“I told you I do not wish his death!” The force and raw anger in the exclamation support his words, but the cold cast to his glare contradicts them.
“We both know that is a lie. Daniel brought shame upon your people by mixing the magic lines, a dangerous thing to be sure. Victoria is hardly the threat spoken about by prophecy, but if nothing is done, more people will be emboldened to break the healthy taboo we’ve cultivated for centuries.”
“My people won’t hunt him,” Jordan Lekros admits. The finality in his voice tells me he’s given the matter much thought.
“Ah, but your people can make a clean capture. Bring my niece to me.” Jackson raises a hand to forestall the obvious protest. “I swear not to harm her. I simply wish to hold her until her father surrenders.”
“I’m not condoning the use of a thirteen-year-old girl to bait a trap.” Despite the words, I detect a strange excitement and triumph streaming off the Supreme Huntmaster.
“Think of the benefits. Your problem will be dealt with and your hands will be clean.”
“What do you get out of this deal?” Lekros asks, not bothering to mask his suspicion.
“In addition to restoring my family’s honor, I will be doing my part to prevent the end of the world. Does a man need more reason to act?”
“Most men may not need more reason, but you are not most men. You always have a reason.”
Jackson laughs.
“Indeed I do, but you need not concern yourself with that.”
“If it involves one of your schemes, it will likely concern me later, so I’d rather hear it now,” Lekros insists. “Take off your hood. If you want my help, look me in the eyes and tell me the truth.”
A battle rages within Jackson, but he finally agrees. Slowly, he reaches up and removes the hood. His face has withered since my last glimpse of him. His eyes have sunk deeper into his face, making his cheekbones more prominent.
Supreme Huntmaster Lekros draws in a quick breath. Horror and revulsion has him reaching for a dagger before he masters the surprise.
Jackson glares defiantly.
“So you know my secret. I have slowed the poison with my powers, but only one thing can save me.”
This statement confuses me, for I know not why Jackson Castaloni wishes his condition blamed upon a zombie bite when it stems from a different source entirely.
“You promised not to harm Victoria.”
The Saroth Conjurer’s smile is cold and cruel.
“And I won’t, but once her bracers are removed, she will cease to be herself, leaving me no choice but to kill her. When that happens, even your people will beg to be in on the hunt.”
A storm of conflicting emotions within Jordan Lekros distracts me. Only one thing is clear to me, he wants the bracers for himself, but I cannot fathom why. His magical abilities are not suited to using the bracers, yet his mind buzzes with a strong sense of possession.
Released from my hold, Alec rushes forward.
“No!” Anguish fills the boy’s voice as tears course down his rosy cheeks. The sun has now risen and shines fully on his angelic features.
“Silence,” orders Jackson.
“Let him speak,” says Lekros.
Alec struggles against sobs. Short of breath, he swallows hard and shouts, “Not Vic!” Reaching his uncle’s side, Alec clings to Jackson’s robes. “Please, don’t kill Vic.” Each word emerges like a full speech.
I feel Jackson’s rage mounting like a deep ocean storm. Risking much, I marshal my powers and soothe the child into silence.
“This is madness,” Jordan Lekros comments. “I cannot believe I’m even considering this. I don’t even know if it can be done. Victoria doesn’t deserve such an end.” Despite his words, the Supreme Huntmaster’s mind hums with pleasure. Even though he will delegate the hunt to someone else, he relishes the thought of it.
Sensing victory, Jackson presses his case.
“You bear the burden of leadership, as do I. How do you think I feel? She is family! Still, I stand a better chance of using those bracers to their full-effect and stemming the tide of rising undead than an untrained girl!” He pauses to let his words set in and removes the traces of passionate panic from his tone before adding, “Many will die if we do not take this distasteful path. Will you help me?” After another significant pause he adds, “You can have the bracers once I’m done with them. I know you seek them.”
“We cannot both have them,” Lekros points out. “You’ll turn.”
