Dread of Spirit: Rise of the Mage - Book One

by Jason Bilicic

  “Kelc…wasting water,” Varrl said, sounding annoyed more than angry.

  Kelc pulled his hands from beneath the brass spigot and dried them before shutting it off. He then stared at the spout, concentrating, trying to keep his panic in check. Why is this greeching happening, he thought. But the same two words formed in his mind, as if etched there by the Territorial Warden himself: dark practitioner.

  “I’ve a plate for you, youngest,” Adda called out. “Come eat it while it’s warm. Sure you’re hungry since you lost your breakfast.”

  “Yeah,” Kelc answered, numbly moving to the kitchen bench and sitting with Kreg. A plate of fried mushrooms and potatoes waited there.

  “You’re going to need your strength, little brother, if the warden and his deputies arrive in a foul mood,” Kreg said through a mouthful of potatoes. “I need you strong.”

  Kelc looked to Kreg and nodded, his expression tired and vexed. He felt as far from strong as he ever had, yet support for him came from the least likely source.

  “He’ll be ready, Kreg,” Varrl said evenly, silencing the room, drawing every eye in the house. Kelc’s chest tightened, so surprised and fearful did he feel upon hearing his father’s words. He considered the many different ways that his father’s words might apply as Varrl’s solemn grey eyes found his, expressing nothing. “He’ll be ready.”

  Kelc stood with his father and brother on the porch, watching the three riders come across the plain to the north, zigzagging through the sea of brown grass, generally headed towards the house, but with no sense of urgency.

  “They use every moment to test us,” Varrl said, watching the warden and his deputies.

  “We’re a land of warriors, father.” Kreggen’s words were iron, uncompromising. “Takes a hard man to control the likes of us, and to deal with the evils of the world.”

  Varrl snorted a laugh. “It does.”

  “The kings of old created Symea with the sword,” Kelc offered, “but they ruled through understanding their people, through knowing their worth.” He took a deep breath. “They gave them strength and pride. I don’t think they would have allowed their wardens to act this way.”

  Varrl raised a clenched fist, turning to his youngest. “Hells, Kelc, just stay silent. You’re the last person that should…”

  “Father,” Kreg interrupted, suddenly looking imperious, his gaze falling on his father. “Leave him be,” he commanded. “He’s right after all.”

  “Kreg, you…”

  “Father,” Kreggen said again. “No more.”

  Kelc winced, easing a half step away from his father, preparing for the explosion that must follow, but it didn’t come.

  “Fine,” growled Varrl. “Leastwise not until after we deal with these puffed up fools.” He laughed looking out at the warden and his men. “Let them come.”

  It took nearly a glass for the three lawmen to arrive, but they did, riding right up to the porch as casually as neighbors, sliding off of their mounts, thudding hard to the ground, their armor and weapons ringing out as they did.

  “Varrl,” the warden said, stepping around his horse to the bottom of the porch steps.

  “Warden,” Kelc’s father responded, looking at the gray-haired man before him, offering a nod.

  Alkern Tasher stood only a knuckle taller than Varrl, though he bore more muscle on his frame. His eyes, green and intelligent, never rested in one place for more than a breath, always surveying, judging his surroundings. It gave him an air of nervousness though his stance and surety of speech belied that appearance. His grey hair was cut short, nearly square on his head where it shone almost white, giving way to increasing darker hues until it arrived dark grey in the warden’s well-trimmed beard and mustache.

  He wore worn studded leather armor over his torso and heavy gloves. Three swords hung from his thick belt, and two axes crossed his back. His boots, the soles hard shod, the necks wrapped in heavy protective leather, looked older than the man.

  Behind him stood Hull Jista, imposing and dark, his eyes an accusation. Next to him, a full head shorter than Jista, Dell Pyter looked everywhere but at Varrl and his sons, seemingly disinterested in whatever events the day held.

  He looked almost a boy with Tasher and Jista standing so close, and yet he moved with an easy grace that spoke of skill. He wore no armor and carried only one sword on his hip, looking more like a carnival actor than a swordsman with his pale yellow tunic, dark purple vest and forest green pants.

