Chapter 72

Kestrel took a deep breath. He embraced the tortures being forced into his mind. He used the visions to target the men facing him. He rushed the largest of the group. He dipped, slammed his shoulder into the man’s stomach, and stood up, flipping the man onto his shoulders, which slammed onto the hard granite below them. The man would get back up, but he’d given himself a few seconds to fight the others.

A metalvine slammed into his knife arm. The impact resounded throughout him and he dropped the blade that he held. The man cocked back for another swing. Kestrel raised his arm to block the oncoming blow, exposing his ribs.

The Inquisitor took the bait and the weapon slammed into Kestrel’s ribs, a shock of pain pulsed through his body, but he gritted his teeth and trapped the weapon with his arm and with a quick twist, disarmed the attacker.

Kestrel’s hand found its grip and he jammed the metalvine forwards in a lunge that took the man in the throat. He fell to the ground, eyes wide with terror, gasping for breath that wouldn’t come from his collapsed windpipe

Kestrel shifted his weight, his feet propelling him into a spinning motion and at the apex of the movement he whipped out the metalvine, slamming it into the temple of the large Inquisitor that was just regaining his footing.

The blood that plumed from his head and his eyes that rolled back into his head told Kestrel the man wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon, if ever.

A hand grazed the exposed skin on his arm.

Kestrel’s memory of the last five seconds disappeared.

A Forgotten.

They had a Forgotten with them.

Kestrel’s instincts took over and he shifted out of the way of the reaching hands of the Memory Mage who’s touch could steal memories.

Kestrel waded backwards, dodging the grasping hands of the Memory Mage. He shot his metalvine out, slamming it into the reaching hand of the Forgotten. Kestrel could feel the bone’s cracking from his blow. The Forgotten pulled his hand to his chest, howling in pain. Kestrel snapped a backhanded blow to the man’s jaw, snapping it. He followed up with a series of blows that left the man a mangled heap on the ground.

A knife from one of the Inquisitors tore through Kestrel’s sleeve.

*****

Aris glanced over towards Kestrel. He’d just killed another of the Memory Mages that had surrounded him as he chased after Edrian Wolls. Aris wished that it was him who was chasing after the monster, but his hands were full with the swarm of soldiers and Memory Mages that had surrounded him and Wallace who was moving with the fury of the Wendig they had fought in the mountain campaigns what felt like a lifetime ago.

The old man was slicing through bodies with deadly precision. Each cut was exactly where it needed to be to fell his enemies.

Aris’ movements mirrored that of his former commander.

He had expected this attack. He knew that Edrian Wolls couldn’t bear the thought of his rival Aris Ravenscroft being the only other noble to make it out of this fiasco alive, and he would do everything in his power to rid himself of the man.

He knew that his surrender meant he would fall into this trap and he’d expected it.

Aris knew the violence was coming. He knew it and it gave him the perfect opportunity to kill that soulless freak.

Edrian Wolls’ desire to kill them had led them exactly where they needed to be, into the middle of the Imperial Keep. He had spared them the prolonged battle that would lead to the shedding of the blood of thousands and would give Evrain everything he needed for his horrid transformation that he was about to undertake.

The fool had given them exactly what they needed to destroy Evrain.

*****

“The fool!” Evrain hissed as he watched from the tower of his Imperial keep. Edrian Wolls, instead of refusing Aris’ parlay of peace, had indulged the man, he surely wanted to bring the man inside, trap him among the Memory Mages who would slaughter them.

It would have been a smart move —it was a smart move— but it went against Evrain’s needs.

They needed the violence. They needed a lot of it. The voice in his head demanded it. Without the bloodshed and chaos, the monster inside of him wouldn’t have enough power to complete their transformation.

He needed the death.

“Order them to attack,” Evrian’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the Inquisitor who stood next to his side nodded, “And have the child brought to me along with the wife of Aris Ravenscroft. It’s almost time, and she’ll make a good shield to protect me from that traitor who wishes to see me and all our men dead.”

The Inquisitor disappeared into the shadows.

Ten minutes later, Evrain watched as the word was delivered to his military commanders. They grimly nodded.

Not more than five minutes later, they charged into the city.

