The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3)

by Philbrook, Chris

  Umaryn used her fingertips on the black table to move a large blue circle. As her finger slid around its shape the giant cross on the wall moved as well. She aimed the weapon just outside the hole in the wall where the undead pushed forward over the moat. “Well this is my will. Malwynn, press the button that says, ‘fire’ please.” She touched a red colored square and kept her finger on it. Behind her, her brother did the same, and when the twin’s fingers were both in place, a flashing yellow and black pattern appeared around the red button, and then it stopped.

  All looked to the wall to see if anything happened.

  Marcus’s shield had been knocked aside by Dalibor’s massive mount. The animal’s undead skull had twin scythe sized spears that it swung with alarming power and precision. Marcus had enough trouble avoiding the enormous swinging blade in Dalibor’s hands, and the horns were too much. The black haired knight with the white streaks had met his match. Dalibor had the advantage, despite all the soldiers fighting at Marcus’ side.

  Marcus dove to the ground once more, narrowly avoiding a slash from the empire general that would’ve split him in half diagonally. He landed hard on his bad wrist and rolled, trying to spin away. Then the ground fell away.

  The Gvorn hooked him in the side, piercing his armor as if it hadn’t been steel, only leather. A snap of the giant dead monster’s neck tossed Marcus into the air ten feet high. As the horns slid out of his midsection, leaving a hollow, burning pair of holes in their absence, time ebbed, and Marcus looked around at where he would die.

  He could see his pike men spearing foreign mounts and their riders. He watched as arrows left friendly bows, and went into unfriendly bodies. He could see the horde of empire undead and soldiers approaching in the fields. Marcus watched as one after another his soldiers were taken down to the ground, bitten, stabbed, and chewed. Killed.

  Then a strange thing happened as he reached the zenith of the flight Dalibor’s monster sent him on. In the far fields outside the village, where the undead were a hundred wide and two hundred deep, and where the dirty empire living ran as fast as their feet carried them to join the fight inside the walls, the world exploded.

  An eruption of the ground happened, tossing dead and alive alike into the air twenty, thirty feet high. The event gave off a strange noise, almost like a vibration in the air that stole your wind away and rattled your thoughts. In the center of the browned out earth whatever existed simply no longer did; whatever happened there caused such tremendous annihilation all that remained in Marcus’ eye was a crater fix feet deep.

  He hit the ground like a dropped sack of hammers, and his entire body felt like another sack landed on top of him. The explosion outside the wall and the strange hum it left in the air paused the living warriors in the battle. The undead didn’t understand strange, or danger, and they fought on still, and the living warriors fought back as they must. All others stopped and looked as empire bodies fell like rain from the sky.

  “What sorcery is this?” Dalibor yelled out.

  Samrale, tiny and miniscule compared to the purple clad demon atop his monstrous Gvorn appeared nearby. “This is not The Way,” he said, as bothered by the explosion as the enemy was.

  Another powerful explosion ripped the world apart twenty feet closer to the village and its wall, eradicating hundreds of undead in the blink of an eye. Before the dust could settle and the screams could stop, another eruption wiped away a swath of undead and soldiers. There could be no mistake; this was the sign of the divine. This was deliverance.

  Marcus rolled onto his back and felt at his side where he’d been speared twice by the Gvorn. The holes in his side were large enough to fit his mailed fist in, but thankfully, he could feel no pain. He did feel cold. Awfully cold.

  He saw a flash in the sky.

  One of the dancers, the tiny white dots that lived mostly at night in the Elmoryn sky had flashed. It was the same one he’d looked at before and said thanks to. A second after, the world outside the wall exploded again. The hovering dot clung still in the air far above, unlike every other dancer in the sky Marcus had seen. It flashed again, and a second later, the world erupted, this time right at the wall in the moat, blasting a hundred more undead away before they could enter the city.

  Marcus smiled.

