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

by Chris Philbrook

  "Will he be okay?" Umaryn asked.

  "I know anatomy, but I'm no more a healer than you, woman. I fear without outside assistance your brother may never be the same again."

  "You know I'm right here?" Mal said angrily, still in considerable discomfort from the wound that was the subject of discussion.

  "My apologies good Malwynn. I've been callous. Clearly you're in pain and worried of your fate. Let your anxiety abate, I've a solution to this that might be adequate. Umaryn, be a good sister and fetch for your brother clean water and linen for bandages. You might be a great sister and fetch for him a few fingers of whiskey as well." Dram turned and walked away, heading into a dark back storage room off of his study. Neither of the twins had been in the room, and its contents had stirred their curiosity. Umaryn rubbed Malwynn on the shoulder and stole away to get the water and whiskey to ease her brother's pain.

  "As I hope you have come to realize, I am a man who spends excessive time hedging against misfortune," Dram said as he returned from his back study. In his bony hands he carried a lacquered red box that was no larger than a thick book. It was covered in intricate golden inlays and script, as well as a fair amount of dust, and looked thoroughly expensive.

  "What is that?" Umaryn questioned gently.

  Dram's hood turned up to her abruptly, halting her line of questioning. He wasn't done talking yet.

  "I have held many titles and carried out many tasks during my years in the service of my Queen. Some of my tasks have taken me far from the confines of my dear Graben, and while I consider myself a prudent man, I am guilty of spending many coins on things I simply wish to have."

  The twins took a chill when his tone turned possessive.

  "From time to time as I move through my existence, I find myself needing resources. I procure those resources as needed. When those resources become tarnished, or broken, I procure ways to repair them, or I obtain replacements. Many of these resources I find myself wanting come from places quite far from where we stand at this moment. With Omniri and his henchman so close to us, I do not have the time to replace you Malwynn, nor the desire to, hence, I shall repair you. Though I find it distasteful and personally inadequate for my beliefs and reality, your Church of Souls does provide an irreplaceable service in the lesser world outside of my Empire. Are you two knowledgeable of their Tonics?"

  Malwynn nodded, "I've heard of them, but I don't know much of them. My mother spoke of our parents using them when they were more active roaming the world. They're restorative in nature I believe?" Malwynn said softly, the tone of hope appearing in his voice. Dram's voice had served to dull the pain in his leg a bit. The aged necromancer was captivating.

  "Next to the body of a properly interred Saint, the Apostles of your precious Church of Souls place fifty gold-plated flasks in a particular rack, in a particular way. You might've seen these racks at one of your major Cathedrals?" Dram saw that the twins shook their head. They'd never been to a city large enough to house a Cathedral, or a Saint for that matter. "These flasks are prepared in such a way so as to absorb the remnant spirit still inside the Saint's body. There's no proper way to know how long each flash takes to absorb enough essence to transform into a proper Tonic, but once per year each Cathedral opens their sealed rack, and examines them for the presence of The Way, thus telling them which flasks have become Tonics, and which remain as well water for a year more. Each Cathedral maintains fifty flasks all brewing up so as to continue the miracle of healing that is called the Tonics."

  "That's incredible. The power of the spirit is never-ending, it seems." Umaryn was impressed.

  "Indeed. Some of us draw upon the spirits of the items we create, or the souls set loose in the world, and the rest of us simply rip the souls straight from their dead bodies to harness," Dram said dryly, and just a little sarcastically. The twins weren't impressed.

  "So what's in the box?" Umaryn asked again.

  "Kind of you to ask young lady. I'm sure by now you've already put two and two together." Dram opened the red enameled box, revealing two long golden flasks set in plush forest green fabric. One end was rounded and smooth, while the other end had a screwed on cap. "These are Tonics drawn from the aura of Saint Kincaid where he lies in Daris." Dram withdrew the smooth metallic flask from the green velvet interior of the box and motioned for Malwynn to sit up.

  "Do I just drink it down? What will happen?" Mal winced as the underside of his thigh came to a rest against the foul table.

