by JD Franx
“Very well, Master. If that is your wish,” she said, bowing.
With everything that was going on, Kael knew that it wouldn’t be long before Gabriel jumped into the conversation and he wasn’t disappointed. “Lycori? What in the Nine Hells of Perdition do Dead Sisters want with the two of you?”
Arabella glanced towards the young girl who had stayed outside the cell and with a nod from the older witch, she entered. No older than twelve years of age, she was small and waif-thin. Her curly brown hair bounced with intensity, but her big brown eyes were void of emotion.
Arabella held out her hand as the young girl approached. “This is my novice, Ashea. Ashea, dear, tell this impotent University wizard why we are here. It will make for a very interesting discussion if he ever escapes. I imagine he will want answers from the great ArchWizard, Giddeon Zirakus, about why a DeathWizard’s return was kept secret from almost everyone,” she said, smiling, as she stared at Gabriel. Galen said nothing, shaking his head in disbelief.
Gabriel, on the other hand, wasted no time digging for more information. “What does Giddeon have to do with all this?”
“Ashea, if you please? I will not ask you again,” Arabella demanded, ignoring his question.
Ashea began immediately, with the faintest tremor in her voice. “Yes, Mistress. We, the Sisters of the Dead, are duty-bound to help bring forth the rebirth of the DeathWizard. When one is born, it is our responsibility to train him in all aspects of his birthright. We train him, worship him, and please him, in any way he desires, to the end that more of his or her kind may be born.” At the last words she turned and smiled at Kael, giving him a formal curtsey, even winking and offering a shy smile.
She carried on with no hesitation. “We are here now to claim Kael as our Patriarch and Master of the Dead Sisters. He is the first, mature DeathWizard in almost five thousand years.”
Her belief in what she said was frightening for such a young girl. Lycori, having recovered slightly from her beating, lost control yet again, but with a lot less intensity this time.
“You sick, twisted, bitches,” she growled, still panting from the beating she received. “If I wasn’t pinned down I would tear all of you apart, starting with that little hell-spawn you’ve created.”
“Easy, Lycori,” Galen hissed her way. “Don’t push her too far.”
Arabella laughed, as Darthinia nodded to Galen’s guard. The Orotaq warrior forcefully dropped his elbow, smashing Galen’s face, twice, leaving him dazed. Blood ran from his nose and his eyes rolled up into his head. “You flatter us all, vampyr,” Arabella continued, “but don’t try my patience. You may find out how quickly the Master’s protection of you can be revoked.”
Kael quickly came to her defence. “I will never remove any such protection from her so long as I’m alive. You’d better understand that much right now,” he barked, trying to make it very clear where his commitment would always lie.
“Enough!” Arabella snapped. “We are here to take you home, but your loyalties seem to be a little confused, so I’ll make you an offer. You can walk free of this cell and come home with us the second all your cellmates are dead. If you really so desire, I will allow you to keep the vampyr slut, just as she is,” she demanded. “If nothing more than to start your harem with when we return, but the rest will die. Simple, yes?”
Kael heard Gabriel curse. “Damn the gods, we’re all dead.”
His words were barely out of his mouth when Lycori whispered. “Stop it, grandfather. He won’t hurt you.”
Kael couldn’t help himself, yelling with all the conviction he had. “Simple? Taking four lives is simple?”
Arabella snorted. “Of course it is. Forty-eight lives were taken during the two rituals it took to bring you here. These four are worth less than nothing. Kill them, Kael. Now!” she shrieked.
“No.” His voice faded to a whisper. “Never, you disgusting pig.” His impulsive behaviour had never been a good thing and he knew it wasn’t going to help him now.
“Very well,” Arabella hissed, livid with rage. “Then you will suffer until the proper DeathWizard inside you wakes up.”
