by Kyle Belote
Dark Legacy Vol. 1
The Bearer of Secrets
By Kyle Belote
Dedication
For two great men that were a part of my life and shaped me—in no small way—into the person I am today. Had it not been for their love, cherished moments, or uniqueness, perhaps this novel would have turned out differently or not at all. So with utmost appreciation, love, and humility, I dedicated this to my grandfather Lt. Col. Lem Yeates Belote (Ret.) and my uncle, Harold Kruger. You both are loved and missed.
Acknowledgements
This book would not be what it is today without some great writers that have influenced my writing. They did so by helping me launch into far-off places, escaping while I read their characters and great stories. So, I would like to take this time to give a nod of appreciation to a few of them: Trudi Canavan, Timothy Zahn, J. K. Rowling, Troy Denning, R. A. Salvatore, Mercedes Lackey and James Mallory, Terry Goodkind, Michael Crichton, and last but not least, George R. R. Martin.
But while those writers and their stories propelled me to write, my story would not be what it is without the support, dedication, and instructive criticism of close, open-minded friends. Your feedback, critiques, and a willingness to read these stories pushed me beyond, and I am eternally grateful. So, I would like to thank you, my Ko-dons of the War Council, the Krey at heart: Sarah Bickel, Carlos Carrasco, Christina Fulwider, Dwayne Demastus, Annie Scott, Josh Essary, and Rebecca Ulrich.
Oblus ina’ti Sepan Eti!
Terms
Current Date: 185th year of the Second Revolution, of the second season.
Fortnight—2 weeks
Moon turn—1 month
Season—3 months
Tour—2 years (generally for military and government term)
Score—20 years
Epoch—100 years
Era—500 years
Age—1,000 years
Legend—10,000 years
Fathom—100,000 years
Revolution—10 Fathoms.
Titles
Arysto—a title for someone of noble birth, a male, with an undisclosed name or House, the same as saying Sir to a knight or lord to nobility.
Arysta—a title for someone of noble birth, a female, with an undisclosed name or House.
Mage—another common title like wizard, except while everyone can be technically called a wizard, a mage is someone of magical skill that pursues a career in magic beyond school level.
Madam—proper title of a lady, regardless of birth.
Sire—proper title of a man, regardless of birth, the head of his house.
Lady—woman of noble or minor noble birth.
Lord—man of noble or minor noble birth.
Sorcerer—an evil Rumigul user, a person who can do magic without incantations.
Warlock—a Rumigul user, a person that can do magic without incantations, but is not evil.
Wizard—general term used for all people with magical abilities.
Witchen—an evil magical user but not a Sorcerer, Witchens must use incantations and generally use Derengi magic.
Dramatis Personae
Julie - Female, Unknown
Judas Lakayre - Male, wizardkind, Rallocan, Warlock/Exile
Daylynn Reese - Female, wizardkind, Kothlere Council Member
Meristal Raviils - Female, wizardkind, Advocate of Law
Sedrus - Male, centaur, Kothlere Council Member
Xilor - Male, Sorcerer/Dark Lord
The Betrayer - Male, wizardkind
Daniel - Male, wizardkind, The Heir of Valin (Krey)
Xenomene - Female, wizardkind, Krey
Lily - Female, wizardkind, Rallocan
Kam - Male, wizardkind, Forgotten Islander
Ava - Female, fairy
Rusem - Male, spirit
Fife Doole - Male, Warlock/ gnomling
Harold the Hermit - Male, Unknown
Epigraph
Sometimes the things we aspire to be are the things that cause us to fail.
Prologue
A cacophony thrummed in her ears, the thunderclap vibrating in her chest. Spasms of pain pelted her skin. Explosions of fire belched out and engulfed her, the afterglow blistered her back. Julie arched away from the monsoon of shrapnel burrowing into her limbs.
Confusion crept through her mind like fog, ponderous and opaque. The world rocked in chaos and agony.
