The Wrath of the Orphans (The Kinless Trilogy Book 1)

by Chris Philbrook

  Malwynn's face was serene, and calm. He counted through the steps of deliberate motion as if he were practicing dance moves on the Queen's ballroom floor. One step left, one step forward, then a near perfectly timed thrust put his blade through a man's torso to the hilt. He grabbed the shocked man as he would a dance partner, and twirled his body around, deflecting a massive sweep of a long axe with his partner's back. As the man died at his feet, Malwynn let the sword draw itself from his flesh. The soldier who'd just struck his fellow watched as his friend died, giving Malwynn the time to roll forward in the snow and stone, barreling into the man's knee, cracking it backwards. Unable to right himself, he stumbled, fell on his back, and Malwynn pounced. With two hands on the hilt, he lunged forward and stabbed his sword down so powerfully Umaryn heard the steel tip of it clink into the thick stone below the man's body. She watched the life leave his eyes.

  Four to go.

  Malwynn gracefully returned to his feet, now covered in the blood of his sister's foes. He was a righteous warrior, with the lives of vanquished foes on his blade.

  "Who dies next?" He uttered over the brisk night wind.

  No one saw Dram.

  The dark purple robe the Inquisitor wore blended into the background scenery of the forge area of the base disturbingly well. The dark buildings were an almost perfect backdrop. Dram moved far faster than they'd ever seen him move, and he struck with gnarled, twisted hands tipped in claws that dripped foul ichor. He struck one of the four men in the throat with a backhanded rake that severed his windpipe. The man's final exhalation spouted from the torn holes as he clutched at his ruined neck. Before that man realized he was dead, Dram had taken a massive step forward into the midst of the battle. He brought one of his clawed hands up in a sweeping rip, sinking four of his pale white digits into the guts of a soldier, piercing his mail, and grabbing onto the base of his ribcage, lifting him from the ground. He whimpered as the Inquisitor threw his body aside like he would a child's doll, breaking the man's back on the wall of the forge stall.

  The two remaining men stood rooted to the ground, utterly unable to respond to what had happened to them. Dram turned to face one of the men, and walked over slowly, uttering a phrase under his breath. Both Malwynn and Umaryn felt another powerful ripple in reality, as the spell weaver brought forth necromantic energies of The Way.

  "Die," Dram said quietly as he caressed the soldier's face. The touch could not have been gentler, but the effect of the magic transferred by it was devastating. The warrior's flesh drew tight on his skin as if he'd been dried a month in the desert sun in a heartbeat. His eyes rolled up into his skull, becoming bloodshot as if injected with red dye. His breath wheezed out of his lungs through a collapsed windpipe, and he fell to the ground lifeless. He barely moved the snow when he hit down. Malwynn and Umaryn were speechless.

  The single soldier remaining watched as Dram's white, claw like fingers twinkled back and forth menacingly. The warrior couldn't move. He knew if he ran he'd be killed by the necromancer with no chance of mercy.

  Dram stepped close, and interrogated the man, "Why did this happen soldier? Why am I finding two of my closest Aides under assault by a half score of the Queen's soldiers? Mind your answer. The wrong words will fetch you a much slower death than that of your fellow servicemen."

  The warrior, a young one by the lack of hair on his chin, struggled to get a chest full of cold air to answer, but he did. "We saw the woman, Isabel. We thought she might know where our Captain might be. She left The Salon with him, he's been missing ever since."

  Dram nodded, as If expecting that answer, "And you decided to assault her? Did she identify herself as an Inquisitor's Aide?"

  The soldier nodded, "She did my lord. I'm sorry, we've failed you."

  "You've failed the Queen. Your failure to me is quite secondary. Know this; any transgression towards an Inquisitor, or those in the employ of an Inquisitor is the same thing as marching upon The Purple Throne itself. It is punishable by immediate death."

  "I see sir, I do not beg for your mercy," the young man said before dropping to his knees in the snow and offering up his soft white throat.

  Dram seemed intrigued by this gesture, and he turned to Malwynn and Umaryn as the sister rose to her feet, "Are either of you injured?"

