Cries of a Wounded Soul

Chapter 12

Two arrows whizzed by, one imbedding itself in a tree trunk behind us with a thunk. Three soldiers wearing the blue uniforms of our king's army jumped out from behind a tumble of boulders and brush with swords drawn. Yelling battle cries from behind bared teeth, they charged.

Obeus threw up a hand. A shimmering blue disk shot out, expanding as it flew. It knocked the soldiers back on contact, sending them crumpled and dazed to the ground as if they had run headlong into a rock wall.

Coming up to his feet, Obeus swirled his arms out, forming a shimmering shield around us. Three arrows bounced off harmlessly. "It seems," he said in an even voice, "that they have found us."

"You think?"

At Obeus' urging, we moved to an open area just outside the tree grove that earlier provided us shade. The waist tall green grasses that surrounded us quivered in the breeze. Leaving behind any semblance of stealth, hooves and boots stomped our way on the trail, coming to a halt at a stone's throw distance. Some twenty uniformed swordsmen and archers assembled in a straight battle line, weapons drawn and ready. Behind them, two officers on horseback barked orders. Two others, a man and a woman in black clothing, looked on. Mages.

Taking a deep breath, I tried unsuccessfully to slow my racing heart. I drew my long-knife, but it seemed inconsequential against all the armaments that faced us. For a few moments, each side held still, as if waiting for a bell ring to begin a wrestling match.

I whispered to Obeus, "Do you have a plan for this?"

"I shall handle the soldiers. You neutralize the mages."

"Right. No problem."

Closing my eyes, I focused my thoughts and willed the Fury to emerge. It didn't. Oh, come on! Now you sleep?

The mages initiated the battle. Raising their arms in choreographed motion, they formed two sparkling orbs of magic. With a thrust, they shot them at us. Obeus raised a flat shield, and the orbs blasted against it in a shower of crackling blue sparks.

Simultaneously, the foot soldiers charged, shouting and sprinting toward us with swords held high, while the archers held back, notching arrows. Obeus growled as he swept out his hands. Glowing blue threads bolted out. Where the threads met tall grass, flames erupted, leaping high and creating a wall of raging fire between the sides. The charging soldiers wisely halted, but the archers didn't. Arrows rained down around us, or bounced against Obeus' shield.

An opposing mage, the woman, sent out cyan sparks from her fingertips toward the fire, another form of elemental magic. Whatever they touched turned frosty white. After extinguishing the fire with the cold, she directed the magic at us. Obeus blocked it, but I still felt a sudden winter chill.

Meanwhile, the soldiers resumed their sprint. Obeus fired magic orbs, knocking two down, but the others continued.

"Well, Tomas?" He growled. "Any time now."

I concentrated. Wake up, damn you! Still nothing.

A kinetic orb launched from the other mage, glanced off of Obeus' shield and struck me in the shoulder like a heaved rock. I grunted, spinning around, falling face down.

Awakened, the Fury bolted from its rest, snarling. Finally! Go! I ordered. It burst out in tentacles of turbulent gray smoke, arching into the air in raging anger.

Obeus' eyes widened in shock as a tentacle swirled around him. No, not Obeus. I pointed to the mages on horseback. Them!

The Fury hissed as two columns of gray raced toward the wide-eyed mages. Striking, they coiled around the mages like constricting snakes, lifting them from their spooked horses. The mages flailed and cried out, wildly launching blue sparks of magic at the monster that gripped them. But the Fury consumed it all in gluttonous hunger, even their magic abilities. When no more remained, the Fury dropped its trembling victims to the ground.

Another turbulent gray column snaked among the soldiers, seeking more magic but finding none. Wide-eyed with panic, the soldiers dropped their weapons and ran, stumbling over each other as they scrambled away. A red-faced officer rode back and forth in front of the soldiers, holding a sword aloft and shouting orders to regroup. But a carefully aimed pulse of blue by Obeus knocked him from horseback to the ground, flat on his back with a grunting thump.

The battle was over.

I approached an archer who sat trembling on the ground. His face paled in fear and he crab-walked backwards when he saw me. Picking up his bow and quiver, I said, "Do you mind if I borrow this? I seem to have left mine behind." Speechless, he shook his head rapidly. "Thank you," I replied, smiling sweetly with a hint of sarcasm. "Go. Rejoin your unit." Jumping up, he scampered off after the others.

With the fallen mages, I was less polite. For they had power, and with power comes responsibility. And failing that, judgment. Drawing my long-knife, I stalked them in the tall grass. The Fury swirled above me like a concentrated storm cloud, reveling in my verdict, our joint rage locked in a loop.

The woman mage panted as she kneeled. "What are you?" she asked with a trembling voice. The man curled in a fetal position nearby, his blank eyes focused far away. The Fury hissed in contempt, but with their magic forever drained, they had nothing the beast wanted.

"Your nightmare," I replied, narrowing my eyes and extending my blade to her throat. A single tear escaped a corner of her closed eyes as she awaited death.

But before the killing cut, Aria's gentle face came to my mind, backlit with a golden light. No, Tomas, she whispered. It is done. Do not take this path. Compassion radiated from her heart, filling me with a glowing warmth.

Sheathing my knife, I said in an even tone, "Leave this place. Tell your fellow mages and the king what happened here and to stay well away from us, or they shall suffer the same fate." I turned away, returning to Obeus.

He nodded to me and said, "Despite your delay in bringing forth the Null, the outcome was quite successful."

I turned toward him with a grin. "Was that compliment number three?"

He shook his head, "I would only deem it two-and-a-half. There was much room for improvement."