by JD Franx
“What I’ve been told isn’t common belief, but my clan’s elders say that real, Hell-spawned demons walked Talohna thousands of years ago. Whether they were summoned or forced their way over, who knows, but while they were here, they bred with the other races, creating offspring that eventually spread their tainted blood down many generations to become the vampyrs and werebeasts, among others, of today. Realm officials declared the children DemonKind, and posted a bounty on all our heads. But my clan is the oldest in Talohna and I was taught that real DemonKind were rare even when true demons walked here, that a true DemonKind can only be created by Perdition’s lone ArchDemon, Salotan, the ruler of all Perdition’s Nine Hells. I don’t know which version is true. They’re both just stories, like your myths I suppose. But enough of this talk,” she said, laughing. As she leaned forward, a smile ghosted across her face. “You were going to tell me why you’re so jumpy today.”
Kael decided to be completely honest in hopes that she would know something about the new things he’d seen and felt since waking. Considering he’d snooped inside her body, she took it quite well. “I told you before that my magical experience is quite limited, but I’ve lived for many years and heard many things,” she said. “From what you’ve told me, though I cannot begin to imagine how, you seem to have a very strong affinity for the earth’s power, for magic. Possibly strong enough to be bonded.”
Kael shook his head. “Bonded?”
“Wizards with extra sight like you described are usually some of the strongest magic users,” Lycori explained. “They bind their life force with that of the earth’s energy. Magical power is drawn through the bond, allowing them to cast magic, and so many other things.”
Kael ran his hands through his hair, rubbing his aching head with his palms. “You’re saying I might have this power? That can’t be right. I’m not from here. How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know. But the things you’ve described sound like your esoteric senses—your inner and outer sight. Your outer sight should allow you to sense things from a great distance, that are buried, or in darkness. And if you are strong enough, your inner sight should allow you to sense the inside of your body, or someone else’s, for the purpose of healing. You wouldn’t be able to heal yourself, but others, you might.”
“Might?”
“If you keep practising and a wizard can help you form your bond, these senses will continue to grow in strength, and healing powers would follow if you learned the right spells.”
“You mean I could be a healer?”
“In a word, yes.” Lycori tilted her head. “Are you all right?”
For some reason, the memory of the boy’s terrified eyes as the bullet from his own gun tore through him came rushing back to Kael, more vivid than it had been since that night four years ago.
A healer…
Kael shook it off. “I’m fine.”
Lycori stood and paced slowly back and forth across the room. “Here, sit up. Let’s try something. Close your eyes—sorry, your eye—and try to bring up that bright yellow shield again.”
Kael closed his good eye. The moment he pictured the yellow membrane of light around his body, a flash filled the room, strong enough for him to see the capillaries in his eyelids. Hearing Lycori cry out, he opened his eye and the light vanished.
Lycori stood several feet away, furiously rubbing at her streaming eyes. “Fair enough,” she groaned. “Shouldn’t have used the word ‘bright.’ We won’t be trying that again.”
Kael rushed to her side. “Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine in a minute or two,” she said, blinking the black spots from her vision. “Did you feel anything inside you when you did that?”
“Nothing. Should I try something else?”
“No!” She blindly grabbed both of his hands. “I doubt it would be wise. I’m not a wizard, Kael, and things could quickly get out of hand. You seem to have a good grasp of your extra sight, so maybe just practise that for now. Without a bond to control what you can access for power, you could make a serious mistake trying anything else.”
Nodding sheepishly, Kael sat on the edge of the bed. “What if I’m not a wizard? Maybe I’m something else.”
Lycori seemed reluctant to answer, but eventually replied. “My grandfather was an adept wizard. We were close, but that was before I… changed. It’s been almost four hundred years since we’ve spoken. Gabriel Alatar, his name is—or was. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I’m sorry, Kael, but I cannot even guess at what powers you might have. The gift is there, that much is obvious, but you need training I cannot give you. Magic takes hundreds of years for a Human to master, and there are so many factors involved, like where you draw your power from and how you release it.”
