He appeared panicked, his breathing rapid and his eyes wide. 

Max’s gaze shot back and forth, seemingly to take in everything at once.  He was incredibly alert for someone who’d been dropped roughly into the snow during a fight moments before without even cracking open an eye.  Finally, he rested his sights on Ithan, and his eyes drew down in annoyance.  “That was just rude, bird-boy.”