Son of Cayn

by Jason McDonald

  Xandor shined his light around the room, with the mage right behind him. He found a writing desk with a wooden stool along one wall and a large alchemical array nearby. Across the room and just within the limits of the light, wooden frames held black chalkboards filled with magical symbols, astrological symbols, and alchemical formulas.

  Instantly engrossed, Jasper stood transfixed as he followed the formulas’ progression. Curious, Pyotr stepped inside and helped them search the room while Dragahn guarded the door.

  In a rack on the desk, Xandor found three cold-wrought iron vials stoppered with wax. Next to the rack was a small brush made from animal parts, its bristles stained black. Opening the larger drawer at the bottom, the ranger found an assortment of hand-cut rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. He counted approximately forty gems of different colors, each about the size of a small grape and cut so they each had thirteen facets. As he stooped to pick one up, he saw a shape flicker inside. His fingertips stopped a hair’s breadth away, caution staying his hand.

  “Back here. There’s someone in the bed,” Pyotr called from behind the chalkboards.

  They looked around and, sure enough, there was something roughly shaped like a body lying under the sheets. Preparing for the worst, the ranger pulled out his swords while Jasper prepared a spell. With a single motion, Pyotr yanked the sheet back and revealed something in dark red robes. A hood obscured its face.

  Xandor pointed with a sword, and all three noticed the figure’s fingers were stained black. Jasper poked the body with the tip of his staff. Nothing.

  Easing up to the bed, the three men studied the robes. Jasper cautiously reached down and pulled back the hood, exposing a man’s face. His head was completely hairless and covered in the same ulcers and blisters as the humans outside. Dried blood caked his nose and mouth. Jasper closed his eyes again and used his magic to enhance his senses. Nothing.

  “This body is more than just dead. It’s empty,” he concluded as he reopened his eyes.

  “What?” Xandor and Pyotr asked simultaneously.

  “Magic stole this man’s soul.”

  “Stole it? Why? And where would you keep it?”

  Looking around, Jasper spotted the open drawer with its contents sparkling merrily in the light and said casually, “Probably in there.” He pointed to one of the gems.

  Pyotr asked, “Can that happen?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jasper whispered with a fervent gleam in his eyes that made the horse doctor turn pale.

  “Stop that,” Xandor said. “You’re scaring him.”

  “He’s already scared.”

  “Pyotr, Dragahn. Jasper and I can handle this. Go find Chert and tell him what we’ve found.”

  Grateful for an excuse to leave, the two stumbled over one another as they ran out the door.

  “Are you saying he’s in one of those gems?”

  Jasper thought for a moment, and his eyes grew large as he said, “I recognize this man.”

  “I can’t take you anywhere,” Xandor said incredulously.

  “At least, I think so. Several years ago in Tydway, I attended a class at the Guild on spirit possession. The core lesson of the class centered on the dangers of depression and sickness, and how it can leave you vulnerable to the various entities that travel astrally. The lecturer’s name was Gregori Saso. As I recall, he was a highly-acclaimed expert on the subject. There were even rumors he was a practitioner. It was part of the appeal of his class.”

  Disbelief and revulsion warred on Xandor’s face.

  “What? Look, there aren’t that many of us around, and you don’t often get a chance to learn from experts in a specific field of knowledge. Most of us just dabble, but there are some real artists out there.”

  “You sound like you admire this guy.”

  “I respected his work—well, his work on possession. That’s all.”

  “Is there something you learned in your class that can help us?”

  A distant look appeared in Jasper’s eyes as he tried to recall what Gregori had said.

  “Two things we know for sure—that’s Gregori lying there and there’s a bunch of gemstones in that drawer.”

  “Do you think he found someone else to possess?” Xandor asked tentatively.

  Looking around, Jasper said, “I can’t believe Gregori would have just left this place and his gear where we could find it.”

  “Maybe the sickness affected more than just his body; maybe it affected his mind, too. What about the writing on the chalkboards? Did you notice this?”

