She grabbed her cloak and clipped it over her shoulders. Pulling the hood over her head, she turned to Peoh. "Will you say goodbye to Hiroc for me?"
Peoh nodded. "May the gods keep you safe."
"Which one?"
"All of them."
Without her Daughters robes, none of the Daughters seemed to notice her in the crowd as she passed the courtyard and went to the gatehouse stables. Flight whinnied when Fryda came to her. With a sigh, she stroked the horse's silky hair.
"You didn't kill Alfric," she whispered to the beast. "We're going to find him now."
After Fryda had saddled the horse, she galloped through Indham's gates.
55
Saega
Saega allowed the two men to help him down from the carriage. The closer he had gotten to the spire, the more he felt the power of it. He breathed in its consciousness. Mucus and blood burst from his mouth as he battled a coughing fit.
He had read the grimoire's page many times overnight. He had even tried to find the pool that morning. Unfortunately, he had been called to the execution just as he'd discovered the room beneath the dungeons.
"Do you need assistance getting up the stairs?" one of the men said.
Saega chuckled, wiping his mouth. He extended a hand toward the spire. A brick as large as a tower shield lifted from its place on the outside staircase and floated into the air. It drifted toward Saega as the men watched with wide eyes. It dropped before Saega's feet. He stepped on top of it. "Idmaer hadn't the slightest idea how to use the spire's magic," he said to himself.
A mental command and the brick flew back to the staircase while Saega stood on it. The staff kept him upright, and the trip was slow enough to keep him from losing balance. The brick didn't stop at the staircase, though. Saega flicked his hand, and the double doors flung open. Another flick of the hand and the door to the dungeons opened as well.
He continued on the flying brick, through the corridors and chambers beneath the spire, until he came to the room with the pool. The grimoire's page had spoken of this pool, confirming Saega's suspicions about its existence.
As soon as his aching feet touched the cool waters, he sighed. He continued down, wincing with each step. Before long, his entire body was submerged.
He sat there for a while, beneath the surface, fighting off the urge to breathe in. The feeling was pure elation.
The First Priest had built this pool to restore himself to health and youthfulness. Where all those who had touched the carcaern orb had died, the First Priest had lived. And now Saega would live, too.
When he stepped out from the pool, he gazed upon his image in the pool's reflection. Not only had the waters healed him, but they'd also restored him to youthfulness.
This, he thought, will be hard to explain to Edoma.
He knew she suspected something, since his illness had worn well beyond what might kill a person. But now what would she think? That would be something he would have to deal with later.
Donning his runic robes, Saega took the brick again to the spire's entrance hall. Rather than use the staircase, he commanded the brick to take him to the peak. He rearranged the room, morphing it until it suited his desires. Everything was pure white. Gone was the dark stone that Idmaer had desired. This was no longer a place of darkness, but light.
The gods had their savior, and his name was Saega, son of Alesand.
A knock came from the door.
Startled, Saega bolted upright.
Wulfnoth walked through the doorway. He glanced around. "I see you've made some changes already." His eyes fell upon Saega and his mouth dropped. "How…you're young?"
Saega grinned. He had been looking forward to this. "Thank you for upholding your end of the bargain."
"I'm pleased to finally have Idmaer pay, but it doesn't feel good." Wulfnoth shook his head. He staggered, obviously drunk. His eyes were encircled with dark pits as if he hadn't slept for days. "I don't know who really killed Aern, but I know Idmaer didn't. Have I condemned a man for something he didn't commit?"
"Indham's fall came long before Aern was killed," Saega said. He wanted to hear nothing of Wulfnoth's pitiful guilt. What had Bodil ever seen in this man?
"I thought vengeance would feel better."
"Oh, vengeance can feel so very good." Saega flicked his hand. The fireplace surrounded Wulfnoth. He tried to escape, but bricks encircled him until it was enclosed like an oven. His screams filled Saega with a deep pleasure as he sampled Idmaer's firewine.
He could get used to this.
But that was not to be. There was much more to do before he would ever be able to simply live within the spire.
Saega commanded the spire to bring him the scrying crystal. It obeyed, the scrying crystal sitting atop a godstone brick that levitated toward him. There were shortcomings to the spire—for one, he could only command the godstone that had been mined in the Infernal City and the special iron that had been forged there.
Saega laughed. I am a fool. That is hardly a shortcoming.
He smiled and leaned back into the couch as he drew a blade across his palm and touched the scrying crystal.
The otherworld greeted him. Across the room, standing beside the fireplace, was Hurn's image. It was shrouded behind a cloaking magic—a strange mist in the form of a man but with nothing distinctive to make him out. Saega only knew it as Hurn because this was how he'd always met with him.
"As you can see," Saega said, holding out his arms, "the spire is now mine."
"Congratulations." Hurn's voice was like the crumbling of old earth, ancient and gravelly. "The missing page?"
"In my possession."
"The Archmage of Mundos?"
