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

by Chris Philbrook

  "I don't know. I have no knowledge in The Way that can open this door. Not yet at least." Umaryn shook the door handles like her brother had a moment before. There was no give. The doors were well crafted, and the large tumbler lock in the center looked ornate, and expensive. It was likely built by an artificer somewhere outside of Graben.

  "Nor do I. How sad to be turned away at the final door because we haven't an axe to cut it apart with." Mal clenched his fists and sat on an ornate mahogany bench just aside the door. "Could we make a ram of this bench?"

  Umaryn looked at it and shrugged, unsure of the idea. "Probably. Maybe." Her frustration grew as the moments passed.

  "Can we set it on fire? Will the door burn down?" Mal proposed. He liked fire. It was cleansing, purifying, merciless. In this moment, it seemed a fitting weapon to use.

  Umaryn's eyebrows peaked. "There's an idea. Though it would take some time, and what's left of our energy." She sighed, "I wish I knew where the damned-" She stopped suddenly, a grin on her face. "Wait here, rest a bit." She turned and jogged down the hall, clearly with a purpose.

  Mal watched her leave around the corner. It felt insane to be a little relieved that he had a moment alone to sit. He was buried deep under the stone of a mountain he'd been taught to be fearful of his entire life, and he was sitting beside a door that undoubtedly led to a room filled with undead, led by an arch-necromancer responsible for the death and destruction of everything he loved.

  Malwynn shrugged and closed his eyes to rest. If death came for him at this very moment, he would risk it.

  "Mal. Wake the hell up. Who takes a fucking nap at a time like this? Ancestors bless me, my brother is an idiot." Umaryn slapped his cheek and he came to. He'd fallen asleep.

  "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm just- I'm so tired Umaryn. I just needed a few minutes to close my eyes. I'm sorry."

  Umaryn looked at her twin brother, so fragile here in this dark hallway. Together they had come so far, but they were both spent. Exhaustion had the better of them, and there was no chance they could relent now. To give up at this doorway, on this bench would mean everything they had done was for nothing.

  Umaryn crouched in front of him and took his hand in hers again. Her tone was apologetic, but positive, "Don't fret brother. I've good news."

  Mal sat up a little straighter, his body invigorated slightly at her mention of good news, "What have you found? Another way into the room here?"

  Umaryn shook her head smiling, "No. But I realized that such a door with a lock so special, so expensive must have a key. And I wondered to myself who might have been carrying that key?"

  Mal beamed at her, "Makar."

  "Makar indeed my nap taking, foolish brother."

  "So then here we are. No more barriers." Mal looked over at the still locked doors. They had seemed so strong and immobile just minutes before, but now with the key in their hand it seemed flimsy, and nearly transparently thin. Impending violence raged a hair's breadth away.

  "No more excuses, and no more death to deal." Umaryn was grim but relieved.

  Mal turned back to her, fragile seeming again. His incredible strength had faded away for a moment, leaving only the little boy she grew up with that was scared of thunderstorms. "Umaryn if I never have to draw my sword again I'll die happy. I'm fed up with all this violence. I've had nearly my fill of vengeance."

  "I know exactly what you mean. All this has changed us. Not for the better I think either."

  Mal nodded in agreement.

  "It's time brother." Umaryn stood, and offered her hand to Mal once more.

  He took it, and when he reached his feet this time there was no wobble, no lack of clarity in his eyes, and like a dark butterfly leaving its cocoon, she watched as that image of the fragile boy was left behind, leaving only the strong and powerful young man she'd grown to rely on, and love.

  Without thinking, Umaryn blurted a confession, "If I don't get to say this, remember that I love you. You've been a better brother than I've ever deserved."

  Mal's cheeks lit with a warm smile, "I could never have asked for a better sister. You've always had my love, and hopefully we walk away from this, and we can tell each other we love one another more. One day if I can ever fall in love again I can explain to my wife and children how lucky they are to have you in their family." The twins shared a caring moment on the precipice. "Let's be done with this. Give me the key, you ready Dram's lantern. I suspect if we survive this, it'll be your hand guiding that artifact you have so much faith in."

