Chapter 22 Keldarion #2
He presses the advantage. One knife aims high, forcing me to parry, while the other sweeps low, slicing at my feet.
I barely leap away in time, the edge cutting through my tunic.
His strikes are relentless, faster and more precise than any fighter I’ve faced.
There’s no hesitation in his movements, no opening to exploit.
The air around us crackles as I summon more of my magic. Snow and ice surge to my will, a wave of frost slamming toward him. It crashes into his chest, driving him back a step, but he plants his feet, horns gleaming.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I push harder, frozen tendrils snaking across the ground to trap his ankles. They latch on for a moment, long enough for me to aim another strike, but he breaks free, the sheer strength of his legs cracking the ice like glass.
I can feel my magic draining. Winter’s blessing is so weak within me.
I haven’t been back to Castletree recently, and I’ve been passing energy to George to keep him awake.
My breaths come shorter, sharper. The fae knows.
I see it in his unyielding gaze, in the cruel twist of his mouth.
A sickening sense of disquiet riots through me when I catch sight of his eyes. The irises glow red as embers.
He lunges forward, one blade feinting left while the other arcs toward my ribs. I barely dodge in time as he cuts my back, leaving a thin line of searing pain in its wake.
My knees hit the ground. I force myself upright with a final burst of snow. Blinding and brutal, a whirlwind roars to life around me.
For a moment, I think it’s enough. The storm closes in, ice slicing through the air like shards of glass. Tools fly from the workbench, and splinters of wooden beams join the broken ice.
But then, impossibly, he steps through it. He’s…unyielding. Unstoppable. Not only his strength but the precision of every strike, the anticipation of my moves. It’s as if he’s been fighting battles for eons.
He closes the distance between us, his knives slamming against my blade with a force that reverberates through my arms. My grip falters. He crouches, his leg hooking behind mine, and suddenly I’m on my back, the breath ripped from my lungs.
When was the last time I fought a battle and feared for my life? I’ve clashed with goblins, ice wraiths, the Prince of the Below himself, but this…this is something unknown. I don’t know how to fight this.
He looms above me, his knives gleaming with frost as he raises them over my chest—
Footsteps thunder in the workshop’s doorway. I turn my head to see Farron, Dayton, Ezryn, and Rosalina. Relief wars with panic as I see her. She shouldn’t be here.
“George told us there was an unwanted guest,” Dayton says, drawing his twin blades. “Lucky for me. I’ve been feeling soft these past few days. You’re just the target I need to get back in shape.”
A glimmer of light appears in Ezryn’s hand as a massive war hammer materializes. “You threaten the Sworn Protector of the Realms, and thus you threaten the safety of all those in the Enchanted Vale. We shall respond accordingly.”
Orange fireballs erupt in Farron’s hands. “Yeah, what they said. Wait, do you have horns? Are those actual horns? Can I see?”
But all their jabbering is drowned out as Rosalina steps forward, eyes blazing. Two massive, snaking briars screech up through the floorboards, covering the ground with golden thorns. Her voice shakes the vials on the walls and rattles the wooden beams: “Get away from my mate!”
Dayton sighs and twirls his blades. “Now I’ve got to hurry, Pointy. If she gets to you first, there won’t be any left of you for the rest of us.”
Dayton charges, but the assassin doesn’t hesitate. With a snarl, he leaps, faster than any fae I’ve seen, his dual knives flashing.
Dayton deflects the strike. “Someone’s feisty,” he mutters, stepping back and spinning into another attack.
His blades whirl in a blur, cutting toward the assassin’s chest, but the horned man twists, ducking under Dayton’s swing with infuriating precision.
He sweeps low, his knife nearly catching Dayton’s leg, but Ezryn is already there, his massive war hammer crashing down.
The assassin pivots, knives crossing in an X to catch the hammer mid-strike. A shock wave ripples through the air, splintering the ground beneath them. The assassin shoves Ezryn back.
“Impossible,” Ezryn grunts, regaining his footing.
Farron charges in next, flames roaring to life in his hands. “Alright, let’s see how you handle the heat!” He hurls a fireball at the assassin’s chest, the inferno blooming with a deafening roar.
But the assassin leaps, flipping over the fireball and landing behind Farron, one blade slashing upward. Farron turns at the last moment, the blade’s edge grazing his shoulder instead of carving deeper.
Meanwhile, Rosalina’s golden briars shoot forward, snaking toward the assassin. They coil around his legs, pulling tight.
“Stay down,” Rosalina growls, her hands trembling as the briars tighten, their thorns digging into the assassin’s pale skin.
