by JD Franx
Kael coughed at the stench, realizing his chest was really bothering him. Looking under his T-shirt, he saw a bump the size of his thumbnail centred over his heart. Having no answers and only more questions, he shrugged. He’d worry about the bump later; it was better that way, maybe. He snorted at the thought that maybe the stupid dogs had mutated fleas, it mattered little. What answers he’d gotten lately were hardly encouraging anyway.
After catching his breath, he trudged along the final stretch of road to Jasala’s tower. As he approached, he could see the gate stood wide open. The doors appeared to have been blasted away and the edges of the opening were charred.
The moment he walked through, Kael knew he wasn’t alone in the tower. The more he used his outer sight, the more it seemed a part of him; and the stronger it became, the easier it was to use. The presences he sensed didn’t feel human. One of them was above him, and two more were some distance below where he stood. Figuring it would be easier to deal with one creature than two, he headed up the stairs that circled the interior wall.
Reaching the first landing, he saw, through a stone archway, a creature hovering as it peered out a small window on the far side of an unfurnished room. Drawing his sword and dagger, he approached carefully.
Though he stuck to the shadows and moved in almost total silence, the creature noticed him before he’d gotten halfway towards it. Drifting slowly toward him, Kael discerned a living cadaver of a man, whose peeled-back lips showed long canines top and bottom, both sets were considerably longer than Lycori’s. Clothed in dusty black and grey robes that were little more than rags, its eyes were a dirty white, without iris or pupil. When it stopped in front of him, Kael sensed that it meant him no harm, but was stunned when it spoke.
“We have been hoping you would come to us since you arrived here nights ago,” it rasped, without a trace of malice. “Welcome, Kael.”
As the creature spoke his name, Kael found himself questioning his own sanity once again. How much could the mind take before it broke—or had his already broken, and he was lying in a hospital bed somewhere hallucinating? Trapped in a nightmare that kept getting worse, he longed for Ember and their life back home, but more than anything at that moment, he needed Max’s help. Max would be able handle all of this better, he was sure. As pragmatic as he was, it would be just another day.
He imagined what Max would say if he heard Kael complaining about the hand he’d been dealt. “Ugly dogs attack? Kill ’em. Floating dead men want to chat? Pull up a chair and see what they have to say. There’s a time to fight and a time to listen. Mistaking one for the other can cost you your life.”
Taking a deep breath, Kael listened to the advice. “How do you know me? More importantly, why aren’t you trying to tear me apart like everything else in this God-forsaken place?”
Its dry lips peeled back into a mock grin. “We have been watching you. Your blood is akin to our master’s.”
“Well, that just clears up everything, thanks,” Kael grumbled. “What are you, exactly?”
He felt a breath-stealing chill on either side of him as two more of the floating creatures brushed past him from behind, coming to a stop behind the first. One of them lisped, “We were created to defend this tower.”
“Who made you?” he pressed. “Do you have names?”
The third creature answered in a voice reminding Kael of sandpaper on hardwood. “Jasala Vyshaan called us Wraith. When she summoned our souls from the underworld, her magic made us what we are.”
When Lycori told him the story about Jasala, it hadn’t included anything like what he was seeing or hearing now. “What or who are you supposed to be defending this place from?”
The first wraith lifted both its arms with the palms out. For the first time, Kael noticed they all wore some kind of porous, metal-plated gloves covered in glowing green writing. “Our purpose is to destroy enemy mystics. The weapons she crafted allow us to reach into a wizard’s body to sever the cruus. Without their bond to the earth, they die—painfully.”
Unbidden, Kael’s yellow shield flared to life around him, brighter than he had ever seen it.
The wraiths reacted without emotion. “Shields like that have no power to stop us,” lisped the second. “Most magic users have no defence. You, however, have nothing to fear from us. Your blood runs hot with the power of Dathac’s domain, much hotter than that of our master.”
Kael’s shield flickered and died, through no conscious effort of his own. Somehow he knew they spoke the truth. “Why are you still here? I was told that war ended five thousand years ago. Your master is long dead. Don’t you want your soul returned to the underworld?”
