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Blood Immortal

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by Paul Centeno




  BLOOD IMMORTAL

  PAUL L. CENTENO

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, incidents, or locals, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012, 2015 by Paul L. Centeno

  All rights reserved.

  Cover illustration by Paul Pederson.

  ISBN-13: 9781514634370

  ISBN-10: 1514634376

  DEDICATION

  I dedicate this novel to my beautiful wife, Abbie. Thank you for always encouraging me to finish writing Blood Immortal and motivating me to keep moving forward. You are the love of my life and will always be the source of my inspiration.

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Following the table of contents, you will come across a bonus short story known as Wrath of Magmarta. It is essentially a prelude to Blood Immortal. As a matter of fact, I like to think of it as a literary overture. While the short story may not affect what occurs in the novel, it is nevertheless a tale that adds to Yunedar’s mythos. And since both chronicles are tied to the same world, I decided to have it published here as a bonus. May you enjoy the extra journey.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Overture: Wrath of Magmarta

  Act I: Calamity

  Prologue The Spell From Hell

  Chapter One Fatal Engagement

  Chapter Two Heavenly Fire

  Chapter Three Legend of the Shade

  Chapter Four Thrall of Izabaldo

  Chapter Five Scales of Ice

  Chapter Six Master and Apprentice

  Chapter Seven Demonic Rift

  Act II: Redemption

  Chapter Eight Serpentine Voyage

  Chapter Nine Forgotten Tundra

  Chapter Ten The Ageless Emperor

  Chapter Eleven Faith in the One

  Chapter Twelve Challenge of Titans

  Chapter Thirteen Guardians of Xen

  Chapter Fourteen Raiding Chevirith

  Chapter Fifteen The Vampire’s Spire

  Act III: Immortals

  Chapter Sixteen Dragons’ Descent

  Chapter Seventeen Strife in the Clouds

  Chapter Eighteen Wrath of the Undead

  Chapter Nineteen The Immortal Spirits

  Chapter Twenty Sealing the Portal

  Chapter Twenty-One Dwelling in Hell

  Epilogue Breath After Death

  WRATH OF MAGMARTA

  Hasgrith, located in the northern kingdom of Vlydyn, was a peaceable city filled with citizens who kept to themselves. Though autonomous, since it happened to be the farthest settlement from the capital, the king always sent a reputable nobleman there once a month to see how his subjects faired. After two months had passed, not receiving any reports, he decided to send a brigade to make sure all was well.

  Knights clad in steel armor were mounted on unicorns riding north through a wilderness littered with palm trees and sleeping willows. Their hooves thumped hard, passing a beach that lay along the east coast. West of them stood an elongated mountain stretching for miles; it was known as Mount U’cleria, named after a Spirit worshipped by denizens throughout the world of Yunedar.

  Nightfall came when the regiment drew closer to Hasgrith, the four moons of Yunedar gleaming in the firmament. Mist stirred around them. Insects sang in chorus. Flowers and leaves fluttered what with the not-too-distant shoreline breeze. The unicorns started to slow down when multiple dots of fire emerged near entrances of pitch-black caves nestled into the mountain on the right side of the brigade.

  “Captain, are those torches?” asked one of the knights.

  The captain, whose hand-woven tabard depicted a mighty gryphon, raised the visor of his helmet and turned his attention to where his subordinate pointed. His unicorn kept fidgeting and snorting despite him trying to calm it down. Upon dismounting his steed to get a closer look at the burning lights, the others followed. Squinting, the captain tried to determine what those dots were. Staring hard at them, a bloodcurdling expression formed on his wrinkled face.

  “By the Nine,” said the captain with a gasp.

  Just then, the flickers of flame advanced and exited the caves. They weren’t torches; the dots turned out to be pairs of eyes embedded in colossal bodies of iron. Without hesitation, the unicorns abandoned their riders, galloping south. Before any of the knights were brazen enough to unsheathe their weapons, the metal beings surrounded them, stomping forward and raising their fists.

