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

by Richard Denoncourt

  “Are you really trying to say…”

  “Yes,” Calista said, feeling her tattoos tingle beneath her clothes, the snakes slithering. The lies poured from her mouth fully formed, surprising her. “Malius was one of us. Didn’t you know? That’s why Kovax imprisoned him and lied about it. He couldn’t bear the embarrassment of having trusted a mole. He killed your father not long ago and has been manipulating you ever since so you would keep working for him.”

  Xanthus’s frown deepened. His eyes took on a distant look.

  “Your father was a genius,” Calista said, and now she could almost feel the serpents slithering across her arms and back like hot coils. “He was one of our best, and your lord executed him like he was nothing more than a slave.”

  “But Kovax promised…”

  “Kovax is a liar. He manipulated you the same way he manipulated his cousin Corgos. Don’t you think it’s convenient how Corgos died right as Kovax was getting ready to launch his new weapon? He wants power, and he’ll step over the corpses of people like you and me to get it.”

  Calista let her conviction power her words. She might have been lying before, but now she spoke a truth about the emperor no one could deny.

  “That bastard,” Xanthus said, making fists out of his shivering hands. “My father was a good man. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “No one does,” Calista said, withdrawing the blade. “Turn off the Null Sphere. Let Kovax feel what it’s like to fail. I’ll make sure word gets back to the Forge that you and your father should be respected among your kind.”

  Xanthus sniffled and pushed himself off the floor. “I’ll help you. But once I kill the engine, the tower will be surrounded.”

  Calista gave a single nod. Her next words were true.

  “I’m sorry this had to happen to you.”

  “Don’t be,” Xanthus said, walking to the console. He placed his hand on a panel that immediately began to burn bright red and spoke a chant in a guttural language Calista didn’t understand. A moment later, Calista sensed a change in the air and felt a bit lighter than before.

  “That’s the luminether in your body becoming stronger,” he said, turning to her. “My father invented that spell. He truly was a gen—”

  Something small and fast zipped through the air. Xanthus fell back suddenly, his hand reaching up to touch the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his throat.

  “No,” Calista said.

  She turned just as another arrow swept past her, missing her by inches. The archer was skilled. Calista brought up Wind and managed to deflect the next arrow with a quick swipe of the blade. She rolled away, avoiding another shot, and ducked behind one of the blinking consoles. A woman’s voice echoed inside the chamber.

  “Come out, little kitten.”

  Calista had heard that voice before. Throwing a glance around the console, she nearly caught an arrow in the eye and drew back. She processed what she had just seen—the curling, metallic length of the woman’s tail. A woman whose next words filled Calista with dread.

  “Miss me?”

  CHAPTER 30

  Z ander flew Milo over downtown Theus.

  In one of the largest parks, a gigantic, tiered Fountain of Joy radiated enough blue light to paint the sides of the towering buildings, even reaching the clouds. Milo was stunned by how quickly the Archon had erected it. More incredible was its height, which dwarfed even the tallest of the trees lining the park’s edges.

  Enough magical essence pumped out of it to flood the park with mist. Its many bowls tapered up into a narrow jet at the tip. From it, a plume of energy shot toward the sky and rained back down. Flights of stone steps allowed visitors to climb past its various levels.

  Milo felt a chill at what he observed down below. People were bathing themselves in the fountain’s overflowing bowls like children frolicking in a public pool. These were not wounded individuals seeking cures, but addicts indulging themselves in a freakish sort of drug.

  “Let’s land on the avenue,” Milo told his mount.

  Zander obeyed and flew down to the street. The tower looked even more intimidating up close. Milo dismounted and felt suddenly like an ant approaching a blue bonfire that could reduce him to an ashy speck if he got too close.

  A banner hung over the park’s entrance.

  OPENING NIGHT! THE MOST IMPRESSIVE FOUNTAIN OF JOY YET!

