The Legacy (The Darkness Within Saga Book 1)

by JD Franx

  “Very well. As I am sure you are well aware, an exiled DeathWizard has been transported back to our dimension. The Dead Sisters coven claimed responsibility. You must make sure he dies before he can rise to full power.”

  “We are not in the habit of helping kings...” She smirked. “Killing them, on the other hand...”

  A note of finality informed her words, but the King was not so easily dismissed. “Our mutual friend warned me of the games you like to play,” he sneered. “I’m not impressed. It will be done, and there can be no mistakes. I cannot rely on Giddeon to do it. Besides, it has recently been confirmed that your techniques are one of the successful methods of killing a DeathWizard.”

  The mention of their mutual friend quickly had the little woman second-guessing herself. “Very well, Your Highness,” she said with a mock curtsy. “I know just the individual to best serve you. I shall send him as soon as I return.”

  King Bale gave her a nod and she turned to leave.

  Everything was going exactly as she had planned. That the Blood Kingdoms’ most powerful king was now indebted to the guild was a surprising, but welcome, bonus.

  Smiling to herself, Merethyl Bellas pulled her heavy, velvet hood all the way forward so that no one would recognize her leaving the castle.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Dathac, the god of death, holds dominion over both Paradise and Perdition. The realms of the afterlife are peopled by his minions known as the Brethren. The Higher Brethren watch over Paradise and are known to most people as angels. The Lower Brethren, or demons, reside in Perdition, where they punish the souls of the wicked. Dathac sits at the head of it all, faithfully guarded by his own creations, the Zakair. Massive beasts of extraordinary strength, they are often called the first true demons, though they are unable to use magic as other demons can. Powered by the souls of the afterlife, the DeathGod’s magic is unparalleled by any other god.

  But the gods no longer interfere or walk within the mortal world. Why? Have they perished? Did they ever exist? Or do they just not care? No one alive today knows for certain.

  GARREN SALLUS, GODS AND CREATURES OF TALOHNA MYTHOLOGY

  5015 PC

  CRYSTALIS CITY

  ISLAND OF VER KARMOT,

  DRAGON ISLES

  Using the heavily enchanted circular mirror-top table in the private chambers of her crystalline castle, Shelaryx WhiteScale had monitored Kael’s movements for days. She was well aware of the danger he walked into, but could not stop him without sending her power beyond the island’s protective barrier. The DragonKin had suppressed their power for generations to avoid the fulfilment of this ancient prophecy. But she couldn’t let Kael die, or everything her people, the Fae and countless others had sacrificed would be for nothing. The dead would have died for nothing.

  On the verge of panic for the first time in longer than she could remember, Shelaryx watched through her mirror as Kael stepped off the bottom stair and turned the corner, walking right into the Zakair’s massive battle sword. She cried out as he fell. The damage was already done when he obliterated the beast with a bolt of black lightning. If there was any hope of saving him, she had to act fast.

  Without hesitation, she grabbed six of her precious binding gems and placed each on one of the pedestals surrounding a complex glyph carved into the crystal floor. From outside the circle she recited a spell in the ancient Dragon tongue. A sizzle of magic shot from her hands into the gems; a brilliant emerald green light glowed from deep inside them. Not satisfied, Shelaryx channelled yet more power into the stones. The Dragon Queen feared she might fall short of the required power; it had been a long time since she had attempted such magic. The binding gems gradually soaked up the power, darkening from green to black until beams of energy shot out of them, intersecting at the centre of the glyph. An ear-splitting crack of thunder tore the very fabric of reality as Shelaryx fell to her knees, drained, but with a smile of success pressed on her lips.

  At length she lifted her head to lay weary eyes on the god of the underworld for the first time in almost twelve thousand years. Swirling black smoke obscured his entire body with the exception of his weeping, putrid yellow eyes. It was clear he wasn’t happy at being summoned. “Shelaryx,” he rumbled.

