The Morgannate: The Dregian Chronicles Book 3

by D E Boske

  He went down to the novices’ quarters, hoping to find the one he sought. He’d done his homework. Not only had he learned the student’s name, he’d also learned where his room was and his class schedule. He knew that he’d be alone right now. He’d taken the liberty of watching him for about a week before deciding to make contact. He did not feel anger or despair at this young one’s successes, he felt hope and the stirrings of change. This young one could be good for The Order.

  Delvishan knew they needed to change, but the Shangmarrum would hear none of it. He continuously withdrew from the public and took The Order with him. He ordered them not to remain outside of Mogan Dar for more than a week at a time and he’d recalled all the Mages that were serving as advisers to the surrounding kingdoms. He wanted them all close to home.

  He knocked on the door and did not wait long. When the door opened, Alvos wasn’t sure who was more surprised, him or the young student before him. He was young, he didn’t even look fifteen years old! Even in his youth, he was strikingly handsome and Alvos knew this young one would break many hearts. The student showed the proper amount of respect, but did not avert his eyes the way any other student would.

  “May I help you?” asked the boy.

  “I am Alvos and I was hoping we could talk,” he said, looking the boy over.

  “Of course, please come in,” replied the boy, giving the Master a strange look.

  “Not here,” said Alvos, looking around. The boy followed the Master back to his chamber and when Alvos closed and locked the door, he found the boy quietly contemplative. He saw the boy studying his wards! How could he even know what they were? But when he saw him reach out and begin to fix them, he was truly stunned. He smiled to himself, this boy was everything they were afraid he’d become and more.

  “What are you doing?” asked Alvos. “How can you even feel them? They should be beyond your young skill.”

  “I’ve been trained since birth, Master. I mean no disrespect, but how are you a Master when you cannot even make a good ward? I can feel the threads and how they should intertwine. How can you not feel them? Reach out with your hands and mind. Feel them, Master,” the student urged.

  Alvos did as the boy suggested. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the threads. He reached his hands out, toward the wards and he… felt them! He couldn’t believe it! He could

  feel them.

  “See, wasn’t that easy? Now, fix the mess of your wards. Let the Weave guide you,” the boy said.

  “Is that what you just did?”

  “Yes, the magic speaks to me,” admitted the boy. “The Weave tells me how to fix the wards and what elements complement each other,” the boy explained.

  “Please, call me Alvos,” said the Master. “What is your name, boy?” asked Alvos, though he already knew it.

  “Darian,” said the boy, looking directly into Alvos’s eyes. An offense that demanded a beating, but Alvos felt Delvishan stirring. The god of Mages must have a plan and Alvos wanted to be a part of it. Could this boy be Falcose’s son?

  “How do you know how to build wards and correct them?” asked Alvos.

  “The Weave, of course,” Darian said, shrugging his shoulders as if the point was moot.

  “But, how did you…” Alvos trailed off.

  “Do you want me to show you?” asked the boy.

  “Yes, please. I can protect you, Darian. They will try to kill you, you know,” Alvos advised.

  “Why aren’t you?” asked the boy curiously.

  “I think you will be good for The Order.”

  Darian smiled and nodded as if Alvos had just said the sun was shining. Alvos laughed and tousled the boy’s hair.

  Looking at him now, Alvos saw none of the child-like wonder in the Mage’s eyes, nor did he feel any hope. No, those things were gone and in their place was a hardened exterior, much like petrified wood. Darian had suffered so much recently that Alvos wasn’t sure the young Mage could ever recover.

  Apparently, Darian had succumbed to love, which was unheard of for a Mage of The Order. Alvos didn’t understand how or why Darian had allowed it to happen. Back in Mogan Dar, he’d been too busy capitulating to the charms of numerous women to fall victim to such lunacy. But somehow, in his time in Kiri A’ Nouell, Darian had allowed himself to feel things a Mage of The Order had no business feeling. He shook his head in confusion and defeat. No one would ever understand the machinations of the young Mage. Perhaps it was Delvishan at work.

