Fallen Sepulchre

by J D Franx

  “Last chance, Raz,” the hunter offered one last time. “Just go home. I have made entirely too many widows in the short time I have been in this world.” The threat caused several of Raz's men to pull obsidian daggers from their waists. The black forged glass weapons were well-known across Talohna. Deadly and razor-sharp, they could puncture even plate armor. The hunter, however, never flinched.

  “Do you have any idea what these weapons can do to pathetic chainmail armor, spook?” Raz asked. He smiled as he spun his saber, making it whistle.

  “Actually, I do,” the hunter replied and removed one of the strange weapons from his back. He held it up for the big man to see. “But they pale compared to what this blade will do to your soul.” The long-bladed pick in his hand blazed with magical power. Pulling his hood down and dropping his heavy cloak over a chair, the hunter added, “I prefer killing monsters than making widows.”

  “You won’t be making any widows tonight, wizard.” Raz grinned, spinning his blade once more and forcing the hunter back a step. “And don’t worry, we’ll burn your body to get rid of the filth inside your kind.”

  Raz attacked, his saber whistling again as it cut the air left and right of where the hunter stood. The hunter dodged the first swipe and side-stepped the second. His hand shot out. Black sparks exploded from his fingers as a wall of compressed hazy-black air followed and slammed into Raz’s chest. The big man crashed onto his table, and the hunter hopped to his right as a second miner’s sword passed through the space where he stood. The crack of a whip exploded in the air, and the hunter turned to see Alia’s whip wrap around the throat of a third miner, his dagger stopped short inches from the hunter’s back. The young woman yanked the whip back, tearing open the backstabber’s throat. Blood sprayed out as the hunter turned back to Raz. The big miner dragged himself from the broken table, but a fourth man stepped forward and stabbed the hunter in the side. The hunter’s pick spun, hooking the knife-man in the stomach.

  “Vai’Karth, Sai Kull Vai,” the hunter hissed as he dropped to a knee, dragging the miner down with him. The blade pulsed. Powered by the spell, the blade slowly pulled the miner’s soul from his body. The wound in the hunter’s side began to close even as the miner screamed in agony and stabbed the hunter, again. Alia’s whip cracked as it lashed out, driving back two more armed miners.

  “Stop! By the Gods! Please, stop,” Donovan yelled.

  The hunter tore his weapon free, leaving the miner alive. Struggling to stand, the hunter yanked the black dagger from his side and let it drop to the floor. His left hand filled with black lightning. Purple sparks hissed as they fell to the floor. “Take your men and leave, Raz,” he barked. “Get help for the wounded.”

  “Help? That bitch killed Sem, and you damn near did the same for Rollins! You gotta pay for that.”

  The magic sizzling in the hunter’s hand grew brighter. “Make your fucking choice, Raz. Take them for help or die here with them.”

  “Do as he says, Raz,” Donovan pleaded. “You can save Rollins if you take him to the widow, but you have to go now! Her cottage is a fifteen-minute run.”

  “Fine, dammit!” Several of the other miners lifted Rollins while the others carried Sem's body. Alia wrapped her whips up and tied them to her waist.

  Raz stared at her and pointed his finger. “You brought this on yourself, foolish man,” she said before he could say anything.

  “Enough, Alia,” Corleya whispered. Gently touching her arm, Corleya slowly shook her head.

  Raz stared back and forth between the hunter to Alia. “Better run, freaks, all of you. You won’t get far once the mine dogs are turned loose.” He warned them, slowly walking backward to the inn door. “Your spell failed, wizard. You’re still bleeding. Tracking you through the forest with those hounds will be easy. We will come for you.”

  The hunter scoffed. “Then you will die in the forest.”

  “Just go, Raz,” Donovan pleaded a second time. “The widow’s hut is too far away to be wasting time.” The big miner pointed at the hunter and the girls, again, before whirling around and disappearing through the door.

  Corleya stepped forward as the hunter’s magic vanished into nothing. “I know what you are,” she told him. “You’re a DeathWizard.”