  Looking where Xandor pointed, Jasper saw someone had erased portions of the various formulae and replaced them with something nonsensical.

  “I’m not a mage, but even I can tell whoever wrote that wasn’t in their right mind.”

  Distracted, Jasper studied a list written in the corner of one of the chalkboards while Xandor waited for him in silence.

  “What’s that?” the ranger finally asked.

  “That, my friend, appears to be a list of the primary components of the Blood of Cayn. Apparently, Gregori boiled it down.”

  “What does it say?”

  “Blood, water, some organic matter, precious minerals such as gold and silver, and something else. Small, two-dimensional crystalline objects,” Jasper read. Leaning closer, he squinted at the fine print and said, “There’s a note here at the bottom that mentions a journal. Did you see one in the desk?”

  “No,” Xandor replied.

  “Must have taken it with him.”

  “Can you decipher those formulae and come up with a cure?”

  Scratching his chin, Jasper didn’t answer immediately. A worry crept up his spine, and he looked around, checking every corner. With a look of alarm, he yelled to Xandor, “Get out! Get out now!”

  Xandor did not hesitate. He bolted toward the door, which was shrinking.

  Jasper pushed the ranger through just as the walls shimmered. With a frantic jump, he landed on the ranger. He turned in time to see the portal suddenly become visible, rise in the air, and disappear with a loud pop.

  “What just happened?” Xandor asked in a muffled voice.

  Jasper rolled off him and said, “Gregori was watching us. I guess he was trying to trap us. It almost worked, too.”

  “Did you get a chance to look at those formulae?”

  “Yeah. I’ll need to write them down before I forget, but I think I got a good look at most of them.”

  “Will it be enough to find an antidote?”

  “Maybe, but it will take me some time to figure it out, and I think we have more immediate issues.”

  “Such as?”

  “You heard the elves; we need to stop those wagons. But we can’t just abandon Dragahn and his men. It would be a death sentence for sure. These woods are dangerous, and every minute we stay, we run the risk of attack. Especially after the noise and smoke from earlier.”

  “What do you recommend?”

  “We need help.”

  “How do we get that?”

  “I can transport myself to Pazard’zhik and bring back the guild.”

  “Give me a minute to think.”

  Walking toward the center of the clearing, Xandor looked around and watched the teamsters put together a quick camp. Chert worked amongst them, lending a hand where he could.

  While the ranger worked on a plan, Jasper sat cross-legged, took some paper from his sporran, and began writing down the formulas from memory, including the symbols that, as Xandor said, didn’t make any sense.

  Dragahn stepped in front of Xandor and whispered, “No matter what happens to us, you’ve got to go after that caravan and stop this from spreading. You don’t have a choice.”

  When the ranger didn’t respond, he walked away. The scratching of a quill on paper filled the silence that followed. Finally, Xandor sighed and pulled out his journal.

  As soon as the mage finished, Xandor said, “Can you make another copy for me? Can you also write down what the elves told
us?”

  Surprised by the request, Jasper looked up but opted not to ask. Instead, he said, “Sure. You want me to put it in that journal of yours?”

  Xandor handed the thin book and stylus to Jasper. The mage took it and flipped it open. All the pages were blank.

  Jasper gave Xandor a questioning look.

  “Don’t ask.”

  The mage studied the journal intently, but did not find anything unusual. He could have used his magic on the small book, but he respected Xandor enough to let it go for the time being. Instead, he flipped to the first page and started copying his notes. When he finished, he handed it back to Xandor, who quickly glanced through the formulae and put it away.

  “Not bad. You do all that from memory?”

  Jasper stood and stretched. “Yeah. You decided yet?”

  After a moment’s thought, Xandor said, “Go. Get help. But be quick about it. Chert and I will stop those wagons.”

  Jasper reached into one of his pouches and handed a small item to the ranger.

  “Keep this with you. It will help me find you, no matter where you are.”

