“They won’t,” his father said. “Trust me. They’re your brothers and sisters now.”
Chapter 39
Milo was the first to arrive.
Calista would have been first due to her speed, but she chose to hang back in case the man and the boy, both of whom were dressed in filthy clothes riddled with holes, were planning something violent. They looked harmless, but her Feral instincts had always kept her from being too trusting of strangers.
Milo and Emma approached the man and the boy with no fear at all. Calista respected that. There was definitely more to the Banks children than met the eye. Either that or they were just stupid.
“Oscar,” Milo said.
“Milo.” The boy glanced at his father before stepping forward to shake hands. “This is my father, Andres. Papa, this is the boy…”
Andres gave his son a dumbfounded look. Oscar said something to him in Spanish. The man relaxed, looked at Milo, Emma, and Calista, and nodded.
“Mucho gusto,” he said.
“Hola,” Emma said. “Mucho gusto en conocerlo. Me llamo Emma Banks.”
Calista sighed. “Can we do this in English, please?”
Andres scratched his raggedy beard, which had bits of twigs and leaves stuck to it.
“I am sorry,” he said. “Speak very less English.”
Oscar stepped forward until he was between his father and the rest of the group.
“It’s OK,” he said. “I will translate.”
Oscar led the rest of the conversation, speaking in both English and Spanish. He explained to Milo and Emma that they had arrived in Astros after being arrested by soldiers driving a carriage pulled by black levathons. Milo and Emma nodded and filled in the holes, explaining that the men worked for the emperor, and that Ferals were not welcome on Taradyn except as slaves.
Calista listened. She kept her eyes on the man and the boy, but mostly on the boy, Oscar. He was a Feral, like her, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to think that he was anything like her at all. He seemed comfortable with himself. As he spoke, his tail swished from side to side.
Calista had never liked her tail. Even now she kept it coiled up behind her back, where the man and the boy wouldn’t see it. The boy—Oscar, a strange name—had the brown eyes of a human. He was still changing, going through a sort of second puberty that every Feral went through at some point. Soon he would have orange eyes and the ability to phase into animal shells.
She didn’t know how she felt about that. Calista was content to be the only Feral at the ranch. And what if this boy started coming to her with questions? She didn’t want to be anyone’s mentor.
Or anyone’s friend.
“It’s getting late,” she said.
The sun was below the tree line now, straddling the horizon. It was getting darker, and colder, by the minute.
Andres said something in Spanish. Oscar translated.
“My father want to know if we can go to the ranch. He want speak to the man with the white hair. The big man.” He lifted his arms around his chest to show just how big Ascher was. “If is OK.”
Milo and Emma spoke at the same time. “Of course.”
Calista rolled her eyes. They had that annoying habit of responding at the same time and finishing each others’ sentences. She guessed it was something about being twins, like they were telepathic or something.
Oscar looked at Calista and smiled.
“My name is Oscar,” he said. “No have to be scared. I am nice.”
The boy’s accent, and his crude grammar, made her lips curl upward the slightest bit. Had he just made her smile? She hoped no one had noticed.
Oscar stepped forward and reached out to shake her hand. Calista backed away a step.
“Follow me,” she said, turning and running toward the ranch.
She phased into her cat form—exhilarating as always, like standing up in a cool waterfall—and crossed the field toward the hill, not once looking back to see if the strangers were following.
Oscar, she thought as her paws lashed out again and again, lightly tapping the earth. He looked to be about her age, and yet his eyes were still brown, which meant he wasn’t even a mature Feral.
She twitched her whiskers. He’s got a lot to learn.
Chapter 40
When the light turned on inside the shack, Kovax and his soldiers froze.
They heard footsteps against wooden floorboards, the sounds not as heavy as one would have expected from a fully grown man. The steady tap-tap, tap-tap they listened to for about five seconds brought visions to mind of a little old man with a cane shuffling toward the door.
It opened with a groan, throwing yellow light over their faces.
But there was no one there.
“Ahem.”
