The Wrath of the Orphans (The Kinless Trilogy Book 1)

by Chris Philbrook

  "Damn it," he said softly, reaching down to scoop up the errant weapon. He picked it up and slid it into the empty sheath that hung on his hip. Ivar paid the exchange no notice.

  Now the ball was in Malwynn's court.

  Malwynn's heart raced faster and more powerfully than ever before. Conflicted feelings of loyalty to Ivar for the training he'd given to Malwynn and the raw hatred of the people who'd killed the woman he loved, and the family he cherished. He reminded himself that despite Ivar's gift of training, there was virtual certainty that this tall, dead warrior was one of the men that looked over the wanton destruction of the town he grew up in. He wondered if Ivar snarled over Marissa right before he killed her, as he snarled at the soldiers he killed the day the two first met.

  Malwynn's heart slowed to a normal pace. A deliberate pace.

  A murderer's pace.

  He stopped his exercises, reached into the waistband of his pants, and produced a small handful of Obrinnor's moss. Deep inside his mind, down in the darkest recesses that he'd learned to connect to the energies of The Way that came from all things dead and dying, he channeled energy into the moss. The energy moved inside him tangibly. It felt like a burst of heat from a funeral pyre, followed a gust of cold wind from an abandoned mausoleum. The Way slid down his arms like a snake slithering to his finger tips finally coalescing into the dark green handful of the moss in mere moments, and the spell was ready.

  Umaryn stopped her exercise and walked quickly to her satchel, where she'd put her own set of weapons; forge hammers.

  "Ivar," Malwynn said softly.

  The warrior turned to look at Malwynn, and that was the moment Mal waited for. Mal was only an arm's length away from the mammoth knight, and he used that short distance to full effect. To release that stored necrotic energy in the moss, Mal needed only to touch it against the flesh of an undead.

  Before Ivar could react, Mal reached up and smeared it across the white giant's face.

  The results were instantaneous, and spectacular.

  The green moss brushed against Ivar's white flesh and tore it away like tissue paper. The grey muscles and bones were laid bare and exposed as grey blood sprayed out across the amphitheatre in a fan that covered Mal's face. The moss was to his flesh as a rake is to soil. Ivar let out a roar that could curdle milk as he took a step backwards. His massive hand reached up and felt the damage on his face, and inadvertently spread small bits of the moss left behind up into his eyes. He barked out in pain and fused them shut.

  "WHAT IS THIS TREACHERY?!" He screamed, stepping further away, backing instinctively towards where his enormous blade lay sheathed on a theater bench.

  The twins ignored his challenge, and pressed forward. Umaryn had her bag opened by then, and had fished out both her hammers. She'd asked Ivar to teach her how to fight with two of the small hammers, and deliciously she closed in on him.

  "We have to get his shirt off!" Malwynn said loudly to her as he drew the dagger she'd just enchanted. They didn't have long before the spell's effect faded, perhaps two or three strikes.

  "I got it," Umaryn said softly. She ducked under one of Ivar's massive, wild swings and smashed both hammer heads into his ribs. Even from several feet away Malwynn could hear the snapping wet branch sound of the dead man's bones collapsing. She'd visited great destruction on his torso.

  Ivar didn't react in the least.

  Despite the flesh on his face continuing to waste and drop off, and one eye fused shut from damage, he smiled, and rifled a punch into Umaryn's stomach. All the wind vented from her lungs, and then she took her own turn backing and stumbling away.

  Malwynn's anger grew. This was already going bad. He was hoping that the lack of snapping noises from Ivar's strike meant that all of his sister's ribs were still intact. With his free hand he reached into his waistband and grabbed another small patch of the moss and with his free will, he reached down deep, and channeled The Way once more.

  "May you rot Ivar Brodull for what you've done to our family!" Malwynn screamed in rage. He yelled standing high, giving Ivar a clear spot to listen and fire a punch off at, but Malwynn feinted low, and smashed his moss filled hand straight into Ivar's groin.

  This time, Ivar reacted.