  Umaryn responded as Malwynn slipped an arm under hers to support her, "My back has seen better days, but I'll be fine with a glass or two of brandy."

  "Good. Were they worse off soldier, I'd have your life, and the fading lives of the men whimpering on the ground around us. Gather your wits and find your section necromancer to get these bodies dominated before they run rampant in the city. If your wounded friends are still alive after that task, then tend to them."

  "Yessir!" The young soldier said before standing up and disappearing off into the cold night on feet fueled by fear.

  Dram addressed the brother and sister, "You are both quite late. You are lucky that I was free to come down to check on you."

  "I think we'd have made it out of that fight, though we'd be worse the wear. Thank you for your timely reinforcements," Mal said as he got Umaryn to the bench. Several of the soldiers moaned in pain below them, their bodies damaged.

  One of the bodies, the man that Malwynn had stabbed through on the ground suddenly twitched and sat straight up. His eyes had gone white, the rotten soul inside tainting his flesh and animating it. He had risen as undead. He was only an arm's length away from Umaryn, and her stiffening back would cost her. The zombie reached over, attempting to snatch up her leg.

  Malwynn roared at the zombie "Stop!"

  And for a moment, it did. Malwynn leapt forward, and skewered the zombie where it sat on the ground, destroying the brain in a fell stroke. He yanked his sword free and the body fell backwards where it had been just moments before.

  "What was that?" Dram said urgently, stepping forward and grabbing Malwynn's shoulder to spin him. Mal noted that Sorber's hands had reverted to the normal, white skin and nails.

  "What was what?" Mal asked in reply.

  "When you commanded that dead body to stop. What did you do just then?" Dram seemed almost desperate to hear Mal's answer. Angry even.

  "I don't know. I yelled at it. I must've gotten its attention," Mal was shaken by Dram's aggressive questioning.

  "No. You commanded it. Compelled it. I felt The Way from you."

  Mal shook his head and laughed, "No Dram. The only person in this family that's still alive and able to work The Way is my sister the Artificer."

  "Have you ever yelled at undead before? Stopped them in their tracks, even if only for a second? Think hard young boy." Dram pressed closer, obsessed.

  Malwynn looked around, and when his eyes reached his beloved sister, he realized there had been a moment. The day they had killed the tax collector, when Umaryn had been felled by necromantic magic, Mal had stopped the rush of undead with his voice, but he had thought little of it. "Maybe once before. Once."

  "Fascinating. Indulge me Malwynn." Dram turned to another dead body and dropped down, crouching over it. He gestured with his fingers and muttered words of archaic power once more. Umaryn and Malwynn felt the familiar surge of strange energy in the air again, and as Dram got to his feet, the body slowly sat up, animated as undead.

  "What… what are you doing?" Umaryn asked.

  Dram turned to Malwynn, "Tell this zombie to stand still. Do so quickly, before it realizes you are there."

  Malwynn was completely shell shocked, "I uh-. Stop. Stand still. Stop zombie."

  Dram shook his head as the zombie got to its feet, "No. Be confident. Tell it what to do. Don't ask or suggest. Tell it as you would a disobedient pet."

  Malwynn gathered his focus and wits quickly, and looked at the zombie. He moved in a half circle around it to face it. After a few seconds, the zombie's eyes lifted up, and Malwynn caught them with his gaze, "Stop moving." Mal's tone was firm, as was his gaze.

  The zombie froze as if it were the disobe
dient pet. After a few seconds of stillness, it broke free of Mal's will and lunged savagely at him. Mal snapped his sword up and across the forehead of the dead body, lopping the top of its head off, and ending its existence once more.

  Umaryn looked on in confused horror, unsure of what she'd just witnessed.

  As Dram clapped slowly in the sinister, stark cold of the blood scented night, he clarified for her exactly what she'd just seen, "Welcome welcome little Malwynn Everwalk, to the folds of those rare few who are able to harness that power most wonderful, necromancy."

  Malwynn's mouth went dry, and his blood went cold.

