Sword of Draskara (Casters of Syndrial Book 2)

by Rain Oxford

  “Dje,” I said, letting the sword float out of my hand.

  Holding Horta together was strenuous, so it felt a lot harder to move the sword than it should have been. Nevertheless, the sword obeyed my mental command and shot across the hall to stab the scorpion in its head. The blade pierced its exoskeleton and clear blood with a light blue hue squirted out. The creature thrashed for a while before it died.

  I wouldn’t kill an animal. I wasn’t against hunting for food, but I didn’t think killing living creatures was a healthy sport. That didn’t mean I was a fan of dear or a nature lover. I always found myself rooting for the carnivore whenever I saw a nature show on television. However, bugs were another thing. I wished the complete extermination of fleas, ticks, and mosquitos. Scorpions and spiders were fine as long as they weren’t in my house. After this adventure, they were going on the kill-on-sight list.

  Horta and I made it down another ten floors using Horta as cannon fodder. There were at least two traps on each floor. The real problem was that I wouldn’t make it much further without rest.

  As we were on a staircase, one of the steps gave… then all of them did. The next thing I knew, we were falling into darkness. I had even lost my flashlight.

  “Tradje!” I said automatically. My descent halted. Slowly.

  I levitated myself up to the ledge, pulled out my second flashlight, and used it to see down into the pit.

  Horta was a pile of smaller rocks. The drop was about fifty feet. However, I knew the dungeons were probably as low as I could get, so it was a shortcut… as long as I could get out of there.

  I levitated myself down and wasn’t surprised to see that there was no way out except up. I didn’t want to waste time going back up if I could help it. Unfortunately, when I tried to resurrect my rock creature, I found I didn’t have the energy. I wished I hadn’t gotten rid of my Brew-Chews.

  I sat and leaned against the wall to decide on my next move. Before I realized how tired I was, I fell asleep.

  * * *

  I woke to the sound of rock sliding against rock and groaned. The stairs had reverted to their normal state and I was trapped with whatever air I had left. I knew I could return to Earth with my portal ring, but I didn’t want to have to start from scratch. My brother was counting on me.

  Yet I had already let him go. If I had trusted him, he wouldn’t have been in the position to be captured in the first place. Because of me, he wasn’t immortal. He was willing to give up his magic for me and trust me to keep him safe, while I hadn’t trusted him not to kill my girlfriend. Keira was right; he needed to be shown that she could be trusted.

  I was a fucking terrible brother. That didn’t make what he did less wrong, but I made the situation worse. They were both my brother.

  And I damn sure wasn’t going to let him die because of my mistake.

  “Anubis, Anubis, Anubis.”

  With a flash of light, he appeared. “You are becoming quite demanding for a half-mortal.”

  “I was wrong. I can’t do this without my brother. Please tell me there’s a way to undo what I did.”

  “Your lack of conviction does not inspire confidence, Writer.”

  “I know now that what I want and what I need are two different things.”

  “You can return what you took from him, but you will never be able to get Luca back again.”

  “How do I do it?”

  He held out his hand and the amulet appeared. “The power of it is inside him, but it is still tethered to the physical amulet. Crush the amulet and the Painter will be restored.”

  I took it from him, careful not to hurt it. “Can I… wait? Can I give it one more go?”

  “That is up to you. I hope he does not die before it is too late, though. You cannot resurrect the dead.”

  “Can’t you?”

  “No.” With a flash of light, he was gone. He hadn’t given me the chance to ask him to send me to my brother.

  I was prepared to restore the Painter until Anubis said I could never get Luca back. Luca had said he preferred his powerless state because he didn’t feel the same hate and anger as the Painter. I owed it to him to ask him what he wanted me to do. I didn’t want to take any more choices from him.

  Of course, that required getting out of my predicament alive.

  Chapter 12

  I refused to worry. Worry never got results. I needed to be conservative with my energy (so the rock monster was out) and avoid losing ground (so returning to Earth was out). I thought of all the caster magic I knew and realized that half of them would bring down the tower on top of me and Luca.

  Instead, I thought like a human— a human caster.

  I pulled out my book. In games and escape rooms, there was always a way out. If it wasn’t obvious, it was because the way out was a secret passageway. I knew this wasn’t a game and thus, there wouldn’t be a way out…

  So I would make one.

  After all, I was the Writer, and that’s what writers do. We make a way for the hero with a will. I opened up my book and started writing. I wrote that there was a wall sconce and described it with so much detail that I could already see its soft glow in my mind. Then I described how it could be pulled out, and that doing so would open a secret door. I couldn’t say where the door would lead to because I didn’t know.

  I spent about fifteen minutes describing it so completely that there was no room for doubt in my mind. It existed because I wrote that it did. My life was my story and that meant I could have secret passageways in it if I wanted to.

  I looked up to see the sconce, five feet up from the floor, centered on the wall, as I had written it. I pushed away my eagerness and made sure I was ready. My heart stone was in my pocket, my flashlight was under my left arm, and the amulet was in my left hand, ready to smash if I was about to die. With my right hand, I pulled the sconce.

