Reapers of Souls and Magic: A Rohrland Saga (The Rohrlands Saga Book 1)

by R. E. Fisher

  “I believe it is because of their seclusion. They know nothing of what we have become as a people.”

  “Then perhaps she should seek out one of the cities to learn. Like Noli Deron or Philanthis?” the Shadow Elf pointed out.

  Her mistrust of their ancient visitor showed in her dark brown eyes, which were highlighted by a white tattoo that formed a broken figure eight around them. She crossed her arms and leaned forward onto the large oaken table they sat around. Her gesture told Lleward more about her already formed conclusions than her words had. Yet there were nods of agreement around the table, Lleward noticed.

  “Would you have her think that we are all of the same makeup as those who inhabit the Wicked City? Or that we are only concerned about money and control, like those who rule Noli Deron, Phistic?” he asked. “Could you imagine the damage she could do if she were to fall under the guidance of Empress Ciesis, or one of the lesser noble dynasties—say, the Dynasty of Tears or Razors? The gods forbid she should fall under the influence of the Dynasty of Light! You each know that many of those dynasties are trying to topple the rule of Ciesis. Would you see that whole continent in flames again? I certainly wouldn’t.”

  “So, what are you asking of us, Lleward?” Yargo asked as he ran an ebony hand adorned with multiple golden rings over his close-cropped curly white hair. For a man of more than six feet in height—and well-muscled for a warrior, much less a mage—his demeanor was more that of a peacemaker than warrior.

  “So far, we’ve determined that she’s dangerously powerful, that she has no knowledge of the world since they created us, and that she has asked us to guide her. Is there really a better place for her than here—to give her the balance that is needed for one so powerful? Or do we send her out into the world to fend for herself and hope she does not become like Herol, falling to the darker forces that continuously try to make their way into our realm or those that would use her power against us?”

  He looked around the table, noticing that the last scenario had given them pause. It wasn’t that those within the room lacked empathy for the lost. Some did, but for those there that did not, it wouldn’t matter.

  “Again, what are you asking of us?” Yargo asked.

  “I would ask that we agree to train her. That she may learn to control her magic so that she does no harm. I, for one, do not wish to face the trials that Peladine did. I don’t think any of us do. I believe she has the potential for that kind of upheaval if not guided properly.”

  He watched as the few that had voiced apprehension toward allowing her to stay began to nod their heads in agreement before he had even asked their opinions. There was still much to discuss, but he knew he had won the first battle of many to come regarding Tetra.

  Tetra woke still exhausted, but she had learned much from Lleward. She had learned about the Crimson Order, but unlike the Dragon Magi, they didn’t have a central school of learning or teaching; nor did they ever disclose who led them. Lleward had informed her that through the centuries, the Crimson Order had learned that they benefited greatest from secrecy, much like the assassins’ guild did. The thought that these people would hire others to kill on their behalf was repugnant to her, causing her to realize that she didn’t understand them at all. But they were who they were made to be, she concluded. The numerous guilds and orders that people belonged to were explained to her—and the ways they fit into power and rule. They had covered everything from assassins to mages, merchants, and sages. Lleward had also spoken of the concept of royalty and leaders, from the church to the governments. Tetra realized she and her sisters had spent too much time away from these people, and her task was going to be much more difficult than they had imagined.

  She lay thinking of her conversation with the guild. She’d shared with them much that they didn’t know, but there was so much more they had to learn. She had hinted at secrets and knowledge, and Lleward had agreed to aid her, saying he would speak with the other Tower Masters. Lleward had informed her that a room had been prepared for her within the acolytes’ hall, but she had refused, knowing that Telerex had been waiting for her return.

  The tent was becoming stifling in the late morning heat, so she rose and exited. She found Telerex sitting on a log near the campfire, sipping tea from a wooden cup.

  “Good morning, Mistress. Would you like some tea?”

  Tetra nodded her head with a brief smile as Telerex quickly poured her a cup, handing it to her.