  “Your child of the Black Sun is on death’s threshold,” breathed the Queen. “You must help him.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he is a child of your magic. And because I have never asked you to return the favour you owe.”

  Dathac’s yellow eyes vanished for a moment, then returned. “He has already begun to cross over. It is too late. Even I cannot stay my Reaper’s touch for a mortal.”

  Shelaryx rose from her knees, showing little fear before the most powerful of the gods. “You can! Do you not understand where he is? He’s bleeding out in the basement of Jasala’s tower.”

  “What?” the DeathGod boomed, shaking the chamber’s walls. “How did this happen? He shouldn’t be in this world, let alone at that cursed tower. You promised me that he was gone for good.”

  “Mydea brought him back.”

  “Witches!” the god roared. “I will get my own answers from her Sisters already paying for their crimes in my domain. As for the boy, I cannot help him.” The eyes narrowed. “Unless…”

  Shelaryx held her breath.

  “Has the flower taken root? Has he tapped my power yet?”

  “Yes. He used it to destroy the Zakair that ran him through.” She winced, realizing she had just told the god of the underworld one of his bodyguards had died at the hands of the man she wanted spared.

  Dathac growled. The sound reminded her of the giant white cats that had once roamed the kingdom of the Ancients. “Destroyed by a mortal. Not much of a bodyguard,” he mused.

  The Queen exhaled.

  “Listen to me, Dragoness. This course of action will demand a heavy price. I can guide him in how to use his own power to heal his wounds. But the death-flower will surface now, and it will grow faster. Even the smallest use of underworld magic or the slightest bit of anger will cause it to spread, and he will deteriorate. Has the Guardian showed yet?” His liquid yellow eyes stared into her very soul.

  “We don’t know if any have survived. But what of the price? Tell me, and I will pay it on his behalf.”

  “One Guardian remains. Do not interfere with the meeting. As for the price...” Shelaryx could tell he was smiling even though she couldn’t see it. “It is not yours to pay.”

  She rubbed her forehead. “Why does it matter who pays? It is magic, let me balance it!”

  Dathac grumbled, his patience wearing thin. “This is why mortals, even long-lived ones like you arrogant Dragons, should never have been granted immortality. The use of a god’s magic on this plane demands a price of the recipient. Magic must balance, always. Perhaps the Ri’Tek were right, Shelaryx, when they said the lesser races would never understand the intricacies of magic.”

  She frowned, hurt. “How could you say such a thing? We once fought for the same cause, Dathac. Is your memory that short?”

  The yellow eyes glowered. “A god’s memory is eternal, which is why I will help. But he will be the one to pay the price and the debt between us is clear. Agreed?”

  She sighed. “Yes. What choice do I have? You know what his blood will do if he dies in her tower’s basement. If I didn’t know better, I’d swear the gods were working against us. The odds—”

  “Because mortals have free will, we cannot bend reality to meet our desires,” he interrupted, emotionless. “We can only give a nudge here and there, as I will do now. But I warn you: Even I cannot predict the form his payment will take or the events that will unfold from this. It could be worse than death for him.”

  “But not for the rest of Talohna,” the Dragon Queen said.

  “We shall see. So be it.” With those words the god was gone, and the Queen of the Dragon Isles fell to her knees, utterly exhausted. For ages, her powers had been taxed to their furthe
st limits as she kept her people’s magic hidden from their enemies. But with Kael alive, hope for Talohna had survived for one more day. She hoped the price he would pay wouldn’t create an even bigger problem.

  THE FORSAKEN LANDS

  The moment Kael closed his eyes, fully expecting to die, he felt himself pulled toward the now-familiar, yet constant vibration deep within his own body. Lycori explained that it was how wizards healed others. It still scared the hell out of him. With no strength left to fight it, he surrendered himself to the rhythm as it carried his consciousness away. Not consciously aware of how, he rode the steady pulse as it reverberated along his nervous system.

