Numen the Slayer
Grady P. Brown
Numen the Slayer
Copyright 2017 by Grady P. Brown
All rights reserved
ISBN-13: 978-1974271085
ISBN-10: 1974271080
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Prologue Page 6
Chapter 1 Page 10
Chapter 2 Page 17
Chapter 3 Page 23
Chapter 4 Page 28
Chapter 5 Page 33
Chapter 6 Page 38
Chapter 7 Page 45
Chapter 8 Page 50
Chapter 9 Page 66
Chapter 10 Page 71
Chapter 11 Page 76
Chapter 12 Page 84
Chapter 13 Page 93
Chapter 14 Page 97
Chapter 15 Page 102
Chapter 16 Page 105
Chapter 17 Page 114
Chapter 18 Page 122
Chapter 19 Page 136
Chapter 20 Page 145
Chapter 21 Page 153
Chapter 22 Page 166
Chapter 23 Page 176
Chapter 24 Page 181
Chapter 25 Page 192
Chapter 26 Page 200
Chapter 27 Page 211
Chapter 28 Page 219
Chapter 29 Page 224
Chapter 30 Page 239
Chapter 31 Page 250
Chapter 32 Page 259
Chapter 33 Page 265
Chapter 34 Page 272
Chapter 35 Page 288
Chapter 36 Page 298
Chapter 37 Page 303
Chapter 38 Page 317
Chapter 39 Page 336
Chapter 40 Page 345
Chapter 41 Page 352
Chapter 42 Page 357
Chapter 43 Page 371
Acknowledgement Page 375
PROLOGUE
Ten thousand years after the extinction of the elves the realm of Gradaia was divided into nine turbulent kingdoms. In the mountains of Gaena, the wealthiest of these kingdoms, a lone blacksmith was laboring on his greatest masterpiece. The locals called him Vaegar the Mad due to his unorthodox and sometimes outrageous craftsmanship. Due to the location of his forge, there may have been truth in his title.
Vaegar set up his workshop in the heart of a volcano along the edge of a cliff that overlooked a pool of magma. He chanted in an otherworldly language as he worked on his relic for Vaegar the Mad was not just a mere blacksmith. It had been widely known throughout the kingdom that Vaegar was also a Druid or a sorcerer who delved in the most ancient magic.
Always Vaegar sang and chanted from when he melted a black reptilian scale the size of his bulky sternum to when he hammered the organic ore into the shape of a double-edged sword. The heat of the magma and hot metal was so intense that Vaegar was on the verge of overheating countless times. Every breath he took was filled with smoke and sulfur and his arms and back ached from his endless exertion. His ears rang from the clanging of steel on steel until he was nearly deaf. Still, despite these discomforts, Vaegar relentlessly continued to make his sword.
By the time the blade was shaped, it was so heated that it glowed bright white with the intensity of the sun. Then Vaegar picked the blade up with his tongs and took it to a barrel filled with blood. However, that was not a random person’s blood in the barrel; it was Vaegar’s own. For days, Vaegar had been carefully draining himself without dying and now it was time to put his blood to use. After chanting loudly, Vaegar plunged the blade into the crimson fluid and an explosion of red steam erupted from the barrel. The steam was so thick Vaegar could not see his own hands in front of his face.
For half an hour, Vaegar kept his blade dipped into the blood barrel before pulling it out. When the red steam dissipated, Vaegar saw the fruit of his labor: a pitch black blade that glittered maroon. Vaegar then took the blade to his work bench and slip the tang into a hilt he crafted days before. The hilt was made from gold and rubies Vaegar stole from Gaena’s wealthy mines as well as polished bone.
Once the blade was all the way into the hilt, Vaegar held his hammer high above his head and howled, “Gods of light, fire, earth, wind, and water! Come to me!”
Vaegar then slammed his hammer into the crossguard with all his might and the sword came alive with brilliant light. A column of glyphs began to glow along the blade’s fuller. In Vaegar’s mind, he could hear a feminine voice whisper to him as though the sword itself was speaking to him.
