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

by Richard Denoncourt

  He didn’t like what he saw next. The second Berserker pounded toward a metal gong near the edge of the rooftop, intent on setting off an alarm. They were only seconds away from being broadcast to the entire base.

  Emmanuel reached for his staff. It was too far away to grab, but he focused on energies of a different sort. The staff twitched. The magician’s lungs were on fire, the Berserker’s weight crushing his ribs. This was the only way, but the world was darkening…

  Finally, Pris lifted the Berserker’s body off him and tossed it over the roof’s edge as if it were no more than a child’s toy. Air flew into Emmanuel’s lungs. The staff shot toward him and landed in his open palm. He pointed the crystal at the Berserker sprinting toward the alarm gong glowing like a copper coin reflecting sunlight. Emmanuel had seen magical alarms like that before, shaped like metal discs instead of switches to accommodate a Berserker’s preference for smashing things. Steadying his aim, Emmanuel cast a spell. It caught the Berserker mid-swing, sending him off the roof.

  “Are you all right?” Pris shouted down at him. The storm muffled her voice. Still, she had never looked as beautiful as she did in that moment, her hand reaching down to grab his.

  “Yes,” Emmanuel said.

  She lifted him, and it was like being yanked upward by a tornado. When Emmanuel finally steadied himself, he spun around to see that Joel and Synthia had engaged the others. Two Berserkers against two Sargonauts was almost never a fair fight, not unless one of the Sargonauts was a demigod endowed with twice the normal amount of strength.

  Thank the gods for Pris. When she saw the fight, she ran to assist her friends. Emmanuel placed his trust in her and turned toward the energy beam. This next part could kill them all, so he had to be careful.

  The new owners of Ankhar Base Echo Peak had cut a hole in the roof to allow for the beam’s passage. Emmanuel ran close enough to touch the beam and then dropped to one knee. The current’s pulsating hum was loud, but not loud enough to drown the roar of the Heavenswraith imprisoned below.

  Emmanuel stuck his head into the light and looked down. He had never seen an actual Heavenswraith before. The creature was enormous—a spiky, golem-like monstrosity that took up most of the room, with a body made of pure ice. A glittering blue essence glowed inside its transparent, boulder-like head—a magical configuration of particles that had taken thousands of years to evolve into something resembling a brain.

  Beautiful.

  Its captors had forced the ancient being down on one knee and wrapped chains around its neck and waist to keep it from standing. A dozen other chains stretched from the ceiling to bind its wrists, keeping its stocky arms outstretched so it wouldn’t batter the walls of the keep. The wraith tipped its head back in despair. It had no face, only a ragged, icy hole from which it coughed out jangling roars that made Emmanuel think of an avalanche of diamonds plummeting down the side of a glass mountain.

  He pulled away from the beam. Blinded, he would not regain his sight for another minute at least. But it had been worth it, if only to finally witness such an incredible creature just once before its end. He lifted the staff, wrapped his free hand around the crystal, and implanted a spell into its core that he had named “Atom Splitter.”

  “They’re down,” Pris shouted behind him. “Let’s find a way in!”

  Ignoring her, Emmanuel stabbed his staff into the beam.

  “Good night,” he said.

  “What are you doing? Emman—oh, gods damn him, he’s going to blow the place!”

  “Brace yourselves,” Emmanuel shouted over his shoulder.

  He released the staff, simultaneously drawing energy from the beam to power one last spell. Then, he simply hoped.

  The explosion tore the building apart on a level not quite atomic but close enough. It spread instantly, extending beyond the outer walls, sweeping the structures into nonexistence. All snow touched by the blast was erased with the suddenness of a thin sheet of dust being blown off a flat surface. It destroyed the Heavenswraith on a level beyond death—the being simply ceased to exist, like a light being switched off.

  And yet, not a single Ankharin Oak, not even the thinnest branch of one, was affected. The animals that ran in terror from the blast were healthy and intact down to each individual fiber of their bodies.