What the hell is going on?
The repugnant stench of burnt hair hung in the dust-filled air.
Oh my God, the old man! Where is he?
Julie rose, adrenaline coursing through her. She spied him standing vigil against the storm of anarchy, protecting her from the unseen. Another violent eruption flung them both to the ground and she screamed his name.
“Judas!” She struggled to stand, but he held her down.
He is stronger than he looks!
His grip never faltered, clamping down on her arm like a vise. Again, she tried to rise; this time, her eyes settling on a woman. She remembered now, though vaguely. The blonde woman was with them, too. Hostile before the pandemonium, but now she stood as a watchful sentinel.
I can feel something…what is that buzzing in my head?
Another detonation cleaved the air and threw her to the ground. The man fell on top of her, sheltering her from the fragmented rock. An earsplitting resonance tolled. Julie clamped her hands over her ears. She still couldn’t see who was attacking them or why. Nothing made sense. The old man let her up, and pain lanced through her as she stood.
Shadows danced beneath her feet. Glancing up, the sky swirled in a dark smog. Ominous clouds obscured what felt like the last rays of a dying sun. A tenebrous ring descended like a sudden hush. Streetlights flickered as the darkness deepened.
Movement above drew her attention. Gargoyle statues stirred, the encasing falling away. Cement eyes crumbled to reveal blood-red orbs. The masonry shattered as one turned its head towards her, a hunter sensing prey. Animalistic screams sheared the air between razor sharp teeth. Massive, leathery wings unfolded, casting off the last of crumbling stone to the street below. It leaped for her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the man and woman raise their hands, small wooden sticks pointing at the oncoming beast. Her heart fluttered like vibrating glass from the crackle of rushing thunder. Whatever her guardians were going to do, it was too late. She turned away, ducking behind them, covering her head.
She waited for the end.
Chapter 1 : The Return
Judas Lakayre stepped back into his world, passing through the Mirror of Imation, a gateway between the two planets. His robes still smoldered from his encounter; rips and tears peppered his ruined clothing.
I need to change, the bleak thought entered his mind. That didn’t matter now; surviving did.
His knee gave out and struck the stone floor. For once in his life, he wished the dungeon had the same lush, phthalo-blue carpet like the rest of the castle.
Daylynn Reese with her honey-colored hair and blue eyes tumbled ungracefully in after him and she, even more, appeared disheveled. Atz and Lurx—the guardians of the Mirror of Imation—came in on her heels and looking the nimblest out of the original quartet. A young, anemic woman with golden brown hair—like Daylynn’s—and delicate features lay unconscious in Judas’ arms, her mass light but lifeless and unwieldy. Judas puffed a few breaths before he rearranged her in his arms. She wore different clothing than Judas and Daylynn: a shirt that clung to her body, and farmer trousers but blue.
“I told you not to bring her back!” Daylynn snapped, sitting up on the floor. “You shouldn’t defy the will of the council!” Her blue eyes glared at the y
oung, unconscious woman.
“That’s your opinion, mine is of a different nature,” Judas retorted. When Judas made up his mind, no Underworld forces could spur him to change. “You expect me to leave her to die? Would you want me to leave you to die?”
“The Council will make you return her.” Daylynn’s proclamation lacked conviction. Judas’ poignant remark about leaving her to die hit home. He hadn’t. The warlock had saved her life.
“They will try, and fail!” he replied. “She’d perish if I did. She’s not a book borrowed from the library; you can’t return her.”
“She’ll die if she stays!” Daylynn jabbered. “No one survives. It’s impossible! You’ve doomed the girl because of your damn foolishness!”
“So, she was meant to die either way. At least here she has a chance!” Judas aimed a glance towards the two dwaven, checking their wellbeing.
“Why hasn’t she woken?”
