The Dark Disciple (The Daybreak Saga Book 2)

by Dan Neil

  “It won’t happen!” Matalo spurred his horse a step forward. “You die tomorrow, Anton Day.”

  “Oh, he’s still alive, too?” Anton groaned. “I would have thought you’d have gotten yourself killed by now. Truly a stupid person.”

  “Why did you ride out here?” Scipion interrupted. “Do you have terms to deliver?”

  Anton’s eye twitched. “I do, actually. You’re going to retreat behind those walls, and we’re going to kill you and desecrate your corpses. After we’re done with you, we’ll sit back and watch the Black Heart feed your false king to his monsters. But you, Scipion”—he pointed once more at his most hated foe—“you, I’m going to save. I’ll keep you in a cage, alive and well. Someday the singers and bards and playwrights will create works of art dedicated to the tragedy that I will make of your existence—if anyone bothers to remember you.”

  “Those are your terms?”

  Anton’s eye twitched again. “No, that’s what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

  With a glib shrug, Scipion said, “I disagree. I have no terms to give you, myself. I would advise that you try to end this quickly, or you might run out of food. You look a little thin. Send your men against us, or wait until they devour you; it will not matter. I will take your head to King Logan in the end. Spend your last night how you wish.”

  “I think I might make ‘King Logan’ a cloak from your skin,” Anton mused, his face wrinkled in rage and hunger.

  “You seem upset. I think your mood might improve if you had a full belly.” Scipion pulled out a spellstone and summoned a piece of bread. He took a few bites as Anton watched, infuriated. Scipion then threw the remainder of the bread on the ground and said, “Wouldn’t want to sleep on too full a stomach the night of a fight, now. It’ll slow me down. Don’t worry about us, though; we can always make more. If you want it, come take it off our corpses.”

  Scipion whispered in Eritar’s ear, and she stomped on the leftover bread. Anton’s eyes burned with wrath, while his cavalry stared at the fallen food as if the Scorpion Knight had dropped a piece of gold down a hole.

  Scipion did not smile. Their work was cut out for them in facing a desperate, hungry army. Nothing was weaker or more dangerous than an army of those who were hungry and desperate.

  “You come to an end tomorrow, Scipion.” Anton jerked the reins and kicked with his spurs again. “My army’s what—twice the size of yours? We’ll break those little walls and slaughter each and every one of you. Then we will feast, either on what food you have or on your corpses. I swear it by whatever gods you think will save you and your rented army.”

  He and his men turned and rode back to their encampment. Scipion waited until they were far enough away and turned Eritar around. He wordlessly led the others back to their own encampment and was greeted by the soldiers.

  “What did he have to say?”

  “Is he going to surrender?”

  “Will we be fighting tonight?”

  Scipion held up his hands. “They are famished. I doubt they have any food left at all. These men are fighting for survival, and so are we. We meet on the field tomorrow. I’m sending out patrols tonight to ensure that we are not attacked, but everyone else, ready yourselves. These men are dangerous, but if we each do our part, we will have victory.”

  Another soldier chimed in, “What did he say?”

  “He said he was going to slaughter us,” Matalo answered. “He said they would smash our walls and kill and eat the whole lot of us. And he meant every word of it.”

  “They’re starving,” Scipion added. “They will fight like animals—but their spirits will break quickly. So let them come to us, where we can thin their numbers. We hold these walls, and we hold Bottleneck Pass. There will be no mercy for them. Rest well, soldiers. Tomorrow will be our victory.”

  Chapter 43

  Flame of Shadow

  Day 13 of the Season of Life, 1020 YAR

  Finally, Greerwood Forest loomed before Jisaazu. Ervane refused to enter until his protective clothing was on. Only twenty minutes in, she relented and added the extra layers. The cold was unlike anything she’d felt before.

  And he said it gets worse than this.

  “Right,” Ervane said. “Keia’s likely gone through the forest; so, we shouldn’t waste time.”

  Jisaazu came out from behind a tree wearing a freeze suit. “I agree. We go straight through to the other side.”