  Xandor looked down and saw the mage had handed him a small glass canister with one word scribbled on the outside—spice.

  With the end of his staff, Jasper drew a small circle around himself in the dirt. Next, he drew four symbols in each of the cardinal directions. When he finished, he closed his eyes in concentration and tapped the dirt thrice while whispering in the arcane tongue. A few seconds later, Xandor could have sworn he heard the faint whisper of a response. He blinked, and Jasper was gone.

  * * * * *

  The Enemy (October 25)

  Grendel awoke on the seat of the wagon. Beside him, Aleksandra looked straight ahead and held the reins to her four Percherons. They followed the chuck wagon, and he briefly wondered whether he had dreamed the attack or if it had been real. Up front and a little to the left of the chuck wagon, Marko was riding his Frisian, but he couldn’t quite make out who drove the wagon in front of them. Looking behind, Teodor rode on the seat of the wagon instead of Lucky, and Ognian held the reins. Riding beside them on horseback were a couple warriors wearing black leather armor with the red sleeve sinister emblem of the Madasgorski family fixed above their hearts. Grendel did not ponder any further; the attack had been real.

  Running parallel to the caravan were a dozen or so dark brown orcs who easily kept pace with the Percherons. Grendel could see he shared some of their facial features; however, they ran hunched over, making them more apelike than human, and their true height was hard to guess. They were heavily muscled and looked to be stronger than most humans. Each wore a blood-colored mail shirt, hard and hand-linked, and a wickedly-curved scimitar tucked under a small, wooden shield strapped to their backs. As they ran beside the caravan, they carried themselves proudly—the elite of a warrior race.

  Grendel’s exposure to orcs was limited. Sure, he had fought and killed many of their kind, but as he watched them run through the woods, he discovered he really didn’t know anything about them. They were much like his father, and yet, so different.

  “Good morning,” Aleksandra said.

  Snapping back to the moment, Grendel asked, “What is going on? Where are the teamsters?”

  “I’m afraid we had to swap personnel during the night. We should be able to make better time now.”

  Feeling like his head was stuffed with cobwebs, Grendel tried to recall what had happened, but could not remember much after Lucky was struck by Marko. He double-checked his gear and found everything to be in place, untouched. Not knowing what else to do, he grabbed Aleksandra roughly by the hair with his left hand, pulling her head back. With his right, he drew his dagger and placed it against the exposed skin of her neck.

  “Stop the wagon. Now.”

  Without showing any signs of resistance, she tugged on the reins and slowed the Percherons to a stop. Behind them, Ognian stopped his wagon and retrieved his longbow from under the seat. He nocked an arrow and aimed at the half-orc. The orc leader stopped and ordered two of his orcs to run ahead and signal for Marko and the chuck wagon to turn around while the rest held their position.

  “You’ve got everyone’s attention, Grendel. What do you plan to do now?”

  “Tell me where my friends are.”

  “We are your friends,” she replied.

  He tightened his grip on her hair and pressed the dagger harder against her neck, stopping just short of breaking her soft skin. His grip should have hurt her, but she seemed to be unaffected by it . . . at least, in the way he expected. He was taken aback when her breathing came faster, her skin became flushed, and there seemed to be a light of excitement in her eyes.

  “You are not my friends,” Grendel said slowly. “I want you to tell me where they are. Now.”

  “You mean the teamsters? They weren’t your friends. They were never your friends. But, if you must know, we left them in a small glade last night. They’re alive, or at least they were when we departed.”

  “Do not lie to me. Did you kill them?” Grendel asked.

  “I’m not lying to you. Every one of them was alive when we left.”

  The orcs moved out from the trees as the knight arrived on his Frisian.

  “Let her go, half-orc,” Marko commanded. “Your life will be forfeit if you hurt her.”

  “He’s right, you know. Look around you,” she said.

  With a quick glance, he realized his options were extremely limited.

