Mystery of the Deep Fog, page 21
Knowing that their deaths were imminent, Metz was on the verge of leaving his companions behind when he spotted Krys emerging from the temple with Skylar's broadsword. Although Metz thought Skylar was arrogant, he acknowledged that he was a skilled fighter with a mastery of lightning. Even so, Metz believed that Krys, despite her reputation as a formidable warrior, would be unable to defeat Malumbra with the broadsword.
"GREGOG!" Krys bellowed as she handed the sword to Gregog. Metz watched as Gregog took up the weapon, a much better choice for fighting Malumbra. Nevertheless, Metz remained convinced that the battle was a lost cause. Krys ran back into the temple, presumably to find a weapon for herself. Metz was impressed by her ability to bellow with such intensity, a gift bestowed upon the Nrothgare, who were granted heightened senses and greater strength. An ordinary man's bellow was no match for a Nrothgare's, which could knock someone off their feet. Despite the mist preventing the Nrothgare from using their supernatural abilities, Krys still managed to bellow. This piqued Metz's interest. Krys returned with a battle axe, another good choice. Metz pondered whether she could wield the weapon effectively against Malumbra.
Metz observed with admiration as Gregog and Krys relentlessly attacked Malumbra, putting him on the defensive. "One of us has to hit him," Gregog said, "or we're just going to get weak." Metz knew that Gregog was right. Krys distracted momentarily, looked away from Malumbra; that was all the shadow god needed to strike. Metz watched in horror as Krys flew through the air, attempting to block the blow, and crashed into the temple wall with incredible force. Metz thought she was dead, but she moved. Gregog continued to fight Malumbra while Krys struggled to stand. To Metz's surprise, she managed to rise to her feet and let out a bellow that he could feel even though he was some distance away. "I WILL END YOU!" she bellowed again.
Krys stood before the shadow god, showing no fear even though she had no weapon. Metz knew the only way she could survive a little longer was to use her lightning against Malumbra, tapping into the power within the circling mist. Even though the other Nrothgare could not use their powers, something different about her made the hair on Metz's neck stand on end. He knew he was about to witness something mysterious, even if she did not survive.
His heart leaped as he saw lightning shoot from Krys's hands, causing Malumbra to step back, but the shadow god quickly regained his composure and took two steps forward. Krys hit him with another bolt of lightning, but it still was not enough to bring him down. She tried again with an even larger bolt, but it seemed futile. Metz knew that they were running out of time and options.
Suddenly, something shocking occurred that surprised everyone, including the shadow god. Krys lifted her hands above her head, and a bolt of lightning shot out from both hands and arched back down to strike Malumbra. As the lightning hit him, it expanded around him like a shell of electricity. Malumbra was clearly shocked and stumbled as he tried to head toward Krys, but the constant circle of lightning slowed him down. Metz noticed that Thargeron was nearby and feared the lightning would reach him and end his life. As the lightning expanded out and reached Thargeron, Metz sighed, but it quickly turned into a gasp. The lightning did not kill Thargeron; instead, he seemed to awaken and move without writhing in pain. The lightning changed, with streams of flames mixed with the electricity as it engulfed Thargeron. Krys had somehow harnessed Thargeron's power of fire when the lightning covered him. Malumbra shrieked in pain as the fiery lightning expanded, and he fought harder to get to Krys, with his sword slowly rising to strike her down.
Gregog had collapsed to the ground, heaving from exhaustion. Metz watched intently as the fiery lightning approached, but Gregog was too weak to react. As the lightning enveloped him, however, something strange happened. Instead of causing him pain, it seemed to invigorate him. Gregog slowly stood up as if regaining his strength.
The lightning now contained small stones and pieces of earth that floated up from the ground and attached to the streaks of electricity. Krys seemed to be using Gregog's power of earth to control them. Malumbra swung his sword and arms around frantically, trying to block the stones, but they proved too much for him.
