Sword of Draskara (Casters of Syndrial Book 2)

by Rain Oxford

“She was selling her children to abusive people.”

  “I’m the Writer. My brother, the Painter, is going to give you water. Then go through the portal and you will be given a second chance at getting to the Land of the Gods.”

  “I don’t regret what I did,” she said.

  “I can’t tell you it was wrong; I might have done the same thing.”

  Once Painter was done making the portal, he conjured a small metal table and covered it with mugs of water and bread. He took her hand and helped her to the table. Instead of handing her anything, he let her choose her own water and bread. He was giving her as much control as he could.

  “Are you really the same man who killed those innocent priests mercilessly?” I asked Painter quietly.

  He grinned. “Oh, yeah. I’ve killed a lot of people. A lot of them would be considered innocent to you, but I don’t believe anyone is innocent. Don’t get me wrong, Nathan. I’m not a hero. I am not selfless. I own up to being a villain.”

  “Why? Why can’t you not be a villain? Are you unable to stop killing people?”

  “I don’t want to stop. Any of it. I want to be me, and that means killing people on occasion. I don’t enjoy killing, but I sleep better when I know those people aren’t alive anymore. You’re the hero, Brother, and I don’t think any less of you for it. I pity you, though.”

  “I don’t think I’m a hero, but I also don’t think there’s anything wrong with me.”

  He shrugged. “No, not wrong. You just need to be protected more, which is good, because I want to protect you. You can do your hero thing and I can get things done.”

  “That sounds like the Painter I know.”

  “Well, get used to it. Luca was made for you. My existence isn’t based on your happiness. I tried to make you see things my way and I failed. You can be the hero, but you can’t change me. I’m free now.”

  “Free from Luca or free from me?”

  “Both. You have too many rules to follow. That’s the problem with heroic people. Don’t kill, don’t lie, don’t steal. It’s so boring and you can’t get anything done because you have too many lines you’re afraid to cross. I can kill anyone I want, manipulate and use anyone in any way. I can be an asshole or saint. Your morals stopped you from helping people because someone you’ve never met said they deserve punishment. I don’t care what someone else says.”

  “I helped you banish the guilty priests to Kradga.”

  “And you think those ‘innocent’ priests didn’t deserve to die? They might not have plunged a knife into someone’s back, but they have all taken part of ripping children away from their parents, either for training in magic or for exile.”

  He focused on helping others out of their cells, so I joined him. We worked without speaking to each other. I didn’t know what to think. I wanted to believe he was wrong, that he was the one in the wrong, but I couldn’t. If it weren’t for him, I never would have found out who I was and we wouldn’t have saved the Book of Names. He did get things done.

  We cleared the cells quickly and everyone thanked us, whether they were going to be able to go to the Land of the Gods or not. I didn’t ask anyone else why they were there. None of them deserved what they had gone through. Some of them couldn’t walk. I had to rethink my understanding of death and the afterlife.

  As soon as we were done and before we could move on to the next room, two guards entered. One of them opened his mouth to shout, either for assistance or in outrage. It didn’t matter, because the second guard slammed the butt of his sword into the back of his comrade’s head.

  It was Tokha, the guard who had told me how to get to Luca. “We don’t have a lot of time before someone else comes. Did you save Oren?”

  “Was he in this room?”

  “No.”

  “We’re saving everyone. Show us to Oren and we’ll help him next.”

  “Yes, let’s skip over the women and children,” Painter said sarcastically. When I glared at him, he took a deep breath. “Fine. I’m sorry,” he said with absolutely no sincerity.

  “When was the last time you ate?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “When we had Chinese, same as you. Why?”

  “Have a Snickers, because you become a little bitch when you’re hungry.”

  “Thanks, Mom.” He grabbed the last piece of bread and ate it. Then he conjured another piece and held it out to me. “You must be hungry as well. I should have offered you some earlier.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of food, actually.” Tokha led us to the next room and went to a specific cell, where a man in his late forties was asleep in the corner.

  “Ketmeek,” I said, unlocking the door magically as Painter conjured more bread and water. While helping the sand people, I had learned that bread was one of the easiest foods to conjure. Nevertheless, conjuring anything was one of the most energy-consuming spells.

  Tokha fussed over his son while I unlocked the other cells. Several prisoners emerged on their own, but a few thought it was a trick and half of them couldn’t walk on their own. Three of them wouldn’t even wake, and one of the other prisoners said they were trapped in nightmares. Painter promised this would be broken when they were judged again by the gods, so we dragged them over the portals and left them to their fate.

  Tokha helped his son through the portal and then stuck around to help Painter and me take care of everyone else. When we moved to the next room, I took over conjuring food and water while Painter opened the portal and the cells. Tokha continued helping us get everyone food and water and out through the portal.

  “Maori has to be feeling this by now.”

  “He has an entire planet of people to feed on. I doubt it,” Painter said.

  “This is his special collection.” By the time we were done, we were all exhausted.

  “How do you two plan on defeating Maori?” Tokha asked.

  “With the very weapon we originally came for. It’s a sword that can kill a god.”

  “Where is it?”

  “That’s a secret. We don’t want Maori figuring us out.”

