Savant & Feral (Digital Boxed Set): Books 1 and 2 of the Epic Luminether Fantasy Series

by Richard Denoncourt

  “There’s one more thing. If the rebels find out Maximus and Zandra are still alive, it could cause a surge in their numbers. Right now, their morale is low, and I want to keep it that way. Our team must be small, trustworthy, and fleet-footed. Leave the Berserker; he’s too heavy for the carriages we’ll be using. But keep the Feral who was there that night. Might as well. He already knows.”

  “Drone, yes. I trust him.”

  “Good. Leticia Arronyl is coming in from one of our outposts on Valestaryn.”

  “My lord—a woman?”

  “Don’t underestimate her, Knight-Captain. Her attitude could kill ten men, but the poison in her stinger could kill a thousand. She won’t arrive in time for the capture—we must be quick, after all—but she’ll be there to help with the harvesting process.”

  Harvesting. That had been Kovax’s plan all along. To use the towers on the Banks family. If he succeeded, how powerful would he become?

  Coscoros was certain of one thing—if they succeeded, his career would know heights no blackwinger had ever visited. No limits at all to how far he could go.

  “We must act now,” Kovax continued, “before they use the beacon crystal to escape.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Coscoros noticed a change in the low mage’s appearance. The color of his skin had deepened, and his eyes burned with energy. He looked ten years younger, and he was smiling.

  “That will be all,” Kovax said.

  Coscoros grabbed the handle and was about to push the door open when Kovax stopped him with a clearing of his throat.

  “Wait.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “You’ve done well so far, but if you wish to succeed in this mission, the children must remain alive. Then, I’ll give you the grand hall of your choice, with all its incomes and staff, as well as all the human women you want. I understand you have certain,” his lips pulled back in a grimace, “appetites.”

  Coscoros looked away. He remembered how the woman’s blood had tasted on top of that warehouse back in New Jersey—like a dream from which he never wanted to wake. Dark Acolytes typically went after Godkin and Humankin blood, but not Coscoros. Since completing the Dark Ritual, he preferred the blood of Earth humans. There was something about it that made him feel—filthy.

  “But if you fail in any way, or if you allow word of Maximus or Zandra’s existence to get back to the rebels, or to my cousin, I’ll have you demoted to a common featherbrain. That’s a promise. You will lose all of your rank and standing, in both army and court.”

  Featherbrain was a derogatory term for common Acolyte soldiers who guarded posts in the city’s various sectors, and used their powers of flight to spy on worthless city folk. It was those wretched people who had come up with the term in the first place. They received no respect in the empire and never traveled outside the city. Coscoros had spent nearly a decade working to rise out of that position and become a lieutenant. His wings went cold just thinking about it.

  “Consider it done, my lord.”

  “Good.” Kovax gave a satisfied smile and tipped his staff at Coscoros. “Now get to it, Knight-Captain.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Kovax let down the spell. Using another, he made the doors swing open. Coscoros stepped into the darkened corridor. Behind him, the doors closed with a bang that startled the guards. He almost laughed at them.

  “Lieutenant,” one of them said.

  He shook his head, chuckling.

  “It’s Knight-Captain, now. And don’t you forget it.”

  CHAPTER 15

  M ilo awoke to a familiar tingling sensation behind his eyes.

  It reminded him of the moment just before he became aware that Emma had hurt herself down in the living room. Though it was past midnight, he crept to his sister’s door, ready to pound on it and ask if she was okay. But the door was already open. It was dark inside, the room empty.

  “Emma?”

  The tingling intensified. Something was wrong. Maybe he should tell his mom?

  He crept back up the hallway toward his parents’ bedroom, then stopped when he heard singing—a soft, high-pitched voice he instantly recognized. It was coming from a distant part of the house, maybe even the backyard.

  The tingling grew more intense as he made his way into his bedroom. The window. It was louder by the window. He threw it open and looked down into the yard.

