Blood of the Lost: The Darkness Within Saga: Book 2

by JD Franx

  Their best bet would be if the tribe moved far enough south to be within eyesight of the Ghyreni Salt Desert. The warriors from the tribe wouldn’t chase them into the desert and risk encountering the mysterious race of scorpion-people living there. Alia told her she had crossed it before when she lived in Salzara. If the Kordanu tribe kept the same pace and direction they were going, the salt desert would be visible in a week or so, but if they headed into the mountains, the desert would remain out of reach.

  Only time would tell.

  ELLORYA/SALZARA BORDER

  DOCK OF ONE, TWIN CITIES

  Dominique Havarrow leaned against a stack of crates as he waited for the Dock of One’s harbour master to finish reviewing his ship’s log. Known to sailors as the D’One, the shared border-port was the Twin Cities of Alegra and Argela’s most distinguished feature. With Alegra situated on Salzara’s side of the border and Argela in Ellorya, the Southern Kingdom’s largest seaport was a constant swarm of activity. It was also extremely difficult for criminals and nefarious individuals to enter from the seaward side. All ship logs and documentation had to be provided, while sailors and ship names were checked for wants and warrants before any ship’s crew were granted access to the bustling two cities.

  After sailing the treacherous waters of the Ghyreni Desert’s SaltRock River, Dominique and his crew were more than ready for some time ashore. After the unforeseen delay that took him and six Suns of Blood ships to Dasal, finally they were back to Suns of Blood business. To make up time, his first mate, Shasta Trey, suggested using the SaltRock River in order shave ten days travel from their sails. Most crews, pirate, merchant, or military would have mutinied at the mere thought.

  The crews of the Twilight Reave and the six ships following Havarrow voiced two words on the subject. “Aye, sir.” And nothing more. Even though the Salt’s unpredictable currents tossed both The Squealing Merchant and The Demon’s Bride into the dreaded DeadMan’s Silt located on the river’s right delta, all hands were rescued safely. Unable to free the two galleons, Dominique ordered them to be scuttled and burnt where they sat buried in the thick quagmire of the salt sands. If a ship was not salvageable for any reason, it was destroyed to avoid it being taken by others. The ships would be easily replaced upon leaving the Twin Cities, if the D’One’s harbour master ever granted them permission to dock.

  “Come on, Sai,” Dominique barked. “You know full bloody well there’s no wants on my Reave and no warrants on my crew. Get the fuck on with it.”

  “Your log says you came from Dasal. That’s a slaver port, Dom. You know I have to check your ship. I’m not losing my job because you like to skirt the law.” Coughing as he wiped sweat from his forehead, Sai Yomo, one of the many Dock of One harbour masters, added, “Once you’re clear, signal your other ships to stay within Lover’s Bay and their crews can come ashore by rowboat with only a customs check, fair enough?”

  “My ships sitting docked within the points of the Lover’s Embrace better not be an issue with Queen Bitch and King Perv,” he said, mentioning the Twin Cities’ defences. The flat, level terrain of the east and west cliffs held countless hundreds of massive ballistae and catapult engines, and the jaws of the bay were piled hundreds of feet high with massive boulders that could be dropped into the mouth of the bay in a moment’s notice, cutting off any ship’s escape from the Twin Cities.

  Shaking the thoughts from his head and stepping closer, Dominique’s hands came to rest on his sheathed blades. “I don’t have all damned day to sit here while your fucknards screw around and then have to convince the Twin Royal rejects that my six ships do not constitute an invasion force!”

  “Easy, Captain,” Shasta said, walking off the gang-plank from the Twilight Reave.

  Losing his patience, the harbour master’s voice rose considerably. “Listen, asshole, the last time the Reave docked here, one of your men murdered a dockworker over losing a card game. You’re damn lucky your permit wasn’t given a lifetime revocation. It’s the best I can do, Captain. If it’s not good enough, take your ships and harbour them elsewhere. My dock, my rules.”

  “Just get on with it,” Dominique barked with frustration as the older man turned away. “Sai?” he added. The aged harbour master glanced back over his shoulder. “Fuck you.” Storming off, Dominique headed for the customs office as Sai’s officers returned from below decks on the Reave. They nodded to Sai.

