The Chronicles of Lorrek Box Set

by Kelly Blanchard

  Surprised by the sudden appearance of another sorcerer, Sirros hesitated but then narrowed his eyes and transferred all the tendrils confining Lorrek to one hand before conjuring an orb with his now freed hand. “I am Sirros, Lord of the House of Rodden, and I do not take kindly to commands.” With that, he blasted the super-charged orb at Bodulf—only for it to pass through him and through Lorrek.

  Bodulf looked down at his chest where the orb had hit him but had not harmed him, and then he lifted his gaze back to Sirros and smirked. “And I am Bodulf, and I most certainly do not like being disobeyed.” He conjured an orb of his own and prepared to throw it at Sirros.

  Shoving her father aside, Vixen flung Lorrek’s dagger at Bodulf then stared as the dagger sank into his chest rather than passing through him.

  Sirros lost his focus—and therefore his hold on Lorrek—and furrowed his brows as he witnessed this strange phenomenon.

  Finally freed from the magical grip that had threatened to yank the magic right out of him, Lorrek slumped but caught his balance and watched as Bodulf slowly dropped his gaze to his chest where the dagger dug deep between two ribs.

  A strange sensation passed through Bodulf’s body, and he lifted his hands and noticed how they were no longer transparent. Still stunned, he turned to Lorrek then offered him a faint smile. “I’m solid again.” He crumpled.

  Lorrek stared at Bodulf. He didn’t understand what had just happened or how it could happen. He didn’t know Bodulf or why he would try to save him, but he had seen how Sirros’ orb passed through him as it did for himself. That meant Bodulf had not been solid, but now suddenly he was, and he had been killed.

  His gaze fixed on the dagger in Bodulf’s chest, and he recognized it as the blade Vixen had used to cut his hand back in Jechorm. Before he had the chance to study the runes and determine its origin, the blade was suddenly yanked out of Bodulf with an invisible force and hurled at Lorrek, but Lorrek deflected it with a touch of magic and set his eyes on Sirros, realizing he had thrown the knife at him.

  Narrowing his eyes, Lorrek decided to handle the threat of Sirros first before facing Vixen. He locked eyes with the sorcerer then magicked away.

  Sirros muttered under his breath at how easily Lorrek kept slipping through his fingers, and then he directed the dagger back to Vixen and dropped it in her hands. “You might need this.” He stepped forward, pressed a kiss on her forehead, then magicked after Lorrek.

  Vixen tried to grab hold of him to stop him, but her hands passed through only the air. With a sigh, she lowered her hands, clenched the dagger, and dropped her gaze at the fallen form of Bodulf, wondering who he was and why he had protected Lorrek.

  Hearing a shout from Ardenn tore Vixen’s sharpened attention over her shoulder, and she saw the young woman fighting Drathic with speed, agility, and precision. Knowing she would need help and that her knives were useless against Guardians, Vixen sheathed her bladed knuckles and picked up a sword from the ground. She went toward Ardenn, but one of Verddra’s men distracted her. Vixen worked to dispatch him quickly and always kept an eye on Ardenn.

  Drathic braced his stance then struck his hands out at Ardenn, sending a powerful blast of magic at her, but she merely stumbled back before regaining her balance. Drathic cocked his head, puzzled by this, but then Ardenn returned the favor, having absorbed the energy of his power, and blasted right back at him, sending him flying back.

  Above her, drones recorded everything and broadcasted it in Jechorm. She looked up at them then pulled off her helmet. “I am human. I do not need to survive your Games to achieve that. We are all human! When will you realize that?” She threw down her helmet and went to Jarovit, pulling off his helmet as well, only to find him barely alive.

  In Jechorm homes, condos, in the streets and restaurants, taverns, beauty salons, corporate offices, conferences, and everywhere else holographic screens displayed the image of Ardenn in the middle of the battlefield and heard her declaration of her humanity. The people of Jechorm stopped and stared then shared a glance with each other. A few men in the taverns exchanged bets over their drinks and games while the women in the salons began questioning among themselves, “What exactly defines ‘human’?”

