Apprentice

by Nicholas Hale

  Yet, right now, he found that the Summoners were probably the only people in the world who could help him. The only ones who even understood him. He remembered the demon hunter Crassus back in the guild-hall. His outrage. He remembered Illazehra staring at him all the time. The Ravens only tolerated him because they needed his powers. Not to mention the mages of Norvind, who wanted to cripple him. He was sure that it would be the reaction he would face anywhere once they found out that he had demonic essence inside him. Paladins would attack him on sight. At least the Summoners wouldn't treat him like an aberration that had to be destroyed.

  Dahl was also right in that Lorian couldn't continue experimenting with magic he didn't completely understand.

  "What do you think I should do?" asked Lorian as Orcus climbed onto his chest.

  "Does it matter? Both of us know you've already made up your mind."

  "True, but I'd still like to know what you think," said Lorian, a little hurt. He thought by now the hamster had known that Lorian valued its opinion.

  It appeared a little thoughtful for a while.

  "You would be making the right choice."

  Chapter 81

  Azrael couldn't believe his eyes. He had been staring at the letter since he received it that morning. It was almost noon now.

  He had read and reread the letter a hundred times over. Was it some sort of sick joke? After escaping the assassination attempt, Azrael had written to his family—his father—detailing the events of the past week. He had included evidence of Rennar's treasonous acts in support of his statements, with the wish that his father would intervene with the chief justiciar on Azrael's behalf.

  After all, the illegal sale of iron to foreign powers was an act of treason. An act punishable by death. Not to mention an assassination attempt on Azrael, the son of Lord Llothran.

  Azrael read the letter once more, slowly, as if doing so would somehow magically change its contents.

  Azrael,

  Believe me when I say this isn't easy. I have never refrained from expressing my displeasure at your several shortcomings, but despite any of your maladies and the embarrassment that they have caused the Llothran name, I have always considered you my son. That ends today. As Lord of one of the most illustrious founding families of the Aegean Empire, my duty is first to the Emperor and then to the Llothran family name. A name that continues to be tarnished by its association with you.

  Your Amaryl addiction, your disgusting talk of visions and voices, your association with that theater tramp, even your shameful dismissal from the military. None of it comes close to the act of treason that you have now committed. To make attempt on the life of Governor Rennar is to spit on the authority of Aegis, and to challenge the will of the Emperor himself.

  As of this moment, I am disowning you. You are hereby removed from my will and stripped of the Llothran name. You no longer have claim to any title or property that belongs to the Llothran family.

  Lady Llothran and Uriel send their deepest regrets that it had to come to this.

  Furthermore, you are to immediately surrender yourself at the nearest Aegean outpost, to stand trial for the crime of high treason.

  Please do not disgrace yourself further.

  - Lord Serael Llothran

  He didn't care as much about being branded a traitor as he did about being disowned by his family. His mother... How could she allow it? The illustrious Lord Llothran had always held great regard for the name and status of the family—much more than his own son's wellbeing. Uriel…well, his brother was an odd one. Azrael could never tell if he cared for him or not. He could picture his brother laughing despite the grave nature of the situation.

  But his mother? He had always believed that she loved him. Maybe his father had forced her into agreeing to this farce...

  He was in some nameless desert town on the very borders of Bren. He knew that Aegean soldiers around the city were looking for him, so he had chosen one of the more obscure towns.

  It took a great deal of effort to discreetly send the letter to his family, and an even greater amount of gold to retrieve it. But for the burning resentment many of the locals held for their Aegean invaders, Azrael would have been sold out for the reward a week ago. The town he was in right now was one with very little military presence. For good reason—it had nothing by the way of trade or comfort to offer anyone.

  He quietly thought about his options. The tone of the letter meant that his family had truly disowned him.

  At first, he thought that Rennar's spy—the man Kirrel —might have intercepted the letter. But if he did, they would have known where Azrael was and he would have been dead by now. Upon closer inspection, the penmanship seemed very much like his father's.

  It would be stupid to go to Aegis and stand trial at this point. If his family was still supporting him, that would have been a possibility. But without his family's support, and without his titles and holdings, he was little more than a pauper. A man like that, if pulled in front of an Aegean court for treason, wouldn't even be given an opportunity to defend himself. He would be executed the same day. If anything, his being disowned ensured that he would never set foot in Aegis again.

  Aborea. That was the town Astorr had mentioned he would wait at. Seven days. Today was the last day.

  The tundra, of all places? Azrael dismissed it without a thought. His experience in the Aegean military, with Rennar and even in the academy back in Aegis had taught him one thing and only one thing. He despised being told what to do. Uriel had mentioned it to him right before he departed for Ryga. He had also mentioned that Azrael would muck up this opportunity. It was interesting how right Uriel had been.

  Perhaps that was the real root of Azrael's problem. The reason he had picked a fight with Rennar. It wasn't for the slaves or for the inhuman conditions they lived in. Even General Albinus had hinted at it on the Deckan plains. A contempt for authority, his brother had called it. The tundra, if anything, would be far worse. He had heard stories of how soldiers were treated there. Expendable pawns. Demon or no demon, he wasn't eager for a military environment again. Besides, he despised the cold.