  One of the knights dared to reach for her sword and struck a metal being’s thigh, the clangor ringing in her ears. Witnessing the copper blade cracking, the others stumbled back. At that moment, the metal being whose thigh remained undamaged bashed the female knight on her head with its iron palm, crushing her helmet. She fell to the ground, blood and mashed brains leaking out of her steel gorget.

  “Do not kill them,” said a shadowy imp. “Take them below as you have done with the townspeople.”

  The metal beings obeyed, seizing the other knights without harming them. Although the Vlydyonians attempted to resist, they couldn’t break free from their menacing captors. Several of them groaned in dismay while a few others grunted. The captain was the only one who remained composed, his eyes searching for the man whom he heard command these mystifying and deadly brutes.

  “Show yourself,” demanded the captain.

  A dwarf appeared from the highest cave entrance on the granite mountain. Even though he showed himself, the captured knights couldn’t see him too well. Although darkness concealed his features, they could discern grubby auburn hair that covered the sides of his face and a thick rugged beard that reached his titanium poleyns.

  At first the Vlydyonians thought he was a beast. Then he took another step forward into the moons’ light. Now they noticed the double-bladed axe he was wielding, his titanium armor, and cobalt hands—he had apparently amputated his original ones, replacing them with these. A maniacal grin formed on his scarred face, showing them gold teeth and a glowing alloy eye; the knights concluded that such a thing must have been created by magic.

  “Magmarta?” said the captain, taken aback by the sight of the once renowned blacksmith of Hasgrith. “What have you done to yourself?”

  “I have tapped into the transmundane elements of the Spirits,” said Magmarta. “Where the clerics and wizards of old have failed miserably for centuries, I have succeeded by means of a forge. It is only a matter of time before I transcend and unite with Khordalam.”

  “This is madness,” said the captain. “He was a mortal who transcended through selfless acts, not violence.”

  “Take them away!” exclaimed the dwarf. Watching the knights being carried against their will into the mountain, he added, “Sacrifices must be made to obtain greatness. And no sacrifice, however noble it may seem, is selfless. I shall be the dwarf who proves everyone wrong. Soon, I shall join the Nine and be prayed to with greater fervor than Khordalam.”

  Most races worshipped the divine Nine unconditionally, yet this particular dwarf seemed to worship ore instead of the Spirits. Metal was his link to immortality. His robust minions were proof of this. And he was preparing to show the world his artisanship.

  One month passed.

  In the capital city of Jerelaith, a man by the name of Dargain entered his royal chamber inside the castle. He had a fairly light complexion, black shoulder-length hair, brown eyes, facial stubble, and medium-built muscles. In absolute silence, he sat in lotus position on his canopy bed and meditated on the wisdom of the divine Nine. The eternal Spirits watched over the denizens of Yunedar evermore—so long as people reached out to them through meditation or prayer, he conceded.

  Candle wicks were lit ar
ound the royal chamber. Whether wax burned, the marble floor remained lustrous. The same could not be said, however, for the stone walls whose grim texture reminded Dargain of the penitentiary beneath the castle, which was why tapestries depicting hippogriffs decorated the majority of his room. They were his totems, allowing him to be at peace while communing to the nine immortal Spirits.

  Though he wasn’t a cleric—an altruistic wizard attempting to peacefully transcend and become a Spirit—he had faith like most people in the world that by reaching out to them he’d be granted a soul regardless of his past as a fierce warrior. Based on the tenets of the Nine, nobody was born with a soul. One had to earn such a magical gift. People tried to experience salvation in various ways. The most traditional method was praying every day in temples. Dargain, who was more of a layman, sought salvation through meditation and protecting Vlydyn’s citizens.

  Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and attempted to weed out his desire to become the Master of Vlydyn, a title given to the greatest warrior in the realm by the king himself. There was nothing more respectable to Dargain than being recognized as the Master, yet there were more important things—faith and loyalty. And though no mortal had gained a soul since the Nine had transcended eons ago, he still believed that Thay’tal, eternal Spirit of strength, would honor him for his faith.

