Blood of the Lost: The Darkness Within Saga: Book 2

by JD Franx

  “What happened? You were dead, Lircang. I sensed it. Your body’s riddled with poison.”

  The slaver struggled to drag a breath into his lungs, a wet gurgle followed by a hollow rattle told Seifer that the man’s lungs were more mush than lung. “Shut up and li... listen.” The four words launched the slaver into a coughing fit. Blood and mist sprayed from his mouth and nose.

  “Tell me where she is” Seifer barked, shaking Lircang. “Before you die, do something right.”

  “Right? We’ve been trying Seifer. My son...”

  “I don’t care about your damn son. Where’s Katarina? Tell me!” Another coughing fit racked Lircang’s body as the poison raced to end his life.

  “Listen,” the slaver rasped. “She... she’s with...” With no warning, Lircang’s eyes rolled back in his head and his stomach and lungs turned themselves inside out, splashing Seifer with blood. The GrandScorpion’s venom doing what it did best. The Master Wizard didn’t notice and shook Lircang again. Finally, he wheezed his way back to consciousness. “Help my son, Seifer,” he coughed.

  “Not unless you tell me where she is. I promise...”

  “Stop!” Lircang barked, and grasped Seifer’s arm, his nails dug in. “Kat... she’s with... Ella,” Lircang spit as he struggled to speak.

  Seifer’s world crashed around him as he slumped to the floor with Lircang on his knees. “No... That’s not possible. No one has seen her in decades. Yorcali, why?”

  “Her... Elderblood. The God’s... Favoured. She...” Lircang heaved again and more blood rushed from his mouth. “My... son...”

  “Elderblood? What the Nine Hells are you talking about? Kat has no magic!”

  “Exactly. Her... Her... Elder bloodline...”

  “Yorcali! Where is she? Where do I look? Dammit!” Seifer yelled as he watched the last signs of life flee the slaver’s body. He stared in disbelief and let Lircang fall to the floor dead. Furious, he lashed out, kicking Lircang’s still body and tearing the filthy remains of his shirt. Disbelief flooded every ounce of Seifer’s being as he glimpsed a mark on the lower part of Lircang’s right rib. Kit stepped closer with a lamp, focusing the light on the intricate design.

  “No wonder he didn’t die sooner, Master,” Kit said as she knelt beside the body. Eyeing the symbol, she moved the light even closer, showing Seifer.

  “You’ve seen it before?”

  “Not this exact mark, Master, but I know what it is.” Seifer glanced at her, raising his eyebrow. “It is a symbol of the White, I think.”

  “You’re right. It’s the mark of rebirth for a cleansed soul. It makes you immune to most poisons, resistant to others. Lircang knew he’d end up this way and tried to protect himself. His killer used GrandScorpion poison. The mark slowed its progress, but it couldn’t save him.”

  “GrandScorpion? Is that possible? Who would even attempt to acquire it?” Seifer shrugged his shoulders. His apprentice was right. The race of beings known as the Salt Flats GrandScorpion were survivors from another time. The humanoid scorpion-like creatures were armoured in living chitin-like bone. Ferocious and extremely anti-social even amongst their own kind, they attacked on sight. Most people would live their entire lives never even hearing news of them. There had never been confirmation of one being killed, let alone one hunted and harvested for the extremely lethal poison located inside the tail stinger and the quills that lined their massive claws.

  “Questions I can’t begin to answer, Kit. Focus on the mark instead. What do you know?”

  “Back in Corynth, Master Tahn said only those who practise the White can lay the blessings of the Higher Brethren. He called them the Mark of Angels.”

  Seifer nodded his agreement, his mind a whirl of thoughts. “The fact that Tahn researched such a thing is disturbing, but it’s trouble for the Wizard’s Council, and on another day. We have our hands full enough for today. Did Tahn ever mention Elderblood, Kit?”

  “No, Master. I know what the heritage bloodline is: families with special magic, but I’ve never heard much of Elderblood. Just rumours.”