  “I am going back, and I am taking you with me,” Grendel said as he stood up. Aleksandra remained submissive and let him help her off the wagon. As he lifted her to the ground, he caught a new scent in the air, at once strange, yet familiar. It held a hint of musk and adrenaline his body reacted to despite his best efforts to control the surge in his blood. He pulled her back against him and started walking toward the rear of the caravan.

  Marko and the orcs formed a circle around Grendel, preventing him from moving any farther.

  “Back off, or I kill her.”

  Marko didn’t move, and he signaled for the orcs to stand fast.

  Grendel hesitated. He could not hold Aleksandra and fight. He knew he’d be a fool to try. Still, there had to be a way out.

  For her part, Aleksandra could feel the tension quivering in every muscle pressed against her. When Grendel hesitated, she knew she had him. She ran her hand up between his legs, causing his inner thigh muscle to jump and spasm. Grendel unconsciously flinched, and his grip on her hair loosened. With a quick spin, she turned and pressed her breasts against him. In her hand, she held the tip of her own dagger against his groin.

  “What do we do now?” she asked.

  He made the mistake of looking down into her eyes. He saw an emotion there he could not identify, and it gave him pause.

  “My brother’s not going to let you drag me into the wilderness to do who knows what.” She paused and licked her lips hungrily. “I’d much rather you didn’t get yourself killed over a bunch of men who don’t give a damn about you anyway. Think, orcné. I’m the one who has stood by you at every turn.”

  “It does not change the fact you promised me no one would get hurt, and your brother stabbed that boy. With a wound like that, he is not likely to survive.”

  “The boy’s wound was superficial. Marko is an excellent swordsman. Besides, we left him with the horse doctor.”

  His resolve wavered. “Do you swear?”

  She smiled up at him. “I swear to you, orcné, no one was in danger of dying when we left.” The dagger at Grendel’s groin disappeared into the folds of Aleksandra’s clothes despite the fact he had yet to loosen his grip on her hair. “What say you? Shall we climb back on the wagons and discuss matters of friendship in a more civilized manner?”

  Grendel looked around at the men and creatures surrounding him and realized there was only one way to get out of the situation alive. With a parting glance back down the road, he flipped the dagger around in his han
d and slipped it back into its sheath. His other hand released Aleksandra’s hair, and he gently rubbed the back of her head before dropping his hand back to his side.

  “You are right, Baroness; the teamsters were never my friends.”

  His tone and sudden change in attitude made her stop. She studied his stoic face with curiosity. He was not defeated, and whatever he was planning intrigued her.

  Armed with her best smile, she gave him her hand and said, “Call me Sacha.” They mounted the wagon and readied themselves to go.

  The others remained in position, staring at them.

  “Let’s go, Marko. We don’t have all day,” Aleksandra said.

  # # # # #

  END OF BOOK I

  About Jason McDonald

  An engineer by day and a world builder by night, Jason is an advocate for using both sides of the brain. Unfortunately, it seems his best (and worst) ideas come to him while driving – much to the chagrin of his family and coworkers.

  With his step-father as a guide, Jason traveled the worlds of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Robert E Howard, and JRR Tolkien at an early age. As he grew older, he discovered Dungeons and Dragons and the joys of creating his own campaigns. Combined with the creative genius of his co-writers, whom he met at college, these adventures grew more complex, and an entire world sprang to life. A world that continues to grow each day. During all this, Jason embarked on a career in engineering, graduated from Clemson University and became a partner in a successful engineering firm. Still a practicing engineer, he continues to design a wide range of projects. His attention to detail and vivid imagination helps shape the various scenes and adventures that challenge his char-acters.

  * * *

  About Alan Isom

  Alan began his adventure with science fiction and fantasy literature as it should begin: with JRR Tolkien’s The Hobbit, read to him as a child by his father. Since that auspicious beginning, he has fostered a love of reading a variety of fantasy and science fiction types and that led him to RPGs, most notably Dungeons & Dragons, where world building became a fascination.