A Dark Inheritance

by Todd Herzman

  The thrall left behind wrapped Marius’s hands in a hardened grip. The thrall that left to charge the seeker fell to a swift swipe of her blade.

  All the thralls except the one holding Marius were on the ground, injured or dead. Lilah didn’t stop to check if Peiter was alive when she’d dispatched the last, she simply turned to face Marius and his captor and walked toward them.

  ‘Let the boy go.’

  The thrall holding him shifted. Something sharp bit into Marius’s neck.

  ‘No.’

  Lilah didn’t slow her stride. The thrall put pressure on the blade at Marius’s neck, making him gasp and cry from his dried-out throat. Lilah didn’t stop. She didn’t look worried for what might happen to Marius or pained at what had happened to Peiter—she only looked determined.

  The thrall tried to use Marius as a shield, hiding behind him. But the thrall was a grown man, Marius a boy of twelve—there was only so much to hide behind. As she walked, Lilah jabbed her swords into the cracked earth, plucked the fallen bow from the ground and found an arrow another two steps down. She nocked it and pulled back.

  ‘I said, let him go.’

  The thrall whispered into Marius’s ear. ‘I have your brother, I almost have your sister, and I’ll have you soon enough.’ The thrall pushed the boy to the ground then screamed a guttural cry that was cut off a second later.

  Marius, face in the dirt, pushed up to his elbows and turned to see the thrall, dead, an arrow through his eye. Lilah walked to Marius and helped him up. He stared up at her, the woman a good head taller. Whatever primal force that had taken over was gone, and now she just looked tired.

  ‘Peiter?’ Marius said in his raspy voice.

  Lilah glanced over at the fallen monk, the dead thralls scattered around him. They stepped toward him in silence. They didn’t run, or even walk quickly. They knew what they would find when they got there.

  The seeker knelt, put a hand on the monk’s neck. She waited a moment before looking at the boy and shaking her head.

  Marius didn’t know what to say. He’d seen death. Plenty of it… should it have come as a surprise that another person in his life had been lost to him? This one had been different, though. This one had been his fault.

  ‘What do we do now?’

  Lilah stared at the Tahali mountains. ‘Now, we climb a mountain.’

  They didn’t bury Peiter. The earth was too dry to dig. They didn’t burn him, either. There wasn’t time. Lilah stopped by each of the thralls, ensuring they were dead with a stab from her blade. Marius took the chain from Peiter’s neck, found the leather-bound book in his robes, wiped off the blood, and put it in his pack. They would tell the monks about Peiter when they reached the monastery.

  Someone would come for him then.

  Chapter 43

  Ruben

  Ruben stumbled at the sight of his own hands. His foot dragged along the ground and his other stamped down hard to help him regain his balance. The noise made the guards at the gate turn.

  He froze. He still stood in darkness, not close enough to the guard’s long torches to bring him into the light. Their eyes wouldn’t be accustomed to the dark. One of them pressed his face close to the bars, peering through the gate, eyes straining in the night.

  Ruben could melt the gate’s lock like he had back on Malarin’s ship. He could kill the guards like he’d done inside the castle. But would he be able to do it fast enough to stop them from sounding the alarm? Was there a way he could escape without killing innocent people?

  Innocent, Ruben thought. How could any of these people be innocent?

  The guard frowned and moved back from the gate, returning to his post. Ruben looked at the walls surrounding the courtyard, wondering if there was another way out now his glamour had worn off. He took soft steps, slowly making his way from the guarded gate and farther into the shadows.

  Ruben reached the courtyard wall and leant hard against it. The blood he’d taken from Alyssa had worn off, the reserve depleted. As he let himself rest a wave of exhaustion took hold of him—everything he’d done to get from the castle gardens to here replayed in his mind.

  And the thing that had happened before it.

  Haven’t you ever wondered where your powers came from?