“Hang on,” Kael said. “Are you saying it’s possible your grandfather—a human being—could still be alive after four hundred years? How long do people live here?”
“That depends on a lot of things. Most mystics are bound to the earth. As long as the bond isn’t broken, they can live up to five hundred years. The most powerful can reach six hundred or better. Most of the Elvehn—”
“Elves?” he interrupted, wide-eyed.
“Not elves. Elvehn. And yes, they’re one of the species that live here. The Fae, Dwarves, and DemonKind are extinct. The Ancients have been gone for ten or eleven thousand years, maybe more; no one is sure. Do you not have other races where you come from?”
“Not like that. I mean, we vary a lot in appearance. Different skin colour, different eyes, hair, but we’re all human. Shit, what kind of a mess did I land in?” he muttered, overwhelmed by all he was hearing.
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You didn’t land in a mess. We don’t normally have too much trouble here. Magic can be a big help or a nasty problem, like anything else. We have the odd war now and then, and once in a blue moon some serious hardship comes, just like any other world, I would imagine. I know it’s hard for you to understand. But chances are, Kael, you’re stuck here.”
The word rang in his head like a sledgehammer on an iron bell. “Stuck—how am I stuck?” he barked. “What the hell do you mean I’m stuck?”
“Only the Fae ever mastered the magic of inter-dimensional travel. They’ve been extinct for ten millennia or more, and shouting won’t change that. Accept what’s happened and prepare yourself to survive here, to live here. For someone not raised in Talohna, it can be dangerous. Certain insects, animals, and plants can kill you. There are places here that no sane person would ever go, and unfortunately you’ve landed in one. Vampyrs are one of Talohna’s most efficient killers when we’re at full strength, but for a Human, even one with quickening magic, leaving these lands without trouble is a long-shot.”
Kael dragged a palm over his face. “If I can learn some kind of offensive magic, I can leave here when my eye gets better. I’ve got to find Ember and Max. If I ended up here, they might have too.”
Lycori answered hesitantly. “If you want to find them, let me take you to my clan-master. The RedMaws have many wizards. Maybe Salo can help you. If not, our lore-masters will. But you need to understand something, Kael. From what I’ve been told, dimensional portals are configured for only one person. My grandfather said that even the Fae only travelled dimensions when absolutely necessary. The chances that your wife and friend survived are slim. I’m sorry to have to say that, but I don’t want to give you false hope.” She gently touched Kael’s chin. He was devastated. “My clan can give you more accurate answers if you want to travel there. They won’t harm you as long as you’re under my protection. Besides, you’ll need my help getting out of these lands.”
Kael had little choice. He nodded in agreement.
It took several days before Kael could see properly with both eyes and the pain in his head had subsided. In those days, he came to admire and respect Lycori; alliances formed fast when your very survival depended on the quick thinking and actions of others. They were forced to f
ight off a darga pack the first day his eye opened. Five of the creatures crept down the stairwell into the bell tower’s small underground room. He tried his best, even managing to strike one of the horned dogs with the sword he’d found the night he arrived; Lycori killed two before the rest turned and bolted back up the stairs. Her ferocity and quick reflexes left him in awe.
They spent most of their time together either talking about their lives before they’d met or seeing to his education in the lore and ways of Talohna, and particularly of Cethos, the country just south of the Forsaken Lands.
He continued to work on strengthening his new found senses, though trying to use his inner sight to look into his own or Lycori’s body still made him so claustrophobic that he’d panic after only a few seconds. Lycori told him that it was possible his spirit was disconnecting from his body, and that his brain refused to accept what was happening. She offered what advice she could, but it did him little good. Kael was missing something she couldn’t help him develop. After he almost blew them both up with a misfired spell on the fourth day, they mutually decided to wait until he’d completely healed and take the lessons above ground to avoid damaging her modest home.
Chapter Eleven
We had thought for many thousands of years that the Dead Sisters were eradicated; that I have lived to write this record is proof that I have never met them. But the subject has been of particular interest to me, and a friend on the Wizards’ Council has proven an invaluable source of information.
