The Secret of Spellshadow Manor 2 Bella Forrest (e novels for free TXT) 📖

Ellabell looked at him strangely. “I have my ways.”

“What ways?” He couldn’t help but press her for an answer.

“This manor has secrets—they’re useful if you know where to look,” she replied cryptically, pushing her spectacles higher onto the bridge of her nose. A nervous tic, Alex thought. He had touched a nerve.

“Where would you look?” His attempt at nonchalance fell flat.

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you that.” She smiled, but there was a hint of a warning in her sparkling eyes not to press further. “Look, are you okay? You seem distracted. If you want to talk about this another time, we can,” she ventured.

“I’m fine. Sorry, I was just curious—I am invested in what you were saying, I promise.” He smiled shyly, trying to push away the itch of resentment and the tingle of intrigue as he continued to listen to her story.

“Are you sure?” She frowned, seeming to test him.

He nodded. “Please, go on.”

“Well, by week two, the numbers had dwindled away to barely more than a small band of each as the battle reached its final days. The greatest warriors from each side were all that were left. On the magical side, the twenty crowned princes and princesses of the eight Royal Families, battling alongside some of the most famous heroes and heroines in history. On the other side, the Heads of the six main Spellbreaker bloodlines and their grown children, fighting along with some of the most terrifying Spellbreakers that have ever been known to walk the earth. If you get a chance, look up Kira the Merciless; she was a monster,” Ellabell said in a hushed tone, as if Kira might somehow hear.

Alex kept quiet, not wanting to admit he had already read up on the infamous Spellbreaker. It was strange to hear Ellabell mention the Spellbreaker bloodlines when he had kept them so close to his heart. He wondered suddenly if Ellabell might know any more about the Spellbreaker families. He made a mental note to ask her later.

“Go on,” encouraged Alex.

“So, these two remaining sides fought fiercely over the final two days, until only two remained on the battlefield, locked in single, one-on-one combat. Malachi Grey and Leander Wyvern,” she explained, the names sending two sharp shivers down Alex’s spine.

Leander W., Alex thought. It had to be the same one.

“There was only one difference… Leander was the very last of his kind, whereas Malachi Grey was merely the last of the Mage army. It was a futile fight, but Leander fought valiantly to the bitter end. It is thought the battle raged for six hours, the pair evenly matched almost to a stalemate. Witnesses have said it was in fact Leander who was the victor, standing over a wounded and half-dead Malachi, with a blade of anti-magic held in his hand, ready to deliver the final blow to Grey. But then Leander was ambushed by a newly arrived platoon of Mage infantry, sent from a different battleground.

“They jumped him from behind and held him to the ground, shackling him with specially crafted manacles that absorbed the power of any magical or anti-magical being. They strung him up in the center of the battlefield, to the top of a crudely built scaffold, and tortured him to death. A hundred wizards against one powerless Spellbreaker, though he stayed alive far longer than any of them imagined he would, his cries chilling the blood of any who watched as his eyes seemed to burn with a blinding silver light, his broken body punished by wave after wave of magical artillery. They say it was Malachi Grey who dealt the final blow, with the last bit of strength he had.” A misty glitter of something like sadness hung in Ellabell’s eyes as she glanced across to Alex.

Alex was speechless. He could not bring any words to his mouth. Rage gripped his chest in a vice, blood rushing in his ears. Nausea and distress fought for precedence within him as his gaze dropped to the ground, the hatred searing through his veins.

“It wiped the Spellbreakers from existence, but there was a price to pay. Historians aren’t exactly sure of the meaning, but the last sentence of Stormholt’s Essay on the Fields of Sorrow says ‘a great evil was set free that day, as the essence of the last Spellbreaker soaked the battleground.’ Nobody is quite sure what that means, but I’ve always imagined it to be a metaphor for the genocide of the Spellbreakers,” she added with a bashful shrug, adjusting her spectacles as she gave Alex her educated opinion.

Still, Alex said nothing. However, his thoughts were distracted a little by the word ‘essence.’ It intrigued him; they could have picked ‘blood’ or ‘body’ or any such word, but they had chosen ‘essence’ instead. Why would they choose that word over any other? It felt wrong to Alex—out of place, somehow.

He looked to Ellabell. “Why ‘essence’?” he asked, his voice tight with emotion.

“What do you mean?” She frowned.

“Why did they use the word ‘essence’?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing.

“It’s just a word, Alex. Writers like to use interesting words,” she said simply.

“It’s a strange word to use, though, don’t you think?”

“Not particularly. It’s just a word,” sighed Ellabell.

“Where did this happen?” He changed the subject quickly, feeling the burn of his anger threatening to break loose.

“Here,” she answered solemnly.

“What?” spluttered Alex, his pulse racing.

“Well, not right here, obviously, but you can see the last stronghold of the battle from the manor. The final battlefield from the Fields of Sorrow. There were others where the battle was fought, but the one you can see was where it all ended—the place where the last Spellbreaker fell. It’s in a bit of a state, but that’s the place,” she said.

Alex felt his body tense up as he envisioned Aamir, standing beside him on a hill overlooking a desolate, smoking field, more than a lifetime ago it seemed. It was the last vestige