Smiling, Vaegar declared, “Gramfyre is your name. The Sword of Power. None but your Chosen Blood may hold you and live.”
Despite his moment of triumph, Vaegar felt his strength begin to wane and he dropped to his knees. Vaegar stubbornly gripped Gramfyre even as he collapsed to the floor.
“Galen!” Vaegar called with the last of his energy.
In the corner of his eye, Vaegar could see the silhouette of a small child running towards him. Finally, Vaegar’s world went black as the sudden cold took him . . .
CHAPTER 1
The Kingdom of Umbran
One thousand three hundred years later . . .
The castle of Magnus Keep was enveloped by an autumn breeze. Leaves of many colors flew through the afternoon sky like rain. Like many of the great fortresses of Umbran, Magnus Keep was of concentric design. Its walls consisted of black stone while its gates were made from dark iron. Apart from the torches that lit the windows and battlements, Magnus Keep was all but invisible at night as it blended in with the darkness. Flying from the walls and battlements were banners and flags bearing the sigil of House Magnus; a gold phoenix on a black field.
Numen Magnus sparred with his younger brother Jacto in the courtyard. The wooden swords in their hands were modeled after hand-and-a-half swords and struck one another with loud smacking noises that echoed through the yard. Watching the two brothers was their younger sister, Daena Magnus, who twirled a stick in her slender fingers. Daena was a young woman with a petite, athletic build who shared her family’s black hair and dark eyes. In some ways, Daena possessed a wild and feral beauty enveloping her like a force of nature.
Just like their sister, Numen and Jacto had black hair and dark eyes. Numen was tall with a strong yet slender physique. On the other hand, Jacto was a younger and shorter version of Numen but with broader shoulders.
As Numen and Jacto continued to clash, the differences in their techniques became apparent. Jacto’s style relied on power and aggression while Numen’s style was an ideal balance between strength, speed, and skill. Of the two of them, Numen was the more experienced swordsman. Even though they were sparring, the two brothers displayed giddy smiles and their movements were relaxed and playful.
Noticing her brothers’ lax demeanors, Daena japed, “Why don’t you guys actually try to hit each other instead of messing around like a couple of jesters?”
Chuckling, Jacto commented, “Hey! We are not at war so at least we can have some fun while we’re at it.”
Then Numen struck Jacto hard in the shoulder and sharply quipped, “You dropped you guard! Keep it up! You are trying to swing your sword with the entirety of your arms! Control the movement of your blade with your hands and wrists! Now try again!”
In frustration, Jacto tossed his wooden sword aside and angrily shouted, “We are not at war, brother!”
Numen pointed the tip of his sword at Jacto’s nose and firmly countered, “Maybe not, but these exercises are necessary if a war does break out. When you are living in a wild kingdom ruled by House Baal, you have to learn how to defend yourself. Do you understand?”
Bowing his head, Jacto softly answered, “Yes, Numen.”
Then Numen
smiled warmly before dropping his sword and hugging his brother.
“I’m sorry, Jacto. I didn’t mean to be too hard on you. I just wanted you to be ready in case you take over as the head of our House,” Numen assured soothingly.
Jacto looked at Numen with a curious look and asked, “But you’re the first born son of House Magnus. Aren’t you going to succeed father one day?”
Numen gave his brother a knowing grin and answered, “That may not be the case. Someday I might be slain by the king’s army, the Welt barbarians in the forests, or the Graega itself. That is how life is in this part of the Empire. If that happens, you will be the future of our bloodline. Never forget that.”
Nodding, Jacto murmured, “Yes, Numen.”
Daena clapped cheerfully and proclaimed, “There you go! We are still siblings and friends! Long live House Magnus!”
At that moment, the siblings’ banter was interrupted by the opening of the fortress’ gates. The Magnus children roared in triumph at the sight of their father, Baron Viktor Magnus. Viktor looked like an older version of Numen who was in his mid-forties with graying hair and hardened features. He wore the silk garb and gold embroidery that was fit for a baron. In his hands was a bloodied boar spear and seax dagger. Accompanying him was a collection of hunters carrying a two hundred pound wild boar on a rack. Following Viktor and his men was a pack of hounds scampering alongside them, barking excitedly.
