Dragonvein Book Five

by Brian D. Anderson

  Drewin calmly dried himself, seemingly unmoved by the display of contempt. “I understand your anger,” he said. “And I believe you when you say that you don’t know where the Scepter is hidden. Unfortunately, despite my assurances, the king does not. He still thinks you do.”

  “And if I did, do you think I would tell him?”

  “No. I am certain that you would not. Regardless of how long they torture you, you will say no more than you choose. But I also believe you would be more helpful if you were properly motivated. Perhaps if your wife and child were to be set free?”

  Serhan turned his head away. He could still see his wife’s face. And their son, Baylin, only five years old. The image of his raven curls, green eyes, and innocent features was too much. He did his best to choke the tears back. “You’ll kill them both anyway,” he muttered. “No matter what I do or say.”

  “Oh no,” Drewin retorted. “They will live. Even if you refuse his offer, the king will see to that. What you get to choose is the manner in which they live.”

  For the very first time, Serhan felt his resolve weakening. The hell King Zemel would put his family through was unimaginable. The door opened again.

  “Look,” said Drewin. “Your son is unharmed.”

  Serhan heard tiny footsteps entering the room. Slowly, he turned his head back. There stood Baylin. He was gazing up at him, his tiny face twisted in confusion.

  Immeasurable sorrow washed over Serhan. It was harder than ever to keep his tears at bay. “Are you hurt, son?” he asked.

  Baylin shook his head, but said nothing.

  “And your mother?”

  “She’s… she’s with the king,” he replied, his voice uncertain and meek. “They told me she has to stay there until you do something for him.” He took a small, nervous step forward. “Will you do it, father?”

  Serhan looked into his child’s eyes and forced a weak smile. “I need you to be brave for me. Can you do that?” Baylin nodded.

  “Then no matter what happens, just remember that I love you.” He twisted his face to one side. It was impossible to contain the tears any longer. “Take him away and then do what you must.”

  Drewin sighed. “I’m afraid it’s not that easy. I was sent to give you the king’s offer. Should you refuse, I am to kill you… while your son watches.”

  Serhan clenched his fists and stifled his sobs. He would not die sniveling like a coward. “Then do it,” he commanded. “Do it quickly.”

  After a lengthy pause, Drewin pulled a dagger free and placed the point directly over Serhan’s heart. “I was to make you scream and wail first. But even I have limits.”

  Serhan looked up and nodded. “For that, at least, I thank you.”

  Drewin nodded in return. “Farewell, Commander.”

  He leaned in, and the blade sank deep. Serhan gasped just once, and then went rigid.

  As the light of life faded, he could hear the whisper of his son’s cries.

  Chapter One

  The chirping of the crickets and the lonely call of the wolves blended in perfect harmony with the wind as it whistled he through the pine needles high above the ground. From this lofty position, a lone shadow watched patiently. He had been there for two days, his eyes fixed resolutely on his target, never moving a muscle and never tiring. With only soft leather shoes and a thin pair of black cotton trousers to cover himself, the chill air bit sharply at his exposed flesh. But he did not shiver. Nor did the thought of a warm fire and a soft bed enter his mind. His focus was absolute, and his will could shatter steel. The mane of jet-black hair hanging down to his shoulders was tied into rows of tiny braids and bound together at the tip by a single onyx bead. A dagger fastened to his belt was his only weapon. This was to be a killing of a quick and quiet nature, and a sword would only weigh him down. In any case, should he find himself in unexpected need of such a weapon, he knew he could always claim one easily enough from the dead.

  The small cabin just a hundred feet away to the north stood dark and unoccupied: a hiding place for rogues and bandits that was seldom used and – out of necessity – difficult to find unless you knew where to look. He had watched small animals enter through the broken windows, scavenging for whatever scraps might have been left behind. On one occasion a black bear had lumbered up to use the rough corner of the building to scratch its massive back. He had seen them all come and go. But they had not seen him. He had to ensure that no one did. Not until it was too late. That demanded a level of control few possessed; to be so utterly in command of your own body as to move soundlessly, lost to the naked eye. He was patient. He was fast. But most of all, he was deadly.

