The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny

by L. A. Wasielewski

  He definitely did not enjoy the sensation.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Of all my daughter’s skills, I am most impressed with her ability to conjure magic. Fire, frost, lightning…if I were to face her in battle, I would hope against hope she would be quick and merciful with my death.

  --Journal entry of King Galroy of Farnfoss

  Ryris had always wanted to take a tour of the Vrelin palace.

  He daydreamed about the ornate tapestries, grand staircases, and opulent treasures contained within. To be able to see generations of portraits, regal accoutrements, and the literal seats of power. The opportunity to walk the halls of the monarchs, to have his footfalls atop their own well-trodden paths was something he wanted to experience just once in his life. And now, here he was, moments away from stepping into the throne room. But he wasn’t on a tour.

  He was a prisoner.

  The halls were dark, the paintings and statues gathering dust. Mice skittered across the floors, the once-grand ballroom now empty and devoid of life. Where there should have been the bustling action of everyday goings-on of an empire, there was instead eerie quiet. The stench of rotting flesh wafted in from the square outside.

  This was not the Keld Ryris remembered.

  His Keld was warm and inviting, filled with the delicious aromas of bakeries and flower shops. His Keld was peaceful and full of life. His Keld pulsed with the frenetic activity of a metropolis. His Keld—no longer existed.

  The undead guards surrounding them shuffled down the corridor, with Roann in the lead. The emperor carried the velvet parcel containing the sword shards in his hands. Ryris glanced at Kaia beside him. She held her head high with a stern face, unwilling to show any fear. Jaric shared her expression and resolve, refusing to let any of the guards manhandle him. He was his own man, and would face his fate on his own terms. Grildi walked behind the alchemist, sticking close to offer whatever protection he could. Ryris was thankful to have his friends at his side, it made the uncertainty of what was about to happen a little less terrifying.

  A shudder ran down Ryris’ spine. What was about to happen? Was he walking to his death? Would he be kept alive to witness more horrors? Was…Lyrax in there? He tried not to vomit.

  The grand doors opened, and he was immediately assaulted by a blast of chilled air. Roann’s hair billowed around his head as the currents blew past them all. Ryris instinctively shivered, pulling his arms close to his body for warmth. Grildi, sensing his discomfort, put calming hands on his shoulders. The lights beyond were low, as dozens of oil lamps flickered in their wall sconces. On the horizon, just visible through the grand windows, the sun had recently dipped behind the buildings.

  As the party crossed the threshold of the throne room, the doors slammed shut behind them, seemingly of their own accord. Cold air surrounded them, a shocking difference from the humid, thick air of the palace proper. Ryris was at least relieved to no longer smell the horrible rotting odor from outside. This room was clear of that stench—but had been replaced by something different. The sickening-sweet aroma of large-scale decay had been overpowered by moldering, disguised foulness. Incense burned in pots surrounding the thrones, attempting to mask a burnt, festering aroma. Like charred flesh that had been soaked to restore it to its former living glory, but fell short of the mark. This smell was unnerving, malicious. Ryris instinctively reached for Kaia’s hand, which she accepted without hesitation.

  “Master Lyrax!” Roann’s voice boomed, echoing off of the gilded walls and buttressed ceiling. “I’ve brought you visitors!”

  Ryris’ stomach lurched at the mention of that name, and he squeezed Kaia’s hand in response. A figure stepped out from behind a curtain to the side of the royal seats, seemingly gliding across the floor without actually touching it. The azure robes of the monarch draped loosely over his frame, the man was tall, his skin a sickly gray. Dark spots of decay dotted his neck. Roann’s jeweled crown rested atop his bald head. He came to a stop in front of the emperor’s throne and sat, crossing his legs and throwing his arms over the armrests with a sigh.

  “Ah yes, the alchemist and his band of misfits.” He smiled, exposing a mouth of rotten teeth. “How lovely of you to join us. I trust my faithful protégé was respectful to you?”

  “If you call pushing a woman to the ground respectful, then yes.” Jaric’s tone was confident and rebellious.