  Umaryn got the lantern out of the pack and ensured that the wick was raised enough to be lit easily. She gave the lantern a little shake and listened for the sloshing of the oil inside. They had only a minute's burn at the most, and the lantern had no way to be refueled. She fished a flint and steel from her pack and readied it for striking.

  "Let me have that." Mal beckoned to the fire starting tools.

  "You are complete shit at starting fires Mal. We've established that over many years."

  "That was before I knew The Way. Give it here." Mal gestured again, this time showing no wasn't an acceptable answer.

  Umaryn was unsure of what her brother was capable of, but the look on his face told her she didn't have to worry. He was confident, and that was all that mattered.

  "Ready?" Mal asked her.

  "No."

  "Perfect then. Let the Everwalk twins take a few steps more." Mal inserted the slender golden key into the ornate locking mechanism, and gave it a twist.

  Omniri stood on his dais, his heart throbbing in his chest in exultation. He heard the tumbler rotate in the door. It sounded so loud to him, as if a bear trap had suddenly snapped shut on the leg of an animal. His prey had finally stepped on the strands of his sticky web, and soon they'd be consumed fully.

  Omniri summoned The Way and motioned for two doors in the corner of the hall to swing open. The telekinetic spell worked perfectly, pushing them outward, and allowing the two groups of special, armed and armored undead standing before them to shuffle away into twin secret passages. The passages would open into the hall that the two intruders stood in.

  There would be no mercy, and no escape for them.

  Malwynn pressed through the door and into the massive hall, leaving the key in the lock so as to draw his sword. Once inside the room he immediately regretted the decision to come to Graben on the train so many months ago.

  His mind absorbed the scene; the hall was fifty feet wide, maybe more, and lit by strings of torches along its outer walls. Eight columns of dark stone supported the ceiling, each as thick as he was tall. More torches were hung in sconces around each column, casting their flickering light across the room's abundant inhabitants. The damp expanse ran deep into the mountain, like a death filled womb.

  From side to side his eyes ran across row after row of dominated undead, extending to the back wall of the sloped roofed room. Mal's poor brain tried to do the math but stopped when the calculations passed a hundred. Any number he came to after that seemed pointless.

  At his side Umaryn strode into the room, then had her own moment of pause. She gripped the handle of the enchanted lantern in her free hand out of fear as she accepted the reality of their situation. Both their eyes stopped on the far left side of the room where a raised stone platform ran the length of the floor. Atop the platform stood a shorter and fatter version of the man Umaryn had killed earlier. This man's eyes pierced like icicles fallen from a castle spire. They both knew exactly who he was.

  Omniri spoke, "Welcome to my parlor Malwynn. Might you introduce me to the lady who you've brought today?" His voice was silky, yet menacing, like silk dragged across the scales of an Oakdale alligator.

  "My name is Umaryn Everwalk. I share the same surname as my brother Malwynn." Umaryn's voice was defiant, and bold. She was careful to stand in such a way that her body shielded the lantern from Omniri's cold eyes.

  "Yes, I see the resemblance. Your eyes betray your false courage young girl. I see
how your bright blue eyes fade to grey when they gaze across my pets. You speak large words, but inside you are very small."

  Umaryn flared in anger, but turned when she heard the clink of metal behind her and her brother. To their rear in the hall they'd just left, Omniri's ten undead had exited the secret passages and now stood, clogging up any chance of an easy exit. The zombies wore chainmail, and instead of the crude iron cages that sat atop their fellow's shoulders, they instead wore steel helms that a living warrior might. In their hands they capably wielded well made flanged maces. The sharpened steel blades surrounding the mace heads were still tinged with the blood of whoever had last died on them. These were special undead, imbued with skill.

  "As you can see, you've conveniently delivered your bodies straight to your grave. I owe you a debt of gratitude." Omniri sounded implacable, arrogant.