  Beneath that, in smaller print, it said:

  ~ FREE ADMISSION ~ FREE ADMISSION ~ FREE ADMISSION ~

  Plastered on the walls of the surrounding buildings were enormous banners displaying the Archon’s proud face, his head tilted back as if he were gazing defiantly at a looming god he planned to defeat in a duel.

  “He’s insane,” Milo said.

  Zander snorted his agreement.

  “Okay, Zan,” Milo said with a gentle pat, “if you see me get too close to the rim, come grab me. I don’t care if you have to bite through my arm. Drag me the heck out of there. Got it?”

  Zander nodded. He couldn’t understand Milo’s words, but their connection ensured that he got the gist of his instructions.

  “Good boy.” He drew a deep breath and released it. “Here goes.”

  He wove through a crowd of fountain worshipers, glancing back only once to see Zander perched atop a nearby building, intently watching him.

  “Good boy,” Milo said again.

  He stopped a few yards away from the rim. Shrouded in tingling mist, he closed his eyes and opened his mind like a door.

  A dark stranger stood at the threshold. He had been expecting Milo.

  Show me the answers, Milo told the presence. Tell me what I need to know.

  The stranger guided him forward.

  CHAPTER 31

  “T he nerve of those guys,” Sevarin said, studying the group outside the tavern.

  Gunner shook his head. “What a bunch of boneheads.”

  The two of them stood at the corner of a street in Theus that branched off a busy avenue. The side street was lined with taverns and festives, the latter a Theusian term for dance clubs. This part of town was known for its seediness. Some of the academy’s more daring cadets came here on weekends to enjoy a more mature, distinctly non-military sort of entertainment, but getting caught partying in this part of town could lead to suspension, maybe even expulsion, depending on the activity one chose to participate in.

  But when you were the Archon’s son, you could do whatever you wanted.

  Gunner and Sevarin had been following him and his friends. They almost lost them at one point, Gunner cursing himself for getting distracted by all the activity taking place in and around the street. Then he spotted Kellan and Garig standing outside a tavern called The Tinker’s Bell, drinking pints of beer and singing along with three other friends.

  He almost couldn’t believe it. They were celebrating.

  Sevarin was thinking the same thing. “He kidnaps Barrel, then comes here afterwards to party?” He cracked his knuckles threateningly. “I’ll kill him.”

  “Don’t do anything crazy, Sev,” Gunner said. “Milo told us to keep an eye on them, not get into a fight. Besides, The Tinker’s Bell is a Sargonaut bar. They’ll beat us into paste.”

  “Cute name,” Sevarin said, “for a bunch of pansies.”

  Kellan, Garig, and their three friends—all dressed like civilians—finished their song and guzzled the rest of their beer. Kellan tossed his empty mug into the street. His friends did the same, grinning at the obnoxious ringing of shattering glass.

  The group approached a stern-faced bouncer almost as big as a Berserker, with muscles that bulged like boulders beneath his heavily tattooed skin. The man recognized Kellan and nodded once to let him pass, and the group sauntered inside as if they’d been here dozens of times before.

  “Let’s go,” Sevarin said. “Try to keep a low profile, you got it?”

  Gunner hesitated. “What—what do you mean? You wanna just go in there? What about that bouncer?”

  “
What, are you scared?”

  “They’re Sargonauts!”

  “And so am I. What are you saying, anyway? That I’m not tough enough to look out for you?”

  Gunner frowned at him. “Hmm, let’s see. You, a first-year cadet, versus a group of drunken Sargonauts with hand-to-hand training at the most elite military school in Astros. Yeah, Sev, you could say I’m a little scared, if not utterly and completely terrified.”

  Sevarin jabbed a finger against Gunner’s chest. It felt like being punched by a jackhammer at full thrust. Gunner stumbled back a few steps, wincing.

  “You don’t know what I’m capable of, Gun-woo,” Sevarin said. “Or should I call you Gun-waaaaa, since you’re about to cry like a little girl.”

  “Seriously?” Gunner stared at him in amazement. “With everything that’s happening, you’re going to make jokes right now?”

