Empire Awakening (Maledorian Chronicles Book 2)

by John Forrester

  Devin was off his horse and had put the beast between himself and the onslaught of arrows. The stallion whinnied in pain, bucking and stomping. She spied several shafts sticking out of the poor creature.

  “Get back!” she yelled and whirled her horse around and sent warning glances to Lysha and Maggie.

  The air stank of burned hair and roasted flesh. The men shrieked in agony. As she twisted around, she could see that one man’s head was suddenly bald and burned. He lumbered around, his arms flailing in a wild, desperate attempt at putting out the flames. Another rolled on the ground, his movements quick and deliberate, trying to quench the fire from spreading across his clothes. But unfortunately, his face slammed into a red-hot log, and he screamed and jerked his body away.

  She could hear the man moaning in pain; she could smell the acrid scent of piss.

  The last man staggered about in a daze, his eyes unfocused as if in a trance. When he turned, she cringed at discovering the milk-colored tendons of his spine and hips exposed behind the melted flesh. The flame she’d sent had been white hot, like the fire found in forges. A searing tendril of flame must have found its mark on the man’s back, dissolving the skin in an instant.

  It was over so quickly that even Devin stared in dumbfounded horror at the dying, moaning men.

  The mangy man’s eyes were still open in shock, glancing around the scene, as if in a nightmare. His gaping mouth babbled blood and inanities. He lifted his hands in a strange kind of senseless inspection and moved his fingers slowly, as if fascinated by the texture and color of blood.

  At another man’s desperate cry for help, she swiveled her head around. She spied a man looking up at her with a pathetic pleading in his fading eyes, as if it were in her power to bring the skin back to his charred face. Her horse whinnied in alarm and jerked away at his touch, giving a violent kick that caught the man’s midsection and sent him flying back into the remnants of the fire.

  Lysha and Maggie had retreated in the dark distance. Elendria was thankful they’d escaped the violence. Devin stalked up to a screaming man and plunged a knife into his heart, ending his misery. One by one, he administered a kind of strange ceremony to each dying man. His dagger made clean slices along throats. Only the neighing and screaming of scared horses and the whimpering from Lysha and Maggie remained. Elendria was too stunned to say a word and, instead, studied the scene in dumbfounded awe.

  After he finished, Devin glared at her in a surprising look of simmering fury. But he held his tongue and turned away to inspect his wounded stallion. Several arrows were lodged in the creature, one in its shoulder and the others had punctured a lung. The horse lay on its side, screaming and snorting in pain, its eyes wild. Devin stalked up to the stallion, whispering words of reassurance to calm the beast. She turned her head before the woodsman granted the horse a final peace.

  His anger was directed at her now, as if it was her fault the horse had to be put down. As he stomped over, she refused to be cowed.

  “What?” she said and shook her head at him. For some reason, she was furious at him for his anger.

  “Were you trying to get us all killed? That neat little trick of yours sent flaming projectiles everywhere!” His breathing was heaving now, as if finishing a long run, but she could tell it was because of his attempt to control himself.

  “I just saved your life. I saved all our lives. Four men against one, did you think you could’ve won?”

  He gritted his teeth and let out a seething growl. “Why did I agree to help such an insolent whelp? I’d never have gone along with it if it wasn’t for that witch pleading for me to help you. If I had known you were this stupid, you’d still be sitting there alone in Wilhem. I didn’t need your help to kill them. You only made a mess of the situation.”

  She gave the man a contemptuous scoff, unable to believe his arrogance and lack of gratitude. “You—”

  “Shut up!” he shouted and raised a clenched fist. After a second, he spun away, exhaling and shaking his open hands.

  Lysha brought her horse up alongside hers and beckoned for Elendria to join her. She summoned a ball of light, and they led their horses away from the fire.

  “What are we gonna to do?” Maggie said, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

  “We’re safe now. Don’t worry.” Elendria glanced back to where Devin was rummaging through the remains of the thieves’ camp. “He’ll calm down after a while. I doubt he’ll abandon us out here in the wilderness.” At least she hoped he didn’t. With Damak several days away, she doubted they’d survive the journey without the woodsman.