  His smooth clean-shaven face housed Symean grey eyes below short brown hair. As Kelc looked him over, Pyter sighed as if bored.

  “We’ve come to look the place over,” Alkern said. “My men have seen some things around these parts. Just need to look into them.” The warden’s eyes bounced from Varrl to Kelc to Kreg. “All that taken care of, then I’ll have a look at your boy. See if he’s got skill enough to serve.”

  “Look where you will,” Varrl told him. “We’ve nothing to hide, nor any secrets that dog us.” Kelc’s father stepped down from the porch, his face even with Tasher’s. “Show respect as you do. I’m Symean, as is my family. We deserve nothing less.”

  “Very well,” the warden answered. “Then let’s begin. I wish to see some of your family, one at a time. Who do you suggest I begin with.”

  “Depends on what you’re after, Tasher.”

  “I’m the Territorial Warden, Varrl. I seek those that have broken the law or those that might be inclined towards evil.” Alkern slowly turned and nodded at Hull Jista. “My deputy says there are signs of dark practice on your property.”

  “Jista’s a paranoid fool who sees those of us that cut a real life from these lands as nothing more than cattle to be butchered,” Varrl barked. Kelc’s stomach tightened and he held his breath.

  “Be respectful, you said.” It was obvious that the warden disliked Varrl. “Now, who might I start with, Symean?”

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Varrl turned and pointed at Kelc. “Start with my youngest there.”

  “Pyter, take the boy for a walk and test him.”

  Kelc nearly passed out, his eyes dimming a bit before he willed himself to deal with his fate like a man.

  “Pyter?” Varrl guffawed. “All this time you’ve sent your dogs to hound us and now, when the job must be done, Hull Jista heels like a hound and you send Pyter.” Kelc’s father stepped up to face Jista, pushing his nose nearly to the deputy’s. “Have him do it.”

  Jista bared his teeth but said nothing, his hand inching to his steel.

  “Silence, fool. Ever has your mouth been louder than folks can stand.” Tasher stepped up to the two men. “Perhaps that’s why you live out here amongst only the dead.” The warden barked a laugh, but neither Varrl nor his deputy spared a glance in his direction. “Fine then. Hull, go test the boy.”

  Jista, his face flushed red, just waved for Kelc to follow him as he turned away from the house and Varrl, casually making his way out among the headstones. “Come on, boy,” he called out when he noticed that Kelc remained on the porch.

  “Kelc, damn it all, get your ass out there so we can be done with this!” Varrl shouted, redirecting his own anger.

  “Father,” Kreggen snapped, waking Kelc from his fright. “If you say one more foul thing today, I will pound you around this yard and then put you on your back. Quiet,” he growled as Varrl looked to respond, his face flushed crimson. “Quiet.” Kreg turned from his enraged father to Kelc. “Brother, go out there and let them test you. They may draw steel, ask you questions…” he shook his head slightly. “Give them answers.”

  Kelc faced Kreggen as he spoke, unable to say a thing, so he nodded instead.

  “Go,” Kreg urged him, reaching out and patting his shoulder and shoving him a little. “Go.”

  Kelc felt numb, as if the world vibrated all about him, making it impossible for him to focus on any one thing or settle himself.

  He moved across the porch and stumbled down the steps, past Varrl, st
ill seething with his fists clenched and his eyes closed as he took deep breaths, and Alkern, his eyes jumping from Kelc to his father and back.

  Dell Pyter glanced at the young man, his grey eyes dismissing him as soon as he saw him, a wry smile on his lips. He bent to the ground and plucked a blade of dead grass up, twiddling it between his fingers.

  Kelc kept walking, Hull Jista standing before him, the huge man looking annoyed, his black eyes severe as they watched unflinchingly.

  The door to the house shut hard, forcing Kelc to look back. His mother stood on the porch next to Kreggen. As soon as she caught her youngest son’s eyes, she spoke.

  “Stand capable, Kelc.” Her arms crossed under her bosom, her hands clutching her elbows. “Stand capable.” She bowed her head, eyes closed.

  He turned from his mother, feeling a warmth in his arms and legs, as if the world, still vibrating, allowed some of that energy to enter his flesh.