  “You’d best go back to your Queen while you can, Dalibor. I do not know what gives Varrland this gift, but I know well enough you and your army are broken.”

  Dalibor looked down at the little mage and snarled in rage. He raised his sword to cleave the tiny man in half, but the teacher of wizards uttered a tiny word under his breath and flicked his wrist. Dalibor’s sword came loose in his hand just enough for him to fumble it, and drop it. “Damn you all!”

  “Leave while I still desire a messenger to limp back to your Queen,” Samrale said, his fingers twitching with the signs of The Way.

  Dalibor looked back at the fallen Marcus, and in a gesture of nobility, nodded his head to Marcus. Marcus waved, unable to do anything more majestic. Dalibor kicked at his mount’s side, and it bolted towards the gap in the wall. “Retreat! Retreat!”

  Samrale watched him go, and watched the strange reversal in the rising tide of the empire warriors. Undead who ran in now shuffled out, Varrland soldiers hacking the defenseless dead down as fast as they could. It turned from hopeless to a rout.

  Samrale watched as more of the incredible unexplainable explosions continued outside the walls, decimating the empire as it ran from battle, back across their border, back to their Queen. He turned to Marcus. “You are hurt badly, good knight,” he said.

  All Marcus could manage was a weak shake of his chin.

  Samrale stood, and saw a female Apostle tending to a dead soldier, blessing his spirit. “Come my lady. That one’s spirit has time for you enough, but this man needs you now or he’ll be lost.”

  She came running as she had earlier, but this time it was to save a life, not a dead man’s soul.

  —Chapter Twenty-Seven—

  EPILOGUE

  The snow would’ve reached up to Mal’s thigh were it not for the snowshoes on his feet, which allowed him to walk comfortably atop the hard, windswept pack far easier than if he’d been without them. They were a requirement here in the Protectorate during winter. His first few days wearing the woven winter footwear had been tragically awkward, filled with trips and falls more often than proper steps forward. He felt like a duck out of water. Chelsea had laughed and laughed. Mal had too when she finally fell.

  Malwynn walked north to the ridge in the hills that hid the cabin he and Chelsea lived in. the heavy hides and leathers he wore hid the strange armor they had taken from Site 0031 below New Falun, and together, the whole outfit kept him warmer than anything he’d ever owned. Umaryn had cursed the idea of them taking any of the strange remnant bits of pre-Fall wonder out of the vault, but after she was given time to work them herself, and give them a proper soul, she succumbed to their reason. Where they were going, they would need every asset they could bring.

  The two and half years since their entrance into the vault deep in the forested mountains of Duulan had been arduous. Umaryn’s death and rebirth in the dark below the mine had been torturous to say the least, and her adjustment to that existence came with great pain, regret, and doubt. The idea that her condition meant she must stay near the vault and protect it felt an awful lot like a leash to the fierce and proud woman. She buried herself under New Falun in Site 0031 knowing she’d saved Marcus’ life, and that she had eternity to unravel the mysteries that the Church and the Guild had hidden for so long.

  Secrets that they continued to hide.

  It helped her a great deal that Knight Major Marcus Gray retired from the Varrland military. He of course assisted his nation proudly in defending the border they shared with The Amaranth Empire for many months after their barely won victory in Ockham’s Fringe, but after that, his duty to his nation came to an end. A titled and landed Knight of Varrland, Marcus applied for an
d was granted admission into the nomadic Order of the Lacuna, and he traded his land to the Realm of Duulan for a barony. He chose the ruins of New Falun as the site for his keep. Construction on it should finish well ahead of schedule in the spring. No one could figure out quite how the Knight managed to build his fortress so fast, but then again, no one knew he had vampires working late into every night helping.

  The spectacle of the destruction the twins had wrought on the Empire in Ockham’s Fringe ensured that they would never, ever tell anyone about what the place could do, and what was inside it. The church needed to keep those secrets based solely on the fact that they wanted the history of Elmoryn forgotten. They wanted the faithless past left behind, an idea that had sense in it, assuming the faiths of the past weren’t valid in and of themselves. Elmoryn could not function without its faiths.