  But every Berserker, Dark Acolyte, Pestilent, low mage, and elemental within a half-mile radius—dark ones tainted by blood ether—was now no more than particles floating through the air, along with any stone that had been touched by the blast. All that was stone, and all that was evil, had been erased.

  If Emmanuel had been an artist, this would have been his masterpiece.

  This pleasant, prideful thought occurred to him as he flew toward an impact that would certainly kill him.

  CHAPTER 48

  Ukril had obviously never fought a Feral soldier before.

  He raised the club and brought it down over Larry’s head. Larry sidestepped the blow, ducking to his right and rolling away, then springing to his feet and hurling himself into the air to avoid another, lateral swipe that lifted a curl of dust.

  But Ukril was a fast learner. He circled around Larry’s right side, forcing him to favor the crippled half of his body. The giant came down with a stomp of one foot that sent Larry tripping over his leaden left leg.

  “Come on, Larry,” Oscar shouted. “Get out of there!”

  Larry rolled away again before Ukril could step on him. As if he had expected this, the Orglot responded by stabbing the club into Larry’s path. One of its jagged nails almost impaled the smaller fighter. Larry froze at the last second, then rolled in the other direction and jumped to his feet. He now stood in a perilous position between Ukril’s right leg and the planted club.

  “Jump,” Oscar shouted.

  Larry tried to leap away, but he wasn’t fast enough to avoid the Orglot’s sweeping kick. It drove him against the side of the club, and he cried out in pain as his left leg caught against the barbs. It was a clever move, but also a cruel one that spoke volumes about Ukril’s style.

  The Orglot lifted the club, tearing gashes into his opponent’s left side. Larry bit back another yelp and threw himself away from the nails. He landed on a human thighbone, and the dagger flew out of his hand. Scrambling across the arena to grab it, he managed to toss the thighbone at Ukril, catching him in the eye.

  Blinking at the sting, the Orglot tipped his head back, roared, and swung his club in a circular motion over his head. The audience members cheered and stomped their feet.

  Larry fell to one knee, his wounded one, and gave Ukril a look of exhaustion. Oscar looked on in horror. Grinning, Ukril stomped over and lifted the club in a final deathblow, but when the club met the ground, Larry was gone.

  Oscar had seen him dart away, but the movement was so quick he was sure none of the Orglots understood what had happened. Ukril looked around in blinking confusion for his opponent.

  Oscar knew where to look. From the corner of his eye, not wishing to give it away, he watched the female Orglot. A second later, the female shrieked and twisted around wildly to get a look at the thing crawling up her back.

  Larry clung to the knot tying her chest garment in place. With a single swipe, he severed the tie. As the female scrambled to hide her nakedness, Sara slipped from her grasp.

  “Now,” Larry shouted.

  The Orglots roared in outrage as the female, still shrieking, pushed through the crowd to get away. Sara picked herself up from the ground and stood amid the commotion, cringing as Orglot feet stomped all around her. She clawed frantically at giant hands that reached down to grab her.

  This was it, the moment Larry had prepared them for. Gusts of wind rustled Oscar’s hair as Jason and the other veterans phased into flying forms. Jason’s hawk shell flew toward the helpless woman and grabbed her with his talons, lifting her by the belt.

  He wasn’t quick enough. One of the Orglots grabbed her dangling legs, but he let go when an eagle slammed into hi
s face, flapping and clawing at his eye. The eagle darted away before the giant could crush it, and by then, Jason and Sara were long gone.

  Oscar touched the collar around his own neck. What if they forgot about him? He searched the cavern for Larry, but a violent tug of the chain sent him sliding backward, pain spiking in his throat.

  He lay on his back looking up at the dark ceiling and gagging. Ruk appeared above him, so large that Oscar felt like an ant about to be stomped.

  “Lying little beast. I will crush you where you lay. I will roast your flesh and pick my teeth with your bones!”

  The elder made a fist and brought it down over Oscar’s head. Oscar barely had time to scream when a sudden force slammed into him—not from above but from the side. Larry had scooped Oscar out of the way just in time to save his life.

  Ruk’s fist made a loud thump against the patch of dirt Oscar had just vacated.