  The twins were together in Umaryn's bedroom in Sorber Manor. Umaryn sat cross legged on her bed as Malwynn paced. "I've made up my mind Umaryn."

  Umaryn was as angry as she'd ever been. Possibly angrier than ever. Her brother had decided to develop his newfound fledgling necromantic powers. "You can't be serious. You want to be one of them? One of the very same people we've come to kill? Mal that's such a disgrace. I'm sickened. I could kill you right now for the idiocy of this. The insult."

  Now Malwynn was angry, "Listen sister. This isn’t a damned honor contest. This isn't about the fucking moral high ground anymore. Face it. We are murderers. We are thieves. We are liars. You strutted your body around like a slut to trick men into telling you secrets, and together we used your body to lure a man to his death at our own hands in a butcher shop. Where people get their food Umaryn. We have lost any and all opportunity to claim that we've got honor to save in this life. This is about wreaking vengeance on those that have wronged us and those we love. And if I have some talent that I can cultivate to achieve the ends I seek, then so be it. I'll make up for my deeds today long after this task is done."

  "Mother would not approve," Umaryn said, letting a sad sob out. She wiped hot wet tears from her cheeks.

  "No I imagine she wouldn't, and neither would father, but they are dead Umaryn, as is our little sister, and the woman I wanted to marry. We've both done things that our parents would disown us over. But Umaryn, I can turn this gift back on those who have used it against us. I can learn every spell that they know against them, I can manipulate their undead, and use their magic to rend and destroy their creations. This is a gift wrapped in paper most foul Umaryn and I am fully aware of it. See this for what I can make of it, not what others have."

  She shook her head, still crying, "It will take me some time to accept this. I don't know if I'll ever approve of it."

  "I don't need your approval Umaryn. I love you, but as you said pretty clearly once before, whatever it takes. Whatever it takes."

  Sorber was eager. "Your progression as a warrior will be slowed as we work on your development in The Way Malwynn. I've taken the time to inform Ivar that your classes with him will no longer be five days a week, just two," Dram said to Malwynn in his study.

  The large study was buried deep in the labyrinthine passages of the Manor. It was elevated above the entrance level, that much Malwynn knew, but its exact location when compared to the rest of the home he was at a loss for. It seemed to take ten left hand turns down five endless passages as well as stairs both up and down to get here. He guessed he was above only due to there having been more steps up, than down. He'd debated leaving a trail of breadcrumbs to mark the way but he knew Sorber would spot the tiniest flecks of debris and mark them for what they were.

  "How did Ivar take the news?" Mal asked as he studied a row of impeccable books on a lengthy shelf. There had to be a hundred tomes in the study, all twice Mal's age

  "He was disappointed that you would not be able to learn at the rate he felt was best for your progression."

  Mal nodded. He knew exactly what Dram meant. Ivar had high hopes for him as a warrior and he knew the sudden shift in training regimen would disappoint him.

  "When I see him next I'll make sure to pass along that I'm doing my exercises here. Perhaps that will alleviate his concern for my progress," Mal said.

  "Do not worry about Ivar. His feelings about you and your progress are quite irrelevant, for many reasons. Besides my young friend, this development of you finding your potential will be far more effective in achieving a few of our early steps in my plan." Dram was dismissive, and teasing all at the same time.

  "What are our early steps? When do we begin?" Mal turned from the bookshelves and asked Dram the question.

  Dram looked up from his elaborately carved mahogany desk, hood still obscuring all his features. "I don’t think it would be prudent to share the details at this moment Malwynn. I can tell you this; our first step will be to kill one of Omniri's closest allies. Knowing a small amount of necromancy will make that task much more attainable for you and your sister. As far as when, I cannot say. It largely depends on how fast you can master the few spells that will be most useful to you. Weeks at the earliest."

  "Is this ally undead?" Mal asked, taking a seat in one of the fine chairs at the desk.

  Dram nodded, "He is. Your fighting skills, mixed with your sister's Artificer spells and her martial prowess would have been enough I suspect, but add to that your ability to disrupt the undead with The Way… This is much more exciting. My confidence in this is much improved."