The third wraith spoke, its voice grating on Kael’s nerves. “Yes. But we have not been released from her service. Our master made us. Only one of her ability can return us.”
Kael didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry you can’t rest. I wish I could help.”
“You have the power,” the first told him. “You lack only the knowledge.”
Kael shuddered. “I don’t understand.”
“The Black Sun binds you to life and to death,” it rasped, quashing Kael’s fleeting hope that a straight answer might be forthcoming. “We have told willingly all that we know, less one secret reserved for the Bloods’ blackest.”
More confused than ever, Kael shouted, “What do you mean, ‘less one secret’? Help me understand. How could I be related to Jasala? I’m not even from this world!”
The wraith raised its right hand, the glowing hieroglyphics on the metal flaring with an incandescent brightness. “The only thing left we can do is check for the Bloods’ blackest.” With that, the wraith lunged at Kael. His shield blazed back into place, but the wraith’s clawed hand sank through it without resistance. Kael could only watch in horror as it penetrated his chest. He screamed as agony tore through his frame, the intensity tripled as the other two added their own claws.
What seemed like hours of insufferable torment to Kael were mere moments before the wraiths withdrew their hands from his chest. He fell to the floor, gasping for air as tremors of pain racked his body.
“The secret we reserved for your kind will be passed on to you,” it intoned. “Our duty as guardians of this ruin continues, but as keepers of your kind’s secrets, our time is at an end. At the bottom of this tower lies a sacred book. It has taken thousands of years to compile. Retrieve it, and it shall be yours—but only if you retrieve it alone. All the answers you seek are kept in the Pact Grimoire.”
Kael struggled to regain his feet. “What the hell did you do that for? You said you wouldn’t hurt me!” The three wraiths just floated there, silently smiling the grin of the dead. He gave up and turned to leave the room.
“Suffering is the essence of power,” the three wraith added.
Not bothering to look back, Kael headed back down the stairs as the pain and tremors began to subside, but his brain was still a whirlwind of questions. He wondered how such a book could still be here after so many years. Though he didn’t understand why, he knew they weren’t lying. The book did exist, and was there waiting for someone—for him.
Was it possible he could be the same sort of creature as Jasala Vyshaan? The implications made his head hurt. From what little Lycori had told him, to be suspected of being remotely like Jasala Vyshaan would be an instant death sentence for him and, presumably, anyone travelling with him. But how could he share Jasala’s legacy if he hadn’t been born here? It made no sense.
Lycori said that people born during the Black Sun were pure evil and immensely powerful. If he was one of these people, why wasn’t he evil? Where was this so-called immense power? He could cast only the one spell, and was pretty sure that was only because he’d been taught the words.
The thought of what all this would do to Ember weighed heavily on his mind. He refused to believe that she and Max were dead. The conviction that they were alive was all that kept him going. He needed his wife now more than ever befo
re, and if she was here in Talohna, she would need him as well. If it took the rest of his life, he would find her.
But as he descended the stone stairway into the tower’s lower levels, he had no idea how. Lycori had told him the Blood Kingdoms were immense, and the Southern Kingdom even more so; travel to the south was a long and dangerous journey.
He paused in his descent, using the lighter Max had given him to light two torches he found ensconced on the walls on either side of the stairwell. Pushing the lighter into the front pocket of his jeans, he grabbed one of the torches and continued down the stairs. Holding the torch high above his head, he approached the bottom of the first landing, where he saw the stairwell take a ninety-degree turn.
As he rounded the corner, his mind lost in thought, a long steel blade slid silently into his stomach. Before his yellow shield could go up—if it would even have made a difference—the sword’s hilt slammed into his abdomen. He groaned as the blade withdrew, scraping sickeningly against his spine and the bottom of his ribcage.
