Conquest

by C B Samet

  The Avant Champion

  ~Conquest~

  C.B. SAMET

  Contents

  Untitled

  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

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Also by C.B. SAMET

  C. B. Samet

  1

  ABIGAIL

  The outline of a massive ship broke through the fog. I watched the gray mist swirl around the great bow, with its bronze horse head. The fog and smoke around the volcano island coated the air so densely that the ship appeared to be floating on a sea of mist. It stilled on the ocean surface, presumably dropping anchor. My children followed my gaze to see the big vessel.

  “That’s not from Crithos,” Baird commented. His blue cloak billowed around him as he stood to get a better view of the ship.

  My long-standing friend and mentor, Baird Fox, was right. We had a port on Crithos at Waterton, but it serviced mostly fishing boats. This horse-headed beast had been built to sail the open ocean—to bridge continents.

  But why come to Mulan—the barren island of the serpent volcano? The captain must’ve been lost. Mulan was a small, volcano island devoid of life—except for the sea serpent dwelling in the caverns below. Most people knew the island as a place of death. Many terrible shipwrecks had occurred on these shores. Individuals who’d survived to reach the black and rocky beach found a desolate island without so much as a tree or shrub.

  I squinted to watch as a small boat was lowered to the ocean surface. Figures aboard began rowing their way toward shore.

  Toward the resting place of evil.

  This island had once terrified me. It had separated my parents from me and taken the life of my father. It had sheltered the powerful scepter belonging to my greatest enemy—who had subsequently become an ally and then disappeared from my life. This place of so many memories and so many mixed emotions was now an island I enjoyed visiting with my children. Here, we could picnic, and I could share their heritage with them.

  Baird knelt back down on the blanket where the children sat by the food. “Well, they’ll be a while making it ashore. Might as well finish lunch.”

  I nodded uneasily. My children took their cue and resumed eating. Rebekah, the youngest at five, found it difficult to sit still as she watched the small boat approach.

  “It’s getting close,” she declared. Her unruly black hair, not unlike my own, whipped around her small face as she bobbed up and down with excitement.

  “Settle down,” snapped Natalie, obviously annoyed at Rebekah disrupting the meal.

  Paul sat calmly, always drifting in a sea of his own thoughts—much like his namesake, my brother, had done. Abruptly, he stood. “I’m going to warn Andi to stay hidden, since we don’t know these stranger’s intentions.”

  Ever the protector, just like his father.

  When lunch was finished, I packed up the blanket and basket. Paul returned from the island cave as Natalie and Rebecca watched the small boat row ever closer.

  “Let’s get everyone back to the house.” Anxiety swelled and clawed at my stomach.

  “I want to stay and meet them,” Natalie said.

  “If she’s staying, I’m staying.” Paul straightened and tensed slightly—as though showing he wasn’t afraid. Although he had strength and courage at the tender age of seven, I didn’t think he’d ever been in a fight. The physical contact of the rough-housing on the farm wasn’t equivalent to fighting with sharp, penetrating objects.

  “Everyone is leaving. Baird and I will meet the sailors with all of you safely at home.” Until I knew these traveler’s intentions, I wasn’t exposing my children to them.

  My family’s safety was my priority.

  I took Paul’s hand and gave him an arched eyebrow of warning. He frowned but took Natalie’s hand, and Natalie then took Rebekah’s. They knew my Traveler’s Star worked by contact.

  Although our home was an ocean away, I didn’t use conventional means of travel. Many years ago, I’d been gifted with the Traveler’s Star. A large, blue tattoo on my palm enabled me to transport anywhere I could see or had been before. As such, I brought my family several times a year to picnic on the island of the serpent volcano. Other days, we’d travel to the beach of Misty Isles, or to Karnelik to climb mountains, or to Marrin Beach to cliff dive.

  Baird was the only other person I knew of with the Traveler’s Star. Years ago, we’d made the mistake of holding hands, stars touching, while attempting to transport a large army together. That interaction had created a permanent connection between us. We could communicate covertly and sense where the other was if we concentrated.

  I’ll be back, I told Baird.

  He nodded.

  Using my Traveler’s Star, I shifted, taking the children and myself home.

  “But Baird!” Paul protested.

  I released his hand once we stood safely inside the lounge of our estate.

  “I’m going back to help him. I’ll return as soon as I can.” I handed the blanket to Natalie and the picnic basket to Paul. I bent down and kissed Rebekah on the cheek, but it didn’t remove the worry on her face.

  In an instant, I stood back on the beach.

  Baird had his arms crossed, watching the men row through the surf before pulling the boat ashore. Twelve men arrived—all human. Their attire was as foreign as their ship. Their pants consisted of leather hide, laced along the outside of their legs the way we laced our boots. Their tunics were a thin, light material that probably dried quickly, providing an advantage on a ship. Short blades hung at their sides, along with small iron clubs that I didn’t recognize.