If ever you only heed one of my warnings, let it be this one: Avoid these vile women at all costs. The cost, should you encounter them, could very well be your life and most certainly be your soul.
GARREN SALLUS, TALOHNA: A TRAVELLER’S CODEX, VOL. 1
DEMONBONE SWAMPS
SOUTHERN WAYVIR MOUNTAINS
Believed to be the burial ground of the demons destroyed by the Ancients over ten thousand years ago, the DemonBone Swamps attracted only those who practised the darkest magic. A gloomy mist overhung the valley at all hours of the day and night, reducing the light of the sun to a thin, sickly glow. Skeletons of dead trees, among other things, littered the bogs and were coated in thick, velvety moss. Slime consisting of mud and brackish water covered the land, up to ten feet deep in places; if you didn’t know where to step, you could disappear and never be found.
One of the foulest tracts of land in all of the Blood Kingdoms, if not all of Talohna, the swampland was home to the realm’s most wretched coven of witches, who ranged in age from newborn to hags several hundred years old. Only the nastiest and most sadistic survived the Bone, human or otherwise. The witches’ culture and power thrived on the blood of innocents.
Deep within the swamp stood the Cardessa’s Cathedral, a lavish monument to the Lower Brethren DemonLord, Garz’x. Built on pillars sunk deep into the slime by using magic, the marble structure was carved with frightful visions from the ninth plane of Hell, home to Garz’x and his KiPara demon hordes. Gold and black jade artifacts lined the inner walls of the Cardessa’s sanctuary, and her throne of carved obsidian, a gift from the Orotaq, sat on a dais at the back of the main hall.
The Cardessa controlled the actions of all the Dead Sisters. Every success and every failure was reported to her directly. Though she stood but five feet tall, nearly six hundred years devoted to the study of dark magic made her an extremely dangerous adversary. She was the only witch with access to the demonic powers from all nine dimensions of Perdition, and she held absolute dominion over the valley.
The witches of the Dead Sister covens worked in groups of three, called ternions. Sometimes, when more power was required, two or more ternions would work together to form a proper coven. This occurred rarely, however, as it could attract the attention of wizards or realm officials, something the Sisters tried to avoid at all costs. Their motives and plans were best kept secret from Talohna, so the current Cardessa, Mydea Veht, preferred to keep a low profile—usually.
The ternion kneeling before her was fully aware that the Cardessa might well order their deaths for failing to bring the DeathWizard home. It was a price none of the three were afraid to pay. The Dead Sisters never feared death. Their souls belonged to Garz’x. Death was just the means of getting to his side. It was a deadly formula that bred dangerous women. When someone no longer fears death, they have nothing left to lose.
“Even though the first dimensional bridge failed us, Mistress, the second gate opened,” the head ternion’s leader, Arabella, reported. At two hundred and fifty-five, she was relatively youthful, but her brown eyes smouldered with an age-old cruelty beneath her short, raven-black locks. “Just as we had expected, the anchor-chain spell dragged him in. But an influx of foreign magic flooded the vortex immediately upon his entrance. We could feel him pushed away from our control. We had no way to follow, or to tell where he came out.”
“At a dimensional weak spot, I would imagine,” huffed the Cardessa. “Somewhere in the Blood Kingdoms, the northernmost part likely.”
“Our lives are yours, as ever. We exist only to see him returned. We have failed, and the responsibility is mine.”
The Cardessa dismissed Arabella’s admission with a wave of her crooked hand. “I suspect the interference you felt was that fool ArchWizard and his little pet. They tried to redirect our Master towards them, and when they couldn’t, they sent him far away.” Her permanent scowl deepened. “Their meddling is becoming an annoyance. I tire of that fool.” She rose from her throne and walked down the steps, stopping as she stood over her most powerful ternion.
“This setback does not fall on you, my sisters, but finding our saviour does. Arabella, send three ternions to Corynth. Make sure they understand remaining unlinked is paramount so the university’s mystics don’t catch the scent of a coven. Have them find out as much as they can about where the ArchWizard will be looking to find our master, or, if they have him already, where he is being held. Is that clear?”