  The warrior dropped to his knees, blinded and now numb with Way infused destruction. One hand clutched at his ruined face, and now the other was planted firmly over the tender flesh that was disintegrating inside his trousers. Malwynn was glad to see that even in death certain body parts remained sensitive.

  "Umaryn?" Mal asked of his sister. Ivar stifled a moan of pain, attempting to save honor and dignity.

  She was on all fours, heaving air back into her lungs. Within a moment, she was up on her feet, and angry again. She spoke in a strained voice, "I'm fine."

  Ivar moaned in pain, "Why this betrayal? We had a pact. An agreement. Your master purchased my time to train you. What is the sense in this betrayal?"

  "Get his fucking shirt," Mal said, fist wrapped tightly on the dagger. He felt a tingle from the enchantment his sister had put on the blade.

  Umaryn walked behind the knight and smashed a hammer powerfully into the side of his head, decimating an ear and rocking the undead warrior. She used the moment of surprise from the blow to tear his shirt straight from his back.

  "Noo!" Ivar screamed, trying to wrest the scraps of the fabric back from Umaryn. She was stronger for the first time, and Ivar's milky flesh was exposed. She walked around and saw what they'd needed to see; the old wound that had done Ivar in when he was alive.

  "Scared we'll drive this blade into your wound Ivar? Isn't that your worst fear? To die again the death that you've had already? Your blighted wound? A Wight's nightmare," Mal said sinisterly.

  Brodull's destroyed face looked up with the one remaining eye. The other had succumbed to Mal's spell, and was running down his face in smear of grey sludge. "Why?"

  "You killed our family," Umaryn hissed.

  Ivar was motionless for a few seconds, and then nodded sadly, "I've killed many families. I suppose it is time for someone to hold me accountable for my actions. So be it. End me. I lived a noble life serving my Queen, Lord, and family. May you protect those you love as long as you can, and find the vengeance you seek. May you accept your end as nobly as I have." Ivar lifted his chin proudly and spread his arms wide, baring his open chest wound. Umaryn watched as the parted skin moved over gray muscle and bone underneath the surface.

  "Do it," she said.

  Malwynn nodded, then turned to his former mentor, "Ivar please know that what you have taught us will be used to protect those we love. I'll give you that satisfaction for what you've given my sister and I. But know also, that I hope you find no peace. May you rot eternally for what you've done to my family, and the village of New Picknell."

  Ivar nodded again. He knew the game.

  Malwynn grunted, and slammed the enchanted dagger blade directly into the decades old wound that had refused to heal. Malwynn felt the spell's effect on the dagger notably as it slid home inside the Wight. The blade not only stabbed the flesh, but it bit it, and ate at it, freeing dark blood and rending grey flesh. The small blade stabbed more powerfully than a sword.

  Like his spell, the effect was instantaneous. Ivar erupted in a powerful explosion of grey mucus and dust. Both twins were plastered with the foul mixture, and they stood resolved against it. Umaryn wiped a dark slick of it from her chin with the back of a hammer wielding hand.

  "This should feel better that it does," Malwynn said, looking at the massive stain seeping into the sand at the bottom of the theater.

  "Give it time, it will. Gather your things. We should leave before anyone comes in and sees us with this mess on the floor. I suspect our agenda here in Graben will need to be sped up considerably."

  - Chapter Twelve -

  DANGEROUS GAMES

  "Masterful on every level," Dram said from his familiar seat in the study. To Malwynn and Umaryn, he seemed animated, excited,
or nervous. Normally he was still, his emotions held impassively in check, but with news of Ivar's demise the day before, and all the gritty details of the battle, he was clearly motivated.

  "It was difficult. He nearly killed us, without armor or weapons. If our plan had been even a little off, we would've certainly died yesterday," Umaryn said from her plush leather seat. She looked tiny in the high backed chair, sunken low due to her sore body. Ivar had punished her body in the fight, and she'd be feeling the pain for days.

  "The spells were incredible though Dram. I was able to cast them quickly, and easily as well," Malwynn said, his voice full of some pride.

