Alamir: Blood of Kaos Series - Book One

by Nesa Miller

  What in Tartarus am I doing? She’s barely more than a child and a virgin.

  He needed a distraction, something physical, violent. Dar made his way to the far wall, placed a hand upon a small rune, and pressed. The wall opened far enough to reach in and pull out an object encased in black silk. He carried it to a table in the corner, uncovering a black-bladed sword. Its blade alone was a meter in length, the gold handguard inlaid with rubies. The handle, forged into the head of a griffon, was made of a rare metal and wrapped in gold wire. Runes on the blade revealed the sword’s true name.

  “Ba’alzamon, my old, dark-hearted friend. A long time it has been since we worked as one. But with the passage of time comes many changes and I find your services are once again required.”

  Its name spoken aloud, Ba’alzamon awakened, sucking light from the room. The runes engraved on the blade burned bright red. It has been far too long since our last adventure, the blade spoke in Dar’s mind. I sense you mean to end things with your brother.

  “Not yet. I have other things to settle first.” Dar slid the dark blade into its scabbard and strapped it onto his back. “His time will soon come.”

  The warrior strode down dark hallways to the armory and headed to the back of the room. Enclosed in a glass case stood another old friend…the Armor of Kaos. Infused with powerful Krymerian magic, the black armor had served him well in his previous life and would do so again. He opened the door of the glass case. “United once more.” With head bowed, he chanted the words of transference.

  Black bands appeared around his neck, hips, and each wrist. From the band around his hips, a string of bands, sliding out from one another, advanced down his legs and over his boots. Bands from the neck covered his torso, meeting those from his wrists at his shoulders, spanning over his head, forming the helmet. The VonNeshta family crest, a sun encircled by a crown of swords, adorned the breastplate. The High Lord of Kaos was ready.

  Standing at the foot of Etain’s bed, Dar linked his mind with hers, searching for the past. Delving deeper into her memories, what he found gave him pause. He stared long and hard at the woman, peaceful in her sleep. He could see the fourteen-year-old girl in her face, could imagine the light in her eyes, then the fading of it. He knew the demon responsible for the death of her family. Worse, he had seen something Etain’s mind had evidently hidden away. Intent in his mission, he chanted a location spell, and disappeared.

  There was one other piece of business he needed to complete before going after the assassin. Wandering through the Plains of Time, Dar hunted for a particular dimension…the Realm of the Dead. After a time, it came into view, the priest’s temple of white stone being the noticeable landmark.

  “At last, the resting place of the High Priest of Kaos.”

  Only those with the right passphrase could enter its enchanted gold doors. Fortunately, he was privy to those words.

  “From chaos comes clarity. From clarity comes enlightenment. Thus, I seek the knowledge that will set me free.” The doors opened, revealing a great white hall, at its center stood an altar of black stone.

  Memories from his own childhood flooded him. A small body on the altar, a figure dressed in the red robes of a Krymerian High Priest standing over it. The priest held a dagger in his hand, suspended over the boy. Dar could not hear the words spoken, but he did not need to. He remembered them as if it were yesterday as he watched the path of the dagger, cringing when it plunged into boy’s chest.

  When the priest turned, the vision evaporated. “Why are you here?”

  Dar stopped, surprised by the priest’s reaction. Then he remembered his armor.

  “Apologies, Father,” he said, releasing the helm and breastplate of his armor. “I did not intend to startle you. Forgive me for disturbing your eternal rest.”

  “High Lord…” The priest cleared his throat. “Tell me why you have come to this place.”

  “I am here on the advice of the Skull of Memories.” He lowered his head in a show of respect. “You are my last hope of being free of Midir.”

  Lothous threw his hands in the air. “Do not speak that name here. I despise the fact you remain connected to him.” Seeing the blanched look on Dar’s face, the priest softened. “Apologies, High Lord, I spoke out of turn. You are most welcome.” He held out his arm, inviting Dar to join him. “There is a way to be done with the blackguard, but I fear you may not like it.”

