Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy Read Free

armies of endarils and mendar marching towards an
enormous army of the evil forangen. A cascading
waterfall, shimmering in the sun, falling into a small pond
before once again becoming a raging river replaced this.
The beauty of the scene caused him to relax his struggling
but then pain struck him like a bolt of electricity. Out of
the trees surrounding the pond broke a herd of animals, fear
locked on their faces, its power killing some of them. They
turned at the water and following them came a horrific man
on a large wolf, rabbit ears jutting from his forehead like
horns, his lower face shaped like an ape’s and a horn
sticking out from a bare grey skull. Twelve other men with
strange features burst out behind the first and froze.
    Tych started pleading with his mind to fight, repeating,
“stop this, stop this” over and over again. Then the riders
stopped and seemed to look at him, surprise on their faces.
They began to laugh and the leader growled, “What is your
name of power, my son?”
    A scream knocked Greentree unconscious and stunned
Cort. It was an abnormal scream, for it was mental, not
verbal. Tych’s mind had cried out for help, forcing his
father rigid in his chair and his twenty-year-old brother,
Crat, to walk into a tree. The other endarils covered their
ears, useless as it was, and turned towards the castle. Many
animals died in the valley.
    In his tower Corl slowly closed the large open tome of
spells and stood. He could feel the wells of magic from
which humanoids drew their power boiling and thrashing.
Every wizard on the continent, close to one hundred
humans and darils, cursed, and then wondered at the
disturbance of their power source. Corl picked up his staff
and teleported to his grandson’s side. He could hear people
starting to take action to find Tych, lifted the young prince
and teleported with him.
    The boy had become unconscious so he just lay on the
ledge of the mountain where they appeared. From here
Corl could see the whole valley but he focused on his
grandson. The strong wind up here pulled at the wizard’s
cloak as he chanted. He drew symbols on Tych as he spoke
and sang until the glowing began to fade. Stopping the
spell casting, he bent down to speak in the prince’s ear
before the energy could return to his body.
    He whispered, “Feel the muscles in your toes relax.
Now move on to your feet and continue up...” He went
through every muscle in Tych’s body, encouraging him to
relax it, until he reached the head. “With your mind,
visualize a well, not filled with water, but with energy.
Feel yourself pouring your own into it.” The images in
Tych’s head matched the description, a glowing pit with
him standing next to it, the magicians’ metaphor for their
energy source. “Recognize that your bucket is as big as the
well and put it aside for the future. Once you’ve done that,
scoop up some energy in your hands and step back. Drink
it. When I count to three, return your body to a normal,
awake state.”
    When Tych sat up, he was in his bed. Corl sat next to
him, staff in hand. “In a few minutes, they’ll come in here
looking for you again. I’ll tell them a story, so go along
with it. You’ve done right in keeping your torment a secret
and I’ll help you keep it that way. I’ve known all along
about your abilities. You must forget they exist, for in time
you will discover them again. Do two things: never
question me and always be guided by good.”
    The young prince nodded and took a deep breath.
“Grandfather, will it always be like this?”
    “No, Tych, you are just not ready to deal with it
physically and mentally. Relax while I make you forget.
As long as you are in the valley, you will not remember,
and once you leave, it will return slowly.” Tych fell back
into his pillows.
    Corl once again began to weave a spell, drawing arcane
symbols over the prince and chanting. Morg sensed the
casting