  21

  The morning sun was rising in the sky, bathing the company in warmth and golden light. Darian never looked back. There was nothing for him there anymore. There was nothing for him anywhere. He was alone and it was better this way. At least no other innocents would suffer at his expense. Surrounding him now were Gor Li’ Khan and friends, a surprising turnaround.

  When he’d first come to the elven forest, he hadn’t expected to make friends. He was looking for anonymity and a safe place to hide. A place he knew The Order could not follow. But what he’d found was family. The revelation rocked him to his core. In Mogan Dar, he’d fought for survival. Danger had haunted his steps since the day he was born and much hadn’t changed since then, it seemed.

  The bard strummed his lute and began to sing a song.

  On the east road to Hurvel we’ll travel

  ‘Til the sun sets and the days grow longer

  Darkness waits as light slowly unravels

  At the rise of the black dragon’s hunger

  Feel the black beast’s fetid breath as he screams

  Darkness falls and dreams are torn asunder

  Purification attained through black fire

  Courts the One that fate has yet to reveal

  When dreams die, nightmares are reality

  Fear lies in wait for those who’re faint of heart

  Phentilphyremorg reigns in fear and terror

  Until the One fulfills his destiny

  Darian stopped breathing when he heard the bard sing ‘purification attained through black fire.’ Nephraete had spoken those same words to him what seemed so long ago now. She’d said, ‘The black beast wakes! Fire and damnation. Purification can only be attained through black fire. Death courts you Darian Brade, and you shall take her to bed to be your consort and all shall tremble with fear at your union.’

  Her words were vivid in his mind but he wished she’d never spoken them. He could tell from her haunted look that she understood what the song spoke of and its implications. She looked into the Mage’s eyes, but couldn’t hold his gaze for long.

  “Where did you learn that song, Torgyn?” asked the Mage when they stopped for their noonday meal.

  “Kiri A’ Nouell,” he answered quickly, delighted that Darian was actually speaking to him. “Kinistaya actually taught me that one. He has a respectable list of stories and songs as you can imagine. He said that he felt it might be of use in the near future.”

  “Why would he say that?” asked Darian, a bit distractedly.

  “Dunno, but I’m thankful just the same. Did you like it?” he asked, completely missing the Mage’s dour demeanor.

  “It’s a bit dark, don’t you think? What with the coming days, you would do well to entertain us with lighter ditties,” said the Mage.

  “I just thought…” the bard trailed off at Darian’s darkening mood. “Of course, you’re right. I will try to play songs that are upbeat and tell funny stories.” Darian seemed satisfied with that and walked away without another word. At least he didn’t try to kill me, thought Torgyn. We’re making progress.

  “What did you speak about with Torgyn?” asked the thief.

  “That’s none of your concern, thief,” said Darian caustically.

  “What’s your problem?” asked Mordinian.

  “I don’t like you,” stated the Mage with barely concealed contempt.

  “Why? I’ve done nothing to you and in fact, I’ve tried to help you on several occasions,” said the thief, his own anger ris
ing with Darian’s dark mood.

  “You could let me fling you into the Dark Abyss,” said Darian, his voice hypnotic. Was he using magic to taint his words?

  “Go, thief,” commanded Thimkur, coming to Mordinian’s rescue.

  “Aww dad!” exclaimed Darian with mock anger.

  “Darian, what are you thinking? You cannot hurt him. This is not the way.”

  “Then what is?” asked the Mage, not smiling, eyes glinting dangerously.

  “I think the Dark Magic is insinuating itself into your words. You cannot honestly feel this way?” asked Thimkur.

  “You’re right, Thimkur. The Dark Magic is a part of me now, but I’ve always hated

  Mordinian and would like nothing more than to see him in eternal torment.”

  “Why? What has he done to make you hate him so?” asked Thimkur, honestly curious. Not that the Darian he knew was averse to wreaking havoc, just that in this moment, they could ill afford it.

  “Let’s see,” said Darian, as he placed his right forefinger on his chin appearing to be deep

  in thought.