  Dram wrapped his fingers around the lid and unscrewed it from the Tonic's thin container. He lifted it to his hood and sniffed at the liquid within. "Drink it all down at a comfortable pace. As I have never imbibed a Tonic, I am not entirely sure when the magical effect will happen, but I am led to believe it will be rapid, and noticeable. This will be a learning experience for all of us." He handed the flask to Malwynn and took a step back as if an Artificer chemist might after combining two reactive substances together.

  Mal sniffed at the Tonic. It carried no perceptible odor, fair or foul, and after taking a deep breath, he put it against his lip and tipped it up, allowing the smooth and cool fluid to slide out and into his mouth. It had the clear earthy flavor of creek water. Easily he swallowed the entire contents of the drink in a mouthful and a half. He lowered the flask and looked down at his leg, waiting for something to happen.

  "Do they expire?" Umaryn asked as she stared at her brother. It felt as if too much time had passed.

  "Not so long as they remain stoppered. I wonder if the magic in the draughts act slower over time?" Dram was fascinated.

  "Wait, I feel it," Malwynn said. He could feel the Tonic indeed. Malwynn closed his eyes and let the sensation of the Way-infused drink take over. It felt like the spreading warmth of powerful liquor in his stomach, veins and muscles, radiating outward from his belly. It left a trace of tingle and relief in its wake, like the feel of a good stretch as you wake in the morning. His eyes unclouded from the sting of pain, and his thoughts became less muddied as the warmth spread. When it reached his toes and abated, he realized he was smiling. It had taken but a few seconds to run its course through his system. Neither Dram or Umaryn had seen anything happen with their eyes, other than the briefest rapture on Mal's face.

  "Let's see it." Umaryn gestured at his leg.

  Malwynn rid his face of the silly smile on it and turned his hip to reveal the tear in his trousers where the infected wound had been. Just from the fluid way he was moving Umaryn could tell he was better, if not entirely healed.

  Dram used both hands to pull the trousers open, revealing the puckered pink skin of a scar where the wound had just been fresh and open. Dram's head bobbed up and down slowly in approval. "How does it feel?"

  "Almost as good as new." Mal flexed his leg at the knee, testing the hamstring muscle that Dram had feared was severed or damaged beyond repair. It felt tight, but there was no pain.

  "Stand. Test it easily." Dram took a step back. Umaryn did as well.

  Mal slid off the table slowly, putting both feet on the cold stone floor hesitantly. The last thing he wanted was for the leg to give way now. Thankfully, it didn't. No lightning bolts of pain ran through him, and despite the earlier stiffness, he was able to move about comfortably, and gracefully. Mal bent at the knees and hopped a few times to illustrate the incredible improvement.

  "Fantastic. Thank the ancestors," Umaryn said.

  "Well, it isn't as practical as Rend Corpse or Drain Soul, but it will have to do. I will trust the final Tonic to you Umaryn, in the understanding that your brother is the one most likely to suffer further wounds."

  Umaryn took offense, "Is that meant to be sexist Dram? Will he be hurt because he's a man, and will be the brave one at the forefront of the battle?"

  Dram laughed, "No woman. It is because you are the sensible one right now. Your brother is starting to feel omnipotent, and has taken too many risks. I trust that you are the one to make the best decision right now. Don't make me change
my mind due to your oversensitive feelings."

  "You know I'm right here?" Malwynn said again, frustrated.

  "Only due to your sister's hard work and love for you. Come. Let us plan the next phase of our operation. Time is short, and our prey is moving to attack or elude us."

  "Is moving to?" Umaryn asked as Dram walked to the doorway of the cold study.

  "Is moving to. You think you are the only operatives I have wandering the city of Graben this day? I've had someone watching Makar as the opportunities arise. They are aware that something is amiss with their three hunters. Come. I'll speak more of it in the dining hall. A meal should be prepared for you by now."