Shaking his head, Jackson says, “I only need them for a time to reach the power behind the Veil. Then, you can keep them.”
Lekros wants to believe Jackson, but like me, his suspicions remain high.
Chapter 5:
Shadow
The Lady
Supreme Huntmaster’s Office, Castle Cardeth
As he waits for his son’s arrival, the Supreme Huntmaster considers his meeting with the Saroth Conjurer. He doesn’t like the plan they formed together, but the alternatives appeal even less. The number of undead sightings grows daily. If the alarming trend continues, his people will be hard-pressed to protect the Bereft.
Standing in front of the window, Jordan gazes out at the flickering firelight from the courtyard lanterns. Since the lanterns in his office are kept very low, darkness surrounds him. Oddly enough, he finds it comforting.
As much as it galls him, he admits that Jackson Castaloni understands the situation perfectly. The Arkonai people will never allow a contract to be written for Daniel Saveron, especially not after he has started fulfilling contracts again. Nothing had been done in the twelve plus years since the attack that killed Marina Castaloni-Saveron and wounded young Vic.
Unease runs through Lekros at the thought of sending Shadow after Vic to get to Daniel. He knows it’s a cowardly move, one for the greater good to be sure but still cowardly. Had Jordan been stronger back then, he would have challenged Daniel to a death match to restore his people’s honor. Now that he is stronger, the moment has long since expired.
The thought of leaving magical bracers in Jackson Castaloni’s hands deepens Jordan’s unease. The Conjurer may claim noble intentions, but there has to be more to his motivation than the desire to prevent himself from becoming one of the undead. Longstanding tradition alone dictates he have a deeper, darker desire lurking in his mind.
Shadow’s experience pales in comparison to his more seasoned colleagues. Castaloni argued specifically for Shadow, citing the need for a low-profile hunt. One would think that a society of hunters must be good at keeping secrets, but rumors fly just as swiftly, perhaps even quicker among the Arkonai than among village people.
The cynical part of Lekros applauds the genius of the move from the Saroth’s point of view. He had not given serious thought to a double cross, but now with his son’s reputation—and perhaps even his life—on the line, he has even more reason to see the mission succeed.
“You summoned me, Supreme Huntmaster,” says Shadow formally.
Years of training keep traces of surprise and alarm locked inside. Jordan Lekros doesn’t like that Shadow’s approach went undetected, yet fierce pride fills him at the boy’s mastery of stealth. The Supreme Huntmaster turns slowly to face Shadow and clears his throat so his voice will be steady and strong. “I have a contract for you. It is there on the table for your consideration.”
Shadow gestures toward the parchment and it obediently flies to his outstretched hand. A brief touch and some whispered words cause the pendant hanging from his neck to glow, giving him enough light to peruse the paper.
I try to get a sense of Shadow’s mind, but I meet impressive mental walls. Perhaps my powers have truly atrophied, or perhaps I am simply not meant to know much about this black-clad, slight young man. For some reason, I know he has a role to play in the future, but the impression is meaningless without context.
Lekros suppresses the desire to scold Shadow over his casual use of magic. Casual use can lead to disrespect
for the art, a cheapening of the gift Fate had bestowed upon the Arkonai. The Supreme Huntmaster says none of this, for he does not wish to further alienate the boy by treating him like a first-year apprentice. For a brief moment, he fights the impulse to step forward, rip the black cloth away from his son’s face, and gaze upon him. He wonders how long it’s been since he last looked upon his child’s face.
As waves of longing threaten to become a dangerous distraction, Lekros pushes aside his reservations about Arkonai tradition. He understands and believes in the wisdom of keeping family connections distant. When he chose the path to become Supreme Huntmaster, Jordan relinquished family ties to his pregnant wife to protect her from ambitious rivals. The memory of Christa’s hurt expression stabs Jordan even as he consciously tries not to think about her. Since that time, he’s seen her only once when she came to present the child to the elders for blessings. Clearing his mind, Jordan focuses on arguments Shadow may bring up and how to answer them.
