Misanthropy (Born of the Phoenix Book 2)

by David Murray Forrester

  Born of the Phoenix

  Book two:

  Misanthropy

  Written by David Murray Forrester

  illustrated by Adam Isailovic

  First edition

  Special thanks to Roderick Byatt

  Delenair Productions 2018 Australia

  Copyright © 2018 David Murray Forrester

  All rights reserved.

  For artwork and information about the Born of the Phoenix universe, please visit:

  bornofthephoenix.com

  bornofthephoenix.blogspot.com.au

  facebook.com/bornofthephoenix

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, ghosts, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Unless of course, a parallel universe exists, in which these events did, in truth, take place. Until the technology has been developed to discover such parallel universes, it will remain a mystery.

  Prologue

  Just as the rain cascaded upon Floreska, heavy grief bore down on the king’s heart. It was a weight he could not lift, and so, transformed his sadness into bitter resentment.

  Born into royalty, Ryan Balester was raised a prince. As he grew, his triumphs and failures were praised, no matter how grand or insignificant they were, for he was a boy of regal distinction. Lavished with luxuries unknown to most men, he knew nothing of the hardship and struggles of the common folk. “Plebs”, his father called them. Ryan, taking lead from his father, considered the peasants of his kingdom as plebs also. As King, his decrees and proclamations favoured the nobles and high-born lords, allowing them to obtain obscene amounts of wealth while the rest of the kingdom endured their daily struggles. While his actions were questionable, there was one fact the people could not dispute: Ryan Balester was King.

  Droplets of rain hit the stained glass windows. Illuminated by lightning, they streaked down the panels as a ceaseless river of tears. Pessimistic thoughts trailed through the king’s mind as he rested in his favourite chair, sipping cognac from an elegant crystal glass.

  In time, Lord Brackish would return to Floreska. The King was to address Brackish with his final proclamation, which involved relinquishing his crown and handing over the rule of Engalia to the Surangi Lord. Surrender, the thought made the aged cognac taste bitter in his mouth. Growling, Ryan crossed the room and stood beside a window, staring miserably at the lavish gardens below. Once dethroned, his future was unknown to him. Ryan detested the thought of spending the remaining years of his life as a pleb. He was a King, not a man.

  “Not even the gods will be able to save you from her wrath.”

  The voice startled the King. Turning, he found a well-dressed nobleman sitting perched upon the corner of his royal desk, filling a glass with cognac. Such arrogance! Before the King could reply, the stranger spoke again.

  “Those were his exact words, were they not?” Tasting the cognac, he nodded his approval.

  “Her wrath,” Ryan muttered. The words conjured a memory of fire and actions taken in haste. “So, is that why you’re here? Have you come to unleash her wrath upon me?” Assassins commonly dress in disguise. It made their deadly work all the easier, slipping unnoticed right to the very door of their target.

  “What will you do, when you are no longer king?” The man began inspecting the objects and ornaments placed across Ryan’s desk. A silver letter opener, encrusted with gems resting atop a letter, disappeared into the stranger’s pocket. With raised eyebrows he looked at the King, awaiting his response.

  ‘He insults me so brazenly?’ Balester studied the man’s face. It was as if he regarded the King with contempt, as though his royal title meant nothing.

  “You know, I heard a rumour that the Queen has already fled the castle with fifty of your best knights, including General Haycox.” The stranger opened a desk draw. Nothing of interest caught his eye. He slid it closed.

  How did he know this? The Queen’s departure had been done in secret. It was performed with such secrecy, even Balester was unaware of his wife’s flight until his servants discovered her missing the following day. Not only did she rid herself of her King, but had abandoned her children also, leaving them to face an uncertain future at their father’s side. Treachery, Balester believed it to be an unforgivable betrayal. Was there romance between his most trusted general and his wife? The circumstances and evidence led him to that painful assumption.

  “Who sent you to kill me? The Surangi? Or the Queen? You can at least allow me to die knowing who paid for my life.”