The Magnus siblings watched their father with great anxiety and softly exclaimed, “Welcome home, Father!”
Viktor gave his children a pleasant wave as he and his men carried their kill into the courtyard.
“Happy birthday, Numen! I will have the cooks get this ready,” Viktor called cheerfully.
“Thank you, father,” Numen hollered back.
Eventually, Viktor and his fellow hunters vanished into the castle’s kitchen.
Numen turned to his siblings and exclaimed, “It’s hard to believe I have come of age today.”
Daena gave Numen an affectionate jab to the shoulder and japed, “You may be a man now, but you will always be my idiot big brother.”
Jacto playfully jabbed Numen’s other shoulder and added, “That makes two of us. Come on, let’s get ready for dinner.”
After those words, the Magnus siblings gleefully followed Jacto into their fortress. However, Numen started to hear a faint female voice call out to him from somewhere in the castle’s halls. He looked in every direction, but could not see anyone except himself and his brother and sister.
Noticing their brother’s demeanor, Daena asked, “What’s wrong, Numen?”
Shaking his head, Numen replied, “Nothing. Thought I heard someone.”
Again the mysterious feminine voice called to Numen, stopping him in his tracks. Numen turned and realized that the voice was coming from a small door on the far side of the courtyard. Despite the ominous nature of the voice, Numen was neither afraid and felt an uplifting sensation swell in his heart. Once more Jacto and Daena were confused about their brother’s unusual behavior.
Noticing his siblings watching him, Numen instructed, “You go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Still uncertain, Jacto and Daena ran off while Numen cautiously approached the door that spoke to him . . .
CHAPTER 2
Opening the mystery door, Numen followed the ominous voice down a dark stairway. There were no torches to light the way and the air was so stuffy that Numen found it hard to breathe. He had to feel his way down along the jagged walls as he continued to descend deeper into the darkness.
As Numen went further down the stairway, the feminine voice grew louder in Numen’s head.
“Hello?” Numen called, his own voice echoing through the cavernous void.
Instead of replying, the female voice kept whispering at the untold corners of Numen’s mind. It was like a ghost was constantly nagging in Numen’s ear. Part of Numen wanted to exorcise the source of the voice and free himself from its indecipherable words. Still, another part of Numen desired to move forward as though whoever was calling him was a long lost friend.
“I have lived in this castle all my life, but I have never been in here before. How far does this go?” Numen asked himself, slightly tired from walking down the seemingly endless steps.
Finally, the perpetual darkness that enveloped the stairway was pierced by a flicker of orange light at the very bottom. Numen could barely see his own hand in front of his face. By the time Numen reached the end of the stairs, he was greeted by an unusual sight.
The chamber Numen was in was almost two hundred feet across. A series of torches lit the circular walls, giving Numen a clear view of the room. Most frightening about the scenery were the dozens of charred skeletons that littered the floor. The very sight of the human remains sent chills down Numen’s spine. At the center of the chamber was a large stone chair that resembled the Imperial Throne. Protruding in a diagonal angle from the chair was a sword unlike any Numen had ever laid eyes on.
The sword possessed a black blade that glittered red from the torchlight. Along the blade’s fuller were angular yet elegant glyphs. In addition, the sword was decorated with a hilt that was a regal combination between gold and ivory.
As Numen locked his eyes on the sword, he felt his surroundings fade. Only the sword existed in that moment. The female voice that had lured Numen down was coming from the sword and it was whispering louder than ever. Feeling like he was being possessed by an unseen force, Numen slowly walked toward the sword. Numen’s trance-like state was so strong that he could not even hear the crunch of the human bones under his feet.
Suddenly, as Numen reached for the sword’s hilt, a voice shouted, “Stop!”
Numen felt himself snap out of his trance, turned around, and saw Viktor standing at the base of the stairway. Viktor displayed a look of concern as he locked eyes with his son.
