Fate Rides Wicked: Volume I of the Lerilon Trilogy by Jonathan Biviano

energy build. To reduce the pain,
he thought about the next step. Suddenly the needles of
agony left, fleeing before his purpose. The thelf raised his
claws to strike. The prince threw all his energy out of
himself. A giant explosion rocked the cave. He had done
this before with smaller amounts of energy. As he hurtled
through the air, he wished he had used less. Then he
blacked out.
     
    Hunger and the sun woke the prince. He rolled onto his
back and looked up into the virtually cloudless sky. His
muscles tensed and he launched straight onto his feet. He
crouched. Heavy breathing had alerted him to the large
animal lying next to him. The big, brown bear bled from
several large wounds down the length of its back. The left
arm laid broken, bones visible through the tears in the fur.
    Tych guessed the creature bore wounds elsewhere and
would soon die. A shard of the cave lay nearby and, using
it like a sword, he removed the bear’s head. Other corpses
lay in the new clearing but after a quick check he
discovered that only he still lived. The prince gazed in
wonder at the trees that had been blown out, roots and all.
He guessed that since the energy came from him, its
continued rush had left him in an envelope, like the eye of
the storm. He had suffered only a full-body burn, which
pained him but had cooled rapidly.
    Standing, the warrior tested his side. The huge gash
had sealed up in the heat, but a long, ugly scar ran down his
side. He knew his strength on that side had vanished,
several muscles cut. His left arm had swung the rock to
sever the bear’s head. With a vow to keep the scar forever
to remind him to be vigilant, he picked up a fallen branch
for a club and headed west in search of food. In short order
he devoured three apples and a handful of wild strawberries
and started west once more, now a little to the north.
     
    The magic of the valley kept most evil creatures away
from the area surrounding the Shard Mountains, but certain
stronger beasts dared the edges. Tych looked upon one of
these dangerous monsters now. When Rangdor first
arrived, before the human clerics had the planes of the dead
sealed, he conjured up many demons. Each bore different
characteristics. This version stood taller than some
endarilan houses, with dark red skin and deadly spikes
covering its head like hair. His grisly humanoid face
revealed great satisfaction. Black blood flowed from
several places but a smile creased his leathery cheeks.
    At his feet lay a small band of thrandrils. Tych watched
as the demon picked up one of their bodies and began
tearing off his limbs. The prince could feel the anger
building up inside him but knew that with the branch he
could do nothing.
    The endaril dropped flat as he caught movement in the
corner of his eye. Two of them still lived, their leather
armor shredded by the beast’s claws. He knew
immediately that his senses failed to register the rest of the
party waiting in hiding for the demon to leave.
    A scream of horror almost burst from his lips as the
demon began to look for more fun. The hell-spawn would
see the survivors any moment, his mind screamed. He
knew he had to do something quickly. Then the demon
turned in the direction of the living as they crawled towards
the trees.
    With a silent battle cry and no further thought, Tych
charged onto the battle scene. Sensing the challenge, the
huge beast turned and bellowed in joy and rage. Tych
hoped for a moment that this demon saw more sport in him
than in the cousins of the endarils, but an overwhelming
sense of strength filled the prince immediately.
    A soldier lay dead at his feet. Tych dropped to one
knee, removed the soldier’s dagger from his hand and
threw it. As it sped toward the onrushing demon, he took
the soldier’s sword. The beast simultaneously reached for
the knife in his chest and brought his claw down. Tych
dove forward through the beast’s legs. The sword came up
and