  Dram eased his slightly frenetic energy and nodded, "From what you've described, your casting was at its peak. Flawless possibly. All foes struggle to escape the grasp of a necromancer on his game. Certainly any foe, no matter who they are, will struggle against the Everwalk twins. You two will be a truly dangerous force for as long as you seek to wield your skills."

  The twins exchanged pleased looks.

  "But what is now most worrisome is that our real enemy, Omniri himself, will surely be aware of the death of his most skilled and powerful warrior. The death of a servant the likes of Ivar will be felt immediately. Ivar was under the impression that my hiring of his services was for the Queen's work, and such hiring is quite common here in the High City. If we are lucky, then Ivar will have thought nothing of it, and failed to mention my name to the others in Omniri's employ."

  "What it we are not lucky?" Umaryn asked.

  Then Omniri himself will be investigating me, and obviously you both. Your exit from the barracks was likely observed, and if he manages to find a witness, or asks enough questions, he'll inevitably be on to you." Dram said all this with no fear or trepidation in his voice. His confidence was unabated.

  "Isn't that an incredibly bad thing for us?" Mal asked, his confidence swaying.

  "It is certainly not the best scenario, but it is unavoidable, and necessary. It means nothing to us. Our agenda continues forth, with no changes," Dram said, suddenly reaching around on his desk through a sheaf of papers for something pertinent.

  "What is our agenda? What is our next step?" Umaryn asked.

  "Omniri travels with a small cadre of hangers-on. He sports an apprentice necromancer that is a powerful user of The Way in his own right, as well as three well trained veteran warrior guards. In order to bring him to his knees, and see this finished," Dram paused, "those four must die."

  "So our task is to find a way to separate them I take it?" Mal asked.

  Dram leaned back in his study chair, "That would make the most sense, yes? The difficulty is that those four rarely travel alone anywhere, and all reside in Omniri's personal residence."

  "Is it similar to your manor?" Umaryn asked.

  "Yes. Sunken into the stone of the cliffs of the Snake Ridge the same as mine. Sneaking into a back entrance isn't really an option, if that's what you're hoping for."

  Umaryn smirked.

  "So what then do you propose? Do we create some kind of event to lure one of them out at a time? Are we stooping low enough to threaten a family member of one of the four to divide and conquer?"

  "That's certainly an option, though a weak one. I suspect these men aren't the type to care about whether or not their family members live, love or die. I suspect they're either completely loyal to Omniri, or so deathly afraid of him they'd ignore most things of the like we could do."

  "That sounds bleak and final Dram. I would've thought a man like you in your position might've had a bit of planning and research already completed for our next step," Malwynn said, disapproval in his voice.

  "Indeed, that does sound bleak and final. As you say, finding a way to lure them out would be a good way to proceed. And as you might imagine, the death of Ivar might be exactly the kind of event we'd be looking for, eh?" Dram leaned forward on the desk, interlacing his long white fingers.

  "Did we kill Ivar for the sole purpose of luring them out?" Umaryn asked bluntly.

  Dram shook his head slightly, "Not entirely. Ivar was present at the eradication of New Picknell, and your vengeance would’ve been incomplete without his final death. It was also certain that if Omniri felt threatened, he would've brought Ivar into the equation."

  Mal snickered, "But really, killing him was just a convenient way to get Omniri and his lackeys out and about so we could get at them easier?"

  Dram shrugged in a guilty fashion.

  "You're a clever fuck, you know that Dram Sorber? Downright evil." Umaryn said approvingly.

  "Why thank you Umaryn. A person in my position would consider that very high praise."

  "So, theoretically knowing where they are coming from, do we simply stake out Omniri's home and wait for them to split up? Take them out as opportunity arises?" Mal asked.

  "That would be ideal, though if everything is as it should be, by now Omniri is already well on to the two of you. He will be asking many difficult questions of the soldiers at the barracks, and undoubtedly by now, they're given up what they know of your identities."

  "Oh dear. You rat bastard," Malwynn muttered quietly, realizing the full extent of their situation.

  "What?" Umaryn asked concerned.

  "Your brother has seen the, as they say, writing on the wall," Dram said quietly.

  "What does that writing say brother?"

