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

by R. E. Fisher

  Shocked, Jerrous realized that she had just killed him. The bitch had killed him. He would have to start all over, and it would take millennia to achieve what he had already managed. He tried to yell in anger at her, but all that exited with his breath was a plume of crimson, showering the hall as he died.

  Carion watched as the Elfaheen slew his master. If she could kill Jerrous, he knew that he alone stood no chance. He decided to flee. “You will pay for that, you Elfaheen whore!” he uttered before he began his journey to the realm of light, escaping her.

  Lavalor felt the strong pull of Tetra’s call, but he could do nothing. Not that he was unhappy about that. Now the dai-shadir will kill her! he thought.

  Knowing that Lavalor had betrayed her along with his failure to return, she directed her attention to the last remaining demon in the room, the dai-shadir. She looked around the hall, searching for him, but instead spied the body of her friend, Telerex.

  She rushed over to him but knew in her heart that he was already dead. She began to weep, the dai-shadir forgotten.

  She knelt near his head, laying her own cheek against his and feeling the moisture from his tears, causing her to cry harder. Her memories of his caring and loyalty caused a flood of other memories that she had either ignored or pushed away to come rushing back. His disapproval of the murders she had committed were the most prominent. Why had she done that? They had harmed no one. Why had she listened to Lavalor? When had she become so lost that her honor meant nothing to her anymore? Why had she not listened to this creature that she was fortunate enough to have been able to call a friend? She wrapped her arms around him as far as they would go, mourning his loss.

  “Tetra! We must go! We cannot defeat this creature!” she heard a voice cry as Lysette took that moment to disappear to the corridor leading to the great hall. She hoped to draw the dai-shadir toward her.

  Lysette! she thought. She looked up as tears streamed down her cheek, realizing that her other true friend was still at risk. How weak her people had become when they could no longer control their own creations.

  Tetra rose to her feet and kissed Telerex on his cheek as she did. She turned toward the dai-shadir, and in her anger at the loss of her friend, she shouted, “No! You shall have no more today!”

  Tetra gathered all the magic that now filled her, caring little whether she lived or died. She deserved either to die or to live the rest of her life there in Asmordia as penitence for her sins.

  “No! Come take me if you must have someone!” she shouted at the demon.

  She watched as the demon tilted its head to the right and turned toward her.

  He will kill you, she heard Lavalor say. Not that I mind anymore.

  You forget, Lavalor, that you tied yourself to me. What happens if I die? Do you think you will live? she asked, grim humor seething in her comment.

  That cannot be! Lavalor answered as he watched the dai-shadir rush toward Tetra. He, too, gathered his magic and struggled to tear himself free of the sword, seeking to escape just as Carion had.

  The death raven was upon Tetra in the blink of an eye, swinging his scimitars in a backward crosscut aimed at her waist and a downward stroke of the blade aimed to cleave her skull in two.

  Tetra took all the magic that she had gathered, all that she could find, and all that she could take from her connection with Lavalor and threw it at the dai-shadir, imagining the blade that lay within the corpse of the demon Jerrous.

  The blade leapt through the gaping wound that was Jerrous’s abdomen and flew straight at the dai-shadir.

  The demon had been created by Lavalor, and blessed by him. What made the demon so formidable was that he existed within a moment that was later in time, as well as in the present. It was that added moment that allowed him to realize that this woman and his creator were one. He also saw that Lavalor no longer inhabited the blade but watched them from behind the body of the sad, weak demon that had once thought itself strong. The dai-shadir realized that though they were separated, his creator and this woman were still one with each other, still intertwined. Knowing that, he realized that he could not kill this woman any more than he could kill his creator. The dai-shadir did the one thing he could: he left them to their own choices and departed.

  Tetra heard sardonic laughter as Lavalor’s blade passed through the empty spot that just a moment before was occupied by the dai-shadir. Her attack and all the magic passed through that spot, ripping the remaining walls from their foundation and blasting the black stone out into Asmordia, but still falling short of the Ash River. The blade was lost in the blackness beyond the wall.