  Mal smiled, eager to kill the allies of his sworn enemy. "I'm glad then."

  Dram lifted a large leather bound book and handed it to Malwynn. He hefted as the large necromancer handed him the book effortlessly. Dram must be incredibly strong Malwynn thought.

  "You will need to read the most basics of Neomancy as well as Necromancy. I've pointed out a few Neomancy spells that I want you to read up on. Once you've had a few days to go over the incantations, we'll return to here and attempt to cast them. After that, we'll move on to Necromantic spells." Dram said clearly. He already had this planned out.

  "What is Neomancy?" Mal asked befuddled. He looked down at the pages of the book, looking for a clear answer.

  "Each different type of wielder of The Way powers their spells primarily through one of several basic means. Apostles funnel the energy that is created by the ancestor spirits they worship. Artificers like your sister are able to contact and channel the energies inside the spirits of handmade items. Waymancers are unique in that they channel energies directly from the fabric of reality, without any kind of direct spiritual source. We, as necromancers, use the energies that come from rot, ruin, decay, and death."

  "Okay that much I understand, but what is Neomancy exactly?" Mal continued to study the pages of the book.

  "Malwynn, each of the different sources of The Way feeds a specific style and practice of magic. Apostles are far more able to do restorative and healing effects, whereas a necromancer cannot heal without something in sacrifice. Likewise, Artificers can affect constructed items with ease, whereas a Waymancer cannot. There are boundaries you see. A balance between the schools of The Way. However, shared amongst all the users of The Way, are a common set of spells that all different spell casters can share. Basic formations of spell energy shared across all of the users of The Way. I'm sure your sister knows some of these spells. In fact it might be to your assistance to ask for her help in mastering them."

  "She doesn't necessarily approve of me learning necromancy Dram," Mal said sadly.

  "If she is as intelligent as I know her to be, she will look past her need to approve of you harnessing your talent. This is a boon for both of you and she needs to see it as such. Pressing her will hopefully show her the error of her close-minded ways."

  Mal shrugged, "Dram, aren’t you afraid to teach me about the magic you use? I find it hard to believe you don't see that as some kind of assault to your own personal power."

  Dram leaned back in his massive swivel chair and interlaced his fingers again, "Mal, you observe the balance of power well. I'm glad you've thought of this scenario already. Have you rationalized any potential reasons for why I might be so eager to teach you what I know?"

  "I've some ideas, but they all come back to me believing that y
ou are more paranoid than you are confident. And that's not an insult Dram. I mean paranoid in a good way. Cautious I guess is the right word." Mal tried to backpedal, worried he'd insult the massive death mage.

  Dram responded with a belly laugh that shook dust from the crack in the stone ceiling. "Oh Mal, so very funny, and not that far from a solid truth. I've survived as long as I have because I am indeed paranoid. Well said. But you must realize this young one; my success in this existence can be greatly moved forward by you being successful in achieving what we both want done. Teaching you this in large part will help advance me, and make me far more powerful in the end."

  "I guess that makes sense. I suppose I'd just focused too much on you seeing us as a threat to you when this is all said and done."

  "Will you be a threat to me Malwynn? Will you take up spells and arms against the man who led you to the vengeance you so desperately seek? Will you then seek the blood of that same man who shared all these skills and resources with you?"

  Mal shook his head firmly.

  "I thought as much. I am not your enemy now, and so long as we can work together, or choose not cross each other's paths, then we shall not ever be enemies. And if the time should come that we do cross one another and violence becomes the only solution…" Dram leaned forward, more menacing than ever, "Well Malwynn, let us just say that there are quite a few deadly skills that I won't be sharing with you or your sister."

  - Chapter eleven -

  THE FIRST TO DIE

  The heart of the Graben winter passed slowly for the Everwalk twins. The season was filled with long nights with no sign of the sun's warmth, and short days that passed with only a moment's light. The cold blowing in off the plains was brutal enough to freeze steel so thoroughly it snapped like an eave's icicle, and every sensible person stayed inside as long as possible. The risk of frozen flesh was a high price to pay for anything that wasn't vitally important.