  At first, he thought he was looking at a white statuette someone had placed on the grass. Then the statuette moved, and he realized it was Emma. What was she doing outside at this hour? Maybe she was sleepwalking?

  He made his way quietly downstairs to the screen doors in the kitchen. Opening one of them, he slipped sideways through the crack, descended the porch’s wooden steps, and crossed the yard. The grass was wet and cold against his bare feet. Emma hadn’t been wearing a jacket and must have been freezing.

  There was his sister, singing up at the stars as if trying to woo them down to Earth. The song was beautiful. But the lyrics were frightening, if only because they made no sense at all.

  It couldn’t be… Could it?

  Emma was singing in a language Milo had never heard before. Since when could she do that?

  “Emma,” he said, cupping a hand around his mouth. The window to his parents’ bedroom was right above them.

  Emma turned with the slowness of someone in a trance.

  “Milo,” she said, motioning for him to come forward. “Look at this.”

  “What are you doing?”

  He joined his sister in the center of the yard. Her face glistened with dew, and her hair was frost-blue in the moonlight.

  She made a shushing sound. “He was here a minute ago.”

  Milo whipped his head around to see if anyone else was in the yard. His pulse quickened. “Who, Emma? Who was here?”

  “The Sky Man. He visits me sometimes, and I sing to him.”

  The expression on Emma’s face was one of fearless wonder. Milo looked up at the whispering trees, expecting to see a winged man hanging there, but the trees were no more than dark outlines—impossible to see what hid among the branches.

  “And you came down by yourself? Emma, you must be crazy. You can’t talk to strangers like that—especially if they have wings.”

  Emma’s face went back to normal. She hugged herself and shivered. “Milo? What happened?”

  “It’s okay.” He took her hand and guided her across the yard toward the back door. “I think you were sleepwalking.”

  “But the Sky Man,” she said. “I remember seeing him from my window, and then I was standing here with you.”

  “Don’t think about it,” he said. “It was just a nightmare.”

  “No,” she said, sounding wistful. “A dream.”

  She started shivering. Milo couldn’t tell if she was afraid or cold. He put his arm around her shoulders. “Come on, let’s get inside.”

  She went along but kept her face turned up to the sky, as if she were searching for the winged man. “I’m scared, Milo. What’s happening to us?”

  “It’s okay. I’m here.”

  At the door, Milo turned at what had sounded like a flapping noise. He searched the trees, hearing it again. It was followed by a metal clang.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. It was just his neighbor’s flag, dancing in the wind. The man had a thing for American flags and followed the ritual of raising it toward the sky every morning. Today, he must have forgotten to take it down.

  That was weird, but then again, so were a lot of things lately.

  COSCOROS LIFTED himself away from the trees.

  The girl had been singing in the ancient tongue of Aliara. He was sure of it. To make matters even more confusing, he was certain Emma had been singing to him. A shiver ran along his feathers, colder than the chill night air.

  You’re losing your mind, he told himself. Getting too excited about the mission, perhaps.

  Besides, even if it were true, Kovax wou
ld never believe him. No one would. It was impossible. The answer seemed simple; Emma had learned the song from her mother, who had probably sung it to her as a lullaby when the girl was younger. The alternative was simply too crazy to believe.

  Seers only existed in myths. The girl couldn’t possibly be one.

  If she was, their mission had reached a whole new level of danger.

  CHAPTER 16

  Emma changed after the night she saw—or thought she saw—the Sky Man.

  A few days later, having ridden his bike to take advantage of the nice weather, Milo decided to pay his sister a visit at his old school. Dearborn Middle was right next to Dearborn High, within biking distance. The trip down memory lane was a nice one; he ached to be back with his old classmates.

  He and Emma were walking across the parking lot, Milo holding his bike upright next to him, when they saw a girl taping up flyers for the school’s upcoming “Summer Farewell Talent Show.”

  Emma skipped over to her. “Can I have one, please?”

