The Dark Disciple (The Daybreak Saga Book 2)

by Dan Neil

  She sighed. “Fine. What’s your big, stupid question?”

  Mar said seriously, “How are you feeling?”

  Keia opened her mouth to respond, but the words never came. She closed her mouth and exhaled sharply through her nose. Though she’d never give him credit for surprising her, it wasn’t the question she expected.

  She opened her mouth to answer with a curt ‘fine,’ but before the word escaped her lips, she remembered his caveat—I need it answered with one hundred percent honesty—and sighed again.

  Words formed at her tongue, on the edge of spilling out. She opened her mouth again, about to say, Carter and Aliya are missing. Myrddin abandoned me. The test is coming up, and I’m nowhere near ready; so, Gaheris is going to throw me in a cell. And on top of all of that, something wants me dead. How the fuck am I supposed to feel? But then she thought better of it.

  Instead, she said, “You’re a real fucking asshole, you know that?”

  “I do.”

  She threw her arms up. “What do you care about what I’m feeling? Seriously—first Myrddin, now you—what is it with you people?”

  Mar tried to curb a half-smile but failed.

  “Let me guess: you can’t tell me?”

  “I will. One day soon, when you’re not under so much stress. There are harsh truths to confront, Keia, but there are better times to confront them than now.”

  Keia’s lungs released a deep sigh. “I don’t know when that’s going to be. And anyway—why the hell should I answer your question, then?”

  Mar shrugged. “I don’t know. Like I said, you don’t have to answer it.”

  Keia pondered this. Telling this man—someone she knew nothing about—that her fear of the Lockout and worry for her siblings was driving her mad? Shudders jumped from her toes to the back of her neck. In a low voice, she said, “Just take me home.”

  Mar nodded. Without another word, he began walking back toward Keia’s home.

  When she caught up with him, she asked, “I don’t expect I’ll be seeing much more of you?”

  Mar chuckled. “Oh, you might be surprised. I’ll be around then and again—always am.”

  Keia thought of an awkward question. It pressed against her head and popped out, but she stopped herself short. “Did M—hmm.”

  Her lips sealed for a second. It definitely wasn’t a great idea to say that name in public.

  “Did—he—send you here?”

  Mar replied in a low voice, “Perhaps, perhaps not. Let’s just say, my theory is this: Myrddin was aware of—elements, such as Gaheris, working against you. He would not have left Genievon unless he was assured of your safety.”

  Keia nodded. They continued their walk in silence. Upon reaching her home, Keia closed the door behind her. Jisaazu wasn’t in the common room. Having the right idea, she was already asleep.

  Keia collapsed on her bed, falling asleep in her full uniform at the end of a trying day.

  Chapter 19

  Renegade

  Day 164 of the Season of Aion, 1020 YAR

  Axl sat by a river cradling his wand. He stared at the inscriptions upon the Elderbone, trying to decipher the letters of the ancient draconic language. They wrote in circles that flowed across the weapon like a river long forgotten.

  The dragons are gone, but their spirit remains. When I’m gone, what will be remembered?

  He and Myrddin had been on the run for over a month now. The wizard nary spoke a word, no matter what Axl said or did. They had traveled north to meet with Myrddin’s wife in a small cottage. Afterward, Myrddin attended a series of meetings all over Gaddeaux, gathering support wherever it could be found—which was, more or less, nowhere.

  First, they went to the Heartland Corps, a group of anti-Symon extremists who were none too kind. After making their getaway, they went off to Greislav to drop off supplies to striking laborers at a spell mine and then to a remote city named Gartha for a spell mill. Finally, they ventured to the cliffs of Velshamsphire to speak to the Drake Lords. Axl was impressed by the band of pirate captains and the beasts they rode, but their cause was refused.

  Still, Axl wondered why the wizard was dragging him along.

  At least I’m not in a cell. Or trapped underground. Or dead.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the sunlight and the fresh, open air, and wondered where they were. Usually, he found out when the natives told him. Myrddin mostly remained silent.