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

  “You are so very wrong, young woman,” Donovan interrupted. “He’s a child of the Lost.”

  “Neither do you, Don. Are my things ready?” the hunter said as he shook his head and eased himself into his Orotaq cloak.

  “Yes, most of it. Some of the meat is still drying, but the snowcat pelt is done curing.”

  “Good. Give me what you have. We need to go.” The barman nodded and left.

  “We?” Corleya asked. “We’re not going anywhere with you. Your kind are the worst scourge in all of Cethosian history.” She pulled a small dagger from her waist as Donovan returned.

  “Cethos?” he asked. “You... you are from south of the Breach! From south of the Black Kasym? How did you get here?”

  “We were on one of the ships that brought the Ancients home,” Corleya lied.

  The hunter spat on the floor. “They haven’t landed yet, and they’re certainly not the Ancients.”

  “They are the Ri’Tek,” Donovan said.

  The hunter turned, stepping toward the barman. “You’ve heard of them?”

  “Clearly you are from the south as well,” Donovan said. “Do you not know of them south of the Breach?” the barman asked.

  “No,” Corleya said. “We know them as the Ancients. They built the wonders of Talohna. Modern magic is what it is because of them. South of the Kasym, they are worshiped as the founders of civilization and modern magic.”

  Donovan shook his head, his skin growing pale. “If your people worship the Ri’Tek in any way, then your people are already doomed, young lady.”

  “We have to go,” the hunter said, turning to Donovan. “If I come to you later, will you tell me what you know of them?”

  “I would, but if you return here, you will be killed. Besides, all our history is founded by stories told through our elders—passed down over the centuries, millennia even. Life here in the south is simple, and magic is very rare and very feared. The northern half of the land is another story. My mother’s mother told us of the far past,” he said, handing a pack of supplies to the hunter.

  “We’re still not going with you,” Corleya told him. “I saw that black and purple corruption in your magic.”

  Donovan snorted. “Foolish girl. That was the magic of the Lost, not corruption.”

  “What are you talking about? I’ve heard of the Lost,” the hunter barked, and grabbed the barman.

  “Easy, young man,” Donovan whispered. “Your magic... my grandmother called it the magic of the Lost Gods.”

  “What?” the hunter snapped. As if regaining some control over his temper, he released the barman and his voice calmed. “I thought the Lost were a people. I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

  “Us, either,” Corleya added. “He is a DeathWizard. No one south of the Kasym can use magic like that unless they’re a DeathWizard. A Kai’Sar—a wizard who walks with death.”

  The barman sighed, shaking his head. “Oh, you foolish young girl. Kai and Sar are Ri’Tek words, yes. The language is still used today, especially far up north. Kai means walk and Sar means death. Which comes first or second and what words go before and come after could make that phrase mean a dozen different things. That is all.”

  “What else do you know?” the hunter growled.

  Donovan continued, “You don’t have much time.”

  “Quickly, then.”

  “I was taught that far in the past the Ri’Tek were punished by the gods, stripped of their magic for using it in a vile manner. But in doing so, the gods destroyed themselves.”

  “What about the Lost?” the hunter prompted.

  “Yes. Not all the Ri’Tek were punished. So
me lived by the laws of the gods, so they were spared. Because they still had their magic, they went into hiding. With the gods gone, the ‘Lost’ people of the Ri’Tek used their magic to ascend into today’s gods of Talohna.”

  “That can’t be right,” Corleya breathed out.

  “What does any of that have to do with my magic?” the hunter demanded.

  “You don’t see?” the barman said, staring at the hunter. “The Ri’Tek... the Lost... their original magic was believed to be black and purple and very rarely, silver.”

  “No, that can’t be...” the hunter shook his head adamantly.

  “What is your name, young man?” Donovan asked.

  “Kael,” he said. “My name is Kael Symes.”

  “If our history is true, then you are a child born of the Lost Gods of Talohna, Kael.” Turning to Corleya and Alia, the barman added, “You will be safe with him, ladies, but if you stay here, Raz and his boys will hang you both for killing that man. Eventually,” he said, emphasizing the last word as he pointed to the smeared blood on the floor.