  The girl rolled her eyes at Emma, said, “Here,” and dropped a whole stack of them into her arms. Milo watched his sister run back, so excited she could barely catch her breath.

  “Look, Milo.” She slapped one of the flyers against his chest. “This year’s talent show is next week. Oh, I can’t wait. I’ve been working on this routine that I…”

  “Wait a minute.” Milo held up one hand as if to slow an approaching car. “Since when do you get excited about talent shows? You hate being on stage.”

  “I know,” she said, practically squirming with excitement. “But something’s different. I can’t explain it. I just feel—oh, I don’t know how I feel. I just know that I can’t wait to show off my moves.”

  She executed a little dance in the parking lot, thrusting out her arms and spinning and tapping her feet. The flyers scattered all over the place, leaving just one in her hand. When she was finished, she looked at Milo, smiling and panting a little. Milo stood with his mouth agape and said nothing.

  “See? I don’t know what it is, but I’m not afraid anymore!”

  Milo laughed. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Mom and Dad are going to be so happy to hear this.”

  They walked to the end of the parking lot, where their mother usually picked Emma up before heading to get Milo. Emma skipped the whole way there, as bright and excited as a scribble of sunlight on water.

  “Milo?” their mother said as he stuffed his bike into the minivan’s back compartment. “Nice of you to visit your sister.”

  “Yeah, I thought I’d swing by and see how the old place was doing.”

  He sat in the front seat. His mother leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

  “Aw, Mom,” he said. “Not in the parking lot.”

  “You’re such a boy,” Emma said behind him. “Besides, you don’t even go here anymore.”

  “Yeah, but still!”

  Alexandra laughed. Her laughter, like her voice, was high and musical. She looked back at Emma and winked. Milo reached into the backseat, plucked the talent-show flyer out of Emma’s hands, and showed it to his mother.

  “Emma wants to be in the talent show,” he said. “You should hear her go on about it.”

  Alexandra let out a delighted gasp. “Is it true?”

  Emma smiled, closed her eyes, and gave a little nod.

  Alexandra clapped and bounced in her seat. “That is such good news,” she said. “Are you going to dance? Or sing? Or maybe both!”

  Emma shrugged and looked out the window. “Maybe I’ll fly,” she said.

  Milo frowned.

  THE EVENING of the talent show came sooner than he expected.

  Milo had been spending his days after school in the Dearborn library, scouring the shelves for any books dealing with winged men and ancient gods fighting a war over the fate of mankind. Most of what he found was familiar, but not quite what his father had described. He asked the old librarian if she had ever heard of a place called Astros, or if there were any books dealing with a war known as “the Cataclysm.” But her meticulous search came up with nothing—the library’s electronic archives bore no mention of anything even remotely similar to Milo’s request.

  At times, he couldn’t believe what he was doing. How many times had he told himself it was just a story? Often, he found himself in the library without remembering the train of thought that had led him there. It had become a compulsion, like heading down to the fridge for a sugary midnight snack.

  The gymnasium was filled with parents and teachers waiting to watch the show. Milo sat with his mother and father in a row of fold-up chairs near the back. The lights dimmed, and the crowd hushed. Milo’s former science teacher, Mr. Kamato, approached the microphone and thanked everyone for coming. In the audience, tiny squares of light flashed on as mothers and fathers held up cell phones and camcorders to record the event.

  Milo couldn’t help his fidgeting. There was a cold feeling in his stomach. His father noticed.

  “Hey,” he said, tapping Milo’s knee. “Everything okay?”

  “I’m fine.” Milo sat up straight, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake a feeling of dread. It had been almost a month since school started, and he was beginning to wonder how long he would have to go without answers. The anxiety was getting to be too much. “I just have to go to the bathroom. Be right back.”

  “All right.” His father frowned a little. “Are you sure you’re okay? You’re sweating.”

  “It’s just hot in here. Seriously, I’m fine. I’ll be back in five minutes.”

  “Hurry. She’s the second act.”