  In due time, he surrendered himself to the silence. The violence and carnage within him started to dissipate. But before he could empty his mind of all thoughts and discipline his mind further, someone knocked on his mahogany door. Sighing, he opened his eyes and turned to the door.

  “Please come in.”

  A knight warily entered the room and bowed. “Forgive me,” he said. “I would never dare interrupt such a sacred moment unless it was of vital importance.”

  “It’s all right, Zarlando,” replied Dargain. “What’s wrong?”

  “The king has requested an audience with you,” said the knight. “I believe it’s regarding a lack of news on Hasgrith.”

  “I see,” said Dargain. “I’ll get ready now.”

  Zarlando bowed again and left, at which point Dargain started to get ready. He selected a silver suit of armor and equipped it. Then he placed a silky white-colored tabard of a hippogriff over his breastplate. After sheathing his steel sword, he exited his chamber, walked through the marble hallway where paintings of ancient kings hung along the walls, and made his way down a spiral staircase.

  Upon reaching the first floor, he entered the castle’s atrium. Many knights and noblemen bowed while he passed by. Dargain returned the greetings and strode across the entrance chamber of ivory arcades and crystal chandeliers. He stepped into another corridor dimly lit with gryphon-shaped sconces, his glossy armor clanking with each step he took. The throne room lay just ahead. Before entering, however, a feminine voice called out to him:

  “Ladies first, youngling.”

  Playfully rolling his eyes, Dargain turned around and waited for his comrade-at-arms to approach.

  Clad in bronze armor, she advanced with a firm countenance. Though slightly hidden due to her wild red hair, she wore a bandana on her forehead. She also carried two swords—one on each side of her belt. The scabbards they rested in were made of maniticore skin. To Dargain’s surprise, she looked even more stunning in her armor than usual.

  “Spirits bless you, Kaylana,” he said, bowing.

  “May they bless you too,” she said, curtsying.

  “I assume King Beregeth has requested to see you too?” he asked, walking beside her toward the throne room.

  “Actually, he desires to see several people,” she replied.

  “Is that so?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Tell me, how is it you’re more informed than me about this?”

  “Maybe because you were meditating for half the day,” she said.

  “You answer with such adoration,” he said with a whiff of sarcasm, stopping by the door and waiting for the guard to open it. “I’ll have you know it takes away anxiety and helps stabilize one’s mind in battle.”

  “Only these swords can help me,” she said, patting the hilts of her weapons.

  The duo grinned; teasing each other came easy to them. Even though Kaylana wasn’t one to pray, Dargain knew that she was a laywoman and occasionally meditated—just not as much as him.

  Entering the throne room, they approached their king and pregnant queen at the end of a crimson carpet. Similar to the atrium, chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Stained-glass windows depicting fierce dragons shone in the chamber, the sun burnishing them. And behind the golden thrones, illustrated along the wall, was a mural of wyverns flying over an enchanted forest in the southern region of Vlydyn. Upon reaching their rulers, Dargain and Kaylana kneeled.

  “You may rise,” said the king.

  Rising back to his feet, Dargain glanced around and realized that numerous knights and sorcerers were already assembled. Among them was Paladin Taveric, a seven-foot-tall man wearing an amber robe over his plate armor; he was the leader of the arcane clergy. Beside the paladin stood a brawny dwarf with a braided beard and a belly to match his muscles. In addition, four other knights wearing chainmail armor were present: Zarlando, Argrigoth, Ceirdan, and Orodreth.

  Dargain wondered why they had all been summoned.

  The king’s green eyes were fixed on Dargain’s for a brief moment, as though wishing he had arrived first rather than last. He eventually turned his attention to the group before him. “As you know, I send noble Parius to Hasgrith every month to check on my people there. He should have returned two weeks ago with his report. Yet it has been two months. I decided to send a brigade there to find out what in the world is taking Parius so long. Now it’s been three months and no one has returned.”