  “The mage says he wishes to help, but the other Tower Masters have to agree. I’m not sure why he needs their permission, though.”

  “It’s how the young races work. There are those that rule and dictate and decide how you should live, and then there are those that seek the approval of those they share power with. This is the case with the mages. The Master of Towers rules, but it is with the permission and consent of each of the Tower Masters.”

  “That makes no sense. Why not just put the wisest, most knowledgeable in charge?”

  “The young races see that very subjectively, Mistress. They see only their own position within the wisdom and knowledge of others, often refusing to acknowledge even the possibility of their own erroneous conclusions.”

  “I don’t see how they get anything done, then.”

  “They often don’t, and that is what brings strife into their lives.”

  “Well, either way we’ll find out soon. They want to house me within the compound. I told them no,” Tetra said.

  “That would be a mistake, Mistress. You should take that as an opportunity to learn. There will be those who will be able to shed more truth upon those living among them. Honest truths from lesser men are always better than lesser truths from honest men,” Telerex said with a wry grin.

  “That makes no sense, Tel.”

  “It will someday, Mistress! The more you learn about the young races, the more it will make sense…” he laughed. “Trust me.”

  It was near dark when Lleward arrived at Tetra’s camp. He walked in openly and cautiously, aware that a dragon accompanied her. Looking around the clearing as he made his way forward, he spied Telerex in his gold armor. Telerex stood as Lleward neared, placing his hand near the huge bastard sword he carried. Lleward instinctively clutched his staff more tightly as he bravely entered the Elfaheen’s camp.

  “Good evening. I have very good news!” Lleward offered. “We welcome the chance to learn more from you, just as you hope to learn from us.”

  “That is a welcome relief,” Tetra said. “Please, warm yourself. It’s not as grand as your library, but it’s beautiful nonetheless.”

  Taking a seat next to Tetra on the log, Lleward reached his hands toward the campfire’s flames after resting his staff in the crook of his arm. “Thank you,” he replied. “But we need to discuss some concerns.”

  “What might those be?” Tetra asked.

  “We must treat you like any other acolyte. Though your abilities are great, you have not mastered them for anything other than what you were made to do: create life.”

  “I have no urge to use them any other way. It’s abhorrent to take any life that we have given,” Tetra said.

  “What if you are forced to use them some other way; what then? We must concern ourselves with that possibility. There are those among us who believe that is what you will face. How would you prove them wrong?”

  Tetra thought about his question for a moment, quickly realizing its only inevitable outcome as she sipped her tea. “I cannot prove them wrong. Telerex has warned me about the proclivities of the younger races and their need for killing.”

  “It’s not a need, as you put it. The need is not internal to most. For some it’s because they are broken somehow; for others, it’s because they seek vengeance; for some it’s how your kind designed them—to kill. Much like your friend there; he clearly has no desire to kill, but there is no mistaking that he would for you. Others of his kind seek to kill everything they see or meet. The world is what you have made it; do
not begrudge those of us who must dwell within it.”

  “But that is not what you were created for.”

  “Until meeting you I would have simply said perhaps that is true; but after our discussion, I have determined this…and you may decide if it’s fair or not. Whether you created us without malice in our hearts, your kind—who created most of the races—had malice in theirs,” Lleward said.

  Tetra sat looking at him, seeing how his logic made sense. She had never questioned how magic worked, only what to create. The gods had left them ill-informed, she determined. She considered his eyes as he began again.

  “So, I ask this. How could it not be within us as well? That is the danger in the use of magic. Not in the casting or its results, or even in the intent of the spell. Within your will are hidden wishes and desires; whether those desires are kept hidden or not, magic comes to know them intimately as it determines whether your will is strong enough for you to command it. The danger is in its perversion when you pull it into yourself, which is where it gains its power and becomes part of you—and then goes forth, following your will. Therefore, you must begin, as would any other acolyte, to better understand this.”

