Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

  Griz’mar. So, Zoe had returned. “Here,” Kasbin handed her a few sovereigns. “Why don’t you go buy some sweets from Aunt Claire’s shop.”

  “Thanks Dad!” she called, waving as she ran.

  Lorewell rejoiced at the return of their champions. Morale was high as news of the alliance with the Men of Dawn spread throughout town. Daily shipments of produce, farming supplies and building materials came into the valley. Coins exchanged hands as the markets prospered. The atmosphere, jubilant. At night, the valley glowed from torches and camp fires as merriment reigned. There was music and dancing. Drinking and frivolity.

  Following the pathway with light from her lantern, Zoe made her way to Kasbin’s tent. The sounds of gaiety fading as she strolled through the secluded areas behind the Tower of Analetta. The clairvoyant had been apologetic during their meeting in the afternoon, his spells unsuccessful in locating Tairrie. As a member of the Sisterhood of Aluness, Tairrie was a powerful mage and warded from detection spells, protecting her from enemies who sought to do her harm. Failure, a temporary hindrance. There were other, more unorthodox methods at Kasbin’s disposal.

  Eccentric and whimsical, the tent was unique in its charm. A grail for those seeking answers. A glimpse into future destinies. Pulling aside the curtain, Zoe entered. There was a noticeable drop in temperature. An intense feeling of dread and foreboding assaulted her. Despite the many candles burning, gloom lingered. Shadows moved. Kasbin was sitting behind his table, engulfed in an aura of woeful dejection.

  “God, Kasbin,” Zoe sat across from him. “What have you been doing in here? Summoning demons?”

  “Not demons,” he removed the cloth covering the crystal ball before him. “Just the dead.”

  “The dead?” The overbearing malice within the tent was suffocating. Zoe felt it was dangerous to meddle in such unholy affairs.

  “Did you get your pack ready?” Kasbin told her in the afternoon that if they were successful tonight, her departure would be sudden and to be fully prepared for a long journey.

  “No.” Zoe shrugged.

  “Why not?”

  “Kasbin, I’m an angel. Unlike man, I don’t need food or rest and can travel faster than any mortal. I don’t need to take anything.”

  “Of course. Sorry, Zoe. Sometimes I forget.” An easy thing to do. The truth of Zoe’s identity was kept secret from most. With her divinity concealed, she appeared as ordinary as everyone else. “Alright. Shall we?” It was time to begin. “There is no stronger bond than that of blood. Dead relatives often come to their kin in times of need or distress. They can always find their blood. They are drawn to it, like beacons burning brightly in the void.”

  “You want to use Tairrie’s ancestors to find her?”

  Darkness clawed at Kasbin’s neck. He took a deep breath. Oh, if only Tairrie’s lineage were as strong as she. “I tried. I truly did. And for a while, I made contact. They were here, her family, but fled from the terror of spirits who also came, summoned by the mere mention of Tairrie’s name.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Tairrie has spent years hunting witches. Killing Jidarr occultists. There are vengeful dead who harbour eternal hatred towards her. When I call out to her family, these malevolent phantoms are drawn, driven by venomous desire.”

  “Can’t you cast them away?”

  “Of course. There are few different methods to dispel them. The only problem is that using cleansing magic banishes all spirits. Both good and evil. I do not have the skill to separate them.” As Kasbin spoke, Zoe slumped in her chair. “It’s ok, though. Despite the fact that the spirits want Tairrie dead, we can still use them to find her.”

  “We can?” Zoe straightened herself.

  “It won’t be a pleasant journey for you and there are some strict rules I’ll need you to follow.” Kasbin placed a bag of runes on the table.

  “Rules? What are they?”

  “Do not, under any circumstance, talk to the spirit. We’re summoning it to find Tairrie. If it strays from that goal and starts thinking for itself, it will become confused and turn violent. You can however, ask it questions or give it commands. Where is Tairrie? Find Tairrie. Take me to Tairrie. Do not stray from that line of inquiry. You’ll have to pretend you want to kill Tairrie, too. The spirit won’t guide you if it thinks you want to help her. In fact, the spirit will attack you and you’ll have to destroy it.”

  “What happens when it finds Tairrie? Will the spirit try and attack her?”