  In the Guardian Program headquarters Ceras smiled as she watched her daughter. “Show them, Ardenn.” Still smiling, Ceras turned her attention back to the computer then brought her hand to her ear. “Lyston, what’s your status?”

  “Almost have full access to the news broadcast,” his voice sounded in her ear.

  She nodded then looked at Aden. “Did you locate Pelham or Asalda?” She had all the computers in the control center scanning for those two, but she could only watch half of the screens.

  Aden stared at his half of the screens in bewilderment. He knew enough about technology to survive in Jechorm for a short time, but he preferred the much simpler life outside of Jechorm where the use of computers and other technology were not necessary for surviving. Sighing, he shook his head and glanced at Ceras. “Not yet. They remain elusive...” He trailed off when his gaze fixed on the holo-screen behind Ceras as she was looking at him. “Ceras.” He nodded to it.

  Whipping around, her breath hitched in her chest as she saw Ardenn engaging in battle once more with the Guardian. Ardenn possessed every quality of a thief and an assassin, and Ceras was surprised by her display of a magical power. However, despite all her training and superb skills, Ardenn faltered more than once under Drathic’s strong blows.

  Ceras clenched her fists. “Where is Vixen? Or Mel’Nath?” She asked no one in particular but wished she could be there to protect her daughter.

  Ardenn lifted her arms, blocking this strike and that one, then shoved away Drathic’s kick and spun in with her own only for Drathic to catch her leg and twist her to the ground.

  She landed hard but then flipped onto her back and pushed herself up to her elbow before she stopped, seeing that Drathic had unholstered his rifle from his back and aimed it straight at her.

  Ardenn stared up at the reflective visor of the emotionless Guardian then shook her head. “I am one of you. Why?”

  He gave no answer.

  He pulled the trigger.

  “Ardenn!” Ceras screamed and covered her mouth with her hand as she stared in shock at the screen.

  With eyes wide, Ardenn fell back on the ground. Her lips moving with the silent question, “Why? Why?”

  No sooner had Drathic fired the shot then a warrior’s cry sounded behind him, and he turned in time to see Vixen swinging a sword down upon him, cleaving his head from his shoulders. Instead of blood and gore, severed wires sparked as the computerized head toppled to the ground.

  Vixen stood, shocked, as she realized Drathic had truly been a machine. This prompted many questions—how many of the Guardians were human, and how many were simply technology? How did the machine versions master magic? And why did Jechorm even create computerized Guardians when they had humans?

  “No, no—Ardenn, no. I’m so sorry.” Mel’Nath’s pleading drew Vixen out of her thoughts, and she tore her gaze from Drathic’s body to where Mel’Nath cradled Ardenn to him. Her heart sank within her, and she made her way over to them, briefly looking up at the drones recording this because she knew Ceras was on the other side watching. She gave the slightest shake of her head as if to say ‘I’m sorry’ but then set her attention on Ardenn as she went to them.

  In Jechorm, Ceras gripped her hands until her knuckles were white. A sickening feeling churned in her stomach, and her heart stumbled over a few beats. “This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.” She tried to convince herself, but she kept staring at the screen as Mel’Nath wept over Ardenn.

  Vixen knelt beside him with her hand on his back. Ceras recognized the familiar sight of anger rising in her old friend, and Vixen abruptly stood and spun, flinging one of her daggers at the drone recording them. The last image the drone broadcasted was Vixen’s furious face, and then static disturbed the news feed, s
oon replaced with Galvin and Meka.

  “Well, that was most certainly a turn of events—two Hunters mourning the deactivation of a Guardian.” Galvin tsked his tongue and shook his head. “I must say, I do not think that has ever happened.”

  Meka smiled at him, but a shallow disturbance stirred in her brown eyes. “That was quite unusual. She was very adamant about being human.”

  “Also that’s the first time we’ve ever seen a Guardian without their helmet—at least in the Guardian Games. They always fight as ‘humans’ in the Crucibles after they’re given the status of human.” At Galvin’s gesture, an image of Ardenn standing unmasked in defiance against Drathic appeared, and he frowned as he regarded her. “She does clearly resemble a woman. Amazing what technology does these days.” He shook his head in awe.

