The Summoner and the Seer: Darklight Universe: Book 1

by C. Gold

  Shoulders pulled back and chin jutting out with confidence, Amira told him, “This is what I want.”

  Amira shook off the memory and narrowed her focus to the woman’s hands just in time to avoid the blast that very nearly shaved her head. That was too close for comfort. No more daydreaming! She widened her stance and prepared for another barrage.

  “Your skill is a wild, untamed thing. You can’t possibly be using it now to avoid me. Keep moving little insect, you’ll soon falter and I’ll blast you to bits.”

  Amira dodge-rolled five more times and didn’t have time to flinch when a rock sliced her cheek. She had to end this quickly before she got too tired. There was also a burning need to stick the dagger in that foul woman’s throat to shut her up. Her talent might be wild but when her visions came, they were true and could see a long time in the future. More than could be said for any other seer that she knew about.

  “Enough playing around!” The woman’s anger was a palpable aura surrounding her red, puffed out face. With a grand, sweeping gesture, her staff arced through the air sending a solid ribbon of force outward.

  With nowhere to dodge, Amira squeezed her eyes shut and braced for death. The knife in her hand grew unbearably hot, but the spell didn’t hit her.

  The woman screamed in frustration. “What did you do?”

  Without waiting for her luck to end, Amira charged the hateful woman. Another bolt shot straight for her chest and once again the knife grew hot. This time she saw it absorb the spell. Then she remembered how the knife cut through the magic shielding the wizard’s gems. With a feral grin, Amira slammed into the woman and plunged the dagger through the stunned woman’s chest, straight into her evil heart.

  The woman stared at Amira in shock. “Impossible. You can’t…” A gurgling cough cut off whatever the woman had left to say.

  Amira wiped the dagger clean on the woman’s sleeve before she responded, “Bet you didn’t see that coming.” She watched with great satisfaction as the last bit of life left the Prime Seer’s eyes.

  Amira searched the body for anything worth taking and wound up with just the staff and a small magical glow light that fit within the palm of her hand. Good enough. The first rays of dawn hit the plateau and, like a physical manifestation of her visions, lit up the large rock the seer had been protecting. Strapping her bags around her shoulders, Amira headed that way and hoped she could find the wizard in time.

  CHAPTER 6

  An Old Enemy

  Radcliff woke to a pounding headache and a body that felt like it had been dragged across all the boulders in the wasteland. His hands and feet were tied together behind his back, leaving him belly down and breathing dirt. The very air reeked of underground. Definitely not where I was before sleeping.

  Keeping his breathing steady and shallow, he listened to see if anyone else was there with him. Silence at first. Then, somewhere below, a distant dripping sound which suggested an underground source of water. There was the rustling of small rodents, but nothing else. Reassured, he opened his eyes only to stare back at absolute darkness.

  “Amira?” he whispered. No reply. The dripping sound and the bitter, metallic taste in his mouth was an added torture to his body’s aches. Hopefully there was a way to reach the water. He began conjuring a light but the spike of pain splitting his skull snuffed that idea. Perhaps he should have held off on that final summoning.

  Face it, you were trying to impress the lady.

  Radcliff ignored the irritating mental voice and tried to come up with an idea for escaping the pitch black creepy underground cave while trussed up like a hog for the spit.

  Good job using up all your magic. Now you are helpless.

  He might be magically helpless but that didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything else.

  You should just give up and die right now.

  Depression slammed into Radcliff with brutal force while a bleak despair shrouded him like a thick fog. He thrashed against his bonds in a desperate bid to break free of both physical and mental chains, but they tightened the more he struggled.

  Die! Die! Die!

  The self-torture seemed to go on forever until an image popped into his mind—a picture of him trying to kill himself while still tied up. The impossibility made him laugh hysterically, and sliced a thin wedge through the bleakness. The miasma recoiled in surprise. Sensing weakness, Radcliff blasted it with more laughter, causing it to flee back into the corner of his mind. Slowly the madness faded and Radcliff sagged with relief until other voices returned to torment him.

