Red Season Rising (Red Season Series Book 1)

by D. M. Murray

“Get to the cathedral!” Sarbien roared behind them.

  The whistle of another bolt sped through the air.

  The cry from behind warned that another of the escorts had fallen.

  Kalfinar drove on and leaned low in his saddle.

  The figure from the rooftops leapt onto the street ahead and pulled back an arm. Even in the poor light, Kalfinar could see the throwing knife. Kalfinar gritted his teeth and thrashed his horse with all the strength he had, driving his mount over the figure and trampling it beneath its steel-shod hooves.

  Another party of armed horsemen appeared in front of them.

  Kalfinar pressed his knees into the horse and drove forward to meet the advancing party. He pulled free his sword from its scabbard.

  “Kalfinar,” Sarbien shouted. “They’re ours.”

  Kalfinar lowered his sword just before the party of horsemen thundered past, toward the hidden enemy. Sarbien, Evelyne, and Kalfinar pressed their horses through the city streets until, at last, they entered the large cobbled square in front of the cathedral. A pair of tall, square-topped towers rose heavenward above the arched entranceway. The copper sheen of the huge cupola glinted between the towers in the faint starlight.

  “Keep your pace steady and get inside. The agents of the enemy cannot follow within,” Sarbien shouted as they rode across the square. Without another word, he peeled away and rode back to where they had come from.

  Kalfinar slowed his horse and glanced behind at Sarbien. “Where’s in the hells is he going?”

  “Kalfinar,” Evelyne called from the gates of the cathedral. “Hurry. There is no time.”

  He snapped his head towards her, and, with one more glance towards Sarbien, he turned and kicked his horse onwards. They passed through the gates of the cathedral together, their horses gasping for air as they reined in.

  Evelyne leapt from her horse and sprinted up the steps into the ancient cathedral. “Kalfinar,” she shouted. “Come now!”

  Kalfinar jumped from his horse, stumbled, and made his way inside the massive entranceway towards Evelyne.

  “Don’t worry about my father. He’s safe.” Her face was calm, but her voice had a hard edge to it. “You however, are not yet afforded that luxury. When he gives you an order, obey it, unless you’d prefer a bolt in the back.”

  Kalfinar looked at her with astonishment. It had been almost three years since a woman had reprimanded him in such a manner. He found it strangely comforting, and then he felt the familiar sting of grief. “You’re right. Sorry.” His reply was quiet.

  She shook her head before heading deeper into the cathedral, calling back as she went, “Hurry, Brother Anthony will be waiting.”

  The cathedral was lit by many lamps, which glowed from rings along the wall. They walked between soaring, copper-plated columns and towards the dais at the back of the cathedral. Passing beyond two pairs of heavy oak doors, they crossed a flagstone-lined corridor to the vestry. It was well lit by lamps and candles.

  A young man sat by a large brass candle stand reading some parchment, lips moving as he read. It was clear he had not heard their approach.

  “Brother Anthony.”

  Despite Evelyne’s soft voice the young holy man was startled. “Evelyne, Captain Kalfinar. Forgive me. I didn’t know you were there.” He rose as he spoke, placing the parchment on his stool.

  The youthfulness of the holy man’s face surprised Kalfinar, as did his resemblance to Evelyne. Brother Anthony also had ice-blue eyes. His heavy, woollen habit was tied around the waist with a simple twisted-cord belt and he wore simple sandals on his feet.

  Brother Anthony embraced Evelyne and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Come, we must be with the others. They’re waiting.” Brother Anthony shuffled past them.

  Kalfinar and Evelyne followed behind the brother as he walked through the dimly lit corridors. They ascended a small, tight wooden staircase towards the back of the cathedral. Step after step, round and round, they travelled before coming to a well-lit landing leading to the cathedral’s cupola.

  Brother Anthony led them to a set of large double doors, gilded in copper and patterned with intricate symbols and several brilliant seraphs surrounding a rising sun

  Kalfinar felt he had seen them somewhere before.

  “They seem familiar to you don’t they?” Evelyne asked.

  He glanced towards her.

  “There is much you will find has a resonance within you, though you are not aware of it, yet. It is buried deep.” Her words caused an unease to creep into his bones.

