Mythborn Read Free

his breath slowly. It washed out of him and took with it any remaining doubt. He would not listen to this demon and though he did not hold the same abhorrence to magic as his forbears, he knew no demon ever spoke the truth. He always knew he would die in battle and this moment felt like an old friend come to visit him again. For him, it held no fear. “You will never possess me,” he said.
    Baalor’s armored head tilted, and though only the glow of his eyes could be seen, the king felt a wave of sadness wash out of this god of storms. “You are wrong, King of Bara’cor. You will serve our needs, just as have all those who have died under your command.”
    In response, the mist surrounding the area congealed into dozens of armored forms, then hundreds. They were the fallen of Bara’cor, possessed and now raised again from the dead by the power of the Aeris Lords. They pulled back as Baalor stepped forward, creating a circle around the two from which there was no escape.
    “Only power sufficient to match that which you already carry will be brought to bear upon thee, mortal.” The armored god paused and said, “We shall take measure of one another as required by the First Laws.”
    What I carry with me? The king assumed Baalor meant the enchantment he’d seen Duncan perform prior to his departure with Ash and the rescuers. The man was unhinged, seldom making sense during Bernal’s brief encounter with him. Then again, perhaps this was Duncan’s way of insuring Baalor brought his full might to bear, for the Galadine family was no friend of the insane archmage.
    He turned to Baalor and stated, “I did not ask for Duncan’s aid.”
    Baalor shook his head. “The Old Lord did nothing to change this outcome. Your blade and shield speak for themselves, baned to destroy our kind. Your feigned ignorance is unbecoming. Your name has caused our people much harm and woe.”
    The statement about his weapons did not surprise the king exactly. Many rumors abounded of the weapons and armor of the Galadine line against demons. After all, they had been forged at the forefront of the Demon Wars. Still, to hear confirmation fall from this demon’s mouth called to question his earlier belief that everything said was a lie. The point about his name bringing woe to Baalor’s people… that did surprise him. Yet he was careful not to let anything show on his face. If what Baalor said was correct a small part of him dared to hope he might yet prevail.
    “Very well,” he answered, “let us have at it. This endless chatter is useless.” The king’s shield snapped up and his blade, Azani, sang ready as it cleared his scabbard and crossed in front.
    The ebonite-armored giant did the same, the flex in his legs and arms promising violence and carnage. The mace came up, blue threads of lightning arcing about its length, tainting the air with a strange metallic tang. Bernal watched grimly as Baalor circled without another sound, giving credence to the king’s words that a time for talking had indeed ended.
    Then the Stormlord attacked, bounding forward with steps that shook the granite ground. His mace, dancing with lightning, rose and fell like a blacksmith’s hammer as Baalor again went to the labor of smelting what he desired most from the world. It was bloody work, for the thing he sought to shape was the body of Bernal Galadine.
    Bernal dodged to his right, keeping his shield between the mace and himself. The downward strike shattered the stone of the ground where the king had stood, causing a tremor to run through Bara’cor’s walls. The smash was followed by a swipe that seemed to leap up at the king without pausing. As Bernal had seen before, for all his size and bulk, Baalor was as fast as a sky serpent with his strikes.
    Bernal crouched and deflected the mace upward, his arm and shoulder taking the brunt of the massive blow that would have taken his head completely off his shoulders. The strike sounded like thunder, blasting