Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  Milo’s attention was drawn away from the boy when he saw the hard, lined face of the man who had killed his father. Kovax stood behind Corgos, eyes closed, stuck in mid-chant with his hands bent into claws by his chest.

  “The man in front is Corgos Leonaryx,” Emmanuel said. “He and his cousin Kovax were once students at a military academy in Theus, where I was a professor for many years. I knew them when they were younger, a pair of bad apples, to say the least. Their rise to power began with an idea that has since resulted in war, economic depression, and slavery—and the colorless boy you see standing in front of you.”

  Emmanuel tapped the remote control. The hologram came to life with a dull flash. Corgos had been in the middle of a speech, addressing a large crowd that was not visible. But Milo could tell there were a lot of people from the epic roar of approval. The noise died down as the emperor spoke.

  “Do not only think of these towers as weapons. They can be used to store the blood ether taken from each and every beastblood we put inside. We will use this power for the war effort, to finally rid Astros of those scientist-magician traitors to the west, as well as all the others who have kept us down.” He clamped his hand on the colorless boy’s shoulder. The boy looked up at the emperor, wincing in the day’s gray light. “His sacrifice will be our victory!”

  Emmanuel pressed another button, and the hologram morphed into a gray stone tower in the middle of a barren field, seen from a distance. The top of the tower was still being constructed and was a mess of wooden planks. Milo walked forward until he was inches away from the tiny men working inside.

  “What you see now is a tower of blood ether extraction, also known as a ‘Tower of Light.’ It combines magic and technology to extract small amounts of blood ether from Humankin and Godkin populations—and enormous amounts from all exposed Feralkin. It is then gathered and stored in dangerously unstable blood crystals in the midsection of each tower.” He zoomed into the tower until a section of it was cut away, revealing bright, throbbing red crystals held suspended by machines. Their collective hum made Milo’s eardrums itch. “A low mage can use this energy for spellcasting on a grand scale. Or, in the case of a Tower of Dusk, it can focus all of its energy into a crystal at its tip and shoot a blast strong enough to tear apart a mountain.”

  “To attack Theus,” Milo said.

  “Exactly. Corgos has been waging war against The High Republic of Theus ever since he became emperor, and he’s been using Ferals as slaves. Now, he intends to use them as batteries for his weapons.”

  Milo studied the inside of the tower. There were people shuffling back and forth on a walkway surrounding the blood crystals, adjusting dials and levers on the machines. Something about them looked unnatural, though it was difficult to tell, as they were little more than silhouettes against all that red energy.

  “Who are those people?”

  Emmanuel pressed a button on the remote control. Milo stepped back in horror as the view was dominated by the ruined body of one of the workers.

  “Gods.” Milo brought a hand to his mouth. “What’s—what’s wrong with him?”

  The man looked somewhat normal except for the bits of gray bone showing through patches of rotten skin. He had no lips, and his teeth were stained yellow. His bulging eyes looked ready to roll out of his skull. One of his legs had rotted away completely, showing the long thickness of his femur bone. His posture was bent like that of a sickly old man.

  “A Risen One,” Emmanuel said. “I’m sure you’re aware of what a necromancer does.”

  Milo nodded, unable to take his eyes off the laboring zombie. The creature’s bones creaked as he stalked about on the metal walkway.

  “I remember reading about it,” Milo said. “Necromancers infuse the lifeless tissue of a dead creature with blood ether. It’s similar to what Acolytes do with their healing magic, except they do it on living creatures using luminether. When a necromancer uses blood ether, it brings the dead back to life and makes them strong, but leaves them in a decayed state, unable to heal. It’s considered a sacrilege in every Astrican society.”

  The next hologram caused Milo to look away in disgust, but the image had already been seared into his mind. He knew it would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  A simple hospital bed had appeared in the center of the viewing area, awash in light even though the area around it was dark. There was a boy on it. He lay on his side, arms and legs tucked against his body as if to conserve heat. His skin was as gray as granite. His eyes were closed, and his cheeks were so sunken that it looked as if sections of his face had caved in. His tail lay beside him, as pink as the tail of a hairless monkey.