  “Come,” Brother Anthony broke the silence and placed his hands on the large door handles.

  Kalfinar saw the assassin behind the door as it opened. He leapt past Evelyne and Anthony, his sword hissing from its scabbard.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Kalfinar thrust, engaging the dark figure within the antechamber. The blood pounding in his ears muffled the shouting around him. He advanced. Steel clashed and rang as his foe parried and conceded ground. The straining face before him mirrored those of the would-be assassins from the mountain garrison at Hardalen. Blazing eyes peered out at Kalfinar from pallid blue-grey flesh. Like the skin of a drowned man.

  “Enough,” the being said, deflecting a thrust and conceding more ground. “I’m not your enemy.” The being held one palm out. “Stop this.”

  Kalfinar glared and held his ground. “Your kind do speak. Save your words, demon!”

  Evelyne stepped beside Kalfinar. Applying gentle pressure to lower his sword arm, she spoke, “Kalfinar, he speaks the truth. He’s not your enemy. Chentuck is kin to Anthony and me. He means you no harm.”

  “Kin? This is no man!” Kalfinar spat.

  Chentuck sheathed his weapon and stepped back.

  Evelyne pushed Kalfinar’s sword arm down yet further. “Granted,” she raised her voice, speaking into the darkness with irritation, “it’s a bit regrettable that Chentuck be here when we entered.”

  “Sorry about that.” Chentuck said in a flat tone, his eyes still fixed on Kalfinar. “Bad timing.”

  “I don’t understand.” Kalfinar was less sure of himself, though instinct forced his grip to remain firm on his sword. He glanced towards Brother Anthony as he approached and embraced Chentuck. “Anthony is your Brother?” Kalfinar asked, eyes darting between the figures before him.

  She nodded. “Please, put away your sword, dear.” She released his arm. “I understand you’re confused. Trust me, you’re amongst friends.”

  Chentuck nodded.

  Kalfinar said, “I’ve killed your kind before, demon, and I am ready to do so again.” His eyes never left Chentuck as he sheathed his sword.

  “Kalfinar,” Evelyne snapped, “you’d do well to fear the sight of men such as this, but Chentuck is not deserving of that same fear. Instead, he merits your respect and trust. Count him amongst your dearest allies. Now, enough of this. The others are waiting. Perhaps your scorn will be cooled when you hear the words they will serve you.” Evelyne huffed out a frustrated breath before making for the doors at the far end of the antechamber.

  Brother Anthony inclined his head towards the doors. “Come, Kalfinar.”

  Kalfinar could not stop his arm from shaking as the young man guided him. Do you feel my fear? Can you feel it all?

  Kalfinar and Anthony entered behind Evelyne and Chentuck. The room was dark, and the blackness obscured any sense of space. Kalfinar’s hand sought the hilt of his sword.

  “Be at peace,” Brother Anthony whispered as he squeezed Kalfinar’s elbow.

  Kalfinar eased his sword arm, but his hand hovered close to the pommel still.

  “Forget your sword,” Evelyne ordered. “No harm will come to you.”

  “Kalfinar, do what you’re told,” a familiar voice called out of the darkness. “The lady has assured you. You’re amongst friends.” Father?

  Suddenly, the room was illuminated as dozens of oil-torches flashed to life along its pale stone walls. The floor
was of polished wood, lightly stained and reflecting the flicker of the torches which burned from the rough surface of the tall stone walls. Atop the stone walls shone the underside of the huge copper dome of the cupola.

  A man leaned casually against the wall before him. He was tall, with a greying beard and eyes of the same deep green as Kalfinar’s. The man’s left eyelid drooped low and was surrounded by puckered scar tissue.

  “Father? What’s going on?”

  “Answers are coming, Kal. They’re coming.”

  Kalfinar’s eye twitched with irritation. One more time. I swear, one more fucking plea for patience and I’ll scream. He took a deep breath and tried to settle his nerves. “What is all of this?” Kalfinar asked Harruld. “Magic?”

  “There are many things you haven’t been told, Kalfinar, and believe me, for very good reason.”

  Kalfinar fixed him with a flat stare.