  Sevarin grabbed his shoulders and practically hissed at him. “Suck it up. You’re an Academy cadet, and we’re on a mission. Just trust me, all right?”

  Gunner sighed and gave a submissive nod. It was really all you could do when a Sargonaut had you in a grip that could potentially crush bone.

  Sevarin released him. “I’m going inside. You can come with me or you can stay out here and sweep up all this broken glass. Up to you, Gun-woo.”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  Sevarin ignored him, now watching the bouncer. He seemed to be calculating his next move.

  Gunner crossed his arms. “You’re going to get past him how, exactly?”

  Sevarin gave him a cocky grin. “Like this,” he said, turning to cross the street.

  CHAPTER 32

  O wen used light from his Araband’s crystal to make his way through the dark forest and up the lightly trodden path where his friend, Barrel, may have experienced his final moments of life. The thought made him shiver. Those bastards had probably killed him and buried him up in the mountains. Why else would they bring him to such a remote place?

  He reached a small clearing and swept the light in every direction. The place was empty and quiet except for the occasional flutter of bats zipping among the treetops. A perfect place for a murder. He could feel it in his bones—something dark had taken place here.

  His Araband shot a steady, laser-like beam toward a spot on the ground. It drew a target consisting of three red circles divided by a cross. Owen approached it, growing colder with each step.

  Leaves had been loosely scattered over a slight, unnatural-looking bulge in the earth. Owen slipped the Araband over his forehead, using it as a headlamp, and got on his knees to dig. He found the crushed Araband within seconds of scraping the hard-packed earth. They had done a poor job of hiding it, which gave him hope. Maybe they had been sloppy in other ways, too.

  He lifted the remains of Barrel’s Araband and studied it. A cold, creeping sensation filled his stomach, as if he had swallowed a bunch of eels. When he was afraid, his stomach was the first part of his body to acknowledge it. The same thing had happened right before he killed those Elki back on Taradyn. His friends thought he had been brave that day, but the truth was, Owen had nearly vomited after killing those terrifying creatures. He’d lost his appetite for days, which was certain to be the case after tonight.

  He studied the broken Araband. Only a Sargonaut could have crushed it into such a tight ball… which made sense. If Kellan was involved, then Garig probably was, too. They had probably teamed up, Kellan using his influence to lure Barrel, and Garig using his strength to physically capture him.

  Overcome with disgust at the thought of his friend being victimized in such a violent and premeditated way, Owen flung the Araband into the forest. Then he cursed himself.

  “You’re supposed to bring it back, idiot.”

  With a frustrated sigh, he crept toward the spot where he had seen it disappear into the darkness. Something strange caught his eye along the way. It shone like plastic in the white light from his Araband, except it was green and clearly organic—and someone had left pieces of it on the ground, almost like a trail of breadcrumbs.

  It was a plant, though he could tell it had no business being in these woods. Owen had grown up with a fascination for wilderness survival. He had taught himself how to track Elki in the woods, and how to identify plants, roots, and berries that could serve as meals in case he got lost or stranded. Though he had long forgotten the name of this plant, he knew by its oily texture—and from hours spent poring over books on Astrican flora and fauna—that it came from a tropical climate, and that it was not something you wanted to eat or touch.

  Not only had someone left pieces of it behind, but they had also done a poor job of covering up their footsteps. Apparently, Kellan and Garig were not the criminal masterminds he and his friends had suspected. Or they had been in one heck of a hurry.

  “Ara, can you outline these footsteps?”

  “Of course, Owen.”

  He could have tracked them on his own, but it had been a couple of years since his last adventure in the woods. He didn’t want to take any chances.

  “While you’re at it, can you find Barrel’s Araband, then run a scan of the footsteps and tell me where they lead?”

  “Coming right up,” Ara said.

  She beamed a laser toward the spot where the crushed Araband had landed. Oscar scooped it up, then watched as the footsteps became vibrant, orange outlines, partly obscured by the scattered leaves and twigs. They flashed in succession, starting at the edge of the clearing and heading away in the direction he had feared.

