Angels and Elves- Act I

by William Collins

  “The one with the burn mark?” Masune spoke in a delicate baritone.

  “Indeed,” said Sypher. “I’m very interested in knowing more about him. Watch out for Umbra doing anything…irregular.”

  “Done.” Masune bowed his head respectfully.

  Sypher turned to the others, still waiting. “You may leave us now,” was all he said, not even deigning to glance at them as they took their leave.

  “Farewell, goons,” Sintian muttered under his breath.

  “They have their uses,” Sypher replied. “Now it’s just you and I.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled at him. “The remnants of the ancient house of Stray, well along with our uncle in the Republic, and that other uncle we don’t discuss, but we’re the only two who count. And since I’ve been away it seems the other Venator families are dropping like flies.”

  “You mean the Sangels?”

  Sypher nodded. “Who knew they had it in them, eh? I’m distraught I missed the Veneseron invasion, what fun it must’ve been. I should’ve made an effort to get to know Cera better. Truly, a fascinating turn of events.”

  Sintian wouldn’t really call it fascinating, and the army of monsters attacking the Fortress wasn’t exactly fun either.

  “Plus, the Romano family’s fortunes have dwindled so much, they’re practically as destitute as the Mace family.” Sypher continued. “And just yesterday my sources in the city told me something very interesting about the Madagant family. I’m wondering whether I should blackmail them with it. But even I know how vicious they could be. Remember what I always told you Sin?”

  “Be opportunistic, not stupid.”

  “Exactly. The more vulnerable they are, the easier it is to maintain control over them.”

  Sintian shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t much care for other people, but he didn’t like being purposefully cruel to them either. He leaned forward to whisper, “did you track down any Rakarn?”

  He hadn’t had the chance to ask Sypher since he’d returned. He knew that in all the time he’d been away, Sypher wouldn’t have adhered strictly to his mission instructions, and he’d promised to hunt down Rakarn.

  “Indeed, only two,” Sypher replied bitterly. Evidently, it had not been enough to sate his appetite. “They didn’t interfere in our mission, so I had to go hunting them. I found a pair and killed the girl during the battle, but kept the boy alive.”

  “Did you torture him? Did he reveal the location of Velkarath?” Sintian asked eagerly.

  “No. Rakarn are specifically trained to hold up against torture and to never reveal its location. They’d rather kill themselves, and are ordered to do so if they’re captured. But I made sure this one stayed alive until I decided the means of his death. He begged before the end. You cannot imagine what satisfaction it brought me to break a Dark Venator.”

  Sintian had known for some years now that his older brother was a murderer, and a heartless, remorseless one at that. He was yet to kill another human being himself, but the day he came across a Rakarn he vowed to make that first kill. The Dark Venators would pay for what they’d done to him.

  Ten years ago this year it had happened. Sintian had been six years old.

  Sypher, showing immense powers at even nine, had already been sent to Veneseron to begin his training, it had just been Sintian and his parents.

  Like demons in the night they came. The Strays had been vacationing in a manor house on the world of Teralty. He’d been in his room when it happened, poring over ancient books in an attempt to make his magic burgeon into existence, just like his brother. One moment it was quiet, the next, the very walls were being ripped apart and set aflame.

  Sintian had been a coward. Guilt and self-hatred had gnawed at him ever since.

  He’d been petrified, unable to move and unable to look away as his parents were slaughtered. His mother and father had been powerful Venators and they managed to take down five Rakarn, but there’d just been so many of them. He’d seen it all from the crack in his bedroom door.

  After the deed was done, the Dark-Venators fled many of them wounded, but not before setting the house alight as they went. They must’ve not known Sintian was there. Or else they were content to just let him be burned alive.

  As fire began licking at his door, he’d finally been spurred into motion, jumping from his window as the house collapsed behind him. Sintian had glimpsed the Dark Venators portal away as he crawled from the fire, both ankles broken from the jump.

  He’d lied to Sypher afterwards, insisting that he’d tried to help their parents, but the fire had barred the way. Sintian didn’t dare reveal he had watched it all and done nothing. Sypher would disown him; or worse.

