Resurrection (The Raven Bringer Saga Book 1)
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Resurrection
Letter to Readers
Resurrection
The Raven Bringer Saga, Book 1
by C. A. McHugh
Resurrection
Sir Ceryst of Klone clung to the shadows covering the rooftop as the royal procession passed through the streets below. It was the first official day of summer, yet the air carried an unnatural chill that prickled his skin with gooseflesh and wove a cage of ice around his heart.
“Are you certain about this?” he asked, even though every fiber of his being was on edge.
“Absolutely,” Raimel replied with uncharacteristic seriousness. He broke his attention away from their target below. The setting sun flashed in his eyes, turning the inky pupils blood red. “I may not know everything, but I’m certain about what’s out there.”
Ceryst suppressed the shudder welling up inside him from the reminder of his friend’s inhumanity. Raimel may not have been able to control the creature that sired him, but he usually could keep that part of his nature suppressed.
Usually.
For the last fourteen years, Raimel had been his annoying, happy-go-lucky companion, but when he’d awakened in a cold sweat this morning, his demeanor had changed. Instead of tripping along with his usual lanky grace, Raimel moved with the swift silence of a trained assassin, every movement fluid and purposeful. He hadn’t seen him act this way since the Battle of Innishmore.
Just one more reason to be on edge.
And one more reason to believe the outrageous claim Raimel had made.
He crossed in front of Ceryst and got as close to the roof’s edge as he dared. “I see Aerrin.”
“As if that were something difficult to do,” he muttered from his position further back. “The boy is surrounded by guards.”
“So was his father.”
The reply wasn’t meant to be an accusatory barb, yet Ceryst still winced from the memory. As the Knight Protector, he’d been charged with guarding the lives of the royal family.
And he’d failed.
Regret coursed through his veins, followed by a steely resolve. He may have failed Brendon and Liera, but he still upheld his vow to protect their son. For fourteen years, he’d watched from the shadows, knowing he’d face certain death if someone recognized his face. The kingdom may have blamed him for the murders of the prior king and queen, but he refused to stray from his duty.
Another gust of wind swirled around them, and Raimel stiffened. He sniffed the air. “Do you smell that?”
Ceryst drew in a deep breath. The unmistakable twangs of fire and sulfur burned his nostrils. “Brimstone.”
“I told you there were demons nearby.” Raimel dashed forward like a gazelle, clearing the space between buildings in an elegant leap. He stopped and turned back. “Are you coming?”
The knight rose from the crouch he’d maintained for the last twenty minutes, his knees protesting the movement, and jumped across the gap. By the time he caught up to Raimel, the stiffness in his muscles had melted away. “What next?”
“Don’t know.”
“You’re the one who had the vision.”
Raimel gave a half-laugh. “You make it sound like having your mind filled with gory images by the Raven Bringer is some sort of blessing.”
“In Aerrin’s case, it might have been.” He spied the young king in the crowd, and his chest tightened. The boy looked so much like his father. “He warned us.”
“Or he could be luring us into a trap so he can strike at Aerrin without fear.”
“He’d have to take out Master Binnius first.” The mage was considered to be one of the most powerful wizards in the history of Elgeus, and he was never far away from the king. Even now, the old man rode alongside the young monarch, their heads bowed in private conversation. “You told Binnius about your message?”
“Of course.”
One less thing to worry about. If the master mage had been warned, then he most likely had already formed a plan to protect Aerrin. “He’d be a fool to strike here.”
“Then perhaps we should move along.”
“Meaning?”
Raimel tossed him a carefree grin. “Let’s be one step ahead of them.”
He scampered ahead, never looking back to see if Ceryst followed.
***
Aerrin, King of Elgeus, glanced at the elderly mage beside him with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Master Binnius was unusually talkative tonight. And most of it was utter nonsense.
“Please, is there a point to this lecture? After all, the Academy is not in session.”
Binnius responded with a disgruntled huff and shifted in his saddle. “One of these days, you’ll appreciate all I have to say.”
“Perhaps, but right now, I need to focus on my part of the ceremony so I don’t send the High Priestess of Mariliel into a tizzy or accidentally upset the goddess.”
The irritation in his voice sounded so at odds with the frantic beating of his heart. It was the longest day of the year, yet he couldn’t shake the worry that wanted to seep into his bones and drain his confidence. Tonight, he would go to the Temple of Mariliel and light the cauldron that would burn for the next year and defend his kingdom against the dark evils that threatened her borders. It was a sacred duty, a royal responsibility, and his first official act as king.
His uncle, Altos, had performed this part of the ritual since Aerrin’s father had been murdered. But now it was his time to step forward and take over.
And he was completely terrified.
He ran his finger along the collar of the bright blue silk tunic adorned with the royal crest of a lion. It was as tight as a noose. “Have you seen Altos?”
“The Prince Regent is somewhere further back in the procession, Your Majesty,” Binnius answered. “Shall I send someone to fetch him for you?”