The warlock touched the girl’s face, pausing. “She is under my sleep-induced spell. She won’t wake.” His eyes trained back to the tall, long-legged woman. “Make your report.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” A dark fury sparkled in her eyes.
“Make your report,” he repeated, sidestepping an argument.
“No, I won’t! Tell me what the hell you meant by ‘make your report?’” she demanded, vehement. She gritted her teeth.
“You know the meaning, as does everyone else, Daylynn. Do you need or want me to spell it out? Make your statement. I will be back to do mine later.”
“When?”
“When I have time!” he snapped, his voice echoing off the cold, damp gray stone. A flicker of chagrin crossed his features. He pushed his shoulder-length hair out of his face. “Forgive me. I don’t know. I need to find out how they tracked us and more importantly what happened to the Kothlus trilogy. Get Kayis and inform the Council.”
“It’s too late; no one is up.”
Judas gave her an incredulous expression. “The Consul is awake. He will be waiting for you, and when you tell him what I did, he will call for a special session.”
“Your absence? What do I say about that?”
Judas looked down to the young woman in his arms. “Tell them the truth: ‘Exiled warlock defies Council and on the run, Consul Kayis Dathyr livid.’ Should make for gripping headlines for the New Suns Times. I am sure Todd Wynters will like that story.”
She nodded, gathering her robes and retreated up the spiraling stone stairs in haste.
Judas watched her disappear around the bend before turning to the two remaining individuals of the party. Both dwaven, shorter cousins of the dwandur, donned magic-imbued armor. Atz’ armor gave a muffled creak as he stirred, shifting on his feet, and gleamed a shade redder in the light of torches resting in their sconces. In daylight, his plate held a vermillion hue with highlights of scarlet. Black runes were etched throughout his chest plate, pauldrons, shield, and the top side of his helm. His partner, Lurx’s armor, appeared identical to his except a shade of light cobalt blue with arctic blue trim.
The warlock spoke to Atz first. “Go, find Meristal. I need her. She can find me.” The vermillion-plated dwaven faded on the spot, carrying out his orders.
Judas turned to Lurx. “Stay behind and warn me if anyone comes back through or down here to check on the Mirror.”
“Even if it is the Council?”
“Especially if it’s the Council.”
“The Wcic?” Lurx inquired, nodding to the young woman in Judas’ arms.
“She’ll come with me.”
“To your manor? Is that wise?”
The warlock shook his head. “No, not at all. That is why we are going on the run until I find out who or what is chasing us.”
Without another word, Judas disappeared, teleporting away, leaving the dwaven behind.
The swirling blue mist faded, and his feet touched hard stained oak floor. He paused, holding his breath, making sure he was alone. Though the hour was late and most of the Realm slept, one could never be completely sure. Satisfied, he carried the young woman deeper into the room, weaving between tables and chairs, slipping between towering bookshelves. Once out of view of windows, he knelt and with gentle ease, laid the girl on the floor. With a flourish, he pulled off his traveler’s cloak and tucked it around her small form.
A light touch of hand to her forehead assured him that she still slept.
His magic trembled a warning.
Somewhere beneath the abyss of magical currents he placed on her, she slithered out and became aware. Whether aware of him or aware she was sleeping, he could not say. Her mind became sharp, focused, and her push against his will akin to pressure against his skin. Her rally came like a sudden storm. A raw and unrefined energy, not something a master of his craft would project, but more like a novice unsure of a new-found power.
His hand withdrew from her forehead; his robes swished in the silence. Her concentration snapped to the sound, almost as if she was awake and again she pushed, much harder this time. The assault itself startled Judas. The exertion strong, overbearing. Her potential … breathtaking. While lacking the strength to break his hold, nowhere near strong enough, her aptitude came like a gust of fresh frost compared to the stale wizards of the capital—Ralloc—filled with wizards holding prestigious ranks and honors, a shadow of the men who came before. In her simple thrust, he never doubted she would surpass them with the slightest bit of training. In time, who knew where she would go or what she would achieve? He smiled to himself. As far as capability goes, if there ever was a worthy heir … he let the thought die.
