The Fire Salamander Chronicles Series: Books 1 - 3: The Fire Salamander Chronicles Series Boxset Book 1

by N M Thorn

  “I know how to wait…”

  Gunz leaned forward and gently kissed her goodbye. As he pulled away, he forcefully switched his mind back to the less pleasant reality. For six months, he will go through Kal’s rigorous boot camp. When it came to learning magic, both Kal and Mrak Delar weren’t taking it easy. He realized perfectly well what kind of torture it would be, but he had to do it. He had to understand the full extent of his Great Fire Salamander power. To fight what was coming, he had to be ready. Hence, he needed to know his power and his magic and have experience wielding them.

  From what the Scarlet Queen was saying, Eve left a supernatural turmoil in her wake by infecting other supernatural creatures with her twisted demonic energy. He was sure that Jim and Aidan would deal with some of it, but there would be enough left to go around. Akira wasn’t an easily scared type, and if she was concerned with the situation, it had to be as bad as it could get.

  Besides that, there was Tessa on her quest to find her birth parents. He was sure that at some point she would need his help. The way she left, she wouldn’t be calling Aidan. She would contact him.

  Gunz sighed and conjured a small flame, a doubt tearing at his soul. He was leaving in the middle of this mess, dumping everything on Aidan and his crew. Even though they all agreed that he needed to go back to Kendral and even after Aidan promised to summon him if things would get out of hand, he still had his doubts.

  He leaned over the flame and whispered his mentor’s name, replying to the Great Salamander’s summons. Immediately, the fire curtain of Kal’s portal unfolded in the middle of Angelique’s living room. Gunz gave Angelique a quick hug and walked through the portal without looking back. As the fire surrounded him, her quiet words, filled with sadness and love, reached his ears.

  “Fire Salamander—go…”

  Prologue

  September 7, 1812. Nightfall.

  Borodino, Russia.

  The heavy stench of death was lingering over the field like an ominous cloud. Every square inch of the land was covered in mangled bodies of horses and people, French and Russians alike, mixed into one horrid mass. The ground was soaked with spilled blood. The mound of corpses was growing thicker toward a large hill, Grand Redoubt, that was towering like a dark omen in the center of the field.

  Most of the soldiers were dead, but some were still alive, grunting and moaning feebly, their faces twisted in unbearable pain. Covered in blood, torn legs and arms were spread all over the field. Severed heads were staring into space with their empty, dead eyes. The broken blades, gun-stocks and armor, among other debris were scattered all over. A grim flock of black birds was circling the field of the battle, their ear-piercing screeches cutting through the silence of the night.

  A lonely man stood at the edge of the battlefield, observing the horrifying view, his face void of emotions. The cold evening breeze rushed through the field, lifting the dust in the air and carrying over the nauseating stench of death. The man lifted his right hand, tucking it beneath the lapel of his military jacket and frowned.

  “Peace lies in Moscow,” he whispered, shaking his head. He lost thousands of his men today, including two of his generals. But his enemies suffered much greater losses. He won. Moscow was within his reach now, just seventy-five miles away. As the Russian forces were retreating, he could almost see his La Grande Armée marching through the streets of the ancient city and despite the gruesome surroundings, his heart leaped with joy.

  “Isn’t your celebration a bit premature, Emperor?”

  A cold deep voice sounded behind Napoleon, making him snap around. A tall man dressed in red stood between him and his tent, erected at the edge of the battlefield. The man stared down at him without blinking, his deep-seated eyes glowing with a menacing red light. His massive arms were crossed over his chest and his flaming-red hair was flowing around his face, emitting crimson sparks as the wind was playing with it. A hardly noticeable layer of shimmering red light was surrounding his body.

  “The Red Man,” whispered Napoleon. He blanched and crossed himself, taking a few unsteady steps back.

  The thin lips of the Red Man stretched into a glacial smirk and his glowing eyes narrowed.

  “I warned you against invading Russia, Emperor, didn’t I?” he growled, taking a step forward.