  “With all due respect, Your Majesty,” began the leader of the clerics, “I warned you many times not to allow Hasgrith to be so independent. Despite the vast majority of its citizens no longer approving of telepathic crystals to communicate, this is one kingdom. We must always remain united. We should’ve at least had one crystal in Hasgrith’s temple.”

  “This is not a time to gloat about your righteousness, Lord Taveric,” said King Beregeth with irritation. “I need all of you to travel there to determine why noble Parius has been delayed. Olwe is willing to guide you since he has visited Hasgrith many times to sell his handcrafted armor and weapons.”

  “Aye,” said Olwe the dwarf. “Lea’ve it ta me, Yer Majesty.”

  “Sire,” called out Dargain humbly, “I am sure we would get to the bottom of this much quicker if my brother—”

  “My presence will suffice,” interjected Paladin Taveric.

  “Silence!” yelled the king. “Clerics and Magi are equal in the eyes of the Spirits; and I believe Dargain was speaking directly to me, Lord Taveric.”

  “My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty,” said the paladin, bowing.

  “Magi Frostwarm is an extraordinary wizard, Dargain,” said the king. “But if all is well in Hasgrith and the people see him, they may feel threatened. After all, he is a Magi: trained in the art of destructive magic. He will be more useful teaching his pupils at Nor’tai’quil unless, Spirits forbid, we are one day at war with another kingdom. I am, however, confident that Lord Taveric, as leader of the arcane clergy, will be more than enough. He is a symbol of peace and should not come off as a threat to anyone in Hasgrith.”

  “I understand, Sire,” said Dargain.

  “Excellent,” said the king. He gazed at his subjects and went on, “I want this mystery to be resolved before your queen gives birth to my child. You are my most trusted and competent guardians. I am relying on your expertise. Gather whatever supplies are needed for the journey and make your way to Hasgrith by dawn tomorrow. May the divine Nine be with you.”

  “And they with you,” said the others in chorus, kneeling.

  Upon the king dismissing them, they left the throne room and began to pack provisions in their rucksacks. The group needed fo
od, such as fruits and vegetables. When the clerics finished, they returned to the temple of Xen—eternal Spirit of holy light—and prayed for the remainder of the day in solitude.

  In the meantime, Dargain went to the armory upstairs to strap on his finest sword and shield. Making sure no one was around, he picked up a telepathic crystal and snuck it into his pouch. Kaylana entered shortly after and sulked when she saw his buckler.

  “If a battle were to occur, don’t you think parrying with swords is just as good, if not better, than a shield?”

  “To each his own,” he said.

  “I suppose,” she replied musingly. “So, what do you think?”

  “Of the expedition?” he said. Seeing her nod, he answered, “I honestly don’t know, Lana. It’s troubling that we haven’t heard from Parius or anyone in Hasgrith for that matter. I just pray they haven’t decided to revolt and break away from us completely.”

  “Pray hard, Dargain,” she said, replacing her swords with newer ones. “Pray hard.”

  On the following morning, just an hour before dawn, the chosen guardians left their peaceful abodes and stepped outside, greeted by skyscraping spires, statues of famous heroes, closed boutiques, temples devoted to the eternal Spirits, and a corral that stood only a few feet away from the city gates. Numerous magic-tamed unicorns remained there, waiting for their owners.

  The guardians approached the corral, placed panniers on their unicorns’ saddles, and mounted them. Paladin Taveric and his entourage of two clerics wore matching amber-colored robes. However, he was the only one with silver-plated armor underneath his slender garments. Dargain, agitated that not a single Magi would be venturing with them, nudged his unicorn to canter beside his fellow knights.

  “Is everyone present?” asked Taveric, gripping the reins of his steed.

  “Hmm,” uttered Dargain, rubbing his chin. “Well, my brother wasn’t permitted to join us so it would seem we’re all here.”

  Kaylana chuckled at his remark.

  The paladin, meanwhile, took a deep breath and responded, “Sarcasm is beneath a fine warrior such as you.”

 

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