  In the control room, Ceras glared at the screen, no longer hearing what was being said. Her jaw tightened, and she gripped the armrests of her chair, willing herself not to tackle the holographic display of the broadcast.

  Aden realized how dangerous it was to touch her now, so he lifted his hand from her shoulder and moved back. He had absolutely no intention to restrain her in this state.

  “Lyston.” Her voice—calm.

  “Almost there! There is a camera installed in the control panel. Once this code finishes, I will redirect all broadcasting to that camera, and you will be on every screen in all of Jechorm.” While Lyston said this, Ceras looked around for the camera, and Aden pointed out a device to her.

  She nodded and stood in front of it—fixed her hair, smoothed her top, then sucked in a breath and slowly exhaled it.

  She waited for a signal from Lyston.

  Aden watched her. He related to her situation because he had just lost Tobias. However, he hadn’t been forced to watch him die, and he did have a few last words with him over the comm. Ceras had the opposite experience—no last words, only the ability to stare as her daughter died.

  He shook his head at how twisted life could be and then cast Ceras another look, though she remained unmoved in front of the camera. “Do you know what you will say?”

  She turned to him and smiled. “It is not what I will say that they need to worry about but what I will do.” With that, she turned back to the camera.

  “All right, you are live!”

  At Lyston’s announcement Aden stepped back to stay out of view, and he glimpsed up to the holographic screen now displaying Ceras.

  Throughout all of Jechorm, every holographic screen frizzed with static then cleared to the face of a red-haired woman. The patrons of the tavern grumbled at the disruption. The women in the salon exclaimed at the change of channel. People on the streets, families around the dinner table, and men working late in their offices paused to consider this change. In a conference room, Senate members hushed, and in the Guardian skyscraper—several floors above Ceras and Aden—Asalda stilled and straightened from applying her makeup. Pelham rushed into her room, “There’s been a complication—”

  “Shh!” She cut him off with a sharp gesture and stared at the screen.

  Ceras took a deep breath then smiled. “Greetings—all citizens and senators of Jechorm. I am Ceras—an assassin from the House of Perik. You have just witnessed the death of a young Guardian.” With Lyston’s help, the image of Ardenn sinking back onto the ground after being shot by Drathic appeared on the screen coinciding with the image of Ceras. “Before she died, she insisted that she was human, and...” Ceras drew a shaky breath but pressed on. “And she was. She was my daughter. Eighteen years ago, I discovered I was pregnant with her, and that was highly inconvenient for an assassin, so I came here because I had heard Jechorm had ways of...aborting the baby. I was an assassin. I had no conscience against killing, so I went through with the procedure, and I let them take my baby from me. They told me she had been disposed of and that I had nothing to worry about, so I went back to my life only to be distracted—by something because something was missing from my life.”

  She drew back her shoulders. “I came back to Jechorm to find what I had lost—to find answers, consolation. Instead I discovered my daughter was still alive, raised in the robotic rituals of Jechorian technology.” At this, Lyston pulled up images of the tubes where the fetuses and premature babies were grown outside their mothers’ wombs. He showed a massive mead hall where children sat in ordered fashion and ate in silence, and then another image of small Guardians in armor training.

  “They were raised believing they were the highest forms of technology,” Ceras said on the screen, and Asalda began shaking her head as she watched, hardly listening to Pelham tell her that they needed to go.

  Ceras went on. “They were raised to believe they are not human, but some of them are smarter than that, and they began asking question. Thus you have your Guardian Games.” She shook her head with a crazed smile. “I saved my daughter at age two, and she was raised by the man you saw holding her as she died. She grew up as a normal human, and she only came back to find me because I had stayed in Jechorm to save as many Guardians as I could. They took my daughter from me three times now. First, when they convinced me that, as a fetus, she was not human and therefore it was all right for me to even ponder the thought of aborting her. They took her again when she and I reunited here in Jechorm, and they forced her back into the Guardian Program, and now they have taken her for the last time by killing her—for your entertainment.” Her voice dripped with disdain as she narrowed her eyes.