  “He accepted an amulet that was created with Dark Magic and used it to track me. He abducted two Knights of Shorlan to learn my whereabouts. He fed information to the Dark Mage’s spies. He has insinuated himself into my life and continuously tries to talk to me, which you know I despise. He pretends to be on our side and uses his close proximity to mind my business. There is just something about him that I do not like.”

  Thimkur raised an eyebrow at Darian’s reasons. “He abducted two Knights of Shorlan? How was he able to accomplish that?” asked the Mage from Darian’s own order.

  “He is a talented thief that travels with a Bard, though they are at a bit of an impasse. The thief does not like his privacy breached, though he has no problem violating yours.”

  “Well, I can certainly understand why you loathe him, Darian,” said Thimkur. “But you must restrain yourself from hurting him and drawing attention to our company.”

  “I’m glad you’re here, Thimkur,” said Darian, taking the tall Mage by surprise.

  Thimkur liked Darian and knew that he’d be good for The Order. It didn’t matter what the others thought.

  “Darian, I want you to know that I’m here if you ever need to talk. I know that trust does not come easily to us, but I will do whatever is necessary to ensure you make it through this.” Darian smiled and clasped Thimkur’s upper arm in thanks.

  “Now, are you certain you no longer wish to take a consort?” asked Thimkur and noticed Darian wince at his words.

  “I’m sure that I do not want to condemn anyone else to death for loving me. You know me, Thimkur, I’ll be fine. I do not need a consort. I will have companionship whenever I want it. That’s all that matters,” the young Mage responded.

  “I thought Delvishan commanded this of you,” Thimkur pushed and was rewarded with Darian’s fury.

  “I don’t give a damn what he wants! He’s not down here experiencing this first hand, I am! Watching as one by one, their innocence is stripped away and knowing there is nothing I can do to stop it. He wasn’t here to protect Aslyn. He didn’t try to stop them from painting the walls in her blood. Where was he when they cut her open and spilled her entrails on the floor? Where was Delvishan when Tynuviel was taken, tortured, and raped? Every time I have asked for something, he answers with a resounding no. So why should I do anything he wants just because he commands it? It’s my life and if I do not want a consort, I will not take one. Show me in The Order’s rules where it specifically states that a high-ranking Mage must take a consort. It says nothing of this! I have read all the books on Order law. Taking a consort is a privilege, not a rule!”

  Darian was livid and Thimkur moved quickly to calm him down. The young Mage’s wrath was a terrifying sight and the Dregian Mage was not eager to have it directed at him. Thimkur was a bit shocked at Darian’s reaction to Delvishan’s wishes, but he’d never been known for his devoutness. In fact, back in Mogan Dar, Darian’s actions sometimes flew in the face of Delvishan’s commands. And yet, Delvishan chose him.

  The rest of the day passed by uneventfully. Kelindril was in the lead, but never far from Darian’s side. The elf scanned the horizon, looking left and right, always ready for some unforeseen threat. Darian watched him closely and admired the Gor Li’ Khan’s skill. He knew Kelindril felt guilty as hell about Aslyn’s death. Why don’t I feel angry? Shouldn’t I be angry? Shouldn’t I be sad? What’s wrong with me? I feel nothing… Darian tried to escape his deepest thoughts and concerns with little luck. He knew something was wrong with him, but didn’t want to speculate as to the source.

  He took a deep, quelling breath. What troubled him most about the recent events was that he wasn’t even upset about the loss of Aslyn and their child. What he felt was… Emptiness. The absence of emotion. He knew he should be grief-stricken, that was the humane thing to be, to feel. But he wasn’t human. Did that matter? Shouldn’t he feel something?

  What have you done to me!

  Nephraete stumbled and would have fallen if not for Kyler’s quick reflexes. “Are you alright?” he asked concernedly.

  “I… think so,” she whispered as she dropped to her knees to retch. Calisha was beside her immediately.

  “You can feel it too, can’t you?” he asked, and there was no need to explain what he meant.

  She nodded weakly, “Calisha, he is in so much pain. Is there nothing we can do?”

  “Would he want our help? He can be exceedingly difficult, you know,” he said, smiling as he supported her.