The assassin flexes, his muscles bulging. The briars snap like brittle twigs, golden shards scattering across the floor. He slashes through the remaining vines and lunges at Rosalina, knives raised.
“Don’t touch her!” Dayton leaps between them, his blades locking with the assassin’s in a flurry of sparks. Ezryn charges in, hammer swinging in a brutal arc, forcing the assassin to disengage.
I’m up, sword drawn. I charge toward his chest. For the first time, the horned man falters, barely escaping out of the way. Still, I graze his side, a streak of red blood blooming across his robes. So you bleed like us.
The man growls, backflipping away to regain his footing. Light shines as Farron materializes the Lance of Valor.
“Go, Farron!” Rosalina screams. Another briar erupts from the ground, this one thicker, thorns glinting like gold-tipped spears. The workshop trembles, beams splintering and glass shattering. The briars snag the assassin’s legs, pulling him to his knees.
Flames coil around the Lance of Valor’s tip as Farron yells and drives it toward the assassin’s chest. With no hesitation, the horned man drops his blades and grabs Farron’s lance mid-thrust. Smoke and blood ooze out from between his fingertips, but he keeps it at bay, inches from his heart.
With a roar, he wrenches the lance to the side with terrifying strength, breaks free of the briars, and seizes his weapons.
“How is this possible?” Dayton breathes. “Even with all of us, we’re losing ground!”
“I can’t hold him. He’s too strong,” Rosie cries, attempting another thatch of briars.
Ezryn blocks the next assault with his hammer. “One of you think of something! Fast!”
“We’ve got to find something he can’t break free of,” I say. “Something like—”
Just as the words come out of my mouth, a shroud of darkness covers the room. Shadows detach from their owners: the shadow of the workbench, of the wooden beams, even my own. They all rush toward the assassin.
A presence fills the doorway, stopping time itself.
Caspian.
His arms are outstretched, lines of black rot oozing out of the corners of his mouth, eyes, and nose.
The shadows wrap around the assassin’s limbs and torso. The horned man’s fingers flex, and he cries out, dropping the blades in a clatter. A sense of silence creeps across the workshop.
“Caspian!” Rosalina cries and runs to him. She grabs his face, pushing the hair away from his eyes, then wipes the oozing rot away. “I’ve got you. Okay? I’ve got you.”
“Thanks, Flower,” he mumbles. “I don’t much like using this magic, and it doesn’t seem to like the surface. But you five seemed in a spot of trouble.”
“This isn’t one of your followers?” I snarl.
“No, can’t say I’ve ever seen anything like him. Though the horns are intriguing.” Caspian walks forward, one hand clutching Rosalina’s. Just with her touch, color has returned to his face. Smears of rot still mar his skin, but nothing new oozes out of him.
“Let’s end this. I’m done looking at his ugly mug,” Dayton snarls.
The man bares his teeth and pulls at his shadow chains.
“Wait.” I put a hand on Dayton’s shoulder. “If he’s not from the Below, then who is he?”
“Kel’s right. We need answers. We should question him,” Farron says.
Dayton rolls his eyes. “Fine. Then tell me, Pointy, what are you doing here? Who sent you? Why do you want to kill the Sworn Protector of the Realms?”
“He didn’t come to kill me.” I look at Rosalina. “He came to kill George.”
She stumbles, but Caspian grabs her arm, steadying her. She puts a hand atop his, then strides right up to the ensnared assassin.
“I am Princess Rosalina, lady of Castletree. You will answer me,” she says lowly, voice filled with command. “Who are you?”
The assassin meets her gaze, his red eyes shining. He lets loose a brittle laugh.
“Answer me!” Rosalina roars.
His lips curl, and he snarls, “The will of the Elderblood is eternal. The stars will fall before you ever know peace.”
Before we can react, he clenches his teeth hard. The sickening crack of a tooth echoes, and his body convulses. Black, rotten mulch spews from his mouth, from his nose.
“Get back!” Ezryn grabs Rosalina, tugging her away.
Amid pained gurgles, the man cries out: “Vemrís thu’ren calas.”
“What’s happening?” Dayton cries.
“Whatever it is, we have to stop it. But how?” Farron says, rushing closer to the assassin.
With an unnatural lurch, the assassin’s body twists in his shadow chains. His chest spews open, putrid foliage and sludge exploding out. He falls limp, his eyes look into the nothingness, and Caspian’s shadows slink away. The stench of decay fills the room.
Farron bends down, examining the muck. “This is familiar,” he muses. “It’s like what covers the goblins.”
This man—this creature—nearly defeated the princes and princess of Castletree. My title of Sworn Protector of the Realms feels like a mockery.
Silence echoes through the room, yet beneath it, I hear the assassin’s words: The stars will fall.