  The twins couldn’t sleep at night when they thought about the power the two keys would give anyone who knew how to use them.

  So they kept the power themselves.

  Malwynn trudged. The smell of wood smoke came to him on the frigid wind, and he thought of the beautiful woman who kept that fire going. The woman who had accepted his hand in marriage. The woman who last year had given birth to their twin daughter and son. He thought of his children back in Daris with Chelsea’s mother and father, safe and sound in their cozy home, waiting for Mom and Dad to return from their strange trip to the Northern Protectorate. They had named the black haired boy James, after the apostle that had returned to the light, and saved their lives. Someday when his saintly remains were interred at a proper cathedral, they would bring James there, and tell him the story properly about who he was named after. The little blond girl they named Alisanne. Even with the evil deeds of her namesake, the woman perhaps might find some level of redemption through a beautiful child that carried her name, and a bit of her blood. If anything, naming her after Malwynn’s aunt would purge the dark memories from that name, and that was no small thing.

  The courts in Daris still wanted Mal and Umaryn for the crime of killing Alisanne. It was fortunate for them that Marcus and Chelsea’s mother worked to bring much of her illegal dealings with the Empire to light. The shadows cast on her impeccable reputation caused the case to languish. They walked in Daris when they had to without fear of reprisal, though they took caution. Then again, they always did.

  Malwynn cut between the narrow gap in the cold stone of the ridge and saw the small cabin he and Chelsea called home, if only for the season. Travel back to Daris in the heart of winter would be treacherous, and they still had work to do, so they stayed. Samrale hadn’t made any flying ships for them since he returned to House Kulare as a hero, so it made sense to them to sit tight and keep at what they had gone to the Protectorate to achieve. With Mal’s magic, and Chelsea’s skill as a tracker they ate and kept safe, and they enjoyed each other’s solitary company like young lovers ought to. Like parents with the children away would.

  Before ducking into their home, Mal looked to the cloudless sky and saw a small white dot far above moving from west to east. He waved at it. Mal walked under the overhanging roof in front of the door and took off his snowshoes. After hanging them up on wooden pegs on the side of the home, he opened the thick wooden door and walked inside. The heat coming from the old wooden stove melted away the frost that had collected on his beard and eyebrows. He shucked off his heavy furs as Chelsea greeted him.

  “Find anything?” she asked him.

  Malwynn looked at her and couldn’t fight off the smile. Becoming a mother had changed her. She was just as tough, just as a good a warrior, and her wit was as sharp as ever but there was a new softness to her. A change in her face and eyes that made her more perfect than ever. And he belonged to her. Perhaps that idea kept him warm and not the strange armor from the vault. “No. None of the traps had anything. I checked down by the stream as well. I think the ice bear moved on. I think it ate everything it could and left. I saw no tracks.”

  “Well that’s good. Those things are enormous,” she got up and stirred a pan of cooking meat on the stop of the stove. “We’d be hard pressed to put it down.”

  “Venison?”

  “Elk. It’s the last of it. We’ll be onto venison tomorrow. Greens in the pot, fresh butter. Should be good.”

  He sniffed he air and realized it smelled amazing. “If my tongue likes it as much as my nose does, I’m leaving you to marry it.” He gave her a hug and they kissed.

  “Fat chance you’ll find a judge to split us and an apostle to marry you this far out in the middle of nowhere,” she said, then kissed the tip of his cold nose.

  Her warm lips felt good on his skin. “True. I guess I’ll stick with you. You ever wonder why it takes the church to bring us together, but the courts to pry us apart? Strange world we live in.”

  “Strange world indeed, my love. You’re a smart man,” she said as she went to the table. Dishes were already set.