  “Run,” Larry said as something large and fleshy rose behind him.

  “Behind you,” Oscar shouted.

  Larry turned in time to see what was happening and make his next move, which was to fling Oscar away as Ukril’s club swung downward. Larry all but disappeared in the cloud of dust lifted by the impact. This time he hadn’t been able to get away.

  “No!”

  Ukril lifted the club. The underside was dark with blood and dust.

  Oscar scrambled backward, still shouting, “No, no!” When the dust settled, he saw Larry lying facedown, not moving. There were dark spots all over his shirt where the nails had pierced his flesh.

  Ukril was smiling down at his accomplishment. Next to him, Ruk grunted commands at his men to block all exits and catch the prisoners.

  “You killed him,” Oscar barked at Ukril in his native language.

  A cold, unfamiliar rage surged inside Oscar as Ukril tipped his head back and laughed. He snatched the Tiberian dagger out of Larry’s dead and dusty hand, then lunged toward the giant.

  At first, Ukril was too stunned to react as Oscar climbed up his suit of leather armor. Then it was too late for the brute to stop him. Straddling his massive shoulder and clutching a clump of his hair, Oscar aimed the dagger at the giant’s rolling eye.

  No! Please!

  Ruk’s voice entered Oscar’s mind with enough force to freeze him, a mere second before the blade met its target. Ukril squeezed the eye shut, but Oscar pressed the blade between the lids to show he was serious. Then he looked at Ruk.

  I can still blind him.

  Ukril dropped the club. His eye rolled around in terror, making the lid tremble.

  Please don’t hurt my son.

  The elder sounded desperate. Oscar glared at him, teeth bared.

  You killed my friend, he told Ruk.

  By now, the commotion around the arena had ceased. Every Orglot eye was on Oscar and the dagger. The silence was so thick Oscar could hear the beat of his own pulse.

  Ruk addressed all of them. “The fight was not fair, Speaker. The ugly beast cheated and died in a manner fitting his lack of honor.”

  Oscar grit his teeth and twisted the blade’s tip between Ukril’s eyelids. Ukril bared his teeth and hissed.

  “Understand,” Ruk said, “that an Orglot without his eye is no Orglot at all. Ukril’s life will be forfeit.”

  Oscar’s rage lessened somewhat at the thought of the elder murdering his own son simply for being blind. “But he killed my friend,” Oscar raged. “He didn’t have to.”

  “Then we shall trade, Speaker. His eye for your life. Spare him, and I will allow you to leave my kingdom forever.”

  Oscar thought about his options. He could outrun any of these giants. By now, Jason and the others were probably long gone. If he were smart, he would jump down, run like the wind, and never look back.

  But what would happen to Larry’s body? Would they roast the dead man and eat him? Larry wouldn’t feel the pain—he was dead—yet, when Oscar envisioned the roasting fire, it was his father’s body turning on the spit.

  “You’ll burn my friend’s body,” Oscar said. “No one gets to eat him. Then I’ll leave, and your son can keep his eye.”

  With a single nod, Ruk granted Oscar his wish. He ordered one of his men to grab the nearest torch. Oscar kept the blade level with Ukril’s eye until the makeshift funeral act was finished. He would never forget the burning smell that filled the cavern, or the way the flames wrapped Larry’s body like a bright, shivering coat.

  “Now, order your men away from the exit,” Oscar said, blinking away tears.

  “One more thing,” Ruk said. “It is our custom.”

  He ordered several of his Orglots to bring over a boulder. It was so large that it took three of the giants to carry it. They held it near Larry’s smoking remains, waiting for Ruk’s order to place it respectfully over the dead man. An uneasy feeling crept coldly into Oscar’s gut.

  “Release,” Ruk said.

  But the Orglots didn’t drop the boulder. Instead, they tossed it.

  At Ukril.

  Oscar had no time to jump away. The living, breathing mountain beneath him twisted suddenly and threw him off balance. As he fell toward the ground, he caught a glimpse of Ukril lunging in the opposite direction, narrowly avoiding being crushed.

  It was the last thing Oscar saw before his head slammed into the ground, knocking him unconscious.