  The jingle of steel and the hiss of voices reached his ears. They were still some distance away, but his hearing was unusually keen, as it was with all of those who belonged to the Dul’Buhar. This ability had been a gift from their king and was a secret they guarded jealously. Their physical prowess was legendary, as was their skill in combat. But no one knew the full extent of their powers, nor were they allowed to ask. Doing so meant death.

  After several minutes, six torches appeared in the darkness to the east where the trees thinned and the ground became rocky and uneven. The assassin’s eyes penetrated the night and looked closely upon the faces of the men. At once, he knew. The one he was waiting for had arrived.

  Six men would be easy enough to dispatch. Particularly if they were the sort of sell-swords commonly found in the employ of merchants and lesser nobles. Though truth be told, he had almost been hoping for a greater challenge.

  This particular noble – Lord Yelsing – must have earned himself some very special interest. General Kirlon had handed him this assignment personally, insisting that it warranted his immediate attention. It didn’t matter in the slightest what the lord had done to merit a death sentence, but it was unusual for the Dul’Buhar to be sent on such a mundane mission. Normally, a small group of soldiers would have been considered more than sufficient to handle things of this nature.

  As the target drew closer, he took note of the sell-swords’ weary steps and sagging shoulders. It took them several attempts to force open the cabin door before they filed inside. Only a few minutes later, the windows glowed from lamplight.

  He waited for another hour before descending from his perch, leaping with uncanny agility from branch to branch in complete silence, then dropping the final ten feet and landing lightly on the balls of his feet. Drawing his dagger, he crouched low and moved forward. The fool hadn’t bothered to post a guard at the door. Not that it would have done him any good, even if he had.

  While easing closer, he kept a close watch for any shadows moving in the windows. But all was still and quiet. He took a moment to reassess his approach and position. Something wasn’t quite right. It was way too quiet. Men who had traveled to the point of fatigue would certainly fall asleep easily enough. But even when sleeping, they were by no means silent. Yet no hint of snores or groans reached his ears, nor any of the other sounds familiar to him from a life spent in a camp filled with warriors and soldiers.

  With all senses on high alert, he crept cautiously onward. Upon reaching the cabin, he immediately ducked beneath the window and closed his eyes to further enhance his hearing. Still not a sound from the sleeping men reached him; only the scuttle of mice, the wind, and the music of the forest. His grip on the dagger tightened.

  The unnatural silence was suddenly broken.

  “There’s no need to sneak about,” called a voice from inside. “I know you’re out there. Do come inside.”

  Springing upright, he backed away a few paces. Almost no one should have been able to hear his approach. Even one of his own would have had difficulty. But the fact was, whoever had called out had heard him… or at least knew he was coming.

  “Are you going to stand out there all night?”

  He took a few seconds to think. He had been betrayed. That much was without doubt. But by whom? And to what end? With no other course open to him, he wal
ked to the door with determined strides and pushed it open.

  Sitting at a table over to the left was his target – Lord Yelsing, elegantly dressed in a black satin robe stitched with interlacing patterns of gold and white. Beneath this he wore a finely tailored white shirt with polished silver buttons and matching pants. His black leather boots were clean and unmarked, for all the world looking as if they had never so much as touched the ground before. An elegant, goldhandled sword hung from his belt. He was slightly built, with close-set eyes, a hawk-like nose, and a prominently jutting chin. A mop of curly golden blond hair fell loosely to his shoulders.

  “Finally, a face to put to the name,” said Yelsing, wearing a friendly smile. “Akiri, I believe? Am I right? Please tell me I am. I will be quite disappointed if you are not.”

  Remaining on the threshold, the assassin scanned the rest of the room. To his right, a pile of ruined furniture had been shoved carelessly into the near corner, together with a heavily blackened iron stove that had toppled over and was clearly no longer of use to anyone. But it was what lay further back that captured his attention. His jaw tightened, and he realized that this situation was far beyond anything he had anticipated.