  “I have. Elderblood runs through my veins. Heritage bloodlines and their magical gifts is common knowledge like you said. But it began with six wizards blessed by the gods personally, or so my family taught me. These wizards held the six Elder powers. Invisibility. Rapid healing and immortality. Mind control or hypnosis. Time and dimension magic. Levitation. And...”

  “And augmentation, your bloodline power,” Kit said, interrupting.

  “Yes. Most are lost now. As far as I know, only Giddeon and myself still have Elderblood, and Giddeon’s has never quickened. We don’t even know what family Giddeon’s descended from.”

  “Master? Does that mean Kael will have Elderblood as well?”

  “Holy Mother Inara!” Seifer cursed, realizing he had never even thought about it. He shook his head. “Tomorrow’s problem, Kit.”

  “Of course,” she said, bowing.

  “Lircang said that Ella had Katarina. Perdition’s fiery gates, what’s going on here?”

  “I know not, Master. But he must have meant Ella Navasha. The White witch. She gave him the mark.” Seifer stared at his young apprentice as uneasiness raced through his body. He hadn’t heard the name of Ella the White in decades. It was a name he dearly hoped to never hear again, let alone have to see her again. A White witch handled angelic power granted by an angel, a power very few had. Angels only granted their power to their most devout mortal servants, or when they were tricked into turning it over. Even fewer stole an angel’s power by killing one.

  Seifer shook his head at the rush of memory. He was the only single person alive who knew how Ella Navasha had gained the magic of the White.

  Even fewer people could predict how she would use it on any given day.

  ARGELA, ELLORYA

  Katarina and Desiree had been gone for twenty minutes when Ella heard a soft knock at the door to the house she rented. Opening the weathered plank door, she smiled.

  “Cormack WhiteFrost, Court Wizard to the Duchess Fiera Starl.” Ella said, offering a mock bow. “It is so nice to see you again, especially seeing as how far you’ve stepped up in the world.”

  Cormack dipped his head. “Ella. This my apprentice, Selia.” The sixteen year old bowed to show her respect. Ella disliked the young girl immediately, after bowing her chin returned to its original position—high and full-on arrogant. Hubris in the young was a fatal flaw, and it irked Ella every time she witnessed it.

  “Nice to meet you, dear. My, my. Two runecasters in one room, and we’re not even on Kastalborg Isle. Lucky me,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her voice. “Come in, then. Don’t be shy, especially when you have information for me.”

  The wizard shook his head as he entered. Ella noticed both his hands were closed, his fingers moving slightly. A quick look to the young apprentice showed her the same. “Be careful, Cormack. Rub those runes any harder and they might break. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  “I don’t know, Ella. Last time I saw you, you threatened to ‘turn my black ass inside out’ I believe is what you said.”

  “Well, you broke a promise. You and that fucking Giddeon... Both of you should have died that day...”

  “Easy, Ella, I had nothing to do with what the ArchWizard did. I was on a Reaver ship, you know that. We couldn’t come back for you. Bale’s troops had us out-numbered by—”

  “Leaving me stranded in the Wildlands, you shit!” she hissed, memories swarming her mind.

  “Ella? You asked me here, remember? I didn’t come to fight you, for Freyla’s sake.” Ella nodded her head, trying to regain her composure.

  “You’re right,” she sighed. “Tell me about this alchemist. Is it true the Broken Blade never got close?”

  “No. Not even to the stream, from what I was told. You’ll never make it that way, Ella. If you believe the reports, the traps and magic he uses are unlike anything we’ve seen.”

  “So I’m told.
It seems that Giddeon made a mess of his dimensional bridge twenty years ago.”

  “That would explain this man’s knowledge; he’s not from our dimension. No wonder he’s so dangerous,” Cormack said. Ella bowed, smiling at the foresight of the runecaster. Cormack had always been smarter than most wizards.

  “Is there an entrance to the Deep Earth nearby this madman?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Selia answered. “Between the Elloryan Forest and the mountain range. But it’s full of Mahala. Only a fool would go that way.”

  Ella glared at the arrogant young woman. “Hush, child, while the adults talk.”

  “But, Mistress, I know the area well, The Deep is lousy with Mahala. It would take an army to get past them—”

  Ella frowned at Cormack as the brazen youth’s voice grated on her nerves.

