Dread of Spirit: Rise of the Mage - Book One

by Jason Bilicic

  He held his right wrist out before him, noting that it now had a hand, though the fingers each had but a single knuckle, the growth still at work there. He wiggled the stubby digits, allowing himself a weak smile. He then flexed his left hand. Fully recovered and strong.

  “Go,” he ordered himself. He climbed to his feet with a groan as the freezing air assailed him, knocking the warmth from him instantly, driving shivers deep through his body.

  His teeth chattered as he folded the tent and stuffed it into the backpack and heaved it onto his back. He tied the blanket around himself again and resumed his march.

  Once he forced his way through a few hundred paces of snow, he began to recover some heat. His muscles complained but they felt stronger after the short sleep.

  Dawn crept into the sky before him, making his eyes feel heavy, as though he was the only person in all of Oerhe that stood awake to see the coming of the sun. Pale yellow began to radiate in the sky, the sun offering light before heat.

  Within a half glass, it shone itself, the light too bright for Kelc, forcing him to squint. He tried lowering his eyes but the snow reflected the sun more brightly still. “Hells.”

  It seemed that the snow stood shallower now, reaching only to his knees, though it did little to speed him up. He looked back to the west, half expecting to see Kreggen, Tasher and Jista barreling down on him, but only his obvious passage and snow lay there.

  So he forged on, grateful when the sun climbed a bit higher in the sky, both because of the warmth it offered and because it reduced the glare that needled his tired eyes.

  Through the day, he walked, stopping only occasionally to rest and eat. Exhaustion built in him, slowing his steps and echoing through his skull in the form of a dull throb behind his eyes and in the back of his head. His feet felt as if they weighed twice what they had when dawn broke and he began to feel light-headed.

  He dropped to his knees in the snow, allowing his head to fall to his chest. “Hmmph.” His right hand looked almost done with its recovery, the fingers whole though the skin was tender and pink and no fingernails capped them.

  “Shy,” he whispered, “you’re the one that can feel where I am. Help me.” He glanced up at the unending white plain. “How can I know if I’m heading in the right direction?”

  He pressed his hands to his face, driving his palms into sore eyes while massaging his temples with his fingers.

  “I need to sleep.” The sun descended from the sky and Kelc guessed it would drop past the horizon in a couple glasses.

  He climbed to his feet and walked another hundred paces before he determined that he had only enough energy to create a camp.

  He erected the low tent and heaped snow on it to hide it from those who might spy it from a distance. He lit two small lamps that would add heat to the interior, crawled in and collapsed.

  Sap popped in the camp fire, a loud snap. Kelc’s eyes slid open just after the sound, just before he recognized the smell of bacon and heard the sound of something metal scraping on metal.

  “Hells!” he breathed. He sought spirit and found that he could contact nothing. It felt as if the leather walls of his tent were the end of the world, so far as his senses were concerned. He reached back to his skiver. “How in all the…” The sheath remained, but the black blade was gone.

  He reached to the edge of the tent for his sword. Also gone. How had anyone gotten in here and taken everything without so much as rousing me, Kelc thought, angry with himself. “Imbecile,” he shouted noiselessly, his hands clenched before him.

  He sucked in a few breaths, knowing that he could do nothing but climb from the tent to see who had captured him, who waited without. He prepared himself. If there is any way, he assured himself, then I will rip the soul right out of whoever this is and turn it to my need.

  When he felt prepared, his eyes took on their purple hue and he mechanically crawled through the flaps of the tent.

  “Kelc, you’ve awakened just in time to eat.” Kreggen offered a grim smile. “Not much has changed since I last saw you. At least in this regard.”

  The older brother reached into a small pan with a three-pronged fork and turned over a few strips of pork, the metal sliding noisily against the rough surface of the skillet.

  “Kreg,” Kelc said, releasing his spirit sense, “what is going on here?” He looked around, seeing no one. “You’re here alone?”

  “For the moment. There are so many spirits and deads and…things running around in the countryside, everyone is spread pretty thin.” Kreggen gestured for Kelc to sit across the fire from him. Away from him, Kelc noticed. “It took a while to pick you out of all the rest. But then I came across a trail of priests, priests from Reman. Worshippers of Gul Thannon, a god they believe will control all of the deads one day in order to take over the lands of mankind. Seems those priests suffered a fairly gruesome fate.”