  “I’ve taught him well, then. Such loyalty.” Lyrax gazed proudly at Roann. “I suppose you know why you’re here?”

  “Your faithful protégé didn’t make us privy to that information. He ambushed us in the woods and brought us here without so much as a handshake.” Jaric narrowed his eyes at him.

  The necromancer smirked. “Handshakes are only for friends. You’re enemies of the state.”

  Roann motioned backwards toward the companions, all while keeping his attention focused on Lyrax. “They came relatively peacefully. I believe they realized the severity of their situation.”

  “Only because I couldn’t introduce you to the severity of my fist fast enough.” Jaric mumbled under his breath, staring the emperor down.

  With an annoyed huff and a flick of his wrist, Roann reduced Jaric to a crumpled heap on the floor, clutching his stomach in agony. Grildi immediately dropped to his side, grabbing him by the shoulders to steady him. The warrior groaned as he writhed on the ground, unable to control the sudden convulsions that wracked his body. After a long moment of intense torture at the emperor’s hand, Lyrax commanded him to be released. Roann reluctantly obeyed, and Jaric was liberated from the invisible torment.

  “What did you learn?” Roann’s tone was mocking.

  Jaric stared at him through half-closed eyelids, snarling weakly as the pain abated. A moment later, with the waves of agony washing away, he allowed Grildi to help him up, and stood under his own power. He refused to look at Roann.

  The young emperor silently approached the throne podium, his guards filling in to surround the prisoners. He set the velvet satchel down on the stairs, posed a question. “Master, did you know we had a magic user among us? Mr. Bren has a habit of setting fire to his fingers.”

  “Magic?” Lyrax’ eyes widened with intrigue, looking at Kaia first, then Ryris. He rose, gliding down the stairs to come face-to-face with the alchemist. Ryris immediately gagged at the stench enveloping the man. “I thought I knew about all of your kind. How is it you managed to evade me?”

  Ryris kept silent, his throat getting drier by the minute. The amulet on his chest began to warm, and he mentally begged it to stop. If Lyrax found it—or sensed it—he’d be dead in a heartbeat. The necromancer moved closer, practically touching the tip of his nose to Ryris’. His stinking breath puffed at the younger man’s face.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me. I’m genuinely curious about you and your secret to staying incognito.”

  Ryris swallowed hard, staring the old wizard down. He hoped his terror wouldn’t bubble over and cause him to shake. The amulet resting against his skin continued to heat up.

  “Please, won’t you show me?” Lyrax backed away. “I give you my solemn word I won’t hurt you because of it.”

  Jaric snorted, and Lyrax felled him with the same power Roann had. He let him writhe on the ground for a moment before letting him up once again. Lyrax never said a word to him, and cast his attention back to Ryris. The young alchemist steadied himself and conscientiously objected with a determined shake of his head.

  “No.”

  Lyrax raised an eyebrow in surprise, before bellowing out a grand laugh. “You’re a brave one, aren’t you?” Motioning to Roann, he waited for what he knew was coming. Like lightning, the young pawn was directly in front of Ryris, jabbing him in the stomach with his elbow. He lurched in pain, grabbing his abdomen.

  “Do as you’re told.” Roann grabbed his hands, bending his wrists.

  “N…no.” Ryris grit his teeth as Roann twisted his arm. He knew what they did to magic users, and he w
as not going to comply—even if it meant his life.

  Roann rolled his eyes and looked to his master, silently asking for permission to hurt his captive further. At Lyrax’ nod, Roann pushed Ryris to the ground and planted his boot firmly on his neck. His air supply was immediately cut off, and Ryris’ face began to turn blue as he lost oxygen to his brain. He watched in horror as Roann reached out with a strong arm and grabbed Kaia, placing a knife to her throat.

  “What say you now, alchemist? Still uncooperative?” Roann pressed the blade into her soft skin, a droplet of crimson blood appearing on the tip of the dagger.

