“But not one that the Leagues would encourage me to practice, if you can believe it,” Dahveed said with a shake of his head. “As though a healer’s sash would protect me on the battlefield; dogma would have me go unarmed, as though preventing the wound from happening is somehow less glorious than healing it afterward.”
“You’re in charge, why not change that?” Terian asked, fending off the strike of two dwarves with a strike that took off an arm at the elbow.
“Dogma is not so easy to change as you might think,” Dahveed said, and Terian could hear the healer’s smile in his answer. “And just because I’m in charge of the Healer’s Union in Saekaj, don’t assume I have much power over our direction.”
“You blathering fools!” Amenon said, and Terian turned his eyes to his father. Amenon was covered in blood, cutting through a dwarf with his red-bladed sword, which glared as though it were drinking in the blood of his foes. Like legend says it does. “This is a time for battle, for proving ourselves to the Sovereign!”
“It would appear Grinnd’s pronouncement about their breakage is somewhat optimistic,” Terian said. He blinked, looking around. “Where’s Xem?”
“I don’t see him,” Dahveed said, glancing about. “Is it possible he’s dead?”
“By these earth diggers?” Grinnd struck down three dwarves wielding mining picks. “If he is, it should be of shame for falling to their pitchforks and pickaxes!”
The throng of dwarves was growing thin, their numbers slackening as Terian watched a few of them run. A blast of lightning followed by balls of fire blazing through the air struck down a few of the fleeing number. Terian turned to see Bowe standing over a stack of dwarven dead, a curved-bladed scimitar gripped in one hand while magic flew from the other.
The smell of smoke drifted under Terian’s nose, the scent of something burning coming from the corpses of Bowe’s victims and pines set aflame by stray magic. Terian counted three trees and a nearby house that were engulfed, flames rising around them.
“Set the village aflame, Bowe,” Amenon said, unyielding. “Let us track the stragglers—and Xemlinan, if we can.”
“If?” Terian asked. “Why can’t we?”
“No footprints,” Bowe said in his slow drawl. “He has the Falcon’s Essence and could have gone in any direction.”
“That treacherous son of a bitch,” Terian said. “He landed us in all manner of hell on Shrawn’s orders then abandoned us to the flames.” He turned his head to look at the burning house before them. “Literally.”
“Burn it all,” Amenon said, sweeping forward through the flaming forest. “We have work to do.”
“Keep the flames away from me,” Grinnd said in warning, dodging around a tree as he advanced toward the town. “Just a suggestion, given my cargo.” Bowe did not answer, but he did nod—the only concession to show he was listening.
Terian advanced into town with the others. The single street was quiet, a few stragglers running here and there. Bowe cast flame and lightning, striking them down. Terian watched as a female dwarf hurrying on stubby legs burst into flames, and he turned his head to avoid looking. This is madness. Damn you, Shrawn, for pushing us into this. If I ever catch Xem …
A fireball struck a nearby house, gusts of flame bursting out of the window, and Terian flinched away from the heat. “Perhaps we should search the houses,” Terian said hesitantly. “Keep from wasting Bowe’s magic.” He turned to see his father’s reaction.
Amenon did not flinch. “This town must burn. We must leave no sign.”
“Blackened corpses are a sign,” Terian said. “Usually a bad sign.”
“I am going to run low on magical energy soon,” Bowe said, more calmly than Terian would have in his position. “Anything we can do to limit the waste would speed our task’s completion.”
“Very well,”Amenon said grudgingly. “Terian, Grinnd, search house by house. If there are survivors within, kill them. If there are too many, signal Bowe to burn them.” He raised a hand at a dwarf crossing an alley between houses as he strode forward. The dwarf fell, clutching his throat. Amenon strode to his side and drove his red blade into the dwarf’s skull as casually as if he were sheathing it. “Hurry; we still have a mission to attend to. This is all distraction and foolishness born of sabotage. Dahveed and I will circle the village and make certain we can track down and kill any fleeing survivors.” His eyes narrowed as he looked to Dahveed. “Keep an eye out for footprints in the snow.”
