The Dark Disciple (The Daybreak Saga Book 2)

by Dan Neil

  “You really think I’d have eaten you? Your lot is more fit for the dogs!”

  Their blades met in the air with a resounding clang. Anton pulled back and hacked at Scipion’s legs, scratching the armor with a metallic shriek—but failing to cause injury. The Scorpion Knight felt a sting from the hit but was able to stand. He carried on, stabbing at a gap in Anton’s heavy armor, but missed the moving spot and landed a superficial blow. Scipion stumbled just long enough for Anton to bash him in the face with his hilt.

  Scipion’s ears rang, and he almost passed out as he dropped to one knee, but he managed to parry Anton’s next attack. Their blades slid and locked at the guards until Scipion disengaged. Jumping backward to avoid a hackneyed swing, he regrouped and found his footing.

  Scipion’s shoulder pulsated as blood spilled from it. Waves of pain crashed into him with every heavy breath, every shift of his weight. He was light-headed. I have to finish this fast.

  Anton circled him, sword pointed at Scipion.

  “You bloody nuisance,” Anton spat. “You’re nothing! And I’ll put you down like nothing!”

  Anton charged and crashed his blade against Scipion’s. They dueled fiercely, but New Dawn’s leader had the advantage. The Scorpion Knight furiously parried and counterattacked, roaring as his pain drove him further; Anton parried with his blade or let blows glance off his armor.

  “Is that it?” Anton growled after a particularly painful exchange. “You’ll need more than that!”

  Staring down at his blood-covered hand, Scipion heaved a deep, painful breath. Sweat soaked every inch of his skin, and blood leaked through his chestplate, spilling onto the charred ground. It was time to end this.

  Scipion silently grabbed the blade of his sword with both hands to strike with the hilt. He gestured for Anton to charge. His foe, enraged, screamed wildly and ran at the Scorpion Knight.

  Scipion batted aside the first strike. Before his enemy reacted, he bashed the hilt of his sword into Anton’s helmet. His enemy gave a weak shout and stumbled backward, but Scipion offered no reprieve.

  Scipion caught Anton’s faceplate with his guard and re-balanced him before bashing him again, denting the helmet. After one more blow, Scipion’s enemy silently fell backward. The Day brother weakly raised an arm, the only defense he could muster. It was not enough. Scipion hit him several more times in a fit of rage. Blood pooled from the Day brother’s helmet as his arm fell limply to the ground after the final blow. His fingers twitched as the crimson and gray tide spread from the shattered skull inside his dented helm.

  Scipion took a few deep breaths as he stared at the mangled corpse beneath him. The air was musty and thick with horrible smells; every breath left him wishing for the ocean air of Sophegion. Yet, here he was—and here was Anton Day. Scipion’s eyes closed as he mourned the evil deeds needed to make the world a better place.

  Upon turning back toward the battle, Scipion was relieved to see his cavalry finishing off New Dawn’s scattered infantry. It appeared to be a decisive victory. Scipion sat down, exhausted and in pain, trusting his soldiers to clean the rest up.

  A bloodied but smiling Zel Ilear approached with a few riders. Her nose appeared broken and her eye bruised, but she was otherwise unharmed. Matalo and Eritar, also mostly unharmed, rode up beside her. His friend’s face was worn after the battle, but still, he smiled.

  “Ho, Scipion—you’re wounded.”

  “Ho, Matalo,” Scipion said with a grin. “It is nothing. I will have the mages attend to it once everything is finished. Ho, Zel Ilear. Do you have a report?”

  “We lost twelve heavy horses and fourteen riders, and twenty light horses and twenty-three riders,” Zel Ilear dutifully replied. “They did not die in vain, though, it seems. I see you didn’t need the help.”

  “I have Mathieu to thank for that,” Scipion said. “His magic was more destructive than I anticipated.”

  “And who is this?” Zel Ilear asked of the dead, armored New Dawner next to Scipion.

  “This is Anton Day,” he said.

  A fiery smile spread across Zel Ilear’s face.