She tore open what was left of Kael’s dirty t-shirt and slapped her hand to his chest. His eyes shot open as a magical essence forced its way into his body. The pain was indescribable. He screamed as the corruption began to course through his veins with every pulse of his rapidly-increasing heartbeat. The scream stopped within seconds, but only because he had to bend over and vomit the scarce contents of his stomach. Arabella stood back as a second heave of his twisted insides ejected a vile black filth from the deepest pit of his stomach, filling the air with the pungent scent of death. The moment he finished throwing up, she grabbed his hair and pulled his face to hers.
“This pain will continue until you kill these people, and return to us as a DeathWizard worthy of our worship and adoration. Not some snivelling, useless, impotent wizard. Do… you… un… der… stand?” she growled, banging his head against the bars in time with her words. As she placed her hand on his chest a second time the violent explosion of pain renewed, along with Kael’s cry of soul-rending agony.
Gabriel Alatar had lived for many centuries and had seen many forms of dark magic, but what was being done to the man whom his granddaughter befriended made him sick. He couldn’t believe that anyone could hold out as long as the young man had when the only thing he had to do to stop it would have been to kill his cellmates, all of who were near total strangers. He also couldn’t believe that Kael was a real DeathWizard. What was Giddeon thinking by not telling the wizard community of his existence? Especially the wizards from the Eye. Then again, Kael didn’t seem unstable, insane, or pure evil. Gabriel had talked to the young man extensively and he had seen him care for his granddaughter with passion and empathy, even though he had been married—seeing Lycori only as a friend. None of it added up to what he had read and been taught about DeathWizards. With Sythrnax and now the Dead Sisters present, as he’d suspected for some time, Gabriel was now positive that this whole situation was well beyond his control.
They had been forced to watch Kael’s torture for what Gabriel guessed was close to two hours. After an unsuccessful mix of magical and mundane techniques, the Dead Sister finally gave up and called for the slave girl, N’Ikyah, to come heal him. Lycori held his nearly dead body as the girl worked desperately to save his life. Gabriel was fascinated by the young woman’s level of skill when it came to magical healing against such dark magic.
He approached her side and knelt beside her as she worked to save Kael’s life. “After what has been done to him, Kael should be far beyond the help of magic. How do you do such things?”
Without breaking her concentration, N’Ikyah replied in a soft voice, “I know not, master. My mother could, I can, but my sisters could not. When a mistress demands you heal someone, you do not fail them.”
Watching Kael’s broken and abused body heal, Gabriel was horrified and fascinated, all at the same time. “Since the Fae extinction, healing magic just isn’t that strong and yet you managed to bring him back from death’s door. How?” he asked, refusing to give up so easily. The last of Kael’s wounds closed and she sighed as Lycori gave her a gentle hug and a quiet thank you.
N’Ikyah stared at Gabriel as if deciding what to say. “Dead Sisters use magic granted to them by demons. We are taught very young how to repair the damage such magic does. Demonic magic is not bonded magic, not nature magic. I could not heal him if the magic used was yours, or if the wounds were inflicted with steel alone. The demon’s magic harms the body but increases our ability to heal it—perhaps it works that way so torture is more effective. Beyond that, I can tell you nothing more.” She bowed to Gabriel and gave Lycori’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before she went and knelt by the cell door with her head down.
It was clear to Gabriel that the rumours the council had heard of women the Dead Sisters used for healing appeared to be grounded in some truth. Dead Healers they
were called, if he remembered right. Master Wizard Kalmar Ibess would know much more, if he yet lived. Captured in Ipea along with Gabriel and Galen, Kalmar had been taken to another cell the day they arrived. Gabriel wasn’t sure if he was even still alive. Over five hundred years old, chances were slim that Kalmar would have survived the Dwarven machine. A highly respected scholar, Kalmar had spent over a hundred years studying anything he could find about the Dead Sisters and another fifty years at the Ageless Library of the Arcane in DormaSai hoping to learn even more. His papers and reports were fascinating, but Gabriel always thought the stories were nothing more than a scholar’s fancy. He shook his head at his own foolishness. He should have known better, Kalmar could have been an ArchWizard several times over during his younger years. Like many master wizards, he’d chosen not to participate in the life-threatening trials.