Kovax looked down to see a small man with arms and legs like those of a rag doll. He had a narrow chest and the face of a mole, and wore a dusty green vest over brown clothing, a dwarf librarian by the looks of him. Kovax was stunned by the sight. The man was mostly bald with ears like the wings of a small, fleshy beast and a bulbous, lumpy nose that took up most of his face. His eyes were two black marbles pressed into the skin, expressionless because he had no eyebrows. He stared straight ahead at Kovax’s knees, apparently not registering that there was a fully grown man in front of him.
“Ahem, yes?” the man said in a nasally voice.
Kovax frowned at him. “We’re looking for the sorcerer, Iolus. Be a lord and tell him an old friend has dropped by to visit.”
The little man began to swing this way and that, hands joined behind his back, making him look like a bored child standing in a room full of adults with nothing to do.
“Pray tell, how did you get by the defenses?” The man swiveled, his rounded belly sticking out. Kovax grit his teeth—the dwarf was enormously pleased with himself, that much was clear.
“My magic was stronger,” Kovax said simply, as if no explanation was necessary. “Tell Iolus I’ve arrived. My name is Kovax Leonaryx and my cousin Corgos is king of these lands, in case he’s forgotten, which I’m sure he hasn’t.”
Coscoros, Basher, and Leticia stood behind Kovax. They gave each other looks of utter confusion.
The dwarf made a sharp whistling sound and clapped. His hands were large and floppy with bony knuckles sporting tufts of curly brown hair.
“A magician,” he said. “Oh, lucky me. I was getting quite bored of sorcery. Sorcerers have nothing but elemental spells, but a magician—oh, you could make some pretty lights, couldn’t you? I so desire to see the pretty lights.”
He stopped swiveling and looked up at Kovax.
“I can show you lights,” Kovax said, holding out his staff, blue crystal forward. The crystal began to glow, emitting a fine mist that captured and held the light. The mist shaped itself into a shimmering levathon and galloped silently away.
The dwarf put his knobby fists up to his mouth and wheezed. His black eyes twinkled, moist around the edges.
“Oh, how dazzling! A real magician.”
Kovax twisted his features into a frown so deep it hurt the muscles of his face. He wanted to pick the dwarf up and bite a chunk out of his neck.
“You’re wasting my time, imp. Get Iolus or I’ll show you a pretty light that’ll be the last you ever see.”
“My, my,” the dwarf said. “He’s angry. Maybe we should give him some vitamins”—he pronounced it viddamins—“and put him to sleep. What do you think, Master?”
Kovax took a step back. He looked into the shack—it was featureless and empty with only a few pieces of crude furniture—and then he looked at his surroundings like he expected a hungry wolf to leap out at him and attack.
“No more games,” Kovax said. “Where is he?”
The dwarf smiled at each of them.
“Leave him to me,” Basher said, approaching the dwarf like a baboon approaching a chipmunk. He spun his warhammer in one hand.
Kovax reached out to stop him. “Get back!”
A loud boom sounded like a grenade going off, and then Basher was flying backward so fast it was like he had disappeared. Kovax turned and watched Basher recede into the distance, arms and legs extended in front of him, screaming, “Waaaaaa!”
The dwarf stood in the doorway as if nothing had happened, grinning like a child, dark eyes twinkling. Most of his teeth were missing, and the sight of that ruined mouth beneath those beady black eyes turned Kovax’s stomach.
“Coscoros,” Kovax said, glancing at the Acolyte but not really looking at him. “Go get Basher and come back.”
“Yes, sir.” Coscoros leaped over the edge, spread his black wings, and sailed away.
Leticia spoke while glaring at the dwarf.
“Just give me the order, sir,” she said, stinger rising at her side.
Kovax put up a hand to stop her. “Wait. This is a test. We’re supposed to get past this magician, but not by using strength or spells. He wants something.”
“You’re right I do,” the dwarf said. He reached behind his back, pulled an apple out of nowhere that was bigger than his fist, and began to take noisy bites out of it. The crunching sound made Kovax grind his teeth.
