The Legacy (The Darkness Within Saga Book 1)

by JD Franx

  The mere idea that Ember and Max might really be dead twisted Kael’s stomach. He pinched himself to make sure he wasn’t in the middle of some bizarre nightmare.

  Clearly not dreaming, he set his mind to figuring out where he was. On instinct, he pulled his cellphone from his front jeans pocket, checking the GPS. NO SERVICE and LOCATION UNKNOWN flashed back at him in white letters. His queasy stomach told him he was in serious trouble.

  Staggering to his feet and walking unsteadily towards the opening on the other side of the enclosure, he caught his running shoe on a chunk of rubble, pitching forward into a pile of leaves. Instinctively reaching out both hands to catch himself before falling on his face, his left arm reacted just as quickly as his right. Rolling out of the debris and into a sitting position, he poked at the restored limb, bending and unbending it at the elbow, flexing each finger in turn and rotating his shoulder. There was no pain and no restriction in his movements.

  “What the hell?” he asked, a little louder than intended. He winced as his voice boomed, bouncing back to him off what was left of the curved stone wall. Kael considered himself to be a pretty open-minded guy, but the more he saw, the more trouble he had discerning whether it was he or the universe that was starting to go crazy. He had tried everything he could for four years in an attempt to regain the use of his left arm. Now, all of a sudden, being sucked into a magical tornado had somehow repaired severed nerves, destroyed muscle, and reset his autonomic nervous system. Everything except the bullet wound scars and the stitches from the surgery were healed.

  Smiling, despite his bewilderment, he shifted his weight so he could kneel, only to come face-to-face with a human skeleton propped against the wall by the enclosure’s opening. Kael recoiled, but quickly recovered his wits, returning for a closer look. A sword lodged in its ribs and sticking out through the back of the ragged leather covering the bones easily told the story of the person’s death. There was nothing fancy about the sword, unlike the ones Max kept on display in his basement workout room or those he’d seen in stores back home that sold ornamental weapons for people’s dens.

  An unearthly scream of wildlife pierced the night somewhere outside the enclosure, swiftly convincing Kael the blade would do him more good than it would a man long dead.

  “Sorry, buddy,” he murmured. Grasping the hilt, he tugged hard. The whole skeleton jerked forward as if alive, bones rattling and dried leather cracking. Kael’s heart leapt into his throat before his brain could catch up. The sword was lodged. Setting his running shoe against the ribcage and pulling a second time, the sword rasped against the bone and leather as it slid free, snapping several ribs on the way out.

  Shaking his foot free of the dead man’s chest cavity and muttering an apology for the desecration, Kael examined the weapon. It looked like the blade was charred by fire, but carefully rubbing it on his blue jeans revealed a shine with a deep black lustre. He ran a fingertip slowly across its edge, and promptly regretted it; though it must have sat there for God knew how long, it was still razor sharp. Sticking the finger in his mouth, he observed the black blade’s downward curve, like the kukri he and Ember used when camping back home. The three-and-a-half-foot-long blade was covered in faint hammer marks, as if the sword were homemade.

  The scabbard strapped to the skeleton’s leather armour outlined the shape of a different blade, so Kael left it where it was. Resolving to survey the terrain outside, he crept across the room, hugging the wall to one side of the opening so he wouldn’t be seen by whatever prowled outside. He racked his mind trying to remember the Thai stick-fighting lessons Max had drilled into his head, hoping the moves would carry over to the black sword in his hand.

  Strange grunts and snuffling noises drifted in to the enclosure from outside the opening. Holding his breath, he slowly peered around the corner. Visibility was limited by a strange pall in the air, like an opaque mist heavy with the smell of damp rot, but he could still make out a bell tower across the way that likely belonged to some type of fortified compound. Looking up, it was clear he had regained consciousness in a second tower.