Despite Gregog's apparent recovery, the stones kept him at bay, unable to get closer to the shadow god. Meanwhile, Malumbra continued to edge closer to Krys, raising his sword to strike her down.
The lightning, now filled with stones and fire, finally reached Joada. Metz watched with amazement as wind gusts tossed the stones and fire within the lightning. Krys had harnessed the power of wind from Joada. Malumbra lost his footing and fell back a few feet, but he quickly got up and charged toward Krys, with lightning, fire, stones, and wind pushing against him. Metz was impressed by the display of power. Despite facing certain death, Krys showed incredible strength. However, Metz felt sad knowing she was about to die. He wanted to turn away and escape, but just as Malumbra's sword was about to strike her down, the lightning, mixed with fire, stone, and wind, suddenly reached the edge of the circling mist, and crackling thunder filled the air. With the mist, all the lightning, fire, stones, and wind returned to the center where Malumbra stood. All that power, including Malumbra's mist, was now concentrated on the shadow god. His sword fell to the ground as he started to scream in a sound that matched the shrieks he had done before in the woods. This time, however, it was continuous. Every inch of the shadow god's body was covered in lightning, fire, stone, wind, and mist. As it all continued to press in on him, it began to crush him, and then with the sound of a hundred drums striking all at once, he exploded, knocking Krys once again against the temple wall.
◆◆◆
Bradden was in excruciating pain as his shoulder was dislocated, and a dagger had also gone through his cheeks. His whole body ached, and he suffered from a massive headache. He felt as though a hundred horses had trampled him. In the courtyard behind the palace, he sat on a short stone wall and was being tended to by a soldier from the Ulderyn Army. The soldier could do little more than prevent the dagger wound from worsening due to Bradden's movements. The soldier was unsure what to do about the dislocated shoulder, and Bradden was too weak to try fixing it himself. He knew he would endure the pain until someone could help him relocate his shoulder.
"How are you faring?" Dusty asked. Dusty was one of the soldiers from Ulderyn that Bradden had sparred with many times. Dusty was twelve years older than Bradden and had taken him under his wing to teach him the ways of a soldier. Bradden liked him very much.
"A few scratches," Bradden replied. Dusty laughed as he sat down on the wall beside him.
"Someone said you told Roman to enjoy his nightmare," Dusty said, amazed.
"Welcome to your nightmare," Bradden corrected him. "That's what I said."
Dusty slapped his hand on Bradden's right shoulder, nearly causing Bradden to fall off the wall. "You're crazy, son," he said. Bradden felt a tear leave his eye as the pain shot through his body. "Kathan wants to see you in the throne room," Dusty said. "He says it's important."
"Tell him I'm too sore," Bradden shook his head. "I promise I won't walk off."
"He's not going to take no for an answer," Dusty insisted. Bradden sighed, and then, with as much strength as he could muster, he stood up and moaned.
“Oh, the pain,” Bradden said.
"The cost of battle, my friend," Dusty replied. Bradden nodded and headed toward the doorway under the large window he had fallen out of during the fight.
Bradden looked back at where Roman lay lifeless and headless. He felt satisfied that he could avenge Prypia's death, but losing his fiancé was beyond anything he had ever felt. The sadness felt like a knot in his stomach. He knew he would never see her again, never touch her, never kiss her. Part of him wished he had died in the battle after he had killed Roman. What was there for him? He was young and knew he had a lot to live for, but there was nothing to live for at the moment.
Bradden entered the back of the palace, escaping the sun's heat and entering the lower room's darkness. After a few seconds, his eyes adjusted to the softer light. He reached the staircase on the far end of the room, and, with Dusty's help, he slowly ascended the stairs.
"He said he saw you dodging Roman's attacks," Dusty said as they reached the top of the stairs.
"Who? Kathan?" Bradden asked.
"Yes," Dusty answered, "he was running down these stairs to come help you. When he came outside, you were standing over Roman's headless body."