Arabella looked up to the Cardessa, but dared not rise. “Yes, Mistress.”
“One ternion will return here with what they have learned. I will not risk a dark eye spell to communicate while they’re in the city. Giddeon will sense it too easily. Once they’re out of Corynth, the other ternions are tasked with killing both Giddeon Zirakus and the girl he calls a daughter. They may join together linking their power to attack as a coven if they so choose, but under no circumstances must they join before. While they are there,” the Cardessa added with a sneer, “the death of the Northman always at the ArchWizard’s side will be considered a bonus and rewarded as such.”
“I will give your commands to our most experienced field ternions, Mistress,” Arabella offered.
“You will all leave tonight, but do not send Voranna Talavyr’s ternion to Corynth. I will give her their mission later tonight once their studies are complete.” Arabella’s right eyebrow twitched at the mention of her rival’s ternion, but she said nothing, instead listened to the Cardessa. “One such as Master Kael will not go unnoticed for long, and word of him will spread quickly. I suggest you begin your own search with the Forsaken Lands north of Cethos. There are dozens of dimensional weak spots there. The young man must take his rightful place here. We’ve waited too long to risk losing him now.”
“We won’t fail again, Mistress.”
“No, my dear, you will not.” The Cardessa spread her arms, giving each member of the ternion her dark blessing. “May death come to all who oppose you on your journey, and may Garz’x watch over you from the hallowed halls of Perdition,” she intoned before issuing her final orders. “Gather what you need and go. Remember to take a slave. I believe N’Ikyah returned with Voranna’s ternion yesterday. A Dead Healer will be exactly what you need. She will keep you alive if you run into the Guardian or Giddeon and his pet runt.”
The three women rose, bowing deeply to the Cardessa, then left to make preparations and to fetch N’Ikyah from where the female slaves were trained in healing. Dead Sisters liv
ed violent lives, and their years of studying the black arts left no room in their damned souls for compassion, without which a mystic could heal no one. On the rare occasion when a young sister showed signs of empathy, she was highly prized and extensively trained to become a powerful healer. Still a slave, a Dead Healer was used in any way a Dead Sister might desire.
BROKEN BLADE SANCTUARY
Yrlissa Blackmist had no idea why she’d been called before the Broken Blade Guild Council. The four councillors usually only called an assassin just before they had them killed for actions against the guild or to be promoted in rank. A High Commander herself, Yrlissa would only ascend in rank when a council seat became available. As far as she knew all council members were still alive and in all of the guild’s recorded history the council had only ever killed two members. One for betrayal and one for freelancing assassinations of children. Both died by the magic ritual known as the Burrowed Blade. Though she was mildly concerned about the reason for the summons, Yrlissa knew there was no wrongdoing on her record. High Commanders never made mistakes.
Deep in the mountains beyond the eastern walls of Corynth, the Blades’ ancient stronghold was accessible only through the city’s sewers and both entrances were heavily warded with offensive spells, all hidden behind ancient invisibility magics. As one door’s ward settled back into place, Yrlissa passed through the barracks and workout areas. She smiled to the dozen young assassins, happy to see them training at such a late hour. Her acknowledgement set the young killers to laughing and talking, and bragging the moment she was out of earshot, excited that a guild legend would spare them a simple smile.
Exiting the gyms, she pushed the swinging doors back and hurried into the huge kitchen. Cooks supervised the guild’s youngest recruits as they prepped meals and peeled vegetables with an assortment of exotic weapons that were scattered across the prep table. Even during mundane duties like peeling potatoes, a young, future Broken Blade assassin worked with an instrument of death at hand. With a fully stocked kitchen, the guild’s cooks and helpers bustled all hours of the day and night. Catching a tonga-root muffin tossed her way by Dicer, the head chef, she bowed her thanks and moved on, secretly passing the muffin to one skinny four year old sitting on a bucket peeling potatoes. He smiled up at her as if it were one of the gods of Talohna looking down on him. Winking, she left the kitchen heading for the four meeting rooms lining the last hallway before the council chambers.