  Kreggen’s head cocked to a side.

  “Yes,” Kelc said. “They captured Shaia for a short time. I couldn’t have that.”

  Kreggen shook his head. “What are we going to do, younger brother?”

  “We? Is there even an option? I assume you have come to execute me.” He couldn’t look Kreg in the eye. “You’re the Territorial Warden now. You have duty.” Kelc filled his lungs and let it blast from him. “Don’t you?”

  “I do.” Kreggen plucked four strips of bacon from the skillet, dropping them onto a rag. He then picked up a mug that sat near the fire, offering it and the meat to his brother. “Father insisted the day would come when I would have to do my duty. He understood your nature it seems, and he told me I’d have to deal with you.”

  Kelc looked into the mug. Mulled cider. He held it up enough for Kreggen to understand. “Thanks.” He took a sip, allowing the warm fluid to wash through him, the cinnamon and apple reminding him of better times. “So father told you that you would have to arrest me?”

  “No,” Kreggen said. “He told me I would have to lead you to your execution.” Grey eyes, Symean eyes, looked to Kelc. “I don’t want to kill you. I want you to know that. I know everything there is to know about you and…” Kreg searched around them for a moment. “Dark practitioner or not, you are no criminal, nor are you a real threat to Symea.”

  Kelc felt no relief. I don’t want to kill you. Hells, he thought, that’s hardly the way I wish he’d have said that. Is Kreg still Kreg? “You looked around,” Kelc said. “Who else is out there?”

  “Tasher,” Kreggen admitted, miserable. “Jista as well, and four Vanguard troops. Tasher thinks you’re the reason everything has gone mad. He also blames me and has filed a complaint to reassume the command of the territory since I am soft when it comes to dealing with practitioners. You,” Kreggen said. “He wants to train all of Symea’s troops as wardens and seek out and destroy every spirit. He is working on getting council approval to invade Reman and begin a series of fortresses to control it. He will begin a contest Symea will not survive.”

  “And they are waiting for us?”

  Kreg nodded. “I told them I could prove my worth and bring you in alive. Tasher was ready to come and cut you apart while you slept. He said it was what you deserved for bringing all of your minions upon us.”

  “There is a god of nature in Reman. I can’t recall his name, but he redirected the flow of spirit to pass beneath Symea. It used to pass under Reman, but something happened and he moved it. I’m not sure why.” Kelc took a bite of bacon, resolved to enjoy his last meal. “Anyway, it sort of drives spirits to remain active, I think.”

  “Blood and ashes, Kelc, how can you know all of that?” Kreg waved his hand out towards the snowy plain. “You’ve been on the run for what, ten days, twelve? And now you’re telling me that we’ve swapped roles with the Hells?”

  “There was one among the priests of Gul Thannon, Kyndron, who told me.” Kelc looked his brother in the eye. “This power, a river of it beneath the ground, Kreg, is why all of these priests have come. I suppose they ho
ped to discover it and redirect it, or explain what happened.”

  “And you believe this priest?”

  “Yes.” Kelc took a bite of bacon and washed it down with his cider while Kreggen did the same. “He had no reason to lie. I was his prisoner at the time. But he released me after I demonstrated my power.”

  “This evil priest just let you go?” Kreggen shook his head. “Younger brother, you have changed more than I expected. Nothing about you seems as it was.”

  “Much the same can be said of you, Kreg.”

  “Perhaps,” Kreggen sighed. “Perhaps.” He munched on his bacon, the strip he ate a little too crispy, forcing him to wash down each bite with cider. After he finished, he worked his jaw for a moment. “So, do you plan to resist me?”

  “No, Kreg. Unlike you, I will not kill my own brother. Shaia knew I planned on dying if it came down to my life versus your precious honor.” Kelc frowned as he thought about his sister. “She thought it was foolish. Wasteful.”