Terian saw Dahveed raise a skeptical eye. There were countless footprints, running in all directions, forward and backward. “I will do all that I can.” The healer ran down the street, his blade still in hand.
“Come on then, Terian,” Grinnd said. Terian saw the warrior’s heavy expression; there was no joy in it. “We have a task. You take the left side of the street, I’ll take the right.”
“Aye,” Terian said, drawing a sharp breath. The sick feeling in his belly persisted. He cut left, running toward the first house at the end of the street.
It was a dwarven hovel, a stone mortared little building with a straw roof thatched tight against the elements. There were no windows to allow him to look inside or the occupants to look out. The door was wood and probably barred, Terian reflected. He stood just outside, paused, waiting for a beat—listening. He heard movement inside and kicked down the door. It broke open, shattering upon the impact of his boot.
He stood in the entry, staring into the darkened dwelling. A fire burned in the hearth, and his gaze shifted to the dwarven children huddled next to it, a teenage girl standing before them. Her arms protected them only slightly, her body sheltering them. She was not a dwarf but a human, and fear was written all over her face.
Terian clutched at his axe as he stared in. The smoke from the hearth wafted over him, a gentle smell of home, and he felt a trickle of sweat bead and run down his forehead as he stared into the house. The girl stared back at him, light hair and fair skin overshadowed by eyes wide with terror.
Terian felt his jaw quiver, and he hefted his axe.
Duty.
Chapter 56
Sixteen Years Ago
“This is the day,” Amenon said with great relish. Terian could see the pride warring with something else on his face. “You have never yet disappointed me, my son.” His expression wavered, just for a second. “Hold fast through this day and I will be as proud of you as any father has been of any son, ever.”
“Yes, Father,” Terian said, standing almost at attention. They were in his father’s study, and Terian could feel the nerves ripping at him. He glanced at the suit of armor standing just before the desk; a beautiful, dark-metal axe now leaned against the figure that the armor was placed upon. He almost reached out and touched it but stopped himself before he did so. Not yet. Soon. So soon.
“The soul sacrifice is the single most important ritual for a dark knight,” Amenon said, and Terian pulled his eyes off the waiting armor and back to his father. He chuckled. “Though I suppose I don’t need to tell you that.” He clapped Terian on the shoulder. “You’ve been waiting for this day nearly as long as I have.”
“Yes, Father,” Terian said, and he felt the quiver of excitement pass through his body. I mustn’t fail now. I am the best in the Legion; whatever comes my way this day, I am better prepared to handle it than any other student. He’d heard the whispers, of course. Gossip about the soul sacrifice was forbidden in the Legion—but that didn’t stop it from happening.
Amenon nodded once, sharply, his eyes dancing all over his son’s attire, inspecting it for the proper look. “Your mother and I will be there with you the entire time. As will your instructors and classmates. I know it is tremendous pressure—”
“I can’t fail you,” Terian said, with a nod. “The pressure is good. It will ensure that I complete the task set before me with utmost speed and with a skill worthy of the best of dark knights.”
Amenon nodded once more, emotion filling his
features. “I could ask no more of you.” He looked toward the window. “All we need do now is wait for Guturan to let us know that all is ready, and we can go to the garden to begin.”
Terian did not speak for a moment. He tried to come up with something to say, something that would express the fear and excitement fighting among each other in his heart but failed. This is the moment I have been waiting for all my life. For as long as I can remember. This is my moment of triumph.
There was a knock at the door to the study. Precise and measured, the flutter in Terian’s stomach told him it was Guturan before his father even called out, “Enter.”
“Your guests await you both, my Lords of Lepos,” Guturan said, holding the door open with a sweeping bow.
Amenon smiled once more upon Terian, a smile of encouragement and strength, and Terian returned it. The world seemed to blur around him, and he led the way down the stairs. Each of echo of his boot on the steps felt as though it were symbolizing his rise. I am not descending to this ceremony; I am rising to be a dark knight.