  Mal hit the raised colored shapes on the ivory colored armor he wore. A hiss and a pop issued from his waist and the strange carapace apparatus that fitted to him expanded. Umaryn said what he wore was ‘artificer armor.’ An ancient pre-fall construction that was known to the Guild, but incredibly rare. Fifteen sets were documented in all of recorded history. Wearing it apparently fought off the horrid wilting of the Plague when encountered, and it served as incredibly durable, self-repairing armor as well. He wore it grudgingly. He missed the armor his sister made for him.

  “Is tomorrow the big day?” he asked his wife.

  “I think so. If what the locals told us was true, and we’re not entire idiots, then the cave entrance should be about a mile and a half from here.”

  “Site Twenty-Nine eh? I wonder if it’ll be like Thirty-One?”

  “I wonder if we can even get in it,” she said as she sat. “We’ve no idea if your key will work on the door. Feed me.”

  Mal grabbed the cast iron pan and served up several chops on their plates. He set the pan down on the small counter, and grabbed the pot of boiled greens. He scooped out handfuls, and sat the pot down. He joined her, and they ate in silence for several minutes.

  It was good that there were no apostles nearby.

  “How many sites do you want to do? Still want to explore one a year?” she asked him.

  Mal swallowed a bite. “Every other year. Most of the places we need to go are buried in the sands of the Plague Dunes. It won’t be easy getting in and out. I don’t like giving up this much time. I want to go home and be a dad.”

  “Yeah I understand that,” Chelsea watched her husband eat, and she had a strong surge of appreciation for him. “You’re a good dad Mal. Your mother and father would be proud of you. You and your sister.”

  Mal looked at her and smiled. “Took me awhile to get here, eh?”

  - ABOUT THE AUTHOR -

  CHRIS PHILBROOK is the creator and author of Elmoryn as well as the popular series Adrian's Undead Diary and Tesser: A Dragon Among Us.

  Chris calls the wonderful state of New Hampshire his home. He is an avid reader, writer, role player, miniatures game player, video game player, and part time athlete, as well as a member of the Horror Writers Association. If you weren't impressed enough, he also works full time while writing for Elmoryn as well as the world of Adrian’s Undead Diary, Tesser, and his newest project, Colony Lost.

  - FIND MORE ONLINE -

  Visit elmoryn.com to access additional content. Learn more about the world of Elmoryn, contact the author, join discussions with other readers, and view original illustrations. In addition, Chris Philbrook’s game development company, Tier One Games LLC, is developing a roleplaying game which allows players to explore the world of Elmoryn, creating their own original characters and adventures. Visit elmoryn.com to access the ever-expanding game content as it is released.

  Check out Chris Philbrook’s official website thechrisphilbrook.com to keep tabs on his many exciting projects, or follow Chris on Facebook at www.facebook.com/Ch
risPhilbrookAuthor for special announcements.

  Immerse yourself in Chris Philbrook’s epic zombie survival series, Adrian’s Undead Diary. Having just barely survived a world consuming apocalypse of the undead, Adrian Ring’s diary chronicles his battles with the zombie hordes and his ongoing struggle with survival. Read and understand exactly how he completed his hero's journey, avoiding starvation, zombies, injuries, fellow survivors, and sickness, as well as sharing in his humor and his horror. Visit adriansundeaddiary.com to learn more.

  Read Chris Philbrook’s latest epic series as it unfolds in Tesser: A Dragon Among Us. Meet Tesser, the Dragon. He who walks in any form, and flies the skies free of fear. He has slept for millennia, but now he has awoken in a world ruled by human hands, where science has overshadowed even the glory of old magic. Follow Tesser as he seeks to understand why he slept for so long, and where all the magic has gone. Visit adragonamongus.com to learn more.

  Can’t Wait for More?

  Look for Chris Philbrook’s FREE short fiction eBook, At Least He’s Not on Fire.

  Find it on Amazon, Goodreads, or Smashwords today!

  Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00JSGEKIK

  Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21948978-at-least-he-s-not-on-fire

  Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/430970