  “It is, younger brother, but it is also the only way to stop both Symea and Reman from tumbling further into ruin.” Kreg closed his eyes. “Tasher would never stop if you were to escape, and that would guarantee his ability to depose me. You are central to his hatred, as if you are the most powerful witch alive.” Kreg snorted a laugh.

  “Maybe I am,” Kelc observed dryly, “but we’ll never know. How do you execute a dark practitioner?” he asked, levelling his gaze at his brother.

  “We drive an iron spike into their heart and then behead them with a coppered axe,” Kreg said. “It kills the body and rends the spirit at the same time. Then we coat the body with copper shavings and bury it five reaches in the ground, though that will have to wait.”

  “Just like that? Someone walks up and…does it?” Kelc screwed his face up. A coppered blade would shred his spirit. And any attempt to stop it would only splinter off to do anything other than save him.

  “It will be done with witnesses.”

  “Out here? The Vanguard troops? Or will we have to go to Skurgaard or Chinggen Mor?” Kelc couldn’t believe he discussed his own execution.

  “Out here, I’m sure. Tasher will then send a report that you are dead and we will be off to hunt others.” Kreggen looked to the east for a moment. “Without you, everything else will be easier.”

  “So you will kill me to stop Tasher?”

  “Kelc,” Kreggen snapped. “It’s not just Tasher. It’s thousands of lives. It’s…” The warden stopped himself. “Yes. I must. Father told me I must and now I understand just how important it is.”

  “Father told me something as well,” Kelc said.

  “Just before you killed him?” Kreg asked, his eyes narrowed and intent.

  Kelc almost responded that he hadn’t killed Varrl, but he halted the words. His mother might get to live a normal life. “Yes,” he said instead. “He told me that I needed to save you.” A bitter laugh followed. “I actually bothered to convince myself that it meant something noble, that I would have to save your life or protect you from some evil.” A sneer curved his lips. “But it seems, older brother, that I am to save you by allowing you to kill me so you can remain as Territorial Warden so Tasher will have to wait on his suicidal crusade. And just as he was with you, father seemed quite convinced of what he said. Ever has life positioned you for glory at my expense.”

  “That’s skeesh, Kelc!” Kreggen exploded. “You have no idea what my life looked like. No one ever stopped father from beating me bloody! I protected you! Shaia never ran to me to mop the blood off of me or bind my broken bones! You just like to paint things as you needed them. Never would you see that the iron will to get things done must be forged. Instead, you looked upon father as a mindless beast and waited for your chance to kill him and mother and run off with Shy to the Hells where you can…I don’t even know. Don’t you dare belittle the life I’ve lived! I fought from the first day and have never been able to stop. No one offered me a quiet life as a coroner. No one even asked me what I wanted. I could fight so a fighter I had to be.” Kreg ripped his scimitar free of its scabbard and hurled it out into the plain. “I wish I’d never seen the damned thing. I want to help people, Kelc. Help them. I wanted to have a family. Now look at me! Look!” His face flushed and his lips tight, Kreggen looked like a man suffering. “In order to do any good, I have to kill my own blood. That’s what has become of me! And doing anything else lays the blood and souls of countless people in my hands. Greech!” he yelled as he dropped dumbly onto his rear. “I hate this! I can’t even fix the obvious wrongs.”

  Kelc sat in silence after his brother’s rant. There wasn’t anything to say. The situation offered no hope and Kelc refused to apologize for his words when his life stood forfeit to save a nation that deserved whatever dark fate visited upon it.

  “What do we do, Kreg? Do I just walk with you back to them?” Kelc watched as his brother shook his head violently as if arguing with his thoughts. “Kreg?”

  “You know,” Kreggen said, his voice an uncertain drone, “you were supposed to figure a way out of this end. You were the thoughtful inventive one, Kelc. You were supposed to come up with an answer that took this moment and replaced it with some incredible answer. You were the best of us! I knew it, mother knew it.” He sucked in a breath and held it while pressing his lips together. “Father greeching knew it. But no answer. And now we’re out of time. Out of time,” he said matter-of-factly, “and out of options.”

  “You could come with me, Kreg. We could…”

  “And have Tasher lead the entire Vanguard after us into Reman?” Kreggen shook his head once. “Do you know what the death toll of that would be?”