  “Selia,” Cormack whispered. “Enough.”

  “Your apprentice needs to learn her place,” Ella said. “Back up a few paces, girl, and be silent. I don’t give second warnings often and never a third.”

  “Bitch,” Selia muttered under her breath. But not quite low enough.

  Ella stared at her. “You should have explained the concept of respect to your apprentice, Cormack. She will live longer.”

  “I did, Ella. She’s young and hot-headed, like all Northmen pups. She meant no offence, right, Selia?” The apprentice nodded, but said nothing as, a small smirk curled on her lips.

  Ella smiled, still staring at Selia. “It’s all right, Cormack, I’m not offended.” With an outward twist of her hand, Ella activated her White magic. Selia’s neck glowed white as her head snapped to the side, her neck broken. “Not any more, I’m not,” Ella said, turning back to Cormack.

  “No!” Cormack yelled as he grabbed Selia’s body before it crumpled to the floor. “Ah! You’re a bitch, Ella,” he said, rubbing the runes in his hand faster. “A murderous bitch to boot.” Ella lifted her hand for another spell just as both broken runes tumbled to her feet. A blaze of white light blinded her. Her hand shot out as more angelic magic lit the room in dazzling white as pops and sizzles echoed off the wooden walls.

  She heard Cormack snap his third rune, but could not see it surround him in a shield as her explosive blast of air slammed into him, launching him through the door and out into the alley. By the time Ella’s vision cleared, he was gone along with Selia’s body.

  Ella screamed. “Elderblood! Next time it won’t be your ass. It’ll be your whole fucking body I turn inside out, Cormack!”

  She sat staring out the broken door and into the street until both her prodigies returned home almost an hour later.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “To fight for the glory of the gods and our patrons is what it means to be a gladiator. Victory in battle is all that matters.”

  Saiis Doran, Osok champion

  4134 PC

  AVALERA CITY, ELLORYA,

  SOUTHERN KINGDOM

  THE OSOK ARENA

  Alec Terraine had been patiently waiting to die for weeks. As another body was dragged down the ramp of the great arena, trailing all manner of gore and fluids he didn’t have a name for, the young thief wondered if he would soon look the same. He prayed to the gods his own death would be cleaner and far quicker. Shaking his head at the fairy-tale thoughts that reminded him of the stories his wife used to tell their daughter and son, he sighed. They were fables that always came to a close with a happy ending. He watched with eyes of the condemned as a second body followed the first, trailing evidence of more violence. A crack in the stone floor snagged a piece of exposed flesh and the poor bastard’s leg tore free, remaining behind. Alec laughed out loud as he stared at his own happy ending—death and severed limbs and then to be dragged away by hooks through his ankles. All because of a jealous, wealthy merchant married to nobility. He sighed. At least he would be with his wife and children again soon.

  “Welcome to Ellorya,” he muttered.

  Preoccupied by the thoughts that kept invading his mind, Alec missed the first call from the arena’s DayMaster, the large, scarred former champion in charge of the daytime arena fights.

  “Terraine? Brethren curse your stinking hide. Terraine! Yer next, coward. Time to pay your debt to Elloryan society.” The big man howled with laughter at his own words as two others released Alec from his shackles and pulled him to his feet.

  “Yer a lucky coward as well as a thief. Emperor Mero himself is in the Gods Balcony today, along with some Blood Kingdom guru. Yer gonna shit yerself into the afterlife in the presence of royalty and the rich, boy.” More abrasive laughter bounced off the walls as the two men, stinking of death and gods only knew what else, led Alec up the ramp to the weapon room of the arena’s south side entrance.

  “One blade and one shield, shitter,” barked the first man, shoving Alec into the middle weapons rack. Not knowing any better, Alec grabbed a chipped, rust-covered Salzaran scimitar and a large, beat up round shield. The shield was too heavy; his arm ached from holding it for only a few seconds. The next two he tried were the same, leaving him with only one real option.