  “When did you get a mace?” Matalo pointed to the dents in Anton’s armor.

  “Murder stroke,” Scipion answered, referencing the attack he used to fell his foe.

  “Nice touch,” Matalo said. “The day is won, thanks to your plan.”

  “More thanks to the soldiers’ execution.” Scipion turned and saw that what was left of New Dawn had surrendered to Zel Ilear’s cavalry, who had the remaining fifty or so enemies surrounded. “Many of them ran.”

  “You got the important one,” Zel Ilear assured. “I had my doubts, but we really did it. Thank you, Scipion. Now, we really should get you to a medic—that doesn’t look particularly good.”

  The Scorpion Knight smiled and nodded. He struggled to his feet and removed his helmet. Matalo dragged Anton’s body as Scipion led the cavalry back to the wall. By then, Zel Yano was putting the soldiers to work moving the bodies and counting their dead.

  “Zel Yano, report. Where is Zel Daved?” Scipion asked.

  The Valkhar looked sadly at his commander and pointed toward one of the bodies. Sure enough, it was Zel Daved. Four spears protruded between the plates of his armor, and both of his arms were removed. His face was covered in blood, and he was on top of another body. Zel Daved’s last act was to bite that enemy’s throat and trap him.

  “He fought until the very end,” Zel Yano said grimly. “A true Valkhar, through and through. He was trying to rally the troops but ventured too far into their ranks and was surrounded.”

  “We will give him, and the others, a proper burial,” Scipion said solemnly as he stared at his fallen comrade. “How many dead?”

  “At most seventy, if I’m counting correctly,” Zel Yano reported. “We’ll have more accurate numbers once we’ve cleared the battlefield. They all died honorably, if there is such a thing.”

  “Thank you,” Scipion said, saddened by the loss of so many good soldiers. He walked amongst the dead, taking stock of who lived and survived. Upon reaching the other side of the wall, he stared off to the west. Zel Yano, Matalo, Zel Ilear, Denna, Douglas, Mathieu, and Echo formed up behind him.

  Douglas, covered in blood, asked, “What do we do now, Scipion?”

  “Now—” The Scorpion Knight did not break his gaze. “We bury our dead. Then we rest and go home.”

  Chapter 46

  Harsh Truths and Dark Secrets

  Day 14 of the Season of Life, 1020 YAR

  Jisaazu reveled in the sunlight as she emerged from Greerwood Forest. A great plain opened before her, though she knew not the name, and she immediately removed the anti-freeze suit.

  After the cursed forest, she welcomed the light and the palette of green before her. There was no gray at all, a fact she relished.

  Jisaazu nervously cast her first spell to summon food. She heartily ate two vegetables and a bit of meat but found the flavor strange as always. Still, she was glad Ervane showed her how to use it. To sustain her muscle mass, she had to consume a lot.

  Magic is useful, after all.

  She thought back to Ervane’s sacrifice. Could his death have been avoided? She shuddered to remember the power she witnessed—the enemy’s foul magic killed Ervane with a single hit. Jisaazu was barely able to defend herself from the Dark Disciple’s swordplay. He hadn’t been that strong before, on the vault—but then he was acting through Keia’s friend. A chill rolled through Jisaazu’s shoulders as she wondered if that had actually limited him.

  After the meal, Jisaazu scanned her surroundings—she was exhausted and had to find shelter. Without Ervane, she had to rely on the pre-existing ruins that he would have loved so dearly. Seemingly endless plains rolled on in either direction, rendering her unsure of which way to go.

  But Jisaazu did have a way to deci
de where to go at a crossroad: she followed the wind. Closing her eyes, she felt a gentle eastward breeze. Without hesitation, she started in that direction.

  Didn’t Ervane say something about ruins north of Greerwood? Might make decent shelter.

  No other option was sufficient. She refused to go back into Greerwood for now. She preferred the freedom of the plains—here she could wield the Jaaza Greatsword properly.

  As Jisaazu trudged onward, a strange pyramid came into view past the endless flatlands, jutting over the green horizon. Something about it beckoned.