  “You should have killed him during the trial,” Kelc observed. “Taken his head clean off and freed us of his craven obsession.”

  “I should have.” Kreggen looked out into the snow, in the direction of his sword. “But it wouldn’t have changed too much, Kelc. There’s thousands like him all over Symea.”

  “You’re probably right. Go get your sword. If we have to go then let’s get after it.”

  Kreggen locked his eyes on his younger brother. “You sound like father.”

  “Those words no longer mean what they once would.” Kelc began thinking of all things Varrl had told him in the end.

  Misunderstanding what Kelc meant, Kreggen only frowned before turning to fetch his sword.

  Tasher’s eyes burned with hatred. He looked ready to cut Kelc into pieces from the first moment he saw the young man again. “So you brought him in after all, did you, Kreg?” His voice dripped with contempt.

  “Change your tone or I’ll find more traditional means to command your respect, deputy.” Kreg glared at the former warden until Tasher’s eyes slid away to Kelc. “I said I would bring him and here he stands.”

  “Unfettered and free to attack us, I see.” Hull Jista nodded after Tasher spoke.

  “Do you fear him so much, Alkern? He’s practically still a boy. I overcame him with the simplest conventions we possess.” Kreg looked at Kelc and sneered. “He used to be smarter. Now, he just wants done with this mess.”

  Kelc ignored the byplay. He didn’t care about Symean politics. His brother was right. He wanted done with it. He’d tried to escape Symea and failed. He couldn’t imagine a way to escape without killing Kreg, though causing Tasher’s death would certainly be worth the effort.

  “Hmph.” The thought gave him a moment of meaning, a sense of purpose. He could kill Tasher and save Kreggen from the man. It did seem, after all, like the former warden stood at the heart of the biggest problems Kreg faced.

  “Enjoying this, boy?” Tasher stepped up and bashed Kelc with the back of his hand, cracking his nose.

  “Uh!” Even as Kelc fell, the resonance of the deputy’s touch, his spirit, echoed through him, something about it both poignant and nostalgic amidst the sheer violence of it. A boot caught him in the gut, driving the air from him and driving him onto his back. Kelc felt it again
, if weakly, and grabbed at it, but even as he took hold of Tasher’s energy, it slipped from his clutches. “He,” Kelc wheezed, unable to breathe or speak. “Kreg!” But the name came out weak.

  Tasher’s eyes loomed in his head. Fear. Anger. Both filled him and Kelc knew it.

  “We should execute him right now!” yelled the man, his grey eyes afire in his skull. “We should drape him in copper and spike his chest and end this abomination at once.” Tasher brought an axe into his hands.

  “Stand aside, fool!” Kreg roared. “He is a prisoner and he is bound by me!” He leapt up to stand over Kelc. “I will tolerate no torture. We take him to the Vanguard so we have proper witnesses to his execution.”

  “Warden,” Hull Jista said, shaking his head slowly, “you are wrong to not bind him. He did enough to those priests…”

  “They were scum…”

  “And Pyter? Dell Pyter? One of your deputies? Was he scum?” Jista scratched his coarse beard with one hand. “Your brother ripped the man into bits so small that carrion birds could find no bite worth having. And we fail to properly restrain him? Hells and blood! At least bind his hands and gag him? He’s proven his allegiance! He follows only his own wants and needs. And…”

  “Enough!”

  Kelc fought for air while they argued. Tasher is a dead! He screamed in his mind. Or something damned close. The man’s spirit moved within him, as if separate from his body. Kelc felt it-- could have grabbed it-- but it reflexively pulled away from him. He’s possessed. Greeching Alkern Tasher is possessed by a demon!

  “Hand me the iron manacles and the bit then.” Kreg waited while Jista drew forth the heavy restraints from his pack. “Good. Now draw steel.” He waved vaguely at Kelc. “If he so much as moves while I secure these, spit him.” Jista nodded as he ripped his Symean blade from its scabbard.

  “Skeesh!” Tasher yelled. “Kill him now! He’ll spell our doom!” Even Jista looked at the man with a doubtful expression.