  “You will pay for your life.”

  “I will pay?” What type of nonsense was this?

  “Yes, you will pay.” After refilling his glass, the man moved to the blazing hearth. “With diamonds.”

  “Diamonds?”

  “I’m quite partial to diamonds.” The flames raged blue as cognac was thrown upon them. “I am not here to take your life, My King. You will pay me a thousand diamonds to kill Crystal Terrifos. I will dispose of the woman who yearns to murder you.”

  Crystal Terrifos, fiancé of the Surangi Captain whom Balester had beheaded. Finally, Ryan knew the woman’s name. “A thousand diamonds to kill one woman? Your price is too high.”

  Flames, rolling along the logs in the fire scorched the stones of the hearth, blackening them with soot. “Valomere is destroyed. King Pradosse, murdered. A Terrifos did this. Akella, she is the sister of the one who wants you dead.” A golden time piece decorated with emeralds sat beside a frame upon the mantle, this too disappeared into the stranger’s pocket.

  ‘The Larrosan King is dead? Truly, the Surangi are ambitious in their conquest of Sapphiron.’ Raising his head and inflating his chest, Balester recovered his pride. It was time to put this assassin in his place.

  “And who are you to kill one so powerful? Why should I believe you are able to accomplish such a feat?” Stepping towards the man, the King continued. “I have witnessed, first hand, the power of the Surangi. I have felt the fire they wield, seen the strength of their resolve. What do you possess to overthrow such a foe?”

  The stranger spoke not, staring blankly into the flames.

  “And I suppose you’ll want half your payment upfront? Five hundred diamonds, not a bad pay-off for a bold and cunning speech. You have guile and unquestionable skill, being able to slip past my Royal Guard and sneak into my private chamber, I’ll admit that. But your words are empty, and so shall be your purse.”

  The embroidery of the stranger’s garb melted away, magically, as he shrouded himself in a putrid mist. It spread throughout the chamber, bringing with it an aura of dread. His skin blistered, tearing and exposing pale bones. The mist began forming itself into a hideous black cloak which concealed the stranger’s face in darkness. A crooked staff, cruel in design, appeared in his skeletal hand.

  Terror gripped the king as his intruder towered over him.

  “Who are we?” The spectre’s voice harrowing, shrill. “Vodeska of Jidarr. We, who covet the diamonds. We, who will kill the Terrifos. We, who feast upon the souls and flesh of the damned. We are Vodeska. We are Jidarr.”

  Balester was safe from harm, yet his soul was gripped with dread. He’d rather make a deal for his life with Manishka than this hideous Jidarr, for Manishka resided in hell and Balester would be safe from these harrowing confrontations. These Jidarr however, were not in hell. They were here, flesh incarnate. The fear within the King was all encompassing. Ryan did not possess the courage to deny the request of a Jidarr. A pact was forged.

  “Crysta
l Terrifos will not stop hunting you until you are dead. She will not rest until she has her revenge.” Behind the empty, black sockets of his eyes, a duplicitous plot was hatching. “When Crystal comes to Floreska, you must be absent. You must travel north, in secret, to the Mossrine Ruins.”

  “The Mossrine Ruins?”

  “There, you will find sanctuary from your enemies. There, we will bring you the severed head of the Terrifos.”

  Chapter 1

  There was fondness in her movements as Tracey wiped the patched cloth across the bar, absorbing spilled ale. Patronage was slow. Little Wisteria was a small town, after all. Sparse travellers and strangers came into the tavern at different times during the day. Then, there were the regulars, coming daily with their stories and jests. After so many years, they felt like family to Tracey.

  Simon stood at the bar. He was a clumsy lad, sometimes nervous around the louder patrons. Despite his shortcomings, Tracey found him to be a good worker, honest and dutiful.

  “Whiskey and glasses for the ladies in the corner,” Tracey pushed the tray across to Simon. “And, let them know their food will be along shortly.”

  “Right, Ma’am.”