  HE AWOKE WRAPPED IN A TIGHT, warm grip.

  For a split second, he considered going back to sleep if only to escape the throbbing pain in his skull. The grip around his body was so warm it reminded him of the thick blankets on his bed back on Ascher’s ranch. The smell, however, was not of freshly washed sheets but of mold, rock, and sweat.

  Oscar came to with a sharp gasp.

  The Orglot carrying him didn’t seem to notice. He held Oscar in his right fist, pressing him against his chest much as the female had done with Sara. The monster hummed a cheery tune as he walked, his other hand carrying a torch. It was the red-haired Orglot from before.

  He took Oscar to a stalagmite with a base as thick as a human log cabin. There were many like it in this area of the cavern. In the spooky glow of the torch, they resembled the bones of ancient trees, a whole forest of them stagnating in the dark. Many had holes carved into them—holes covered by metal gates.

  Prison cells.

  “Wait,” Oscar said in the Orglot tongue.

  His jailer ignored him, only a subtle pause in his hum indicating he had heard Oscar at all. He opened one of the cells, placed Oscar inside, and flicked a finger at him with enough force to send the boy crashing into the wall at the other end. Presumably, this was to keep Oscar from attempting an escape as the gate slammed shut before he could even pick himself up. A bolt slid into place with a loud bang.

  The Orglot slapped his hands together in satisfaction, as if he felt blessed to have a job as easy as this one. He was uglier than the others, with a piggish nose and an eye that bulged more prominently than those of his kin. A cruel smile slid across his face, revealing mossy teeth separated by gaps.

  “Ugly little beast,” he click-hummed.

  “Big stupid brute,” Oscar click-growled back at him.

  With a dismissive wave and a grunt, the jailer left him. Oscar watched him go until the torch became a tiny speck in the distance. Then he tested the bars and the lock, but his attempts at escape were useless. Whoever had built these cells knew exactly what they were doing. The bolt could only be gripped from the outside, and only a Sargonaut or an Orglot would have been strong enough to pull it out. Oscar would have given his tail in exchange for Sevarin’s strength right then.

  With no torches, the blackness that engulfed Oscar was so thick he spent the next several hours expecting to hear his father’s voice, as if this were not a cell but the bottom of the pit where Andres had fallen. Oscar must have drifted into sleep because he did hear his father’s voice at one point, except he had no idea what the man had said.

  “What, Papa?”

  Only the
tap, tap of dripping water responded as Oscar, wide-awake now, frantically searched the darkness. Remembering where he was, he sighed and sat back. Hours passed. When he tried to sleep again, nightmares woke him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the glow of another torch appeared in the distance.

  Oscar gripped the bars and watched the light grow. They were coming to eat him. He was sure of it. Ruk was sending someone to grab him so they could roast him for supper.

  But the bearded gray face that greeted Oscar, awash in torchlight, was Ruk himself. He was flanked by two warriors, one of them Ukril.

  “Speaker,” the elder said, blinking calmly, “after much contemplation, I have decided to keep you alive for the benefit of our clan. There is much I wish to learn from you about the clan of Theus. When I have exhausted that knowledge—” I will release you, Oscar hoped he would say, “—only then will I dine on your beast-flesh.”

  The elder turned away suddenly, taking his torch and warriors with him.

  “Wait,” Oscar shouted after them. “How will I go to the bathroom?”

  Alone in the dark once more, Oscar tried again to escape. But he couldn’t reach far enough to push up the bolt, and the bars were too close together for him to slip through. Plus, the fall would likely break one or both of his ankles. A normal Feral would have phased into a mouse or a bird and slipped through with no problem. But Oscar lacked that ability.

  It made perfect sense now. This was why Dean Sethanel had rejected him. If this were a Rogue Tail mission, Oscar would be completely useless right now. His fellow rogues, capable of escape, would be forced to leave him behind. If this were enemy territory, and he was in possession of secret Rogue Tail knowledge, his enemies would be able to torture the details out of him, whereas another rogue would have used an animal shell to get far away before that happened.