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The WeatherMaker Hearts Desire By Lady Lilium Characters: 5419

Updated: 2018-07-11 19:03


Feeling no remorse, the king watched. The silent soldier took the box off her, and made to grab her other hand.

'No please!' the nameless Weather Maker begged in agony. 'I don't know how to save her!'

'Then you will die' the king told her simply. His dark eyes shot to the silent soldier. 'Continue.'

Behind them, the fairy had cried out so much that his voice was hoarse.

When the Weather Maker was dead for the last time, the king turned his attention back to the fairy that was chained. 'Finish him off' he spoke shortly.

The soldier marched up to him.

The fairy looked up, too exhausted to even feel hate or anger. The soldier lifted a long blade concealed on his person. The fairy could only raise a single arm, a feeble attempt to protect himself.

The soldier thrust the knife swiftly between his ribs, puncturing his lung and heart. The fairy fell back as the soldier jerked the knife away, falling to his side on the cold, hard stone floor, he died within seconds.

The soldier wiped his blade clean, hiding it again beneath his cloak. Behind him the king went over to the tall doors that were the only entrance or exit to the large hall. He opened one of the great doors, and spoke to the soldier that waited on the other side.

'Take them away.'

Swiftly and with eyes averted, a small group of men hurried into the hall, lifting the dead bodies of the Weather Maker and the fairy, and very quickly mopping up the blood.

The silent soldier looked on.

Within minutes the hall had been cleaned and was emptied of all besides the king himself, and his soldier who stood nearby. The king's next order came short and sharp.

'Send the next one in.'

Chapter Fifty Five

A Friend from the Past

The three waited in silence in the woods, hidden by the trees and completely invisible to anyone approaching them from the manor.

Farrell waited expectantly, and as Arlen had estimated, twelve minutes later, the gates to the manor opened and several mounted figures rode their way.

Farrell tensed, hand sliding to the hilt of his sword. He glanced around him, seeing some of the mercenaries hiding in the trees above them, arrows nocked.

They waited in tense silence as the soldiers drew closer, unknowingly riding to their end.

The soldiers entered the forest, riding at a gentle trot, above them the mercenaries all aimed at their targets. Arlen, Shawn and Farrell waiting on the ground behind the trees watched as the soldiers rode past them. And then Arlen whistled loudly.

The soldiers barely had time to turn in confusion at the source of the noise when the mercenaries fired their arrows, killing almost all of them in one blow. The remaining were

picked off by the archers overhead as they tried to escape, but not getting very far. Arlen, Shawn and Farrell strode from their hiding places, checking the fallen men and finishing off those few that were still alive.

Farrell turned one of the men over, seeing the terror in him, knowing it was the end. The man tried to beg for his life, but Farrell quickly slit his throat, straightening up again and turning back to Arlen.

'Take their armour' Arlen said already beginning to undress one of the dead men as Shawn tried to calm and restrain some of the horses as they pranced and wandered about in confusion.

The other horses were quickly caught by the mercenaries who descended from the trees, undressing the dead men and putting on their armour.

Farrell placed the helmet over his head, mounting one of the horses and wheeling the animal around. It felt good to be riding a war horse again he thought.

Nearby Arlen surveyed the scene briefly before calling out the order to ride forth, leaving the dead men where they had fallen, they left the forest, riding out into the open and towards the manor.

When they reached the gates, Arlen dismounted his horse quickly, talking in a murmur to the young soldier who guarded the gates. The instant the gates were opened by the young soldier, Arlen drove a knife deep into his throat.

The others dismounted their horses, throwing off their helmets so they may be recognised by the other mercenaries that attacked the manor from the back, sweeping through the garden and into the building.

It was a long journey back to the small town where Amaia grew up. They had travelled far, and for many days. By the time they reached the place, both were exhausted.

'We're here' White Feather sighed wearily, '…at last.'

Amaia gazed onwards to the place she had once known as home. The place she had forgotten.

'I don't remember any of this' Amaia spoke with sadness.

'Don't worry' White Feather reassured her. 'It will come back to you in time. But we need to get closer. It will help you remember.'

'I've just thought of something' Amaia voiced. She turned to White Feather. 'We've been walking for so long all this way, why didn't you shrink down in size? I could have carried you on my shoulder.'

'And let you walk all this way alone?' White Feather scoffed. 'I already told you, I will share your burden, this one, and however more are to come in the future, no matter what they are.'

'That is awfully kind of you' Amaia said meekly. 'I wish I could repay such kindness.'

'Your safety and happiness are repayment enough' White Feather replied with joy.

'But you could have spared yourself the pain' Amaia told him.

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