“What do you want?”
The dwarf snapped two fingers of his left hand, and the apple, which had been in his right hand, disappeared. He swallowed what was in his mouth, blinked a few times, and stepped out of the shack and into the patch of yellow light slanting across the dirt. His black eyes took on a more sinister look.
“My master would like you to prove yourself, Kovax. He wants to see if you still have it in you to be a great man. These last few years, you’ve been nothing but a disappointment.”
Kovax stiffened. He didn’t want the dwarf to see how upset he’d become, so he stared straight at him and said nothing.
Leticia watched from the shadows near the mountain wall. He could sense that she was alarmed.
“But we understand,” the dwarf said. “You’re old, and your wife and child are in suspension. You want to save them but you don’t know how. You’re afraid that once you wake them up, your wife won’t recognize the old husk standing before her. We understand, Kovax. We understand.”
With great effort, Kovax kept himself from baring his teeth in rage.
“Let me speak with Iolus,” he said in a gruff voice.
The dwarf took a step forward, out of the patch of light and into shadow. He looked up at Kovax.
“You’ll get your wishes. Every single one. But first, a test. Next to the shack is buried the body of a man who came here to challenge my master. He was a powerful magician like yourself, someone who had read all the books and knew all the formulas. He insulted my master and then challenged him to a duel. My master won, of course, but he was upset, for this so-called magician had spoiled his evening. Now, my master would like you to make a slave of this man.”
Kovax felt a slithering sensation against the walls of his stomach. “What kind of slave?”
“You know which kind.” The dwarf tilted his lumpy head and peered at Kovax through one eye.
“I gave up that life a long time ago,” Kovax said.
He was shivering now. He could hear the moans in his ears, those ghastly moans from all the souls he’d brought back to this world to do his bidding—all the dead husks he had summoned in order to become a full necromancer of his order.
“Go back down the road from which you came, then,” the dwarf said. “For Iolus has no time for weaklings and has-beens.”
“How dare you…” Kovax balled his hands into fists. “I’m the emperor’s magician, damn you.”
The dwarf turned, hands joined behind him, and started toward the cabin with his head down in deep disappointment. Kovax could hear him sighing.
“Fine,” Kovax said. “But in return, I want Iolus’s word that he’ll work for me. I need him for a special job—a simple one. I’ll give him enough gold to last ten human lifetimes if he can complete it.” Kovax looked at the shack’s eroded face. “He looks like he can use the wealth.”
“And what makes you think my master is a mercenary?”
Kovax held back laughter. “He’s certainly not a soldier anymore.”
“The necromancer speaks true,” the dwarf said, not turning around. Instead he lowered his head as if sinking further into thought.
“This is a trick,” Kovax said. “It’s you, isn’t it? Come, sorcerer. Speak to me using your true form.”
“That is his true form,” came a thin, malicious voice. “And you know as well as I do sorcerers can’t shapeshift.”
The voice had come from behind Kovax, above his left ear. He spun around and faced the tall, gaunt man staring back at him.
Leticia drew her breath in a hiss before sprinting forward, tail ready to strike.
Iolus, in a single, calm sweep, lifted his left arm and flicked the hand open. A jagged, white-hot bolt of energy leaped from his open palm. Leticia swung her tail at the very last second, absorbing the spell fully, though it caused her to fall to one knee with a womanly grunt. Her tail crackled with bright lines of energy before going back to normal. She scowled at Iolus, looking slightly amused.
“I know all your tricks, Sorcerer,” she said, standing.
“We’ll see about that,” Iolus said, his hand brightening with another spell.
“Wait,” Kovax said. “We’re friendly.”
“Is that right?” Iolus smiled, and his lips were a long, curved sickle of discolored flesh. His once-radiant red hair was now stringy and oily, as though he had not washed it in years. There were dark spots beneath his eyes and cheekbones. He looked malnourished and sick, and the brown cloak he wore was as thin as tissue paper.