  Ruben put his back to the wall and sank in the darkness until he sat on the soft ground. Head in his hands, he took shuddering breaths. He’d let his anger overtake him when he’d seen Alyssa… but he’d done what he’d always planned to do, hadn’t he? He’d taken blood from her, more blood than had felt safe to take. The feeling it had given him—the exhilaration, the power. Is that what Renial felt every day? Is that what Malarin had felt, back in the brig of his ship?

  Now Ruben had used all the power the blood had granted, he craved it. The reserve it had created inside of him, one that had never been there before he’d feasted on Alyssa’s blood, felt like an empty pit. He hated himself for wanting to fill it—for ever having done so in the first place.

  Ruben closed his eyes and saw a world on fire. He forced his eyes to stay shut, forced himself to watch. This, this is what he’d been running from.

  The world might end. I don’t want to be here when it does.

  His own worries felt so miniscule, so insignificant, when watching the world burn.

  He opened his eyes. He didn’t want his worries to be small. He didn’t want the fate of the world on his shoulders, to take up the position of being grandson to the man trying to stop it, a man who’d done terrible things. He just wanted to find Taya and take her home. He wanted to find his brother and sister and hug them. He wanted to leave this dreadful place and never return.

  He touched his own reserve. Still full, still bursting with energy despite what he’d used. Alyssa had told him how powerful he was, and he was starting to believe it. He could escape without taking more blood.

  Ruben stood and glanced over at the gate, then back to the castle entrance. None of the guards could see him here. He turned and put his hand to the stone wall. It was cold to the touch. He’d never tried burning through stone before. Did it melt like metal?

  He inhaled deeply, tapped his reserve, and heated the stone with his hand. He directed the flames straight into the rock, trying to make as little light as possible to prevent the guards at the castle’s entrance from noticing him. He was using the same amount of heat as he’d used in the metal locks, but it wasn’t working.

  He closed his eyes, took a breath, and tapped his reserve further. When he opened his eyes, the flame flowing from his hand glowed white hot. The stone became molten. Heat radiated from its surface. He felt it shift. He put his other hand to the wall, a little wider than shoulder length from the first.

  The stone melted beneath his touch. He traced a circle with his hands, creating a hole big enough for him to fit through. When he’d melted all around it, he stopped and looked back at the guards at the entrance. No shouts came. No bells rang. No footsteps rushed toward him.

  Ruben turned back to the wall and pushed at the circle of stone, hoping it would budge. Weeks in the hold of that ship, living on barely enough food to keep him alive had shrivelled his muscles, making him half as strong as he used to be—and the strength from Alyssa’s blood had long worn off.

  He stopped pushing with his hands, instead bashing his shoulder into it. Once, twice, three times. The third time his shoulder met the wall, the circle of stone budged—ever so slightly. Ruben leant against the wall with one hand, rubbed his sore shoulder with the other, and caught his breath before trying again.

  When Ruben finally pushed the stone from the wall, his shoulder was bruised and more than a little bloody. The rock thudded to the ground. Ruben didn’t bother turning around to see if the guards had heard, he just stepped through the newly made hole and scrabbled over the rock on the other side, avoiding its heated edges.

  The hole opened onto a wide field. He sighed in relief. The castle was on the edge of t
he city, not in the middle of it. Ruben could see the city lights. A scattering of lanterns lit for those venturing into the dark, the flickering of candles in people’s windows. Chimney smoke swept into the sky, catching rays of moonlight and shimmering in the night. The city was huge—he’d barely seen it when he’d stumbled through in chains, his eyes perpetually facing the cobblestones. He wanted to run to it, but everyone there was loyal to Renial. Maybe even bloodlocked to him.

  He ran, instead, toward the darkness. He needed to regroup, figure out a plan. He’d escaped without knowing how to find Taya. Now that he was out of the castle, he had no idea how he would do it. Ruben’s eyes adjusted to the dark. He ran up rolling hills of green. He glanced back at the castle, expecting a mob of guards wielding torches. He focused on where he’d broken the hole through the wall.

  No mob, but a few guards had reached the hole. One held a torch to the stone, examining what had caused it.

  A bell clanged, loud in one of the towers. They must have found the dead guards.