The most fearsome dark knight in the land.
Like my father before me.
When they reached the foyer, the servants swept open the doors. The smell of Saekaj’s dank air flooded in over the incense that burned in the foyer. Terian could see the guests waiting outside, chairs arranged on the lawn. He knew a dais waited outside, off to his left where he could not see it. He looked at the visible guests—nobles, dark knights of note and renown, and a few of his peers.
He cocked his head—Kahlee Ehrest sat close to the middle, next to her father. Her face was a mask, her cheek twitching as she turned, along with all the other guests, to look at his arrival.
This is my moment.
Terian paused for a single beat at the threshold of the manor house. He kept his gaze centered on the steps ahead. I cannot trip now. I cannot look foolish at this moment. Not this moment.
This moment I have been waiting for.
When he reached the center aisle he turned, crisply, walking in a timed march that would have impressed any of his instructors from the Legion. Discipline and duty be my guide. Whatever task I am to perform, let me carry it out with grace and alacrity worthy of my house and name.
He was halfway up the aisle before he looked at the dais. Cidrack Urnetagroth stood waiting for him at the top of a small rise of stairs, along with another figure in a black cloak. They blocked his view of something beyond—something that looked almost like an altar.
A ritual, after all.
Terian felt his father’s hand land on his shoulder, and he paused to look back. “I can go no further with you,” Amenon said. “From here you walk the path on your own.”
Terian nodded. He had known this moment was coming. He felt his father’s hand leave his shoulder, the weight of the gauntlet carrying all the hopes and dreams that had been instilled in him since the day he had learned to walk and speak. The weight of the countless conversations that his father had had with him, telling him of his purpose and destiny.
I will not fail him.
Every step was made with leaden legs that carried him forward toward that dark destiny, toward the fearsome armor awaiting him at the completion of the ceremony. He took the stairs carefully, staying focused on Urnetagroth and the black-cloaked figure. He took a deep breath and tasted the bile from where he’d lost his breakfast from nervousness earlier.
“Come forth, Terian Lepos,” Cidrack Urnetagroth said, intoning as though he were a priest of some sort. “Come forth and face your test.”
“I am ready,” Terian said, a little stiffly. He had rehearsed this answer a thousand times, simple as it was, for this was the point that his knowledge of the soul sacrifice ceremony ended. From this moment forward, it was all a glorious exploration off the edges of the map, and the shudder of nervousness hinted at the grinding fear within him.
I cannot fail. I must not fail.
“Follow,” Cidrack said, and the black-cloaked figure moved aside as well. Terian’s eyes fell upon the altar behind them, and for the first time, he realized that there was something upon it. I must not fail, he repeated to himself.
Someone upon it.
Her white hair spilled over the edges of the thin stone altar. Her mouth was sealed shut by a cloth rag stuffed into it, and her hands were bound in chains.
I must not fai-
Ameli.
Terian felt the pull and dragged himself toward her unbidden. He surged to her side and saw her wide eyes, open in fear like an animal sensing its doom. He ripped the cloth free of her mouth and stood above her, breathless and suddenly faint. “Ameli!”
“Terian!” Her cry burst free of her mouth and she struggled against the chains that bound her. “Terian, let me free—”
Cidrack brought a hand down upon her cheek that rocked her head to the side. Terian spun upon the instructor and slammed into his armored form with his shoulder unthinking. He heard a great crack followed by an agonizing pain in his arm but did not care. He took the dark knight to the ground with his clumsy charge, and felt the sharp edge of his armor cut through his tunic. He raised a fist to strike Cidrack Urnetagroth squarely in the face—
“TERIAN!” Amenon’s shout silenced everything in the vicinity. Terian froze, hand raised to slam Urnetagroth squarely in his exposed nose, the weakest point available to him, but he lowered his arm. His fingers, however, did not unclench. “This is the task before you,” his father said.
