The Ashenborn Page 7

  “There are a few of us who are leagues above the others.”

  Jakobin rolled his eyes.

  “So that makes you what, a foot above the ground?”

  Tsain laughed deeply in response.

  Jakobin repositioned his mask, which had slipped due to the sweat on his brow.

  Tsain moved more smoothly as he walked toward him, holding the single sword.

  Jacobin stood in a defensive position, blades along his forearms.

  Tsain looked around him and stopped walking, his gaze on something in the crowd.

  “Distracted?” Jakobin flicked his blades around.

  Tsain moved clumsily into a run, his lips open in a silent roar.

  The movement was slow, and Jacobin was able to manueaver under the first would-be strike and parry the second before ripping the sword from Tsain’s hands, using both blades in opposite motions. His opponent fell, hard, to the ground.

  Jakobin held his blades at Tsain’s throat and heaved a sigh. The crowd erupted in cheers. Selaphiel yelled loudly above the others.

  Tsain lay sprawled on the ground, removing his mask. Jakobin sheathed his blades and offered his hand. Tsain accepted it gratefully and stood up beside him. Looking at Tsain’s face, Jakobin realized Tsain was around the age of Zarx.

  “Good fight,” Tsain said.

  Jakobin nodded and shook Tsain’s out-reached gauntlet. The grip was like a clamp, and he felt his fingers go numb. Cheers erupted from around them, the crowd was obviously pleased with the outcome. Tsain still clasped his hand, looking him hard in the face. Jakobin thought his fingers would be broken before he released them.

  “Until next meeting,” Tsain said, finally releasing Jakobin’s hand.

  The crowd cheered at the win. Jakobin bowed and could not remove the grin from his face. Cordoc tried not to appear too excited, a quality that seemed to be lost on Selaphiel, as he was jumping up and down. Tsain disappeared under the shadow of the arena, where healers checked him for injuries.

  “This is exciting!” Selaphiel exclaimed.

  The drums pounded again.

  Cordoc chuckled; he could feel himself getting fired up, too.

  Elder Derrick approached the upper arena, his hand outstretched toward Jakobin.

  “The first round goes to Lifesveil’s prince Jakobin.” Derrick paused, allowing the crowd’s cheers to die downin volume.

  “Round Two will begin with yet another prince of our kingdom!”

  Elder Derrick winked at Selaphiel.

  “I think I am next,” Selaphiel said, gripping the edge of the barrier anxiously.

  “The next fighters will be Cordoc of Lifesveil, surname the Wise, and Thornbeorn of Wulvsbaen!” The crowd erupted in cheers again.

  Selaphiel looked displeased. “Of course, and to think I held out hope I would fight a good opponent such as him.”

  Cordoc winked. “Perhaps some other time.”

  With agility, Cordoc jumped into the arena, landing lightly.

  “Do not lose!” Selaphiel called down bitterly.

  Cordoc shook his head; he knew how his brother often wanted to fight the best swordsmen to get better. He believed this was the reason Selaphiel often won when practicing with his brothers.

  Thornbeorn descended the steps, sweat pouring from his forehead. He was garbed in fur armor but was not wearing a mask.

  Cordoc noted this with amusement, thinking Thornbeorn’s forehead was so shiny it reminded him of the morning sun. Thornbeorn walked unevenly until he was standing in the arena. The familiar pounding of the drums reached Cordoc.

  “Why not remove your armor? Also, where is your mask?” Cordoc asked over the noise of the crowd.

  Thornbeorn narrowed his eyes. “I cannot, as it has shrunk from the heat.” He paused, adding, “As for the mask, I forgot it.”

  Cordoc laughed and shrugged.

  Thornbeorn looked at him stoically.

  Cordoc drew his blue-hued sword. It was decorated with ancient symbols and framed in cerulean.

  Thornbeorn wiped away sweat, his face red.

  “Shall I cut it off for you?” Cordoc said, pointing at the fur as the two men went to their separate fighting corners. He made a sawing motion with his sword.

  Thornbeorn rolled his eyes and pulled off the sleeves of the fur he wore. He tossed the fur to the ground.

  The starting horn sounded.