  “This annual Guardian Game is not in an arena.” As she spoke, Lyston pulled up live feed of the battlefield in Cuskelom. “This is a war between the kingdom of Cuskelom and that of Jechorm, and I am sure you didn’t even realize your great city was at war. See? Your grand Senate keeps secrets from you—little secrets like the truth of the humanity of the child in your womb, to huge secrets like a full scale war. True, you do not have to enlist in the army because they have machines to fight for them, and your children are fighting for you. Your children are nothing more than mechanical soldiers to the Senate—disposable fighters only because they were never wanted in society.

  “How many of you found yourselves with an unexpected or unwanted child? You heard for so long that the child inside you is not human until it is born, and you grew up believing that, so of course—it is only natural for you to get rid of an inconvenience. Think—think! How selfish was it for you to make the choice you made? It wasn’t your choice to make—just as it wasn’t mine to make all those years ago. And now I will correct my wrong.” She stared straight at the camera. “Asalda, Pelham—those responsible for all this moral wrong—I am coming for you.” With that, she smiled—almost charming but perfectly confident and cold.

  In her room, Asalda swallowed hard as the broadcasting suddenly blinked away to static before resuming Galvin and Meka’s coverage of the Games. Behind her, Pelham grabbed her shoulder. “We need to go!”

  She shook herself out of her thoughts and nodded as she rose to her feet and followed her ex-husband. She had no idea where to go or what to do, but she trusted Pelham and went through the motions.

  In the computer room Lyston had hijacked, he observed rapid movement in a certain room and tapped on the dots to identify them. “They’re on the move,” he told Ceras and Aden. “Asalda and Pelham are retreating.”

  As soon as Ceras heard this, she brought her hand to her ear to hear and not miss anything. “Lock onto my signature and direct me to them.” With that, she left the control room, and Aden sighed, shook his head, but then hastened after her.

  29

  Queen Sidra worked closely with Esdras and Aradin while Dustal, Kedessa, and Previn rushed ahead, causing as much of a distraction as possible. Numerous thieves had come out of the woods at her summons, and they gathered round her, and she gave only one command, “Capture as many of the Serhian troops as possible.” They went out.

  Unlike the usual army, they maintained no sense of formation with each other and worked only in pairs or small groups
with one another rather than as a troop or an army. Sidra knew not to depend on accountability or much loyalty, so it surprised her when one after another the thieves dragged back an unconscious or struggling warrior from her husband’s troop without having killed or maimed them.

  Once the soldier saw his queen, he recognized her at once and stopped struggling, though a few refused to join her against King Roskelem. However, they agreed to stand back and not engage in further battle against Queen Sidra’s men.

  Little by little Sidra dismantled her husband’s strength—the best she could do to aid their old ally of Cuskelom.

  Roskelem noticed and magicked before her, causing her horse to rear up, startled by his sudden appearance, but Sidra remained mounted. Roskelem smirked then stretched his hands out at her, blasting horse and rider off their feet, but Sidra rolled to her feet, readied her bow with an arrow, only for her husband to chuckle at her attempts.

  “Seriously, my dear? An arrow?” He arched his brows then clicked his tongue as he strolled up to her. “I can make it burst into flames with only a thought. Actually, I think I will.” He snapped his fingers, and her bow with the arrow as well as the quiver of arrows on her back combusted into flames.

  Quickly, she threw aside the blazing bow and yanked the burning quiver off her back and threw it to the ground. With no other weapons but a dagger she kept behind her back—though she knew it would do little good against his magic—Sidra rose to her feet, and the aura of regality draped around her. She met Roskelem’s gaze unflinchingly. “Why don’t you simply finish it? Finish me, and I will never cross you again—never work against you, never stand against you, or conflict with you.”

  Roskelem’s face twisted in disgust and then pity. “You simply don’t understand.” He shook his head—his hand fidgeting with strands of magic. “You never took the time or made the effort to understand.”