  “He looked like he wanted to hurt ya,” Maggie said, her voice soft and scared. “I don’t like it out here. All alone in the middle of nowhere. I miss the city. At least, I had places to hide and put my back against. Out here, there’s nothin’ but sky and stars and the endless darkness.” She pulled herself even tighter against Lysha’s back.

  They grew quiet for a while, watching Devin loosening the saddle and saddlebags off his dead horse. Silence for a moment as he closed his eyes and hung his head. He was saying goodbye to the creature.

  Then he rose and stalked over and selected another stallion amongst the group of spooked horses. He released the others and finally led the stallion around and stroked its flank, whispering to the creature. After he’d saddled the horse and retied the saddlebags, he mounted and trotted over, his face now a placid mask.

  “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “Not another word. Not now, at least. I need to think.”

  Despite Elendria’s anger, she held her tongue and followed him up the mountain. She sent the orb of light ahead to illuminate the path. Devin remained silent, though she could feel his fury raging under the surface, and that scared her even more than when he was yelling at her.

  All she could think about as they rode through the night was whether Devin could be trusted. How had she ever allowed herself to be in a position where she was at his mercy for her safety and the safety of her friends? She was determined to stay alert and protect herself. She only hoped the witches she was to meet and study under were people she could trust.

  After several days riding across wild meadows and craggy mountainsides, the trees grew smaller and spindlier and the land more desolate. They finally breached a mountain pass, where they could see the vast expanse of land and lakes leading to the snow-covered Great Barrier Mountains proper. They only encountered a few travelers along the path during the day and spent quiet nights in solitude under the stars. Even though spring had melted much of the snow, the evenings still held a frosty chill.

  Below, a village lay nestled between two lakes the color of cobalt blue. Devin aimed a muscled hand at the dozen or so houses and green fields surrounding the village and proclaimed they’d finally reached Damak. The place possessed a rugged, lonely feeling, and the wispy white smoke curls twisting from the stone chimneys only added to the isolated feeling.

  They urged their horses along the steep trail winding down the mountainside. After an hour of riding, they reached the village. They encountered suspicious eyes from behind the blue-tinted glass windows of old stone houses, the cracks stuffed with mud and straw. In the center of the village sat a two-storied slanted inn made of wood and stone. The structural support seemed limited against the strong northern wind, as the whole building was leaning south.

  Bearded men with indolent, irritated faces mulled about outside the inn. They were clustered in small, conspiratorial groups, casting curious glances at their arrival. Elendria suspected the men were the idle miners the thieves had talked about, unable to work the mines because of the interference from the witches. She wondered if they were the same witches they were supposed to visit.

  “Be cautious once we reach the inn.” Devin’s eyebrows bunched up in concern. “It’s better if I do the talking. These are rough, dangerous men living lives away from civilization. And the women of Damak can be crafty and vicious. Don’t let ‘em fool you with their big,
gaudy smiles and roaring laughter. They’re a load of whores, drunks, gamblers, and thieves. Some of ‘em are decent and kind, but many are like maggots feeding on the gold of the miners. Best you be careful and mind your purses. And with the mines closed and all, I doubt our visit will be pleasant.”

  As if to reinforce his words, several scandalously dressed women in heavy makeup sauntered out of the inn. Their generous hips swung as they meandered outside. They studied them with calculating eyes as if tallying up their worth. Instead of settling on Devin, as Elendria would have expected, they gave Lysha and her a long, irritated scowl, as if they were new arrivals impinging on their territory. She could feel them itching for a fight.

  “Well, girls, today we thought would be another boring day in Damak. Are my eyes lying? Or can it be our young strapping Devin, the handsome smuggler, is riding down the mountain with two pretty girls and a child? I ask myself, who in the world could they be?” said a tall, buxom woman with big brown hair and beady eyes. Her red silk dress swished along the dirt as she promenaded towards them.