  It was the beginning of his shift. After a hearty breakfast of butter and bacon, Simon’s legs were full of energy for the day’s labours. With zeal, he crossed the tavern, wishing ‘Good morning’ to the patrons he passed by. Simon’s pace slowed as he drew nearer the corner table, which appeared as a dark island in contrast to the smiling faces of the other customers.

  Sunderfall rested against the side of Akella’s chair. The size of the greatsword intimidated the young lad, for it stood taller than he. Simon was smitten by the beauty of Akella’s face, the curve of her lip. His fascination of her was clouded by intense feelings of inadequacy, sensing the strength and distinction she possessed. Compared to the warrior, her companion appeared haggard. Dirt stained Matearla’s face. A filthy rag covered her body, held in place by string which was fraying at the edges.

  “Morning,” he smiled nervously, gazing at Akella’s beauty. Simon placed the whiskey upon the table and set a glass in front of each woman.

  “Thanks, kid.” With her thumb, Akella flicked a sovereign into the air. Simon watched the coin as it spun, wondering if he could catch it – he had fumbled many coins before and the laughter of men still rung in his ears.

  With an outstretched hand, he caught it, and hid his smile. “Your food will be out shortly.”

  “No worries,” Akella seized the bottle, pouring the intoxicating spirit into Matearla’s glass.

  Simon, having not embarrassed himself, strutted back to the bar.

  “So, what will you do with yourself now?” Akella wondered what the day would bring as she watched the golden liquid swell within her glass.

  “Not sure,” Matearla shrugged. Her future was unclear. There were many different paths she could travel, deciding which direction to go was truly difficult, for each choice had severe repercussions.

  Baron Nade had sent Matearla to slay Akella in retaliation for slaughtering his soldiers in Menark and what was she doing? Drinking with her supposed enemy. In truth, Akella was not her enemy, she was her saviour.

  Matearla shuddered, memories of her defeat creeping to the forefront of her mind. Kuungroth, the Gluttonous Reaver, had utterly overpowered her. She had not felt so helpless and weak since her youth, when joining her first coven and facing witches with frightening power. With time, Matearla had surpassed them all, even bringing death to her former supreme, Madam Flurandre. Matearla had journeyed across Sapphiron carelessly, bringing ruin to all who opposed her. She had absolute faith in her magic, though that faith was now shaken. Shed of her composure, Matearla was faced with the realisation that she was not all-powerful.

  “You look deep in thought,” said Akella. She pitied Matearla yet thought her lucky, for had Akella not come to Belderra, the young witch would have suffered a gruesome end.

  Akella wished she could kill Kuungroth again, with greater cruelty. The tortures he inflicted upon Crystal made her soul rage with fury. Who-ever caused the destruction of Granston was going to feel that rage. She had no plans to withhold her savagery. Her anger was untethered, waiting patiently to come forth and destroy.

  The emerald in Akella’s circlet glimmered as Matearla met her eyes. “That’s because I am.” Matearla sipped at her whiskey.

  “Here’s one less thing to think about,” Akella placed five gold coins on the table. “Use them to get yourself some new clothes. There should be more than enough there to buy a decent horse as well. Then you can ride home, wherever home is for you.”

  “It’ll be nice to get out of these rags.” Matearla picked up the coins. “But why are you being so generous? You don’t owe me anything.” ‘You wouldn’t be this kind, if you knew I was sent to kill you. Not that I could.’ Matearla’s defeat at the hands of the false cleric had been fortunate in this instant, for if events had happened differently and Matearla had faced Akella in combat, she’d be dead right now. Matearla knew that for a fact. Defeating Kuungroth proved Akella was superior.

  “I think after your ordeal at Belderra, you deserve to be shown a little kindness.”

  While Matearla smiled, a secret anger brewed inside her. Her grievance wasn’t directed at Akella, but herself. Pity, she thought she was above receiving pity from others. Matearla felt like she had fallen far from her throne.

  “Thanks.”