Jarred back from his thoughts by an argument that broke out beside him between Galen and his granddaughter, Gabriel only listened instead of getting in the middle. Galen had voiced his concern for the past hour that it would only be a matter of time before Kael broke and killed them all.
Finally, it appeared that his granddaughter would listen to it no more. “If you don’t shut up, Galen, I swear to the gods I’ll kill you myself, then you’ll never find out if Kael breaks or not,” she snapped.
A Journeyman Wizard on the verge of his master trials, and a veteran of many battles, Galen refused to back down. “You can’t honestly believe he’ll hold out, Lycori. You watched what they did to him. I can’t believe he hasn’t agreed to kill us already,” he argued, as he looked at Gabriel for support. “Come on, Gabriel. You know better. With what he is? When he does break and kills us all, we don’t even know what will happen to our souls. You know the stories better than most. Our souls could be destroyed or even absorbed by him. He’s weak. If we kill him now, at least when the Dead Sisters kill us we’ll pass on to Paradise, not end up devoured by his power or the gods only know what else.”
The moment he finished speaking, Lycori attacked, moving so fast, no one had a chance to react. Galen was on his back staring up into blazing blue eyes and a mouthful of fangs in less than a single second’s time.
“You will not touch him. I’ll kill you the next time those words leave your lips. Am I clear?”
Galen gasped and nodded, but could say nothing with her hands wrapped firmly around his skinny neck.
“Lycori! Stop,” groaned Kael, as he regained consciousness. “This won’t help. Let him go.”
“Fine, but only because you asked. But you listen to me, all of you,” she said, looking at Galen and the other two people in the cell, including her grandfather. “I promise you that witch will be forced to kill one of us long before Kael will ever do it. I don’t care what he is. I have spent enough time with him to know that they cannot corrupt him. They need him to kill us so that he takes the first steps towards corruption, and they’ll torture him for as long as it takes to get that. He will suffer for it, not us. At least not for a long while anyway,” she stated honestly.
The Orotaq guards returned as she finished her warning, but only stayed long enough to place a bowl of food and a fresh water bucket in the cell. They also informed everyone that the slave girl, N’Ikyah, would be staying in the cell from now on so she would be on hand to heal the prisoners when needed. Gabriel still couldn’t help but wonder where such a powerful young healer had come from. Perhaps she was a real Dead Healer after all. Kalmar told him once many years ago that he believed, were they real, that they may have some trace of Fae blood. Like most wizards, Gabriel pushed it from his mind for another day. They were other things to worry about for today.
Gabriel felt sorry for Kael. The next few days would be very bad for him. Witches seemed to have a natural way of hurting people and causing incredible amounts of unbearable psychological pain. The scholars at the Eye had been trying to find out whatever they could about their powers for many centuries, but it was a well-guarded secret. They knew that the Dead Sisters used demonic power granted to them by the Lower Brethren, the guardians of Perdition’s nine levels of hell, but that was about it, other than the fact that their abilities could be powerful, unorthodox, and frightening. Kael was going to be feeling all of it for as long as it took for the Dead Sisters to get what they wanted. Gabriel would never think of blaming Kael if he did break, even if he took the lives of everyone in the cell.
KYLL’DARHEN, TA’CERYSS
Falcon Yorsair returned to the abandoned house a full half hour before the full crest of Talohna’s second moon. He ghosted through the second floor window, dropping into a crouch, making no sound as he listened for the tell-tale whispers of others. Hearing nothing, he headed for the wide spiral staircase and descended to the main floor. As he stepped off the last stair and turned the corner into the once-grand dining room, he was shocked to see both Rithanien and Tacarion waiting for him already.
“Rith? You’re early… Why?” Falcon asked, as he frowned at the two men.
“I tried to warn you, Falcon, but you wouldn’t listen. Merethyl controls the guild. Well, as much as she can anyway. You don’t know what’s happening, old friend, and for that I am sorry, but you cannot call her out in front of the commanders. The commanders are happy with the way things are.”