"Escaped." Saega grimaced. He had been trying to enjoy this day without thinking of the single failed aspect of his plan. When he'd first gone to the spire, it was the early hours of the morning. Peoh had no longer been there. The spire provided a mental image of three figures, but they had been little more than shrouds.
"This displeases me," Hurn said. The mist grew darker. Saega waited to feel pain, but none came. "Our mission must go ahead regardless. The skinwalkers are searching now for the dragon soul. As soon as they find it, they'll destroy it."
"Shall I proceed as planned?"
Hurn dipped ethereal fingers into Saega's chest. Icy tendrils seized Saega's heart. "Everything you have has been given to you by me. I serve the Guardians, but you serve me. Remember that." In a flash of light, Hurn vanished.
Able to breathe again, Saega returned to the mortal realm. Hurn was right. Saega did serve him. But only for as long as doing so was expedient.
The story continues in Book 2: The Dragon Soul
Available 26 April, 2017
Preorder on Amazon here: http://geni.us/dragonsoul
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About the Author
Samuel E. Green was born in Perth, Western Australia and is a writer of dark fantasy with an epic twist.
After spending countless hours reading stories by the likes of Robert Jordan, Raymond Feist, and David Eddings I started to read more morally gray fantasy by writers such as Joe Abercrombie, Brent Weeks, and Brandon Sanderson. I loved the grittiness of their worlds, but I still yearned for that old school flavor where the magic systems are less rigid and heroes are heroic.
With this in mind, I figured I’d write my own.
My characters are flawed, sometimes terribly so. But it’s their quests to become something better, and the ways that they both succeed and fail, which forms the backbone of everything I write.
And dragons. There are always dragons.
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Free Epic Fantasy Novel
Looking for another epic fantasy read? Check out The Destroyer by Michael-Scott Earle. The book is FREE on Kindle, and you can read the first chapter down below.
The Destroyer
By Michael-Scott Earle
Chapter 1- Kaiyer
When I dreamed, it was always of floating green islands. Slow waterfalls tumbled off the sides of rocky earth and disappeared into smoky blankets of mist and unpainted clouds. I jumped between the floating islands with a lazy, drifting bounce, somersaulting amid endless blue sky, punctured by the occasional flock of giant white birds.
In the far distance, sailing ships passed through the azure air like it was water. Often I attempted to reach these vessels, but even my greatest leaps fell short and left me to land on another lush island, conveniently placed to catch my fall. In this dream paradise I never noticed anything living besides the trees, birds, and the distant ships.
Perhaps it is wrong of me to say when I dreamed, as if I only did it sometimes.
I was always dreaming.
I had dreamed of islands for so long, I knew no other life. Then an awakening began. A soft, orange glow peeled back the colors of blue, green, brown, and white, like a sun rising in the morning. The light came from torches which lit the cavernous mausoleum where I had been kept. I don't remember smelling anything in my dreams, but as my crypt was illuminated, my nostrils filled with the aroma of dirt, dust, death, and terror.
Fear emanated from those who awoke me. The delicious scent of their terror filled the cavern like the light pouring from their torches, reflecting off the stone floor and around the group. The five stood twenty feet from me, three males and two females.
Closest to me was a boy with shaggy brown hair, freckles, and disheveled clothes covered with dirt. He held a leather-bound book, its pages and spine crumbling with wear only decades of use would beget. The boy's flesh almost matched the color of the clouds from my dreams, and his dilated pupils hid the true shade of his eyes. His heart raced like the staccato rush of a warhorse galloping down a rocky slope.
Behind the boy was a man holding a bow with an arrow nocked and pointed at my face. His leather clothes were cut tight against his body and oiled to a soft shine. His long dark hair was tied back and his eyes were giant pools of blue. His hands shook as he struggled to keep from releasing the shaft he had pulled back. There seemed something familiar about the man, but my lethargic brain fought against any attempt to remember, and my eyes darted to the next member of the group.
To the left and five feet behind the man crouched an attractive woman who had recently passed her girlish years. Her thick dark brown hair was knotted up into a ponytail on the top of her head. She wore tight-fitting leather pants and a suede-patched green shirt. The clothes were covered in a fine layer of dirt, splotched with mud. She surely spent an abundant amount of time in the sun, her skin was almost the same shade as the dark patches of leather on her tunic. Her soft brown eyes gazed down the long sight of a heavy crossbow with determination, its unwavering barbed tip pointed at my sternum. The sound of her heartbeat might as well have been a soothing breeze of wind chimes when compared to the boy and archer.
I would have to kill her first.
Five feet behind the brown-haired beauty towered a large, grizzled man who carried a single-sided battle axe and a metal shield engraved with light purple etching. His chain mail hung about him, weightless as comfortable pajamas. He seemed ready for combat, but I tasted his fear like I sampled the dust and dirt in the air. His protective stance made me wonder whom he was blocking from my gaze. I focused behind him, and when my vision adjusted to the light I saw he stood in front of a beautiful girl. She peeped from behind the old man's shield at me with horror and disbelief.
