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

sliced deep into the creature’s groin. The prince came
up standing. He spread his legs shoulder-width apart, his
right foot behind and perpendicular to the left, which
pointed at the turning demon.
    Rage dominated the monster’s face. Then Tych began
to glow. The soft nimbus of light spread to the sword. The
beast smiled. Here it saw a chance for a great victory.
Tych meanwhile struggled to keep the energy flow from
crushing the power it fed him with too much force.
    The demon charged. Tych swung. The watching
thrandrils gasped as the two combatants became tangled
and they lost view of their cousin. The mass of flesh
twitched. Then everything stopped. Everything, even the
wind, became silent. The three thrandrils rushed to their
companions but kept an eye out for movement from the
beast.
    They jumped back as the beast seemed to move. It
rolled to its back, but by Tych’s force only. They stood
frozen while Tych, still holding the handle of the sword,
rose and pulled out the blade. A bright light hid his
features. Fear rose in the thrandrils’ as the prince turned
the sword point down and stepped onto the beast’s chest.
They watched him plunge it into the demon’s skull.
Instinctively they dove to the ground.
    Blinding light filled the air. Then a putrid smoke
seared their nostrils and they began coughing. The female
and two males stood and struggled to get clean air into their
lungs. Then their surprise at what they saw next made
them draw a quick breath. Standing where the demon had
been, his silver skin blackened by smoke and blood, Tych
wavered in the sunlight. The sword hung loosely from his
hand.
    The blade fell and the prince dropped to his knees. The
demon had been banished by the blast of good energy that
the weapon had carried into its brain. Now, however, Tych
lacked any strength. He fell on his face in the small crater.
    Nandel watched in dismay as a lone spark fell from his
finger to the ground. Cursing, he drew his sword and made
quick work of the wolf. “This is the second time in two
days,” he spat. “Somebody is tapping the wells of energy
in enough quantity to fill the oceans.” Then, after a
moment of thought, he smiled. “It’s about time,” he said
quietly. “I and the other wizards and apparitionists have a
leader to follow. Our time has come.”
    The three thousand year old wizard, young by all
appearances, turned east and headed up the mountain to his
home. The whole way he talked to himself. He felt such
joy at the idea of being accepted once more that the size of
his smile almost prevented his babbling.
    Lendril had her crossbow in her hand and loaded before
a second had passed from when she saw the three figures.
Cautiously, she approached, sensing Tych’s presence. The
archer stepped through the last few trees. “Turn around
slowly, please. I’m here for my friend.”
    She lowered the weapon when she saw the distinctive
light brown skin of her cousins. Their many-colored eyes
looked on her with such fear that she felt terrible for
threatening them. Then she noticed the three bodies,
heavily bandaged. “What happened?”
    The female spoke up. “A demon set upon us near here
and, though we fought hard, he killed off ten of us. Then
he showed up,” she pointed at Tych, “and killed the
creature in less than a minute. The explosion must have
injured him. It’s strange though; there are no marks.”
    Lendril looked bewildered. “Explosion? What do you
mean?”
    The thrandril quickly described Tych's heroics.
    “I understand and I know what happened. You do not
know who this is?” Lendril took the bolt out of the
crossbow and pulled the trigger on empty air.
    “No. Who is he and who are you?”
    “He is Prince Tych di Corl. I am Lendril di Rutif. We
both visited your village fifty years ago. Who are you?”
    The woman, her eyes wide with shock, responded, “I
am Gref di Yul, a foot soldier.”
    The taller male introduced