Falcon felt movement behind him a split second before he felt a wooden blade gently touch the back of his neck at the base of his skull. The elbow resting on his left shoulder told him he was the target of a guild assassin. A second wooden blade touched his throat with enough pressure to draw a bead of blood. Both of his own wooden blades were pulled from their sheaths under his arms and handed to Tacarion. He approached Falcon with a crooked, confident smile. The Dyryn guild leader stopped two feet away. Barely noticing his advance, Falcon’s eyes scanned the room for an escape.
“To be so foolish, Councillor Yorsair, is very unwise in these trying times,” Tacarion said. “So much work has been done to lay the foundation for the guild’s survival beyond the dangerous years ahead. Why would you chose to betray everything that Merethyl has built?”
“She has destroyed far more of what the Broken Blade stands for than any other traitor on the pillars of history, Tac. She deserves to pay for her crimes against us all. I can die knowing that she will follow me before too much time has passed.” Still checking the room for any hope out of his situation, Falcon never saw the backhand coming until it smashed into the side of his head. The blade at his throat dug into his flesh as his head snapped sideways, but the assassin holding it was experienced, easing the blade up as the blow landed.
“You can stop looking for an escape, Councillor. Seven of my brothers from Dyryn are in this room. Rithanien thought it might be better for us to handle you because he is not yet sure of where some of Kyll’Darhen’s members loyalty may lie. Yrlissa Blackmist was a very popular sister and the best killer amongst us all. Her death may split the guild. Her loyalists must be weeded out and dealt with before her death becomes common knowledge. It was Merethyl and the council’s orders months ago. The Gasette assassination merely gave her sanction to finally act. Had Yrlissa spent some time at the head sanctuary, she might have heard whispers enough to save her life.”
The remaining seven assassins made themselves known as Tacarion spoke, materializing from the darkness and deep shadows of the large dining room. They surrounded Falcon on all sides, leaving him no avenue for escape. Anger grew within his chest and his nostrils flared as Rithanien stepped up beside Tacarion just as Falcon spit a heavy white gob of saliva into his face.
Wiping the spittle with the back of his sleeve, Rithanien drove his fist into Falcon’s stomach. Ready for the punch, he merely grunted and then smiled at his old friend. “Your tally will be called someday, Rith. The bite of the Dyr blade will deal with all traitors, given time.”
“That may be true, Falcon, but you will be nothing but maggot shit and mold-covered bones when that day comes. You die tonight, right now. Anything else you wa
nt to say, old friend?” Rithanien asked, his face solemn.
“You’re a fool, Rithanien. I can die well knowing that you won’t be far behind me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Falcon. After telling Merethyl what happened here, I’ll likely inherit your council seat,” he laughed. “Kill him, Tacarion, and then you and your brothers can join me at the Pink Lady. The night’s pleasure’s will be on me.”
“As you wish, Rithanien,” Tacarion smiled, and nodded to the man holding his wooden blades to Falcon’s throat and neck. Falcon inhaled deeply several times, filling his body with the oxygen he would need for the explosive outburst that still wouldn’t save his life. He felt the blade at his throat press harder, forcing his head upwards until his eyes caught the sight of another assassin crouched in the dust-laden chandelier ten feet above them. More backup should he fight his way free. Defiance coursed through Falcon’s body as he prepared to act, but the man in the chandelier above him moved first.
Making no sound, the masked killer dropped from the remnants of the crystal chandelier, landing behind Rithanien. Falcon’s eyes blinked once and he winced as the assassin laid his right elbow on Rithanien’s right shoulder. Grabbing Rith’s forehead with his left hand, the assassin drove the wooden blade in his right hand into the back of Rithanien’s neck, the point punching through under his chin. The assassination strike took less than a second. The traitor’s mouth gaped in surprise and he lived long enough to see Falcon’s captors release the blades from his throat and neck. Rithanien fell to the floor face first, dead.
“Assani’s fucking bloody blades, what in the Nine Hells did you do? You killed a guild commander. Fuck!” Falcon said, cursing for no real reason other than to emphasize his point.