  And yet the boy’s emaciated condition was not the worst part.

  It was his skin. His body was riddled with open sores that would have looked like third-degree burns were it not for their uniform, circular shapes. Though the rest of him was a dull gray, the sores themselves were as red as blood and covered entire sections of his face, chest, arms, and legs—and even his fingers.

  The boy’s stomach rose and fell. He was still breathing—barely.

  “What’s wrong with him?” Milo said, his voice muffled by his hand.

  Emmanuel spoke in his usual scientific manner, but his voice sounded darker somehow. “They’re called blightsores—a side effect of the extraction process.

  “The boy in this hologram is a Feral. They get it the worst of all. The other four races also show symptoms, to varying degrees, though they can be treated with medicine only King Corgos will be able to provide. You can see how that works. My guess is the emperor will blame Feralkin for spreading it like a virus. He’ll gain millions of supporters and make billions of sorols while he’s at it.”

  “But why Ferals?” Milo spun to face his uncle. “He can’t enslave them if they all die.”

  “That’s the thing. Kovax doesn’t want slaves. His cousin does, which I see as a source of conflict between the two. My guess is Kovax and Corgos won’t be seeing eye-to-eye anymore once the towers are finished.”

  “What does Kovax want, then?”

  “Disposable batteries for his towers. But not everyone qualifies. Acolytes, Sargonauts, and Savants use up their luminether reserves in order to express their abilities. That leaves them with very little to be harvested. Sargonauts use it for superhuman strength and rapid healing; Acolytes use it to grow wings and maintain flight; Savants typically draw it from their surroundings; and Humankin don’t have very much to begin with. But Ferals—they store luminether in their bodies to be used during phasing. Now does it make sense?”

  Milo nodded. “Ferals don’t tap into their reserves unless they’re in animal form.”

  “Exactly. Kovax has invented special collars to keep them from being able to phase. To fatten them up for the extraction process.”

  “But what about Savants who pull luminether from within? Like”—he was about to say like me but decided against it—“like sorcerers?”

  “You mean Savants like you?”

  “Well—yeah. We must use up our reserves as well, right? To cast spells?”

  Emmanuel looked at the sick Feral boy and sighed.

  “That’s where everything gets complicated. Sorcerers pull luminether from their environments automatically, as easily as if they were breathing. Unlike magicians or other races, you don’t store luminether so much as you cycle it.

  “Think of the way your lungs breathe air; that’s the way your body’s cells breathe luminether. It’s the real difference between what I do and what you do. We magicians manipulate luminether externally, and that makes us tired if we do it for too long. But sorcerers like you—well, if we’re talking about batteries for a tower, sorcerers are perfect. They are also the ones who will suffer most from the blightsore. My guess is, Kovax will keep the sorcerer alive using necromancy to maximize output.”

  Milo spoke glumly. “So if the blightsore kills me, he’ll turn me into a zombie to keep drawing blood ether from my b
ody.”

  “Yes,” Emmanuel said. “If you’ve ever wondered what Hell is like, that’s it, right there. You and Emma are demigods. The two of you would last a very long time with the blightsore. You, Milo, are the perfect battery for a contraption like this, I’m sorry to say. A near-infinite source of blood ether.”

  Milo frowned upon hearing this. “There’s one thing that I don’t get.”

  His uncle looked at him.

  “If low mages draw blood ether from living things, then what about sorcerers? Do they use a form of low magic, too?”

  “You mean, can sorcerers channel blood ether?”

  “Yeah.” Milo shrugged.

  Emmanuel looked away. His mouth had formed a crooked line of disgust. “A sorcerer who channels blood ether becomes addicted to it. After a time, the sorcerer’s body will only draw blood ether and nothing else. It would make his spells a dozen times more powerful, but he would be a blood ether addict for the rest of his life. He would have to feed off others like a vampire to get it.” He gave Milo a dreadful look. “Don’t ever do it, Milo. The temptation will be strong—once you see how powerful a sorcerer can become using blood ether, you’ll always be curious. But it will corrupt you. It will turn you into a monster.”

