Contents
Copyright
Dedication
CHAPTER ONE
The Caelite Stronghold
Inside the Burial Tombs
Battle of the Caelite Stronghold
The Caelites' Treasure
Knight-Errant
The Summit
CHAPTER TWO
A Grave Mistake
Blizzard
Interrogation
The Three-Eyed Owl
The Acestes Basement
CHAPTER THREE
Adrian's House
Orders are Orders
Out of Retirement
Lychgate
Amelia's Gambit
CHAPTER FOUR
The City
Blasphemy
Recruitment
Black Sheep
The Experiments
CHAPTER FIVE
Briefing
Sacred Ground
In Silver Clad
Beneath Lychgate
Greywell Trading Company
The Blasphemy
Feral
Should have joined the Caelites
Vampire
The Aviary
Debriefing
Difficult Decisions
The Key
Injured Pride
Duty
CHAPTER SIX
Tyrant's Refuge
Cheating
The Shadow of the Dragon
Now or Never
Firestorm
Holding the Line
Judgement
Valdgeirr
Ascension
Adaptation
Cheating Death
Cleansing
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tip of the Iceberg
CHAPTER EIGHT
GLOSSARY
Copyright © 2015 Mark Devaney.
Cover art by Lucy Holton.
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or in any means – by electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise – without prior written permission.
Special thanks to Lucy Holton for her artwork, cover and all the time and editing that went into this book. It was a joint effort powered by unholy amounts of tea.
Her artwork can be found at her website: http://lucyholton.com/
CHAPTER ONE
The arrow flew. Any sound lost to the howling winds as it found its target. Blood splashed across the untouched snow as the beast collapsed and became still. Claire Acestes hesitated; remaining in cover, watching her prey for any signs of movement. The shaggy-furred chest remained still as the last misting breath escaped the Horned-Wolverine’s mouth. She nocked another arrow as she approached. Driven mad by disease and hunger the creature lashed out at anyone and anything nearby. The arrow lodged into its hind quarters failed to slow it down. After almost losing it at the lake she’d managed to find its tracks in the snow and chased it half-way up the mountain. She’d come too far to fall victim to those strong jaws and teeth if it feigned death. With great care she circled around the fallen wolverine, her bow drawn as she inspected the arrow wound in its chest. The pale grey fur ragged with blood; its scarred face frozen in anger. Claire watched the eyes — they felt almost human and laced with intent. That’s when she saw the movement. She leapt backwards and loosed the arrow. It struck the thrashing wolverine square in the face with a wet impact and it fell still once more.
Her heart racing in her chest she reached for another arrow, out of habit more than anything. The creature was dead. No doubt about that now. She felt no malice towards it, no hatred — it’d killed dogs and injured some of the yaks; even attacked villagers with rabid fury. But she couldn’t bring herself to hate it for trying to survive; better a quick death at her hands than a drawn-out affair from some of the other hunters. Claire knelt down and closed its eyes out of respect. The pale grey fur would make another excellent coat for the upcoming winters and the livestock were safe for now. The chill from the increasing winds tore through the surrounding fir trees. Claire shivered despite her thick padded-leather hunting coat. After painstakingly water-proofing and dying it dark blue by hand she’d become quite attached to her coat. The white wool undershirt was wearing thin with age and one of the long sleeves had torn during a chase through the bushes a few weeks prior. It’d be another long night fixing it up.
Claire stood up brushing errant strands of long brown hair from her face as she sized up the fallen wolverine. No matter how she tied her high-ponytail it would always come loose during a chase. The wind-swept look was growing on her she had to admit. The stocky creature was far larger and heavier than normal wolverines. It’d be a backbreaking trek carrying it with her down the mountains, through the forests towards Caelholm. A deafening explosion shook through the mountains dislodging snow and ice from the trees. Overhead crows and other local birds fled the source. Her kill forgotten she pushed through the fir trees towards the source of the disturbance. Following a huge column of thick black smoke rising from the direction of the Caelite tombs buried within the mountain range. The sacred mountain was home to several burial grounds and Caelite temples. The largest of which was a mile or so away built into the mountain itself. Above her were the ancient vaults and tombs of fallen heroes and saints, guarded by the knights and bristling with enchantments. Lost in focus whilst chasing the wolverine she failed to notice just how high she’d climbed. Without hesitation she rushed towards the smoke, her bow drawn at the ready.
She crept closer to the nearest entrance to the tomb, keeping low to the ground. This served both to hide her approach and avoid the ash and smoke rising overhead. The grand stone entrance lay shattered and burned and a ragged hole gave entrance towards the darkened crypts. Four guards lay motionless in the snow, their silver-grey armour broken and bloodied, their lifeless hands grasping their signature spears. She knew they were beyond help even from a distance, their bodies cooled in the snow as fresh flakes covered them up. Nearby overlapping tracks showed signs of a brief struggle; yet the attackers were gone. The frigid air rich with smoke, and the unmistakable stench of burned flesh and drying blood; but there was a wrongness to it. The air felt charged and fraught with malignancy. Claire knew to trust her instincts; fifteen years as a hunter honed them well. She surveyed the scene keeping her bow drawn and arrow poised, there was a stillness she couldn’t trust. Besides the distant shape of an owl flying towards the mountains and the occasional breeze nothing else moved. The same pregnant stillness in her experience always meant trouble was close by. A wave of revulsion washed over her prickling the hairs of her exposed neck; a creeping unpleasant sensation followed by a low groan behind her. She spun around to find the stirring body of a Caelite guard, his draconic helmet lay battered and broken in the disturbed snow.