  “My scan indicates foot travel leading up into the mountains, Owen. Would you like me to lay out a path indicator for you?”

  “Not yet.”

  He rang Milo to share the news, but there was no answer.

  “Would you like to record a message?” Ara asked him, sounding nervous.

  “Yes,” Owen said. “Audiovisual, please.”

  He recorded images of everything he had seen, adding comments that he hoped would clarify what he believed—and greatly feared—had taken place.

  He turned his Araband into a headlamp again. Then he waited. Hopefully, Milo would know what to do next. Minutes passed.

  Milo wasn’t answering.

  “Perfect,” Owen said.

  CHAPTER 33

  A n uncomfortably thick and pungent warmth permeated The Tinker’s Bell. It reeked of spilled whiskey, bitterbrew, and nectarwine, and the smoke of tobacco pipes lifted to form a dense fog against the ceiling. The place was crowded, full of broad shoulders, square jaws, and well-muscled arms lifting mugs in joyful celebration.

  Even the girls looked tough enough to beat Gunner into a pulp.

  He stayed close to Sevarin, eyeing the rowdy bunch. In the back, a group of young men stood with their arms linked around each other’s necks, singing drunkenly at the top of their lungs. When the verse ended, they picked up shot glasses and drained them, then tore into the next verse, more loudly than before.

  A sudden bang shook Gunner to his core.

  He looked over to see which part of the roof had collapsed. But instead of destruction, he saw three gruff-looking, tattooed men lined up in front of a machine. The one at the front swung a massive hammer—a warhammer, like what a Berserker carried—into a mat on the floor with another loud bang. The impact caused a red arrow to shoot up the length of a measurement panel that reached the ceiling.

  The sign atop the machine read HAMMER SLAMMER! It was a game, a test of strength. The man must have gotten a pretty good score, too. His buddies roared their approval and drummed their fists on his shoulders, and the next one in line drained his beer mug and took up the hammer to give the machine a wallop of his own.

  “There he is,” Sevarin said with a covert thrust of his chin.

  Gunner followed his gaze to see Kellan resting one elbow on the bar. He was chatting with a red-faced, balding bartender who barked out laughter at whatever story the young cadet was telling him. The bartender was easily a hundred p
ounds heavier than Kellan, all of it thickly corded muscle—and yet Kellan looked perfectly comfortable as he playfully punched the man’s shoulder and laughed.

  “For a Savant, he’s pretty comfortable here,” Gunner said, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. There was way too much muscle and booze in here.

  Sevarin seemed only slightly uneasy. He ordered two mugs of stout bitterbrew from another bartender, this one a tall, bored-looking woman in her forties who wore her hair in a single braid down the length of her muscular back. She eyed Gunner suspiciously.

  “You boys sure you got the right place?” she said.

  Sevarin glared at her. “Depends. This ain’t one of those racist bars, is it?”

  The woman winced. It was illegal in Theus to restrict access to customers based on racial differences, though of course, many establishments unofficially practiced this. Gunner got the sense that the people running The Tinker’s Bell wished only Sargonauts could enter.

  “Just make sure you boys stay out of trouble,” the woman said. “Last thing we want is a Sargonaut fist rearranging a non-Sargonaut face. Catch my drift?”

  Sevarin slapped his bank token on the bar. “Just bring me those drinks, sweetheart. And open a tab for me while you’re at it.”

  “Humph.” The woman gave Sevarin a flirty smile. “You’ll fit right in.”

  When the mugs had been placed in front of them—mugs that looked huge to Gunner, almost as big as his head—Sevarin took one, passed the other to Gunner, and led him to an empty table in a corner opposite the Hammer Slammer machine. Even from all the way across the large room, each bang sent shivers rippling across Gunner’s flesh.

  “How long do we need to stay?” he asked Sevarin.

  Sevarin kept glancing at Kellan. The cadet and his friends had seated themselves in a booth by the window.

  “As long as it takes,” Sevarin said.