  “Let’s go, boy,” Jista said as he walked, his back to Kelc.

  The two of them walked for quite a time, leaving the house well behind before Jista turned to face Kelc.

  “Hold out your arm,” said the huge man as he dug into a pouch on his belt. “Draw your sleeve back so that your skin is exposed.”

  Kelc extended his right arm and drew his sleeve back. He shivered though the cold air had nothing to do with it.

  Jista reached into the small pouch, getting a pinch of something while his other hand drew a sword, letting the tip fall until it was hidden by the swaying blades of the grass.

  “Have you practiced any dark arts?” Hull Jista asked, his tone rhetorical.

  “No,” Kelc answered, looking at the ground.

  “Are you afraid of me, boy?”

  Kelc lifted his eyes to Jista’s. “Yes.”

  One of the deputy’s eyes narrowed in distaste as an uncomfortable silence drew out. “Good,” he finally said. “Now let’s see how well you lie.” Jista reached out and dribbled what looked like shavings of carrot onto his arm, while raising his sword to a striking position.

  Kelc looked at the small ribbons that caught in his arm hair, clenching his teeth, his free hand gravitating to his skiver.

  Both men stared at the spirals of material that rested on Kelc’s arm. Jista edged forward, lowering his eyes to get a closer look at the young man. His eyes squinted as if to gain focus.

  Kelc’s hand landed on his dagger, his fingers closing on the wire grip.

  “Huh,” Jista breathed. “Only one other way to find out. I’m going to strike you a few times, boy. You just parry. Do you understand?”

  Kelc nodded slowly, drawing his sword and skiver. Jista looked at the black blade, raising an eyebrow.

  “A murderer’s shiv, is it?” the deputy snorted. “You have to deal for that from some traveling merchant? Spend the few princes you had on it?”

  “It was a trade from Cobb Gebbelson,” Kelc said.

  “Cobb made that?”

  Kelc nodded.

  “Fine. Stand ready.

  Despite his size, Jista dropped into a battle stance with ease, his sword in action.

  Kelc hardly got his curved sword up in front of the steel, the shot so hard that sparks leapt up off of the metal.

  “Aaahhh!” Jista swept a second blow into Kelc with such speed that only the cross guard kept the edge from his skin.

  The third attack blazed at Kelc faster than he could move his scimitar. His offhand jumped up, putting the skiver in the path of the oncoming attack.

  The resulting clash rang out off key and the skiver flew from his hand, hissing through the air. Along with it hurtled Jista’s blade, sheared off of the hilt that he still clutched even as he spun to the ground.

  “Hells,” the deputy growled as he crashed into the grass, his broken blade and momentum betraying him.

  Sweat suddenly drenched Kelc. He stumbled back one step, then another, and fell dumbly on his backside, his sword still before him, still ready should Jista proceed with another attack. He worked the fingers on his left hand, the one that held the skiver, his bones sore after absorbing the powerful shot.

  All at once, the world quieted, the buzzing stopped, and cold air washed over Kelc, raising goose prickles all over his body. He felt that he could focus, that his senses worked correctly, his surroundings calm.

  He shook the few orange-colored ribbons of material from his arm, suddenly irritating him, and climbed to his feet. He swallowed hard before speaking, still terrified, but steady after beating two of Jista’s trials.

  “Is there another test, deputy?”

  Jista barked a laugh and looked up at Kelc, shaking his head. “No, lad. There’s not. That is the damnedest thing I’ve ever seen. Gonna have to get Cobb to make my new blade.” The deputy raised a hand and Kelc sheathed his sword and used both of his hands to help the large man regain his feet.

  Together they recovered their blades, Jista’s broken scimitar and Kelc’s skiver. The base of the black dagger boasted a sizable notch.

  “That is some greeching piece of iron,” the deputy said. “Keep hold of it, lad. Today it gave you the rest of your life.”

  Side by side, the two of them walked back to the house. Varrl now stood next to his oldest son, with Adda on the other side.

  “Well?” Tasher said.

  “Nothing.” Jista sniffed, then wiped his nose with the back of his arm. “He’s not the bravest, nor the fastest, but the boy’s Symean through and through. Broke my greeching blade. Busted it clean in half.”