  The wizard stepped through a portal and started a fire. He produced a brick of meat from a spellstone and held it just over the flame with telekinesis. Axl sat across from the old man.

  Myrddin sighed.

  “Everything all right, partner?” Axl asked. “You look a little more worn than usual. And you’re pretty damn old.”

  The wizard frowned.

  “Still not going to talk?”

  Silence.

  “Why the hell am I even here, then?”

  Myrddin stared. “There is a reason you’re here.”

  “Mind enlightening me?”

  A slight smile crept over the wizard’s face. “Perhaps.”

  After the old man returned to silence, Axl took in their surroundings once more—a grassy plain extending to a rocky shore, where clear waters crashed against the stone. They were atop the crest of a hill, looking down at a forest of towering trees on one side and the shore on the other.

  Axl asked, “Where are we, even?”

  “Quantaine.”

  “So we’re still within the kingdom?”

  The wizard shifted, staring off at the sun as it descended. “The king has little control over what happens out here. And Lady Grannot is unaware of our presence.”

  “Why are we here? Or rather, why are you here?”

  Myrddin shook his head. “Do you really care which unsavory group of people I’m meeting with now, or are you wondering why you’re here?”

  Axl gave a half-smile. “The second one.”

  Myrddin said in a matter-of-fact tone, “I’m evaluating your usefulness.”

  Axl perked up. “Oh? And how’s that going so far?”

  The wizard nodded. “Fairly well. I’ve been giving you chances to run—time alone. To see if you could handle yourself and if you’d stay put.”

  “You said this was about helping Keia, right?”

  “Yes. We’re looking for people willing to go to any lengths to help her.”

  Axl nodded. “I doubt she’d ever want my help after what I did to her. But—I’ll do whatever I can to repay my debt.”

  “Excellent. In that case, we’ll move on to the next phase of the evaluation.”

  “Oh?” Axl’s head tilted.

  “Yes. Diplomacy. The Order is in dire need of skilled diplomats. We represent someone very important when we speak. Our words must be chosen with extreme care,” the wizard said.

  “I doubt that’d be my strong suit.”

  “Yes, I feared the worst in your case. The phase after that is combat effectiveness. If you can’t be of help in securing alliances for Keia, you may serve her in battle one day.”

  Axl scoffed. “Isn’t she part of the King’s Militia? I don’t think it’s going to go well if we just show up with an army at her doorstep and tell her to lead it. That bastard king of yours might have questions.”

  The corner of Myrddin’s mouth pulled downward. “This army will be there when she is ready. I don’t think Keia will serve the king forever.”

  “She seemed pretty intent on it on the vault.”

  “I think that had more to do with your actions than any loyalty to the king.”

  Axl frowned and gave a knowing nod.

  Myrddin shifted. “King Symon is not someone Keia will follow once she sees who he is.”

  Axl chuckled. “Anyone who’s spe
nt time in underground Genievon knows the king’s shite. She’s not there for the king; she’s there for her family and her magic—her friends. She’s there because she’s a good person who wants to protect people, and she thinks that’s the best way.”

  “Perhaps she can do that better herself.”

  Axl shrugged. “I don’t disagree. I’ve always thought she was too good a person to be one of Symon’s dogs.”

  “Then it’s only a matter of waiting until she believes.”

  Axl frowned. “What are we going to do in the meantime?”

  “We’ll go to the Nothron Isles next—hire whichever guilds we can and move on.”

  “Bounty hunters? You can’t rely on mercenaries in an army.”

  Myrddin let out a sharp exhale. “Why do you think we’ve gone to meet with fanatics and freaks? We can’t pick and choose our allies, I’m afraid. After that, we’ll head off to Mystik Bay to secure the Mage Guilds there. That might be stickier territory; Mystik Bay is much closer to Genievon than the Nothron Isles.”

  Axl leaned back and said, “So I’m your glorified bodyguard for now.”

  A smile crossed the wizard’s face. “More or less. Never hurts to have more muscle around.”