Bradden smiled. He liked Kathan because he was a good man who could be trusted. He was a skilled fighter and a brilliant tactician. Bradden would follow Kathan into battle for any reason. They walked through the room where Bradden and Roman had fought in the shadows and reached the door to the throne room.
Bradden was taken aback by the number of Ulderyn soldiers who stood in formation in the throne room. Instead of two hundred enemy soldiers, there were now at least two hundred soldiers who followed Kathan's commands. They served Lord Kamden, but Bradden had learned they trusted and followed Kathan more than Lord Kamden.
Kathan stood at the base of the steps leading to the throne, holding his helmet and speaking with one of his lieutenants. Bradden walked over to Kathan as Dusty joined the soldiers in formation. Dusty stood out in front of the soldiers, as he was also a captain like Kathan. They were of the same rank, but Kathan held a higher position as Lord Kamden's advisor. Bradden knew Kathan to be very loyal to Lord Kamden, granting him special privileges.
Bradden waited as Kathan spoke with the lieutenant, and when they were done, he stepped up. “You asked for me, sir,” Bradden said.
“I did,” Kathan said. “Do me a favor and step up here with me.” They reached the top of the steps and stood before the throne. “How's your face feeling?”
“It hurts,” Bradden said.
“You’ll need stitches, that’s for sure,” Kathan said. Bradden already knew this was true. He had a dagger go through both cheeks at the same time, and there was a considerable amount of blood and dirt that went into his mouth.
“I’ll survive,” he replied.
“I didn’t see Roman die,” Kathan said. “A good many soldiers have told me that they saw you kill him.” Bradden was not sure where Kathan was going with this. Why would he care who killed Roman Boserl? He was a nobody. He was a body that simply warmed the throne of a province that had no king. “Did you kill King Regent Roman Boserl?”
“I did,” Bradden confirmed.
Kathan pointed to the throne. “Please take a seat,” he said. Bradden looked at him, confused. “Please.” He looked at Kathan for a moment and then sat down.
“What’s going on?” Bradden asked.
Without saying a word, Kathan backed down the stairs without turning his back on Bradden, and when he reached the bottom, he put his helmet on and pulled his sword, raising it high. “Long live Bradden Grace! Long live the King!” Then he lowered to one knee and bowed his head as the rest of the soldiers chanted “Long Live the King!” three times, then bent the knee and bowed their heads.
At first, Bradden thought it was a joke, but knowing Kathan, he would not have made light of such a situation. His heart pounded as he realized he had just been declared the King of Vickari. He sat for a moment, sighed, and stood up to acknowledge their respect. He looked across the grand throne room, saw everyone on a knee, and bowed except one. Leaning against the doorway at the front of the palace with his arms folded was Bren, the Nrothgare warrior.
As Bradden locked eyes with Bren, he saw the warrior shake his head, stand up, turn around, and walk out. Bradden had no clue why Bren would do such a thing. He shrugged it off and looked down at Kathan, still on one knee with his head bowed.
“My friend, Kathan,” Bradden said, “Please rise.”
“As you wish, my Lord,” Kathan replied and stood.
Bradden looked at him for a moment and then smiled. “I’m hungry,” he said.
◆◆◆
The smell of blood and sweat filled Gregog's nostrils as he struggled to return to his feet. He had fallen while trying to avoid the stones and was knocked out for some time after Malumbra exploded into nothingness. The only things that remained of the shadow god were his fragmented armor and a broadsword. There was no doubt in Gregog’s mind that Malumbra had perished. Feeling less exhausted than before, he walked toward Krys, who lay on the ground at the temple's wall. He noticed a fresh crack in the wall on both sides of the entrance.
"Krysta," he said as he reached her. "Are ye okay?" She did not reply. He feared the worst as he reached down to check her pulse on her neck. She was alive, and he could see her breathing, but she was unconscious. He gently picked her up in both arms and turned away from the temple. He saw Thargeron sitting up, feeling clearly better than during the fight. If Thargeron experienced the same thing that Gregog had, then they both felt the healing power coming from Krys when she engulfed the area in lightning. He walked past Thargeron without saying a word. He felt like there was nothing to say right now. He looked over at Joada, who was also sitting up. Then, he looked to where Metz had stood and saw no one. Metz had left, and as far as Gregog was concerned, he did not want to see Metz again.