  Unlike his own, the structure across the way was complete, the rust-eaten bell still hanging in the belfry thirty feet up. A cool breeze brushed his cheeks, making him shiver. The depressing, indefinable pall hanging in the air cleared for a moment and he could see a colossal tower standing among a sea of ruins roughly a mile away. Below him, in the fast-gathering dusk, shadows darted among the ruins on a ground that appeared to have been scorched by intense heat; patches of shiny glass lay in some of the low spots like fresh water lakes on a calm night. Nothing grew—no trees, grass, not even shrubbery.

  Finally feeling safe, Kael released his breath, whistling quietly at the devastation laid out in front of him. The small noise was enough to attract one of the shadows a stone’s throw away from where he knelt. It climbed atop a mound of rubble and stopped. Looking straight at him it growled. Kael wondered whether his brain had come completely unhinged. Quickly deciding there was no way his brain, whatever its state, could spawn the nightmare creature looking him up and down, he desperately tried to think of a solution.

  Coming to Kael’s shoulders in height, the creature’s long claws scraped against the rock where it crouched, gouging grooves in the stone as if it were soft clay. Shiny, puke-yellow eyes glowered from beneath hooded lids set in a wide, canine head topped with two stubby horns. Two more horns, half a foot long or better, curved forward from under its ears down toward its jaw. Frozen with fear, Kael stared, wide eyes burning as he refused to blink, afraid to miss its attack. The creature bared rows of needle-like fangs, all dripping long, ropey threads of saliva. Its flanks shivered, bunching as it powered itself further into its crouch.

  Kael’s mind screamed at him to run, but his legs refused to obey. The creature pounced, charging. He jumped to his feet, raising his sword, too slow. The devil-hound knocked into him, slamming him to the floor on his back and pinning the blade sideways against his chest. Shutting his eyes, Kael readied for death—but it didn’t come. Opening them, he saw a veil of bright yellow light shimmering between himself and the monster. The hound-like creature clawed at the light trying to get to him, its massive jaws gaping, teeth snapping inches above his face. He could feel its hind legs pounding against his stomach as it tried to disembowel him, but he felt no pain.

  A high-pitched, strangely feminine hissing rolled up the stairwell door from Kael’s right. From the corner of his eye, he spotted movement and knew the mutated mongrel on top of him would have help ending his life. He thought of the woman who’d made that life worth living as the impact of the second creature knocked him back into the darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  Cethos is the Blood Kingdoms’ most powerful nation. The capital city, Corynth, is home to the University of Magic, Talohna’s stunning Cascade Citadel with its attached ArchWizard’s tower, and, last but regrettably not least, the Talo crime family. Led by Old Man Talo, the family has thrived for centuries on the profits of gambling, usury or money leasing, prostitution, extortion, and murder. Many believe magic has played a large part in the family’s success.

  Seldom is a Talo brought to justice, at least in the eyes of the law.

  GARREN SALLUS, TALOHNA: A TRAVELLER’S CODEX, VOL. 2

  CORYNTH, GUTTERTOWN SLUMS

  Unknown to Rath Gasette, someone had been shadowing him for weeks. Being a distant cousin, by marriage, to the Talo crime family meant his main responsibilities were collecting debts and breaking bones, a respectable position, all things considered. It also meant he never once suspected that anyone would be watching him. This particular watcher was patient and well trained, wanting to be sure of Rath’s routine before any action was taken. Sitting cross-legged on the ledge of the roof across the street from where Rath collected protection money for Old Man Talo, his shadow was positive this night would be quiet and uneventful. Bad things only happened when Rath visited businesses that had young, pretty women or children work
ing or living within. Those were nights when Rath took a lot more than just protection money.

  The watcher’s temper flared at the memories. On one such night a month past, Rath raped and killed a crippled woman named Corla, also nearly killing her husband, Davin. The cretin walked away with only a five gold tax added to his dues by Old Man Talo. It wouldn’t happen again.

  Bored beyond all, Rath’s shadow still never wavered, even though not feeling well for two days. Staring down at the target, a feminine sigh of frustration escaped her lips as she tugged at her mask. Two days running a fever, and now it started to spike. Lowering her hood and noticing how shaky her hands were, she took a deep breath to calm her nerves. Shaking her head to clear her fuzzy mind only made her eyes burn. Struggling to regain some self-control, her body jerked violently as the right side of her face exploded with searing pain. Grabbing her head with both hands, she fell backwards onto the roof, biting her bottom lip. Blood ran down her chin as clenched teeth pierced her bottom lip in an attempt to suppress the scream of agony that burst from her mouth.