The maiden had long blonde tresses cascading like white waves down to her lower back. A sudden memory of similar hair, but sun bright copper in color, ran through my thoughts and then disappeared before I could capture it. Her eyes were light blue, and her pale, creamy skin made me think of a cold drink of milk on a blistering day. She wore a fine looking purple tunic of crushed velvet and thick leather riding pants. Sparkles of gold at her ears and neck hinted at exquisite jewelry, but before I could focus on the glitter, the girl noticed my attention and ducked behind the big axe warrior.
The young boy said something, so I gently turned my gaze toward him to ensure the man and woman pointing weapons at me would not be startled. The boy stuttered out words I did not comprehend and I squinted at him in an effort to make my brain puzzle meaning from his language.
I sat on a long stone platform. The gray dais felt cold to the touch and it reminded me of the waterfalls that had been my companions for so long. I couldn’t remember anything before the islands. Maybe I didn't want to recall memories from before those dreams.
The boy shuffled his feet and studied his book with intensity.
"Are . . . you . . . the O'Baarni?" he stuttered through a thick accent. The name filled me with memories. A handsome man with dark hair, graying at his temples. A massive battlefield, rivers of fresh blood streaming around countless bodies. Men, women, horses. The smell of flowers and the brief flash of thick copper hair. Mocking laughter.
A single scream of heart-rending agony.
"Are you, the O'Baarni?" he said again, glancing back and forth between his book and my face. I realized that I was clothed in a soft gray robe and my bare feet touched the cold stone of the cavern floor. Sudden energy pulsed through me like the tide of an ocean. A memory of power came to my head, but the sensation was more familiar than a fleeting recollection.
"I do not know," I said. My brain told my mouth to say the words and my lips obeyed reluctantly. Still, he seemed startled by my response. "I have been dreaming. Is this a dream too? Were you supposed to wake me?" The boy glanced down at his book and flipped through the pages with frantic speed.
The large old man barked something command-like, and the boy replied back in their foreign tongue. The skittish man with the bow shifted his feet, but he didn't concern me. I found my eyes focusing again on the dark-haired young woman with the barbed crossbow aimed at my chest. Our eyes met and I held her gaze. After a few moments she started to bite her lip, and her heart began to beat faster. She said something strained to the boy and I gave her a small smile.
"We . . . can . . . not sleep . . . you . . . O'Baarni?" he said with hopeful emotion in his eyes.
Exhaustion crashed into me after the boy asked his question. I wanted to go back to the island, but I fought against the sudden desire to lie again on the stone and drift away to sleep. Another memory struggled beneath a thin layer of emptiness, as if I might be close to recalling something once held sacred.
"I can't remember. What is your name?" I spoke gently, wishing that he would understand better.
"I am named Paug!" He couldn't help smiling with excitement, and I found myself mirroring his enthusiasm. The other four people watching our exchange relaxed somewhat and I guessed that they meant me no harm.
"What are your friends named?" I figured an introduction would keep the woman from putting a hole through the important part of my chest.
He pointed behind him to the man with the bow.
"His name is Iarin." The man seemed startled to be introduced to me and managed a ghost of a smile.
"Her name is Nadea." The woman with the crossbow nodded but didn't lower her weapon.
"His name is Greykin," he said, pointing at the old warrior. Greykin also nodded before clearing his throat and spitting.
"She is Jessmei." The beautiful girl smiled at me and raised her right hand, then brushed the loose yellow hair back over her ear.
"What is your name?" the boy asked me after he had introduced his friends.
I considered the language barrier before answering.
"I don't remember." I tapped two fingers to my temple and shook my head. Paug flip
ped through his book again and smiled in satisfaction once he seemed to figure out what I had said.
"Do you . . . know . . . sleep . . . years?" he asked.
"It feels like a long time. Many years," I whispered while he flipped through his book. He nodded once I spoke but didn't look up from the pages.
"Do you have . . . hunger? Want food?" he read from the book and then looked at me afterward with an infectious smile.
I didn't feel hungry, but I thought I might get them all to relax if I ate in front of them.
"Yes," I said, and nodded.
The girl in the back yelled something, and she made her way toward a pile of equipment twenty feet behind her. The old man barked disapprovingly at her, but she had already moved outside his reach. He glanced back to me as my eyes followed her. I moved my gaze to the man with the bow, Iarin. His arms were shaking from holding the arrow taut for so long. The woman Nadea also appeared tired from pointing the large crossbow at me.
"Iarin and Nadea should lower their weapons. I mean no harm," I said to Paug. He flipped through his old book, but before he found the translation I made the shape of holding a bow with my arms and lowered it. He smiled and turned to tell Iarin, but the tall man had already lowered his weapon. Greykin made a sharp remark, but Iarin shrugged his shoulders and grinned back at me. Nadea replied to the axe man before lowering her own weapon. Jessmei walked past with a hunk of bread, yellow cheese, and a small piece of meat.
The Shattered Orb (Vagrant Souls Book 1) Page 27