  A three-foot-wide, five-foot-tall section of the wall to the right of the sconce suddenly slid down into the ground. By then, I was expecting the unexpected, and what I saw beyond the secret passageway didn’t disappoint.

  I was in a small room full of weapons and armor. It was about ten feet wide and five feet deep with a single door, which was open. Through the door was an arena. The wall enclosing it was ten feet high and there were two more doors out of it. On the other side of the wall were elevated bleachers.

  “I think I just walked into the wrong movie,” I said.

  At that point, I realized two people were in the middle of a fight in the arena. The only people in the stands were Maori and two of his guards. I understood why; the fight was so poorly matched it was ridiculous. Still, it took me a few minutes to realize who the two fighters were.

  Whisperer, using his caster magic, was the clear winner. The other one, whose face was smeared with blood, wasn’t using magic. Whisperer waved his hand and said something I couldn’t make out. His opponent was tossed up in the air and then slammed hard into the ground.

  Maori made a gesture at his guards. I drew further into the dark. When a bell tolled, Whisperer sauntered off through one of the other doors. His opponent struggled to his feet and then limped towards me. I put my invisibility ring back on and stepped out of the way. The instant he was inside the room, he collapsed. At that point, I recognized him.

  “Hakta?” I asked. He flinched and scrambled away. I took off the ring. “It’s me, just me. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He stopped trying to get away. “I didn’t see you. I take it you’re next?”

  “You didn’t see me because I was invisible. I snuck in here. I don’t know what’s going on. Did you challenge Whisperer?”

  “No. I have to fight him. Maori found out what happened and decided that we couldn’t both live.”

  “Because someone would find out you don’t belong here.”

  “He ordered us to fight to the death.”

  “You’re already dead.”

  “We can still be destroyed. Whoever survives will become one of hi
s guards. That’s how he chooses them. Why are you here?”

  “He captured my brother and I’m trying to get to the dungeon to rescue him.”

  “Well, you’re close. Through that door,” he said, gesturing to the one Whisperer didn’t go into, “you’ll find a portal that looks like a pool of silver liquid on the floor. Think about where you want to go and it’ll take you there. It’ll be guarded, though.”

  “I might be able to handle that. Here. You need this more than me,” I said, trying to pass him the sword.

  He shook his head. “I can’t beat him with a sword. He’s a caster.”

  “Everyone has a weakness.” I searched the room until I found a shield. It was pretty crappy. It was about two-feet across, circular, scuffed wood with a leather handle on one side. The edge was lined with metal, but it was coming off. I pulled out my dagger and carved a spell into it.

  For one hour of Earth time, this shield protects its user with a ten-foot-wide, ten-foot-high ward against magic, using the magic of the Writer. One hour after its creation, the engraving will vanish and the shield will lose its enchantment.

  As I carved my spell, I focused on my desire to help Hakta. I barely knew him, but I knew he didn’t deserve to be there, and any enemy of Whisperer was a friend of mine.

  This wasn’t standard casting, but I wasn’t a standard caster. It was the written word that held power, not the pen, and I could enchant the shield because I was the Writer.

  “Take this. When he tries to use magic against you, hold up this shield and it will deflect the magic. I would give you more if I weren’t running so low on energy.”

  “You’re giving me a chance, and that’s more than I had before, so thank you.”

  “Good luck.”

  “What is that?”

  “Never mind.” I had to help him stand and it wasn’t fun watching him limp away. I felt like I was sending him to his grave.

  I put the ring back on and crept out of the room. Maori might have been capable of seeing me, but he was distracted with the fight. I tried not to pay attention to it as I hugged the wall and snuck to the door. Hakta was actually holding his own this time, since Whisperer only had magic to fall back on.

  Somehow, I made it without any problems. Through the door, I found a small, five-by-five room with a silver puddle on the floor and two men guarding it. I had given up my sword, but I still had the advantage.

  I went around them and slowly waded into the liquid. It beaded off me like mercury instead of soaking into my boots or jeans. In fact, it was heavy like mercury. It was about six inches deep.

  “Do you want Maori to fall?” I asked, making my voice calm and strong.

  The guards both jumped and started looking for me. “Who’s there?” one inquired.

  “Don’t bother trying to see me. I am the son of Set, powerful enough to come and go where I please unseen. Do you want Maori to be defeated?”

  “Yes,” the same guard said easily.

  “Don’t say that!” the other hissed. “It is a trick to see if we will betray Maori.”

  “This is no trick. Maori is a sniveling, manipulative, cheating dalek.”

  “What’s a dalek?”

  “Never mind that. He is going to be destroyed. If you want to be on the winning side, discreetly kill Whisperer before he kills Hakta.”

  The guards glanced at each other. “Which one is Whisperer?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The caster. Kill the one who’s trying to kill his opponent with magic. Protect the one with the sword and shield. Don’t get caught. Oh, and if you can, detain Maori for a while.”

  With that, I focused on the dungeon. Before I could activate the portal, everything went dark.