Terian dragged himself to his feet, ignoring Urnetagroth. “To do what?” It came out in a huff, emotion dripping with every hard breath. “To … to …” He dragged a finger loose of his fist and pointed at the altar. “To … her?”
Amenon stood at his place in the aisle, his eyes thin and severe. “No sacrifice is too great in the name of Sovereign.”
Terian opened his mouth, but no words came out, his jaw quivering in outrage and disgust. “Sacrifice …?” He glanced back at Ameli. “She’s a … sacrifice?”
“We are all sacrifices, if need be,” Cidrack Urnetagroth said, rising from the ground. His cheeks were flushed, and Terian gave him a glare that made the dark knight take a step backward—though out of caution or fear, Terian did not hazard a guess. “This is our place as servants of the Sovereign.”
“Terian, help me!” Ameli said. He looked back at her, still pinned to the altar. Her cheek was bleeding, her eye already swelling shut where Urnetagroth had struck her. “Please!”
I will not fail. The words echoed in his head, mocking.
Terian stood, frozen, in the center of the altar, eyes locked on his father. “You cannot ask me to do … this.”
“Darkness requires sacrifice,” Urnetagroth said. “The Sovereign requires obedience.”
Terian glanced back at the black-cloaked figure. “Are you a healer?”
The black-cloaked figure shook his head, slowly.
“He is a necromancer,” Urnetagroth said, and Terian turned back to look at him. “There will be no resurrection from this. She is your soul sacrifice, the price you pay to embrace the darkness and rise a knight of the shadows.” He stared down with the coldest eyes Terian had ever seen. I never noticed that about him before. How did I not notice that in the last four years?
“I don’t want to be a—” Terian cut himself off before the last word, looking back to his father. “This can’t be the price. Not everyone has a sister—”
“You are the only son of a most powerful house,” Amenon said from his place in the aisle. His face wavered, and Terian saw shame begin to peek through his facade. “More is required of you than others. Now … remember your duty.” He clenched his teeth, and Terian had a vision of dark fangs gnashing him to pieces.
Duty.
He turned back to the altar. The necromancer stood before him, just to the side, hands extended. A dagger lay upon them. “This is the instrument of sacrifice.”
Terian stared at the black blade. He ey
ed it then turned slowly to Cidrack Urnetagroth.
“Any sacrifice but the one placed before you will result in your death,” Urnetagroth said warily.
Terian stared at him through lidded eyes. Maybe I want to die. He glanced back at his father. Saw him move his head to urge Terian forward. My sacrifice must be greater than others?
You son of a bitch.
The crowd was hushed behind him, and Terian felt the world pull away from him. He stood upon the altar, and even Urnetagroth stepped back.
The necromancer waited, dagger in his extended hands. “Take this … and perform your duty. I will handle the rest.”
Terian stared at the dagger as though it would leap out and strike him down.
Duty.
Finally he reached out, and took it in his hands. Dimly, he could hear Ameli sobbing.
“Terian, no … Terian, please …”
He closed his eyes, trying to block her out.
“Terian …” The rattling as she fought against her bonds nearly blotted out her pleas. The faint smell of her perfume filled his nose.
I must not fail.
The chains shook with a fury once more. “Terian! Please, Terian! Please don’t!”
He opened his eyes. Now she was still, eyes seeping quiet tears. “Please.”
He brought the dagger down straight and true, plunging it into her heart.
He felt the blade break through the bone, his hands latched hard to it. There was a gasp of her breath in shock at the strike. He could smell the faint perfume that she had worn—the sweet, sickly scent of cave cress—over the sweat and stink of fear.
There was a burning blast of light before his eyes, a flash as magic ran through the dagger and into his hands. It sounded like the crack of thunder he’d heard when he’d gone to the surface, the roar of a mighty river of blood rushing through his ears.
He looked away when he saw the light leave her eyes, the purple irises relaxing as the skin around the edges went slack. She was looking through him now, and he turned to see the necromancer holding a red gemstone in his fingers. It glowed with light, then faded to a luster.
Thy Father's Shadow (Book 4.5) Page 29