  “Whatever it takes, I will do.”

  “Walk with me.” As they strolled through the great hall, Lothous reiterated the tale. “We are all created with light and dark in our soul. You were different from others, destined to serve the light. However, you inherited the capacity to do great evil from your mother’s family. Although she was not an evil woman, she could not alter her heritage. Thus, her son took on the curse of her bloodline.

  “The light and dark were at constant war within you. So much so, your father feared for your sanity, as well as your life. In desperation for his only son’s future, the king came to us and asked we separate the darkness from the light. We agreed and prepared for the ceremony, knowing what the cost could be. The darkness was so powerful, it created another being.

  “Seven priests and seven apprentices lost their lives that day.” Lothous shook his head. “A great loss to our order, but…” He gave Dar a faint smile, “a great blessing to our world.” His demeanor turned sour. “That Midir is pure evil. Since that day, I have done all I can to watch over you, but it is time for a new order. To conquer the dark, one will require a strong magic. To sever the connection, you will need the Jewel of Life.”

  “How do I obtain this jewel?”

  “To possess it, you must defeat its protector to prove you are ready to do what must be done.”

  “Show me the way, Lothous. It does not matter how far I must go to meet this protector. I am ready to put an end to this.”

  Suddenly, Lothous took the form of King Dari. Dar staggered back at the sight of his long-dead father. “I am its champion.” The old Krymerian king appeared untouched by the ravages of death. Standing face-to-face, father and son were a mirror image, except for the king’s burial leathers and the silver streaks in his brown hair. “All you have to do is slay me, my son. Prove you have the strength to strike down your family. Although Midir is evil, he remains your brother.”

  “I cannot take your life, Father.”

  Seeing his son’s hesitation, the king attacked with his great sword, opening several wounds across the warrior’s chest and arms. “My life? You cannot make me anymore dead than I already am.”

  “You are in front of me, just as Lothous stood before me.” Dar dodged what could have been a fatal blow, hissing from a burn along his side. “I will not condemn my soul by slaying my father – apparition or not.”

  “You will…” His next move pinned Dar against the altar, “if you expect to leave this place.” His blade slashed down.

  Dar’s powerful claymore appeared in his hand, blocking the king’s move. Blades locked, Dar pressed against the stone and lifted a foot, pushing his father back. “Killing Midir does not compare to this. You’ve done me no injustice.”

  “Have I not?” The king swept out, grazing Dar across the abdomen. “Were you not told what happened the day he came with his horde?” He slashed back, his son jumping to the side to avoid the blow.

  “Everyone was dead, including you. We could only surmise how it had gone down.” Dar blocked another strike. “I thought I saw Midir’s influence, but…”

  King Dari looked him in the eye. “But you let him live. Did you not believe your family worth avenging?”

  “No! Yes!” Dar felt as though his heart had stopped. “For years, I lived with a vengeful heart, searching for confirmation of who led the attack.” He closed his eyes and turned away. “I could not fathom my own brother doing such a thing. I knew he hated me, but not you or my innocent wife and children. I could not accept it.”

  “You knew it in your heart, but
did nothing.”

  Dar heard his father’s disappointment, felt it in his bones. He had wandered for so long, searching, blaming himself for the death of his family. “I found the others. Those involved in the slaughter. I would not allow my men to touch them. I killed them myself.” Afterward, he had left his men, wandering to new lands, becoming the mercenary known as Darknight. Kill after kill to forget, to atone for his cowardice. Many called him a savior. More called him a reaper.

  His shoulders drooped, the tip of his sword dipping to the floor. “I was a fool.

  King Dari squared his shoulders, sword ready, and spoke in a commanding voice, jarring Dar from his self-pity. “Indeed. I wonder what you would do if I said I, to save my own skin, told him where your family hid.” He stepped forward on one foot. “He promised I would live if I gave them up.”

  Dar struggled to breathe. Everything he believed in…honor, loyalty, love…came into question. “You loved them more than your own life.”