Impossible. She thought, his dead staring eyes and pale almost blue complexion was one of the first she’d seen laying in a pool of his own blood. But now the figure rose unsteadily groaning and gurgling with his head lolling towards the floor. His hands twitched and clasped the spear. Around her she heard similar groans and shuffling as the bodies reached for their weapons and rose. The twitching knight before her raised its head, mouth open wide in a pained grimace and its eyes burned with a spectral green flame and purpose. There was no mistaking the intent; no denying what she saw before her. Her bow drawn and aimed towards the figure stumbling towards her, now aware of the others closing the distance towards her.
“Stop! Stay where you are.”
Her words fell on deaf ears as she’d suspected they would. With a smooth motion the arrow left the bow and struck the undead Caelite in the head it fell backwards without grace; the green embers fading as it fell. The air around Claire
tingled with a familiar sensation. On instinct she threw herself to the floor in a roll. One of the former Caelites unleashed a blast of lightning from its charred hands over her head exploding into the rock behind her. She was already on the move before the creature realised; grabbing for another arrow from her quiver as she dived behind fallen slabs of rock. Two former Caelites advanced towards her their spears trailing in the snow as they dragged themselves forward. It was only a matter of time before they recalled the powerful magics they once used in life. She stilled herself; trying to control her breathing as the twitching figures approached. Their armour designed to turn aside arrows meaning each shot would have to count. Claire ducked once again as another errant bolt of lightning flashed across the clearing exploding into the burial grounds behind. With a fluid motion she spun around the charred rock and loosed another arrow dropping the closest knight to the floor. Its partner charged forwards with renewed aggression whilst the distant Caelite’s hands sparked with magic. She flung herself to the side attempting to keep the melee Caelite blocking his spell-casting accomplice. Caught in the open her luck wouldn’t last much longer. Hands trembling as she reached for another arrow, her eyes focused on the sharpened spear-tip almost within range. With a jolt of lightning the knight fell forwards twitching and shaking. Smoke rising from its back as it died; felled by its comrade. As the Caelite fell its spear scraped past her slicing into the outer layers of her leggings. Another inch and it’d all have been over. The unmistakable stench of singed flesh filled the air soon after. With a single target left she focused upon the magic-casting Caelite, without any cover it was just a matter of who could shoot first. She lined up an arrow as the frozen fingertips of her attacker remained lifeless and still; confident there’d be no flashes of lightning heading her way she fired. Instead the bow and arrow flew out of her hands and into the snow; ripped from her hands by an invisible force.
Aeromancy? Didn’t see that one coming. She thought, irritated at the lapse in judgement that left her unarmed. Almost. With a smile she ran towards it; surprise washed across its pained grimace and burning hateful eyes. It thrust forwards with the spear but it was inaccurate and unprepared. She sidestepped, moving inside the creatures guard and drew the hunting knife from its sheath. She was close enough to smell the charred flesh and dried blood, close enough to taste it. Claire batted the spear aside with her left hand and drove the knife deep into the creatures brain. A strangled gurgle escaped the dying creature before she kicked it towards the floor and choked down disgust. Within seconds the emerald fire faded and the forest was still once more. The hunter brushed herself down and found her short-bow in the snow, the hunting knife sheathed once more. Her leg ached but the spear hadn’t drawn blood for which she was thankful. She turned surveying the shattered tomb gates and the dim tunnels within, a faint smell of incense greeted her as she approached.
“That’s quite impressive.” A male voice called out from behind her.
Before he could move she held a knife to his throat. Her blood still pumping with adrenaline and her heart raced. A silver-white haired elderly man stood with a black traveller’s cloak billowing in the wind like a cape. Beneath that he wore a black velvet waistcoat over a white silk shirt. Taller than her and wiry in frame; his gloved hands empty with no weapon in sight. He smiled at her and retreated a step holding his palms open and nonthreatening.
“Forgive me. I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw the smoke but I couldn’t get here fast enough to lend a hand.” He spoke with an accent she wasn’t familiar with, he was almost certainly a scholar of some kind and no doubt a wizard. He lowered his hands and gestured towards the four fallen bodies surrounding them.
“I didn’t see you approach.” Claire said. She watched him with caution as she lowered her own weapon. Or hear. Given her heartbeat pounding in her ears that was less than surprising.
The elderly man smiled, and bowed his head.
“I’ve had a lot of practice.” He walked past her and knelt beside the nearest body. He inspected its wounds and deathly pallor without touching it. His manner seemed practised and matter-of-fact.
“Who are you?”