“This is not right,” murmurs Shadow.
Pulled from his reverie, Lekros wishes somebody had taught the boy to speak boldly instead of this sibilant speech that requires one to strain to hear. “It is necessary.”
“I know this girl and her companions. They are no threat. Why do you wish this done?”
Sighing, Lekros considers how much to reveal.
“The bracers the girl wears could be the key to closing the Darkland Portals through which these infernal beasts are seeping.”
“Then ask for her aid.”
The ridiculous notion strikes Lekros as funny, but he suppresses the mirth.
“She is young and lacks the necessary power.”
Stony silence meets this declaration.
Knowing he’s offended Shadow, Lekros holds out a hand in a placating gesture. Then, a disturbing thought strikes him.
“You’re not in love with the girl, are you?”
Shadow barks a harsh laugh.
“Would it matter if I was?” He waves off an answer and continues, “No, Father, but you are underestimating her.”
“Do you doubt your abilities?” Lekros wonders, confused by Shadow’s continued reluctance.
“I can do it. I’m not convinced I should do it.”
Deciding on a different tact, Lekros appeals to the boy’s ego.
“You’re the only one I trust with this, Devin.”
Shadow stiffens at the use of his given name.
Slowly, Jordan Lekros reaches out and places a bracing hand on his son’s shoulder. “As the contract says, it is for ‘capture’ only. Bring me the girl so I can give the bracers to her uncle until he closes the portals. Then, we will restore them to her. You have my word on that.”
The dim light from Shadow’s pendant casts only enough light to reveal the lower part of his masked face, but Jordan feels the intensity of his gaze.
“And her companions?”
“What of them?” Lekros asks.
“The contract speaks of the girl’s fate, but they will not abandon her.”
“If possible, give them to the girl’s uncle so he can think he controls her, but if they become too much trouble, deal with them as you see fit.” The Supreme Huntmaster avoids ordering the death of the girl’s companions, for he knows Shadow will not approve.
Shadow’s disapproval gets aired anyway.
“Tellen is Arkonai.”
“True, and the Polani girl is Marcus’s daughter. Jackson Castaloni will not harm them without cause.”
“He will betray you,” Shadow whispers.
“I know,” Lekros replies as a surge of pride sweeps through him. “I’m looking forward to it, but that should not lead to death for the other youths if that’s what you’re worried about.” He removes his hand from Shadow’s shoulder before the urge to crush the boy in a hug can overcome his dignity.
Silence falls between them as Shadow considers various arguments, and Lekros silently prays the young man will trust him to handle these dangerous political games.
“You want a war,” Shadow says at last.
The statement takes the Supreme Huntmaster aback but he recovers quickly. Making a decision to trust his son, he says, “The Saroth are dangerous. The world will be better without them.”
“But where does it end?”
“What do you mean?”
Shadow lays the parchment on the side table where it came from and paces, gathering his thoughts. Lekros lets him, knowing that the boy must be willing or the contract will not be fulfilled. Finally, Shadow leans back against the far wall and crosses his arms over his chest.
“What do you intend, sir?”
“The reasonable Saroth who surrender will be spared, and the wayward Arkonai can be reformed,” Lekros replies, disappointed in the weakness of his son’s argument.
Pushing himself off the wall and unfolding his arms, Shadow once again reaches out and snatches the contract out of the air.
“I will take the contract.”
The sudden reversal leaves Jordan Lekros elated but suspicious. He does not believe the boy will betray him, but perhaps a secondary contract is in order.
Chapter 6:
Ghostly Visitor
Victoria Saveron
Temporary Camp, Foot of the Karnok Mountains
Nobody enjoys feeling helpless, but that’s exactly the emotion I’ve been drowning in for days, even before the first attack. I hate that it makes me sound needy, but honestly, the feeling of dread has followed me since my father left five and a half days ago.
Neither Katrina nor Tellen will tell me about the recent fight. I can draw my own conclusions from the disgusted way Katrina keeps shaking her fur in her dog form.