  Elendria contained a devious smirk at her outlandish clothes. Stranger still, she had the biggest hands she’d ever seen on a woman. At her inspection, the woman crossed her arms and cleared her throat.

  “Why is this young bitch gawking at me, Shells?” She cast an irritated glance at the petite woman behind her, a boldfaced, blonde-haired young woman dressed in trim leather pants and a low-cut blouse displaying a generous amount of cleavage. These women were so unlike the ladies of Criswall that she found herself releasing a muffled laugh.

  Shells took grave offense at her gaiety and drew twin daggers as she darted up to her horse.

  Elendria gasped, tensing.

  “Laugh once more, and you’ll enjoy eating steel for supper.” Her voice was calm and deliberate, but her icy-blue eyes oozed the determined desire to kill. Elendria was stunned for a long moment but, after a while, recovered her senses.

  “Forgive me. I never intended any offense.”

  The woman appeared mollified for a second, but then she tilted her head in query. “What did you find so amusing?”

  “It’s only… well, you see, I’ve never been so far north, and the people out here are so very different from Criswall.”

  “You don’t look like no girl from Criswall,” said the tall woman. “You bear the looks of someone from the south, from Craeven Santh.”

  Elendria nodded and slid off her horse, figuring it was better for her to look diminutive in the eyes of these women. “I was born and raised in Maren Downs, but I’ve lived in Criswall for the past year.”

  The blonde-headed girl studied Elendria with curious eyes. “And you’ve grown sick of life in the city and decided to run off north with Devin for a life of adventure?”

  “It’s not like that, Shells,” said the woodsman, his expression tired, but he was interrupted by the petite girl’s angry face.

  “And it’s not enough to have only one pretty girl, but he’s gone and decided to bring a proper city girl, a pale-faced beauty from Criswall.” Shells glared at Lysha and seemed ready to hurl a dagger at her. “But what I can’t figure out is, why the child? She looks like a street urchin ready to scamper into the shadows at any moment. What a motley bunch—”

  “Can I explain now? Or do you wanna go and bully me some more?” Devin said, his voice irritated but soft.

  Shells rolled her eyes and thrust her hands on her hips.

  Devin continued, “Listen, Criswall is a mess right now. Many people have fled the city. Lots of nobles have been killed. There’s been a revolution—”

  “What? Yer shittin’ me,” said the tall woman, her shocked face riveted with interest now.

  “Let me continue. I’m out here on a job for a friend, and I’m to deliver her up north to her family.” Devin gestured at Lysha. “And the others are friends of Lysha, who’ve escaped Criswall. A group of cultist magicians went on a murderous rampage.”

  An older woman with long, curly black hair stepped out and studied Devin. “Witches and wizards harassing Criswall, too? I wonder if it’s the same group as shuttin’ down the mines up north?”

  Several of the miners nodded and grunted in response and strolled over, their eyes keenly interested. Devin dismounted, and Lysha and Maggie followed, the tension in the air seemingly evaporating at once.

  “So, she’s not your—” Shells gave Devin a hesitant look, and for a moment, Elendria sensed vulnerability and tenderness in her eyes.

  “No, Shells, she’s not my anything.” He shuffled over to her until he was close enough to be stabbed by the daggers still in her hands.

  The girl stared up into his eyes and shifted as if uncomfortable by his gaze.

  “Miss me?” he said, and she smiled and leaned in for a kiss.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Madam Lassengre hated doing what she was told. When Arcturius, the old saggy-faced grand master of the Order of Shadows, insisted she leave the capital for fear of her safety, she refused. A few cultists and a boy supposedly possessed by a god didn’t scare her away so quickly. She doubted whatever they had summoned that foul evening in Ravenswood was a god; it was more likely a demon. She could deal with demons. She’d done so several times before. But that was a very long time ago before the old empire had fallen to the mortal brutes.

  She had scouted the streets of Criswall in the days following her arrival home, but there was no sign of Relek, the young cultist. Where had he gone? She worried whether the boy had been sent after Lady Elendria. Was the girl ready to face him? But Madam Lassengre knew she couldn’t go off to help Elendria. Her path was here, in Criswall, at least for the time being.

