Hunter of Legends (Fate of Legends Series Book 1)

by Clayton Wood

  I missed her, he thought, covering his eyes with his hands.

  If only he’d gone up to the attic earlier, gone to find her a few years ago. She might’ve still been alive then, or at least young enough to have had a chance at still being alive. But now it was too late. Even if she was alive, she was probably too old and demented to remember who he was.

  Once again, he’d come here for nothing. And now he’d joined the Seekers for nothing.

  He sighed, pulling the bedsheet over his head and rolling onto his side. All he wanted to do now was sleep, to escape into his dreams. To escape from this hell he’d fallen into.

  There was a knock at the door.

  Hunter groaned, rolling over onto his other side, hoping whoever it was would just go the hell away. But moments later, another knock came. He grit his teeth, yanking the sheets off and lugging himself out of bed, walking to the door and opening it up.

  It was Trixie.

  She smiled at him, and when he didn’t smile back, she frowned, stepping inside the apartment and closing the door. She reached up, putting her hands on his cheeks.

  “What’s wrong baby?” she murmured, her eyes filled with concern. He lowered his gaze, feeling moisture brim in his eyes again. She lifted his chin up, leaning in and kissing him on the lips. He smelled her faint perfume, felt the softness of her mouth on his, and enjoyed a familiar rush of pleasure. It cut through his despair like a scalpel, dulling it almost instantly. He a sudden, mad desire to drown himself in that feeling, that animal pleasure that she promised simply by being close to him.

  You need to stop, he remembered Thorius telling him.

  Hunter parted his lips, kissing her back passionately, feeling her arms wrap around him, her tongue snaking into his mouth. He moaned, pulling her back toward the bed, then sitting down on it. She straddled him, shoving him onto his back on the bed, then pulling off her shirt. She grabbed his hands, placing them over her breasts, her flesh hot against his palms.

  Fuck that, Hunter thought, feeling himself growing as she laid atop him, her mouth on his. Her hand went to his groin, cupping it gently, and he felt his despair shrinking, replaced by lust for her. For this extraordinary creature, this perfect being who had such power over him.

  It was glorious.

  She lifted her hips from his, grabbing his pants and pulling them off. Then she smiled at him, pulling her head away, then making a slow, sensual crawl backward, kissing his neck, then his chest, then belly. She paused then, her perfect blue eyes on his, then crawled backward a bit more, lowering her head again.

  God I need this.

  Hunter closed his eyes, resting his head against his pillow, taking a sharp breath in as she got to work.

  * * *

  Dominus leaned on his cane, watching as his son Conlan paced before him, running a hand through his short blond hair. After the coronation ceremony, they’d left the dukes and Axio behind, descending to the basement of the Acropolis, to a room known as the Hall of Tykus. It was surprisingly small, the room, particularly in contrast to the grand halls he’d walked through earlier, before the ceremony. The floor was a thick, smooth block of perfectly transparent crystal, within which countless human skulls had been embedded. The walls were unpolished gray stone, and yet more bones had been embedded within them. Four columns fashioned of stone and more bones rose from the floor to the ceiling, and in the center of the Hall was a long table with seven chairs…one for the king, and one for each duke. The ceiling was made of another sheet of solid transparent crystal, with yet more skulls staring down at them with their empty eye-sockets.

  The bones of their ancient ancestors, their wills preserved for eternity in a crystalline tomb.

  “This isn’t fair,” Conlan protested, stopping his pacing and turning to face him. “You can’t do this!”

  “Do what?” Dominus inquired calmly. Conlan snorted.

  “You know damn well what you did,” he retorted angrily. “That was a nice trick, signing that contract giving me the Duchy right when the king died.”

  “It wasn’t a trick, son,” Dominus countered.

  “It damn well was, and you know it!” Conlan retorted, jabbing a finger at Dominus’s chest. “You ‘gave up’ the Duchy just to get it back again when I became king!”

  “It was the sensible thing to do,” Dominus insisted.

  “Sensible?” Conlan spat. “Sensible?”