  She resisted for now, as much closer was a smaller ruin that took only an hour to reach. The once strong outer wall was crumbling, allowing her to climb in easily.

  Rusted spears and swords were littered about. Another time’s fortress.

  Walking through the moss-covered walls, she thought, Ervane would’ve gone mad over this place. I wonder what he would’ve been able to learn.

  She came across a skull upon the floor, trapped inside an old, broken helm. As she picked it up, the bone turned to dust in her hands. Her thoughts turned to Ervane’s demise—it was a horrific way to end. She had felt helpless in his final moment. Even the Jaaza Greatsword couldn’t undo such magic.

  Within the ruin’s walls, Jisaazu’s exhaustion struck hard and fast. Walking was hardly respite after twenty straight hours of running through that horrible forest. If she never saw Greerwood again, she would die happy. Still, she wasn’t keen on resting in an exposed area.

  Can’t give any wandering bandits any chances.

  At last, she came to a small, empty room that had a lockable door. It suited her needs well enough.

  After laying out her mat, Jisaazu crawled onto it. She closed her eyes, and images of Ervane’s rotting body flashed in her mind. Jisaazu didn’t understand—what did he do to deserve such a horrible fate? Perhaps he had done nothing, and life was simply cruel. The latter was more likely.

  Weariness swept over her like a storm. Her restless eyelids slowly shut after a few minutes. It was sleep too deep for dreams, but more restful for it—her mind had no shortage of material for nightmares. Thus, Jisaazu slept well.

  —

  Keia was trapped in an endless realm of shadow. Darkness stretched over every horizon, every sensation; everything was blurred by infinite night. Seconds, minutes, and hours were indistinguishable. It was all a single moment that never seemed to end.

  After what seemed an eternity, she emerged from the darkness, her hands bound by shadow. The snow of Greerwood was below, untouched—she was hovering over it.

  A low, menacing voice sent chills up her spine. “Hello, Keia.”

  Unblinking, Keia took in the horror of the figure towering over her.

  The Dark Disciple’s gray skin and uncut black hair spoke to a life beyond civilization. The bags under his eyes revealed exhaustion. His stare was fanatical, burning with the passion of a single ideal.

  “You’re awake. I’ve been wanting to meet you in person for quite some time now.”

  “I—I’m alive?” she said.

  “Of course,” the man said. “I’m not going to kill you—not yet.”

  Keia tried to move, to struggle, anything, but the shadows immobilized her. “Who are you?”

  He was puzzled for a moment. “She never told you about me?” His eyes grew more hateful. “None of them ever told you?”

  “Never told me what? Who the hell are you?”

  The man glowered and said, “I suppose I shouldn’t have expected different from that liar.”

  Keia shouted, “Who the fuck are you talking about?”

  “You know who.” The man’s eyes flickered with anger. “Aliya.”

  “How do you know her?” she demanded. “How do you know me?”

  “I know everything about you, Keia Atlos,” the Dark Disciple said softly but with malice. “I know you miss your parents, even though you don’t remember them. You’ve wanted to be a soldier since you were just a girl. I even know the reason you can’t sleep at night.”

  “If you’re going to kill me,” Keia said, trying to be brave, “get it over with already. There’s no point in dragging this out.”

  His eyebrow shot up. “Kill you? No, not yet. I need you.”

  “Need me—for what?”

  An amused half-smile crawled over the Dark Disciple’s lips. “To find her.”

  Keia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding.”

  He stared intently, offering no reply.

  “You really expect me to take you to Aliya?”

  His nefarious smile deepened.

  Keia turned away as much as her bindings allowed. “I’ll never help you.”

  “I’m not asking for your help,” the Dark Disciple said. “I’m informing you of what’s going to happen. Don’t worry—this will be over soon.”

  She opened her mouth to protest but was silenced when a circular pattern lit up on his gauntlet. A sudden, sharp pain formed in Keia’s mind. As it spread, she began to sweat profusely.

  Through clenched teeth, she spat out, “Wh-what is that?”