  Napoleon measured the Red Man with his eyes, his fear slowly subsiding as he took a step forward, putting his hands on his hips. The first time the Red Man appeared to him was years ago, at the battle of the Pyramids in Egypt. Then he showed up at the battle of Wagram. And every time the man demanded that he stop the war in Europe, warning and threatening him. And now he was here again, mocking him, trying to intimidate him with his terrifying disposition and his menacing words… But this time, the mysterious man looked a little different. More real, corporeal. He could even feel the heat emitted by the Red Man’s body.

  Napoleon chuckled. “Look at the sky,” he said, pointing up. “Do you see it?”

  “What am I supposed to see?” asked the Red Man, shrugging his enormous shoulders.

  “My lucky star!” exclaimed Napoleon. “It guides me and supports me. And as long as I can see it, I can’t be defeated. Yes, I won today. The Russians are crushed. General Kutuzov is pulling back the leftovers of his once mighty army. Only seventy-five miles are separating me from Moscow and everything that lies within its ancient walls.”

  “Your victory is pyrrhic, Emperor,” rambled the Red Man. “Stop your stargazing and look around.” The man waved his hand at the battlefield. “Over seventy thousand corpses are lying on the ground, paving the path to your victory. How many more have to die so you can march through the streets of Moscow?”

  “As many as needed!” shouted Napoleon, slamming his fist into the palm of his hand. “The Russians are defeated. By me and my La Grande Armée! A few more days at the most and Tsar Alexander will surrender and sign a peace treaty, complying with all my conditions. He wouldn’t want me to march farther into his lands, spreading destruction and causing devastating casualties. I will stand in history as one of the greatest military minds, regarded with the kind of respect and admiration as only Alexander the Great and Caesar had been.”

  “The Russians are far from being defeated and they will never surrender,” objected the Red Man dryly, shaking his head. “If you still didn’t notice, the Russians would rather die than surrender to you. Yes, you will breach the Moscow’s walls and open the doors of the Kremlin, but you will never win this war. Hundreds of thousands will perish on both sides. And why?” He shifted closer, now towering over Napoleon. “Why is it so important for you to take Moscow? And I do not believe that it’s only your vanity and ego that are driving you into this horrendous campaign.”

  The heat that surrounded the Red Man’s body wrapped around Napoleon, making him sweat in his thick jacket. He raised his hand and wiped the perspiration off his forehead but didn’t step back, holding the steady gaze of the Red Man.

  “You’re right,” Napoleon replied after a short pause, “it’s not only my vanity and ego, as you put it so eloquently. Although I must admit that the prospect of seeing this hostile, barbaric nation at my feet sounds pleasing. However, it’s not the only reason that drives me toward conquering Moscow. There are many secrets hidden behind the thick red walls of the Kremlin. Many secrets, many riches and many mysterious devices…” Napoleon stopped talking and took a deep breath, his eyes staring East, in the direction of Moscow. “But out of everything that is hidden in the Kremlin, there is only one device that I want. Once I have it in my hands, I will be unstoppable. And this is worth everything! All the losses, sacrifices, pain and death. Everything! With this miraculous device in my hands, I will make Paris the capital of the world.”

  For a few minutes, both Napoleon and the Red Man remained silent. The Red Man glowered down at Napoleon, his thin lips curled in distaste. Then he shook his head and a deep sound, almost a growl, rumbled in his chest.

  “You’re a dangerous maniac
, Emperor,” he hissed through his clenched teeth. “I know the magical device you’re referring to and I assure you—this device is well protected and guarded from the likes of you. Neither you nor any other unworthy human will ever put their greedy hands upon it.”

  Napoleon waved his hand dismissively and smirked, displaying full disregard to the words of the Red Man. “If you truly believed that this device was safe, you wouldn’t be here right now, working so hard to make me turn my army around and leave. So, your words mean nothing to me,” he said calmly. “I always get what I want. I can guarantee you that no later than the middle of September, I will sit on the throne in the Kremlin with that powerful device in my possession.” He raised his arms up, like he was already holding the world in his hands.