  “You’re welcome, asshole. You and the Reave’s crew are cleared to enter customs,” Sai hollered after him. Ignoring, the harbour master, Dominique entered the customs building and slammed the door. Shasta touched the harbour master’s shoulder as Sai boarded the Reave. He stopped when he heard her voice.

  “It’s been a rough haul, Sai. His son is dead and we barely got his daughter back from slavers,” she said, in a clear attempt to explain Dominique’s uneasy behaviour.

  “I understand. But keep an eye on him, please. Two years have passed since your last dock here, but Sonny was well-liked; he had three children and was always the first to help those in need.”

  “We know. Dom strung Cornwall from the crow’s nest for his crime and gives Sonny’s widow Cornwall’s share, and will continue to do so as long he draws breath. It would have been easier to sail away. The Twin Cities authority ends at this plank. We didn’t have to consider the city watch and their demands at all.”

  “I know that, too. But people have long memories here, especially when it comes to rumoured pirates. Keep your men clear of trouble, Shasta. There will be no leniency if something happens this time, authority or not. If the King or Queen drop the Lover’s Embrace, you will all die, either drowned in the bay or hung from the Crow’s Walk.” She nodded and followed after Dominique.

  It took an hour for all the Reave’s crew to clear through customs. Satisfied the men and women had no warrants outstanding in the Southern Kingdoms, Customs Major, Arest Naru, escorted Dominique and his crew down the tunnel separating the customs warehouses at the docks and the massive bronze, side by side gates to Alegra and Argela. A serious man, Dominique never knew the major to smile.

  “Captain Havarrow?”

  “Yes, Major?”

  “You know the laws vary in the Twin Cities, but please make sure new crew members understand the differences. Also, a new law has been passed for the Dock of One. All departures must be approved twenty-four hours before you ship out. If not, the Embrace will close and Royal Court Wizards will scuttle your ships. That being said, the Queen of Alegra and the King of Argela have granted immediate departures to those they’ve deemed worthy, should you need to leave urgently.”

  Dominique nodded, but Shasta answered. “Thank you, Major Naru. I’ll be sure to notify you of our departure date and time.” With a frown, the major disappeared back into the tunnel as Shasta released the crew to shore leave. The majority passed through the gates of Alegra, the Salzaran city being a better fit for sailors looking to have some fun. Taverns and brothels were numerous and alcoholic beverages were cheap. Its Elloryan sister-city attracted two of the Reave’s paired couples. Quieter and more formal, Argela was known for its shops, markets, and open-aired dining establishments, along with its sanctioned gladiator arena. Shasta watched them go, making a note of who went to each city. It left her alone with Dominique.

  “You want to do this alone, or you want me to watch your back?” she asked.

  “Better come. I’ve dealt with lots of crazy fools over the years, but never one who can make things explode. What do we know?” He entered the small door, set to the side of the heavy bronze gate, stepping onto Elloryan soil.

  “Merethyl’s killer said that the rumours point to a grove several miles outside of Argela. Northwest of the main road to Avelera City.”

  “She give you a name? Any truth to the rumours?” he asked.

  She smiled. “His name is Eamon O’Leary.”

  “What kinda name is that? Tyr’s bloody blade, as if I haven’t dealt with enough fucknards lately.”
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  Scratching her eyebrow in a desperate attempt to avoid laughing, Shasta shook her head. “I don’t know, Captain. I spent all three days we were in Forja Vehlo at the castle with King Vhorez’s Coat of Arms Herald and his Gene Chronicler. No person, Human or Elvehn, has ever been born in Talohna with a family name of O’Leary, not since the Cataclysm anyway. The given name Eamon has never been used either. If there weren’t so many witness accounts of this crazy bastard, I would doubt he existed.”

  “This no name fucknard supposedly killed a Broken Blade assassin and Queen Killer herself won’t retaliate against him. What does that tell you?”

  “That we should tread lightly. All the merchant gold riding Ageaus’ waves couldn’t convince me to cross those magical, murdering freaks of hers. If she won’t avenge one of her own something is really wrong here, Captain.”