  Ervane nodded, then grimaced. Jisaazu’s eyes narrowed as she watched his subtle ways of trying to stave off pain. Something had been wrong with him since the moment they had entered Greerwood. He tried not to show it, but occasionally, he would stumble or yelp. Jisaazu felt nothing, but the Jaaza Greatsword had a steady, gentle glow to it. It had to be keeping her safe from some sort of magic—but what?

  After another minute, Ervane stopped, and she followed suit.

  Rubbing his temples and wincing, he said, “Cut down that tree, would you? Put that sword to use.”

  Jisaazu shrugged and felled it with one swing.

  “Now what?” she asked.

  “Get on!” Ervane straddled the trunk, grabbing a large branch to stabilize himself. “We can go much faster this way and stay low to the ground. I need to be rid of this bloody headache.”

  Jisaazu stared blankly for a moment, then glared. “I’m not riding on a tree.”

  “It’s just like the rock—”

  Jamming a finger in his face, she shouted, “The rock was bad enough! First a rock, now a tree? What the hell’s next? Are we going to ride on Keia’s back on our way back to the kingdom?”

  “Listen—”

  Jisaazu turned her head and crossed her arms. “No, this is ridiculous. I’m not riding on a damn tree!”

  “Then you’re walking!” Ervane said curtly. “Three weeks. Three weeks in this forest—or we can cut it down to a few days. Just close your eyes, you won’t even notice. I won’t make it three weeks if—mmm—if this keeps up.”

  Her mouth fell open, but upon meeting his pleading eyes, her retort dried up. Try as she might to protest, he was right. She hugged the cold, dead trunk, while Ervane cast telekinesis on it. He deftly steered between the trees with magical precision.

  Jisaazu kept her eyes closed. Finally, she looked; the ground flew past in a blur of white, brown, and gray. She yelped and closed her eyes once more as Ervane maneuvered the log between the dead trees.

  After only a few minutes, Jisaazu noticed the log’s pace slowing. The wind no longer whipped at her face as harshly. She opened her eyes. Ervane was struggling to steer.

  Jisaazu shouted, “Getting tired?”

  In a cold, lifeless monotone, Ervane said, “I don’t feel right.”

  Now concerned, she asked, “Wh-what? What’s going on?”

  Ervane turned. Blood oozed from his eyes, nose, and mouth.

  “I don’t feel right.”

  For a moment, Jisaazu was unable to process what her eyes were telling her. Then she snapped to attention as someone came into view in the distance. They wore all black and had thick black hair swept to one side. She and Ervane were careening toward the figure at dangerous speeds.

  Jisaazu frantically gestured and screamed, “Get out of the way!”

  The figure remained unmoved, his eyes focused on them. She grabbed Ervane’s shoulder and screamed for him to stop.

  As the tree sped toward the stranger, a sword materialized in his hand. The blade was the color of night; it pulsated with fiery shadows and filled the air with a deep, powerful hum.

  Jisaazu grabbed Ervane’s shoulder and shouted, “Look out!”

  The man slashed at the tree just before impact, knocking it off course. Jisaazu and Ervane were thrown into the snow. The weapon exploded with energy upon impact, releasing sparks of black fire and a thunderous boom, which left a ringing in Jis
aazu’s ears. Ervane rolled about, grabbing at his temples and screaming, while the stranger approached, his sword’s ravenous hum filling the stilled air.

  Jisaazu stood and readied the Jaaza Greatsword. The Dark Disciple’s head snapped in her direction. She was struck, for a moment, by how familiar he seemed; it appeared he had a similar impression of her.

  “It’s—you?” he asked. Giving a battle-cry, Jisaazu charged him.

  The Dark Disciple snarled and aimed his gauntlet. Jumping, blocking, or deflecting spells, Jisaazu’s sword swirled in a furious dance. He smirked and readied the ever-twisting Darkfire Blade. She leaped and swung vertically, but he easily parried, his blade erupting with energy as he threw her assault aside. Their swords locked as she struck again; his sizzled and smoked. She tried desperately to avoid the sinister sparks that flew from his blade and disengaged.

  He smiled darkly and said, “I remember you.”

  “What?” Jisaazu asked.

  “You weren’t strong enough last time—yet you came all this way to face me?”