  He picked the only shield left on the middle rack, a small metal buckler. The inside handle was equipped with a skeletal metal glove for added support, but he knew it wouldn’t save his life. Taking too long at the weapon stand earned him a punch to the head as the men wrestled him to the large steel gate and stood guard behind him as they waited for it to rise. A horn blared, coming from somewhere out in the arena. Even though he knew it was the signal for the next fight—his fight—to begin, it felt so surreal that he stood there, transfixed, and lost all control of his own muscles, completely unaware that the gate had started to rise.

  Alec’s calves and thighs quivered like the strings of a bard’s banjo during a dark tale of death. Breath shot from his mouth in explosive gasps and sweat poured into his eyes, burning, before it mixed with fear-induced tears, both falling from his nose as he shook. A lumberjack by trade, he had never swung a sword in his life, let alone had reason to lift a shield. With a loud ping of ringing metal, Alec noticed the bottom of the giant steel gate passed his face and the arena stood before him. As the fear overtaking his body reached a climax, the sensation of warm urine running down his left leg brought him back to the realization that he was going to die. Too terrified to feel the shame of soiling himself, he took an uneasy step into the massive granite arena.

  The Osok, filled to capacity, roared with the voices of thousands as the Emperor’s announcer gave an exaggerated account of Alec’s crimes.

  “Stealing the lock boxes of two Elloryan vendors,” the voice boomed. “Guilty. Failing to submit to demands issued by city guard: guilty. Assault on several members of the Elloryan city guard: guilty.” The voice, amplified by magic, echoed out across the arena, reaching the ears of all in attendance. “Alec Terraine, your sentence, issued and signed by his holiness, High Emperor Colias Mero, is to fight, one on one, with Osok Champion, Lavik Natairis. As it is the final showing of the Day of Elites, the noon-sitting, this fight will be to the death. Pardon can be offered by his Holiness only.”

  At the revelation that this would be the final execution match, the crowd noise escalated to a frenzy pitch. Alec froze in panic as the sound reached a deafening state, booming off the arena’s walls on all sides. The two men quickly entered the arena and shoved him forward, until he stared up into the emperor’s private balcony.

  Scared beyond reason, Alec dropped to his knees and prayed to the gods for a quick death.

  DEEP EARTH, TALOHNA

  A cloaked figure stood with his hands out to the side, pulling power from the earth. A dark energy so black, it seemed to draw in and absorb all the light around him. The stone and dirt began to shake with a hollow rumble from deep inside the underground cavern where he cast his frenzied magic. The surface cracked open with a roar as flames erupted and more dark energy poured forth. The wizard, if one could call the figure such, manipulated the black forces with ease, pushing it back into the ea
rth at five distinct and evenly spaced locations, all marked by unknown glyphs. Purple and black ripples of ore shot from the five points of power, spiralling skyward and bursting through the surface above him.

  The five spiral towers of the unknown ore ceased their heavenly push at a height of over four hundred feet. Months passed as the cloaked figure oversaw the completion of the powerful towers. Once completed, he stood at the top, looking out at the foundations of eight more towers positioned at all four points of the compass and the four shared points between them. Standing at the top of the central tower, the ninth, he knew the kingdoms of man would finally be subjugated beneath his people’s feet.

  Every option and every road travelled through the future always led to this point. Zaddyk watched it all from inside his fevered mind. With a wretched twist inside his stomach, the prophet jolted back to the present as he jerked upright in his bed... Again. He jumped from his bed in fear as the nightmare ended, but once again, realized it wasn’t a horror-induced dream but a possible premonition of things to come. The young prophet had once again fallen asleep and somehow managed to grasp the pendant hanging around his neck. Its power sent his mind to the future at the faintest touch, and mixed with his dream-state, left him confused and terrified as yet again he saw only darkness and a world headed for destruction.

  It had been roughly a month since the goddess Cortina had touched Zaddyk with her power, and still he was no closer to solving the mystery of what the Goddess had called ‘Giddeon’s mistake’. He had heard those very words from his Goddess the night she had gifted him her power and every night since, but didn’t know what she meant. Now, a month later, she still refused to tell him.

  “Please, Goddess, help me. I don’t understand. I can’t see Giddeon’s mistake.” He prayed again, asking for the hundredth time. Her voice rolled through his head as it had so many times before.