  “I had a kingdom to rule, to protect.”

  Nothing made sense. Surely, he had not been wrong about his father. He was not a coward. Never had he run from a fight or hidden behind an innocent.

  “Three versus thousands…” The king raised his blade higher, a smirk on his lips. “A small sacrifice by any standard.”

  “Small sacrifice?” The words lit a fire in Dar’s belly, blinding him to the consequences of his actions. “Not by my standards!” He swung up with his mighty blade. “They were my future.” The honed edge sliced the king from hip to shoulder. “They were the future of our people.” Using the momentum of the move, a twist brought the blade across his father’s lower abdomen, finishing the job. “You had no right. They were my life.”

  The king collapsed at his feet. “As you were mine…”

  Dar dropped to his knees, his shirt bloodied and torn. “Why do you punish me? Have I not suffered enough?”

  The apparition faded, along with Dar’s injuries. The old priest stood before him and placed a consoling hand on the young man’s head. “You have done well, High Lord. Understand, you must be the victor in the fight with your brother.”

  “Midir has already won. My memories are poison. I have murdered my father.”

  Lothous removed an object from a pocket in his robe and held it out. “I give you this.”

  The High Lord eyed a red gem the size and shape of a peach seed. “What is it?”

  “It is what will free you from your murderous brother. The Jewel of Life.”

  “This small thing?” Dar emitted a growl, coming to his feet. “You must think me an idiot.”

  “Small it may be, my boy, but it contains great power. Come.” Lothous guided him toward the altar. “It was given as a gift of peace to your great-great-grandfather, Dareios.”

  Dar eyed the stone with greater interest. “Dareios? Am I to slay him, too?”

  Lothous chuckled. “Not today, young one. Not today.”

  “Dareios brought the clans together, made the Krymerians a united force.” Dar held the stone up in the faint light. “Was it from another chieftain?”

  The eyes of the old priest gleamed. “A king.”

  Dar’s brows lifted. “What king?”

  “The Draconian king, Saki.” Lothous caught the red gem before it hit the floor. “The young Saki, of course, not his grandfather. The old dragon never understood his grandson’s acceptance of Krymerians.”

  “Draconian?” Dar rubbed his hand on his leathers. “Why would a king of Krymeria make peace with scum?”

  “Dareios was wise. He knew when to fight and when to negotiate.”

  “I will not carry such a stone. There must be another way.”

  “Boy, if you wish to be victorious over your dark brother, you will honor the wisdom of your ancestors. Lay upon the stone.”

  For a Draconian stone to become part of him left him apprehensive. The idea of Krymerians associating with Draconians made his blood run cold. Every story he heard as a child painted the Dragon people as ruthless and cunning with no sense of loyalty to any but their immediate kin…and even that had been questionable. They had no allies, becoming extinct long before Dar’s birth. Yet, this was the second gift supposedly given in friendship.

  Despite his personal feelings, he knew it was important to trust the old priest. Loyal and faithful, Lothous had been an avid supporter of his family. Dar stretched out on the altar. It felt as rough today as it had all those years ago. The sight of the dagger positioned over his heart brought back a small boy’s terror. He lay helpless, unable to defend himself. In one swift motion, the priest buried the blade deep into the young man’s chest.

  Dar grunted, trying not to cry out.

  Lothous murmured a chant as he withdrew the dagger. “To do what is necessary comes with sacrifice.” He held the stone before him, its light the color of blood. “Jewel of Life, bind your strength and power with that of the light.” His voice grew more powerful as he raised the stone high into the air. “Protect him from the dark.” He plunged the jewel deep within Dar’s chest, forcing it into his heart, chanting over the screams of his victim. “Protect him from evil, and give him life over death. May you be victorious, High Lord. Long live the king!” He removed his hand and sealed the wound with a healing chant.

  Dar lay still, sweat trickling off his brow. He breathed in, concentrating on the rise and fall of his chest. The pain was gone. “There can be no greater sacrifice than the one made long ago.” He accepted the priest’s hand and slid off the altar.