  He speed-walked out of the gymnasium and made his way through the silent hallways to the bathroom, which was empty but awash in blinding, artificial light. A chemical smell invaded his nose. He turned on the sink and was about to splash water on his face when he felt the beacon crystal heat up in his pocket. It was vibrating in a way he had never felt before, like a trapped rodent trying desperately to climb out.

  He turned off the water and looked up.

  The devil was grinning at him in the mirror.

  Milo spun around with a yelp. The man was standing by the urinals. He had a stooped posture that made him look like a vulture perched over its next meal, and his hands were bony and gray. And yet, unlike his withered body, his bright blue eyes possessed a fierce, almost crackling, energy.

  “Milo, son of Maximus,” he said. “Kovax Leonaryx. A pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Who are you?” Milo backed up against the sink until it was digging into his back. He glanced at the door. The old man looked like he could barely walk, much less chase after him. Maybe if he ran fast enough…

  The man flicked a crooked finger at the door. The lock turned with a snap.

  “It doesn’t matter who I am,” he said. “I’m just here in this wretched underworld to pick up a package of sorts.”

  Milo tried to steady his breathing. The beacon crystal was hotter than it had ever been. It was burning his thigh. “What package?”

  The old man stepped toward him. His wrinkled face was pockmarked, and Milo could smell mud and grass on his dirty boots.

  “Why, you and your sister, of course—a package deal. We were quite pleased when we heard there were two of you.”

  “You stay away from her.”

  “Really?” The man looked Milo up and down, as if sizing up a weaker opponent. Apparently satisfied, he said, “Or what, exactly?”

  “Or my dad…”

  “Of course, your father. I’d like to see him try and stop us now.” His smile melted away, and his face twisted into a scowl. “Listen closely, kid—you will follow me to a van I have waiting outside. If you make any attempt to escape, I will have my associates destroy this building and everyone inside it. Do you understand? I’ll kill them all.”

  He walked to the back of the room and touched one of the urinals. Then he stepped aside so Milo could watch as fine cracks appeared on
the glossy surface. The whole thing began to crumble, exposing the metal pipes and mechanisms inside. The pine-scented urinal cake dropped, rolled across the floor, and bumped against Milo’s shoe.

  “You see, boy? If you care about the people in this building, you will come out quietly.”

  Milo frantically nodded. The man reached out to grab his arm. As soon as his papery skin touched Milo’s, the beacon crystal heaved. Milo looked down and saw its greenish glow through the fabric of his pants. It felt like a burning coal against his leg. The man also noticed it.

  “Take it out of your pocket. Now.”

  Milo reached in and closed his fingers around the crystal.

  A violent explosion sent him stumbling back against the sink. Jagged pieces of the bathroom door flew everywhere and slid across the tiles. His father stood where the door had been, broad shoulders filling the frame.

  “Milo, get over here!”

  The magician stepped backward toward the stalls. His voice came out a hiss.

  “Speak of the devil,” he said.

  “Go get Mom and Emma,” his father said, and Milo nodded. “I’ll meet you by the car.”

  The magician let out a snort of laughter. He pulled a glowing red crystal out of his cloak. A moment later, ribbons of dark gray smoke began to encircle his hands and wrists.

  “It’s too late, Maximus. There are Dark Acolytes all around this building. No more hiding, you wretched coward.”

  Milo watched, unable to move. Had the magician called his father Maximus? What kind of a name was that? And what did he mean by “hiding”?

  Max leaped toward the old man, his fist pulled back, ready to pummel him. He wasn’t fast enough. Black smoke rose around the magician as he twisted to get out of the way. A moment later, the smoke became a spinning shaft that completely swallowed his crooked body, and then, he was gone. Max tried to punch the magician before he disappeared, but he ended up punching the wall instead.

  KRRSH! When the smoke cleared, Milo saw a ragged hole where his father’s fist had gone straight through. Max spun around, searching the bathroom.

  “Let’s go.” He grabbed Milo’s hand and pulled him out into the hallway.