  Ryris panicked. He didn’t know if it was from the quickly-waning brain function or the fact that Kaia’s life was being threatened on account of him, but he suddenly felt compelled to comply. Roann would certainly kill Kaia if he didn’t play by their rules. Her eyes were strong and clear, never breaking their contact with Ryris’ own. She silently begged him to revolt, a small almost undetectable shake of her head warning him that it wasn’t worth it to give them the satisfaction of seeing him crack. But, Ryris wouldn’t let her perish—not because of him.

  With all the strength left in his body, even when he couldn’t breathe, he mustered a few tiny flames on his fingertips. Kaia’s eyes lowered in disappointment as Roann let her go. The emperor removed his boot from Ryris’ neck and grabbed him by the lapel, dragging him up and planting him gruffly back on his feet. Roann laughed at his measly fire.

  “You call that magic?” Lyrax shook his head in disgust, obviously not impressed with his ability. “What a paltry attempt. Just like your mother…”

  Ryris’ world immediately crashed down around him. He had no words. The mention of his mother brought back all the horrifying memories of her murder.

  “You saw it all, didn’t you? Tell me, did she scream? Choke on her own blood?” Lyrax narrowed his eyes and stared Ryris down. “I’m sure it was quite painful.”

  Ryris’ fingertips burned and he began to reel out of control. The reality hit him square in the chest—Maxx had been absolutely correct about her murder. He acted on instinct and flung a ball of fire out of sheer fury. It hit Lyrax head-on, setting his robes on fire. The man stood there and burned, all while laughing maniacally. He wasn’t being affected at all. Lyrax simply blew out a long breath and the fire threatening to consume him extinguished, his skin showing no signs of burns, his clothing completely un-marred. Ryris stared at him in disbelief and his shoulders sunk. He had nothing left to give, and backed away. Grildi put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Keep trying, young Mr. Bren. You’ll get it right eventually. Perhaps dear old Mummy will be proud from the Gentle Reach.” Lyrax glided halfway up the stairs of the throne podium and threw his arms wide, raging flames appearing almost instantly on his fingertips. They consumed his hands before he meshed them into one gigantic fireball, more than two feet in diameter. He hurled it at the companions, who flinched and waited for their fate. Ryris closed his eyes and prayed to Oleana that his death would be quick and relatively painless.

  When the fireball didn’t hit them, Ryris opened his eyes and to see it was hovering only feet from their bodies. The heat was incredible, the broiling plasma ebbing and flowing on the surface of the miniature star. He smelled the telltale aroma of singeing hair. Lyrax was visible behind it, the intense heat currents obscuring his image.

  “Kaia the Quick, why don’t you put out the flames?” Lyrax’ voice was condescending. “You are King Galroy’s daughter, are you not? The one who commanded his army? Who gave the order to throw me into that wretched volcano?”

  “One and the same.” Kaia held her head high, paying the blood drying on her skin no mind as she spoke.

  “I’d never forget that beautiful face of yours. And even facing certain death, you keep up the regal defiance I so fondly remember from times past. I like that in a woman, in a soldier.” He stared at her with his leering eyes before flicking his wrist in her direction. “Put the flames out. I know you’re capable of incredible magical feats.”

  She looked to Ryris, the young alchemist no longer able to hide his fear and sadness. His eyes glistened with the telltale signs of emotional moisture—which he was trying incredibly hard to keep at bay. Silently, Kaia concentrated her mental energy. If Lyrax wanted her to put out the flames, she would do so in spectacular fashion.

  Her hair billowed around her head from an unseen wind, and the air temperature dropped within a seemingly invisible bubble that had enveloped the party. No longer did the intense heat from Lyrax’ fire threaten them. Ice crystals appeared from thin air, coalescing into a giant frozen spike hovering just above their heads. With a mighty roar, Kaia hurled it at the ball of fire with only her mind, the icicle slamming into the sphere with such force that it shattered the plasma, sending globs of fiery material in all directions. Grildi threw himself in front of his three friends, shielding them from the molten onslaught. But, nothing ever hit them—for Kaia had shielded their group with an icy wall conjured from the same air that produced the crystal blue spike.