  The hologram changed to a young man with light-brown hair, wearing a sleek suit of metal armor. The hologram had caught him in the middle of throwing a fireball. His mouth was open in a vicious howl and his right arm was extended outward, the fireball about to roll away from his fingertips.

  “There are only a few thousand sorcerers in existence, and most of them will die before puberty due to an inability to control their power. You, Milo, could have died casting that fireball, but you didn’t even get burned.”

  “Why didn’t I?”

  “Because, thanks to your grandparents, you’re a demigod. Certain rules don’t apply.”

  Emmanuel’s voice took on a more serious tone. “With enough time and practice, you could be just as powerful as your grandfather, Prestocles—maybe more so. And his power was the stuff of legend. I know, because he was my teacher at the Academy.”

  Milo threw his hands up in frustration.

  “But why? Can’t I just have my mother back? Can’t Emma and I just…”

  “Listen to me. You can’t go back to the way things were. Your mother is going to win this war or die trying, and she’ll do it out of love for you and your sister. Until it’s over, you and Emma won’t be safe for a moment. If Kovax succeeds in building his Tower of Light and kidnapping you and your sister, then the people of Astros will die painful deaths—like this boy right here.” The hologram changed back to the boy on the bed. “It took three weeks for him to die, and he went insane first. That’s the nasty thing about blightsores. They torture you, drive you mad, make you convulse and foam at the mouth and dream of demons and hellfire, and then they kill you.”

  Milo stared at the boy on the bed and felt a hideous revulsion at the thought of ending up like him. He pictured Emma covered in sores and dying on a hospital bed. The thought made him clench his hands into fists.

  “Why can’t we just destroy these towers—I don’t know, bomb them or something?”

  Emmanuel sighed. “I know what you’re thinking. I had that same idea. But Kovax has the construction sites well-protected using magical barriers. These towers have been constructed to absorb all magical attacks. And besides, once the blightsore goes viral, this war won’t be about fighting or bombing so much as keeping mankind and Godkin alive.”

  “How do you know it’ll go viral?”

  “It already has. The emperor’s scientists are keeping it contained. It’s just a matter of time, now.”

  “So Emma and I have to make a sacrifice. That’s why you brought me here. We have to stop this from happening, and we might die trying.”

  Emmanuel shook his head. “I would never force you to do such a thing. But your life has changed in ways that you haven’t even begun to understand. The moment will come, sooner than you think, when you and Emma will have to fight these men or die running away from them. There will never be peace for either of you or this world—unless we win.”

  Milo looked into his uncle’s eyes, those eyes that were the same shape and color as his father’s. What he saw in them was not hope or courage—it was sadness.

  “You lost someone, too,” Milo said. “This is personal, isn’t it?”

  The skin around Emmanuel’s eyes tightened, but his expression didn’t change.

  “You’re right. I helped your mother and father escape all those years ago, and in doing so, I left my family here on Taradyn, unguarded. I thought they were safe, but my eldest son believed in what Corgos and Kovax were preaching. He left to join their ranks, and when they found out that I was his father, they tortured him until he revealed where our family was hiding.

  “Kovax thought he could get to me, but instead he found my wife, and my son and daughter. They were twins, like you and Emma. The emperor’s men tortured my family to death for information they didn’t even have.”

  He put his glasses back on.

  “What were their names?” Milo said.

  “What?”

  “Their names.”

  Emmanuel frowned. “My wife was Lana, my son Tomas, and my daughter Amina. The oldest one was Max, named after your father. A Sargonaut.”

  “I’m sorry,” Milo said, feeling his face tighten as tears surged. He held them back and kept his gaze lowered.