With half of the night spent, he would wait until dawn and move her. Judas looked out into the darkness, the large room’s interior lit by magelight, small spheres of white, heatless luminance. The dim magelight launched long shadows through the large, expansive room. In the stillness, Judas stood, listening, watching, waiting.
Idly, he wondered where Daylynn was now. She would go to the Consul and orate what transpired. Some things never changed.
When Kayis Dathyr found out, he would send others to track the warlock down. For a moment, he worried, not for their abilities, but who he might need to battle to keep from being apprehended. No one had the jurisdiction to stop him, not anymore. Kayis was like a dog with jaws clamped around the throat of his prey; he would never let it go. He would feel slighted and seek retribution.
Judas sighed, the night settling around him. He wondered what made him think of this place, undoubtedly because he was here only this morning. Ironically, he figured this was the last place his enemies would search for him. It bought him a few hours at the very least.
His azure gaze swept the small library, flickering to the familiar table he sat at hours before. A memory of the young librarian from earlier that morning waltzed before his eyes like a phantom. Judas had been writing, waiting for his court proceedings.
The librarian rounded the small table and sat across from him.
“Excuse me, sire,” the boy whispered.
Judas stopped scratching; his cool blue eyes fell on Sam’s face. The boy shivered, rattled by his scrutiny. “There is an Essence of Transference you could—” the boy floundered.
“Yes, I know,” he whispered back. He tried to keep his voice warm and kind, pleasant. He returned to his work.
“If you know about the Transference, why don’t you use it?”
“Just because it can be done easier doesn’t mean it should be,” he countered as he scratched the quill against parchment.
“Yes, but you’ve been here all morning. Wouldn’t you want to save some time?”
“Not at the moment. I’ve no particular place to be, so this place is as good as any. Don’t you agree?” Judas glanced up from his writing to the librarian before carefully setting of the quill to parchment, copying again.
A thought, something close to his own, filtered through his mind. Similar to an impression, a weighted certainty, the thought-emotion roll
ed over him, and he knew what the librarian thought.
“No,” Judas reproved, still maintaining the quiet whisper.
“No, what?”
A calm certainty entered his voice, and he glanced back up. “I’m not insane.” Sam leaned back, wariness settled over his face.
Again, the weighted certainty crept over him, the youth reevaluating him. Many thoughts flashed through, some called out were strong and distinct, others were weak and feeble, wrestling to discover Judas’ identity, knowing the youth would not drop his line of inquiry regarding the Transference.
“But if you know the Transference,” the librarian pressed, “and you have nowhere else to be, would it not be wiser to spend–”
Judas laid down his quill, his movement indolent, as he felt the stubbornness rise within, reaching his eyes.
“I don’t have anywhere else to be because later I will be needed here, in the Castle of Kothlus. Why leave only to return in a little while?” He distinguished a slight nod of understanding from Sam. “Nowhere to be, nowhere I wish to go, because chances are, I’ve already been there. After all that I’ve seen and done, the library is a pleasant change of pace. Also, the Essence of Transference will not work on this particular volume.” He picked up his quill, grabbed a new piece of parchment and began copying again. The curator waited, breath baited for a few heartbeats, hoping for an elaboration.
“Why won’t it work?”
The other stopped and scrutinized him with mild shock, “Don’t they teach you anything in school anymore? This book is old! Perhaps ten Ages old, maybe more. The Essence of Transference only discovered in the last Age or so. It is a new concept, one I’ve often thought on and experimented with but never quite developed. I lack the time or the patience,” the elder said, his voice soft and distant. Sam frowned at his proclamation, but he saw the skepticism on his face. “You don’t know who I am, do you?” The librarian shook his head. Amusement filled his voice. “You didn’t pay attention in school, did you? Especially about the Wizard’s War?”