  The woman betrayed you.

  It’s no use, sunrise is near. Then you truly will be as helpless as a newborn baby.

  Shut up! Radcliff roared back. If you don’t have anything helpful to contribute, then stay silent, he ordered. The silence in his mind came as a shock. He poised, ready to strike at any other voices, but none piped up with their unwanted opinions. Determined to keep the voices silent and avoid thinking about how crazy that likely made him, Radcliff dove into the problem of how to remove the bonds.

  First that would require searching the area for something sharp. In order to do that, he would actually need to move. Tied up as he was, moving anywhere would be a challenge. Radcliff settled on a combination of rocking side to side and using his knees and shoulders to make a convoluted forward motion. The lack of air flow, a sense of weight ahead, and his limited mobility options encouraged him to explore in that direction. When he finally brushed up against solid stone, he used his cheek to search for something rough or sharp. Inch by inch he crawled along the bottom of the rock wall, stopping to rest whenever his muscles cramped up. Time seemed to drag to a standstill. Sweaty despite the chill, Radcliff grew frustrated after the tenth time he had to take a break without success. After the next such halt, he came close to cheering when something pointy jabbed into his cheek.

  Of course, finding a means to slice his bonds was the easy part. The harder task lay in contorting his numb limbs high enough to reach while ignoring the muscle spasms that shot through his back. It was an awkward and slow process. He would rock his bound limbs over where he thought the sharp projection was and half the time it would slice into skin. Then he’d have to rest before trying again. Soon, the ropes became saturated with his blood and sweat.

  After what seemed like an eternity, one of the ropes snapped and he was able to free his hands. White hot needles of pain shot through the numb fingers. He flexed them to restore circulation and gritted his teeth until he regained enough feeling to free his legs.

  It took several minutes of massage before Radcliff tried to stand, and when he did, his legs buckled and he crashed into the rough stone wall. He clung to it until they were able to support him. Then, using the wall as a guide, Radcliff shuffled towards the dripping water sound. After slamming into a stone column, he grew more careful and swept a leg in an arc before taking a step. The sound of water grew tantalizingly close when he heard footsteps and froze. Then he heard voices.

  “The girl has gone missing.”

  “Well don’t just stand there, get a group together and go find her. Then bring her to me.” The last order was almost lost to the angry echoes which kept reverberating long after the lackey’s running footsteps faded.

  “Now, where is my latest prize?”

  There was a sinister element to the now quiet, sibilant voice that made Radcliff shudder.

  The footsteps came closer. “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

  Radcliff shrank into the shadows as light spilled past. Looking around, he didn’t see a better place to hide, but he spied a rock and picked it up, ready to use it as a weapon.

  “Radcliff… I know you are near. Be a good little prisoner and step forth!”

  How did he know my name? As soon as the stranger came around the corner, Radcliff struck for his head.

  His opponent must have sensed the attack because he pulled back enough to avoid the major blow and got clipped in the mouth instead. The man gr
unted in pain, then shot a blast of force into Radcliff, knocking him into the wall and pinning him down.

  “That hurt and almost got you killed,” the tall cloaked man said as he stalked closer. He stopped less than a foot in front of Radcliff and wiped a dribble of blood off his mouth. A lantern in the man’s other hand gave off a green glow that cast distorted shadows on the bottom half of his face, making his swelling lip appear overly large and turning his nose into a sharp spike. The man ran his tongue slowly across his palm to clean it of blood and gave a throaty groan of pleasure. When he was finished, he looked up at Radcliff and smirked.

  “I’m still learning about my latest acquisition. Force punch. Like it?” At Radcliff’s continued silence, the man huffed in irritation. “Of course you don’t remember, do you? Last time we met, a long time ago, I wasn’t as magically endowed and you weren’t as forgetful.” He snickered. “Or well, you were, but just not until after I left.” He stepped closer and examined Radcliff closely. “It seems you’ve aged…”

  Radcliff flinched as the man’s unnaturally cold, scarred fingers ran across his face. He tried to shrink away from the touch but the spell kept him immobile. The man’s breath smelled like rotting corpses and exuded a wrongness that set him on edge.