Hundreds of his men died in the first wave, but it bothered Evrain little. He didn’t care who died.

As long as there was bloodshed and violence, he would get what he needed and that’s all that mattered.

Evrain laughed as he watched the bodies falling to the ground from his eagle’s eye view. The bloodshed was delicious. It sated the lust that had grown in him over the last few decades of relative inactivity.

Sure, he had the Inquisitors and came up with new tortures for them every once in a while, and he’d often personally handle the older of the Imperial servants when they got sick. That would slake his bloodlust a little, but it couldn’t compare to the feeling of watching death on such a massive scale.

Even if it weren’t needed to fuel his transformations, he would still love it. The voice that had long been a part of him had an almost orgasmic reaction to the death that unfolded below them.

“Soon.” It said. “Soon the bloodshed will be enough. It will be a harder transformation than last time. This one has been rushed, but it’s still enough to feed us for our transformation. It will be enough to take our new host, especially one so young and delicate as the child we’re going to take.”

Aris grinned at the words from the voice.

It had never led him wrong before, and he would trust it to lead him again.

Soon he would be rid of this sick body.

He hated it from the moment that it had began to betray him. He hated the grey in his hair. He hated the lines that danced across his face, showing the permanent flow of time on his skin.

He was beyond time.

His magic was beyond what mere men could comprehend. He deserved a body that listened to him. He deserved a body that wouldn’t betray him with weakening joints and the shakes that plagued him now.

A small tremor shook his hand. He spat a series of expletives that would cause that fool Edrian Wolls’ ears to turn red and his face to go sallow had he heard.

The tremor shook him harder. This time it started in his calves and worked its way up his body.

He growled. He needed his new body. He wouldn’t live under this disgusting skin for a second longer than needed. He lusted for the new, fresh flesh that had been denied him for too long. When was the last time that he’d taken a new body? Had it really been forty years ago with the fall of the coast of Vealand? That had been but a small wave of violence, but he hadn’t needed anymore than that. His magic had been nearly charged enough from the fall of that desert kingdom…what was its name?

It didn’t matter.

What mattered was he needed a new body. The tremors were getting worse every day. If he didn’t fuel his transformation soon, he would be dead within months. He could feel it.

Each passing transformation took more from him. It wasn’t that it was harder to retain himself in the new body, rather, that was getting easier.

No, it was that each new incarnation, each new host, reacted worse to the magic. It was as if his power were growing so large that it broke every new vessel it took.

That was why the girl had caught his attention. It was a delicious irony that she was the young ward of the man that his former General, Aris Ravenscroft, had took under his wing. If he were to understand things correctly —and he did— she was the lynchpin that had fueled his transformation.

It was her, this nameless child, that was the one who had overheard Edrian Wolls’ plotting. It was because of her that they had gotten the drop on Dren, who’s death had, in a delicious twist of irony, been the fuel that had started Vealand down this road of chaos that this night was bound to bring.

The symmetry was wonderful. He would reward this child with his presence. She would be his new host. She would be the one who would bear him for the next few decades.

The violence spilled deeper into the streets.

Men died. Fires erupted.

The screams that floated up to Evrain in his birds nest in the keep sang to him. Soon he would rid himself of this damned place. He would be free of this cursed country. He wouldn’t have to deal with the cold winters that bit into his bones, he would go somewhere new, somewhere warm. He had been working his trade relations with the island kingdom of Ton’An. He’d secured passage for the young girl on a ship destined for the paradise.

He would find a new life in a new kingdom. He would rule a new world.

Evrain smiled as the young redheaded child was ushered into his chamber, wrapped in the arms of woman, who despite the encroaching years that were ushering her past her mid-forties, carried herself with the grace of someone half her years. Her back was straight and the lines of disgust and anger that painted her face when her eyes fell upon him were deliciously harsh.

This must be her, Corrine Ravenscroft.

He smiled at the sight of her. She had been married to Van Ravenscroft, who had been the rebel leader.

He had had her memories erased and those of everyone who knew her and had her introduced to Aris Ravenscroft, the rebel leader’s brother, and a great General in his cabinet.