  And a meal was prepared indeed. Dram had instructed his undead servants to cook a ham, and they'd managed a good job of it. Mal wasn't quite capable of imbuing his three new undead with any form of intelligence yet, but he knew that was well within Dram's capabilities. From his readings Mal knew that most necromancers taught their undead minions how to fight with weapons and armor, but Dram had seen that many of his servants were given more domestic skill sets. Some could cook, others clean. The ham was moist, smoky and salted, and was most welcome as it melted in the twin's mouths.

  "Makar has gone to ground in Omniri's keep in the High City. It is virtually guaranteed that he will not leave until they are prepared for another confrontation. It seems we will need to go after teacher and apprentice simultaneously," Dram said, sitting at the head of his dining table, fingers interlaced together. He paid the delicious meal no attention. They'd never seen him eat, or drink.

  "Won't they be petitioning the city guard for assistance in this? Shouldn't we be worried about them getting support from the Queen's forces?" Umaryn asked through a mouthful of meat.

  "Not necessarily. A Lord High Necromancer calling out for assistance in this manner would be a terrible embarrassment. Career-ending, potentially. The Queen might laugh at his ineptitude to protect himself. We should also be very mindful that both Lord and apprentice should have a substantial amount of undead in their midst. It will not be a battle of merely two versus two."

  "I've got the three undead I created earlier. That will help to even the odds."

  "Yes Malwynn, it will help some, but it will not come close to evening the odds. Makar is likely to have three times that under his sway alone. I've heard rumors that Omniri keeps a small legion of the dead in his home to protect from incursions. When he roams the city he brings six armed and armored everywhere he goes, even to the Queen's Court in the Palace. Should he feel threatened, he's apt to bring three times that number or more."

  The twins ate a little slower with that news.

  "So what do we do?" Mal asked.

  "We need some form of great equalizer. Some way to lure them out of the keep, or some way to assemble a massive force to bring in with you should you need to go in after them." Dram laid his hands flat on the large table, and then began to tap his long fingernails rhythmically.

  "Can we bring your undead with us? You've got a substantial force," Umaryn asked. She loathed the idea of bringing undead to battle at her side, but to see the man that had issued the death sentence for nearly her entire family, she'd stomach the revulsion.

  "I could only spare perhaps ten. And even then I'd be forced to come along with you. That in and of itself would be a great equalizer I speak of, but there are considerable problems that would come along with my presence." Dram continued to rap the table with his fingernails.

  "Such as?" Mal inquired.

  "For one, the risk of personal injury or permanent death to me. I'm not fond of dying again you see, and the entire point of this endeavor for me is to advance my station here in the Empire, not to die trying. Also, if I were to be connected to this in any fashion, it will all be for naught."

  "Dying again?" Mal asked, almost frightened of the answer.

  "It's a long story. One I prefer not to tell." Dram sounded apologetic, but firm. That story would not be told.

  Umaryn missed the exchange as she chewed a chunk of ham and thought. She shared an idea, "What about fire? Can we get our hands on some oil and smoke them out of the keep? Fire is a great equalizer. I think it'd also be damned satisfying to burn them to a crisp the same way they burned our village flat."

  "Oooh, I like fire. Can we do fire?" Malwynn pleaded to Dram.

  "No. Fire would draw the attention of the Queen's Fire brigade. A home aflame in the High City would draw intense attention. Fire won't work for our purposes."

  "Damn. I'm starting to think the ancestors are looking away in our time of need," Mal said exasperated.

  Umaryn agreed, "We could use a little assistance from the dead right now."

  Mal's eyes widened in revelation. He turned to Dram, "How much do they know about what happened to the three men we killed earlier?"

  "I can't be sure. They are aware that their men have not returned yet, which bodes poorly for their success. If Omniri has spies as I do, then he will know of the skirmish in the Low City soon."

  "Then time is of the essence." Malwynn stood up urgently and stabbed a huge mouthful of the savory meal with his fork.

  "What are you thinking?" His sister asked.