  “In that case, I wish you luck. Since I am a pawn to Maori, I will leave so that I’m not used against you when you face him.”

  “Use the portal,” I suggested.

  “I would just end up back on Kradga.”

  “You never know. Either you end up free or you in up somewhere on Kradga that isn’t here. You don’t have much to lose.”

  “I see your point. Very well.” He started for the portal without arguing further.

  “Stop,” Maori said, suddenly standing in the doorway. We had all been too exhausted to detect him or his magic. Tokha froze as if Maori had paused him. “None of you are leaving.”

  “What are you going to do to stop us?”

  “I can kill you.”

  “Bullshit. We know you’re not any more a god than we are, and there are two of us against one of you.”

  “That’s not true,” Maori said. “Tokha, kill them.”

  The guard drew his sword, but Painter didn’t care. “You’re going to sick a dead person on us?” Painter asked. Tokha was obeying the demigod, though, and swung his sword at Painter, who dodged it without even looking at him.

  “You two are more mortal than god; you’ve bonded with Tokha and won’t kill him.”

  “I haven’t,” Painter argued. “I have no hang-ups about killing him.”

  I put out my foot and tripped Tokha, easily shoving him onto the portal. He vanished. “Well, that was difficult.”

  “I can still kill you myself,” Maori said.

  “Yeah, except that if you could have, you would have. You’re all bark and very little bite,” I accused.

  “And he knows bite, because his girlfriend is a cat,” Painter said.

  “Shut up, Brother.”

  Without a word, Maori pointed at me and lightning struck and invisible force. Painter had already thrown up a ward without speaking. “You’re weakened,” Painter said.

&nbs
p; “Because you let out thirty of my prisoners? I have thousands of souls.”

  “Right; there are thousands of people here who hate you and want you destroyed,” my brother said.

  “I don’t care what they want or if they like me. None of them can do a thing about it.”

  “Now, that’s not quite true. You have an incredibly powerful ability over the dead which the gods don’t have over the living. Your problem is that you’re underestimating the power of a mob of people who want you gone. You’re only as powerful as they say you are.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about. I was trained by a wizard far more devious than you, and who’s an expert in this sort of thing.”

  The god sneered. “You two are going to be so easy to kill I won’t even enjoy it.”

  “Well, someone needs to learn to stop and smell the roses,” I said.

  Painter and I were both tired from freeing the prisoners, but we had enough left in us for the final battle. At least, I hoped it was the final battle.

  When we tried to spread out so that we could split his attention, two faceless men appeared. One grabbed Painter and I reacted instinctively. I pulled out my dagger, charged him, and stabbed the faceless creature in the back of its neck. It released Painter and turned to sand. “How come that didn’t hurt you?” I asked. “When one of them touched me, I passed out.”

  He scoffed. “That’s because you hold regret. I don’t. That’s why Maori can’t feed on me.”

  “You killed my parents.”

  “Yeah, and I’d do it again. Just because you hate me for it and they hadn’t hurt you yet, doesn’t mean they wouldn’t have later. Besides, there’s no point in regret; what’s done is done.”

  “We need to discuss this later. Right now, we have a glorified caster to kill.”

  “I am a god!” Maori screeched.

  “That’s one I’m missing from my collection,” Painter said.

  The second faceless man came at me and I tossed him across the room with magic. “A god?”

  “An acorn.”

  Apparently, Maori wasn’t as much an idiot as we were making him out to be, because he realized we could easily defeat the faceless men. Then three more guards arrived, one being Hakta, dressed in the same black armor as his comrades.

  “Isn’t that Hakta?” Painter asked. “We should have left him on his island.”

  “We really need to talk about everything that happened while you were imprisoned,” I said.

  “Hakta, kill the Writer. Katsu, kill the Painter,” Maori ordered.

  Hakta looked sick to his stomach as he drew his sword. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t disobey him.”

  “I know. I also can’t let you stop Painter and me.”

  “I understand.”

  At that point, Hakta collapsed. “The fuck?” I asked.

  Painter, standing ten feet away, shrugged and held up a sort of blow gun. The other two guards were unconscious at the Painter’s feet. “You conjure a gun, I conjure a tranquilizer. Which one of us is the killer again?”

  “I only killed bodies of ground bone.” We spread out again on either side of Maori. “You really thought a few guards could take out two demigods?” I asked.

  “You’re right; I don’t need anyone else to deal with you.” He raised his fists and I felt his magic stir. Before we could be thrown across the room, we both put up protective wards around us. Painter’s worked. I was slammed into the wall.

  “Stop playing around, Brother,” Painter said. He struck with lightning, but Maori had a ward over himself.

  Not falling for the distraction, Maori cast lightning at me. “Tekriyar,” I said. My defense was strong enough to deflect the attack, but not enough to make it rebound on Maori.

  Painter inflicted another curse silently, so Maori didn’t know how to counter it. Maori crumpled to the floor, convulsing. Painter took the opportunity to slip off his ring and place it on the base of the dagger. “Senef sakur nedj iam.”