  “I presume by now you’re growing sick of people telling you that,” Harruld said with a grimace.

  “Just a little,” Kalfinar grumbled. “Are you Tuannan?”

  “Me? No. I’m just a cog in the wheel. There are others who are the masters of the machine. Come. I’ll introduce them.” Harruld led Kalfinar towards the rear of the hall. He leaned close to Kalfinar and whispered in his ear, “Excuse the dramatic flourishes. Capriath’s doing. Now please, Capriath.”

  “Capriath?” Kalfinar asked Harruld in shock. As he spoke, a horseshoe-shaped table appeared before him. Sat around the table were several faces familiar to Kalfinar.

  “You’ve met Olmat’s brothers, Capriath and Sarbien. Of course, Olmat and Broden need no introduction. Broden of course is as much in the dark you as.”

  Kalfinar regarded the faces of Olmat, Capriath and Sarbien. “Brothers. I should’ve tied it together.”

  “You always knew we were kin,” Olmat said. “It was just that we, shall we say, encouraged you not to make that particular connection.” The old physician grinned towards Kalfinar, weaving his fingers together over his stomach. “Call it a gift we Tuannan share.”

  “Magic casters? Since when? How?” Kalfinar’s stomach rolled, and his mind raced.

  Olmat nodded. “We are Tuannan,” he croaked out in a laugh, “and have been for a very long time. As for how, well, we asked Dajda for it. We’ve been gifted by knowing how to ask, and we were blessed by being answered.”

  Kalfinar’s mind flushed with heat. “And your travel to Carte?”

  Olmat waggled a single figure at Kalfinar. “Well that is not quite a gift shared by all of us. That one I’ve spent an awful long time learning in order to master, and it’s one I fear I’ll no longer be able to practice, for it’s costly to one as old as I.”

  Kalfinar looked across the faces sat before him. A realisation clicked into place. “The dreams are real, aren’t they?”

  His gaze settled upon his father’s face, and then that of Olmat. He glanced at the grim expressions of the two physicians, Capriath and Sarbien. They nodded. A rush of hot vomit burned in Kalfinar’s gullet, though he fought the urge to spill it, and regained his composure.

  Harruld said, “We’ve known that such dreams were possible. We’ve seen it many times in the past. They are a precursor, a warning of something dreadful, normally a possession by a spirit. However, sometimes, they can forewarn death. A spirit tried to take you. We fear it may have a link to the assassinations, though we cannot yet place it in the scheme of things. If it links, it may mean this is more than just militaristic.”

  The hot urge struck again, and this time Kalfinar could not resist. He wretched and heaved, but his guts were empty and had nothing to spend.

  Harruld bent and offered a cloth as Kalfinar stood with his hands on shaking knees. “Come, sit with us,” Harruld said as he guided Kalfinar and the others to empty seats.

  When everyone had taken a seat, a dozen hooded figures dressed in grey habits entered the room. Their habits were similar to that worn by Brother Anthony. Each holy person took up a position facing the wall at even distances around the room. They stood so close to the walls that their faces almost touched the stonework.

  When they were each in place, like statues of ancient heroes, they began to chant, in unison in a language unknown to Kalfinar. “What are they doing?” he asked.

  Olmat responded in a thin, dry voice, “Now that we’ve all arrived, they are barring the way for any unwanted eyes, ears or bodies. This room will be sealed to all but those within the barriers being erected by our brothers and sisters.”

  Olmat offered Kalfinar a smile, though it looked forced. Kalfinar sensed the old man was uneasy.

  “This is a dangerous time in our proceedings, lad,” Olmat continued.

  Harruld cleared his throat and spoke, “Some of what we will discuss tonight will shock you, Kalfinar, yet much of it will seem natural to you. Like a forgotten memory brought once more to the fore. Nurture that familiar feeling, and acceptance of what we teach you will come much easier than without.”

  Kalfinar looked towards Broden. His eyes were fixed on the table. As Kalfinar beheld him, the larger man met his gaze, and then focussed on Chentuck.

  Kalfinar spoke, “Can someone answer me this? How does it come to be that this assassin is allied with me?” He pointed his finger in the direction of Chentuck, who sat at the opposite side of the table to him.