  Jisaazu readied herself for another round. Her eyes widened as she remembered where she’d seen him before. He’s—he’s the one from the vault.

  Pointing the Jaaza Greatsword at his heart, Jisaazu snarled, “You’re the bastard who took my leg!”

  “No more words.” He sneered. “Your pain will be over soon.”

  He charged and unleashed a barrage of blows, growling with every hackneyed strike. His blade thundered whenever it clashed with her blessed steel. Hatred drove him; the precision and pace of his strikes pushed Jisaazu backward. His speed and strength were inhuman.

  She parried and countered. With a flick of his wrist, he lashed out, bashing her sword aside. The Dark Disciple then swung horizontally, but she ducked and rolled. His stroke felled a tree. He charged as she regained her balance. Glancing over at the falling trunk, a chill took hold in Jisaazu’s core; she’d never faced anyone this fast.

  Jisaazu stabbed at his heart, but he sidestepped and hacked at her head. She pulled back just in time, blocking inches from her face. A black spark hit her shoulder—agony coursed through her body, but the affliction did not spread. She jumped back, the Jaaza Greatsword aglow. Giving a furious shout as her opponent advanced, she desperately fended off his erratic, frenetic assault. With every collision of their swords, it felt like a knife was driving deeper into her shoulder.

  Ervane struggled to his feet, barely aware of Jisaazu being driven backward. His mind was in agony, a condition induced by the Dark Disciple’s magic.

  The battle was blurry to him, but he made out the broad strokes. The enemy was pushing Jisaazu back. Their only hope was to fight together. Using a nearby tree for balance, Ervane cast a fireball.

  Jisaazu saw this and locked blades with the enemy, growling as she pushed against his assault. It looked to hit for a moment, but the enemy’s gauntlet raised a wall of shadows to block. He disengaged their blades and trapped Jisaazu’s prosthetic leg in ice.

  “Wait here,” he growled. “I’ll be right back.”

  Jisaazu’s eyes widened as she shouted, “Ervane! Run!”

  It took a moment to smash the ice with her guard. The Dark Disciple charged Ervane, who was struggling to reach the log. Unable to take the mental strain any longer, Ervane dropped, loosing a haunting shriek.

  The enemy was nearly upon Ervane when Jisaazu threw her blade.

  The Dark Disciple sidestepped the flying sword, and the blade lodged itself in the fallen tree. Ervane grabbed hold. Though he was unable to wield it, the blade protected him. Freed from the mental pressure, he lifted the tree, keeping one hand on the Jaaza Greatsword. He turned and flew toward Jisaazu, barely dodging a furious stroke from the Darkfire Blade.

  Without her blade, Jisaazu felt the Dark Disciple’s magic—all of it. She stumbled about, scratching and tearing at her hair; her brain was melting through her eyes. The Dark Disciple roared as Ervane scooped up Jisaazu. She placed a hand on the Jaaza Greatsword, relinquishing the foul presence from her mind.

  As they escaped, the Dark Disciple launched a bolt made of the same twisting fire as his sword—it struck Ervane and exploded, badly scarring his shoulder, neck, and face with dark gray marks that sapped his skin of life. He cried out in pain.

  “Ervane!” Jisaazu shouted.

  “Hold on!”

  “Huh?” Jisaazu tightened her grip.

  They shot up, soaring so high above the forest that she could offer no protest from shock. Once they had covered several days’ worth of ground, Ervane lowered the tree, much to Jisaazu’s gratitude.

  “Why did you run away?” she asked. “We can—”

  “No!” Ervane immediately cried, still facing away from her. “No, that’s not an option. You felt that—even if only for a moment.”

  Jisaazu shuddered. Yes, only a moment—one she’d never forget. Like a frozen ax splitting her down the middle in slow motion, while a thousand burning knives pricked and stabbed her skull from the inside.

  “I—I did. But we have to—”

  Ervane coughed violently. “No, we don’t both have to die. We were lucky to escape with our lives. Didn’t you feel your brain being squeezed? I don’t think he was even trying to do that. It’s subconscious—he’s so powerful that his magic is—oppressive. And we can’t both hold your sword at once.”