  “I know, but… He cannot go on like this.”

  “What’s going on?” Kyler asked.

  “It’s Darian. He is… troubled. I can feel his deep turmoil, his pain, and the absence of emotion that he tries so hard to hide. Kyler, he cannot go on like this. We must do something.”

  “Agreed, but what?”

  “I’m not sure,” she replied. “Go to him. See if you can talk to him. He needs you right now,”

  she urged.

  “Hey, are you okay?” asked Kyler, as he sidled up to his friend. Darian appeared not to notice as he seemed to be deep in thought. He looked pensive and wary.

  “Darian?” tried Kyler.

  “Hmm?” responded the Mage, slowly turning to face the elf.

  “I’m worried about you, are you okay?”

  “Ack, I’m fine,” he said, almost irritably.

  “Excuse me for being concerned,” Kyler retorted, a bit annoyed with his friend.

  “You’re excused,” the Mage replied, a hint of amusement on his lips.

  Black clouds rolled in, blotting out the sun and the once blue sky darkened ominously. The wind picked up, tearing leaves and loose twigs from the surrounding trees. Lightning raced across the sky and thunder boomed in the distance.

  “Kelindril!” Darian shouted to be heard above the din. “Find us shelter, now!”

  The Gor Li’ Khan wasted no time in finding something suitable. The company worked quickly to get the camp set up before the rain hit. Thimkur and Darian worked on the wards, extending them one hundred feet beyond the camp in all directions, while Aganor and Alvos worked on the protective spells.

  Kyler stood in awe as he watched the Mages working together. It was a powerful moment and he knew that Darian was appreciative of their help. It was a strange feeling. He never imagined he’d be in the presence of more than one Mage of The Order.

  Kyler could see sweat forming on Alvos and Aganor’s foreheads, but Thimkur and Darian were untouched. He could feel the pull on the Weave as they cast their spells and the elf knew that Darian was more powerful than the other three combined. He could feel their quiet strength and was surprised that he had them sorted according to power. Alvos and Aganor were pretty close, almost equal. Thimkur was stronger than Alvos and Aganor, but Darian… Kyler shivered as an eerie feeling crept over him. He scanned the camp, but found nothing out of the ordinary. He looked back
to Darian and saw that Kelindril was watching him.

  “What’s wrong?” asked the Gor Li’ Khan leader.

  “I don’t know. Something… I had this feeling wash over me and I can’t explain it, but something is out of place.”

  “What is it?” asked Kelindril, watching Kyler warily.

  “I’m not sure. Do you feel that?” the elf prince asked, looking around once more.

  “Worry not, elf prince, we’re on it,” said the assassin.

  The Gor Li’ Khan called on his Heritage, blended into his surroundings and disappeared from view. He melted into the very air and walked among them and none took notice. He paused by each group, listening carefully to their conversation before moving on to the next. He stood next to Mordinian, certain that he could slit the thief’s throat and Mordinian would take no notice. The thought gave the assassin a perverse thrill and his hands jerked to his blades before he could stop them. He restrained himself with great difficulty and the only thing that stopped him was Darian’s imagined anger. Kelindril knew the Mage would want the kill and he did not want to piss him off.

  Kelindril felt that he had much to make up for. The death of Aslyn weighed heavily on his mind. It wasn’t that he was fond of her, he wasn’t. And it wasn’t that he thought Aslyn was the right one for Darian, she wasn’t. It was that he’d failed in his responsibilities and that was something that had never happened before and Kelindril wasn’t prepared for what he was feeling. Whatever it was, it was unfamiliar to him and he didn’t like it.

  Feelings couldn’t be trusted. He’d learned that the hard way and that was why he was alone. Even as he thought the words, his eyes strayed to the beautiful Kylee. He watched her for long moments before ripping his gaze away. He cursed his inability to concentrate on the matters at hand and silently reprimanded himself. This was why Aslyn had died, his concentration wavered and he had no idea why. His eyes slid back to Kylee and down her curvaceous form. He felt something then that he had not felt in over a decade; desire and lust.