Aerrin tightened his grip on the reins and drew in a deep breath. He was now a man of fifteen years and needed to stop relying on Altos to shoulder all the kingdom’s burdens. Sending for his uncle would only make him appear immature, childish, vulnerable. Although he didn’t face the same dangers his parents had during their reign, he still had plenty of enemies who would pounce on any perceived weakness. “No, thank you.”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” The twinkle in the old mage’s eyes revealed he understood more than he should. He leaned closer and whispered, “Have no fear, Aerrin. You can do this.”
“I pray to the goddess that you’re right.”
The mage’s sympathetic smile didn’t reach his eyes, and a new set of fears washed over Aerrin, turning his stomach into knots. Binnius knew something that he didn’t.
***
Raimel skidded to a stop in front of the Temple of Mariliel. His hand instinctively reached for the silver crescent moon hanging from a leather cord under his shirt. The symbol of Theodria, the goddess of duality. Instead of worshipping the mother goddess, Mariliel, like most of the kingdom, he’d been drawn to the two-faced goddess who represented both the good and the evil in the world. If anyone would understand the opposing sides of his nature, it would be her.
He closed his eyes and offered a silent prayer. Please let us be successful.
The scars along his back and stomach burned, and he choked back the memories that threatened to smother him. Not many people had endured what he had at the hands of the Raven Bringer and lived to tell about it. He supposed he was lucky in that regard. But it still did little to keep the flashbacks of torture from ambushing him at the most inopportune moments.
“Something wrong?” a gruff voice asked behind him.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Ceryst nudged him forward with the hilt of his sword. “Let’s get in place before the royal circus arrives.”
Laughter shook his chest and eased the last of his trepidations. “You mean this position doesn’t work for you?”
Ire burned in the knight’s dark eyes as he bumped past him.
After fourteen years, Raimel knew how far he could safely push his companion, and he was reaching the limit. Ceryst hated crowds as a rule, especially in Dromore. All too easy for someone to recognize him. After all, he had been the Knight Protector, a permanent fixture at the king’s side.
Even in death.
The somber thought lingered in his mind as he followed Ceryst inside the temple. They never spoke of the night that had turned the knight from one of the most respected men in the kingdom to one of the most hated. The night where the king and queen were slain by the Raven Bringer, and Ceryst was found standing next to their bodies, cradling their infant son in his arms. The night where Ceryst was accused of being the creature they all feared and sentenced to be executed.
The night where their unlikely friendship began.
Raimel had come face to face with evil, and he knew it was not Ceryst.
And for fourteen years, he lived in peace just like the rest of the kingdom, believing the Raven Bringer had perished at the hand of Prince Rythis at the Battle of Innishmore.
That is, until this morning when the same cruel voice filled his mind with taunts and threats. His gut twisted from the images that had flickered through his dreams. But they left no doubt behind.
The Raven Bringer lived.
And he was back to fulfill his mission bring chaos to the kingdom, starting with killing King Aerrin.
A film of magic tingled along his skin as he entered the temple. He paused, waiting for some angry priestess to order him to leave. After all, his kind were at odds with the peace and prosperity that Mariliel promised her worshippers. But as long as he stayed calm and focused, he could suppress that part of his nature.
At least until the moon was in a certain phase.
The tingle faded, and he caught up to Ceryst. “Any idea where we should go?”
The knight pointed up with a grunt and continued to press his way through the crowds that had gathered to watch the king light the ceremonial cauldron.
“Want to get there my way?” he teased, knowing that if he vanished in front of a crowd this large, the hunters would come after him.
Ceryst replied with a snort of dry laughter and continued to push people aside. Thankfully, the muscular knight cleared a wide path, making it easier for Raimel to slip through the crowd in his wake. As they closed in on the spiral staircase leading to the balcony, people started moving out of their way simply to avoid Ceryst’s oh-so-pleasant demeanor.
“Keep your eyes open,” Ceryst ordered before climbing up to the next level.
Raimel considered correcting him. Demons weren’t seen. They often appeared invisible to the naked eye, and even if they were seen, they could “blink” from one location to another in a split second. But there were other ways to detect them. The scent of brimstone. The taste of fear. The cold fire that burned down one’s spine, leaving a chill in its wake. All things Raimel had attuned his senses to recognize.
The smell of unwashed bodies was lighter in the sparsely filled balcony. Only the devoutly religious came here. The rest of the crowds were too focused on catching a glimpse of the young king as he completed his first official royal duty. Aerrin had been declared king less than a month after his parents’ death, but the Prince Regent had ruled in his stead for the last fourteen years. Now the king had come of age, and even though he had a few more years of study at the Academy of Arcane Magics ahead of him, he was beginning to take on a greater role in the kingdom, starting with today’s ceremony.
