The Blood Witch (The Blood Reign Chronicles Book 1)

by Nielsen, D. S.

  The Tovani were a brotherhood of warriors dedicated and trained from infancy for the sole purpose of keeping watch over the witch’s prison cell at Gethseena. Their entire existence was dedicated to ensuring she could never break free. The Tovani’s duty was shared with the priests of Ashteri who would maintain the magical wards and locks on the witch’s prison cell. The priests were the actual jailors or wardens of the prison, with the Tovani being the guards.

  Nicoldani had always thought that all the prison safeguards were a little excessive. From what he had been taught in his education and training, the cell had been crafted especially for the purpose of holding the witch. Nicoldani’s training had been extensive, not only in matters of war and battle, but also in history and literature. It had taught him that the cell where the witch was held captive was constructed with large steel plates four inches thick to line top, bottom, and all four sides of the holding cell. The chamber itself had been hewn from solid bedrock beneath the temple at Gethseena.

  There was only a single pathway that led to or from the holding cell, the last fifty paces of which had been filled with brick and mortar after the witch was placed inside. At this point, there was a small tunnel through the bedrock completely encircling the cell in the center. Fifty paces of solid rock lay between the cell and any point in the encircling tunnel.

  It was in this circular tunnel that the priests of Ashteri would sit vigil to maintain the magical wards which isolated and restrained the witch. No less than seven priests at a time would take up watch positions around the circle. The magical wards binding the Blood Witch required at least seven priests to maintain the balance.

  The priest would remain vigil for seven days, not requiring food, water, or sleep during the entire time. The changing was on a rotation so that only one priest at a time would turn over his post. The transition would take several hours, with the priest who was holding the complex ward, slowly transferring control to the priest who was relieving them. The magical wards were so complex and powerful that releasing them abruptly would be disastrous.

  From the vigil ring, an exclusive pathway led upwards to the first holding chamber where twenty of the Tovani stood guarding the iron bound door and gate leading below. No one was allowed to enter the first holding chamber from vigil circle without High Priest Tarnus and two other priests present to ensure that the ones coming from the vigil circle were ….. themselves. No one was allowed into the vigil circle except the priests. Not even the Tovani were allowed any further than the first holding chamber. This holding chamber was the closest the Tovani ever got to the cell where the Blood Witch was held.

  Further up the single corridor from the first holding chamber was another in the series of safeguards. Many large metal spikes hung suspended inside the roof of the corridor. If the lever was tripped, the spikes would instantly descend, trapping or killing anyone inside the twenty foot long corridor or at the very least making the tunnel impassable.

  The second holding chamber had more bound doors and gates with Tovani standing guard. The only way out from here was a wooden ladder that extended forty feet to the small portal above. A honeycomb of small fist sized holes dotted the sheer walls and made this section almost look like a giant cylindrical well.

  From the second holding chamber, a cord ran the rest of the way to the main floor of the temple and was attached to an alarm bell. If all else failed the alarm would be sounded, the ladder would be raised, and a giant stone boulder would be rolled over the opening sealing anyone or anything below. The entire chamber would then be flooded with water. It would be the last resort if the witch somehow managed to break free of her holding cell.

  The regiment was clear and everyone had their places and assigned tasks. Twenty Tovani stood guard at the opening with long pry bars awaiting the alarm. If the alarm sounded… ever… the spikes would descend and the Tovani guards would lever the boulder into position and flood the chamber with water.

  In the many generations since the Blood Witch’s imprisonment, there had never been a need for any of the safeguards. Many even believed that the witch was long dead by now, and her flesh rotted away so that only her bones remain in the cell. Or perhaps even her bones had turned to dust after such a long time. Time seemed to dull peoples memories, but pledges older than memory required the vigil to be kept. The world depended on it, because the risk was too great.

  All of the safeguards had been designed for one thing, to keep the witch in. No one had ever expected the threat to come from outside the walls. That night had been a surprise to everyone at Gethseena. Eight thousand of the lunatic followers had converged on the gates with their faces painted red, and being clad all in black. They seemed to ooze out of the night and stormed the gates before anyone knew what had happened. The gates at Gethseena were not well guarded, considering they were never meant to keep people out.

  Before that fateful night, Gethseena would on occasion receive reports from Dallonburo of minor uprisings of followers of the witch. Usually they were small, only a few hundred or less and easily put down. The uprisings had been few and far between with only three in Nicoldani’s lifetime. He as the high commander of the Tovani had led all three attacks to suppress the rebellions. This time, however, it was not just a few hundred lunatics; there were thousands of well-organized soldiers.

  The Tovani were fabled warriors of renowned strength and courage and had held the gates valiantly, but they numbered only five hundred in total. The Tovani Warriors had fought valiantly, killing many of the fanatics, but in the end, sheer numbers overpowered them.

  Nicoldani had been on watch in the first holding chamber at the time of the fateful attack when he received a summons from the High Priest. He was reluctant to leave his post but he could not ignore a summons from the High Priest. As he was emerging from the ladder the high priest met Nicoldani and pulled him aside into a private room, closing and locking the door behind him. The story the old man told, rocked Nicoldani to his very core. It was an astonishing tale he could scarcely believe.