  Still thinking, he walked into the town. There were barely any people out in the streets. Most of the residents were old people who simply wished for some peace and quiet. The center of the town held a memorial for those from the town who had fallen in the demon war. The only shop that was open was a smithy. There was a strange smell coming from somewhere in the town...

  What was he doing here? He would have liked to at least go back to Marduk to meet Olaf, but the soldiers there would kill him on the spot. That fat fool Yvain would be more than glad to do it himself. Life for Brock and the other slaves would get worse. A sadness overcame him as he thought about Brie and Olaf. They would have to fend for themselves now. There would ne no special treatment for them anymore. But he took solace in the fact that both of them were strong enough to survive on their own. They had endured far worse. At least that was what he had to think.

  What was that smell? It had grown much stronger now. Strong enough to distract him. It felt familiar. Too familiar.

  Azrael followed it into one of the inns. He opened the doors and saw that most of it was deserted. From one corner, however, he could see large puffs of smoke rising.

  "Five gold for a pipe," said a gruff old man sitting behind the bar. "Twelve with leaves. But that bunch has plenty to spare if you're looking for some company."

  That was cheap. Far cheaper than Aegis. Then again, Amaryl leaves were outlawed in Aegis. They were only available underground and at exorbitant prices. Azrael tossed the gold over to the bartender, who placed a long pipe apparatus on the counter. Azrael picked it up, inspecting it. It was old, but it would do.

  Azrael walked into the smoke and saw three men sitting around the burner. The leaves were burnt on the coal and one had to suck the smoke in using the pipe.

  "Grab a seat, stranger!" said one man, coughing. "Plenty of leaves for all."


  "Where did you get them?" asked Azrael.

  "None o' yer business," said one man, who was also inebriated but was affecting a hostile tone.

  "Shut it, Jaxx!" said a girl's voice. "Don't worry about Jaxx. He doesn't bite."

  He had been mistaken. Only two were men. The third was female.

  Azrael doubted any of them knew what the hell they were saying. The leaves would have flooded their minds entirely. He knew Rygans had a high tolerance to the drug, but these leaves looked exceptionally strong.

  "But you won't be a stranger anymore if you sit down and tell us all about yourself," said the first voice.

  Azrael sat down and fixed his pipe to one of the holes on the side of the burner. Taking a fan in hand, he heated up the coals, causing the leaves to burn and generate more smoke.

  From the corner of his eye, he spied two large sacks in between the man and the girl. Smugglers. And all of them were armed. From his features, Azrael could tell that the first man was Aegean. The one who had been asking him to take a seat. The girl and the second man, who was hostile, looked Rygan.

  "You look an Aegean," said the first man. "Which of the islands are you from?"

  "Ithaca."

  The man's face lit up and he started coughing smoke as he laughed.

  "Nobility, eh? Must be one hell of a story how you came to be in this dump of a town."

  "Another time, maybe. Perhaps when I'm sober," said Azrael, before he put the pipe to his mouth.

  Azrael took a deep breath and let the smoke fill his lungs. He only had to keep it inside for a second till the feeling hit his head. Euphoria. He hadn't felt the sensation in many years.

  The last time he had tried the leaves was just before he joined the academy.

  "Easy there, islander," said the girl. "You people can't take the leaf like we can."

  If only she knew...

  "So you're going to sell those? Or are you planning on smoking all of them?" asked Azrael.

  "Why? You want to buy them?" asked the hostile man, suddenly interested.

  Just as he thought. They didn't have a buyer yet. If they did, they wouldn't have two whole sacks open next to them. And if they were regular users of the leaf, they would know that you never stopped with just a handful of leaves. You could go on for days and even weeks without even noticing it. Azrael had even known a man who died after a week of continuous use. He had apparently forgotten to eat. These people would likely stop long before that, but not before they wasted a good deal of them. There was a very good reason you didn't keep such a large quantity next to yourself when smoking.

  "I might know a buyer," said Azrael, thinking back to the contacts he had in Aegis.

  "We actually have a buyer," said the girl.

  A lie.

  "How much do you think we can get?" asked the man called Jaxx, ignoring the girl.

  "About two thousand gold?" said Azrael after careful consideration.

  "Two thousand?" asked the girl, raising an eyebrow. Jaxx sat up and took notice as well. It seemed they weren't just addicts after all. Profit still held enough interest for them. The first man, however, was a little guarded.

  "Thinking of Aegis, are you?" he asked. "Trading leaves there is punishable by death. You should know," he warned.

  Azrael laughed at that. Treason. They could also add drug trafficking to their list of charges. What could they do, anyway? Kill him twice?

  "Not to mention the nomads have a monopoly on Amaryl trade to Aegis through Slaver Port. If the nomads find out you're trying to send leaves to Aegis…"

  Selling Amaryl leaves seemed like a sound profession for a disowned noble son, disgraced soldier and traitor to his country.

  Somehow, with everything that had happened, Azrael wasn't sad.

  For the first time since his early childhood, he felt truly free.

  Chapter 82

  Interesting, thought Darius, looking around the cramped cell.