  Ever since then, the brothers had vowed vengeance on all Dark-Venators. They’d hunt them all down until they were extinct.

  Sypher sighed, bringing Sintian back to the present.

  “Now,” Sypher stood and paced the room. “On to more important matters. From the way you’ve described the Umbra boy’s power, it does indeed sound like some form of demon magic. When you first told me, I even thought Evan might be a demon wearing human skin. You’ve heard of the Disciples, who are so powerful they can even disguise themselves as human. But then I realised Vanderain would’ve sensed this and destroyed Evan for it. I believe he must have some kind of incredibly rare item in his possession, which enabled him to wield the type of sorcery you saw.”

  “Maybe,” he replied. “that might explain why demons had been after Evan too.”

  “Then there’s the small chance Evan could have demonic blood,” Sypher contemplated.

  “What, like a half-demon of some kind. That’s impossible, right?”

  Sypher shrugged. “During my mission, I was stuck in the Dome of Augyr whilst the orcs laid siege outside. Naturally, I spent many an hour trawling through the Dome’s massive library. I saw a handful of passages referring to beings called demon-spawn.”

  Sintian chuckled wryly. “Demon-spawn? They’re myths mother and father told us about when we were children.”

  “Yes,” Sypher stopped his pacing and faced the window overlooking the fields. “But what if everyone was told the spawn were just myths? I learned long ago to question everything. I’ve told you before, Sin. The Masters here keep things from us, many things.”

  “But like you said, Vanderain would sense it and wouldn’t allow anything demonic to live in Veneseron,” he pointed out.

  Sypher nodded. “I’m speculating wildly, I know. But I have to look at all the possibilities. For now, I want you to look through Evan’s bedchamber, see if you can find any enchanted items you don’t recognise and bring it to me.”

  Sintian didn’t much like taking orders from anyone, his brother was a bit different. He nodded. “No problem.”

  “It’s something you should’ve done weeks ago,” said Sypher.

  “I tried…I mean. I engineered a situation in the Badlands, where Evan’s life was in danger. But he didn’t use that black mist again.”

  “No matter,” Sypher muttered, gazing out at Evan and the Arengi team practicing in the distance. “The first round matches for this year’s Arengi tournament will be released tomorrow. But I paid off Byron Binoshe to divulge who our team were up against.”

  “And?”

  Sypher’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “We have the Raging Squids.”

  “Seriously?” He stood up in surprise.

  “Which reminds me,” Sypher continued. “We must ensure Evan plays the game, not stays on the bench. I’ll have Masune take care of it.”

  “Brilliant, I can’t wait to beat Umbra, Carn and Jagger all in my very first match.”

  Sypher shook his head. “The game doesn’t matter. What does is that it will be our chance to strike. I’m arranging my own test for the boy. I’ll need to sneak into the Badlands myself for it.”

  “Really, what for?” he asked.

  “You’ll find out soon, brother.”

  Sintian bit back a reto
rt. “Okay, I guess I’ll be getting to my training then.”

  “Perhaps you should go to Umbra’s room right now, whilst we know he’s not there.”

  “Fine,” Sintian sighed, leaving Sypher alone, his eyes as black as the depths of terrible twin caves, withholding dark secrets.

  *

  Lok’s head was a minefield of thoughts as he climbed the giant spiral staircase. It was dinner time and the nucleus of the Fortress’s Venators were in the Banquet chamber, making the castle quiet for once.

  C’mon, Lok. Keep it together. He kept going back and forth on what his next step should be.

  He’d managed to convert three Venators now, or at least convince them that Velkarath was the better place for them. It was so much harder than he’d expected.

  When Lok had first arrived at Veneseron, he thought he’d be able to manipulate others into joining him in no time. But the Realmers here had been brainwashed to loathe Rakarn. He had to subtly target his marks and needle away at their resolves over months. If he chose wrong, the Venator could expose him and Veneseron’s masters would kill him.