  Telerex listened with great interest to what the mage was saying. No wonder he had risen above the others to lead them. He relaxed, understanding that this elf would guide and protect Tetra, not use her as he had feared. But he also wondered how much of her guidance would fall to others rather than to him.

  Chapter 10

  “It is beasts like me who kill the weak among you. Because I can.”

  (F.Me.4.29 - Book of Fire, Tenets of Menrioch, Chapter 4, Verse 29)

  Dmitri awoke, shivering, in pitch-dark night. The stench was horrible, smelling of shit and decay. Feeling something small race along his arm, he slapped at the small creature, trying to kill it. He held his hand up to his face but was unable to see it, and he couldn’t tell how close his hand was until his palm touched his nose. He had no idea how long he had been there. The last thing he remembered was the blood-red moon. Feeling around where he lay, he discovered that some sort of stone wall was on his left and the edge of his bed was on his right. The bed had no mattress; it was made of straw and a canvas of some sort.

  As he moved around, searching in the dark, it took him a moment to realize his leg didn’t hurt anymore. He sat up and reached toward it; the plastic splint was missing, and he wasn’t wearing his flight suit. He reached up to his chest and felt some sort of loose shirt made of a coarse, itchy material. His face still hurt, but not as much as it had before. He dropped his legs over the edge of the wooden rack he had been lying on. The stone floor was so cold that he immediately lifted his feet back up off the floor. Forcing himself, he put his feet down once more and stood up, which caused a moment of slight dizziness; the darkness didn’t help, either. He lost his balance and fell forward, crashing into some sort of a stool. His fall caused the stool to shoot away from him and crash into another wooden object. He heard some movement outside the door, and a look-through opened on the bottom third of the door.

  The glow from a lamp that the jailer held allowed Dmitri to gain a quick view of his surroundings. The large stones that made up the room were black, and above him he caught a glimpse of a small grate. Looking toward the light, he saw that the stool he had fallen against was a one-legged stool, and it had crashed into a wooden bucket—which identified to Dmitri where the stench was coming from. The steel door he was being watched through looked heavy and old. It appeared to have been made from one piece, and there was a small, square opening at the bottom of the door. The look-through was slammed closed, and his available light disappeared. He climbed back onto his bunk in the pitch-black and waited. A short time later, the bottom door opened, a small wooden bowl was pushed through the opening, and then the door was shut. Dmitri retrieved the bowl, and after finding his cot again, he sat back down with it.

  He brought it up to his nose, and the rancid smell almost caused him to throw up. He was hungry but not starving, so he set it aside. A short while later, the door opened again. The light from outside the door lit a small, twisted hand reaching around the opening. It withdrew, and when it returned, it had an empty bowl exactly like the one Dmitri had been given earlier. The hand tapped the bowl on the stone floor twice, and then withdrew. Dmitri got up and put the bowl near the opening. He was standing near the door waiting for the hand to grab the bowl when the look-through opened and a rod jabbed him in the ribs, pushing him away from the door. As he fell away from the door, the hand reached in and grabbed the wooden bowl, pouring the uneaten contents onto the cold stone floor.

  Dejected, he lay down on the bunk, wishing he could tell what time it was and how long he had been there. He fell asleep in the dark a few hours later.

  Once he awoke, unsure how long he had been asleep, it dawned on him that he wasn’t in an American POW camp. He almost began to believe he had died and gone to hell. But as he lay alone in the dark hour after hour, his thoughts kept returning to the eight women he had killed. In his solitude, he remembered each one of them and the circumstances of their deaths. He remembered the thrill he had gotten when he’d killed each of them. He laughed aloud, thinking about how he had killed a prostitute the day before he had started this nightmare. He giggled, thinking about how the devil was going to introduce himself before he began the eternal torment he knew he deserved.