  “That’s my fault of course.” He stroked Radcliff’s temples. “I took your power. You weren’t using it anyway.” The man peered intently at Radcliff before sighing. “You’re no fun. You don’t fear me like you should.” His petulant pout slowly morphed into a sick parody of a sensual display when the man ran his tongue slowly over his bottom lip and moaned. “I wish you could remember what I did to you. How painful it was.”

  Every nerve screamed at Radcliff to flee or at least not to cause more attention than he already had, but if there was any chance this man could return his memory, he’d take it and face the consequences. “Restore my memory then,” he goaded.

  “Sadly, only the council can do that.” The man placed both palms on either side of Radcliff’s head and leaned closer. “They sealed their spells with their own magical signatures. The girl lets me steal abilities, but not those.”

  “The girl?” Radcliff asked while still trying to process the revelation about the council. He needed his journal to write that down before he forgot. And how long until sunrise? He knew somehow it wasn’t much longer.

  The man stepped away from Radcliff and began pacing in the narrow corridor. “Ah yes, I will introduce you very soon. And then I will take your summoning ability for my own.”

  Radcliff was so relieved the man wasn’t touching him anymore that it took a few seconds for his words to penetrate. “What?”

  “Your meddling companion should have left you in the tower. At least there you’d still be alive. I don’t have the means to harness your power again but I rather like the idea of being able to summon things.”

  Radcliff tried not to gag when the foul smelling man stopped pacing and stood nose to nose with him.

  “Yes, this will work out much better.” He leaned in even closer so he could whisper in Radcliff’s ear. “Of course, for me to gain your powers permanently, you’ll have to die.” He leaned back and shrugged. “Too bad for you. And so good for me.” The foul man chortled and spittle landed on Radcliff’s cheek.

  Only the certain knowledge that the spell would let him choke on his own vomit lent Radcliff the will to hold it back.

  “In fact, I should thank your companion for bringing you to me.” The man sighed in dramatic fashion and continued in a fake-sorry tone. “Oh, too bad she’s dead.”

  Radcliff felt gut punched. No, she couldn’t be dead.

  The man’s smile grew impossibly wide. “Oh, this is truly exciting! You actually care for her even though she’s the reason you are here to die.” Then he laughed.

  The hairs on the back of Radcliff’s head stood on end. That was no normal man’s laugh but the sound of a torturer who enjoyed playing with his prey. Radcliff struggled to break free, but it still held him fast.

  “Since we have some time to kill, I may as well have a bit of fun.” As the man stepped back into Radcliff’s personal space, he reached into a pocket and pulled out a metal thimble with a sharp spike an inch long protruding from the front. He placed it on his index finger before lightly pressing it against Radcliff’s chest. “Favorite of the emperor,” he spat. “I wanted your death for a long time and when that interfering witch thwarted your execution I was livid.” He cut through the leather tunic and ripped it open. “Then I thought of another plan. Why not steal your power? Hmm, let’s see if you are as tough and stubborn as you once were. Will you scream for me?” He shoved the point into Radcliff’s flesh and dragged it horizontally across his chest.

  The burning pain was excruciating but Radcliff refused to make a sound. It likely didn’t matter, but the indomitable will that fought the voices also refused to give any satisfaction to his torturer.

  “No? Very well. How about we remove a finger?”

  Radcliff’s heart raced and sweat trickled down his neck. If he wanted to live, he needed a plan, soon. He watched, helpless, as the thimble spike moved slowly across his chest to his shoulder, then ran along his arm to his fingertips. The sadist was enjoying his fear and drawing it out. Radcliff intensified his struggles against the magic keeping him locked in place, but nothing budged. In desperation, he delved into his magic and nearly blacked out at the pain. This time though, there was something just outside his reach. He just needed to buy more time.

  Desperate, Radcliff began to laugh.