  By all appearances, and the scowls on their faces, they don’t appear friendly, Baird said silently.

  Twelve against two. We’ve had worse odds, I replied.

  “I’m Abigail Cross and this is my friend, Baird Fox.”

  Baird, with his salt and pepper gray hair, probably looked old enough to be my father or an uncle. We’d been friends long enough for me to consider him family.

  The lead sailor appraised my blue cotton dress and casual, comfortable attire. Perhaps he was surprised to encounter two people on Mulan, especially if he knew anything about the history of the island.

  “I’m Porter Stout, son of King Artemis Stout.” His accent betrayed that Crithian was not his native tongue.

  His men began maneuvering around us. Porter glanced around as though looking for a ship, or any hidden threat. He’d find no tangible means of transportation.

  “You’re from Bellos,” Baird said, stepping closer to my side. He held his wooden baton vertically, like a walking stick rather than the weapon I knew it to be.

  “I was told this is an evil island, desolate and deserted,” Porte
r said.

  Most days, he’d have been correct about the deserted part. His statement betrayed his knowledge of the island and suggested he had intentionally come here. But why?

  “As you can see, it’s neither deserted nor evil,” I said.

  Prince Stout’s lip curled as his shifty eyes glared at me. His long, dark hair ringed his shoulders. His high cheekbones accentuated a long, crooked nose.

  “Insolent woman! Bow before the Prince of Bellos,” one of the men commanded.

  I turned my gaze on what was presumably Prince Stout’s second in command—a stocky man with an abundance of facial hair. A hand rested on his iron club, ready to attack.

  “I bow to those who earn my respect through their actions. So far, you have only demonstrated your ability to attempt intimidation.”

  Porter’s first mate drew his club and pointed one end at my chest. I inspected the iron contraption. It had a hollow barrel like the Hunju blow darts I’d seen, but an odd, closed handle. It was obviously capable of launching some type of projectile. I was evidently supposed to cower in its presence and do its owner’s bidding—but, for better or for worse, I’d never been one to yield when confronted with danger. Nevertheless, I did recognize the contraption as a danger—an unknown weapon. The Hunju blow darts contained a paralytic neurotoxin. If this were anything similar, a conflict with these men would be challenging.

  Porter spoke again. “You will bow to me, and then you will take me to the scepter of Malos.”

  I arched an eyebrow.

  So, he seeks the scepter.

  I could practically feel the anger rolling off Baird like heat from a fire. We’d fought side by side over the years, and I knew he would step in and fight as soon as I made the first move.

  There were many things I might have said to our aggressors that could have had some element of diplomacy. I could have introduced myself as the Avant Champion. I could have explained my relationship with the Queen of Crithos. I could have invited them to further peaceful discussions.

  Yet, at that very instant, they were threatening my friend and me. Words and diplomacy were not my weapons of choice to diffuse the situation.

  Using my Traveler’s Star, I repositioned myself beside the man with the weapon in his hand rather than in front of him. With my left hand, I grabbed his wrist and forced his arm skyward. With my right fist, I punched his jaw. He released a grunt of pain and surprise as his head snapped to one side. Pulling the weapon from his grip, I hit him with the hefty handle.

  Baird, with baton in hand, began fighting a group of three men.

  Prince Stout reacted quickly. He reached for his weapon, but Baird was already lunging at him.

  I moved to a short, stocky man, kicking him in the chest. I followed my kick with another to the man’s legs.

  A lanky Bellosian swung his short sword at me, murderous intent in his eyes. I vanished before he could strike, appearing behind him and clobbering the iron weapon I still held against the man’s head. He crumpled to the ground, grabbing his bleeding brow.

  Baird was still battling Porter, who seemed to be a formidable younger opponent.

  Seven left.

  Am I fast enough?

  I needed my wooden baton. With it, I could disable the men faster than with my fists—and with less pain to my hands.

  I attacked the next man—a bald, foul-smelling sailor. He screamed as his knee buckled under the weight of my kick.

  Two other men seemed to have gained an understanding of the situation—that they weren’t confronting normal adversaries. They took defensive steps backward from the fighting.

  I made quick work of two other attackers. They were soon splayed on the ground, clutching at arms and legs.

  A deafening noise erupted, and Baird fell to the black sand. My stomach sunk into a pit of fear. I snapped my gaze to the source of the noise. One of the men I’d knocked to the ground had his weapon in his hand. A thin stream of smoke swirled up from the hollow, iron barrel. Whatever had emerged from that contraption had severely wounded and incapacitated Baird.

  “Baird!” I screamed.

