The Emblem Throne: The Runes of Issalia, Book II
Jeffrey L. Kohanek
© Copyright Jeffrey L. Kohanek 2016
Published by Black Rose Writing
www.blackrosewriting.com
© 2016 by Jeffrey L. Kohanek
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-761-5
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
For my readers.
Without you, Brock’s journey would have ended long ago.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
A Note from the Author
Black Rose Writing 20% off Coupon
PROLOGUE
Byland Hedgewick climbed the narrow ladder, his arthritic hands protesting as he gripped each wooden rung. Stretching an arm out, he grabbed a thick book from the top shelf and began his descent.
With his feet firmly on the floor of his office, he inspected the volume: Methods of Interpreting Prophetic Visions.
He gave a satisfied nod as he pushed his spectacles back into place. Turning toward the door, he lifted his purple cloak from its hook and secured it about his shoulders. With cloak donned and textbook cradled in one arm, he shuffled out the door.
The hallway was quiet, calm before the storm of activity that would mark the daylight hours. Hedgewick strode purposefully past neighboring offices and the side entrance to the renowned Academy Library before reaching the heavy wooden door that led outside.
The brisk early morning air was a shock to his senses, instantly eradicating any drowsiness remaining from his troubled slumber. The clear sky above the eastern mountains glowed a bright blue as the rising sun pushed the darkness of night westward. He descended the steps and marched across the lawn as sparkling frost crunched beneath the soles of his boots, leaving a trail of frost-free footprints on the path.
While crossing the lawn, Hedgewick surveyed the construction of the west wing. The effort had begun in mid-summer and was now nearly complete as the workers raced to finish before the first snowfall. The new wing would soon house female students. Hedgewick shook his head in amazement. The concept of women in the Ministry seemed an oddity, but it was certainly a time of change. Recent events had required the Ministry to alter its views, and opening Academy doors to women was just one shift among many.
Stacks of stone blocks stood near the tower that was to terminate the wing. Rounding the circular walls of the tower, Hedgewick found the small portion of the outer wall that remained incomplete. He expected the builders to fill the opening by day’s end. In fact, he counted on it.
With effort, he lifted his leg high enough to step into the opening, grunting as he hoisted himself into the tower. Straightening to stand, his free hand went to his lower back, rubbing at the pain. He’d never been fit or agile, but the years were taking their toll and anything physical had become a challenge.
Hedgewick examined the interior of the tower to get his bearings. The large circular room was over sixty feet in diameter, its interior doorway standing opposite from the gap in the wall. A spiral staircase occupied the center of the room, rising from the baths in the cellar below up to the three stories that would eventually exist above. He turned toward the open section of wall, closing his eyes to recall his vision. In his mind’s eye, he found it an exact match.
Approaching the opening, he craned his neck around the stone bricks to see past the inner wall. There was access to the gap in between, just below eye-level. Due to the cold winters at the Academy, they built the walls in two layers, divided by an air gap designed to insulate the interior from the temperature outside. That gap would become the home to his secret.
Hedgewick pulled the heavy book from under his arm. Holding it with both hands, he opened the outer cover to reveal the real book hiding beneath.
His thoughts wandered as he stared at the starburst-shaped rune embossed on the cover. Scenes of death and destruction danced in his head as he relived the visions that had put him on this path. He had no choice. It was the right thing to do; it was what Issal required him to do.
He flipped the cover open, reading the messages he had written the night before. Giving a nod, he gently closed the book. It would have to do.
Hedgewick reached into the gap and inserted the book into the wall, wedging it tightly just beyond view. He stepped back and exhaled. It was done. With a sense of relief, he paused to stare out at the valley.
The frost on the field of long grass glistened in the morning light. Fresh snow on the surrounding mountain peaks reflected the rising sun. The leaf trees hosted a variety of colors, ranging from green to red as they prepared to bare their branches prior to winter. Thin trails of smoke snaked upward from the town nestled along the dark lake at the far end of the valley. It was a beautiful and tranquil scene.
Hedgewick suddenly remembered the time. He was definitely going to be late.
Crouching low, he clumsily stepped down and hurried across the lawn to the main entrance. He ascended the stairs as rapidly as his body would allow, pausing to catch his breath before opening the heavy door.
He hurried across the main hall, his footsteps echoing in the large space as he headed toward a branching corridor. In his rush, he collided with a serving woman rounding the corner.