  Corleya nodded. “We have no choice, then. Alia, help Kael. That stab wound cannot slow us down. We’ll find a safe place to stop and bind it when we can. Give me the bag of supplies,” she said. Taking the bag from Kael, she turned to the barman. “You’d better be right about that history, barkeep.”

  “I assure you, mistress,” Donovan stated. “It is the history taught to all of those who live on this side of the Breach. It is true as I know it.”

  Corleya nodded once more and rushed out the inn door leading the way.

  “Kael?” Donovan yelled after them.

  Kael turned to look back with Alia’s help. “What?”

  “Many people on this side of the breach believe the Lost still exist. There have been stories over the centuries of strange people helping those in need, especially in the north. The encounters are rare, but I do believe the Lost exist.”

  “Thank you, Don,” Kael said as Alia turned him around, and they left. “For everything.”

  DASATER MINING COMPLEX

  NORTH OF EL’ NORAY

  “Are you sure about this, Raz?” Daff Cole said. The mine boss shook his head.

  “Of course, I’m sure. Rollins and Sem are both dead. We need to find their killers and now.”

  “Raz, if I turn these mongrels lose with the blood on that dagger for a scent, you won’t get justice… you’ll just have three dead killers.” He turned to the dog cages and grabbed his ring of keys. Crossbred using magic and the northern white cats, the three hundred-pound dogs had originally been created for war but were now trained to protect miners from the Mahala and the odd Orotaq raiding party.

  “I do not care,” Raz sneered. “Give them the scent and turn them loose.”

  The lock clicked open, and the hound boss turned back to Raz. “All right, but we’re even after this. My debt to you is clear. All my mutts had better come back alive, too. How many do you want?”

  “Six should be enough.” Daff handed him six whistles. “You ran dog crew before your promotion. It’s the only reason I’m doing this. You remember?”

  “Of course,” Raz snapped and handed out whistles to the men with him. “One whistle for each mutt.”

  “It is the only thing that will bring them to heal, Raz. Don’t lose even one whistle, or innocent people could get hurt. Even you.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Stop worrying, Daff. The only people getting hurt are the magic freak and his new female friends.”

  Daff wet a rag and ran it over the dagger transferring the dried blood. Handing the dagger back to Raz, he walked down the row of cages and let each dog catch the blood’s scent. Once the sixth dog had the scent, Daff reached up and pulled a metal handle so all six cages opened.

  “Kill them!” Raz roared and blew the whistle twice.

  The massive dogs bolted, disappearing into the forest as Raz and a dozen men followed, most with heavy crossbows already loaded.

  TIR NEANNE FOREST

  ANCIENT KINGDOM

  Kael glanced back over his shoulder. The baying of hunting dogs had faded to nothing. “I can’t hear the dogs,” he said. “Let’s stop.” Alia led him into a small clearing with a fallen log and helped him to sit. The entire time she had been helping him, she never sheathed her dagger. He struggled with the straps on his armor as he watched her step into the dense cover of the forest.

  “Let me help,” Corleya offered. Alia returned, staying within easy striking distance as the Princess approached. Kael smiled. They may have been acting friendly, but he could see the fear of him in their eyes.

  Corleya helped him shrug out of his long coat so they could get to the buckles. “We can’t stop for long, and that wound will only slow us until we bind it.”

  “There’s a clean cloth in the bag Don gave us.” The buckles came free and Corleya shimmied the chainmail armor over his head.

  “Shirt, too,” she added, her fingers touching the hilt of her small blade. Kael eased off his shirt, earning a gasp. “Gods. Some of these scars are from fatal wounds.”

  “Yeah, they are,” he said.

  Shaking her head, she ran her finders over a large scar shaped like a bite mark. The strange v-shaped scar marked the middle of the bite still made his stomach run cold.

  “What did this?” she asked.