  “With new power comes new sacrifice.”

  “Thank you, Father Lothous.” He rolled his left shoulder and stretched the arm. “Am I truly free of my brother?”

  The priest nodded. “It was foretold before you were born. ‘A child will carry the light of salvation and the death of worlds, destined to be both, fated to end his own life.’ I have given you a way to overpower the darkness and live. I pray you win this fight for I have one last duty to perform before I can complete my journey. Your victory will make my eternal rest all the sweeter.” Lothous faded into the shadows.

  “Father, wait. What of the legacy child the skull spoke of? Is it the one Faux carries?” Turning in search of the priest, he yelled into the darkness. “What is the sacrifice?” The riddles and clandestine messages had pushed him to his limit. At the lack of response, he slammed his fist on the altar, breaking the stone into pieces. “Give me an answer!”

  Unable to raise the priest a second time, Dar stormed from the temple, concentrating on his next task for the evening.

  In the back of a crowded nightclub, at the fringe of pulsing lights and gyrating dancers, a group of men sat on a semi-circular, black velvet sofa around a table, engrossed in the mumblings of a large man in their midst. His gaze drifted over each man. “What’s the take this week?” he asked one to his left.

  The five men were similar in size, shape, and coloring. Dar was not sure which was the one he sought, but the chatty man spoke with authority and appeared to have the others cowed. Dar was confident this was his man.

  “I call you out, demon.”

  The malcontents around the table looked up in unison. The leader laughed, followed by the others, eying Dar with lethal intent. “You are a long way from home, little man. You should run along before you get hurt.”

  “A life for a life. Or in this case, your excuse of a life for four.” His gaze roamed over the others. “Unless your friends want to sacrifice their lives, as well.”

  The man rose slowly, discarding the human façade. His form, freed of its forced confinement, towered over Dar. Dancers shuffled from the dance floor. The music stopped, but the colored lights continued their chaotic ripples over the two factions.

  Dar recognized his kind. The jagged arch over the left eye, a mark given to survivors of the Battle of Azeroth, confirmed his alliance with an elite sect of hired assassins. It was not a battle of war but of initiation, where recruits fought for their lives against other recruits. Onl
y the most brutal earned the privilege of displaying the self-inflicted scar. Dar mused that his target, close to nine feet tall with eyes as red as the fires of hell, should prove a worthy adversary, providing a welcome release from his conflicted emotions.

  The demon’s voice boomed through the nightclub as he reached for his great sword. “If you were smart, you’d turn that puny ass around and leave while you can. But, then again, your kind isn’t known for their intellect.”

  Laughter surrounded the Krymerian. A squatty demon with pitted brown flesh waddled from table to table, accepting bets on various aspects of the night’s unexpected entertainment. Who would move first? Who would draw first blood? Some bet on the origins of the rogue challenger. Others wagered on his soundness of mind. Those less adventurous with their cash bet the assassin as a sure win.

  “Hurry up and finish him, Zagan. We have business needs tending,” said one of the cronies at the table.

  “I do my best work when I take my time. Sit back and enjoy while I slice this one down to size.”

  Dar rolled his shoulders. “It’s time you paid for your crimes.” He stepped back onto the dance floor and drew his blade, watching the demon come toward him.

  A female voice squealed. “I knew it! Taly, come here and pay me.”

  “No pay until the game is played,” he yelled over the din.

  Another demon growled and slapped a six-digit hand on a table at Dar’s first move. Taly jotted a note.

  “Tell me of the four. There have been so many, I doubt I will remember, but let’s give it a try…for kicks.”

  “A family. A father…” Dar twirled his blade to one side, “a mother…” He twirled to the other, “a brother.” He held his blade aloft.

  The assassin came in with a slash Dar easily blocked. Zagan landed a ferocious kick, sending Dar flying across the room. Demons and their human pets screamed and scattered to avoid the Krymerian. Dar was certain he felt at least one rib, maybe two, give way when he hit the far wall.