  The old priest unfolded a story that was sworn to be kept secret from all, only handed down from one High Priest to his successor. No one else, not even the other priests of Ashteri even knew the truth.

  “What I’m about to tell you,” High Priest Tarnus began hesitantly, “is of utmost urgency, and is told only because there is no other recourse left. It is a secret know only to me, and passed down from the time of imprisonment. It would be passed to my successor, and no one else, if circumstance permitted.” The old priest paused and seemed to be listening to someone else, or perhaps a voice inside his own head.

  After a moment the old priest began speaking again, “However, under the present circumstances I must tell….. someone. Nicoldani you must swear on your life that you will not divulge this information to anyone.”

  The old man seemed more than his considerable age as he continued with his discourse. “However I think it has all been in vain,” Tarnus said wearily. “There may not be a need to keep it confidential for long if the witch does break free.”

  To Nicoldani’s dismay, it was revealed that the Blood Witch had never been imprisoned at Gethseena. King Erlandas in his wisdom feared that followers might rise up to break her free. In her day, the witch’s followers had always been rabid, maniacal, and more than willing to die for her. If they didn’t know where she was imprisoned then they could not set her free. Hence an elaborate ruse was crafted.

  “It was decided,” Tarnus continued, “that once the mordji separated the witch from her staff they would bring the staff here to Gethseena, under the premise that it was the witch herself. The witch was tied in a way to the staff, so it would give the mordji the focal point they needed for the warding. Even though she would be leagues away in an unknown location, the mordji could still maintain the ward on her. At the same time, it would keep the staff far from the witch’s grasp.”

  Tarnus paused to catch his breath, but his breathing was ragged and labored, and it was
apparent that this was a great strain on the old man. “It was decided that the witch would be taken by one of the Arch-Mordji to her real prison cell. With the remaining Arch-Mordji maintaining the ward, and the absence of her staff, the chosen mordji would easily be able to control the witch. In this manner, only he would know the true location. Not even the King would know the final imprisoning place. The Arch-Mordji who had been chosen for the task would take the witch to the location only he knew, and then sit vigil until the remaining mordji and the staff were safely at Gethseena. Then as a last sacrifice the Arch-Mordji would take his own life, ensuring no one would ever discover where she was being held.” The old man finished and slumped heavily back in the chair, seemingly drained of his strength.

  As it turned out, over time the remaining mordji slowly died out, taking with them many of their secrets. However, they passed on the knowledge of the warding and the witch to the ones that would become the priests of Ashteri. Generations had passed, and many of the details of the story had been lost. The location of King Erlandas’ great castle Bethvain had even been lost in the many years that had lapsed. The old priest didn’t even know the location where the great castle had once stood. He only suspected it was far off to the northeast, somewhere near the forsaken lands.

  “You must find the real prison and make sure the witch cannot break free,” the High Priest told Nicoldani solemnly. “Or if we fail here and the wards are broken to allow the witch to get free, you must stop her from returning and obtaining the staff.”

  How Nicoldani was supposed to stop the Blood Witch was beyond him. How was he, being one man, and not even a mordji, or even a priest, supposed to stop the Blood Witch?

  The revelation the old priest had given Nicoldani shook him to his foundation. It became apparent that he had been guarding a lie his whole life. Maybe not entirely a lie, a secret perhaps, or the staff, but not the thing he had pledged his whole life for. He had not been guarding the Blood Witch, not exactly anyway. However, the staff did hold tremendous power so perhaps it had not all been entirely in vain. But what was he supposed to do if he found the witch? The Blood Witch had destroyed entire armies and laid waste to the land.

  “If she awakens and is freed,” the old priest continued his voice trembling with fear and strain, “she will only be a faint reflection of what she once was. Enough time has passed that it may even be possible to kill her, or at least capture her. But, if she regains the Staff of Power….. then may the Gods help us! You must ensure that this never happens!”

  The old priest hesitated for a moment before he finished. “If the witch does break free there is still another small hope. I’ve studied the histories and prophecies my entire life. I have found one small passage that might be of use.”

  “One will rise from obscurity,

  One that stands between Light and Dark,

  between Day and Night,

  between Good and Evil.

  The One will be the Savior and the Destroyer.”

  “What does that mean?” Nicoldani asked the old priest in bewilderment.

  “I do not know,” Tarnus conceded glumly. “I have spent many years trying to puzzle it out. But I have to admit I have failed. Originally, I think people believed it referred to King Erlandas, but I am not so sure that is the case. My best guess is this One spoken of can wield the staff of power and confront the Blood Witch. No one but the witch has ever been able to use the staff. Many have tried and been destroyed as a result. Perhaps this One can harness its power. However, that is only my supposition. I do not know any longer. I fear we have failed.” With those final words High Priest Tarnus slumped back in the chair and breathed his final breath.

  Were the words of the priest just more subterfuge, more stories, more myths? Nicoldani was confounded and crestfallen, struggling to make sense out of any of this. Nothing made sense anymore, all he knew was he was being sent away from his duties as he had always known them. Nicoldani had known his duties well up until this moment but nothing had prepared him for this.