Gregog reached Joada and stopped. "I'll send help," he told him.
"Where are you going?" Joada asked.
"Taking her to me house, where Megan can help her heal," he answered.
"What's next?" Joada asked.
"Once everyone is healed," Gregog said, "we’re goin’ to have a sit-down. All of us and the gods. Things need to change."
"What about her?"
"I'm going to let her decide," Gregog said. "If she wants to be with us, fine. If she wants to go home, no problem. If she wants to go on her own and do her own thing, I’ll not stop her. As far as I'm concerned, she has earned the right to do whatever she wants. And I’ll defend that right for as long as I live."
"Good," Joada replied.
◆◆◆
In anticipation of her father's return, Megan cleaned every corner of the house. He had just begun his sabbatical and yet had already embarked on a trip with other Nrothgare for Nrothgare business. Megan understood there must be a good reason for his sudden departure and trusted that he would return soon, but it still bothered her. He had promised to spend an entire year with her, yet on the first day, he was already out of the house without her. She promised herself not to let anger consume her, but if this pattern continued, she knew she would grow increasingly frustrated without remorse. The one positive thing amidst it all was her encounter with Krys, the young warrior who had arrived with her father.
Krys was a vibrant young woman who seemed lost in her own thoughts. Megan liked her and could sense that Krys had a good heart. Megan's only issue with Krys was that she often appeared distracted, not fully present in the moment. Her mind seemed to wander, longing to be somewhere else, training or at home, or perhaps neither or both. Krys appeared confused and lost, and Megan hoped someone would guide her.
Megan surveyed the house and let out a sigh. She had spent hours cleaning in the sweltering heat, yet from her current viewpoint, it looked no different than when she had started. A small smile crept onto her face, knowing that she always kept a clean house regardless. She walked over to the table and poured herself a cup of water from the pitcher. The water was not cold, but it provided some much-needed refreshment.
With all the work completed, Megan decided to go downstairs and seek refuge in the coolness of the basement while waiting for her father's return. She descended the steps and sighed, feeling lonely and longing for her father's presence. She approached the bed and briefly considered napping, but the basement was still too hot.
"You are greatly favored by the Most High," she heard a voice behind her. Megan turned to see the angel she had mentioned to Krys standing before her.
"I thought I was dreaming," she replied. "But you're real."
"You have done well," the angel continued, "and now it is time for you to do more."
Megan felt confused. "Aren't I meant to guide someone on their path to truth?" she asked.
"Listen or be silenced," the angel said, clearly annoyed. "Have faith. You have already guided her, and she has listened. Your guidance has given her strength to believe and move forward."
"Her?" Megan whispered, realizing the angel was referring to Krys.
"Yes, she is the one you guided," the angel confirmed as if reading her thoughts. "Come, see for yourself." In an instant, Megan found herself transported upstairs and outside to the garden. She gasped as she realized she was floating several feet off the ground. "Look at what can be if you fulfill the Most High's request," the angel pointed.
Megan gazed out onto the grounds and saw numerous young children scattered about. Some were tending to fields, others caring for horses, and a few were engaged in sword training.
"Who are they?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.
"They are rescued orphans who have found refuge here," the angel answered. "If you fulfill the Most High's request, you will be blessed."
Megan's eyes widened as she observed older men and women guiding and instructing the children. "And who are they?" she inquired, pointing toward them.
"They are former orphans who have heard of your home and have come to offer their help," the angel explained. "Many of them were once soldiers, and now they will train the young orphans for the war to come."
"War? Why?" she asked, her heart heavy.
"A great battle for all of humanity is approaching," the angel said solemnly. "Be cautious with whom you share this information. The evil one will do everything possible to thwart these efforts."