  There was still a small chance any one of them could reveal his secret, but Lok was confident he had them all wrapped around his finger. He needed to get all three of them to Velkarath and return himself. The other Dark-Venators would mock him for only bringing three turncoats with him, but Lok could handle that. He couldn’t have Akirandon being disappointed in him though. She should be happy with the three Venators he gave to Velkarath several weeks ago, but Jimmy, Taylor and Poppy weren’t exactly high-quality Realmers.

  Just one more offering. That should be enough. Once he arranged another coup like the one with Tyrell, then he’d be free to return to Velkarath. The queen wouldn’t be overjoyed, but she wouldn’t think him a failure either. The problem was, people would get suspicious if he was the lone survivor of a second Rakarn ‘ambush’.

  He’d leave soon, but not before ensuring Brooke came with him too. Lok couldn’t leave without her now.

  As he entered the Chamber of Remembrance he felt the familiar feeling of regret wash over him. If life was fair, Tyrell wouldn’t have loved Veneseron so much. They could’ve been Rakarn together.

  The chamber was dark and silent, like it always was. Shadows, cast by the lone flickering sconce, obscured most of the statues and monuments lining the walls. Lok walked through the labyrinth of statues down the centre of the hall, winding his way to Tyrell’s memorial once more.

  As he drew near, however, he realised he wasn’t alone. Someone already stood in front of Tyrell’s statue. His back was to him, but the mane of blood red hair was unmistakable.

  “Arantay?” he hated how small his voice sounded in the giant room.

  The elfpire seemed to ignore him.

  “Hey, what’re you doing here?” Lok persisted. “Not that it’s not nice to see you, mate. I just wasn’t expecting company.”

  “I wanted to see him. I hadn’t yet,” Arantay said at last, his voice incredibly soft. “I don’t really believe in the ceremony of visiting someone’s grave to speak with them. I think you can talk to them anywhere. But I know many like having a place to visit, where they believe a part of those who have passed still remains. It gives them strength in a sense. Does it give you strength, Lok?”

  “Uh….” He frowned. “I guess. I do find myself talking to him sometimes. I know it’s just rock, but it’s kind of a comfort.”

  Arantay stood as still as the statue before him. “I think I understand.”

  “Right, well I don’t really know why I came here,” said Lok, his discomfort rising. “I mean, I can come back later, if you want.”

  “I was just speaking with Ren,” Arantay murmured.

  “Oh, Tyrell’s girlfriend. How is she?”

  “Distraught,” Tay still wasn’t looking at him. “I tried my best to comfort her, but I’m not really good at that sort of thing. She told me she spoke to you too.”

  “Yeah… that’s right,” he spoke slowly, wondering where Arantay was going with this. “She wanted to know about Tyrell’s last moments. Bit morbid really. But I guess she wanted closure, or something.”

  Arantay nodded. “People grieve in different ways.”

  “I know, but wanting to know exactly how your boyfriend died,” Lok made a face. “Bit much.”

  “How did he die again?” Arantay asked.

  He felt a stab of anxiety. “I already told the masters when I first returned. They alerted the whole Fortress. After I woke up, I saw my companions around me, filled with stab wounds. I only survived because the Rakarn thought I’d bled out from the wound in my stomach.”

  “Stomach?” Tay repeated. “I thought it was your chest they wounded? Even your breastplate had been smashed.”

  Damn it! “Yeah, sorry, I meant chest, not stomach. I got a blow to the head too, didn’t I? I think the concussion makes the whole ordeal a bit fuzzy.”

  “Yes, that could explain it,” Arantay muttered. “It may also explain how you told Ren Tyrell had been stabbed in the heart, but told me several weeks ago that it was his throat which had been slit.”

  Rueda, is he on to me? Does he suspect I’m in on it? No, he can’t. You’re being paranoid.

  Lok felt his heart begin thudding and his legs tremble. Why’s he even snooping around?

  “It…it was his throat. I saw a Rakarn do it just before I passed out,” he said swiftly. “Ren must be remembering wrong, that’s all. Although, I do recall Tyrell had sustained a chest wound too, maybe I mentioned it to her.”

  “Perhaps.” Arantay turned and faced him for the first time. Even in the darkly-lit room, Tay’s pale skin stood out. Worse were his crimson coloured eyes, which reflected suspicion as they pierced into his own.