  Malwynn wanted to rip his throat out with his bare hands.

  "I suppose I should ask you who you serve before I kill you. If only to see if you are honest with me before death, rather than only after it. Everyone can be made to be honest to a necromancer when they're dead you see."

  "We serve ourselves death mage," Malwynn said contemptuously.

  Omniri shook his head as he paced on his platform, closer to them. His voice was skeptical, "You lie. Someone in Graben that is high in station has led you to my doorstep. Your wrath is not your own."

  Malwynn took a single angry step towards Omniri but the entire room of undead lurched forward to match him, halting him. "Our wrath is most certainly our own you insolent bastard. Your actions alone have brought you into our path, and the seeds you sowed in New Picknell will be harvested this day."

  Omniri looked confused. "New Picknell? Where is this place you speak of? I feel your wrath has been sorely misplaced." The fat necromancer's confusion slowly turned back to impatient anger as Malwynn replied to him.

  "At the end of this past summer your servants, Ivar Brodull, and Makar, and many more, rode south into Varrland to a small village called New Picknell. You and your craven minions set flame to our home, and murdered every single soul there. My sister and I have lost everything because of you. Everything. And now, we're here to settle that score."

  Omniri's bloated face spread into a devious smile. "Oh. That place. Then by now you certainly would have seen a familiar face or two here in my hall." Omniri gestured proudly to his army of the dead.

  Mal and Umaryn simultaneously felt an incredible dread. They had both been consumed with their rage in the presence of Omniri that they had paid no attention to the army of rotting corpses arrayed before them. They had given the faces of the dead no consideration.

  Until now.

  In the front row of undead Umaryn saw a face she'd never expected to see again. What was left of Luther, her barrel chested, smooth headed teacher in the forge stood passively, his grey and bloodied flesh wilted and withered. His head was encased by the same rough iron that all the others were protected by, and he wore the tattered peasant's trousers and blouse that all the dead in the room wore. Her heart lurched, skipping several beats as she swallowed down overpowering emotions. Her eyes swelled with tears, and her mind soured into a strange madness. She had never been more furious.

  And just like that, her thoughts turned to her brother. Standing beside Luther was the reanimated corpse of a girl in her late teens. Umaryn's detached mind realized she was pretty, prettier than most, even dead. She was also very familiar with her dark brown curls collected at her shoulder inside the iron bars surrounding her head. She was almost as familiar as Luther, or family. Umaryn heard a guttural sob from her brother beside her, and she turned to him, hoping to attend him in his sudden grief.

  What should have been a triumphant moment of vengeance had evolved and decayed into an experience of grief so powerful it threatened to end everything they had worked for.

  Malwynn dropped to his knees, crying and calling out, "Oh dear ancestors Marissa… What has happened to you?!" His sword slipped from his fingers and clanged loudly in the near silent room. Mal was disarmed in every sense possible.

  "Mal stand, please. We must grieve later. Now is the time for action." Umaryn was desperate. She felt the armored undead behind them come closer, threatening to strangle them with their sheer presence.

  "I should've suspected this. I should've known Umaryn. I should've seen this coming all along. What now?" Mal's blue eyes, the same as hers turned up to her and she felt his hurt keenly, as only twins can. It stretched through her soul like dry brittle skin cracking on a cold day. It stung, it ached, and it lingered.

  "Mal," she was firm. "We must kill him to release her. I need you."

  From his dais, Omniri mocked, "She needs you Mal. Your sister needs you."

  That did it. The sound of the fat man's shrill voice poking fun at his pain snapped Malwynn's resolve back into place. The tears ceased immediately and he stood, leaving his sword impotently on the floor. Omniri's face lost a moment of the sickening confidence he'd displayed so boisterously.

  "Sister," Mal said in a voice that was stone cold. His eyes were locked with those of his dead fiancé, only a few feet away. Umaryn feared more for his soul in this moment than ever before.

  "Mal?" She asked in return.

  "Give these people peace." Mal's empty hand dropped low, and pointed to where she held the lantern.