  Lyrax clapped his hands and bellowed his congratulations, marveling at Kaia’s raw power. “Well done, Quick! You’ve certainly lived up to your reputation. You’ll be a great asset.”

  “Asset?” Kaia laughed out loud. “I’ll never join you. I’d rather die.”

  “Death can be arranged, rest assured.” Lyrax stared her down. “But I’d much rather take advantage of your abilities while you’re still among the living.”

  She allowed flames to lick her fingertips once more, readying a molten volley. Jaric screamed, begging her to stop.

  “Kaia, no! He’s not worth it!” He lunged toward her, grabbing her by the shoulders, effectively breaking her concentration. The fire dissipated from her palms.

  Kaia glowered at him, fire seething in her eyes. Jaric knew she was mad at him for stopping her. But, he knew—as did she, deep down—the attack would have been futile.

  “You’ll get your chance!” Jaric’s voice was hushed as he leaned in close to speak.

  “Listen to your friend, daughter of Galroy. He’s wiser than he seems.” Lyrax sighed sadly. “But, I can’t have you doing that again, I’m afraid. You’re too dangerous if I let you keep your magic.”

  Instantly, Kaia’s hands glowed yellow, her skin illuminating itself from the inside out. She shook her fingertips with a pained wince before looking to the necromancer in confusion.

  “No more magic for you, dear. Not until you prove you can behave yourself.”

  Kaia snarled at him, before looking away with a huff. She curled her fingers into tight fists.

  Roann moved toward Ryris, eager to dispatch the young alchemist. He reached behind his head and unsheathed his twin blades. He whirled them in his hands before bringing them to rest at his sides. “She will be an impressive fighter for us, but he’s useless, Master. His magic is weak. Let me have him…”

  “No, I think I’ll keep him for now.” Lyrax removed himself back to his throne and sat with a satisfied sigh. “There must be something special about this one to have avoided my keen senses—and I intend to find out what it is.”

  Roann pouted and put his swords away. He moved toward the velvet parcel he had set on the steps. Picking it up, the emperor untied the silken rope holding the fabric together. Exposing the contents, he made the short climb up the stairs to the throne and offered up the shards.

  Lyrax leapt from his seat, kneeling before Roann and the package he bore. He instructed him to set the parcel down, and stared at the glittering contents. His mouth gaped as picked up one of the pieces. “Do you know what this is? What this…was?” Lyrax’ voice was hushed in reverence. “I didn’t think it existed anymore, not after…” He looked to Kaia. She puffed her chest out with defiant pride.

  “Master, they had just found another piece when I arrived to their base camp. I knew these had meaning.” Roann smiled proudly.

  “Indeed. These are shards of a sword—the same sword that brought me t
o my knees.” The necromancer held one of the larger pieces above his head, tilting it to allow the light from the hundreds of lamps to reflect across the surface. “And now it’s here before me. If there is one piece, there are more...” He opened the fabric wider to reveal the other five shards the party collected. “…and there most certainly will be a hilt.”

  The necromancer moved all the pieces out of the way, looking for something more within the package. When he found nothing, he growled with irritation. Lyrax replaced the shard back to its velvety home and approached the party once more. He eyed Kaia with suspicion. “The hilt, my dear. Where is it?”

  Kaia answered, her tone defiant. “What hilt?”

  Lyrax moved closer, bringing his face within centimeters of her own. Kaia flinched backwards at his intrusion of her personal space. He grabbed her arm with his bony fingers and pulled her closer. “The hilt you’re hiding. Tell me where it is right now.”

  Kaia spit in his face. Lyrax slapped her across the cheek. “I can see you’re going to be trouble.” The necromancer pushed her toward Roann, who caught her and held her tightly to his body as she tried to wiggle away from him. “Use any means necessary to get the location of that hilt from her.”

  “Of course, Master.”

  “And as for the rest of you,” Lyrax sighed in irritation. “The dungeon will welcome you with open arms.”

  Roann forced Kaia into a side door of the throne room, her friends unable to help her. Guards surrounded them and instructed them to begin the march to their prison cells.