Many had marveled at his magnanimity when he’d allowed Aris to keep his position despite the actions of his brother, but he had been planning his transformation for years. Aris had always been that potential source of friction that he needed to ignite unrest.

Aris had become key to his plans.

He was the opposite of Edrian Wolls. He was an immovable object. He would stand firm in an avalanche and the mountains of snow that destroyed towns would part around him. He was a perfect foil. It was his unerring dedication to justice that would demand him to fight against Evrain.

He would die for the truth, and such was his leadership that thousands would come under his banner and follow him even unto the death. The hundreds of criminals that he’d wrangled in one night who were now dying as they fought to kill Evrain were proof of this.

He had been blessed by Aris. His nobility, his goodness, gave Evrain the resistance he needed to fuel the violence.

Aris would stop at nothing to do what was right and Evrain had the man’s wife, Corrine by his side.

Aris would smash each granite block that built this keep with his bare hands to save her. She was the perfect game piece. The perfect bait.

*****

Blood sprayed over Aris’ face.

Another Forgotten had fallen, the kukri of his fallen companion cleaved halfway down his breast from his shoulder, tearing through his heart, but even as he fell, Aris could feel the tug of magic washing away the memory of his blade swipe as the Memory Mage made a desperate attempt to take anything he could from Aris before his life ended.

The visions of torture had faded into a constant, heavy scream in the back of his mind, but Aris had battled Inquisitors before. He took their tortures and focused on how to use their weapons against them.

The memory of a constant pain in achilles tendon for years after being stretched on the rack guided his foot into slamming agains the Inquisitor’s heel, bringing the warped woman to the ground where Aris slammed his knee into the woman’s nose, crushing it before he stomped on her windpipe when she fell to the ground.

She shared her terror as her breath caught and her chest fought for air, but lost its battle. Aris shoved those memories aside.

There was no time for pity in the heat of battle.

A metalvine slammed into the small of Aris’ back. He collapsed to his knees, waiting for it to slam into the back of his neck, ending his life.

The blow didn’t come.

Aris looked up at the squelching sound coming from the man who’d been about to kill him. A thin knife blade stuck from his eye.

Wallace nodded to him as he danced away from an oncoming metalvine blow. The man was amazing. Despite his old age he still carried himself in battle like a kings champion in the old tales, and in seconds, he dispatched the warrior who’d been trying to kill him.

*****

Kestrel was thrown to the ground. Every part of his body ached and he struggled to find breath in his lungs. A blade slashed down at him.

He willed his body to roll toward his attacker, out of the way of the blade. He twirled his body and caught the man’s heel and with a twisting motion, the man fell to the ground. Kestrel pulled the heel to the side of his body and wrenched until he heard muscle snapping.

Then he drove his heel into the man’s groin. The memory was immediately shot back at him, but he pushed it to the side. He grasped the knife he’d felt holstered to the man’s calf. He took it and drove it multiple times into the man’s inner thigh, slicing open the femoral artery.

He left the man to bleed out as he regained his footing and launched the dagger into the chest of the man who’d thrown him. He ran to the man, cupped his face in his hand, and drove the back of his skull into the stone wall. The guard collapsed silently to the ground, dead.

He heard a scream.

Sephira.

She stumbled out of a room down the hallway. Blood was dripping from her neck and from a long slash that had scored her cheekbone and ran down her shoulder. Edrian Wolls didn’t follow after her.

Kestrel ran to her side, ignoring the pain that sent signal fires throughout his entire being. He slit the ropes that were restraining her.

“Are you okay?” he gasped.

She nodded a yes. “I was able to break his nose and get away, but not before he gave me this,” she pointed to the blood pouring from her face and shoulder.

Kestrel tore off his shirt and pressed it to her face. Her hand rested on his for the briefest second. It was a sea of tranquility in a storm of violence. There was pure acceptance in that touch. It said ‘I’ll take you as you are, even knowing the worst in you.’

It was the most loving thing he’d ever felt.

He broke off contact. “Where is he?” he asked.

She pointed to the room she’d stumbled out from. “There’s a suite there. I think he’s holed up in one of the rooms,” she told him.

Kestrel nodded, ran his hand across her cheek, and ran off.

He was a wolf on the hunt, and he’d kill Edrian Wolls.