  Axl nodded. “All right. I can live with that, as long as it’s for her.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  Chapter 20

  First Steps

  Day 174 of the Season of Aion, 1020 YAR

  Arno, Baptized by Death, stood atop a hill on the endless plains of the Great Veld. The occultist was unshaven and unwashed; his odor was impossible for most to withstand. Beady, lifeless eyes—the only things moving on what looked to be a corpse—scanned the horizon. His gray skin was long decayed. Little hair remained on his head, but what was left had turned a sickly white decades ago. His throat was stitched haphazardly. Whenever he was decapitated, his body sewed the head back into place.

  Arno’s tattered black cloak was fashioned with skulls, and he wore light chain mail underneath. The occultist clutched at a necklace with beads displaying ancient spell circles and leaned on a spear made of human bone. He chanted prayers under his breath while waiting for Anton’s arrival.

  The soldiers behind him shifted anxiously, appearing unsure of Arno, who was ordinarily with the other Day. Julius’ devotion to Malthas had influenced his men, encouraging fervent piety amongst his ranks. Anton had expressed his distrust of Arno at every opportunity, and this, too, seemed to pass to his soldiers.

  “Do—do you know if he’s returning soon?” one soldier asked, though the occultist’s stench kept him back. The man was practically a damn corpse.

  The occultist rolled the beads between his fingers. “He will ride over that hill by sunset. He will return with a fiery tongue, and we will continue doing the work of Malthas until we become his work.”

  “Um—what?”

  “All things will be made clear. Or maybe you will be sent to Malthas before that. Anton faces quite a dilemma. His decision will affect a great many things.”

  The soldier stared at Arno’s back and shivered. The occultist never ate, drank, or slept. Rumors amongst Anton’s rank and file spoke of a monster lurking beneath the cracked, broken skin.

  “You have a question,” Arno said. “Malthas told me. What is it you want to ask?”

  The soldier covered his nose. “How does Malthas speak to you?”

  Arno quietly replied, “He speaks through death. He speaks through blood—mine and others’.”

  Without another word, the soldier made for camp, leaving Arno waiting behind with what appeared to be the patience of a dead man.

  The sun was halfway descended when Anton approached. Already unhappy, he grimaced as the distant figure of the occultist grew closer, motionless as a stone sentinel. It was the last person he wanted greeting him—aside from maybe the Black Heart.

  Once in earshot of Arno, Anton sneered, not caring to mask his disdain as he called, “You’re at my camp now? Did Julius tire of you at last? Do I have his blessing to put you to the river?”

  Arno replied, “Malthas is upon us. Upon you, especially. A scorpion comes for your head on orders from a false crown.”

  Anton Day sharply exhaled. “Yes, I’m well aware of who my enemies are. You’re not as clever as you think, you know.”

  “So, you were defeated?”

  Anton’s eyes burned with anger. He drove his sword into Arno’s heart, but the madman didn’t flinch.

  “You were defeated.”

  “I wish you could die,” Anton lamented. “I wish I could cut out your tongue.”

  Anton freed his blade as easily as unsheathing it, and thick, black blood that stank of rotten meat and bile oozed from the wound as Arno said, “You could, if you wanted. But then you would lack the counsel of Malthas—and you’d infuriate your dear brother.”

  Anton recoiled, covering his nose and casting his black-blood covered sword aside. “My brother isn’t dear to me.”

  “What happened?”

  Anton sneered, “I don’t owe you an explanation.”

  “The scorpion—the scorpion should have been killed,” Arno warned. “He and his companions—they are dangerous. Malthas told me many things about them, yes. They will do great work for him.”

  Pointing a finger, Anton spat, “Unless you have a plan to put the entire city of Gathanmar to work, hold your tongue. I’m not beholden to you. I won’t stand here and be criticized by a damned corpse.”

  “All are beholden to Malthas—even you.”

  “And what does that make you?” Anton asked.

  Arno’s beady eyes drifted toward the sky. “I, too, will be with Malthas when I have served my purpose.”