  Returning to the table, Simon placed a steaming plate of diced eggs garnished with onion and garlic in front of each woman. Matearla’s mouth watered at the sight of the hot meal. Having been fed scraps during her incarceration at Belderra, a scrumptious plate of eggs was most welcome. Wasting no time, she piled her fork high and feasted. Akella looked fondly upon her before turning her attention to her own plate.

  “He’s impressive.” said Matearla as she descended the tavern stairs, Akella beside her.

  Griz’mar stood, awaiting the arrival of his companion. Intimidated by his presence, peasants gave the stone bear a wide berth as they passed by.

  “He is,” nodded Akella. Not only did Griz’mar possess formidable stature, the soul behind those lidless eyes was fuelled with wrathful strength and benevolent empathy, for Griz’mar knew all too well the horrors of violence.

  “Thank you again, for everything.” Matearla held out her hand, Akella moved past it, embracing the witch. With her arms around Matearla, Akella realised she needed the affection more than Matearla did.

  “You’re welcome,” Akella backed away.

  Climbing and mounting the bear as a steed, Akella glanced down at her newest friend. “Take care of yourself, Matearla.”

  ****

  A shallow trickle of water coursed its way along the creek bed. Trees stood close together along the hillside, their long branches hanging low. Matearla’s new dress felt comfortable, the cotton soft against her skin. Drawing the hood of her cloak over her head, she rested, sitting in the long grass. Earlier, she had whispered to the wind. Her words, carried upon the breeze, travelled across the land, calling to Musala. She need only wait, for soon the gekhorn would arrive.

  There was hardly a dispute within her mind as Matearla decided to abandon The Scarlet Blades. Matearla had endured Baron Nade long enough. It was time to be free of him, to walk a new path of her own design.

  Her magic was eternal. If she could avoid death, Matearla knew she could live as an immortal, never aging throughout the years. Now more than ever she desired ascension, to wield greater magic than she ever conceived possible. For that, she needed solitude, time alone to evolve, time to reach new heights of magical supremacy.

  “Where though, shall I train?” She pondered the many ruins and forests that would make a suitable new home. “Lake Coloth?” A remote location, north west. There were caves beyond the waterfalls where she could construct a humble abode and with plentiful food in the surrounding forests to sustain her, the lake held great appeal. Fear of the wat
er nymphs who dwell in the depths of the lake kept adventurers away. She could live alone, undisturbed by the world.

  Ancient tomes and scrolls lined the shelves of her chamber back in Karafess Temple. She needed to recover them. Once that was completed, she could begin her new life.

  Fallen leaves crumbled underfoot as the frightening reptilian beast stalked towards Matearla. There was familiarity to the folds around those predatory eyes, golden and fierce. Musala’s snout flared, breathing in the scent of her master. Grief fell upon Matearla as she ran her fingers across the scars cruelly hewn into Musala’s tough hide. The Belderra guards had showered her with a merciless onslaught of arrows, though they had failed to end her life.

  “We’ll have our vengeance one day,” she said, rubbing the bridge of Musala’s nose. Mounting the gekhorn, Matearla began her journey. North she travelled, along abandoned forest trails and old goat paths, avoiding people where ever possible. It was time to disappear from the world.

  ****

  The charred ruins of Granston were shrouded by a smoky haze. A ghostly aura resonated from within the centre of the village. Crows flocked, scouring the debris to feast upon rotting corpse flesh.

  “This is my fault,” said Akella, surveying the forsaken ruins before her. “I told them to stand up for themselves. Now they’re all dead.” Lord Derrion, the Village Elder, had been right. Akella had given them dangerous advice. The deaths weighed heavily on her conscious.

  Who would seek to destroy Granston? Akella hoped to find some clues amongst the ruins, she feared the fires would have destroyed much of the evidence. She bade Griz’mar advance slowly as she surveyed the carnage.

  The silhouette of figures moving amongst the rubble within a collapsed farmhouse caught her eye. Wanting to catch them off guard, she dismounted Griz’mar, moving with stealth through the haze.