  Ruben faced back the way he was running. Something grunted nearby, and he saw a great big shadow move in the darkness. He stopped short, stumbled in the grass and almost ran right into a sleeping cow.

  Hounds barked back at the castle. Ruben whipped his head round to see the mob he’d expected earlier. A brown-haired man stood in the crowd; his black cloak whipping in the wind, he stepped up to the hole in the castle wall. The God King’s face was impassive. He held what looked like an old rag. Ruben peered closer at it, trying to decipher what it was from a distance.

  A woman stood by Renial, her silver hair reflected in the flickering torchlight, holding two hounds by their leashes. The hounds sniffed the rag. As they did, Ruben realised what it was. His old shirt. The one he’d been wearing when Malarin had captured him. The one he’d sweated and bled in for weeks on end in that disgusting cell.

  The silver-haired woman let the hounds loose. They ran directly at Ruben. Ruben stared at the hounds as they barked and bounded toward him. He stood, unable to move—unable to think. There was no way he could outrun such beasts. There was no way he could hide from them now they had his scent.

  Ruben took a deep breath. He raised his arms, faced his palms out. He tapped his reserve, calling upon the flames and bringing them forth. Fire shot into the night, brightening the darkness. He aimed the fire at the ground. The cows around him woke with animalistic cries, their hooves so heavy they vibrated through the ground.

  The flames rose, the grass between Ruben and the castle catching fire and spreading. He’d always had a problem controlling the spread of his fire. Now, at least, he could use that to his advantage. He created a line of flames and watched as it danced. He couldn’t help but smile at it, the heat infusing him with energy.

  The hounds stopped short, barking at the flames, whining and shying away from the heat. They still had his scent, but hopefully the smoke in the air would throw them off long enough for him to get away.

  Ruben ran. He heard the faint sound of shouting behind him, alarm bells ringing in the night. But mostly he heard the flames, their light casting shadows upon the hills as he sprinted faster and faster, no longer looking back.

  ~

  Ruben ran for hours. The fire he’d set raged behind him, growing ever higher. He couldn’t see it anymore, as far as he’d come. He’d found a forest and blundered straight into it. It was hard to move through in the dark, but he was wary about making his own light. He hadn’t heard the hounds again, not since he’d set the fire.

  He stopped running and started walking after he’d tripped over a tree root, almost braining himself on a rock inches from where his head had landed. When he came across a river, he traipsed through it upstream, remembering something his father had said about dogs losing scents.

  Every step he took gave him time to think about his escape and what he was going to do with it. He was finally free, but for how long? He’d escaped the castle, but he hadn’t escaped the island. Even if he managed to steal a boat, he didn’t know how to sail one. And how was he supposed to find Taya?

  Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.

  He left the stream after an hour of walking in it, soaked to the bone and shivering. He looked about in the dark. It was quiet, the birds still asleep. No distant barks or shouts. He lit his hands with flame, brightening the moss-laden rocks by the water. He held the fire close enough to his clothes to dry them, but not so close as to set them alight.

  Ruben took a deep breath. He bathed in the heat, letting it warm the chill he’d gained from walking the river. Steam rolled off him, disappearing into the night sky. The stars were bright tonight. He stared up at them. Somewhere, out there, beyond the sky, a massive rock headed toward the world.

  His bones warm again, Ruben extinguished the flames. He used the stars to help find a path that would take him farther from the castle. He wondered how big the island was. A hint of sea salt touched his nose. He must be near the ocean again. Was he nearing the other side of the island already?

  He walked toward the smell, knowing that if he were going to come across a village, chances were it would be on the coastline, not in the trees. Ruben could, he knew, hide in the forest for a good long while. He could make a bow, fletch arrows, hunt and live off the land. But he’d never be able to completely mask his scent from the dog’s.

  It would only be a matter of time until they caught him. Finding a village could mean he was caught sooner, but hiding in the forest wasn’t a permanent solution. A village meant people. Someone there might know where to find Malarin—Ruben would just have to persuade whoever he found to share the information.