  Thornbeorn drew a two-handed sword, which looked like a thick, curved icicle.

  Cordoc looked down at his own sword and thought his resembled a twig compared to the branch Thornbeorn brandished.

  The air seemed to cool off a bit, and Cordoc noticed he had started to shiver, a slight twitch in his arms. Thornbeorn’s eyes turned an icy blue color, and what looked like steam rose from his muscles. Cordoc eyed him curiously.

  “You have magical abilities as well?”

  Thornbeorn smirked. “Does not everyone in Lifesveil?”

  Cordoc looked stunned.

  “Just a select few of you can use magic of this power, but all in Wulvsbaen can,” Thornbeorn said.

  Cordoc raised his weapon in front of himself challengingly, and with a burst of magic, an aura formed over his free arm. The air around his arm bent in extreme heat.

  “Oh,” Thornbeorn acknowledged, “I did not take you for someone who could do that. For many that is complicated to maintain.”

  Cordoc shifted his feet, the gravel moving noisily underneath him.

  “All of my siblings can do this.” He closed his eyes, feeling the warm energy rushing through him.

  Thornbeorn looked more comfortable; his face had become a more normal shade, and he no longer had sweat beading on his forehead.

  Cordoc noticed a chill in the air.

  “A bit odd for it to be so cold all of a sudden,” Cordoc said, knowing full well what was causing the coolness.

  Thornbeorn raised an eyebrow.

  “Yes, I am more accustomed to the cold. This sword is forged in the cold water of Wulvsbaen; it allows me to change the temperature at my leisure.”

  “Northern folks,” Cordoc jested. “And here I thought you were doing it of your own ability.”

  Cordoc kicked up dust and brought the weight of his weapon toward Thornbeorn, who parried it without much effort. Thornbeorn snorted.

  “It is of the highest quality. Also, I forged it.”

  They stood in a gridlock, Thornbeorn’s teeth clenched. Their blades rattled as each pushed as hard as they could. Despite his aching muscles, Cordoc was pushed backward in a rough tumble.

  “Nice sword, just saying,” Thornbeorn said. “I know quality when I see it.”

  Cordoc wheeled around, nearly catching Thornbeorn by surprise, his movements quick and precise. Thornbeorn backed away a few steps, the scratches on his sword gleaming from the heat of the blows.

  “H-how? There’s no way you should be even able to scratch it!”

  “You’re not the only one with clever magic.” Steam rose from Cordoc’s sword. “Besides, my father gave me this sword. It was forged here, out of our kingdom’s metals.”

  Thornbeorn stood his ground. He changed stances, raising his sword above his head, an offensive move known as the window guard.

  Cordoc was familiar with the stance as Selaphiel used it often.

  “No wonder Selaphiel was interested in fighting you,” he whispered to himself.

  “Fire and ice. A battle as old as time.”

  Cordoc squinted at Thornbeorn’s words.

  “You’re not easy to please?” Thornbeorn asked, tilting his head.

  “Just not a fan of clichés,” Cordoc sighed.

  “Well then …” Thornbeorn said, approaching him slowly. “Let’s see how you deal with this cliché.”

  Cordoc placed his blade
slanted across his chest, his other arm free.

  “Come on then. If you think to prove me incapable,” he said, smacking his chest challengingly.

  Thornbeorn growled roughly.

  With a great deal of effort, Thornbeorn vaulted toward him. He spun, displaying his back to Cordoc in what could be termed a hazardous move.

  Cordoc smiled and moved forward, seizing the opportunity to strike Thornbeorn’s back. He had mistaken Thornbeorn’s speed, however, and met the familiar vibration of metal on metal, much to his surprise.

  The crowd cheered at Thornbeorn’s audacious move, then gasped as Cordoc nearly routed him.

  “A dangerous maneuver,” Cordoc panted.

  Thornbeorn shrugged, a wild grin on his face. “The crowds tend to enjoy it.”

  “You are a glory hog then, I take it?” Cordoc asked.

  “A what?”

  “A type of pig that migrates south,” Cordoc said, answering his rhetorical question.

  Thornbeorn shook his head slowly, a small grin showing on his lips.