  The pain renewed tenfold as magic within the flower tattooed on her face came to life, tearing its way over her jawbone and into her neck, all the way down to her shoulder and chest. No longer able to withstand the pain, she screamed. The absolute, soul-rending anguish carried her cry out over the rooftops of Talohna’s largest slum. Rath Gasette glanced back over his shoulder, smiling, as he carried on. Screams during GutterTown’s darkest hours were nothing new.

  Desperate for the pain to end, the watcher dragged in a ragged breath, power for a second scream, but the pain suddenly vanished. Sweat dripped from the end of her nose and blood from her chin. She gingerly touched the side of her face and neck, her fingers trembling.

  Catching the moon’s silver glare in a puddle of water on the roof to her left, she scrambled over. Still on her hands and knees, she summoned a globe of light. Letting it float over her head, she pulled down the mask further and checked her reflection in the shining water. The small tattoo she received many thousands of years ago that used to resemble a small, simple black flower and thorn-covered stem running from her temple to her cheek on the right side of her face had grown like a sadistic living entity. Vines covered in wicked, barbed black thorns circled and twisted down the right side of her face and neck, from the middle of her forehead all the way to the top of her shoulder where they continued down into her back and over the top part of her right breast.

  “Gods, no! What have they done? Fools...” she whispered. Her stomach turned to ice as fear slowly invaded her thoughts.

  With no Black Sun phenomenon within the last two decades, it could only mean that the child born and banished twenty years ago had been brought back to Talohna. A true-born and now matured Death-Wizard walked Talohna once more. And more than anything, it meant she needed to find him. The prophecy they all feared had begun in earnest. “The Blood’s blackest will dawn the light’s last.” The words from so long ago echoed inside her head. They had to do things differently this time, or it would end in countless deaths, just like last time.

  She would take care of Rath tomorrow night, for Corla. Then go after this Death-Wizard one last time. Without any protection, she wouldn’t have to let him escape this time. That night twenty years ago was still fresh in her mind, as if it were yesterday. Hidden high in the rafters of the ArchWizard’s soaring mansion, she had cursed at her inability to get to the newborn child. Wizards and Elvehn elementalists opened the dimensional doorway to a world unlike anything she had ever seen and the ArchWizard carried the child out of her reach.

  It wouldn’t happen again.

  THE NEXT NIGHT

  Rath Gasette had been a predator for so many years that the idea of someone deadly hunting him had never crossed his mind. It was past midnight, and the watcher followed him as he made his weekly collections. Tonight’s collection would include a special bonus for him, because the young blacksmith who’d just opened his shop wouldn’t have enough money for the Talo Family’s protection payment. Rath would likely collect the debt from someone else—the blacksmith’s pretty wife.

  Well over six feet and north of two hundred pounds of pure muscle, all raised in a world of violence made Rath more than capable of working alone, even when dealing with trouble. His shadow knew this. With the criminal enforcer looking forward to his extra entertainment tonight, however, his guard would be down. As he approached the blacksmith’s door, nearly drooling with anticipation, the thug stretched his back from side to side, cracking the knuckles of both hands. Focusing on the best way to smash his way through the reinforced wooden door, he never heard the watcher land softly behind him. Her blade lashed out, neatly severing both of Rath’s hamstrings with a dull snap, the tight-fitting leather pants offering no protection against the razor sharp blade and the experienced hand wielding it. Dropping to his knees, grunting in pain, the watcher smiled knowing the agony that surged through his mind. Her soft voice in his ear stiffened the lowlife’s body and she could sense the anger radiating from his entire being.

  “You’ve been a naughty boy, Rath.”

  “Says you, bit...” A smack to the side of his head cut the words short.