  “Why couldn’t any of us recover the bodies of our slain Venators again?”

  “I already told the Masters,” he replied, anger lacing his tone now. “Even as I portalled back to Veneseron, I could hear the direwolves native to the realm approaching. Direwolves can smell blood from miles away, and they would’ve even eaten the bones. It’s a tragedy, our fallen comrades deserved a proper burial. But at least they all have monuments here in the Fortress.”

  Arantay nodded. “And I suppose you gave the Masters full descriptions of the Rakarn who ambushed you too? It won’t bring our fellow Venators back, of course, but I can’t deny justice would help ease all of the trainees at Veneseron.”

  “What’s with the third degree, Tay?” Lok burst out, his fear of being discovered turning to fury. “The Masters already questioned me at length, and I told them everything. It was the worst day of my life. Tyrell was my best friend. Sorry, but I don’t feel like reliving it all again just to satisfy your curiosity.”

  Arantay bowed his head solemnly. “My apologies. I was just trying to understand better. I was very fond of Tyrell myself. The fact he was brutally murdered by Rakarn in a sneak attack is hard for me to process.” He moved closer to him. “I am, however, glad that you managed to escape the Dark Realmers, Lok. It was an almost inconceivable stroke of luck that you survived.”

  Tay’s face was serious, and the suspicion gone from his gaze now, but Lok sensed Tay’s words held a hint of falseness.

  “Thank you.” He nodded graciously, wishing he could be as far away from Arantay as possible.

  Tay took another step until they drew level. “I just wanted you to know, that I understand a little of what you must be going through.”

  “You…you do?”

  “I felt, I guess it’s called survivor’s guilt. Falawn let Kurrlan’s demons kill my entire tribe, only I survived. I guess your situation now is similar. So, please, feel free to come to me if you ever need to talk.”

  “Oh, uh.” He hadn’t expected this, although it was better than feeling like Arantay was accusing him. Maybe the elfpire was trying to comfort him, in his own strange way.

  “Thanks, Tay. Sure.” He forced a warm smile.

  Arantay nodded his
head once more and walked softly from the chamber, leaving him alone in the dark, lost in darker thoughts.

  Chapter 10- A Swashbuckling Sortie

  Evan chuckled as he watched the intense game of Realmadon before him. Elijah and Jed were both playing like their lives depended on it.

  “And now my Dread Lord card annihilates your demon minion,” Elijah whooped as Jed threw his cards across the table in frustration.

  “That doesn’t count.’ Jed grumbled. ‘I told you we should’ve resarted when we got the ice jungle card as our battlefield. That’s just not fair.”

  “No, you were too cocky, my ozzie friend.” Elijah smiled, gathering up the shillings Jed had bet on the game.

  “Double or nothing, and this time we’ll duel with our Enerlytes,” Jed insisted, pulling the krism stick out of his bag.

  Evan guessed Elijah was about to accept when the class around them ceased chatting and scrambled for their seats. Jed and Elijah hastily tucked their Realmadon cards away as Gettelung arrived for their lesson, late as usual.

  “Now, last lesson I told you all about Blutopolis’s underwater Stronghold, where the Realmers are beings who can either fully, or partially, breathe underwater.”

  “Partially?” Jed asked.

  “Amphibian, dear.” Xavier shook his head.

  “You were told this yesterday,” Elijah added.

  “But today’s introduction to two other Strongholds will be a little more sensitive,” said Gettelung.

  “How come?” Evan asked, pen poised over his notebook.

  “They are the two Strongholds most different to the other Eight Realmer establishments, their practices most frowned upon. First is Grezgul, home to the orcs, goblins and ogres who possess magic. The second is Laissont, home to the Elite.”

  “Oh, I know all about them,” Sabine spoke up excitedly. “I so wanted to go to Laissont when I was little, but my family weren’t deemed illustrious enough. I’d never want to go to Grezgul though, my father’s told me horror stories.”

  “What’s so bad about these places?” Jed asked. “Laissont sounds pretty good if they were smart enough to reject Sabi.”