  Reaching the section of nerves, muscles, and blood vessels that had been severed by the creature’s sword, Kael twitched with surprise. The cadence came to an abrupt halt. He’d have to figure out some way to restore it if he expected to survive. A tug at his senses told him some mysterious power was working to bridge the gaps between the torn flesh. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he relaxed his hold on the soft energy carrying him along. In doing so, black sinews curled across the wound’s gap, fusing the destroyed nerves back together. His awe at the ease with which it worked was short-lived, though, as the full capacity for pain was restored in only seconds and an unspeakable agony surged through his body.

  “Nerves last,” he muttered, groaning and gasping for air. “Fix the nerves last next time.”

  Another soft tug from the depths of his mind shifted his attention toward the blood that steadily spurted from his abdomen. He applied the magic he’d just discovered to the torn blood vessels, focusing his entire being on healing one vein, then the next and the next, until the gush slowed and finally stopped.

  Quickly running out of strength, Kael realized that death was closing in, fast. His magic faltered as dizziness washed over him, but another pull at his consciousness, stronger this time, jarred him back to his senses, and he continued to follow the rhythm until he arrived at the shattered vertebrae and ribs. The effort required to remould the smallest piece of bone was tremendous.

  Desperately low on energy, Kael tried to grab at the cadence once more, but failed. All he wanted to do was to sleep; just breathing was almost too much effort. The tug inside his mind returned again but he ignored it, pushing it away with his failing senses.

  Bright light exploded inside his head, shocking him back to reality. Too tired to fight, and wanting only to die, Kael surrendered and felt someone else carry his senses forward. Finishing with the bone, the alien consciousness carried on to his internal organs. The creature’s blade had sliced through his intestines, their contents poisoning him as they leaked into his abdominal cavity. He was well aware of the damage that still needed fixing, but his energy was spent. The foreign power inside him guided his magic to seal the wounds and dissolve the trapped waste. Though mystified with the unexpected help, he was grateful.

  Still not finished, the power pulled Kael onward to the bisected wall of stomach muscles. As he watched the puncture wound through glassy eyes, black and purple sparkling magic knitted the muscles back together. His stomach flipped, threatening to empty itself mid-repair. In a matter of seconds the magic faded away and the flesh become whole, an ugly scar to the left of his bellybutton the only remaining evidence of any injury.

  Summoning the last remaining ounce of energy in his body, Kael dragged himself toward the storage space beneath the carved granite stairs. He lost consciousness before he could haul his body all the way in, but no matter. He had a guardian this night, and no being in this world or any other would dare try to bypass such an entity.

  As the last of the light from the dropped torch flickered, its shadows dancing like grey sprites on the walls and ceiling, one black shadow, so dark it absorbed the excess light, stood tall and motionless over Kael’s unconscious body. Bemused by the irony of his own actions, the god of death watched over the child born of his magic.

  When Kael stirred with renewed life twelve hours later, Dathac frowned and departed the mortal realm, having for the first time, and certainly the last, saved a life instead of taking one.

  The first thing Kael noticed as he came to was that his body ached unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. The second, was that he was alive to feel it. One for the plus column, he decided, hoping he’d be able to heal like that again, for himself and for others.

  Though weak, he seemed to be relatively intact. Sitting up, he stared at the massive puddle of drying blood and the exiting smear, understanding how close to death’s door he’d actually been. It felt like he’d slept for days, but his stomach and the congealing blood pool told him it couldn’t have been that long. Since arriving in Talohna, he’d been living on Lycori’s supplies—mostly hard breads and dried meats. She’d explained that vampyrs didn’t need to eat but most still did, if for nothing more than the pleasure of it. When they’d left her cellar the day before, he’d brought a piece of bread and a couple pounds of meat because they’d planned to do some exploring together after practising his magic. Glad they’d thought ahead, he popped a strip of jerky in his mouth and sucked the salt from the meat. Saving the rest for later, he tucked it away in his bag, but the second he swallowed the jerky and the food hit bottom, agony seized his insides. Trying to keep the small bit of meat down quickly became a mistake as more searing pain turned his stomach inside out. Blood-heavy bile splattered the floor at his feet and a second heave tossed the small bite of meat from his stomach as well.