  “I agree. All right. Horses and supplies for a week. Meet me at the southern gate in a couple hours,” he said, tossing her a bag of gold. “One of the royal court wizards here owes me a favour. Hopefully a big enough one to save our asses from being blown back to Dasal by some crazy alchemist mixing the wrong chemicals.”

  Shaking her head, Shasta caught the coin and disappeared into the crowd.

  SOUTHERN WILDLANDS’ FOREST

  The Kordanu tribe set up camp at the foot of a massive mountain range called the Cauldron’s Teeth. Bordered on the west by the Black Cauldron Ocean, the Gyhrehni Salt Desert and the Deadman’s Silt to the south, the Wildlands’ southern forest was a festering domain of dense, green wet. For twelve days, the Kordanu tribe marched through the forest to the mountain range where all the tribe’s magical outcasts had made their home centuries ago. The Kordanu tribe’s chief, Karlag Kordanu, grew more aggressive and short-tempered the closer they got. The tribe’s slave community suffered the worst of his outbursts, catching a foot or a fist whenever they were close by.

  Corleya was the most recent recipient of his latest burst of rage. She nursed the hours-old contusion on her left arm and ribcage the only way she could: by painfully stretching it to prevent it from stiffening. With the camp set-up complete and the morning meal finished, she was led back, under guard, to the cage with the other slaves. It was a sure sign something was different from their normal day. Corleya settled down for some much needed rest.

  Removing her worn-out leather boots, she wiggled her pruned toes, hoping they would dry out before she was forced back to work. The forest humidity and sodden leaf-mold had almost rotted the boots beyond use. Incredibly invasive, the damp soaked into everything. In a matter of weeks, she would be barefoot like everyone else, which presented a whole new level of discomfort. The last time her feet were dry for more than ten minutes at a time was a lost memory.

  She sighed as Alia sat down beside her. “I wonder what happens now?” she asked. Alia shook her head, saying nothing like always.

  Damien, however, rarely had nothing to say. “We’ll likely sit here until the spooks come down from the mountain. Or worse, when Karlag decides to go up. If so, he’ll have to offer them a sacrifice for trespassing.”

  “One of us, you mean,” Lycori added from the rear of the cage. With a moan, she shifted forward. The silver-coloured, swollen blood veins had receded back into her flesh only the slightest bit, the marks were still visible after the two weeks of travel south. She remained weak, but slowly healed with each day that passed. She had also begun to age, suffering from hunger.

  The pirate spit at her feet. “I can guarantee you a tribe member won’t pay it, so who does that leave? I thought vampyrs were smart?” he mocked, earning a fanged sneer from Lycori. As the past two weeks had crept by, Damien and Lycori’s hatred for each other had grown by leaps and bounds. She refused to participate in any escape attempt he proposed, saying that without her strength and speed, the plan was doomed to failure. Corleya often wondered if the pirate’s intent was to escape at the expense of Lycori’s life, or her own even. Every time they argued, Damien’s temper and patience grew shorter.

  “Do not start, you two. Not now,” Alia barked. Being one of the rare occasions she spoke, both quieted. “Rest.”

  Corleya, sliding sideways, leaned against the slave cage and watched the bustling tribals as they prepared for the possible arrival of the outcasts living higher up the mountain range.

  “I’ve heard stories about these people,” Corleya said, absent-mindedly.

  “About who?” Damien asked. “The tribals?”

  She shook her head. “No. The outcasts. I remembered when you said witch doctors. The wizards back home in Corynth also call them that.”

  Lycori scoffed, her words loaded with hatred. “Witch doctor. The word witch in front of any word just means evil.”

  “I agree.” Corleya smiled. “I’ve only met one good witch in my life. She’s nothing but a vague memory, and it’s still terrifying.” Alia took her friend’s hand, offering a small bit of comfort.

  “So, what kind of stories do arrogant wizards tell their apprentices in Corynth as an excuse to keep them in line?” Damien laughed, his voice riddled with disrespect. Lycori smacked him in the back of the head, hard. The blow pushed his face into the dirt.

  “Bitch!” he snapped, as he looked up. She punched him in the mouth, harder. Dazed, he collapsed, one hand holding his jaw, the other up as a gesture of surrender.