  “There’s a good chance it will. It’s important that as soon as you find her, destroy the spirit. If we’re unfortunate enough to summon the spirit of a Jidarr, it could manifest itself into a demon and become quite powerful, but it shouldn’t be anything you can’t handle.”

  “Alright.” Zoe rubbed her hands on her knees. ‘I can do this.’

  Runes placed in the formation of the Wanderer’s Key began to emit a faint light as Kasbin recited the ancient verses. Candles flickered. Zoe heard the sound of broken voices as the veil between worlds began to fade. Darkness encroached them. Wisps of spirits floated around the table. Ghostly hands reaching inwards were burnt by the glow of the crystal ball and the curious phantoms retreated to the darkness.

  Kasbin called out to Tairrie’s lineage, beckoning them to approach the light. A mother’s voice answered. Laboured, filled with concern. A ghostly visage materialised beside Kasbin. The woman, her face heavy with grief and dismay, called for her daughter. There came a man’s voice. Broken, unable to fully pierce the spectral divide. His muttered words resonated with hostility and anger. Frightened, the woman stepped away, hesitated for a moment, then disappeared.

  The spectral form of a man took shape. His back arched. Arms, twisted and cruel.

  “This is it, Zoe.” The atmosphere within the tent was stifling. Rage manifested. “Order the spirit to take you to Tairrie.”

  As Zoe interacted with the phantom, Kasbin felt a heavy presence seize him. A black, inhuman hand rested upon his shoulder. Dry blood smeared across its grotesque fingers. Fear consumed Kasbin and he had not the courage to look behind him. The light of the crystal began to wane. Zoe stood, she followed the spirit to the tent door and turned say farewell to Kasbin.

  “Kasbin, it worked! Don’t worry, I’ll remember everything you told me. See you in a few days.” Morphing into a spectral entity, Zoe slipped out of the tent and into the stillness of the night. Staying close behind the phantom, the pair drifted as eerie apparitions through the streets of Lorewell.

  Alone in the darkness, Kasbin could hear the deep rasping of the demon’s breath. A chill swept over him. The veil between worlds was not to be trifled with, yet Kasbin, ignoring his better judgement had thrown caution to the wind in his quest to find Tairrie. Reaching forwards, he pushed the runes off the table, breaking the spell and closing the door to the otherworldly realm.

  Candle flames grew strong, dissipating the shadows. Light returned and with it, a semblance of placidity. With his face in his hands, Kasbin regretted his folly knowing he allowed a new, unnameable horror to enter the mortal realm.

  ****

  Shirtless, brawny men laboured purposefully within the Surangi encampment. Makeshift tents lined the border of the camp, erected to house the workers as they laid the foundations for a modest fort. The first of many Surangi outposts.

  Dismounting his steed, Dylan felt the sting of jealousy as he gazed upon the tall and muscular Surangi. His nimble frame allowed him to be the fastest scout in the regiment though it was also the root cause of his insecurity. Too often the soldiers of Kembleton reminded him of his weakness with brutish shoves and cruel japes.

  Detailed maps and architectural blueprints lay scattered across tables in the Cartographer’s Tent. Craftsmen and scholars crowded around the table, collaborating on the design schedule for their project. They spoke kindly to Dylan when he approached and directed him towards the Master’s Station.

  “My knights spoke highly of you upon their
return.” Master Greyson placed a scroll on his cluttered shelf. After each mission his men completed, a dozen more tasks came to light.

  “Routing cultists is my speciality, after all.” Tairrie poured herself a glass of wine and rested on a cushioned chair.

  Knocking politely, Dylan entered. “Ah, excuse me, Ser.”

  “Hello.” The sigil on his guest’s cloak identified him as a scout. “What can I do for you, my friend?”

  “I have a message for you, Ser. From Commander Stafford of Kembleton.”

  “Kembleton,” Greyson paused for a moment. “The merchant town to the south?”

  “That’s the one, Ser.” Dylan handed him the sealed envelope then stood back, nervously straightening his collar.

  A troubling report. Greyson’s brow creased as he read the letter. He glanced at the bundles of contracts and appointments yet to be completed. They would have to wait. Lord Brackish had given him strict orders to prioritise assisting local settlements in need of aid. Folding the letter, he passed it to Tairrie.