  Dawn hit as he walked over a small ridge. The first thing he saw was the sea, the sun rising on the horizon. He wondered how far from his home he really was, whether he’d ever return. The second thing he saw was the tops of houses, their chimneys pointed to the sky. Past the village sat a small fortress, reminiscent of Renial’s castle. Home to one of the God King’s blood lords?

  Fields of farmland stretched over the plains before the ground sloped down to meet the beach. He headed to the first farmhouse he saw, hoping its occupants knew where to look for Malarin. He gritted his teeth. If they did know, Ruben was sure he’d be able to make them talk.

  Chapter 44

  Ella

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ a man’s voice said.

  A clammy hand touched Ella’s forehead. ‘I can’t rightly say, my lord,’ a woman responded. ‘No fever. It’s almost as if she screamed herself into unconsciousness.’

  Ella kept very still. The man’s voice she recognised as the blood mage from the beach. The woman’s she hadn’t heard before. Probably another of his damn thralls.

  ‘Do not let her die,’ the blood mage said, not really sounding as if he cared. ‘Renial would not appreciate that.’ He paused. A heavy foot stepped on the ground. ‘I would not appreciate that.’

  Footsteps receded from the bed. A door opened and closed. Ella was about to open her eyes when she heard a sigh—the woman.

  ‘I know you’re awake, dearie,’ the woman said.

  A light thud and a small creak sounded in the room. Ella cracked one eye open and found a plump, brown haired woman sitting beside her bed. Her face was lined and reddened by years in the sun, making it hard to tell how old she was. She stared straight back at Ella and winked. Ella gave up the ruse, opening both eyes.

  ‘I let the lord think you were sleeping.’ The woman folded her hands in her lap. ‘Made for an easier moment, I think. He’s not so gentle as I am.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Ella’s head throbbed. It felt like she’d been hit by Ruben’s hammer. She moved her arm, wanting to rub her sore head, but found it still bound to the side of the bed.

  ‘Magna. Ship’s doctor.’

  Ella blinked. ‘Ship’s doctor? The blood mage has a ship’s doctor?’

  ‘You seem surprised.’ Magna looked away from Ella, to the
door of the room. ‘I assure you, it’s not because he’s concerned about the welfare of those aboard his ship.’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘It’s more like he doesn’t want to lose cargo.’ She rubbed her neck, and Ella’s eyes were drawn to it. There was a scar there—smaller than others she’d seen before, but obviously a bloodlock. A thin, white line, that looked like it was as healed as it ever would be.

  ‘He captured you too, didn’t he?’

  ‘Aye,’ Magna said. ‘Many years ago.’

  ‘But you can talk, you’re not like…’

  ‘Like those men you and your friends slaughtered?’ Magna’s eyes came back to meet Ella’s, a dash of steel in them. ‘Oh, I don’t blame you. I dare say I would’ve done the same were I in your boots.’ She sighed. ‘Being a doctor’s different to being a mindless warrior. I need to think about the things I do. If my lord were to take more control over me, I wouldn’t be able to do the job he wanted.’

  Magna stood. She took a cup of water from the bedside and held it to Ella’s mouth. Ella sipped at it gratefully before the woman took it away. ‘Looks like you’re in no danger of dying any time soon. I’ll leave you to your rest.’ She put the cup down and walked to the cabin door.

  ‘Wait!’ Ella said. The woman stopped. ‘Do you know—are my friends alive?’

  ‘Sorry, dearie. I’ve been ordered not to tell you that.’

  Before Ella could beg her to reconsider, the door shut behind Magna, and a click sounded from the other side.

  Ella shut her eyes, felt the pain from her head. Without Magna as a distraction, all she could think of was the pain. Ella stopped fighting it. Memories of Aralia being struck by that arrow entered her mind. She’s alive, Ella thought. I felt her mind, on this ship, when I reached out.

  She wanted to reach out again, but her head stabbed at the very thought. Why had it caused her so much pain when she’d tried to touch Aralia’s mind? Had she done something wrong? Had it been the lack of mana?