  A superheated wind rushed into the room, filling it with a dry heat that was so hot that she could no longer breathe. However, she could scream out in pain, and she did, emptying her lungs. Her scream was loud enough for Lysette to hear.

  Lysette rushed back into the room, searching for Tetra and wondering what could have caused that much pain in her voice. She spied her lying on the ground, curled into a fetal ball, her flesh reddening and beginning to blister. She rushed to her and knelt; then she imagined herself in the tower of the mages, where they arrived.

  Her return brought a small pocket of the stench-filled, heated air of Asmordia that dissipated throughout the Tower Master’s citadel and the other eight towers thereafter. It would later remind each of them of the nightmares that awaited them.

  Ignoring the stench, they rushed to aid the fallen Elfaheen.

  “Take her to my chambers!” Lleward commanded. He then turned to Lysette and said, “We’ll take care of her.”

  Lysette nodded, realizing that Tetra was now mortal and would soon join her husband.

  “I’m sorry,” Lleward offered, as if reading her thoughts.

  Chapter 29

  “To learn, one must study, for it is within that effort that you shall be rewarded.”

  (W.Lo., 3.3 - Book of Waters, Tenets of Lorael, Chapter 3, Verse 3)

  Dmitri had managed to make his way to the mountains, reaching the top as the sun began to set. It would be dangerous to try to climb down the cliff face at night, and he knew it. He wandered around the top of the mountain, searching for a place to make camp. It was going to be a cold night, as he knew that he was being pursued and that he could not build a fire even if he were able to find fuel for one. So he did the next best thing and laid Niloy’s blanket on the ground next to a pile of stones that gave him shelter from the brisk winds that were beginning to increase as the sun set. He would have to rise early to stay ahead of whomever Eod sent to pursue him, but that was okay. He would rather die out there than ever be held prisoner again by that mage! He nestled down out of the wind, pulling the woolen blanket tightly around himself to keep out the cold. The glow of a thousand lights far on the horizon caught his attention as the three moons, Kalios, Phalen, and Maron rose in the night sky.

  Dmitri figured that Niloy had decided not to tell him how close they were to reaching the safety of a city. What a little shit he was, he thought. But his thoughts moved back to the city, determined to travel there and figure out what to do after he got a decent meal and something stout to drink.

  “Run ahead, Winston. Ready everything we talked about,” Dumas said as they neared the gates of Noli Deron.

  Winston smiled, reaching for the reigns of the horse carrying Laz. Helor handed the shelfling the reigns and then kicked at his own horse to get her to hurry. She had gotten better, but she still wasn’t used to his encouragements or commands. He smiled down at the bear as his horse increased her speed toward the city.

  “Where’s he going with Laz?” Ollie asked, displeased.

  “He’s going to contact the Blest Order so we can take care of Laz,” Helor replied, trying to sound as comforting as possible.

  “But first we must go see that magister to clear our names,” Jehosaa added.

  “Right. Because burying someone with respect could be problematic,” Ollie said, gaining a disapproving look from the barbarian. He sa
w the look and shut up, realizing that he had made a mistake. He wasn’t going to compound it by apologizing. Jehosaa wasn’t much for apologies— either getting or giving. He watched as his friend entered the city and the guards dragged two fingers across their eyes, warding off the Blackwing, praying that it had not followed the poor soul under the blanket.

  Ollie had thought about what he should do and determined to open some sort of a shop as close to Cede Tecress’s shop as he could. He hoped that she would be able to seek out the information he needed to return home; if he must stay, it would be as a merchant, not a fighter or a mercenary for hire. He would forever remember Laz and how easy it was to die in this world. No, selling candles or some such shit is better, he thought, provided he didn’t end up in the dungeon if the magister didn’t fall for Dumas’s plan.