  “My grandfather lost his life because he was a Cethosian wizard. You cannot begin to imagine what men and women like him sacrifice so that shit-piles like you can enjoy freedom in the Blood Kingdoms. If you ever show such disrespect again, I’ll kill you without warning... even if it means exposing myself as a vampyr. Understand?” He nodded, leaning back against the cage opposite her.

  Sighing, Corleya rubbed her swollen eyes and tried to rest.

  Hours passed by quietly. The camp settled into an eerie silence as if no one knew what to expect. Corleya, along with several of the other slaves, managed to get a couple of hours’ sleep as the humid afternoon approached. As the sun appeared over the towering mountains west of the camp and its rays began to peek through the leaves, Chief Karlag, his daughters, Kasna and Nvesa Lotti—both priestesses—were accompanied by several warriors as they approached the slave pen. Lycori, one of the few slaves who spoke the tribals’ language, translated as Nvesa caressed the living plants that made up their cage. The plants retreated, slithering like snakes as the cage opened. The Chief barked at the slaves, clearly not happy about something.

  “Everyone on your feet,” Lycori translated as Corleya helped her to stand. Lycori nodded her thanks, and Corleya moved on to assist others weakened by the hard work, little sleep, and the two week walk south.

  “He wants us to follow, but only the four of us,” Lycori added, as one of the tribal warriors muscled her from the cage, securing her hands behind her back. As the chief snapped in his guttural language, Lycori continued to convert his demands to the common tongue.

  “Cora, he wants you and Alia. Damien, too.” Stepping out of the cage, their hands were bound behind their backs. Linking the four prisoners together with the same hemp-like, braided rope used to bind their wrists, the priestess, Kasna, strung the rope from their hands to between their legs and looped the rope through the next person’s wrist bindings until all four were secured and uncomfortable. Keeping the line snug and with only three feet between each of them, Corleya realized that any escape attempt would immediately turn into a clustered tangle of limbs and sore crotches.

  “This is perfect,” Damien whispered, looking to Lycori at the front. “It’s just the four of us. We can escape.”

  Tossing a warning frown over shoulder, Lycori whispered, “Shut the hell up. We’re not going anywhere trussed up like this.” The pirate glared, returning her dark stare. Kasna yanked the rope between Damien’s legs hard enough to make him wince his way to the tips of his toes before she finished securing it to his hand bindings. Grabbing his beard, the priestess gently turned his head to meet her eyes.

  “
No escape,” she said, using the common tongue. Her soft breath washed over him. “Only obey.” Pulling him even closer, her tongue slid from her mouth. Licking his lips, she nibbled and nipped, biting, as Corleya stared, horrified, yet fascinated. The pirate’s breathing slowed and his eyes glazed over with a wet shine as if they were full of tears. The priestess smiled and walked away.

  “Fucking witch,” Lycori cursed under her breath. Corleya, next in line, overheard and glanced at her, hoping for an explanation. The vampyr shook her head, murmuring, “Glamour poison. Tribal witches...” Chief Karlag punched her in the mouth, cutting off the rest of her sentence. Clearly having had enough, he barked more orders. Wiping a thin thread of blood from her mouth, Lycori turned to the others. “Follow and be silent, or you’ll be praying for a kiss from that witch.” Slipping a noose around Lycori’s neck, Karlag tightened it, cutting off her breath. Once he was sure she understood trying to escape meant strangling to death, he slipped his fingers under the rope and loosened the knot so she could breathe easier. Taking a quick look to make sure the other slaves were secure, he jerked on the rope, almost pulling Lycori from her feet. Dragging the daisy-chain of prisoners from the camp, he led the way up into the mountains.

  Somewhere above them lived Talohna’s most vile magic users. Corleya shivered as she realized they were being taken to the people considered too evil to be part of the various tribes.

  Even as cruel and sadistic as they themselves were, every tribe feared the Sartaq outcasts.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Magic and alchemy from other dimensions can have devastating effects in our own world. They are also extremely hard to defend against. It is why a witch’s demonic magic is so terrifying and why alchemists long for alchemical supplies from the Nine Hells or the Paradise realms.