  “Sit with us for a while, would you?” Greyson gestured to a chair.

  “Thank you, Ser.” The cushions felt soft, relaxing Dylan’s stiff limbs after his tiresome journey.

  “The attack on your town was most unfortunate. I hope you didn’t lose anyone close to you?”

  “Not personally, Ser. No.” Dylan cleared his throat. “I’m with the scout regiment, so I don’t know many of the guards who man the gatehouse.”

  “I see.” Even within his company, soldiers and scouts rarely mingled. “Your commander’s report was quite vague in regards to the witch. Do you know anything about the incident that might help us track her down?”

  Having neither witnessed the attack nor spoken with the soldiers involved, Dylan had no helpful information. “Sorry, Ser. I don’t have anything I can add to the commander’s report.”

  “That’s alright,” Greyson suspected as much. “What about the lands surrounding Kembleton? Is there a particular region she might have fled to? Somewhere we should focus our search?”

  Dylan pondered the question before answering. “Nothing comes to mind. There isn’t much around. The forest is quite dangerous, so I doubt she’ll stay in there very long. Perhaps she’ll head for Warrensby. It’s the closest town, just north of our city.”

  After finishing Stafford’s report, Tairrie leant against the corner of Greyson’s desk. Something was amiss. The assailant was referred to as a witch, though Tairrie felt this to be wrong. Not intentionally, on the commander’s behalf. An oversight, perhaps. A way for straightforward folk to explain an event they weren’t able to fully understand. For the most part, witches are secretive, cautious. This attack is uncharacteristic of their behaviour. Another interesting observation Tairrie noted, there was not a single mention of magic being used within the report. The attacker fought with a large warhammer. This was also contradictory of what Tairrie knew of witches. Based on the information at hand, Tairrie surmised the woman to be a powerful berserker.

  Drawing Greyson’s attention with a sly cough, Tairrie hinted towards the door. Greyson nodded.

  “Warrensby, you say.” Greyson noted the name down on paper. “We’ll be sure to conduct a thorough investigation into the matter. You can inform Commander Stafford that we will bring this villain to justice.”

  “Of course, Ser. Thank you.”

  “It’s quite a long journey back to Kembleton. They’re preparing the evening meal in the pavilion. If you’d like, you may dine with my soldiers. I can have temporary lodgings arranged for you so that you may rest and return home in the morning.”

  Appreciating his host’s generous hospitality, Dylan agreed. He sighed with relief as he walked towards the pavilion, comforted by the thought of a warm bed. Night terrified him. Monsters stalked the land during the hours of darkness.

  “It’s not a witch,” Tairrie said as Greyson closed the station door. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, so why don’t you let me handle this one?”

  “I agree. It doesn’t sound like a witch.” Greyson laid a map of Southern Engalia across his table. He found Warrensby and tapped it with his finger. “You sound eager for this one, but I’m afraid I can’t let you go alone.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Since the request for aid has come from a Commander, I have to write it up in the register, making it an official matter.” His gaze was apologetic. “Even I have superiors to answer to.”

  “I understand.”

  “I can, however, include you in the mission.” Greyson ran the names of his Arcane Knights through his mind. His top warriors were currently occupied with other assignments. An idea came to him. “Actually, as a Mage of Aluness, I can entrust this mission to you, since you have superior knowledge of the region and assign three Arcane Knights to aid you, thus fulfilling my obligations and allowing you the freedom to deal with this as you see fit.”

  Leadership, an unexpected perk this early in their alliance. “I appreciate the gesture. You’ve got yourself a deal.” She shook Greyson’s hand. “How quickly can your knights be ready to depart?”

  “Want to get an early start while the trails still hot, huh?” To which Tairrie nodded. “I’ll have them ready for you within the hour.”

  Stars lit up the heavens. Horses thundered along the road. A windless night. The forests were calm. Trees unmoving as the riders passed below their towering limbs. Ignoring Dylan’s suggestion of Warrensby, Tairrie led the knights along the secret paths to Lancehill. Isolated, sheltered within the dense forest, Lancehill was a haven for the reclusive. Sparse few knew of its existence. Nomadic rogues often camped there, as did brigands when trading rarities on the underground market. It was the perfect refuge for an outlaw seeking to avoid capture.