  The bodies of all five guards were piled like firewood against the rear wall. From these, an untidy trail of blood droplets led directly to the table Yelsing sat at.

  “Well, are you him or aren’t you?” the lord pressed, though his tone remained cordial.

  He nodded. “I am Akiri.”

  Letting out a sigh of relief, Yelsing resumed his seat. “That’s good to hear. It really is. I was afraid you might not be and that I had failed on my first attempt. You see, this is all very new to me.”

  Akiri was rarely unsure of himself, but the relaxed and rather odd manner of this young noble gave him pause to think. The man appeared remarkably unconcerned about being face-to-face with a dagger-wielding assassin, though judging by the pile of bodies he had created, there was likely a very good reason for this. Until Akiri knew more, he decided that caution was his best approach.

  “You clearly knew I was coming,” he said. “But do you know why I am here?”

  “Of course,” Yelsing replied. “Or at least, I know why you think you are here. You believe you are here to kill me. But nothing could be further from the truth.” He looked around and twisted his lips, as if tasting something bad. “A dingy place, I’m afraid. Ill-fitting for a night such as this. But what can one do?”

  Akiri scrutinized him more closely. There was something unnatural about the man. Just as this thought was forming, the light from a lantern hanging from a beam overhead caught the man’s eyes. In spite of their blue color, they were reflecting blood red. Almost at the same time, he realized that Yelsing was not breathing.

  “Volkar,” he hissed.

  Yelsing chuckled with mild amusement. “How odd that you would know the proper name for what I am. With all those rippling muscles and such a grim demeanor, I wouldn’t have guessed you to be the educated sort. Far more the slash-and-grunt type. But you’re absolutely correct. I am a volkar. Though most people call me a soul shredder.”

  Rapidly, everything that Akiri knew of the volkar passed through his mind. Once human, they had bound themselves to demon spirits in order to gain power and immortality. They survived on the souls of the living, consuming them at the precise moment of death. Volkar were strong, fast, and extremely deadly. Someone had gone to a great deal of trouble to bring this creature here.

  “You should understand, Akiri, this is the first time I have killed for gold. I usually kill for survival.” He flicked his wrist and cocked his head. “Though occasionally for sport as well, I must admit. So forgive me if I appear to be a trifle awkward.”

  “Who sent you?”

  Yelsing held up his hand. “I will get to that, so please be patient. But don’t worry. My instructions are very clear, and they most certainly include allowing you to know who sent me.”

  “Speak then, and let us be done with it.” Akiri’s eyes shot across to the pile of bodies. He would need to make it over to them before attempting anything else. If what he had learned from his studies was true, there were few ways he would be able to kill this creature. Without a sword, he would not stand a chance.

  “Such a serious and sober fellow,” Yelsing said, smirking.

  “I would tell you to take more joy from life. But as yours is about to end…”

  He waved a nonchalant hand before continuing. “In any event, I am first to explain what your death will be like. I have no personal experience with this, but I see the faces and hear the screams of my victims. Many of them beg for death within the first few seconds. I can only imagine the terrible agonies they must feel. So that is what will happen to you, I’m afraid. And when it does, I am then to ask you if you would care to plead for your life. But from one look at you I already know that you won’t. Good man. Very brave.” Akiri was losing patience. But he needed to know more. He took a small step toward the bodies.

  In an instant, Yelsing was on his feet with his blade drawn. His once friendly countenance was now dark and foreboding. “Not yet,” he warned. “Or I will end this right now.”

  Akiri halted, his expression blank, but said nothing. Clearly wary of this, Yelsing remained standing, his eyes fixed on his intended victim. After a moment, he sighed.