  Cordoc waved his sword. Sparks skidded off his blade, and he drove forward.

  “Agh,” Thornbeorn sputtered.

  They each parried and avoided lick after lick, neither gaining the edge on the other.

  “We are well-matched,” Cordoc said, his teeth clenched.

  “Or we are neither very good,” Thornbeorn winced.

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Cordoc said.

  Cordoc circled to the left, with Thornbeorn moving opposite him.

  Thornbeorn moved first. Cordoc side-stepped the would-be knock-out blow, kicking Thornbeorn’s feet out from under him. Thornbeorn fell like a bag of bricks, Cordoc noticed, but he nimbly regained his feet, avoiding a pin. Thornbeorn used his sword to vault forward, and laying the blade on the length of his forearm and across his elbow, he pointed at Cordoc.

  “I will have to remember that little maneuver,” Cordoc said, impressed.

  “As I will yours,” Thornbeorn said happily. Cordoc was glad to see Thornbeorn was enjoying the fight as much as he was.

  “I would say I am third among my brothers with the blade. If you can’t beat me easily, you’ll struggle later on.”

  “You mean you are not the best? I was fooled,” Thornbeorn said respectfully.

  “I have my own talents, though. I hope you are a good bowman,” Cordoc panted, out of breath.

  “Not so much,” Thornbeorn replied, out of breath as well. “I might as well just throw my sword than fire an arrow from a bow.”

  They both moved toward each other aggressively but paused at a strange noise from the stands that silenced everyone surrounding them. The sound made their hearts churn in their chests.

  It sounded like a girl screaming, but they were unsure until more screams rose. Abandoning their fight, they turned and saw monstrous figures advancing through the stands.

  Chapter 3

  Servants of Fire

  Cordoc froze as he heard a yell from the crowd. At first it did not register, and people within the stands did not initially react, seeming to be searching for the source of the noise as well. Thornbeorn turned with a perplexed look on his face. Cordoc scanned the crowd slowly, unsure of what he was looking for. Screams rang out as a torrent of flame shot up into the air above them. A tall, dark figure with fire billowing from its mouth stood as the source of trouble.

  Thornbeorn stood in shock, not sure what was going on.

  More figures breathing fire emerged from the crowd. Cordoc did not know whether he was dreaming or if this was actually happening.

  “What is going on?” Thornbeorn exclaimed, snapping Cordoc back into reality.

  Selaphiel and Jakobin turned from the ledge and joined the guards heading toward the disruption. Panicked, people began to run from the courtyard. Lifesveil’s guards assembled around the king in a quick and efficient formation. The princes looked around them but did not see any of the contestants hanging around to assist the guards.

  “Cowards,” Jakobin whispered under his breath as he ran toward the threat, angry that everyone around them had run.

  A shrill scream erupted from the mouths of the fire-breathing creatures. The noise was unnatural, and it made his blood stab his veins like icy blades.

  One of the creatures turned its gaze toward them and smiled a wicked, needled smile. It turned toward Selaphiel specifically, smiling wider. Its white eyes slowly faded to a coal black, with no visible pupils. Its eye sockets seemed to shrink into its face, which looked like that of a man who had never eaten food before, its skin wound tightly around its eye sockets. Selaphiel’s stomach knotted at the sight. The creature looked demonic. He had heard stories but had never seen a creature like this before. For him, this was like seeing something out of a fairy tale, or worse yet, a nightmare.

  “A Taneem,” Selaphiel mouthed, suddenly realizing what stared back at him with soulless eyes. But they’re extinct, he thought, stunned.

  The guards around Alanias tightened and bellowed orders while moving the king toward the stronghold.

  Reaching the creature that was staring at him, Selaphiel’s eyes lit with magic as he drove his blade into the creature’s throat, severing its head from its body. Its opaque purple blood flowed onto the ground, pooling near his feet. Zarx observed the swift beheading from the side of the courtyard, where he was protecting the king. His silver sword gleamed, unsheathed and ready to shed blood for the king’s protection.

  Cordoc had his bow trained on the creatures and began firing upon those who ventured too close to their father. He saw the creature fall before Selaphiel and made sure to keep his eyes moving in case he missed one.