  Dominus sighed, limping up to one of the chairs at the table and sitting down. His legs ached even from standing for too long. He looked up at his son. His only son.

  “I’m dying, Conlan.”

  Conlan stared at him for a long moment, then crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Bullshit.”

  “Come here,” Dominus urged. Conlan hesitated, then obeyed, walking up to him. “Help me take off my boot,” he added, pointing to his right boot. Conlan helped him pull it off, and he took off his sock as well, exposing his foot. His blackened stump of a big toe, the mottled instep. His pinky toe, the small black spot having expanded to cover the entire tip. The rot was spreading quickly, his flesh dying as its lifeblood was cut off.

  Conlan’s head jerked back, and he stood, taking a sharp breath in, staring at the foot in horror.

  “It’s spreading quickly,” Dominus explained. “I can barely walk more than a few dozen meters without terrible pain. The doctors want to amputate my legs,” he added. “Both of them.”

  Conlan just stared, swallowing visibly. Then he shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, father,” he mumbled. “I didn’t know.”

  “I kept it from you,” Dominus confessed. He put his cane on the tablet, pulling his sock and boot back on.

  “Why?”

  Dominus shrugged, giving a rueful smile.

  “I’ve always been your father, Conlan,” he answered. “The patriarch. I’ve never been comfortable with vulnerability.”

  Conlan just stared back at him, looking shaken. Dominus could hardly blame the boy. The man, rather. He’d never had a real conversation with his son before. Certainly never expressed regret, or any other emotion betraying weakness or failure. Their relationship had always been…difficult.

  “I’m dying son,” he repeated, gazing at his son. “The kingdom needs stability. I gave you the kingship because I did not want to become king only to die soon after.” He paused. “And I didn’t want you forced into the kingship without me present to guide you.”

  “How much time do you have?” Conlan asked.

  “I don’t know,” Dominus admitted. “If they cut off my legs, perhaps a year or two. I get pains in my chest when I walk too far,” he added. “They say the lifeblood is being cut off from my heart, and that the rot will blacken it as it has blackened my feet.”

  Conlan lowered his gaze.

  “We’re both going to die,” he muttered.

  Dominus sighed, lowering his eyes to the tabletop. Wrought of human bones cemented together, it was a morbid thing, but filled with power. With the will of the ancients. Had his will been weaker, he would have feared their influence.

  “That is our sacrifice,” Dominus said. “To give ourselves to our great nation.”

  “That is my sacrifice,” Conlan countered bitterly, looking up at him. “What are you sacrificing?” he added. “At least you’ll die you.”

  “I’ve spent my life in service to this kingdom,” Dominus retorted.

  “And you’ll get to watch me die,” Conlan shot back. “You’ll still be alive while I fade away, while Tykus kills me slowly, eating away at my soul!”

  Dominus just looked at him, saying nothing. There was nothing to say, after all. His son was correct.

  Conlan resumed his pacing, his boots clopping on the crystalline floor.

  “This is your duty,” Dominus reminded him. “It is the greatest honor a man can have, to give himself to Tykus.”

  “Is it an honor?” Conlan retorted. “Is it an honor to be forced to become someone else?”

 
“It is,” Dominus insisted.

  “What about me?” Conlan pressed. “What about my soul? Don’t I matter?”

  “Of course you do.”

  “Then let me be king,” Conlan stated, stopping his pacing. “I have ideas, you know. I have merit. Why does it have to be Tykus, year after year, generation after generation?”

  “Conlan…” Dominus began, but Conlan cut him off.

  “Do I have nothing to offer my kingdom?” he pressed.

  Dominus sighed, glancing around the room, at the countless generations of men buried within it. Thousands of souls that had given their lives to their kingdom, giving still even in death, providing their essence to any who drew near.

  “You have much to offer,” he said at last, turning back to his son. “But Tykus has more.”

  “How do you know that?” Conlan shot back. “How do you know I wouldn’t be a great king?”