  Kelc stumped back up the steps, onto the porch, his footsteps heavy on the wood. He stood as far from his father as he could, next to his mother.

  “Are we done with this farce?” Varrl snarled. “There’s no one else here to try, unless you seek to try me, or my wife. Or Kreggen. And if you think that you’ve no more sense than my horses.”

  “There’s another,” the warden stated, his eyes narrowing on Adda before he looked sideways at Dell Pyter, who still loafed, it seemed. “Pyter,” Tasher said, his words sharp, “go in the house and bring me the daughter.”

  Pyter’s head snapped up, his grey eye’s on the warden. “Hmm?” came from him, seemingly interrupted from his aloof endeavor.

  “The girl,” the warden growled. “Bring me the girl.”

  Kelc surged forward, but his mother backed up into his way, stalling his unsure effort.

  “No, youngest!” she spat quietly.

  He started to shove past her.

  “No!” Her green eyes stared unflinching, her jaw set. “Let him bring her. Let them judge her.” Her son looked at her for a moment, seeing real concern, seeing…love, in her. It completely disarmed him, relaxed his rage. He hadn’t seen such unquestioned compassion in her for years, since he was little more than a toddling boy.

  She’d been concerned with his whereabouts and carried on and shook her head when he was injured, usually offering to bind his wounds, but this, a look so vulnerable that anyone could see how much she loved him…had been rare.

  “Yes,” Varrl agreed behind her. “And do not spoil her,” he growled, addressing the warden. “She’ll marry soon enough and I won’t have it be said that she was used by your men. Could cost me coin.”

  “Coin,” Adda muttered in disgust, barely audible, shaking her head once, violently. “Fool,” Kelc heard her hiss, though no one else, it seemed, could hear.

  “Father,” Kreg said again, and again Varrl quieted.

  Hells, Kelc thought, is the ability to fight with a sword so important that Kreg can take over the whole house because father knows he can’t beat him? It infuriated Kelc. In part because that meant that Kreggen could have changed things long ago. It also upset him because he knew he’d never be good enough to beat Varrl. By eighteen, Kreg had been able to fight their father to a draw. Kelc still got disarmed in five strokes, maybe fewer.

  “Skeesh.” His mother glanced at him as he swore.

  The door banged open and Pyter came through with
Shaia behind him. Kelc couldn’t help but stare.

  His sister’s hair, braided down each side and joined in the back of her head by a maroon ribbon, pulled her hair back from her beautiful angular face, letting the sun fill her brown eyes. She wore a fitted grey dress that fell in a ‘V’ down her chest as if it was very low cut, but a panel of cream-colored satin filled it. Dark grey shoes clicked on the porch under her skirts, with straps and raised heels.

  Kelc yearned to steal her away and enjoy the sight of her without others, without the fear and confusion. If I could swing a sword like they do, he thought, looking over all the other men, I’d… What?

  Five skilled fighters stood within ten paces and Kelc couldn’t beat the least of them. Even if he were Kreggen, or the warden, what could he do against five men. He frowned. What good is wishing?

  Shaia looked at her mother as she walked, letting her concerned eyes wander to Kelc before she passed them and dropped down the porch stairs, following the deputy.

  “You will not attack her as you did me, I trust,” Kelc said. “When your first test fails?”

  Jista looked to him. “No. But it seems hardly likely that a second test will be needed with that one.”

  “Why? What have you seen that makes you so sure?” Rage again poured through Kelc. “What signs brought you so far, to our property, telling you that she is some witch and that I am a dark practitioner. What signs make you so confident, deputy? You stood ready to execute me, Jista, but I passed your damned tests. You came here certain,” he spat. “You came here wrong.”

  “True lad. That’d be true. With her, though, more has been seen. We’ll leave it at that unless the test does her in.” He sucked in a lung full of air and let it escape his nose. “If she proves true, as you did, then it be a mistake.”

  “I think you need a new system for tracking down such things…such people, deputy. It makes the people doubt…”

  “It works well enough,” Tasher snapped. “Leave off, boy. Look to your sister.”