  Tetra woke in seething agony, while an old man in blue robes hovered about her. She watched as he prayed and swung a censer back and forth in front of him. She realized that it was the odor of the incense that woke her more so than his ministrations. The scent was thick and sweet, with bits of clove in it. The odor permeated the room. She looked around, seeing that she was home in her bedroom in the acolyte halls.

  Tetra looked next to where the cleric stood, and she spied a cup of something resting next to him on the table, making her realize how thirsty she was. As she reached for it, she saw that her hands were heavily bandaged.

  “How did I get here?” she asked while looking at her hands.

  “Lysette brought you. She then brought me here to help you recover.”

  “Who are you?” Tetra asked, knowing deep down that she was different somehow, not yet realizing what she had done to herself.

  “Just a simple healer, miss. You can call me Algerok,” he said.

  “Thank you, Algerok. But why are you here?” she asked.

  Algerok looked at her, studying her eyes, assessing whether he should answer her question or not. “I will fetch Lysette for you. She is just outside the door, speaking with someone,” he replied as he turned toward the door.

  She watched as he opened it, walked out, and closed the door behind him. She tried to rise from the bed but found herself too weak, causing her to wonder what had happened to her. The last thing she remembered was trying to kill the dai-shadir.

  Her recollection of the events was interrupted as Lysette and Lleward entered the room, followed by the cleric. Lysette walked over to the bed and sat on the edge next to Tetra, running her hand along her cheek and smiling at her. Lleward stood quietly by the door.

  “I’m so happy that you have returned to us,” she said.

  “I have questions, Mother.”

  “I know you do. We will answer them when it is appropriate. Now is a time for healing—something you have never had to do before.”

  Confused, Tetra stared at Lysette.

  “Child of the gods, most blessed of us, savior of all who live, you must realize what your success has cost you. You have passed from being one of the ancients to that of your brothers…” she paused, then added, “…and husband.”

  Tetra looked quizzically at her. Lysette looked back at her, but did not respond.

  “Why is there a human cleric here?” she asked, the depth of Lysette’s comment having not yet sunk in.

  “Because we do not have the skills to heal the mortal, child,” Lysette answered.

  She was unsure how Tetra would react to the news that after having used her remaining magic in Asmordia, she was now mortal.

  Tetra fell back onto her pillow while a multitude of emotions began flowing through her as the realization took hold. She grew angry. “Why do the gods play these games?” she cried.

  “Tetra, have you not learned? The gods do not do these things to us; it is we who did this. You made choices to deal with Jerrous, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “And there will be others who will have to deal with the consequences of your choices, just as you have had to deal with choices made by others. It is like the wave, child. It moves ever onward until the wind or a fish or rain drops upon it, changing its path.”

  Tetra felt the warm line that the tears drew upon her cheeks as they slid down.

  “Do not blame the gods, child. You have proven that you are a woman of courage and honor by your deeds.”

  “You have no idea what I have done,” Tetra said with no small degree of self-loathing.

  Unsure why she said such a thing, Lysette remained quiet, deciding not to tell her what had happened to Quensi once the sword was no longer by her side. “We will talk later, child. Algerok will do all that he can,” she said as she stood from the bed.

  “Come, Algerok; she has much to digest,” Lysette said, escorting him from the room and closing the door behind them.

  Tetra pushed herself up into a sitting position, ignoring the exquisite pain that wracked her body. She wanted to look out the window, hoping to see something of the sky she loved, while thinking how long ago that mournful morning now seemed.

  Unable to gain a worthy view, she looked around the room, sensing that something had changed since her departure. She struggled for hours trying to figure out what it was, realizing that her thoughts had become muddled during her trials.

  She hadn’t yet realized that her intuition was correct. It was just that she was unable to see every crevice or hiding spot within the room from atop her bed.

  She might have screamed—or perhaps she would have given a sigh of relief—were she able to see the polished black sword that lay hidden under her bed, under a blanket, under a pillow, in the darkness.

  Carion smirked as he snuck away.