  “Don’t be,” his uncle said. “I’m going to give you a choice, Milo. You can stay, or you can go back to the ranch, where I’ll make sure you and Emma are safe until Ascher moves you to a secure spot. If you choose to stay, I’ll teach you how to channel luminether and wield elemental magic. It’ll be a long and painful process, and I must warn you, there’s no guarantee you’ll be good enough when we’re finished.

  “Or”—Emmanuel pressed a button on the remote control. The hologram changed to a miniature version of Ascher’s ranch—“if you want to go back, all you have to do is close your eyes and I’ll make sure you have no memory of this place or this conversation. You’ll wake up in your bed and everything will go back to normal.”

  He continued. “Keep your eyes open until they water if your answer is yes, you’ll stay.”

  Milo opened his eyes wide. “I’ll stay,” he said.

  Emmanuel frowned. “Are you sure?”

  Milo nodded, keeping his eyes open. They were beginning to sting.

  “Don’t do it for me, and don’t do it for your mother. She wouldn’t approve of me kidnapping you like this, anyhow.”

  “Then,” Milo said, “I’ll do it for Emma. Can I blink now?”

  A delighted smile spread across his uncle’s face.

  “Go ahead—and welcome to the Vault.”

  CHAPTER 56

  T he pain was so terrible that Emma’s body arched and spasmed as she fell through the air. There were moments when she hoped the fall would kill her, just so the pain would stop.

  “Help,” she said, and the saliva in her mouth froze in the icy air. “Help me!”

  All she could see was the whiteness of a landscape covered in snow and the flat gray of a winter sky. They kept changing places as her body rolled through the air.

  A dark shape materialized in the distance. She tried to find it as she turned and twisted. The shape grew larger by the second. It was shooting toward her, and fast.

  Emma screamed.

  Then she was in someone’s arms. Sevarin hugged her, tight but not too tight—she could tell he was trying not to crush her with his embrace. Emma pressed her face into his neck and held on, and it was at that moment that she felt something strange fluttering against her shoulder blades. It felt like a giant insect was clinging to her back, claws embedded in her skin.

  “I’ve got you, Emma, hold on!”

  Something warm slipped beneath them. Her bottom hit it with a hard thump.

  Vastanon.

  Thi
ngs began to make sense. She and Sevarin were sitting astride the levathon now, Sevarin in front and facing her. Vastanon had swooped under them and caught them. But what was on Emma’s back? And why was it hurting her?

  The wind rushed at them as Vastanon flew toward the ground. She closed her eyes and pressed her face into Sevarin’s chest, weeping from the pain.

  A crunch as they landed in the snow. Emma was sure she would vomit. Vastanon landed at a running stride to absorb the impact. Gradually, they slowed.

  “Sevarin,” she said, tipping to the side.

  “Emma!” Sevarin pushed himself off Vastanon and caught her before she could fall. “You have something on—on…”

  He held her upright by her armpits. Emma swooned with dizziness. She looked back over her left shoulder and then her right. It looked like a giant seagull had attached itself to her back—a seagull with golden feathers.

  “Oh no”—her voice quivered—“Oh no, what is that?”

  Whatever it was, she could clench it and unclench it, like a hand—or two.

  “Sevarin,” she said, unclenching as hard as she could, squeezing her eyes shut and groaning as she struggled—to—just—get—it—off!

  A feathery fwump sounded as the thing on her back split apart.

  Sevarin stepped back, his mouth hanging open in utter shock. Emma looked down at the ground. Grayed-out sunlight shone behind her, casting her shadow across the snow in the blurred shape of a cross.

  “Golden wings,” Sevarin said.

  Tears rose in Emma’s eyes. Sevarin approached her and placed his hands carefully on her shoulders.

  “They’re beautiful.”

  The tears broke away and slid down Emma’s cheeks—tears of a joy she couldn’t describe.

  Then, as her wings fluttered, causing hot flashes of pain to ripple along her back, she lost consciousness and fell into Sevarin’s arms.

  CHAPTER 57