  “Mahala. Many years ago,” he answered while she tore strips of clean cloth and began binding the stab wound on his right side. “They clamp their mouths to you and then this barbed tongue digs in.”

  He gasped as she pressed against the garish wound. “Please. I don’t need to hear any more. This puncture is deep as well,” she said. “It won’t stop bleeding.”

  “It’ll heal. See if Don managed to track down any turrin moss in those supplies.” Taking a deep breath, he winced.

  “There are no plants at all,” she said, digging through the pack. “I’m more worried about the pain slowing you down.”

  “It won’t. I’ve had worse.”

  “I can see that. I’m sorry. There,” she whispered as she finished.

  “Thank you. let’s go.” He put his armor back on and stretched lightly. The wound pulled at his side and ached, but he would be able to walk and maybe even run without help.

  Alia stepped back toward the trees. “The hounds should be back in range by now.”

  Corleya frowned. “Why can’t we hear them?”

  Kael stared out into the trees, probing with his senses. They had been extremely unreliable since he woke in the crypt below the Dyrannai Forest, but he did not know why. Whether it was from the strange energy pulsing through the earth in the Ancient Kingdom or if it was one of the many prices he would pay for returning from the dead, it did not matter. It was irritating not being able to rely on his senses to figure out his surroundings.

  “I don’t know,” he said, “but we need to keep—” Kael turned toward a rustle in the bushes as he put up his hood. A giant brown and white dog exploded from the underbrush. Its massive jaws clamped around his arm and pinned it to his throat. Locking its jaws tight around both his arm and neck, the weight of the beast drove Kael to the forest floor. The dog’s back legs raked his stomach as if it were a jungle cat. His mail tore, but no pain followed. Quickly putting his knees together to protect his groin, the mutt clawed at his thighs, tearing furrows down each leg.

  “Kael,” Corleya shrieked as two other dogs followed their leader into the small clearing.

  Kael struggled to hold back the dog. He was already weak from the stab wound and blood loss, leaving him to fight a losing battle. The dog’s jaws crushed his arm into his throat, cutting off his breath while claws pounded into his stomach. Pain followed as the torn mail offered less protection. Digging the fingers of his free hand into the mutt’s throat, he closed his eyes and concentrated.

  Jasala’s words echoed in his mind… we are limited only by our imagination.

  His eyes snapped open, and the vine-like markings in his skin fi
red back to life. Though they had not moved since before his death, the pain was still like an old friend coming to visit. The vines tore their way down his arms and out his hands, burrowing into the big dog as Kael swallowed the agony of his torn flesh.

  The hound released him and pulled, dragging Kael to his feet by the vines embedded in its flesh. Like some demented marionette, the dog fought and snarled, snapping and chewing on the vines. Kael yanked the vines back and thorns burst from each vine, shredding the mutt instantly. Turning to help the others, he saw both were holding the dogs off with their blades but barely.

  Kael knelt and pushed his palms against the ground. The vines writhing from his hands raced away, exploding from the dirt under the two dogs. Curling around them, he watched in awe as endless vines wound its way around the helpless animals. The thorns snapped out and tore into the dogs until nothing, but pieces fell to the forest floor. The vines disappeared back into the ground, seeking him out. He stood as they slid back into his flesh and settled flat to his skin, appearing to be nothing more than tattoos once again.

  “Mother Mylla,” Corleya whispered. The fear in her voice quickly changed to concern as he collapsed. “Kael!”

  “I really am sick of big dogs with big goddamned claws,” he muttered through clenched teeth.

  Corleya reached his side. “Alia! Help me!”

  “Any spurting blood?” she asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then he’ll live,” she stated, bending down closer with her dagger in hand.

  “Stomach first,” Kael hissed, peeling back what was left of his chainmail.

  Corleya gasped as if unable to find her voice.

  “That bad?” he asked.

  “You are intact,” Alia offered and turned back to watch the forest.

  “Flesh wound then,” Kael replied, trying to smile.

  Corleya pressed a clean cloth to his stomach. “We’re almost out of clean cloth, Kael. Gods, your legs are ripped wide open.”