Confused, Numen asked, “Father? What is this place? Whose bones are these? What is this sword doing under our castle?”
His smile understanding yet fearful, Viktor walked to Numen’s side and explained, “That sword is our ancestral weapon, Gramfyre. Forged thousands of years ago by the legendary blacksmith, Vaegar Dragonsteel, and later wielded by his son Galen the Bull to conquer the Petty Kingdoms into a single empire.”
Bemused, Numen demanded, “What are you talking about? Are you saying our family were the original Imperial Dynasty of Gradaia? How is that possible? The original Imperial Dynasty died out after the Dark Death and House Sylva’s rebellion!”
“True, but after Caelum II was usurped, his pregnant sister was able to escape the capital city of Chrysos and go into exile. That princess and her descendants are our ancestors. When she fled, the princess took Gramfyre with her and she planted it here. When she had the stone masons build the castle, she had them build this chamber in order to better hide Gramfyre from unfriendly eyes. Then in order to protect the identity of her family, she put the stone masons to the sword when the castle was complete.
If the rest of the Empire found this sword and discovered who we really are, they may turn on us. With House Sylva sitting on our ancestral throne, we cannot afford to trust anyone in the Empire. However, for generations House Magnus dreamed of the day when we would retake the Imperial Throne. Do you know why House Magnus’s sigil is a phoenix?”
“No, Father.”
“When Caelum II’s sister founded our House, she chose the phoenix as our sigil because it symbolized when our dynasty will rise from the ashes of obscurity and take back what is ours. Unfortunately, we are not ready yet. It took us three hundred years to reach the level of wealth and status that we have today. A day may come when we will be strong enough to follow in Galen the Bull’s footsteps, but it is not now. Until then, Gramfyre and our true identities must remain hidden from the rest of the world. Do you understand?”
Nodding, Numen replied, “Yes, Father. I heard a voice in my head that lured me down here. Was it the sword calling me?”
&
nbsp; “Gramfyre can only be wielded by someone with true Imperial blood in their veins, which includes us and our cadet branch House Letum. Anyone else who so much as touches Gramfyre dies instantly. These bones belong to servants who were too curious for their own good and touched the sword. Our ancestors left the bones here in order to intimidate anyone else who sneaks in here. The reason you can hear the sword’s voice is because you have come of age to wield it. Your brother and sister will also hear it when they come of age. However, as I said, the sword must remain here until we are ready.”
His curiosity remaining, Numen further asked, “What kind of power does Gramfyre give its wielder? Legend claims that it gave someone the strength of a hundred men and make them immune to pain. Is any of that true?”
Shrugging, Viktor answered, “We will never know unless we pull it out of the stone throne and try it ourselves, but it must remain here. Please remember that! Block out the sword’s voice and quell the temptation to free it. I am asking you this as both your father and your baron.”
Nodding, Numen unenthusiastically said, “Yes, My Lord.”
Viktor smiled and gestured to the stairway, saying, “Come on. Let’s celebrate your birthday.”
After those words, Numen and Viktor walked together out of the chamber, leaving Gramfyre alone in the dimly lit darkness . . .
CHAPTER 3
The Magnus family sat in the great hall, enjoying the wondrous feast that lay before them. Resting on the lord’s table was the spit-roasted meat of the wild boar, which steamed with delicious fragrance while piled on top of a large plate made of silver. In addition to the wild boar, the feast was also accompanied by jellies made from deer antler and sculptures made from sugar.
Jacto enthusiastically asked, “So how was the hunt, father?”
Grinning, Viktor described, “The men and I were far from the castle with no possibility of calling for help if something went wrong. We hunted the wild boar for three whole days with hardly any tracks to follow. Suddenly, the hounds became restless and afraid as though sensing something sinister lurking through the trees. Then the boar charged at us with the fury of a hundred men! Fortunately, the hounds managed to restrain the boar while we impaled it over and over until the danger of the situation had passed. The hunt ended with one of the largest boars I ever caught. That is what we are having tonight.”
Numen the Slayer (Magnus Dynasty Saga Book 1) Page 1