  Eod watched the outworlder through the crystal ball atop his staff, reclining across a large cushioned chair. He heard something huge—so huge that its breathing filled the darkened chamber—but that failed to cause Eod any concern. The only light was from an oil lantern next to the black cushioned chair he occupied and the magical glow from his staff. His long, golden hair and sharp blue eyes accentuated his jet-black robe. He wasn’t an unhandsome man, with his high cheekbones and sharp features, but his demeanor made him unattractive. His arrogance and his easy dismissal of others and their knowledge ensured that opinion. He wore a heavy golden pendant around his neck covered with an intricately carved dragon. The eyes and claws had been carved of onyx and inlaid into the gold. A heart-shaped, faceted ruby was inset into the chest of the dragon; a dim, rhythmic light pulsed from the red jewel.

  His fingers moved across the carved runes that ran along his staff, playing them as a musician might key various notes on an instrument. The thoughts flashing through Dmitri’s mind were being gleaned by the mage. He was learning a great deal about this man’s world. His plane of existence had been contacted before, and others had come through by various means—though it had been many generations since any had arrived, and now there were three. A piece of the prophecy may have arrived.

  “Is he the one?” the mage asked in a rich baritone voice.

  An even deeper voice carried through the darkened chamber. “I don’t know, Master, but his arrival at the cusp of the black moon…the scar on his face. He could be.”

  “You will contact your cousins and determine if this is the one.”

  “I understand, your highness. Don’t forget my request, sire.”

  “What need do you have of such an ancient weapon, wyrm? You are the greatest beast in all the Rohrlands. My most dangerous enemy…” he added sarcastically, “…but most important of all, the most loyal of my servants.”

  “I am pleased that my master finds it necessary to remind me of the vow I took. As though it were only yesterday. Unlike the rest of the short-lives, my master has a mind few can rival. His black art is unparalleled, rivaling only Peladine himself.”

  Eod looked into the darkness, the wyrm preferring it even darker. The monster was an ancient gold dragon whose only mistake had been the miscasting of a spell during their battle. Eod had always wondered why such a mistake had occurred. Unlike humans, dragons were born having perfected the arcane arts to such a point that it enabled them to cast their spells with simple thought. By binding them to magic as they had, the Elfaheen had made all dragons magical; as generations passed, each became eve
n more so.

  His long involvement with the underworld had taught him that a momentous time for humanity was coming, and those who could resist weren’t prepared. Carion, a demon he had bound, had told him that the dragon could aid him in preparation for the tumultuous events that would soon be upon them. So Eod had set out to bind the dragon to himself, and upon finding him, he had begun the process of doing so—first by attempting to defeat him. Eod remembered that he had cast more than forty spells that day and hadn’t thought he would survive the battle with the wyrm, but his need outweighed the risk. This dragon had secrets, and Eod needed to learn them. During his battle with the beast, Eod had cast a fireball at the dragon, which had exploded with such force that all the trees within a league had either burst into flames or had been blown over. The elves and sylphs throughout the land had felt their deaths, but even they hadn’t dared to interfere. The dragon had been blown onto his back, and one of his wings had been shredded by the blast. The beast, shaken and disoriented, had yielded to the mage.

  He had watched as the dragon morphed into his human form. His face and arms were bloody and burnt. Until recently, he thought he had won the battle, until the dragon had tricked him into helping it find the Spear of Vastia and the Sword of Jerrous. If he failed to keep his bargain, the dragon was freed from its own vow; Eod wondered doubtfully if he could defeat the wyrm a second time. Dragons weren’t known for making such mistakes.

  Eod moved his fingers rapidly upon the staff and uttered a few words, and then he disappeared from the cavern. After he left, the dragon said quietly, “I also understand your control is ending, your highness, but your desire is my command—for the moment.”

  Eod then appeared within a dimly lit chamber with walls of gold that were covered in mystical runes and arcane symbols. The only area not covered with the blood-red markings was a circled pentagram on the floor. The pentagram lines began at each tip, forming a circle around the evil star in the center of the room. There were few furnishings within the room. One of them was a thick, black, leather-bound tome that floated above a small circle outside the pentagram. There were also several braziers that sat on a black mahogany pedestal table with another book, also bound within a rich, black leather covering.