The man furrowed his brow. “You don’t remember me; but I knew your mother. The resemblance is quite remarkable.”
Claire allowed a raised eyebrow to speak for her.
“My name is Alvis Razakel, I’m a sorcerer — as I’m sure you’ve guessed.”
The name sounded familiar but at the time she was unable to remember where she’d heard it. “Do you know what’s happening here?”
Razakel didn’t reply for several moments, instead watching the skyline towards the sea; two sets of smoke clouds drifted lazily upwards. Across the Altus forest she could see smoke rising from the village of Caelholm and the Caelite Temple several miles away.
“Necromancy.” He replied after some time. “Don’t worry about the village. That’s a diversion, I’m sure of it.”
She thought about her home, her father and friends. ‘Don’t worry about it’ was a difficult request.
“How can you be sure?”
“This is the source—” He pointed towards the tombs behind them. “Whatever is happening it’s originating from here. I can feel it. If we cut off the head we’ll save the village and temple as well.”
Claire nodded in response and watched him walk towards the entrance.
“You’ll find your answers here if you wish to accompany me. I know you can handle yourself.” He continued with a smile. She couldn’t help but feel he was testing her in some way, trying to see how she’d react. He seemed sincere but that offered little solace, untrustworthy sorts so often did. Still, her curiosity piqued.
“Let’s go then.” Claire replied smiling to herself. She wasn’t going to play his game but she wasn’t going to just watch, not whilst she had a chance to do something about it.
Built into the sacred Altus mountain the fortress-temple watched over the forests, lake Gelida and the village of Caelholm. Each spire curved and protected against assault by siege weaponry and arrow-slits. Each wall reinforced, enchanted and blessed in the name of the gods. Fights raged throughout the stronghold as undead seeped in through the undercroft beneath the Temple. Their intrusion aided by cloaked humans wielding daggers and unholy magics. Despite the initial shock the Caelites rallied quickly reclaiming inch by inch striking back the intruders. Unholy magic and the relentless endurance of the undead struggled against the zealous fervour of the Caelite order. Captain Reiner Soranus sprinted down the winding stairwells from the training chambers; flanked by Cynthia Verena and Alvar Lupis towards the sounds of fighting below. Roused by the explosions and shouts that shook the stronghold interrupting their routine sparring session. All three were clad in the silver-grey plated mail of their order, decorated and shaped with simple recurring dragon motifs. The pauldrons, helmets, knee and arm guards tipped with stylised wings and designed to turn aside both blades and arrows. Reiner often eschewed the use of his horned helmet; he favoured the extra peripheral vision it granted. Duty bound and serious almost to a fault his promotion to Captain six years prior came as little surprise to anyone. He wore the deep purple cape and tabard worn by officers with pride. Reiner enjoyed the feel of the cape on his back and the theatric flair it added to day-to-day business. The trio came to a halt as they reached the bottom step opening into a three-way corridor stretching off into the distance.
“Which way, Captain?” The youngest, Alvar asked with hesitation.
Alvar was quiet and thoughtful and a full head shorter than Reiner with a pale complexion and long black hair. Whilst competent and showing great promise with magic his inexperience and lack of confidence shone through. He shrunk away from Reiner’s gaze, his brown eyes wide with worry. There was a lull in the distant fighting and the acoustics of the hallway didn’t help; an incident a few weeks ago required the carpets removed, repaired and cleaned. Without them the halls carried an echo almost as well as they held a chill; the temple fe
lt bare. To the left the corridor lead towards a chapel, with its heavy wooden bolted doors and the presence of the zealous battle-priests with a propensity for pyromancy Reiner doubted they required much aid. As a religious order of knights, the monks who tended to it would no doubt have any number of Caelites at hand once the temple came under attack. That left straight-ahead leading towards the lowest levels and the armoury; the right passage heading towards the barracks and living areas.
“The armoury. Barracks don’t have many entrances, any attackers would have to try the main gates or tunnel from below.” Reiner replied. He relaxed his breathing and allowed his senses to wander, to become a Caelite neophytes required an extensive magical ability and training before they were ever given the oath. He could feel the disturbance in the aether now, the currents and shifting of magic within the air distorted and warped. It seemed to emanate from below, a tainted aura rose through the floors and surrounding area. The mortuary and the crypts below the temple no doubt, where bodies remained in storage and processed before resting higher up into the true undercroft within the mountains.
“Necromancy.” Cynthia said with certainty.
He felt his heart sink, the mortuary was perhaps the least defended section of the temple besides basic enchantments and security measures; after all the dead never raised any problems. Until today of course. Once more an explosion reverberated throughout the building and the distant thunder of electric discharge followed.
“This way.” Reiner shouted, as he ran towards the source.
They ran down several corridors avoiding the rubble and overturned furniture towards the main hall, before they could progress any further a crossbow bolt exploded into the wall behind them and figures approached from a side room. Each wore long black traveller’s cloaks, three men and a woman each carrying curved sacrificial knives and one of the men hung back steadying a crossbow. Their expressions blank and uninterested, their movements uncoordinated yet somehow synchronised.
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