  Coming

  November 2017

  Sunrise and Blood

  A Rohrlands Saga

  **The On’risa**

  On′risa hated having to come to this place. The stench, debauchery, and lack of discipline of these lowlifes disgusted her. The smell of stale drink and the after effects of too much consumption of them assailed her senses, even through the fa′twee mask she wore. Her adornment mask was necessary for one of her stature. She had earned every bit of that stature, rising from one of the “unwanted” serving her Philanthian masters to that of a ship captain in the Philanthian Royal Fleet. Nothing was going to interfere with the meeting she was traveling to. The fact that she now resembled those that she had not long ago murdered had somehow escaped her judgmental thoughts.

  “Well, look here, me boy’os! A grand black falcon or some such shite!” a drunk shouted out in the dim torchlight of the streets as he pointed towards On′risa and her two escorts.

  On′risa quickly assessed those that he was preening for and saw that the drunks outnumbered them by more than three to one. Even if they were drunks, swords from an unsteady hand were still as deadly, if the wielder became lucky.

  “Loudmouth,” as she would come to call him, made his way towards her while stumbling the fifteen paces in the early evening darkness. Regardless of their condition, his friends stayed where they were, issuing each another that sickly, frightened grin that always accompanied the foolish drunk and stupidly brave. She signaled her guards to stand down but remain ready, using the hand signals that they had learned under her guidance. That allowed them to forgo the need to alert their enemies to what would come next.

  As Whit Darby and Aleen′yi readied themselves for whatever was about to come, they gave one another a wry grin, knowing On′risa would find some sort of entertainment in the dangerous situation. Whit tilted his feathered hat back to ensure that his old, green eyes could see everything, casually crossing his arms across his chest. Aleen′yi placed her hands onto each of her rynd′sai daggers: a pair of long, curved blades designed to cause as much pain as possible as it cut though flesh.

  “Are you a mister or a missus under that black mask?” he slurred at her with a sarcasm that would otherwise have earned him a quick death.

  Falk Isle was her new home, and she had no place else to go—so she kept silent fo
r the moment. She stared at him from behind the feathers that draped down over her face, covering it as her stature required. She tensed, readying herself as he reached for his belt; instead of the sword he should have drawn, he untied a coin purse from his wide leather belt that held up his ragged red-and-white-striped canvas pants. He poured several copper coins into the palm of his hand while she watched his actions calmly, wondering what foolish choice he would make with them.

  It didn’t take long. He grinned as he leaned towards her. His foul breath exhaled from between his missing, rotted, and broken teeth filled her with disgust. The stench permeated the black silk that covered most of her face behind the black feathers, filling her with disgust.

  Loudmouth tipped his palm, letting the coins fall to the cobblestones while he cupped his ear with his other hand and tilted his head towards the ground, listening as several coins hitting the ground rang out in the darkness.

  “Sounds to me like your name be jingle-jang, ting-tang!” he said towards his friends with an insulting laugh.

  “I’m sorry; it’s actually On′risa,” she said in perfect common with a glare that he was unable to see.

  “Oh, you’d be sayin’ I should ‘ave dropped me some wooden coins, eh?” he laughed.

  “It’s very simple. Can you say ‘on,’ or is that beyond your abilities?” she asked.

  Proud of the fact that he could pronounce a word in the Philanthian tongue, he shouted out his response.

  “On!” he said with some degree of self-satisfaction.

  “Very nice,” On′risa cooed. “Now, when you hear a Philanthian name, the syllables are of utmost importance. If you say them wrong, we could become offended. We break them up like this. Can you say ‘ah’ as well, I wonder?”

  “Arrrr…me mateys! Ain’t that what she asked?” he asked his friends with a foolish grin and turned to see their reactions.

  On′risa, too, saw their grins as she listened to their laughter, watching Loudmouth closely as he returned his attention to her. On′risa stepped forward and drove her short, whisper-thin sleeve dagger into his throat. With a snakelike speed, she reached out and took hold of his hair at the back of his head, ensuring that he would not fall. A pitched rush of pain escaped his lips as he began grabbing her wrist, struggling to extract her blade from his throat.