  “Guards! Get the people away from here! Jakobin and Selaphiel, move to Father!” Cordoc commanded.

  He fired arrows that flamed blue as he gave directions. Alanias was pulled through the door by Derrick and Zarx, who stood beside it, ready to fight any of the creatures who dared to go near it.

  “Silver Talons, to me!” Zarx yelled.

  Members of the guard moved to assist Zarx, fighting desperately to reach him.

  Selaphiel moved forward as well, his blood pounding in his ears. Jakobin struck a creature with his smaller blade, removing the cloak from its face in the process. The creature was transparent, its veins and internal organs visible through its pale skin. Selaphiel froze.

  “How can this be?” he asked himself. The Taneem’s eyes flicked white and a hissing noise escaped its mouth. “Get down!” Jakobin yelled as he ducked.

  A sooty crimson flare erupted from the creature’s mouth. Selaphiel narrowly ducked underneath it. He was astonished at his near death, if he had even touched the flame he would have been severely injured. His eyes burned as he felt the scalding air that surrounded the fire. A Silver Talon guard drove his blade into the back of the Taneem’s neck while it was focused on Selaphiel. Fire bellowed from the new wound the guard had created, engulfing him in fiery light. The guard screamed as the fire engulfed him. Within a few seconds, the man’s charred body ceased moving, the fire claiming him with its deadly embrace.

  Selaphiel knew the man was dead and winced, looking away. He glanced at Cordoc, who continued firing arrows in quick succession at the remaining Taneems. Cordoc’s bow had become covered in blue flames that moved along each arrow as they whisped and flicked the air. The fire from the bow cast a blueish shadow of a straight line beside him as two Taneems were dispatched. It was not often that Cordoc lost control of his magic, but the strain of using so much had made it hard to control.

  Most of the people were now gone, and the brothers only needed to worry about the enemies among them. A large Taneem, around eight feet tall, called out in a deep voice. The sound commanded the monsters’ attention. Cordoc drew another arrow and fired it at him. The beast lifted its palm. The wooden arrow shattered as it hit the in
visible wall of the monster’s magic.

  Zarx strode forward, sword and shield in hand. Jakobin helped a woman up and pointed her toward a safe path to avoid the fighting. Tears streamed down her face as she hugged Jakobin. She then quickly moved back to her seat and pulled a little boy out from below. She picked him up and ran from the area, not looking back. The child was sobbing, his red face drenched in a mixture of soot and tears.

  The remaining Taneems had gathered around the largest one, forming a circle as they snarled. Their stance was that of a pack of ravenous wolves, daring anyone to move closer. The arena was quiet as guards and princes alike made a half circle around them. Jakobin rejoined the group, his face twisted into a grimace.

  Suddenly a roar filled the air and the loud sound of glass shattering echoed around them. Sunlight reflected shadows onto the ground in the shapes of large shards of glass. A dark dragon flew by them with a gust of wind, an explosion of air that shook the ground, giving off the sound of hundreds of cannons firing. The large Taneem smiled, looking in the direction of the noise. The remaining Taneems screeched. Selaphiel and his companions fought the urge to hold their ringing ears. The creatures’ gaping mouths were filled with molten flame, and rivers of fire flowed from their open maws. The fire liquified and surrounded them in an impervious dome of flames and liquid fire. Selaphiel lost sight of them in the blistering heat and smoke they produced. The brothers and guards were each able to find a spot to hunker down as the monsters covered most of the courtyard in blistering heat and light.

  Selaphiel coughed harshly, stumbling toward Derrick.

  “No!” Elder Derrick yelled as he leaped into the air. Now in dragon form, he propelled himself from the earth with a great gust of speed. Selaphiel followed Derrick with his eyes, alarmed by the magnitude of Derrick’s reaction. For Derrick to react so strongly was cause for worry.

  “Archers! Fire volley!” Zarx yelled.

  A flurry of arrows blackened the sky, striking the monsters with efficiency. Fire erupted from all directions from the new wounds on the necks of the Taneems. One spray of heat latched itself onto the general’s shield. As Zarx threw his flaming shield to the ground, the smell of burned flesh reached Selaphiel.