  The dual blades fused into one and the dagger suddenly grew into a four-foot-long broadsword. The pommel and grip were like any other sword, but the guard made up the hood of a cobra. The hood tapered down into the body of the snake and sharpened into the blade. The snake’s head and face was in the pose of hissing. The eyes of the snake were glowing red and the blade itself was emanating a blue glow.

  It definitely looked like something Roman would design.

  Maori struggled to his feet just in time to see it stop glowing. His eyes widened. “You can’t have that.”

  “Someone recognizes it.”

  “Of course I recognize it.”

  “Because your uncle designed it?” I asked.

  He blanched. “You know nothing.”

  “Please. It wasn’t hard to figure out once I learned who Draskara was. It explains why you’re ruling Kradga and why the gods didn’t doubt that you had the sword. You’re the son of the god, Kradga.”

  “Yes, and that sword belongs to me.”

  “You’re no better than your father,” Painter said.

  “He was powerful enough to kill Rakma.”

  “And he died for it. No amount of hate or anger can defeat love. All I ever wanted growing up was a family who loved me and there is nothing in the universe you or anyone else can do to take mine away from me now that I have it.”

  “That’s so beautiful you should submit it to Disney,” I said.

  “I can’t; I already sent it to Hallmark.”

  Maori was shaking with fury. “You are wrong. Power is everything and I have more!” He made a gesture to the air and fire filled the room.

  “Khatva tahatremsa,” I said just as Painter rushed to my side. A tornado formed around us, full of snow. When I let it go a moment later, everything was coated with snow and the ceiling, floor, and walls were damaged.

  “That was a little dramatic, don’t you think?” Painter asked, pulling out is book.

  “Fine. Show me how you would do it, then.”

  Painter scoffed. “I’ll show you how an artist does it.” While he painted, I shielded us both from Maori’s attacks. I wanted to learn some of his tricks, but he didn’t speak them aloud.

  When Painter was done, he snapped the book closed and I looked at him. “What did you do?”

  He gestured to Maori, who tried to cast another spell. It hit a shield and rebounded. He cried out with pain and started bleeding from his eyes, mouth, nose, and ears.

  “Gross. What was that?”

  “No idea. He did it to himself. I put a ward around him that won’t let magic out and it’s going to last a few minutes instead of a split second. Anything he tries to do to himself won’t work.”

  “Can he break through it?”

  “Not in the next ten seconds.” Without another word, he marched up to the demigod and stabbed him.

  As the blade pierced Maori’s chest, understanding crossed the dark demigod’s eyes. He finally understood what Painter had explained.

  The blade suddenly burned with blue fire, which first spread over Maori’s body and then my brother’s. I rushed to my brother, but he held out his hand, “Wait!” he insisted. “Don’t come closer.”

  “Are you in pain?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Before I could ask what the hell he meant, the fire faded. Painter pulled the blade from Maori’s body, which was now dead on the floor. At that moment, one of the guards burst in. “Stop!” Painter demanded.

  The guard did and asked, “What happened? I sensed Maori’s control over me end.”

  “Maori is dead,” I said.

  “Then why can’t I move?” The guard asked.

  “I know the truth of the sword,” Painter said.

  “What truth?”

  “It doesn’t just destroy souls; it steals the person’s power and gives it to the wielder.”

  “Are you saying that you can now control the dead?”


  The sword glowed blue and shrunk until it was a dagger and ring again.

  Instead of answering me, Painter addressed the guard. “Sit.” The guard sat hard on the ground, grunting with pain. “Stand.” The guard popped up, clearly not in control of his body. “Spread the word to the rest of the guards that Maori is dead.”

  “Do you want me to tell everyone that you will be taking his place?”

  “No.”

  “There will be chaos if no one rules this world.”

  “We will figure it out,” I said.

  “Tell them that the new ruler will be fair and just with his people, but ruthless with his enemies,” Painter said.

  “Who are his people?” the guard asked.

  “The dead.”

  The guard left to do as Painter ordered.

  “Before anything else, we need to take the weapon to Langril.” Painter said.

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea to give him something that powerful.”

  “We don’t have a choice. No one backs out of a deal with Langril. He can’t break a deal, either.”

  “We didn’t know how powerful this weapon was at the time.”

  “That doesn’t matter. Langril is the last person we want as an enemy. I have no doubt he somehow knew what the sword could do. He knows things about power that he shouldn’t.”

  I focused on the old wizard and said the phrase.

  Chapter 16

  We appeared outside the castle. It was night, as usual. “Is it ever daytime here?”

  “Not according to Langril.”

  As soon as we reached the porch, the doorman greeted us cautiously. “Langril is in his private study. He is expecting you.”

  We passed him and went to the study instead of the throne room.

  I raised my fist to knock, but Langril said, “Come in Nathan, Luca,” before I could. We opened the door and entered. “I see that you brought my new sword,” he said, gesturing to the dagger.

  Painter handed it to him. “There’re a few things you should know about it. The sword comes in two parts. To activate it, you have to place the ring on the pommel and say, ‘Senef sakur nedj iam.’ However, if you do activate it, you have to kill someone with it, or it’ll kill you.”

  “Oh, don’t worry; there’s always someone to kill.”