  “Do you doubt the power of Tykus?” Dominus inquired, his tone suddenly cool. Conlan stared at him, then started to say something, stopping himself. He began pacing again.

  “Just because I’m not the great and almighty Tykus doesn’t mean I can’t do great things,” he reasoned. He gestured at Dominus. “Haven’t you accomplished great things?” he pressed. “Why can’t I be like you?”

  Dominus grimaced, biting his tongue. His son, despite his considerable intelligence and will, was not his match. Not even close. Conlan was too fiery, too temperamental. He lacked a strategic mind, reacting instead of acting. Even now, he reacted. And he lacked the most important quality of all: the wisdom to understand his limitations, and the discipline to transcend them.

  “You have many gifts Conlan,” Dominus stated at last. “But you are not a Legend.”

  Conlan stopped pacing, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “How can you be sure?” he countered. He gestured at the room around him. “I’ve been here for years, and yet I’m not like the others,” he reasoned. “My will is stronger than theirs.”

  “It is,” Dominus agreed.

  “Then how do you know I’m not a Legend?” Conlan pressed.

  “Because I met a Legend once,” Dominus answered. Conlan frowned.

  “Who?”

  Dominus sighed, rubbing his face wearily.

  “The Original,” he replied.

  “The…” Conlan began, then snorted. “That bitch?”

  “Do not swallow the propaganda they feed you whole,” Dominus chided. “Treat it like food. You must chew on it, digest it. Process it. Only then should you incorporate it into your being.”

  “You’re saying that bitch was a Legend?” Conlan pressed incredulously. “The dukes…”

  “The dukes refused to recognize her because she was a woman,” Dominus interjected. “And because she was the enemy. But I guarantee you, my son, she was most definitely a Legend.”

  “But…”

  “And I can assure you,” Dominus continued, “…until you meet a Legend, you have no idea the power that they wield.” He shook his head. “Strong as you are, you are not a Legend…and you never will be. And neither will I.”

  Conlan said nothing, lowering his gaze to the floor.

  “What is done is done, my son,” Dominus stated gently. “You will be king. You must be king.”

  “It isn’t fair,” Conlan insisted.

  “You’re right,” Dominus agreed. “It isn’t. You’ve been asked to give the ultimate sacrifice for your people. For your country.” He grabbed his cane from the tabletop then, standing and walking up to his son, putting a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You must rise above your selfish desires,” he added. He gestured at the Hall of Tykus, at the countless bones ensconced within. “One day, your bones will be here, along with all the others who’ve given their lives to Tykus.”

  Conlan swallowed visibly, his jawline rippling.

  “I’ll be here for you,” Dominus murmured, raising his hand to Conlan’s cheek. “Every step of the way. And I promise I won’t leave until it is done.”

  * * *

  Dominus walked alone through the hallways of the Acropolis, the butt of his cane ringing sharply on the granite floor as he went. It was a distressingly long journey to his chambers on the second floor of the fortress, one that required multiple stops for rest. As Duke, he had earned the luxury of residing within the Acropolis itself. The lower nobles lived within the walls surrounding the Acropolis, but in a building separate from the massive fortress. A luxurious estate, it still paled in comparison to the Acropolis’s magnificent suites. Securing a suite within the Acropolis was a great honor, bestowed only upon the most loyal and powerful of the aristocrats. His suite had been passed down from generation to generation for centuries.

  Centuries of service to the kingdom. An unbroken chain of excellence.

  He sighed, rounding a corner, seeing the door to his room fifty meters away. He stopped for a moment, leaning on his cane, his legs aching terribly. He’d had to stop frequently during the walk…had insisted on making it alone so that no one would see him struggle. Weakness was not befitting the Duke of Wexford.

  Nor in his son.

  He grimaced, continuing forward. Conlan’s reticence was expected, of course. Understandable even. But it was pointless for the man to resist his destiny. Tykus’s will would begin its work on him, the Ossae slowly transforming him. Conlan’s resistance would fade, and Tykus would be reborn within him.