I wouldn’t even have remembered there was a fight if my tingling teeth didn’t remind me. I’m told some people have the unique ability to block out traumatic events, but I find it plenty traumatic to awaken amidst the cold ashes of recently vanquished undead. I am trying hard to not freak out, but so far my success is only marginal.
My appetite died with the zombies, but now that Katrina’s finished with her self-cleaning rituals, she calmly rebuilds the fire and reheats my portion of the stew. Since I lack the energy for a rousing fight, I meekly accept the bowl, thank her, and eat without tasting anything.
Tellen’s off gathering more firewood so we don’t have to do that in the middle of the night. He’s under strict orders to not bring back any edible surprises. Each sizzling crackle of firewood has me flinching as I think about the exploding baydonberries. A deep desire to make myself useful goes only so far as the inconvenient thought of having to leave my blanket.
To distract myself, I study my bracers. They’re the thinnest I’ve ever seen them. The tiny etchings that sometimes look like fish scales are now tighter, giving the illusion of finely woven threads. They confuse me. Most of the time, I can remove them if I want, though there have been a few troubling times in my life when that was not the case. Usually, the bracers look like ordinary bracelets, but whenever I reach a certain level of unease, they morph into sleek bracers as hard as steel swords. I’m tempted to remove the bracers for the sense of freedom.
“Do not even think about removing those,” Katrina scolds. For someone who claims no Minder capabilities, she reads me quite well.
Heeding her words, I quit fiddling with my bracers and slip into my thoughts.
“What are you thinking about?” Katrina asks, noticing my attention has wandered.
“Magic schools,” I reply.
No further explanation is necessary, for we have had this debate many a time. From what I understand, four of the seven main schools of magic attract mostly Saroth and three attract mostly Arkonai practitioners. Saroth given access to the Gift become Minders, Shapeshifters, Conjurers, and Destroyers. Conjurers occasionally answer to the title Summoners as well, since most of what they do is call objects and persons from beyond the Veil.
The Arkonai often become Seekers, Healers, or Guardians, whose uncanny r
eflexes can easily be hidden among the Bereft. The Saroth and Arkonai leaders try to label the schools as either dark or light magic, but if my father has taught me anything, it is that the Seven Gifts simply exist, having no more sense of morality than a newborn baby.
“Ah, I see. Too bad Tellen is not here or we could have a proper argument.”
“Over what?” Tellen inquires. “Magic schools again?”
“What else,” Katrina confirms, looking amused.
“I just want to go to sleep,” I say, not wanting to get into a lengthy discussion.
“So admit you’re wrong and leave it at that,” Tellen teases. He drops the new firewood near the edge of the existing fire and chooses a small branch to poke at the greedy flames.
Our last debate was over whether or not to keep the fire going throughout the night. Tellen wanted a perpetual fire, I didn’t have an opinion, and Katrina didn’t think it was wise but finally quit arguing when I observed that most of our enemies could already sense us. I think the winning stroke was Tellen’s point that zombies hate fire.
“I’m not wrong,” I respond, rising to his bait. “You’re proof that I’m not wrong.” Annoyance seeps into the statement, and I hope Tellen will pick up on it and back off.
Typical of Tellen, he knows I’m riled, so he presses on.
“I’m special,” he says with an easy smile. He settles on the ground next to the fire and continues provoking it until it brightens. “You can argue until the end of time, and I’ll keep telling you I’m a Guardian with a few extra toys to play with.”
“Lightning is a Destroyer power,” Katrina notes. In this debate, she’s the neutral one. Since before she could walk, she knew she would become a Shapeshifter. Though most people who don’t understand shudder when speaking about dark magic, Katrina is quite comfortable with her abilities. “Perhaps Vic is right that people can cross-train in different schools of magic.”
“Then what schools of magic do Vic’s powers come from?” Tellen challenges. He directs his gaze to the fire but the question is aimed at Katrina.
Awakening (Redeemer Chronicles Book 1) Page 3