  "If Omniri and Makar are still unaware that their trio is dead, then we can use them to enter the keep. If we clean up their bodies and dress them to hide their wounds, I think I can get them to walk us to the front door."

  "You will need makeup for their skin. And one of you should be dead. One of you at least. It will seem more believable that way." Dram's mind had all gears engaged on the plan.

  "I'll be dead. Put me in a cart and throw an old blanket over me. It'll seem less suspicious and likely that they are undead if I am dead. My sister can act the part of the captive well enough. All we need is the door opened."

  Umaryn nodded confidently. "What about our great equalizer? Once inside the home we'll be at the mercy of traps, guards, and undead. What then?"

  Dram stood. "See to the cart, and a mule or horse to pull it. The stable should have what you require. Have the three guards cleansed and redressed. I'll have my servants provide clothing. Arm and armor yourselves for the final push. Tonight, you get the justice you've sought for so long." Dram took his leave, heading to the hall.

  Umaryn stopped him with a question, "Where are you going?"

  "I might have something I could offer to you. An equalizer of a sort. Move with haste my associates. As Malwynn correctly said, time is of the essence."

  Umaryn got a small cart out of Dram's stone stable in his overgrown and frightening garden. She took a minute to caress Tinder and ensure that she properly said goodbye. Her brother's massive Gvorn stood impassively in his stable. Bramwell was more a beast than Tinder was, despite Tinder's considerable girth as a horse. The Gvorn were savage creatures made for war, and she wished they could bring the creature into Omniri's home for this confrontation.

  She hitched one of Dram's pack horses to the cart and made certain that it was ready to go. Back in Sorber Manor she readied her weapons and armor, and assessed her ability to go to war once more that day. Her armor was pristine; maintained by her spells to a perfect degree, as was her brother's. Her weapon, Chael's hammer, was also in as good a condition as was possible. She comforted the spirit in the weapon and gave it the ability to blossom into full health regularly. The weapon's power would not betray this day.

  Deep inside her core she turned inward, testing her fortitude to manipulate The Way. It took singular focus and concentrated effort to speak to and bend the spirits in things to her wishes. Casting each spell drained her a bit, and if she was going into this with anything but her full abilities, it could be the last time she and her brother stood back-to-back against a threat. She could not fail tonight. Would not fail tonight.

  Her assessment told her she was ready. Eating the full meal and resting for a few hours saw her reserves of willpower filled, and she knew she'd be ready and capable. As she walked down one of the myriad staircases set
into the dark and deep stone of Sorber Manor, she hoped her brother was as ready as she thought she was.

  Malwynn's leg felt good. Good enough to forget about for the night. His armor, the stolen armor of an Empire soldier, was also good. His sister's need for perfect maintenance of their things of war meant he was never left wanting for a sharp blade, or well taken care of armor. He did wish for a better sword, but leaving the manor to find a smith wasn't prudent with his prey so close to slipping away.

  Dram's voice carried through his bedroom door, "Malwynn, come to the study when you're prepared."

  "Very well Dram," Malwynn replied as he adjusted the fit of his armor. He looked into the six foot tall mirror mounted on the wall and took his reflection in. He despised the purple of the Empire, but he appreciated the cut of the armor on his body. He wished his father and mother were here in this moment to appreciate the man he was becoming, the man he had become.

  Instead he was left with merely memories of a family murdered, and the raging anger that had motivated him to seek such lengthy vengeance.

  He did not wish for his father and mother to see that side of the man he'd become.

  They were back in Dram's study.

  "I've held onto this prize for nearly a decade. It came into my possession when I was asked to prosecute an investigation against the wearers of red. The rebels that seek to unseat my beloved Queen. They had this stored in the home they were meeting at." Dram held a small lantern aloft. Gold, silver, and platinum were worked in a fine interweave up the length of the glass bulb that was intended to contain the wick and the flame. It was made with tremendous skill, ornamented with jewels, etchings, and scripts in various languages. Neither of the twins could read the words, but the lantern itself was beautiful nearly beyond belief.