“Kveysa Drepa,” he breathed, crumpling to the floor, managing to extend one hand towards the monstrous figure before him. Black and purple electricity writhed down his arm and burst from his fingertips, tearing into and through the creature. Body parts spun and bounced in all directions as blood and viscera splashed the ceiling and floor.
Kael felt little relief watching the creature fall dead, because he knew it wouldn’t be long before he joined it. He pulled his hands from his stomach to assess the damage. The wound ran from his waistline to his ribcage, dead centre in his body. He watched in horror as some of his insides slid out of the jagged gap. Quickly covering the wound with his hands again, he tried to hold himself together as the pain slowly spread, climbing to staggering heights.
He realized he was going to die in this nightmare he’d been living in for two weeks without ever seeing his wife again. As darkness crept in from the edges of his vision, he thought of her warm smile and nothing else.
Chapter Fifteen
Very few witches in Talohna practise holy magic, but those who do are blessed with angelic magic. The Wizards’ Councils are aware of only two.
The majority of witches use dark magic, which may take many forms. Perverting their cruus, their bond with the earth, is the easiest way for any magic user to access black magics. Any spell can be twisted or reversed; by doing so to a healing spell, you get a hex. A hex is a spell that harms one in the same respect in which the healing spell heals. Instead of mending a wound, a hex creates one, eventually tearing the body apart.
Necromancy runs a close second when it comes to the ease of gaining access to the horrors of dark magic, but the worst power that dark witches strive to attain are those granted by the forces of Perdition. Most overlords of the nine dimensions of Hell will grant a measure of power to their most devout followers, who often pay a horrific price to get it. Witches or warlocks who have acquired these powers are the most wicked and dangerous that Talohna has to offer. Such forces are difficult to defend against. Powers from other dimensions usually are.
GIDDEON ZIRAKUS, ARCHWIZARD’S LECTURE TO NEWLY BONDED STUDENTS, UNIVERSITY OF MAGIC
5024 PC
CASCADE CITADEL
Giddeon waited patiently in the Cascade Citadel’s Hall of Nobles. His esoteric senses and the early morning hour told him the hall was completely empty, with no unwanted ears lurking nearby. A few moments later, Kasik, the king’s champion joined him.
The big Northman smiled. “ArchWizard,” he said, chuckling. “Nice to see you in court.”
“Asshole,” Giddeon snapped, as Kasik wrapped him in a hug. “I didn’t know you were back!”
“Rode through the gates early this morning.”
“How was home?”
“You know. Kastalborg Island never changes. Father sends his greetings.”
“Good, he’s healthy? Ready for the moot?”
“Father is a Krigare. The tigers of the north are always healthy,” Kasik said, laughing. “But the moot will be a year away or more. The WhiteCrows are protesting their old claim to the high throne, again. It might lead to war this time, Giddeon. They’ve called in their Kreeda oaths, especially those amongst the Ama Taugr and the Krigare.”
A shiver trickled its way up Giddeon’s spine. The Kreeda oaths. The single Northman word with two meanings. The eighteen-inch-long locks of braided hair belonging to other warriors sewn into a Northman’s hair also represented that Northman’s loyalty oath to the owner of the braid. Loyalty that was set in stone. Giddeon was grateful that Kasik had only a single kreeda sewn into his own hair. His father’s. It would keep him out of the civil war that may eventually erupt.
“Your father carries a WhiteCrow kreeda...”
Kasik nodded. “He left for Crow Castle the morning I boarded a ship for here.” Giddeon knew that Kasik’s father couldn’t call on his son’s Kreeda oath for a third party like the WhiteCrow dispute, only for his own. “Their claim is and always has been legitimate, Giddeon. Just because they’re isolationists doesn’t mean their claim to the high throne is invalid. With High King Rajeck dead, his son will be hard pressed to win the moot. He’s not as popular as his father was.”
“Damn. Northman politics give me a bigger headache than our own,” Giddeon complained, shaking his head as he rubbed his temples. Kasik laughed, slapping him on the back.
“Not our worries, ArchWizard. If we fail, there might not be a moot.”