  The needle paused. “What’s so funny?” his captor asked.

  Radcliff kept laughing as he watched the man’s pleasure-sated smile turn into a thin, angry line. A fist connected with his gut and Radcliff wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath.

  “Speak!”

  Spittle struck Radcliff’s cheek. The disgusting, death-stench smell of the oozing phlegm forced him to swallow a rush of bile to avoid throwing up. He sucked in another painful breath, this time through his mouth, and focused on provoking his captor some more. “I just realized how scared you must be of me.”

  “What do you mean?” The soft voice was poised menace waiting to pounce.

  “With all your stolen magic and my lack, you still had to pin me helpless before you dared get close. I must have really done something to you in the past.” Then Radcliff smirked. He didn’t even see the punch that crashed into the right side of his face but he did hear the man’s bellow of incoherent rage. As darkness reached out to engulf him, he consoled himself that at least broken bones could mend unlike missing pieces.

  “The Prime’s not back yet and we have strangers approaching the entrance.”

  The panicked voice brought Radcliff back to awareness at the same time a fiery pain exploded across his skull. A groan escaped before he could muster the willpower to stifle it. He cracked his eyes open a slit to assess the damage, though only the left one cooperated. Radcliff sighed with relief to see the cloaked man at the other end of the corridor. Good, he wasn’t close. Likely he didn’t realize his prisoner had awakened.

  The familiar sinister voice replied in a brisk, clipped tone. “Probably some of the council’s men. Block the entrance and prepare a defense.”

  “But what about the Prime?”

  The man slammed the lackey against the wall and put an arm across his throat. “Do not question me. The Prime can take care of herself. Do what you must but do not let them get through.” He released the underling and shoved him out of Radcliff’s view. There was a brief pause of silence before running footsteps that faded quickly. The lackey was gone. Torture would resume shortly.

  Radcliff struggled to clear his mind. His body had suffered more damage after losing consciousness but his plan to gain more time worked. Was it enough? Ignoring the tremors of fear caused with each approaching step, Radcliff dove deep and searched for the elusive thread he saw earlier. He would only have one shot at this. But what could he actually do with
such little power? He had spent hours reading the journal and memorizing each item—summoning several. Most items required too much power or wouldn’t do enough damage. Then he remembered the vial. An acid designed to melt stone. What would it do to human flesh? He didn’t have the memories to answer that, but it was the best he could come up with.

  The man grinned at Radcliff. “Are you ready to squeal my stuck little pig?”

  Radcliff ignored the man and pictured the vial located in a forgotten store room at the emperor’s fortress. It was dusty and cobwebs surrounded it on the wooden shelf in the back corner. The air smelled stale. The liquid in the vial was clear, viscous, and had a sharp metallic tang. He didn’t even notice the scrape of metal on flesh while he held the fully formed image in his mind and captured the tiny thread of magic. His will was unbreakable even as the needle slid into the tip of his little finger. Object in mind, thread in hand, nothing else existed except the man’s mouth opened in sadistic pleasure. That’s when he pulled and then pushed.

  The man’s scream was high pitched and frightening but ended abruptly. He dropped to the ground like a cut puppet and began to thrash violently as his mouth frothed and dissolved away.

  The force spell snapped and Radcliff stumbled away, wincing with each step, until he finally got enough distance to avoid colliding with the man’s wild gyrations. He watched in cold satisfaction as the man stilled. When he stepped closer to make sure the man was dead, a black vapor erupted from the ruins of the corpse and swirled around the body. Radcliff recoiled at a terrible sense of evil and stumbled back several steps while keeping an eye on the unnatural smoke. Like a snake it struck at him but jerked to a stop just short of touching him. It formed a toothy maw and hissed in anger before shooting up into the ceiling, leaving Radcliff trembling and faint. What in the world was that? Or maybe the better question to ask was what not in the world was it? When he looked back at the body, it had collapsed like an empty sack until nothing but shriveled skin remained along with a foul stench of blood and decay.