Free The Tale of Onora: The Boy and the Peddler of Death by Dylan Saccoccio

shall be devastating,” he said to himself.
    He cast Guardian Aegis on his nearby allies. It was a protection ward that gave his Caliphian allies a two-thirds chance to evade attacks, yet it diminished their strength equivalently so that their health would remain in balance as they gained unnatural speed and awareness. He knew the Oussaneans were much quicker than one could anticipate. It was more desirable to be prepared a day earlier than a second late when it came to these women.
    Rusvi’menel bore the burden of sustaining the enchantments. He was a healer, but he was not perfect. He was a man wrought with the same vulnerabilities as any other, and the foreign spice seduced him into dismissing his instinct of whose benefit that scent served. It was a mistake that could not have come at a worse time.
    ______________________________
    O LWYN’S BODY FELT WEIGHTLESS as she floated through the forest. As light broke through the trees and shone upon her face, the blackness of vision beneath her closed eyelids turned bright red. It took a great deal of energy to open her eyes merely enough to steal a glimpse of her surroundings. The foliage and ground gently passed her by. She struggled to look in a different direction as the words fell from her mouth.
    “My baby,” she uttered.
                A gentle, feminine breath caressed Olwyn’s ear. “Fear not, Nordic one. Your baby is safe. We shall protect you.”
                A warm tear escaped Olwyn’s eye. She was ashamed that she deserted her husband. But it was not merely because she couldn’t wait for his return. The shame was born from the deep travail within the sanctuary of her heart. It was there in this nativity that she knew he’d never return.
    Olwyn remembered his touch; every infinitesimal movement his body made when he held her. She heard his voice and the beat of his heart. She missed him. In this moment of helplessness, the weight of her regret paralyzed her. The pressure stung her nose and flooded her eyes. His name sailed on her breath in a soft whimper.
    “Lugh.”
    ______________________________
    T HE OUSSANEANS MOVED TOWARDS striking distance. The Shadekin troubadours sang their songs of thunder. Their drums violently churned the clouds into a tempest, like cream into butter. The verses reverberated from Taliesin’s voice like a war cry:
     
    “Will ye still wait for me
                If I do not return to thee?
                What else could I have done?
                It was always all or one!
                I looked the Devil in the eyes
                Then I cast my terrible smile!
                I drank his blood! I stole his time!
                Rest assured, his soul is mine!”
     
    The entire Caliphian Army wailed the chorus:
     
                “And everyone just lies here,
                Their minds rest asleep. (Roar).
                Unknowing what’s been done to them
                By wolves dressed as sheep! (Roar).”
     
    The song created a light-green energy field that encompassed the area in front of the Shadekin.
    Taliesin gave the order. “Save thy mana! Let them enter the Realm of Somnolence. ‘Tis more deserving they die in slumber!”
    Lugh R ökkr was the mightiest of the mighty, a battlemage. His red irises burned like embers. His silky-white hair was dressed for battle, his beard thick but flawlessly groomed. It hid his age well. He was in top physical shape, but it mattered not. His mind was perhaps the most powerful thing in the universe.
    Lugh was a lion of a man. He served the Royal Family because of his bloodline’s loyalty to the crown. From the very moment that Woden Caliph relinquished his immortality to marry Sylia, the god-made beauty of the world, the Shadekin constructed the Empyreal Chancel to serve as the resting place for The Trivium. The Empyreal Chancel was a realm hidden within