“True, but...” Giddeon was interrupted as King Bale and the First Pillar entered the Hall of Nobles. Kasik and Giddeon both bowed as King Bale sat on the throne, while the Knight stood on the throne’s right.
“Stand up you two. Let’s talk like we always do when it comes to this topic. Etiquette just gets in the way.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Giddeon said. “We are essentially ready. We plan to leave in the morning.”
“Excellent. Kasik will join you. I briefed him this morning upon his return. By using Ember and Max, you should be able to get close enough to kill this DeathWizard before he becomes too big a problem to deal with. Do whatever it takes, both of you, but make damn sure Kael dies before the warrant goes public.”
“How long before that happens?” Kasik asked.
“That depends on Kael. But at least until Talohna’s rulers begin getting reports of innocent people dying. You’ve both read the archival information on his kind. You know what to look for.”
“Fair enough,” Giddeon agreed. “We’ll see it done. What about Ember and Max? Once Kael is dead, we’re going to have to do something with them.”
“I know. Unless they realize what Kael has become and agree to help, they are both to be executed immediately after Kael is dead. We cannot have two people running around Talohna telling anyone who will listen that we killed an ‘innocent man because of something he might do’,” King Bale said, mocking Ember’s tone from the night he met her and Max. “Understood?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Giddeon and Kasik replied, in unison.
“Good. Then may the gods see you both safely home after you see success.” Giddeon and Kasik bowed and left the Hall of Nobles, leaving the frowning king alone on his throne.
Giddeon smiled as he left the royal court. All things considered, the meeting had gone quite well. The week’s preparations had progressed faster than hoped and his group would be ready to leave by morning with Max and Ember tagging along. Kasik’s orders to accompany the group would make Giddeon’s daughter happy. The two had become quite close over the last couple years. Kasik accompanying them suited Giddeon as well; the sword of the Blood Kingdoms’ finest warrior would always come in handy.
Saleece awaited Giddeon and Kasik at the castle entrance, along with Ember, Max, and their two guards. Considering the king had already met both Ember and Max at Giddeon’s mansion while they recovered, and their level of uneasiness around the King and Queen, there was no need for them to be present during the consultation. Their absence allowed Kas
ik and Giddeon to speak freely with King Bale about what really had to be done.
Rejoining the others, Giddeon told them some, but not all, of what the king said. “The horses will be ready, and a pouch of herbs is packed away. Zefar and Kyria both tell me you learned much this week, Ember; a healer will be a rare, but most welcome addition on our journey. My own healing magic may help in an emergency, but true mystical healers disappeared along with the Fae long ago. Come, let’s return to my mansion for the evening. Navette, our housekeeper, has planned a farewell meal.”
Before stepping onto the bridge over the moat that encircled the Citadel, Giddeon noticed Ember staring back at the waterfalls high above the north and south walls of the castle, cascading several thousand feet down the mountains against which the massive edifice had been erected. “When the city was built,” he explained, “the mountain rivers were diverted to feed the moat.”
Ember watched in awe as the water roared down the mountainside, filling the deep moat. “Where does it go from here?”
Giddeon gestured for them to follow him into the courtyard, pointing beneath the bridge. “An aqueduct takes it to the west. It runs through the city, over twenty feet wide in most places and averaging about sixteen feet deep. It’s full of fish, and because commercial fishing is not allowed within the city, the poor are allowed to eat what they catch, as long as no nets are used.”
“It must keep a lot of people from going hungry,” Ember remarked.
“It’s not foolproof by any means, but it certainly helps,” Saleece said with a smile.
“The river supplies the Fountain of the Blessed, one of the city’s most fabled landmarks,” Giddeon continued, nodding toward the town square below.
Max and Ember saw a dazzling shimmer in the distance, and in a moment realized it was a mist of water, sparkling with a thousand magical colours as the sun’s rays shone through. Beneath it stood a monument, twelve feet tall, with the statue of a long-haired woman on top from which the water spouted high into the air before tumbling back down through a series of bowl-shaped tiers under her feet.