  His low voice pierced the veil of agony. “You’ve resisted my shadow telepathy on two occasions. How, I know not. But you won’t resist this.”

  Keia’s back arced as the pain intensified. Her eyes widened as she shrieked in agony—the pain was beyond unbearable. It was like fire, burning every inch of her skin and everything within, or knives stabbing outward from within her spine.

  He watched with great interest. “Just like that.”

  “What the hell are—GAH!” she choked out.

  “She really never told you anything—none of them did?”

  The agony ceased. Keia took deep breaths, enjoying every moment of relief. Her focus distorted as the world blurred in and out of place.

  The Dark Disciple sneered. “Quite an interesting repertoire of magic, that Aleister. After your little accident with Ulrich, he created a new spell just for you.”

  Keia, wanting to keep him talking, asked, “What spell?”

  “They didn’t tell you?” The man laughed. “It makes sense. They were afraid of you—they all were. That’s why Aleister sealed your magic away. Why he let you struggle all those years. He was scared you might have another outburst—and now his fears will bring Aliya to me.”

  Keia’s heart froze as his words sank in. Through clenched teeth, she hissed, “That—that can’t be true! They wouldn’t do that! They couldn’t lie to me about something like that!”

  The pain returned doubly—Keia writhed, her suffering intensifying in rapid waves.

  “Aleister, Aliya, Carter,” the Dark Disciple went on, “even the others are sworn to silence. They tell themselves that because they care about you, they had to deceive you. And because you care about them, you believed it. Attachment is a weakness. Compassion makes you vulnerable. It’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’ve come to save your darling brother and sister?”

  He eased the pain once more.

  Keia began to laugh madly. “Your Master is wrong. As if my power was ever—anything to be afraid of.”

  “Oh, it was. Even now, with your magic sealed, it’s leaking through—it can’t be contained. And because of that, I’ll find Aliya.”

  Sweat now caked Keia’s skin as she sucked down air. Every inch of her body screamed out in throbbing discomfort—even the inside of her lungs ached when drawing in air. Her brain was stuck on a loop trying to process everything. He’s lying. They’d never—they’d never do that to me. He’s lying.

  Keia closed her eyes and vigorously shook her head. “No! You’re wrong! I’ll never betray my sister. You may as well kill me. I’m useless to you.”

  “I’m not expecting you to betray her,” he said, grinning.

  Before Keia could speak, the agony returned. Every n
erve in her body erupted in searing torment; her mind felt like it would shatter at any moment. It was too intense to even scream, as if lightning had replaced her blood. She couldn’t breathe as the affliction intensified further. Tears poured down her face, blurring her vision.

  His eyes were cold as he studied her. “That’s it. You’re close to your limit. The link will activate soon.”

  “CARTER! CARTER!” Keia screamed.

  The pain ceased as the man looked on, puzzled. “Carter?”

  “You—” Keia gasped for air. “You killed him.”

  “I did,” the Dark Disciple said. “Just like I killed your friend—the Lord of Northstead. Necessary evils, you see.”

  After a despairing yelp, Keia spat on his face. “Do your worst! By Gaea, by the gods, I’ll never help you!”

  “You think this is my worst?” The Dark Disciple leaned in close, his crazed eyes inches from hers. Grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes to meet his, he said, “You know nothing of pain—nothing of fear. But I will show you.”

  Again the pain returned, greater than before. Keia screamed with everything she had, but it only worsened.

  “Swear on your gods all you want, but they won’t help. There’s only one god, Keia—a nameless god. A cruel god. You’re better off praying to me.”

  She was in too much pain to respond. The world blurred around her. She felt herself leaving her body, her essence tearing away.

  One phrase echoed through her mind as the pain further intensified: I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die…

  “Just a little bit more,” the Dark Disciple menaced. “I know there’s more—just let it go!”

  Keia screamed—a haunting, bestial shriek. Something deep within was awakening, surfacing from the recesses of her soul. Her wristband glowed as the pain climbed to unimaginable levels.

  With gleeful menace, the figure shouted out, “That’s it!”

  The pain ceased once more as everything fell into perpetual darkness.