  "Absolutely," she said, her eyes locking with Omniri's. She reveled in the sudden look of fear on his face as she lifted the lantern high, and allowed her spirit and soul to connect with the lantern. The process required precious little effort on her part. This was her gift, what she was born to do. It felt like a flood of warmth through her veins and skin, tingling her from head to toe like the sweetest nectar imaginable.

  "Kill them!" Omniri screamed. He jabbed a thick finger at the twins, and as if set free from invisible bonds, the entire town of New Picknell, made undead and wholly evil, surged forward to kill the remaining two survivors.

  In Mal's still closed hand he held the flint and steel tightly. Without fear or hesitation, he conjured forth a small taste of The Way, and squeezed the two items together, imagining the wick inside the artifact lantern. His will sent the magic.

  Umaryn watched as the oil soaked wick sparked, and took flame.

  She felt The Way surge out of the lantern. A powerful resonance filled the room, vibrating the stone of the mountain, and the chests of the living and dead alike. The power of the magic released pushed her backwards, and she had to plant both feet firmly onto the stone to keep from sliding backwards into the rearguard of undead. She was fighting a metaphysical tug of war with the spirit and power inside the lit magical item.

  The light flooding forth from the lantern was brighter than a small flame could've ever hoped to achieve. The spirit in the lantern rang true in the luminescence, showing the innate and divine power of the spirits within all things created in Elmoryn, and all the ancestors that roamed the surface of the world.

  The yellow-white rays hit the undead and stopped them in their tracks as sure as if they had stepped in flowstone. They were pushed back after just another second, and only a second more after that their flesh started to wither, pucker, and melt away into nothingness. Hot water poured on snow was the only thing Umaryn could imagine.

  Mal's vision tunneled. All he could see was the face of the woman he'd planned on marrying. Even in death she retained beauty. However she had died, it had left her face untouched and pristine save for the color of ashen skies. Her eyes were pale and vacant, and Mal knew her soul was lost forever. Inside he wept for the future that had been stolen from them, and for the memory of that last time they had lay in the hay together, enjoying the comfort and safety of each other's embrace. He watched as the light touched her skin, and slowly at first, began to dissolve her away, leaving nothing behind.

  "Goodbye my love," he whispered. A heartbeat later her entire body was eradicated by the light, like sand blown away by a hard desert wind. He watched as
the iron basket that had protected her head fell and bounced loudly off the stone floor. A weight came off his chest. He could breathe again.

  As Umaryn lifted the lantern high she pressed further into the room, pushing the horde of undead back with her light. She was wrathful, and unimaginably powerful with the artifact in her hands. Mal looked to the raised platform and saw how Omniri shuddered in fear. He reached down and picked up his sword. Then, walking at first, then running, he went at Omniri.

  The necromancer snapped to his senses as Mal approached, and summoned The Way. Appearing at the center of his chest a bony carapace came into being. It spread over the rest of his torso like a fast moving army of linked ants, then over his arms, legs and head, encompassing all of his exposed flesh, leaving only a slit visor that eerily reminded Mal of a demented, one eyed skull.

  "Your head is mine Omniri Decadra!" Mal bellowed as he leapt atop the dais, sword in hand.

  Muffled slightly by his bone armor, Omniri met his challenge, "This is your end, not mine child!"

  And then it began. As Umaryn used the powerful lantern to bring final death to her fellow villagers, her brother fought to end the man that had started it all.

  Omniri took several steps backward, far more adeptly than Malwynn could have expected. Despite his girth the death mage was agile. His hands came up, and Mal felt it as the other necromancer summoned will to power The Way again. As Malwynn slashed angrily with his sword, attempting to disrupt the spell, he watched as Omniri's hands took on a shadowy essence, as if they'd suddenly been coated with oil mixed with ash. Mal knew the spell was one of great power, and he knew that if Omniri's hands were to simply touch him, half his soul or more would be stolen.

  He feared he had too little soul left to spare.