  “Collecting dues does not give you the right to rape women and children, or beat them to death. Even the Old Man’s reach won’t help you now.” With her hand firmly over his mouth, Rath couldn’t scream for help. Even if he could she knew he wouldn’t. Instead, pushing backwards and twisting, Rath used his size to overpower the smaller woman. Expecting the move, the watcher shifted her feet to compensate.

  “Pruma Gryttr,” she whispered, laughing. Every muscle in Rath’s body locked tight, even his voice. He grunted, unable talk.

  “Now, now, Mr. Gasette, don’t get too excited,” the sultry voice teased into his ear. “We can’t be having you crawl away, now can we? I want you to know why you’re going to die tonight, here, in a stinking, filthy alley. It’s not a courtesy I normally grant; you should listen and feel blessed.”

  The watcher could feel Rath fighting against the paralysis spell. She chuckled to herself at the pitiful attempt; he might as well have been bound in kinrai chains. The metal of the gods would hold just as long as her magic. More stress on her spell told her the fool still hadn’t given up. The woman sighed. Amused, she smacked the side of his head, yet again.

  “Listen, shithead. You won’t break that spell, I’m not some piss-ant ArchWizard. Pay attention to what I’m going to tell you instead. Unless you’d rather die right now.” She pulled her second dagger from its sheath, purposely dragging the blade against the side. A dull rasp drifted into the air. Rath huffed as if finally agreeing. The strain on her magic eased.

  “Good. One moon past, you killed a crippled woman...” Rath turned his head towards her. Rolling his eyes, he snorted with contempt. A third smack echoed off the walls of the narrow alley. “Last warning, Rath, then you bleed like a piked hog. The crippled woman—her name was Corla. Her husband owed the Talo family a paltry sum, just like those here tonight, only Davin had the money. You killed her anyway. Remember?”

  Rath nodded, and though he still couldn’t speak, she felt him chuckle deep in his throat. It let her know that he remembered, but didn’t care and certainly didn’t fear her. She knew Rath believed no one would dare kill a Talo Family enforcer. It was as close to a written rule as the criminal underworld had. But Broken Blade assassins followed no one’s rule of law but their own.

  “Foolish coward,” the soft voice continued. “You still believe the wings of the Old Man will protect you. All the better. You raped and murdered a crippled woman in her own bed, forcing her beaten and broken husband to watch. You shouldn’t have done that, Rath. The Broken Blade Guild demands you pay for what you did to our sister… To my sister.”

  The mere mention of Talohna’s most feared guild of assassins took only seconds to sink into Rath’s thick skull, and she watched closely as fear surfaced on his face for the first time. The quivering lips,
blinking eyes, and short bursts of air through his nose. All betrayed his true feelings. She revelled in it, her own heart quickening the slightest bit.

  Grunting and moaning, Rath tried to speak, but the watcher’s spell held him tight. Trembling uncontrollably, his bowels voided with an explosive gurgle. The assassin laughed at the scum’s heightened distress, understanding his plight. Rumours of the legendary magical assassins dated back over five thousand years. Talohna’s underworld and men like Rath knew the rumours were true.

  Still laughing at the quaking mess that used to be the Talo Family’s most feared enforcer, Yrlissa Blackmist slapped Rath upside the head for the fourth time, just because she could.

  “Now you’ll have to give my regards to the DeathGod with shit running down your legs, like a true coward. I’ve already made sure his worst Brethren will be waiting for you at the fiery gates of Perdition. Good bye, Rath, and good riddance—Corla, my sister, blood-taken by the blade for the blood-lost of the Blades.” The vow of vengeance completed, Yrlissa slowly eased the blade of her six-inch wooden dagger into the back of Rath’s neck at the base of his skull, savouring every second of the man’s quivering agony as he struggled. The pointed blade poked free under his chin as the cross-guard stopped flush with his neck. She held the dagger and Rath tight for several seconds.

  Giving the handle a vicious tug, Yrlissa smirked as the wooden blade snapped, still embedded in his neck. Even if help came, it couldn’t be removed, not even with the use of magic. In less than ten minutes, the toxin inside the wood would dissolve the blade, leaving no physical evidence behind except for a severed spinal cord.