  The Red Man laughed, his laughter dripping with mockery. “And I can guarantee you that your Russian campaign will be your undoing. You have my warning, Emperor. Now farewell.”

  The Red Man stepped back, his glowing body melting into a wall of fire and a second later he was gone. The darkness descended upon the bloodied battlefield and patches of dark stormy clouds partially obscured the sky. Napoleon looked up at a small opening in the clouds and smiled sadly. In this little window he saw the stars that were surrounding the thin line of the new moon.

  “As long as my lucky star is gazing upon me, your words do not scare me, Red Man.”

  He turned around and walked away toward his tent.

  September 16, 1812.

  Moscow, Russia.

  It was early morning. The sky was still dark, but the ominous red flares of small fires that were rising here and there illuminated the dark city with a sinister red glow. The Master of Power, Mrak Delar, was standing in front of a window, his obsidian eyes reflecting the red gleam of fires. Silently, he stared at the ancient city, regret shadowing his handsome face.

  A young woman stood behind him, silently waiting for him to turn around. She was dressed in men’s clothes and her long golden hair was hidden beneath a hat. In this outfit, she looked like a teenage boy.

  After a few minutes, Mrak Delar turned around and sighed.

  “What a beautiful ancient city,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s a shame to see it devoured by fire. I don’t like to get involved into the affairs of other realms, but both my mentor and the Destiny Keeper were right. It has to be done. The magical artifacts and devices that are hidden beneath the Kremlin cannot fall into the wrong hands. Most of them I concealed, and they should be well protected from the fire by my enchantments. But there are a few that I can’t take a chance with. They cannot remain within the city walls while Napoleon Bonaparte and his army are here.”

  He stopped talking and his eyes moved down to the woman’s chest, lingering on a large pendant that was attached to a silver chain. The pendant was quite unusual. It looked like a double-headed medieval axe. The blades of the axe were decorated by delicate golden inlays and the handle had a few barely visible words in drevnerusskij—old Russian language—engraved on it. The woman followed his gaze and her arm went up to her chest, her fingers wrapping around the pendant.

  “Countess,” said Mrak Delar, “you need to leave the city immediately. Unfortunately, I don’t know this land well enough, so I can’t teleport you. You are a witch. Can you open a portal?” She shook her head no with a guilty look on her face. He sighed and continued, “Outside the city gates, you will find a loyal man with two horses waiting for you. He will accompany you on your journey. Ride to the Ural Mountains toward the city of Yekaterinburg. About twenty-five kilometers, northwest of the city, you will find a place called Chertovo Gorodishche—Devil’s Settlement. The Wardens will meet you there.”

  The woman gasped and crossed herself, fear reflecting in her large blue eyes. Mrak Delar pursed his lips gazing heavenwards.

  “It’s just a name, Countess, there is no Devil there,” he said shaking his head. “You are brave enough to walk through the burning city, infested with Napoleon’s soldiers. You are not afraid to ride thousands of kilometers through this wild land. But you are showing signs of fear when I tell you the name of a place? And I thought you already went through the Guardian’s training and was initiated as a Guardian Witch.”

  “Yes, Master, I was. And you’re right. I’m sorry,” said Countess Demidova, her cheeks burning with a hot red blush. “But I can’t leave you here alone. It’s too dangerous. Come with me.”

  He smirked, his obsidian eyes getting warmer as he gazed at her. “I’m the Master of Power. Neither the elements nor humans with their mundane weapons can harm me, my lady. The Wardens have knowledge and resources like no other magical organization of this world. I hope you will use this opportunity to learn more about the world of magic.”

  She nodded. “But what are you going to do here, Master?” she asked, her fingers fidgeting with the buttons of her shirt as she buttoned it up all the way to her neck, concealing the necklace and pendant. “The city is on fire and there are thousands of Napoleon’s soldiers looting the houses.”

