Penthos: The Guardian Sea

Chapter Thirty-five: The War of Wrath

A cry more demonic than anything Jhordyn had ever heard erupted from his once-beloved brother’s lips. From the dark air he pulled a deadly sword that embodied evil. The blade was a sharp, ragged thing made of obsidian. The hilt looked to be made of tanned flesh . . . and it smelled of human. The gems laid in the stone blade didn’t sparkle like normal gems; they seemed to eat the light, and created a void where the light should have been.

     Upon seeing this sword, Jhordyn knew it was over for him. All hope that his family could escape unharmed vanished.

     He put his head down and prayed silently to whatever power remained governing the universe to keep his daughter safe. Then, he lifted his gaze to meet the mad eyes of his brother, drawing his own sword.

     Jhordyn’s sword, Ywen, Peace, was as long as his leg (and Jhordyn was not a short man), and built to wield two-handed. The white silver of the blade had been blessed with the magic of the Shaman to keep the metal strong as long as Jhordyn remained so. The head of the White Dragon shined bright upon the blade, and the gold of the hilt thrummed in his palm, as an old pet would thrum with joy after being parted for so long from its owner only to be reunited once more.

     Seeing the look on Darius’s face as he drew Ywen, Jhordyn was given hope. But glancing at the Watchers, his hope was restrained, leashed by fear. He would need hope later. Now, he needed his training, his fighting instincts, and his inhuman abilities. Else, he would not survive this battle. Else, his family would be slaughtered, the universe to follow. He saluted his brother, sword up and in front of his face, then swept into a formal bow, trying not to remember the boy that this madman had once been. This man caused the deaths of many, and the disappearance of more. He had to die.

     Jhordyn straightened, and War of Wrath began.

Serapheme watched in horror as Darius circled her husband. Jhordyn stood silent, sword at the ready. His eyes were closed, and he seemed to be feeling his opponent instead of relying on his sight, which could be deceived easily by the magics of the Nrikrotus. Jhordyn was always the type to know what you were thinking all the time, something that could aid him in battle and help him take care of his people. It was what made him a good king. That and his love for everyone he encountered.

     Serapheme gasped as Darius struck, an aggressive stab at his brother’s back. Weak was he to strike from behind!

     Before he could land the blow, Jhordyn spun and deflected the evil sword with his sword of light. Darius shrieked and began hacking furiously. Each slash was deflected, each attack shrugged off as Jhordyn moved around him like a ghost.

     Darius finally stepped away. “YOU COWARD!” he shouted. “FIGHT ME LIKE A MAN!”

     Jhordyn smiled sadly. “This is why you always lost, my brother. You let your rage get the best of you.”

     Darius smiled now, coldly, hatefully. “The rage that once impaired me is now my weapon, dearest brother. Come have a taste.” He took a stance that was halfway between crouching and standing, the leg closes to Jhordyn extended. He held his sword in one hand, and with his other he reached into the air and plucked out a ball of black fire. He threw the ball of acrid smoke and flame at Jhordyn.

     Jhordyn ducked and it smashed into the sand, leaving blackened crystal behind. The ground shook when it struck, hissing as smoke rose from the crystallized sand. Jhordyn took up his stance and rushed at his brother, but not before Serapheme noted the despair masked by fear masked by courage in his eyes.

     Darius sidestepped him and swung outward with his sword. Jhordyn saw the trick a moment too late. The blade nicked Jhordyn’s cheek, drawing a gasp from his lips. The king stumbled, then turned to face his brother again, protecting himself. He clinched his sword tighter as the taint from the sword began to spread, turning his once-perfect skin into a canvas for the black webbing of the poison from the blade as it moved through his veins.