  Fabian Matel's prisoner.

  With the influence the man wielded, Darius could be left here to rot for the rest of his life, and no one would be able to do a thing about it.

  They hadn't even bothered looking at his wounds.

  All Fabian had to do was point, and a dozen of his elite guard seized him on the spot. And he had almost made it. Almost. The man had to have the eyes of a hawk to spot him in such a thick crowd. Surely it wasn't by chance that he had been picked. In all likelihood, Fabian knew who Darius was. And whom he worked for.

  Damned Summoners. Damned dragon. And, of course, that damned mage, Lorian. How had Renal obtained such a powerful ally? Such meticulous planning, but it seemed the fates themselves were allied against Darius.

  Atticus would be pissed, thought Darius, smiling to himself as he imagined a sour expression on the man's face. Somehow it didn't suit him. Darius had never seen anything but a wide grin on the man's face. Ever. He would probably be annoyed enough to want Darius dead. At this point, there was little to be gained in worrying.

  He knew the moment Fabian's men had captured him that he was a dead man. More than his failure, Atticus would be pissed that Darius had been caught. No amount of torture would work on Darius. He had that much confidence in himself.

  But did Atticus have the same confidence in Darius? Most likely not.

  Darius knew he was better than several of the men ranked above him in Atticus's organization. His family. And this had been the best chance to prove it to the councilmember himself. Darius had promised Atticus the Black Ravens. All Atticus had to do was allow Darius the right to use his name while negotiating with the Summoners.

  The egg would be tempting enough for the Summoners to ally with him, but the councilmember's name would carry great weight and respect while dealing with them. No matter how powerful Dahl was, and how powerful his Master Izul was, they knew of Atticus's strength.

  Moreover, they respected it and feared it.

  Darius felt shivers as he thought about it. Atticus had been his idol and everything Darius had ever aspired to become. Charismatic, ruthless, powerful. It was why he had been so eager to rise in the man's eyes. To impress him. To earn his approval.

  And here he was now. Waiting for his hero's hand to kill him.

  He should be that lucky, he thought.

  Atticus would never deem Darius worthy of killing with his own hands. It would be someone lower. Burgess, perhaps? Or even Byron. It could be Olivia, as well, he thought, as he went further down the hierarchy. She should be able to break into this prison with some effort, he thought as he looked around.

  And he would probably be able to defend himself too. He could hold his own against Renal. A member of the Twilight Circle. Surely, he could handle Olivia. If it was her who was sent that is. If it were Burgess, he would simply kneel, present his neck and save both of them the trouble.

  Silently, Darius thought about the practical aspects of his predicament. He would be dead soon. He had already accepted that. The question was...should he let them know?

  Darius was far more intelligent than anyone in Atticus's organization gave him credit for. He knew, and even confirmed through his own investigations that the Black Ravens were a front for the Twilight Circle. Everyone thought the circle had been exterminated, but Darius knew better.

  Trading in magical artifacts granted him access to the rarest trinkets and books. There were occasional reports of men with uncanny combat abilities and physical fortitude. Darius found that these were often confused for rogue Rhial Knights from Ryga. If anything, such assumptions served to hide the existence of the organization. And people believed that all too easily. Why not? It was the simpler explanation and far easier to accept.

  But Darius knew. Not only was the organization still alive, but it had an agenda as well. Darius pored over ancient texts and scriptures to confirm his suspicions. There were so many subtle signs that the circle was still alive. And here in Archon, hidden within the bowels of the Black Ravens, no less. Other than Renal himself, Darius
knew there were at least four other members in Renal's guild-hall alone.

  If Darius had become a guild-master, he would have been able to find out so much more about the Twilight Circle. That would have been the real prize if he had taken over the Black Ravens. When he finally had the chance to speak to Atticus, he thought about voicing his suspicions to the man, but found that he would do much better with proof. Proof he sadly did not have.

  Ironically, having played a hand in its destruction, his current captor would be the one man who was most likely to believe him. Yet again, what benefit was there for Darius in speaking to Fabian? If the rumors were true, and Fabian was indeed as insightful as they said, he most likely knew about the circle's continued existence.

  Perhaps this could work in his favor. Darius thought about it a little. He could at least offer some names to Fabian. That alone should be worth his freedom.

  "Guard!" shouted Darius, standing up.

  It was too dark to see clearly. And the damned cell was too cramped.

  "Guard!" shouted Darius again. This time more loudly.

  "Quit your hollerin', you blasted thief," came a gruff voice. "What is it?"

  Darius still couldn't see anything, but guessed the guard was in earshot now.

  "I'd like to speak to Fabian Matel."

  A laugh, followed by coughing.

  "And I'd like to fuck his wife," came the reply, followed by still more laughter from other voices.

  Cursing, Darius sat down on the floor again. Dumb bastards.

  "I wonder what you could possibly have to tell him?" came a soft voice from behind him.

  Darius shot back onto his feet and pivoted. It was a woman's voice. He felt a gust of wind as the woman appeared from the shadows.

  "A day in this cell. Didn't take much for you to break, did it?"

  "Olivia," said Darius, looking at her.