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   Chapter 43 No.43

The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5398

Updated: 2018-07-10 12:04

'I've just had a good idea' Farrell said enthusiastically at her thought. 'We could make this town, with all the people that you know, and the buildings. And we could make little mini fences for the fields.'

'And we could make your scary horse too' Amaia said bouncing up and down excitedly. 'I'm so happy! Could you help me make them? Pleeeeeze!'

'Of course' Farrell replied, glowing with pride. 'My daughter. Our precious treasure.' He placed a hand upon her head. 'I am so proud of you' he said warmly, the edges of his eyes crinkling. 'You're a good girl, you know that?'

Amaia giggled at this, bouncing forwards and hugging her father around his neck.

'Mother?' she said looking around, still hanging onto Farrell's neck. Do you want to play with us?'

Ramana watched the pair for a moment, turning away with a smirk. 'Oh you two' she chuckled.

Farrell rose to a stand, Amaia still not letting go hung from around his neck.

Ramana glanced back at them. 'You two run along and have fun, I will stay here.'

'Are you sure you don't want to join us?' Farrell asked looking dejected.

'You two need time alone together sometimes' Ramana explained. 'Who knows when you will be called away again' she spoke to Farrell. 'To your duties. I'm sure you don't want me to cramp your space all the time.'

She blew a kiss to both of them, then turned and glided away before Farrell could argue.

She sighed happily as she pranced away, holding her hands to her chest, feeling her heart swell with joy. But something made her pause for a moment as she walked by. Arlen stood near her now, watching her with a strange look in his eyes.

She hesitated for a moment, not realising at first that he had been there.

She smiled warmly to him, and carried on walking.

Chapter Ten


Many miles away from home, Alastor tossed his head, neighing excitedly and prancing on the spot. Farrell pulled back the reins sharply, turning his horse back to the army that stood ready and armed behind him. He raised his sword, signalling for the men to sound the charge.

The army tore forwards across the plains, Farrell leading the way as his men descended upon the town. His army had sown confusion; their enemy was caught off-guard.

Their forces divided as they wove through the streets of the town, slaying their enemies.

Brice urged his horse onwards, swinging his sword at the men on the ground around him. One of the enemies before him appeared wielding fire. His horse reared, startled by the burning torch the man held. Brice fell from the saddle; he rolled and quickly rose to his feet, lifting his sword high and ready to strike.

He fought in close quarters

, slaying easily the poorly trained soldiers. Brice stood tall and proud, fighting with all the grace and speed of one born to be a leader and a true soldier. But he saw something strange then, a figure in the mass of people that fought around him. A person in a mask. A mask with hollow eyes and a pointed beak. A crow mask.

Brice pulled back in confusion, hesitating for a moment. The figure moved towards him swiftly, taking advantage of this.

Brice felt an excruciating pain then, a long knife driven through the centre of his naval, piercing him right the way through.

The battle had ceased, and Farrell rode around the men as they milled aimlessly about in the aftermath of the fight. He saw surviving prisoners being rounded up and put in chains, the last remnants of the enemy they had fought and defeated, once again victorious. But something was wrong.

'Where is Brice?' Farrell asked Arlen who appeared beside him.

'I don't know' Arlen answered, sitting atop his horse and gazing around.


Farrell jerked on Alastor's reins, turning his horse towards the voice of the soldier that had spoken.

'We've found your brother….he….he's……'

Farrell's eyes flashed as the man on the ground began to stammer and mumble incoherently. He kicked his heels hard, sending Alastor into a canter, swiftly followed by Arlen on his own horse.

The two of them found Brice soon enough, surrounded by several of his own men. Farrell leapt down from his horse, striding towards the still figure that lay on the ground.

The world suddenly went cold, as Farrell stared down at his brother's lifeless body.

Farrell very slowly knelt down, reaching shaking hands towards Brice; he cupped his face, his tears falling onto his cheek.

But Brice was already stone cold.

The funeral was held that very same day, within hours of his death. Farrell walked slowly behind Brice as he was carried on the stretcher. After him Arlen followed.

Alice wailed in despair as her son helped carry her forwards. Gracie, just turning old enough to begin to understand death, grasped onto her mother's skirt silently, as she was led by her son.

Brice's body was lowered into the grave. Shawn held his mother around her shoulders as she bawled into a handkerchief. Farrell threw a handful of petals over his brother's body, before the earth was piled on top of him. Beside him, Arlen was praying.

Later that day, long after the sun had set, Arlen and Farrell quietly met with Alice in her home.

'I have a lot of money' Farrell said to her in a husky voice. 'I will give you any amount you need to survive.'

'Thank you' Alice sobbed, rubbing her sore red eyes. 'Thank you…'

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