  She gulped. “Why do you think it’s subconscious?”

  “He wasn’t focusing on either of us,” Ervane said. “He didn’t even break a sweat casting that spell. It wasn’t a combat spell—he’s just searching. I’ve felt his presence since we stepped into Greerwood, but I had no idea that it would get that bad—that anything even could.”

  “So we run. That’s your solution?”

  “You run,” Ervane corrected. “I’m getting you out of Greerwood Forest. I’m not long for this world.”

  He turned, eliciting a gasp from Jisaazu. His skin, and everything underneath, was turning black and flaking off. The affliction was spreading—his exposed chest cavity was rotting before her eyes.

  Jisaazu protested, “You’re not going to die—the Jaaza Greatsword won’t allow it!”

  “Be quiet, and let me focus.”

  Jisaazu was confused by his sudden heroics. His shoulder was collapsing before her eyes, the skin and everything inside turning into black ash as the shadow spread within; with every breath, Jisaazu heaved in the stench of metal, fecal matter, and bile. He didn’t have long before the Darkfire reached his heart. Though he was struggling, he traveled faster than before.

  Eventually, Ervane slowed down, coming to a complete stop before falling off and collapsing into the snow.

  “Ervane!” Jisaazu held him as he gasped for breath.

  Ervane coughed up blood and black ash and leaned back, fighting to keep his eyes open. The foul magic was spreading to his neck and cheeks, making his words slur as he said in a weak voice, “When I’m gone, leave me and run. Don’t stop until you reach the plains in the north. It should only be a day’s run from here.”

  “It’s not too late!” Jisaazu said. “Just stay with me.”

  Ervane weakly shook his head. His eyes moved toward the sky, taking in as much as he could. His labored wheezes ended with a final, choked sigh.

  Jisaazu did not cry. She had only ever cried for her mother’s death years ago. After a few silent moments, she closed what remained of his eyes and stood.

  Unable to cleave her problem in two, Jisaazu watched on helplessly. Unable to leave, she stayed with Ervane’s rotting body until the horror inflicted upon him became too much to bear. After sheathing her blade, she headed north.

  Jisaazu wanted vengeance for her partner’s death but shuddered at the thought of it. The Dark Disciple was more powerful than anything she’d ever faced. If she’d been a split-second late with a block, she would have shared Er
vane’s fate. Alone and afraid, she wanted nothing more than to put Greerwood behind her. She journeyed north, hoping that Ervane didn’t die in vain.

  Chapter 44

  Reunion

  Day 13 of the Season of Life, 1020 YAR

  The Dark Disciple breathed heavily as he stormed around the forest. A core of anger and hatred rose to the surface. A pull grasped from within, and he stopped.

  Taking a deep breath, he knelt in the snow. Shadows swarmed his mind. When the world came into focus once more, he stood in the central chamber of an ancient temple. Before him sat a figure engulfed in shadow; only two red eyes stared out from a darkened throne.

  In a haunting, mechanical voice that echoed throughout the darkened halls, Ashuram asked, “What are you looking for?”

  “It wasn’t her.” The Dark Disciple was barely able to contain his anger. “I prayed for a sign, and it was a lie.”

  “Our god never lies. You were given a sign. But you chased rabbits while hunting lions. Worse, you let one of the rabbits escape.”

  “Forgive me, Master.” He hung his head in penitence. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Of course it won’t. You’ve gone so long without punishment—I’d hate to see that change.” He sensed a question and beckoned his disciple to ask.

  “What sign was I given? I asked to be shown the girl’s location, and I was led to two nobodies—one of whom I had easily defeated on the vault, in the body of a weak girl.”

  “Yes, god is subtle in his designs. My advice? Be most aware of your familiar surroundings.”

  The Dark Disciple thought back to Greerwood. He reached out once more, his power spreading over the entire forest—surrounding and filling it. He was still blind to the girl, but something else had changed. His eyes opened.

  “Remy’s moving.”

  The red eyes narrowed, and a raspy chuckle filled the air. “You may want to find him. I’m sure he’s got quite the song to sing; see to his silence.”