  “Of course, you are impatient to discover who sent me. Very well.” He let the silence hang between them. Akiri studied him in those few seemingly endless seconds before Yelsing finally said, “I presume you are acquainted with General Kirlon Galliani. He was very keen for you to know that he is the instrument of your demise. Also that his brother can now rest in peace.” He shook his head. “This man must hate you with a genuine passion. The effort it took just to find me must have cost him a fortune. On top of this, my price to come all the way from Malistad was considerable. I can’t imagine there is much gold left in his coffers by now.”

  Akiri nodded. “So you expect me to bargain for my life by attempting to bribe you? Is that it?”

  “In all honesty, I was unsure what might happen. I am no assassin, but some of my past victims have offered me gold in exchange for their lives.”

  “And did you ever spare any of them?”

  Yelsing’s eyes suddenly glowed violet. His lips parted to reveal teeth that were now a row of needle-like fangs. “My victims have no hope. And no amount of gold can save them.”

  “Then I shall save myself by using other means,” Akiri told him.

  His confident words acted as a goad to the volkar. The creature leapt forward with such incredible speed Akiri was only just able to step aside in time. Not that this gained him much of a breathing space. Despite the powerful force of his momentum, Yelsing was somehow able to pull up almost on the spot. He spun around, one arm extended, his hand curled into a vicious-looking claw. Ducking beneath it, Akiri made a rapid dive over to where the pile of bodies lay. In a single fluid motion, he pulled free one of the dead men’s blades and swung back to face his adversary, slashing in a tightly controlled sweep. Steel found flesh and sliced a deep wound across Yelsing’s chest.

  Too low, Akiri thought.

  Crimson fluid, far too thick to be human blood, oozed down the front of Yelsing’s shirt. He dabbed at the wound, staring in disbelief. “I have not seen my own blood in a long time,” he remarked, almost with a laugh. “A very long time.” His eyes flashed from violet to red, and with a movement faster than any normal person could see, he freed his own blade.

  Akiri’s sight, however, was far beyond that of a normal person, and so was the speed of his reactions. After parrying the attack, he planted his foot into Yelsing’s stomach and sent him crashing back into the far wall so violently that the ancient and half-rotten timbers shattered like delicate glass. Driven completely through to the outside, Yelsing landed hard in an untidy heap several feet away from the shack. Even so, he was on his feet again in an instant.

  Akiri sought to press ho
me any advantage he might have gained, swinging his sword in a flurry of strikes. But Yelsing had recovered from the surprise of being faced with such a worthy opponent and was skillfully blocking each of his moves. The action calmed as they circled each other warily, feigning attacks without either giving so much as an inch of ground. Then, almost as if at a given signal, both threw themselves into renewed assaults.

  Akiri’s face was stone and his movements sheer perfection – a result of both the power of his order and the many years of intense training. Yelsing, though skilled with a blade, was relying heavily on his preternatural speed and sheer strength. With each new strike, his blade came closer to its target.

  The initial wound he had opened up would normally have been enough to ensure victory. Blood loss would soon weaken a human opponent; but Yelsing was not human, and the wound had already closed. Even so, signs of frustration were now clearly showing on his face. His next attack was wild, though it came at a speed that would have overcome most swordsmen. To Akiri, however, the strikes were haphazard and clumsy. Spinning left, he saw an opening and thrust six inches of steel between Yelsing’s third and fourth ribs.

  As he tried to yank his blade free, Yelsing lunged forward, spitting and snarling. In a sudden change of tactics, the volkar dropped his weapon and seized hold of Akiri’s face, his steely fingers exerting unbelievably fierce pressure. Akiri reached for his foe’s wrist, but he had barely lifted his hand when an intense pain, the like of which he had never imagined possible, ran like a raging river through his entire body. It was as if his blood had been turned to molten lead and his skin was being peeled away a layer at a time.

  “You don’t cry out,” mused Yelsing. “You are indeed a prize. Had I known, I would have come for less gold.”

  Akiri dropped to his knees. No matter how much he tore at Yelsing’s wrist and hand, the creature’s hold was unbreakable. He could feel his strength – his very life – draining away. The pain was all-consuming.