  Obviously, the portal activated itself, because I was suddenly in another room. The five-by-five room was identical to the previous one, but I could see that the room beyond had cells in it. I was back in the dungeon.

  I walked past the cells, wondering if anyone here actually deserved it. There were children, women, and men who looked completely broken. Maori hurts people through their loved ones. I always thought there was a clear line between right and wrong… until my brother showed me otherwise.

  Killing for self-defense was right, killing for fun was wrong, whether it was a person or animal being killed. Love was right, hate was wrong. Self-sacrifice was right, sacrificing someone else was wrong.

  But who was I to make those rules? People had different views of right and wrong all the time. Stealing was widely considered wrong. Did a child who stole an apple deserve to be killed for it? For that matter, punishment was flawed. Who could agree to a degree of punishment for someone who committed a crime when another culture considered the act not to have been a crime at all?

  “I could drive myself crazy debating this shit.”

  “Before you do, can you get me some water?” a young woman asked, startling me.

  She reached her hand through the bars to my left, nearly touching me. I recoiled instinctively, because I thought she was riddled with diseases. As she withdrew her hand with the most hurt expression I’d ever witnessed and I realized I should be ashamed of myself. They were burns all over her naked body, not sores. Furthermore, if they had been sores, I didn’t want the last thing she ever saw to be disgust.

  “I’m sorry, you startled me.” I pulled out my book and pen, quickly conjuring a ceramic mug of water. “Here.” I held it through the bars, but she wouldn’t take it, so I gently set it down. “I really didn’t mean to offend you. I know a caster who’s a healer.”

  “I’m already dead,” she said.

  “Right. I’m sorry again. I forgot.”

  “I wish I could forget. I’ll be here forever.”

  “Maybe not. If enough people want Maori gone, it’s only a matter of time before someone accomplishes that.”

  “That’s not how it works here,” she argued, taking her water.

  As she drank, her arms shook weakly. “My brother will know a way,” I said. “Any chance you know where they took him? He’s skinny, about this tall, and was probably calling the guards all kinds of nasty names as they dragged him in here.”

  “He woke us with his yelling, so yes. They took him through there. The people in there will help you get the rest of the way. If they don’t, tell them you’re part of the Anamesan.”

  “What is that?”

  “The rebellion of the dead.”

  “How organized is it?”

  “We’ve been trying to overthrow Moari for a thousand years or more. We’ve been unsuccessful for a thousand years or more.”

  “Something my dad taught me was to take one big chance every day, because it might be my lucky day and I wouldn’t even know it.”

  “What is lucky?”

  “Never mind. I trust my brother.”

  I left, not wanting to waste time trying to reassure her. In the next room, I encountered more of the same; same cages, same abused prisoners, and the same three doors. This was worse than Hell in my opinion.

  But again, it was my opinion.

  I heard commotion from the portal, so I darted into an open cell. Inside was nothing, so I huddled in the corner and slipped on my ring. Knowing the immortal creep fed on fear, I refused to feel it. I focused my mind on anger instead, which I figured was a lot healthier.

  A moment later, Maori and two guards entered. “I can’t believe he bit me,” Maori said. “Like a dog.”

  “Cats don’t like you, either,” the guard on his right said.

  “I didn’t ask you!” Maori barked. “I’m tired of his attitude. I’ll kill him and then use their mother to get the Book of Names.”

  “Does that mean you want us to find Talot?” the guard on his left asked, sounding bored.

  “Of course. Once I get the Book of Names and destroy the other gods, I will be free to leave this place.”

  That was useful information. More importantly, though, I was out of time. I crept out of the cell when they passed and fol
lowed them, staying low and silent. I hoped any sound I made would be mistaken for a prisoner’s.

  “How is he taking to his torment?” Maori asked. “I can’t get any energy from him as he is now.”

  “Like you said, he hasn’t shown any sign of magic. We’ve never tortured a living person before,” the right guard asked. “Either he’s an incredibly resilient man, or we’re not doing it right.”

  That was definitely respect I heard in his tone.

  “Then when he’s dead, he will either be easier, or good practice for you.”

  “How do you want him killed?” the left guard asked.

  “I will do it myself. I haven’t had the opportunity to kill a demigod in a long time. There’s only one good way to kill one. Do you know what it is?” The guards both shook their head. “Run him through the heart with a sword. No magic needed. No worry, no fuss. Pain is a lot more fun, but you don’t play with a demigod and win. If you have the chance to kill one, do it with a sword to the heart, because there’s no other way that is certain and you won’t get another chance.”

  “We will keep that in mind,” said the guard on his right as they entered the room. Fortunately, they didn’t close the door behind them, so I followed at a distance.

  It was the same size and shape as the other rooms, except it didn’t have any cells. Instead, the walls were lined with chains. However, Luca was the only person shackled at the moment. He was unconscious, but his chest rose and fell with a steady breath. His shirt was gone and his jeans were caked in blood. His sweat-drenched chest was covered in bruises and welts from a whip.

  Aside from him, there were weapons hanging from the ceiling (which I thought was a stupid place to store them) and other torture devices scattered around the room, along with bloody rags and buckets.