  A dark smile spread over his face. “I’m going to help the Board of Destiny unravel its path and finish what the Russian partisans started,” he said coldly. “I will help the fire devour this city. Now, off you go, my lady. Ride day and night and do not stop until you find the Wardens. Remember what you’re carrying with you.”

  “Godspeed, Master. Be safe.” Countess Demidova bowed to the Master of Power and walked out of the house.

  Mrak Delar opened his Sight and followed the soft glow of the Countess’ magical energy until he saw her walking outside the city walls. She was a young and inexperienced witch who just finished her training with the Guardians and he wasn’t sure that she was the right person for such an important job. However, the Destiny Keeper insisted that Countess Demidova was the one to do it and the young Master of Power didn’t think it was his place to argue the decision of the Destiny Council.

  He watched her mounting the horse and quickly disappeared from the area his Sight could cover. Once he was sure that she was gone, he snapped his fingers and teleported to the Red Square, materializing in front of the Kremlin. With remorse he observed the Kremlin and St. Basil's Cathedral, his heart aching at the idea of destroying such beautiful ancient buildings.

  “This square is called red,” he mumbled, “let’s give the name the proper meaning.”

  Originally, Red Square got its name from the old Russian word “krasnaya” which meant beautiful and had nothing to do with the color. But right now, the color red seemed to be more appropriate for the name of the square with all the fires that were surrounding it.

  He channeled the elemental power, thinking how hard it was to connect with the power in this world. In his own realm, Kendral, the Original Power surrounded the world and channeling it was easy. Here, all the magic and elemental powers were well hidden in four magical nexuses and outside these nexuses, the only way to channel the power was from nature itself.

  His eyes got flooded with darkness as he let the power of Air take him over. He gathered the winds between his raised arms and unleashed a windstorm on the mostly deserted city. Supported by the wind, the fire spread through the city like a hungry beast, devouring one wooden building after another. Mrak Delar turned the windstorm to the west, adding more power into it. He allowed the wind to pick up huge pieces of burning wood and debris and carry them through the air, unleashing the fiery rain on the city.

  The dark swirling clouds of smoke rose high in the air and a few minutes later, most of the city was consumed by the blazing inferno.

  Chapter 1

  ~ Zane Burns, a.k.a Gunz ~

  Modern day. Key West, Florida

  The evening was warm and humid. The street lights and neon gleam of the storefronts were promoting a festive and slightly mysterious atmosphere. The street was overflowing with people. The unsuspecting crowd of tourists was promenading along Duval Street, completely unaware of everything that was going on right before their noses. Carefree, they
were chatting, eating, and gaping at the colorful shops’ displays.

  Gunz quickly crossed Duval and walked into a shadowy alley between two stores. As soon as he escaped the crowded street, diving into the muggy darkness of a small narrow alley, he reached into his pocket and pulled his Swiss army knife out. Holding the knife in his hand, he switched to a light run. His Salamander senses were heightened to the maximum revealing the presence of dark vampiric energy all around him. The vampires realized that he wasn’t human, and they didn’t like it. They were in front of him and behind him, surrounding him, creeping up closer and closer, following his every step.

  A light breeze brought a much-needed freshness infused with the light scent of the ocean. Gunz smirked. He was almost there. Not too far from the shore, there was an old semi-demolished house. This house was his final destination, marked by the Scarlet Queen.

  A few months ago, a large group of rogue vampires settled there, using it as their nest. The vampire queen Akira Ida approached them, but they refused to accept her as their queen and comply with her rules. The Scarlet Queen wasn’t the type to accept rejection easily. And since Gunz needed some practice using his newly improved sword skills in real-life situations, she decided that sending the young Fire Salamander to deal with the rebels was the right thing to do. Gunz had no doubt that it was a win-win situation for the queen—her student would get some practice and the rebellious faction of vampires would be vanquished, serving as a lesson to others who dared to disobey her.

  Akira had been giving Gunz swordsmanship lessons since he got back from Kendral and she was happy with his general progress. She expressed her complete confidence in his skills, stating that he would be able to deal with the situation at hand without any problems.