  Still, Dominus knew that he had to stay within the Acropolis. Conlan would not go quietly. Dominus had to ensure that the transformation was completed.

  He stopped again, his legs cramping terribly, and waited for them to recover. He also had to get in contact with his Seeker if he was going to retrieve that shipment from the carriage the Ironclad had attacked. So much to do, and so little time to do it.

  He heard footsteps approaching behind him, and stopped, turning to glance back down the hallway. A guard was striding quickly toward him.

  “Your Grace,” the guard called out, catching up to him and bowing deeply.

  “What is it?”

  “I bring a message from Master Trainer Thorius of the Guild of Seekers,” the guard answered. “He requests an audience with you.”

  Dominus sighed. He had wanted to speak with the Seeker, but now was not the time.

  “I’ll arrange a meeting for tomorrow,” Dominus replied. The guard hesitated. “What?” Dominus pressed, feeling irritated.

  “He says it’s urgent, my Duke,” the guard pressed. “He was quite insistent.”

  Dominus sighed. Thorius was a man of considerable restraint, and not one to alarm easily. If the Seeker claimed a matter was urgent, it most certainly was.

  “Bring him to my suite,” he ordered.

  Chapter 13

  Hunter felt Trixie shift on the bed beside him, rolling away from him, her warm buttocks pressing against his hip. He sighed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling exhausted.

  Empty.

  They’d gone at it all night, as usual. Gone at each other until they’d been too tired to keep their eyes open. Days of getting too little sleep were starting to take their toll on him. Still, he was grateful that she’d come last night, thankful for the distraction.

  Hunter glanced at the back of her head, at the gentle scoop of her lower back, and had the sudden urge to wake her. He resisted, knowing that she needed her sleep. She had a long day of work ahead of her, no doubt.

  He turned to stare up at the ceiling, not wanting to think about what that entailed.

  Trixie stirred again, rolling onto her other side, her arm flopping over his chest, her cheek resting on his shoulder. She opened her eyes, squinting at him.

  “Hey,” she mumbled, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “Morning.”

  “Morning.”

  She sat up, looking out of the window, then at the rectangular beam of light passing through it to strike the floor.

  “It’s late,” she realized, crawling over him to get out of bed. She walk
ed to the window sill, glancing at the sundial there. “I have to get going.”

  “What time is it?” he asked, taking a moment to appreciate her nude form. The sunlight danced through her long golden hair, making it seem like it was glowing.

  “Eleven,” she answered, turning around to smile at him. “I’ll be back this afternoon,” she added. “To take you to Ekrin.”

  “Okay.”

  She got dressed then, leaning over to kiss him, then waving goodbye. He watched her go, then sighed, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling again. Part of him felt guilty about seeing her again, knowing what she was…and knowing that she was manipulating him. He hated the idea that he was being controlled, that his feelings weren’t his when he was around her. But then he thought about how amazing it’d felt, being with her. How utterly intoxicating it had been.

  He felt his groin stirring, felt it waking up.

  Get off the fucking bed.

  He sighed, rolling off the bed and walking across the room, glancing at the Seeker medallion he’d placed in the corner. He hesitated, then turned away from it, staring at his bed. At the messy sheets strewn across it. He felt his desire fading, seeping out of him slowly. Part of him was sad to feel it go, and he had the sudden urge to lay back in bed, to experience that wonderful feeling again.

  Don’t.

  He turned back to the medallion in the corner, staring at it. He still had time to catch a quick brunch at the community center, then head to the Guild of Seekers.

  What’s the point, he thought. Mom’s dead.

  There was no point, really. No point to him becoming a Seeker, no point to him being in this god-forsaken world at all. No one wanted him here, not really. No one wanted him corrupting their perfect little lives.

  He turned away from the medallion, feeling antsy. Sukri and the others would come looking for him if he didn’t show up soon, just as Gammon had yesterday. Hunter had no desire to face them. No desire to talk to anyone at all. But if he stayed here, they’d find him…and force him to come with them to the guild.