“Sorry, Master. Please forgive me.” The woman stammered while gathering the linens she had dropped.
“No worries, my child,” he said as he continued walking. “It was my fault.”
He found the doors to the Hall of Masters already closed. Pausing, he pulled out a small cloth and padded beads of sweat from his forehead. After stuffing the cloth back into his pocket, he squeezed the handle and opened the door.
Three long rows of tables ran the length of the room, filled with cloaked men. At the two outer tables sat prelates, visiting from cities across the newly formed empire. Their red cloaks were like bright stripes framing the dark purple cloaks of the academy masters at the middle table. Everyone was facing the table upon the dais, opposite of the doors.
High-Marshal Zurandus and Arch-Prelate Selbin sat at the ends of the short table. At well over six feet, the man standing between them towered over the room. Headmaster Hardig’s height was accentuated by his position upon the three-foot tall dais. The tall man, dressed in the silver cloak of his office, was addressing the Enclave as Hedgewick slid into an open seat at the middle table.
“…and so, I am pleased to inform you that the Cleansing is nearly complete.” Hardig said, leaning forward with his hands pressed against the table. “We are committed to this effort. Everyone in this room was part of the decision. We must show resolve and see it through.”
Hardig glared at the Enclave members before him, his intense brown eyes scanning the room for signs of dissension. The time for those sentiments had long since passed.
Standing upright, he continued. “High-Marshal Zurandus has been leading the effort to cleanse Chaos users from the Holy Army.” He gestured toward the military leader. “High-Marshal, would you please report your progress to the Enclave?”
Hardig took his seat, allowing the high-marshal to take the spotlight. Zurandus stood, the shiny metal plates adorning his white leather armor reflecting the incoming sunlight. While not as tall as Hardig, he was a massive man. At just over six-feet, he had a barrel chest and wide shoulders, further enhanced by the padding of the armor. His bare arms showed tan skin stretched tight over bulging muscles from his shoulder plates to the leather bracers wrapped about each forearm.
The high-marshal’s deep voice rumbled throughout the room. “I’m here to report that all Chaos users among the Paladin ranks have been eliminated.” This revelation caused murmurs to buzz through the hall. He paused, waiting for the crowd to quiet. His brow furrowed as he resumed.
“Careful planning and a well-executed operation left us with few casualties. Their ranks had been thinned considerably from the war, leaving them easier to dispose of than anticipated.” Pounding his fist on the table, Zurandus shouted to the room. “The Holy Army is now pure, ready to support the Empire without the taint of Chaos!”
The audience cheered, encouraged by this victory. The proud high-marshal nodded and returned to his seat. As the cheering subsided, the Headmaster stood to address the enclave. Sunbeams streaming through high windows shone upon his angular face.
Hardig nodded toward the man on his right. “Thank you, High-Marshal. Once again, the Holy Army has proven its value to the Ministry and to the Empire.” He turned, gesturing toward the man on his left. “Arch-Prelate, will you please present your update to the Enclave?”
Arch-Prelate Selbin’s white hair and beard seemed a fitting match to his red-trimmed white cloak. Leaning hard into the cane he held, the senior leader rose and addressed the room as Hardig took a seat.
“Thank you, Headmaster.” Selbin nodded toward Hardig.
The Arch-Prelate turned his gaze to the Ministry leaders in the assembly below. Although his aging body was beginning to fail, his eyes remained alert. Sharp wits had always been his best assets, and the years had leant a strong sense of wisdom to his arsenal. Nobody doubted that those assets remained as effective as ever.
“Children of Issal, we all are. None among us is perfect. Yet, we are said to be reflections of his likeness. Therefore, not even Issal is perfect. Chaos is his imperfection. The destruction and horror wrought by Chaos during the war cannot be forgotten by those who witnessed it.”
He looked around the room with solemn eyes. “As the shepherds of man, we’ve taken upon us the responsibility to protect humanity. Oftentimes, that means protecting man from himself. In this case, we protect man from the lure of Chaos. While the task before us may be distasteful, we do what we must for the survival of mankind and for the betterment of the Empire.”
The hall again erupted in applause, the sentiment striking a chord with the Enclave. His words provided validation to the chosen course. As the room quieted, he continued.