“You want me,” Iolus said, “but you know I despise you with all my rotten heart. This means you have something I desire very much. What is it—and make it quick.”
Kovax studied the sorcerer. “You look terrible. What have you been eating? Rocks?”
“Your friends are coming.” Iolus tilted his head back and sniffed the air. “I can smell the Berserker from here.”
Kovax looked out over the trees and saw a tiny shape in the distance that he recognized as Coscoros flying through the air with Basher dangling from one of his arms, legs kicking empty air.
“Now we negotiate, Necromancer,” Iolus said in his papery voice.
“I’m not a necromancer anymore, Iolus. You know that. I left the order…”
“The order kicked you out, and if I know you, Kovax, you haven’t fully abandoned the low art. It was your passion.” Iolus narrowed his eyes, which were set far apart on his thin and sallow face. “You never forgot how addictive it is to have that kind of power over death—to make slaves of your fallen enemies. And yet you feel guilty after what happened to your wife and son. You miscast the spell, didn’t you? And they happened to be in the next room, weren’t they? It’s ironic, actually. You were too powerful for your own good. Not even a stone wall could deflect the spell. And we all know what happens when you cast a necromantic spell on a living person.”
Kovax melted away beneath the sorcerer’s gaze. He brought one hand up to his right temple. A migraine was coming on like a tide of frothy, crushed glass in his skull.
The screams of his wife and son rang in his ears.
“If you want my help,” Iolus said. “You have to prove to me that you’re serious. You have to break your oath and do what you do best.”
“But—but you don’t know why I’m here. It’s about Maximus, about his chil—”
“Don’t say another word. You do this, or you go back to your castle. Or I put you out of your misery. Your choice, Necromancer.”
There was a flapping sound in the distance. Coscoros and Basher were coming closer.
“Sir,” Leticia said, facing Kovax. “Is it true? That you were a Dark Brother?”
“I was, but”—he gave a curt sigh—“it appears I’m coming out of retirement.”
Coscoros and Basher arrived. Coscoros dropped th
e Berserker, who had a fear-stricken look on his face. “What did I miss?”
“Just stay back,” Kovax said.
Basher saw Iolus and froze. Iolus grinned at him, then walked a few feet away to a patch of dirt that looked a little higher than the surrounding area.
“Here he is.”
Kovax studied the patch of raised earth. The wind cooled the sweat on his forehead.
“Begin,” Iolus said.
“I—I need time to prepare.”
“Come on, low mage. I’ve seen what you can do. Why hide your talent? Is it because of what happened to your wife and son? Or are you just afraid that you’re no longer the man—”
“Enough,” Kovax said through clenched teeth.
Violet light flashed off his palm and fell sparkling to the ground. The sparks turned into small clouds of stinging flies. They rose and attacked Basher, who swung his arms wildly to keep them away.
The flies avoided Iolus. He smiled at Kovax, his face half-hidden in the shadows.
“Marvelous. That’s the magician I remember. Now, summon.”
“You know I need blood ether to do that.”
“Use him.” Iolus tipped his head to indicate the dwarf.
“M-master?” The dwarf’s eyes flew open.
Kovax didn’t hesitate. If the dwarf teleported or flew away, Iolus might force him to use one of his own men instead.
He reversed his staff, Duo, and pointed the red crystal at the dwarf.
It only took a minute, and it felt as satisfying as it always had. The dwarf disintegrated into a cloud of red particles which then entered the blood crystal, making it glow a bright, hellish red.
“That’s how we do it,” Iolus said, grinning and showing yellow teeth.
With newfound confidence, Kovax focused on the raised patch of dirt and began to chant. His voice sounded ancient and thin, as if the shadows were speaking through him.
“Blood ether dark of deepest dread, gather thy storms inside my head. Allow me to summon thy resting dead.”
Coils of red light twisted around the blood crystal. He repeated the lines over and over, the light building, brightening.
“…Allow me to summon thy resting dead!”
Savant (The Luminether Series) Page 23