  I transported to the armed man, kicked my heel into his jaw and stole his weapon. Now, each of my hands held a weapon. I turned them around, so that I gripped them the same way these men had been holding them. I noticed a small trigger. The trigger seemed similar to the releasing mechanism of the crossbows used by the Caballus Clans.

  I pointed the open end of the barrel at Porter, who struggled on his hands and knees as blood gushed from his nose. The threat to their Prince was effective—as the men not already injured on the ground stilled.

  I held absolute conviction in my gaze and posture. I’d killed before—not recently, but blood stained my hands nonetheless, thick and crimson.

  I glanced at Baird, who lay on the ground, red blood staining his blue cloak.

  I’m going to the springs. I’ll be back, he told me.

  I nodded. Fear and worry escalated my heart rate. I’d never forgive myself if Baird were in some way severely injured.

  He vanished.

  I suddenly felt unworthy to have such a friend. Without question or hesitation, he’d come to my aid—head-long into danger. With the flash of an exploding weapon, he’d nearly lost his life. Guilt pressed into me, making me want to sink into obsidian quicksand. I assured myself that the healing springs would mend his wound.

  What could have inflicted so much damage? I stared at the weapons in my hands. Whatever projectiles they emitted, they were clearly small enough to fit inside these contraptions.

  I’d have to examine them later. These foreigners needed to be presented to Queen Rebekah, and their intentions to steal Malos’ scepter revealed.

  What had they hoped to accomplish in stealing it? The scepter held massive power—needed to achieve its duty of accumulating evil over the millennia. In doing so, humans were prevented from lapsing into the cycle of war and devastation that our kind had once been trapped in—before the scepter’s creation over seven-thousand-years-ago. Yet, as far as I knew, only Malos could activate it—so was their motive to destroy it? That would only serve to unleash evil.

  Admittedly, in my youth, the same thought had occurred to me. I’d wondered: Were we ourselves if part of us was missing? Even if that part was evil?

  The concept of stealing the scepter for personal gain puzzled me. Later, I’d have to consult my friend, Mal, about other potential uses for the scepter.

  Except I hadn’t seen Mal in over a year.

  “What use have you for the scepter of Mulan?” I asked Porter.

  The man glowered at me. “I don’t converse with underlings.”

  “That’s a haughty disposition, given that I’m the one with the weapon.”

  “You’ll be hanged for this.”

  Baird materialized back at my side. His blood-stained clothes testified to his recent injury, and his face looked pale, but he appeared healed.

  “Are you okay?”

  “That wasn’t a survivable wound—not without the spring water.” He took one of the weapons from me and turned it over in his hands.

  “Give us your weapons,” he demanded. “You’ll be presented to the Queen of Crithos for your invasion.”

  When the Prince nodded, his men complied—despite their malicious glares.

  I kept the gun aimed at Porter, while Baird collected the men’s swords and metal clubs. He piled them several meters away from the cluster of Bellosian sailors.

  “Can you manage for a few minutes? I’ll go collect something to restrain them and return shortly.” I handed Baird the other weapon I held.

  He held the weapons high and aimed them down at our captives. “I can manage.”

  2

  MALAKAI

  Orrick, Snake Eyes, and I arrived back at Abigail’s home. We’d had an eventful trip to my mother’s tomb. We’d discovered Mother had left behind a Spirit Stone with an imprint of her on it. Since she’d been a powerful sorceress in her time, w
e could now learn from her magic—through interaction with her spirit via the stone. I eagerly wanted to tell Abigail about our trip and our discovery.

  Orrick dismounted Phobus, Abigail’s horse, and walked him to the corral. The caramel-colored stallion nickered a greeting to the white gelding standing by the stables. Abigail had been kind to loan her horse to Orrick for our trip.

  My brother walked unsteadily after the last few hours of horseback riding and used his staff to stabilize himself.

  “Home at last,” he lightheartedly declared.

  Fury, the family’s pet wolf, approached and greeted Orrick and the steed with a sniff.

  Snake Eyes, the small brownie spirit, floated through the air as he watched the wolf. “I miss talking to animals.”

  In life, brownies had a silent, mental form of communication with animals. As a spirit, Snake Eyes could now only interact with Orrick and me. Before Orrick had established a connection between the two of us to see and hear each other, he’d brought the brownie friend I’d had so long back to us in spirit form as a companion and way to connect us brothers.

  “I’m going to go find Abigail,” I announced.

  Orrick wriggled his eyebrows at Snake Eyes.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. You just seem eager to see the woman you’ve spent the last year and a half avoiding.” Orrick walked Phobus into the corral and closed the gate.

  “We had an important reason,” I shot back. Now that I’d accepted my reasoning behind separating myself from Abigail had been faulty, I was free to see her. She needed to know about my mother’s Spirit Stone—and the potential for her to learn magic from it.