  “Guess magic isn’t a fix all,” he sputtered, as the cramps and pain subsided. “Wait a while next time, or better yet, don’t take a sword to the guts.” If he spent much longer on his own and managed to keep what he did have down, he’d have to find his own food before long. Shaking his head, he decided it was a concern for tomorrow.

  Casting his outer sight into the tower’s subterranean depths, he saw there were three levels of stairs before reaching the bottom of the tower. It was a descent of over thirty feet, with no rooms or corridors between those flights. Beyond the lowest set of stairs, there was a large room with another creature like the one that had cut him down the day before. Focusing harder, he studied the monster waiting for him. Just like the other, it stood well over seven feet tall and probably weighed close to four hundred pounds, all of it solid muscle. Though Kael’s outer sight hadn’t developed enough to pick out fine details, the six-foot sword strapped to the creature’s back was hard to miss. Wincing as his stomach turned cold at the thought of that sword, he inhaled deeply and slowly.

  Calmer now, he sensed the creature was unaware of his presence, but considering the last one had cut through him like a hot knife through butter, he needed a plan of attack. If he wanted information about what was happening to him, he’d likely have to fight. The thought made him even sicker. Continuing down the stairs, he unsheathed his black sword and matching dagger. Quietly approaching the last set of stairs, he sensed the brute at the far end of the room, making sure he knew exactly where it was at all times. Even though he had the advantage of surprise, he doubted the monster would be daydreaming like he’d been when he’d met the other one.

  He stepped off the bottom stair without a sound, both blades raised and ready, when, instead of attacking, the creature addressed him in a voice that almost shook the walls with power. “Why do you enter this sacred place?”

  Stunned at the lack of attack, Kael stood his ground. “I… I’m here for Jasala Vyshaan’s book. I’m hoping it can help me.”

  “You are many years short of benefiting from her knowledge,.” It grunted as if he should know better. “Turn back now and return when you are stronger.”

  Kael didn’t move. “What are you, anyway?”

  “I am Zakair. She summoned four. I alone remain. Walk away, young one. We were created to protect our god, Dathac, and all his creatures. Not to destroy them.”

  Kael felt his temper rise. “I’ve had more than my fill of cryptic answers to simple questions,” he snarled. “I’m not
leaving without that book.”

  When he took a step closer, the Zakair wasted no time in drawing its greatsword. As the blade swung down, Kael jumped to the right, aiming his sword for between the Zakair’s ribs. But the creature’s speed was astounding. The giant blade snapped to the side, blocking Kael’s sword with ease.

  The attack was a feint, though, a move Max had taught him years ago for dealing with a fighter of superior strength. While the Zakair defended his flank, Kael’s dagger thrust into the creature’s stomach, just below the ribcage at an upward angle. A vicious twist as he withdrew the black blade brought the Zakair to one knee.

  To Kael’s surprise, it stood back up immediately. The dagger tore the creature’s side open wide, doing visible damage, but not enough—and, being an untrained swordsman, it was the only move Kael had.

  Out of options, he remembered his magic, spitting the words to his only spell: “Kveysa Drepa!”

  The moment the words left his mouth, he knew something was very wrong. Black lightning jumped from his hands, blasting the Zakair, but the dark energy spread out from his arms toward his own chest and down his legs, exploding as it hit the ground under his feet. His yellow shield of light flared up in front of him just before the blast launched him backward, shield and all. The dark energy ate through the yellow membrane in a flash, destroying his shield as every muscle in his body locked tight. Spinning through the air, his body clipped the corner of the stairwell. He landed hard, bouncing off the bottom steps.

  “What the hell was that?” he groaned, every muscle twitching like mad. Holding his breath as pain racked his entire frame, he lay there trying to decide if anything felt broken, waiting for the tremors and cramping to subside.

  Finally able to move his head, he glanced across the room. The Zakair was dead.