  “Your god is a lie. Yes, death comes for us all. But that’s not some invisible being in the sky. Nothing happens for a reason except the ones that men make.”

  “Very well, then. What will you do now, with no reason but your own?”

  Anton dismounted as he said, “You say that Scipion is coming after me?”

  Arno’s rotting lips tightened into as much of a smile as the corpse could manage. “I did not realize that you put such faith in my words. I only wish you had more faith in Malthas.”

  Anton glared. He’d never admit it, but most of Arno’s prophesies had come true. “I have faith in steel and Nertha. Is Scipion giving chase?”

  “Yes. He will be coming south for you. Julius is East of Gathanmar; you’d have to cross the River Leiesna to meet him. The Black Heart rides west to Sophegion. What will you do, Anton?”

  Anton stared out at the Rolling Plains as his mind went to work. There was always a way out—and a way to win.

  “I’m not concerned by the Scorpion Knight. He sees himself as a protector of the people. Well, if he cares so much for them, I’ll give them steel. I’m going to set these lands on fire, from the Rolling Plains to the Grythan Highlands.”

  “You’re going to anger him.”

  Anton sneered. “No, I’m going to distract him. I only need to escape to Grythos. Logan has declared himself a king. The Black Heart will target him and every single one of his allies.”

  Arno’s head tilted. “Afraid to face this scorpion?”

  The Day Brother wrung his hands, his mind racing to formulate a path to victory. “I’m not afraid to take on some half-rate taking orders from a pretender king. But if I waste time fighting them, I’ll lose the rest of my harvest. And we’ve already suffered too many setbacks—from Jomar dying, to Logan—”

  “Can you escape him?” the dead man asked.

  Anton’s posture straightened, and a wicked, toothy grin crept across his face. “Of course I can. He won’t follow me into Grythos. The slavers would tear his army of misfits to pieces, but not as fast as Mornwas will, as soon as he catches that little prince. He’ll feed them all to hi
s abominations.”

  Arno asked in his monotone, “How will you get there?”

  Anton paused to think, taking a few swaggering steps. Then he said, “We’ll have to cross the Madros no matter what; so, it’s best to get that out of the way early. Then we’ll march south. The Madros’s southern channel leads straight into the Gozdus Desert. I’ll stick to it, send out raiding parties to kill as many villagers as possible—the scorpion’s heart won’t let him leave the poor innocents exposed. The river will take me to Grythos while he moves to protect them.”

  Arno gave a wheezy, squealing chuckle. “Are you sure?”

  Anton rolled his eyes. “What does Malthas say?”

  “He is silent on your accord,” Arno whispered. “He will not help non-believers. The only way he will save you is if he gives you a purpose, and you aim to fulfill it.”

  “You’re a fool, Arno. I suppose that’s why Julius likes you so much—daft, that one; it matters not. We have one thousand men here. Jomar’s remaining forces, some five hundred, will be with us soon. Even if the scorpion catches up, we’ll crush him. And then we’ll sit back and watch the Black Heart feed the prince to his monstrosities.”

  Arno’s disconcerting eyes glimmered with the mention of Logan. “Do not underestimate that prince. There is something foul in what Malthas tells me about him.”

  Anton rolled his eyes once more. “Should Malthas not be happy with foul things?”

  “Malthas cares not for numbers of the dead—only those sent in his name. Do not take this prince lightly. Great evil surrounds him.”

  “I think great evil surrounds you,” Anton scorned as he kicked his horse with steel spurs, “and as soon as I find a way to be rid of you, I’ll do it.”

  As the Day brother rode off, Arno’s eyes faded into lifelessness. The dead man waited in silence. When darkness fell over the land, he craned his head skyward, seeing a rather large star painting the ascending night sky. Malthas’s whispers pierced Arno’s ears as the meteor danced through the skies above.

  —

  Scipion stood before seven hundred fighters, fifty of which were mounted Valkhars, along with one hundred other assorted horsemen. Matalo was by his side, staring at the miniature army before them.