  Dismounting by a stream which ran a jagged course along the base of the hill, Tairrie led the knights as they moved with stealth through the forest to the encampment above. No horses were bound to the hitching posts. Wooden huts, empty. Tairrie prodded the ashes in the central fireplace with her foot. A week old, no leads to be found here. She looked to the sky. ‘Midnight.’

  Westwards, they rode. Bound for Bent Tree Pass. An evil place, frequented by the occultists of Kenscade village.

  The witching hour was upon them as they brought their steeds into the haunting darkness below the colossal, unnaturally hunched tree. A cursed place of demon worship and sacrifice. Wicked phantoms, sensing the divine blessings bestowed upon Tairrie from the goddess Aluness, shrunk away from their hellish shrine. Choosing to skulk on the outskirts and avoid the holy mage so as not to be destroyed and cast into the void.

  Another failure. Kicking her horse into a gallop, Tairrie raced to the peak of a nearby ridge and sat, starring at the vast landscape before her. Where? Where would this warrior have gone? Warrensby? No. An inner voice implored her to seek elsewhere. A daunting riddle. Solemn and patient, the Arcane Knights waited behind her.

  Unwilling to waste precious hours on a third guess, it was time to return to the basics. The core of the hunt. To start at the beginning. Turning her steed, Tairrie headed for Kembleton.

  After hours of hard riding, the horses would need to rest soon. A further delay. ‘I should have known to start at Kembleton.’ Tairrie chastised herself as she rode, having allowed the warrior a considerable head start.

  Trails of crushed grass lay in the wake of the riders as they crossed the Raemon Plains. Dawn on the brink of the horizon. Leaving the shelter of their nests, coastal birds took flight. Their lonely cries carried upon the salty sea winds.

  The Ring of Maluein rested on Tairrie’s finger. A unique artefact from an age long past which grants its wearer the ability to see gul’dror, spirits of the damned who are ravenously obsessed with death and drawn to the hands of killers. Once attached to their host, they follow, ceaselessly. Craving a glimpse of a soul being torn from the mortal coil.

  Moving with purpose and speed, a gul’dror crossed through Tairrie’s line
of sight. Pulling on the reins, she halted and watched the abhorrent spirit as it floated above the grass. In the distance, in-line with the first gul’dror, was a second. Unable to see the spirit, the knights were befuddled by the sudden pause.

  “Found you.” Whether by fortune or dumb luck, Tairrie came to be pointed in the right direction. She spurred her horse on its new course. The fatigued beast’s breathing came laboured. “Not too much further now, my friend.” Softly, Tairrie brushed its neck.

  Muttering and whispering to themselves, several gul’dror lingered around the vicinity of Crystal’s camp. Oblivious to her ghostly entourage, she tightened the leather straps on her steed in preparation for a day of riding. A second horse stood by, saddle bags fully loaded. Both horses bore the sigil of Kembleton. Hearing the approaching riders, Crystal looked up. Adorned in Surangi armour, the Arcane Knights were unmistakable. Cursing, she turned her back to them, concealing her face below her cloak’s hood and wondering how the knights came to find her so quickly. Surely, this was to be the end of her furtiveness.

  The riders stopped a few feet away. Tairrie noted the warhammer on the ground beside the ashes of a firepit and starred down at the woman who, despite being approached, chose to remain with her back to them.

  “Hey, you there. We want a word with you.” Tairrie gestured to Brennan. The three knights dismounted and moved to confront Crystal.

  “You have no business with me.” Nonchalant, Crystal continued preparing her saddle. “I’m just passing through.”

  “Just passing through, are we? With stolen horses?” Tairrie leaned forward. “There’s no point playing this game. You know why we’re here.”

  “You’re right,” Crystal turned. Drew back her hood. “I do know why you’re here.”

  “General Terrifos?” As a member of the provincial army, Brennan served under Crystal on Pyrelle Island for many years before being reassigned to Master Greyson’s company and shipping off to Sapphiron. What was Crystal Terrifos doing here? Last Brennan heard, Crystal had returned home to the Terrifos Estate after the tragedy at Floreska.