  With that small fragment of knowledge….somewhere to the northeast, perhaps in the forsaken lands, Nicoldani left Gethseena like a thief in the night, seeking what no man but him even knew existed. But in his heart he felt that he should have remained with his brothers to fight or die. He suspected the rest of the Tovani brotherhood had been slain in the attack, and the chamber sealed and flooded. If so, then at least that should stop the witch’s followers from getting to the priests and the staff. He supposed that was why they had crafted the holding in that manner, to isolate the priests.

  The Priests of Ashteri were a different breed of men. They dedicated their entire lives to the Gods and nature. They gained their strength and power in their magic from the earth, heavens, nature, and most importantly from their unfailing dedication to the Gods.

  A priest of Ashteri could sit atop a snow-capped mountain wearing only his skin, in conditions cold enough to freeze a normal man solid, with no ill effects. He could walk through raging fire completely unharmed or even go without food and water for months. Nicoldani was sure the priests could survive in the submerged cavern indefinitely or at least long enough for help to arrive from Dallonburo.

  As long as the priests maintained the ward the witch could not break free. It would take the witch’s followers months, if not more, to move the boulder, drain the cavern, remove the spikes, and dig their way through the fifty feet of rock to get to the cell. That is if the traps had been sprung. But Nicoldani had faith in his brothers. They would have ensured the traps had been sprung no matter what the cost.

  Perhaps if the fanatics did reach the cell and found the witch was not there, they would leave the priest unharmed. Perhaps, but more likely they would torture and kill them in an effort to find out where she was. If they were able to steal the Staff and somehow get it back into the hands of the witch…….. Nicoldani couldn’t worry about that now.

  In any case, Nicoldani did not think the fanatics had reached the priests, at least not yet. He suspected that he would somehow know if they broke through and killed the priests. Then again, the priests were no easy meat, being very powerful in their own right. If the Tovani thinned the fanatics’ numbers sufficiently, the priests might be able to hold off the rest. Nicoldani still held out a sliver of hope for them.

  After Nicoldani had left Gethseena, he set out to the northeast, traveling the East Road through many small cities, which turned into towns, eventually becoming villages as he got further from Odessia. There was no Queen’s guard to patrol the roads this far out, not even a Queen to rule the land and maintain proper order. It seemed these people ruled themselves.

  Nicoldani had been set upon by bandits several times on his journey. The bandits however, sorely underestimated him. He had been the high commander of the Tovani; a few bandits were no match for him.

  The last encounter with bandits had come three days prior. This bunch had actually managed to catch Nicoldani with his guard down, which was not an easy thing to do. But he had become weary and preoccupied with his failures, which allowed the bandits to catch him by surprise.

  Nicoldani had been riding along lost in thought when an arrow suddenly pierced his shoulder, almost knocking him from his horse. However, his instincts took over and he allowed himself to fall to the ground.

  The bandits approached carelessly, thinking Nicoldani was either dead or badly wounded. To their surprise, they learned quite quickly that he was not. He neatly dispatched all six of the bandits in short order, two of which never even had time to draw their short swords. Not that it would have done them any good if they had. Either way they would still be lying dead in the road all the same.

  It was then Nicoldani decided to remove his cloak and tabard with the sigil of the Tovani embroidered on the breast. It had become a source of shame for him, one he was not worthy to wear any longer. It wasn’t the Tovani that gave him shame, just the fact that he had deserted them, at least in his own mind, and no longer had the right
to be called Tovani.

  He rolled the cloak and tabard and stuffed them into his saddlebags. He considered burning them, but in the end thought better of it. Someday he might be able to regain his honor and the right to wear them once again, but his hope was slim.

  In place of his Tovani cloak, he donned a plain grey cloak that he removed from the largest of the bandits. Even then, the cloak fell short on him and was tight around his chest, but it would have to do for now until he could find another large enough to fit him properly.

  Nicoldani was a large man by any measure, standing nearly two heads taller than most men. His shoulders were wide and his arms were corded with heavy muscles. He was a formidable man, and looked as if he had been carved from stone, despite the fact that he was advanced in years. Many younger men had died at his hands, but none that didn’t deserve it.

  These particular bandits had not been particularly successful in their trade. Nicoldani only found two gold crowns and ten silver pennies between the lot of them. He felt no remorse at relieving them of their belongings, at least the ones that he could make use of. After all, dead men didn’t need possessions any longer, and it wasn’t as if Nicoldani had robbed them. They had attacked him, and would have killed him, but instead they had been the unlucky ones, and now were no longer in need of their earthly possessions.

  Nicoldani cut strips from one of the bandit’s shirts to make a bandage for the wound he had taken from the arrow. He snapped the shaft off clean just below the fletching, and then pushed the arrow the rest of the way through to avoid further damage. Attempting to pull a broad-head arrow out of flesh the way it had gone in was much harder, and did more damage than to just push it out the rest of the way through. The wound itself was little more than a scratch to Nicoldani. It had caught him just below the left shoulder and had missed any vital organs. He had survived far worse and lived, but the wound needed tending to avoid infection. The task was second nature to him since he had tended wounds many times, and he handled it deftly.