Raimel gazed down at the crowds filling the sanctuary below, searching for any telltale sign of the Raven Bringer or his minions. As he’d mentioned to Ceryst, the findings would be subtle at best. The easiest way would be to cast a spell looking at the auras of those below, but in addition to straining his magical abilities, he’d risk revealing what he was and drawing attention away from the true enemy.
Ceryst came alongside him. “See anything?”
“No. You?”
The knight shook his head. “I’m trying to decide where the best place to attack would be.”
By the goddess, is he trying to get us arrested? Raimel glanced around to see if anyone overheard him. Thankfully, the number of serenely bowed heads and closed eyes indicated no evidence of alarm among the faithful. “Fine. You get inside the enemy’s mind, and I’ll play scout.”
Another one of Ceryst’s gruff grunts answered him, and the knight wandered to the other side of the balcony.
The reprieve was welcome. It gave Raimel a chance to turn his inner eye on the scene without interruption.
Unlike the master mages who flaunted their dark blue cloaks as a symbol of their status, Raimel had never been an official pupil at the Academy, nor had he undergone the rigorous trials that would bestow the title of master mage upon him. He’d been taught magic in secret within the walls of the Academy by the very same man who’d killed his father. The man who’d shown him mercy and given him a chance to rise above the sinister taint that flowed through his veins. The very same man who was riding beside the king through the streets of Dromore. He owed Master Binnius his life and so much more. And for that, he was more than willing to risk his life to protect the kingdom from the evil that threatened it.
He sat on one of the sturdy wooden benches and lowered his head, blending in with those praying around him. But his thoughts didn’t lie with the benevolent mother goddess. His thoughts turned to the world of shadows, to the things mere mortal men could not see. The first images that assaulted him were of the evil lurking in his own soul. He quickly cast a series of spells to suppress it and moved beyond the area where he sat.
The realm of shadows created an inverse picture of the mortal world. In it, solid beings appeared to be nothing more than shadows drifting through the ethos. But the creatures of shadow—the demons, the undead, the things that populated nightmares—appeared solid and real. When the shadow creatures entered the world, time seemed to freeze in the mortal realm, which was why demons and similar beings appeared to move so quickly as they moved between realms. He searched the temple below for the hazy red aura that surrounded the creatures of Zelquis, the god of demons, but found nothing.
He was about to return to the mortal world when a familiar force seized control of him. It shackled his mind to the realm of shadows, paralyzing him to the point where his lungs burned for air. A sinister voice whispered in his mind. “Looking for me, Raimel?”
A flippant reply sat poised on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t utter the words.
The Raven Bringer laughed, the invisible voice echoing through his mind. The image of the man with glowing red eyes hiding behind a blackened mask fashioned like a skull loomed in the corners of his consciousness. “Someday soon, you’ll wish you had joined me when I gave you the opportunity.”
Not likely. At first, he welcomed the fire that warmed the icy fear in his blood. He wasn’t some weakling that would cower before the Raven Bringer. He was both a skilled mage and something more. Something that transcended his humanity. Something he both embraced and loathed. A tidal wave of anger drowned out the spell that held him prisoner. But in its wake, it tore the magical restraints he’d so carefully woven into place.
Two sharp fangs pierced his bottom lip, and his pulse quickened. He could count on one hand the number of times he’d voluntarily allowed his father’s curse to shape him. The first
time was the night his father murdered his mother. The fury had pounded through his body, and the transformation still frightened him to this day. He’d lashed out, striking his father any way he could. But he’d still been a youth, a half-blood, and when his father was finished with him, he spent the next month licking his wounds.
But now he considered letting the transformation continue. He was much stronger in that form, a force to be reckoned with. He’d needed it before when he’d challenged the Raven Bringer. And if his enemy was in the temple, Raimel would need every advantage he could grasp.
He flexed his fingers, his nails extending into raptor-like talons. His muscles stretched his skin with each beat of his heart. His senses sharpened until even the faintest breath of the person sitting next to him seemed like a hurricane-force gale, and he fell deeper into the realm of shadows.
A fist slammed into the center of his shoulders, halting his transformation and jerking him back to the mortal world. He swung blindly behind him.
A solid hand clamped around his forearm and squeezed. “Snap out of it before you cause a scene,” a low voice warned.
The last of his fury leeched out of his body as he looked into the solemn, dark eyes of the knight gripping his arm. Bit by bit, his humanity took over, and Raimel forced his father’s curse back under the confining spells. His breath shook from the exertion of it all, but he was back in control. “Thank you, my friend.”
Ceryst released him with a rough shove and took a step back. “What did you see?”
“Not see—heard.” Raimel pressed his hand to the center of his chest. His heart still fluttered too quickly for his liking. “Another message. Another taunt.”
“So he knows we’re here.” Ceryst pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Perfect,” he said without a drop of humor.
“Maybe for you.” He glanced down at his hands and flexed them once again. The talons had retreated into normal rounded nails. “How close was I?”
“Close enough.” The knight peered out into the crowded auditorium. “I’ve been thinking—”