Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 49027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 245(@200wpm)___ 196(@250wpm)___ 163(@300wpm)
“Lord Boraleashe! Snow Trolls are attacking the Shiland Village! There have already been numerous casualties,” the general of his army informed. Adresin jerked Boraleashe into his armor. “We have to get you and your daughters to safety before they reach the main grounds.”
Boraleashe was battle-ready in seconds, but if his guards thought he was running in the opposite direction while his people were being slaughtered, then they didn’t know what it meant to be a ruler. Or his people no longer knew him. The sudden appearance of those beasts was his own fault—Snow Trolls were demonic creatures brought to life by the Snow Moon.
Without another word, Boraleashe bolted from his chambers with Adresin fussing at his back for him to go underground with the other lords and dignitaries. His home was bustling with house attendants and servants trying to get to cover, and his daughters were in the midst of it, helping everyone before they sought their own safety. Boraleashe was proud, but he was also terrified for them. They were the future.
“You are too valuable to this realm, lord!” Adresin yelled over the chaos, running to keep up with Boraleashe’s determined strides.
“I am not the valuable one… they are.”
“Father! What’s happening?” Kallos hollered, a panicked servant almost barreling into her.
Boraleashe rushed to her side, but he had little time to answer her questions, not when there were screams and sounds of terror drifting up from the valley. Buildings were being demolished, and age-old structures were being brought to the ground by the destructive beasts. Plumes of stone dust rose into the night sky, and he knew what that meant.
“There is no time, Kallos.” Boraleashe gripped both her toned shoulders, staring deep into her wide eyes. “I need you and your sister to go below into the mines until the battle is over.”
She was already shaking her head, and Boraleashe clenched his jaw at her stubbornness. “We ride with you. We can fight!”
“No!” he thundered, his tone capturing the attention of his eldest heiress, who leapt over the balcony, landing in a fighting crouch. “You and Enosabe go now! Do not argue with me.”
Before either of them could continue to object, his personal guards carried them away, cursing and kicking to stay at his side. Boraleashe ignored them, turning back to his commander to instruct him on what may very well be his last act as titan of Amárach.
“We must get the villagers to safety first. I’ll fly; you gather every soldier and create a barrier at the entrance of the Meltwater Forest. If the trolls reach the mainland, nothing will survive.”
The master of his fighting battalion answered without opposition. “Yes, lord.”
“Will someone talk some sense into our lord, please?” Adresin bellowed, clutching onto the shawl of Boraleashe’s robe while searching for anyone who would agree with him. His old friend looked devastated, desperate, because he knew Boraleashe would not survive if he went alone.
Boraleashe cupped his viceroy’s smooth cheek in a firm, understanding grip. “Calm yourself, dear friend. You have seen me leave and return from many battles. Trust in the gods that I will prevail again.” Boraleashe’s gaze softened at the last second to say his silent goodbye.
Adresin withdrew his hands, and Boraleashe whipped his fists around in a tight circle, creating a freezing cyclone in the sky, then blasted him into the air through the open roof.
Boraleashe
The Battle of Courage
It only took Boraleashe seconds to reach the center of the madness. People were running terrified into the night. Villagers scattered like ants, trying to bustle their children and elderly to safety. Elephant-sized monsters barreled through the small homes as if they were made of paper, not limestone. Boraleashe wanted to curse the gods at what he saw.
The snow was painted with the blood of corpses. A heavy, metallic scent permeated the once clean air and ate through the gleaming snow like hot water. Vacant eyes bore up toward him, still widened in a primitive state of terror, shrouding Boraleashe with guilt.
He counted four trolls, which should’ve given him relief, except just one of those bastards possessed the equivalent strength of a herd of Godduhl demons and were ten times more vicious. Boraleashe tasted the panic bubbling in his throat. Growling, he barreled toward the ground, his five-foot spear drawn and held high to strike. He hit the ground with an ear-deafening roar and hurled his spear into the flank of one of the trolls that was feet away from trampling over a couple running hand in hand with their three children in tow.
His weapon struck a mighty blow, but it was unable to pierce the thick, dragon-like hide of the troll. The beast snarled, forgetting about the villagers, and turned its black eyes and rage onto Boraleashe, which was what he wanted.
He had seconds to use his wind to recapture his spear and hurl it again at the juncture of the troll’s shoulders, sending it crashing to the ground only for it to shake it off and get right back up. The animal swung its massive head around, its pointed ears drawing back, snarling like it’d had enough.