“With a heavy heart, yet a clear conscious, I now confirm that we have eliminated all Arcanists from within the Hierarchy. While not as schooled in the arts of destruction as their military brethren, there were more of them remaining.” Sadness reflected in his old eyes as he surveyed the room. “Even with the advantage of surprise, our losses were heavy. Many good men were taken from us, their sacrifice ensuring that Order would win the day and allow mankind to thrive without the threat of Chaos.”
There was no applause after this announcement. The room was silent as Selbin shuffled to his chair, leaning on his cane to sit. Hardig put his hand on the old man’s arm. Their eyes locked for a moment, resolve reflecting in their gaze. The Headmaster stood to address the hall.
“We now move to the last area of concern; how to prevent Chaos from returning.” He smiled. “I’m pleased to report that we’ve devised a constructive use for divining and will be incorporating it into a new ceremony. Under a newly instituted law, each Empire citizen will undergo a Choosing ceremony shortly after birth where they will be assigned a vocation rune, marking them for life. Above all else, this ceremony will allow the Ministry to identify and quarantine any individuals with latent Chaos ability. This will ensure a Chaos-free future for man and will do so without the Ministry being forced into any future act of genocide.”
The crowd clapped at this, but with far less energy. His mention of genocide struck too close to home, touching on thoughts they had buried deep.
Hardig continued, “This new divining ceremony will not only weed out Chaos but also is designed to ensure that the Empire thrives. We’ll begin training our Ecclesiast members in this new method immediately.”
Another round of applause followed. When it quieted, Hardig spoke once more.
“For the last order of business, I call on Master Hedgewick.”
All eyes turned toward Byland as he slid his chair out to stand. Swallowing hard, he absently pushed his spectacles back up his nose and addressed the room.
“I have an update.” He began in a hoarse voice before coughing. He cleared his throat before trying again. “I have an update regarding the issue of Chaos in the histories.”
Taking a breath, he continued. “Agents scattered about the continent have been collecting references of Chaos. We’ve received submissions from as far off as Kalimar, though it still lay in ruins from the war. These books, including everything from the Academy Library itself, have been destroyed. In a few generations, nobody will even know that Chaos ever existed, let alone how to harness it.” The hall erupted in applause again, saving him from speaking any longer.
Hedgewick sat down, his armpits now damp. He pushed his glasses up, his hand shaking as he did so. The Masters near him smiled and clapped him on the back as he smiled weakly in return. The feeling in the room was confident. Chaos was gone forever, or so they thought.
Byland Hedgewick knew better.
PART I:
GHOSTS OF THE PAST
CHAPTER 1
Nothing. Ashland Pym felt nothing. She opened her eyes and shook her head as she turned toward Brock, his face lit orange in the flickering light of their campfire.
“You can’t remain calm like you do when channeling Order. Chaos requires emotion,” Brock explained. “Fear and anger seem to work best. When you tap into that emotion and close your eyes, you should sense an external force, an energy all around you. Reach for that
energy and draw it in, absorbing as much as you can. When it feels as if you’re about to burst, open your eyes and pour the energy into the rune.”
Ashland nodded that she understood. She just needed to do it somehow. Numerous attempts the previous evening yielded nothing, but it had been a long day of travel and she had been too exhausted to focus. She hoped tonight would be different.
Knowing that she needed raw emotion, Ashland’s thoughts drifted back to when Corbin had tried to kill her just a few weeks earlier. In her mind, she relived the experience, her stomach twisting in anxiety as he strapped her to the metal press. Fear and desperation began to overwhelm her as he cranked the press, crushing her head between the plates. She latched onto the fear, her heart pounding as the terror of the memory resurfaced. Shifting her focus, she recognized a frantic energy just beyond her reach. She pushed hard, stretching toward it. Tension held her back for a bit before breaking. A raging torrent of energy poured in, filling her until she feared she would explode.
Her eyes opened to focus on the rune carved into the log. She released the energy, it flowing out like a waterfall and causing the symbol to glow an angry red. A wave of exhaustion struck, leaving her feeling chilled and empty. The rune glowed for another moment, pulsing before it dimmed to black.
“You did it! I knew you could do it.” Brock shot her a smile. His smiles made her feel happy, even special. “Now let’s see what happens.”
He pushed the downed tree off the long log, the tree bouncing like a coiled spring when its branches hit the ground. Freed from the weight of the tree, the log began floating upward. Ashland watched the log bump and spin as it hit branches of the trees overhead, continuing to rise into the night sky until she lost it beyond the light of their fire.
The Emblem Throne (The Runes of Issalia Book 2) Page 1