  Chentuck showed no offence, but his eyes remained on Kalfinar before glancing across the table. “One of you better explain it. He’s not going to believe me. Fair enough, really.”

  Sarbien stood, his chair scraping backwards on the wooden floor. He walked towards the strange being sat at the opposite end of the table. “Kalfinar, believe me when I say that no one here will lie to you.”

  Funny, seems like you’ve been lying to me for the last bloody week.

  Sarbien carried on. “You feel as though you’ve met me only this day, but, in fact, I have known you your whole life, and you are most dear to me.”

  Kalfinar nodded. “Go on.”

  “The man before you is my son. My adopted son.” Sarbien stood behind Chentuck and rested a hand on each shoulder. “The blood in his veins is that of humankind, for his people are as much man as you or I. Despite that, he appears strange, but that is borne of no malice whatsoever, merely an adaptation to the environment of his people. He was born of the Ravenmayne, the same race as those who tried to kill you and Broden. But Chentuck is different, and he is not to be feared by you.”

  “Ravenmaynes?” Kalfinar looked towards Sarbien in puzzlement, though a heat passed over him as he spoke the name. “I don’t know this name. What are these people, and why are they intent on killing us? What ill have we visited upon these men to merit such wrath?”

  Sarbien walked back towards his seat and whispered with Olmat who nodded.

  “You know there’s much good in the world,” Olmat said, his voice sounding frail, “but alongside it runs a course of malice. This has always been the way, for without one and other, there would be such a level of inequity as would tear at the seams of the very fabric of our world and lead us into darkness and cold. The Forevernight, the nothingness.”

  Kalfinar nodded in response. “The Tuannan. The magic casters.” He swept his hand around to the hooded beings who remained motionless facing the wall as their chants hummed in the background. “I understand that the Tuannan are on one side, and there are similar beings running the dark course.”

  “Yes. Well, almost,” Olmat replied. “You’ve known the basics of this for a long time, but it is the level of knowledge which needs fortifying. Those who know even a little are gifted a wisdom that few hold, but even that level of knowledge lacks fibre. The Ravenmayne are amongst the best killers this world has ever seen, or not seen, as the case was. Their ability to go unseen has led to their presence on this world going virtually unnoticed until you and Broden killed the two at Hardalen. They are aided by an unsettling power gifted to them by a particularly ruthless entity. It is my most h
onest wish that I knew nothing of this monster, but it is a reason for my being. The Ravenmayne are the children of this being. The name is Bhalur.”

  Chentuck made a sign of protection over his heart at the mention of the name.

  Olmat continued, “Bhalur is the Ravenmayne God. Although we thought it was impossible, it appears Bhalur’s will is bent on reaching out to you. Be assured, lad, to whatever end, that cannot be good.”

  *

  The spirit repeated its effort to breach the cupola, but again the protective wards barred the phantom’s entry. The spirit shrieked in frustration and terror.

  The master sensed its struggle and would undoubtedly punish the failure.

  Yet another maddened assault ended with a defeat. The spirit hovered high above the cathedral, desperate to access the cupola.

  The master’s will urged it forward.

  Terror plagued the spirit as it desperately screamed around the dome, seeking a weakness through which to breach the protective ward. The spirit circled again and again, landing briefly to crawl, sniffing for a weakness. There was none.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “I’m sought by a god.” Quite ironic, given I’ve been abandoned by my own. “Why do I merit such attention?” Kalfinar asked Olmat.

  “You have certain, qualities,” the old physician replied.

  A wild howl resounded around the expansive roof, a twisted scream of pain and frustration.

  “What was that?” Kalfinar asked. His hand reached for his sword.

  “Be at ease, Kalfinar,” Olmat said. “One of our enemies tries to access our sacred place, but it cannot. The way is barred. Our wards protect us.” Olmat indicated towards the robed Tuannan who muttered chants around the edge of the great room. The old man flicked his wrist and an undulating green wave of iridescent light was visible. Like a spectral fire, it engulfed all edges of the room. With another flick of wrist, the light vanished. “It’s the same spirit that had been cast from you. It will continue to seek you now.”