  The Everwalk brother shook his head, a lost smile lingering on his lips, "Dram's set us up dear sister. All of this was engineered so Omniri would find us. The location of the barracks, Ivar as a trainer, your use of the forges. All of it was calculated so Omniri only had to ask a few questions, easily asked to be on our trail immediately."

  Umaryn stood up, suddenly furious at the necromancer, "You complete asshole. What the hell will we do?" She winced in pain as her sore body betrayed her.

  "See this through to the end my dear young woman. You've the skills most certainly. And now I've arranged for opportunity. The city of Graben is your battlefield, and you know your enemy, and where they roam. Make use of what you have."

  The twins weren't sure if they should be furious, or thankful.

  They felt like targets. Giant archer's bull's-eyes on their backs, the twins moved about Graben with their eyes scanning every face, and every movement. Everyone was a threat. Every sword in a scabbard was a dire situation about to turn south, and every purple robed servant of the Queen was death incarnate, looking for a moment to turn its attention towards them. Their pulses beat at an erratic rate every time they left Dram's fortress.

  The trio formulated that the best way to find Omniri and his servants was to force them into public spaces. Even an Inquisitor would need exceedingly good reason to incite open violence in the city against another Inquisitor's aide. They felt that they were safest when surrounded by innocents. They still felt very unsafe.

  A good portion of the Low City was unusable for them as well for other reasons. Their confrontations at the barracks, as well as Umaryn's time masquerading as Isabel meant anything in the district of the Low City near the military was dangerous. Any unit of soldiers wishing to make a step up in Graben's power structure could make an attempt on the brother and sister, and that wasn't what they wanted to happen. They had no love for the military of the Queen, but murdering misled soldiers for zero gain, in self defense or not was no longer their game.

  A central observation point was critical, and the city's unique design afforded them a near perfect spot to do just that. To pass from Low City to High, everyone needed to use the city's Artificer operated lift system, and they knew that Omniri and his entourage would be investigating them in the Low City, but returning to the High City. It stood to perfect reason that if they were to find a public place that was near the lift, they would see them come and go, and hopefully before they did the same in kind.

  Malwynn moved ahead of Umaryn almost always. If they were to be seen moving together that would or could tip off anyone watching them. Malwynn left
Dram's home and headed to lift, and only when he was getting on the downward lift did Umaryn leave the manor to follow. Malwynn sought out threats ahead, while Umaryn watched to see if her brother was tailed. They would switch the order randomly from time to time to make it slightly more difficult for anyone doing the same to them. It was a carefully staged subterfuge that they hoped wouldn't backfire.

  Near the base of the lift in the Low City was a large collection of upscale businesses. Umaryn had visited them just prior to their murder of the Tax Man. She'd seen a small café, and they both knew once they'd passed through it that the seating area with the windows facing the main thoroughfare would be perfect for a day or two of observation. Much longer, and they risked exposing themselves to the enemies that were most assuredly looking for them.

  Malwynn let himself into the small establishment early in the morning on the third day after Ivar's death with a tiny ring from the bell above the sturdy door. A cold breeze from the late winter day threatened to cool off the brewed and baked goods inside the café, and Malwynn sealed the door shut to ward it out. At the fine oak counter he ordered a carafe of brewed tea, and a half dozen baked sweets to snack on. The pretty owner's daughter who took his order carefully brought out a polished tray to him where he sat. His small round table with the creamy cloth atop it was chosen specifically. It afforded him a view of the street, the lift, and the door to the café. There was no approach to him he could not see.

  As he snacked on his sweets, and sipped the spiced tea he read a treatise on necromancy openly. It was accepted and common for those in power to do so, and he wanted to convey a certain level of personal authority to be left alone, and left unquestioned. He was polite, but unapproachable.

  Umaryn stringed along the other businesses on the main street leading to the lift, taking her time in each, giving her brother a full pair of hours to observe the constant movement between levels of the city. She visited a perfumery, an apothecary, a furrier, an establishment selling only fine daggers and knives, as well as various other clothiers. She was only interested in the dagger shop, but she feigned interest to stay near her brother should something go wrong. Her eyes were never far from the café.