he didn’t know her. K’xarr, Cromwell, and Ansel noticed the look in his eye, their weapons were drawn, and they began to circle Kian.
He watched them from the corner of his eye, his muscles tensing, he looked ready to spring. Endra held up her hand for the others to stop.
“Kian it’s me, Endra, look at me, don’t you know me?” Faster than she had ever seen anyone move he was on her grabbing her hair and forcing her to her knees. She looked into his eyes and held both hands up to keep the others back. His eyes looked similar to the eyes of the great cats her father had hunted back in Sorrack.
He started to raise the sword in his hand. “Kill me if you want, I will still love you. I don’t think even my death could stop that.”
A look of confusion came across his face and the sword lowered. “That’s it, remember, it’s me, Endra, you love me and I need you to come back to me.”
“Endra,” he said with a much deeper voice than he once had. “What, where am I?” He released her hair and she jumped to her feet and began to stroke his cheek with her hand.
“It’s going to be all right, you’re here with me and K’xarr and Cromwell, we are going to take you away from this accursed place.”
She pulled him into her embrace as tears ran down her cheeks. Kian pushed her back, clutching his head, he let out a terrible scream and collapsed to the ground.
Endra fell to her knees pulling his head into her lap. “K’xarr, what has happened to him.” The men gathered around the two. “I don’t know, Endra. Let’s just get moving before the wizard returns. We can take him to Rhys, maybe he can help,” K’xarr said, shaken by the Half Elf’s state.
Cromwell shook his head. “The Dark One has changed him into a monster.” The look Endra gave Cromwell sent a chill up the Toran’s spine. “Then I will find a way to change him back.”
Chapter 15
The great tan and green pavilion had been set up in the middle of the three armies of Abberdon. King Havalon Taylin of Abberdon had called his sons to council.
Havalon was dressed in his plate armor, not gilded like many other Kings. No, his was servable like all the other knights in his army. His green tabard bore the coat of arms of Abberdon, a tan bull’s head flanked by two crossed war hammers.
He was no longer young, he didn’t possess the narrow waist of his youth, but his shoulders were broad and his arms strong. Havalon was still a very powerful warrior. Gray hair and thick beard, a distinguished looking man to be sure, but it was his icy blue eyes that saw his orders followed to the letter. He could make his servants quake in their boots with a dissatisfied gaze.
His servants were hurriedly setting up his war table and rolling out a map of Bandara on top of it. He hated the pavilion, the smoke from the braziers made his head ache. He should be on his horse out in the field fighting for the future of Abberdon, not cooped up in this silken den. He had to remind himself he was a King and had to project an image for his subjects or he would put a torch to the whorish pavilion.
Havalon had never thought of himself as a King, he had always pictured himself as a warrior or conqueror. He had never gotten used to the grandiosity that came with wearing the crown. However, he did love the power that the crown brought with it.
Griffyn and Donovan both entered the pavilion his sons were both dressed in the same armor as their father. “Hail Father, what news do you have?” Griffyn said. The King’s thin lips tightened, he was trying to suppress the smile that threated to spread across his face.
His wife had died when the boys were very young and he had raised them alone. No servants or nannies, he had done it on his own. His chest swelled with pride when he looked at the two fine warriors standing before him now.
Griffyn, the oldest, was carefree and fun-loving, but he was all business when it came to a battlefield, he had taken to combat like a duck to water. He had his father’s eyes but his mother’s straw-colored hair.
Donovan was younger but you couldn’t tell it. He was a serious