  The Devil’s Quadrant had grown somber, with citizens whispering rumors about the King’s mysterious illness and the Duke of Wrainton’s temporary ascension to power. He had assumed the role of vice-regent to bring stability and peace and to exercise a degree of control over the unruly mobs that had terrorized the city. Madam Lassengre suspected the King and the remaining royal family were under house arrest in the Senheim Palace, at the mercy of the cultists. She thought it was quite the devious way to lend credibility to their dark rule of power.

  Where the streets had been in a state of shambles when she had left, now the city was organized like a military camp. Outlaws and resisters were strung up by the noose, hanging alongside the bloated, grotesque remains of the nobility and the once-wealthy citizens. Any opposition to the new rule was met with savage cruelty by the fanatical priests of Ba’al, who roamed the streets like henchmen. The city was on edge, but no one dared speak out for fear of being isolated and tortured.

  Madam Lassengre was in disguise. She wore the drab woolen clothes of the commoner to blend in with the crowd gathered in Danton Square. Several groups of red-clad priests stood atop platforms placed in various locations. Their dark, brooding eyes studied the assembly. There was to be an announcement, one not to be missed, or so the whispers said.

  “Why do you dare disobey the will of Ba’al?” cried an old, red-cloaked priest standing proudly at his position of prominence. His gaunt, leathered face held an expression of fanaticism and disdain.

  All eyes turned to look at the man, and the crowd hushed in an instant.

  “There are many guilty sinners amongst you. Can you smell the vile rats?” The man’s hawkish nose twitched. He paused to allow the crowd to absorb the accusation. Faces tensed as many suspicious eyes were cast on others standing around them.

  “The putrid stink befouls this fair city. Ba’al demands obedience. Which in this case—you ignorant fools—means reporting suspicious activity and persons to the priests!” His voice had risen to a frenzied shriek, and the people shrank back in fear. Madam Lassengre could feel the magic crackling with each spoken word. The cultists were masters at inciting fear, rage, and fevered devotion amongst the people.

  Several of the priests dragged an old, gray-bearded man wearing a torn azure robe toward a group building a bonfire. His sapp
hire eyes held the calm indifference of a sage. Madam Lassengre recognized the man as the retired grandmaster of the Order of Fire. The wizard was mumbling words—a chant likely—in preparation for his deadly fate.

  “Look at him! Before you stands Grandmaster Antonius Serebin, the once proud and cruel wizard. He was caught hiding in a cellar under the protection of a family residing here in Danton Square. They have disobeyed the commands of Ba’al and will face his unmerciful wrath.” The cultist shouted the last words, singling out a young woman in the crowd, who shrank back at his maniacal stare.

  “Bring them,” the old priest said and watched as a family was roughly yanked toward the pyre. The two young children—a boy and a girl—screamed and begged for their parents to help them, but there was nothing to be done. The mother and father looked dazed and helpless, glancing around at the angry, accusing mob shouting slurs at them.

  The sorceress sighed. Had it come to this? She winced as a priest cuffed the side of the still screaming boy’s head, knocking him senseless. Other priests swooped in to drag the boy across the square until they brutally tossed him onto the pyre.

  The boy’s mother shrieked in horror and begged for mercy at the feet of a priest. He kicked her in the face and gave a disgusted sneer as he spat upon her.

  Madam Lassengre had seen the vilest cruelty in her too-long life, and few things shocked her anymore. But the senselessness of the cultists’ actions sickened her. She memorized the faces of the priests hurting the family and vowed to find vengeance in a dark alley—when the gods of justice moved her to strike.

  “Tie them to the pyre and burn them. Let us make sweet incense to Ba’al.” The old red-cloaked priest glanced at the murmuring crowd. “And let not a sympathetic face be seen amongst you, unless a foolish soul is willing to join them. The people of Criswall have demonstrated how raucous and unruly your temperament is. Thankfully, the teachings of Ba’al and his desire for order in the universe of chaos have quelled the mob.”