The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3)

by Philbrook, Chris

  ELMORYN

  Book Three:

  THE ECHOES OF SIN

  CHRIS PHILBROOK

  The Echoes of Sin

  Copyright © 2014 Christopher Philbrook

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.

  Published in the United States of America

  First Publishing Date July, 2015

  All characters in this compilation are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Cover design and interior layout by Alan MacRaffen

  www.MacRaffen.com

  I'd like to dedicate Echoes to the Elmoryn family of readers who have stood by patiently as this world and this trilogy have come to fruition. I can't say that this is the last Elmoryn title I'll be writing, but for now I hope it sates your hunger.

  -Chris

  Also by Chris Philbrook:

  Elmoryn - The Kinless Trilogy

  Book One: Wrath of the Orphans

  Book Two: The Motive for Massacre

  Book Three: The Echoes of Sin

  Reemergence

  Tesser: A Dragon Among Us

  Coming Soon:

  Ambryn: The Cheaters of Death

  Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Book One: Dark Recollections

  Book Two: Alone No More

  Book Three: Midnight

  Book Four: The Failed Coward

  Book Five: Wrath

  Book Six: In the Arms of Family

  Book Seven: The Trinity

  Book Eight: Cassie

  A.U.D. Anthology

  Unhappy Endings: Tales from the World of Adrian’s Undead Diary

  Short Fiction:

  Colony Lost: The Children of Ghara

  Coming Soon:

  Colony Lost: Book One

  Don’t miss Chris Philbrook’s free e-Book:

  At Least He’s Not On Fire:

  A Tour of the Things That Escape My Head

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Maps

  Chapter 1: To See Through New Eyes

  Chapter 2: The Sun Sets

  Chapter 3: Preparation versus Treachery

  Chapter 4: Getting a Little Lucky

  Chapter 5: A Thousand Falling Stars

  Chapter 6: Sticking Your Thumb Out

  Chapter 7: A Night Survived

  Chapter 8: In the Face of Fear

  Chapter 9: Deals and Plans

  Chapter 10: The Village

  Chapter 11: The Siege

  Chapter 12: Forces Arrayed

  Chapter 13: And In the Darkness Dreams and Nightmares Come

  Chapter 14: The Cruelest of Duties

  Chapter 15: The Storm

  Chapter 16: Tipping Points

  Chapter 17: The Eye of the Storm

  Chapter 18: The Purpose of Good Men and Women

  Chapter 19: The Hunt

  Chapter 20: A Forgotten Gift Used Again

  Chapter 21: The Last Stop of the Line

  Chapter 22: A New Path to Tread

  Chapter 23: The Blood Red Plains of Varrland

  Chapter 24: A Shadow in the Sky

  Chapter 25: Thirty and One

  Chapter 26: A Dancer in the Sky

  Chapter 27: Epilogue

  About the Author: Chris Philbrook

  Additional Online Content

  —Chapter One—

  TO SEE THROUGH NEW EYES

  Everyone felt dead on the inside. Husks of who they were when they woke up. Sunrise saw them as one person and sunset would see them as another.

  Malwynn, Umaryn, Chelsea and James had ridden on their three horses and lone Gvorn for an hour to get to the village of Acton, just southeast of Daris, the city they had fled from as criminals. The woods were thick near the village, and the world silent, save for the songbirds chirping, and the gentle passage of hooves. Over the tops of the green leafy trees they could see the white marble and granite tops of the village’s towers. It had many towers ringing its walls, speaking to the size and safety of the settlement.

  Of the four travelers, only Umaryn would likely escape being accused of murder before two moons rose. She’d escaped scrutiny by waiting for them outside the city as they stole a key from their aunt, the Apostle Alisanne, at the Cathedral of Saint Kincaid.

  The theft had turned sour, and it became violent. The Way was brought to bear by the parties present, daggers were drawn, and in the end, Malwynn and Umaryn’s uncle Weston killed his sister; their aunt. They’d only known about their aunt and uncle for weeks. They’d only just met Weston.

  Aside from the growing love Malwynn had with Chelsea, the twins were kinless once more. All their family was dead at the hands of others in their line, or at the command of a blood relative. It seemed as if their kin were cursed to kill one another. Perhaps the twins were safer apart.

  As the group reached the tall stone and timber walls of Acton in the heat of the midday summer sun, their hearts beat, but the blood that flowed inside their veins was sluggish. Burdened by loss, and chilled by doubt.

  The weary group of soon to be suspected malcontents emerged from the thick forest into a dead man’s land of open field. A hundred yards of flat grass served as a quasi moat for Acton, preventing any incursion—living or dead—from slipping too close, hiding amongst the trees in the forest. The village walls looked foreboding and sturdy, and stretched from east to west until they turned and wrapped away from the travelers. Pillars of smoke rose from inside the walls, marking the noon meal hour they were about to miss if delayed.

  From one of the twin guard towers flanking the iron and oak portcullis barring open passage into the village, a voice hollered down to them, “State your business in the city of Acton.” Most Elmoryn villages shut the gate at dinner; to encounter the gate closed at midday was unusual.

  “City. Pfft. More of a village,” Umaryn muttered under her breath.

  Chelsea shot the tall Artificer a disapproving glance, then spoke loud and with a familiar and strong authority to the guard who called out to them. She wore her Varrland sergeant’s uniform once more, and spoke like the veteran she was. “Good day to you steward of Acton’s wall. I am Sergeant Chelsea Rourke of the Darisian 2nd Infantry. What is your name and rank?”

  The young man looked down at her uniform and a look of shock came over his face. He backpedaled, “I’m sorry to speak so rudely to you Sergeant. I hadn’t noticed your uniform. I am Private First Class Garand. I must still ask you of your business.” He held a spear at the ready, its steel tip pointing to the sky with a clean, glistening menace.

  Chelsea made a show of understanding the man’s situation, but still let him have it. “It would be wise of you in the future to look closer at the people you address. You represent your village as its security, as well as its first citizen. Be mindful of being welcoming. I’m far more forgiving than others you’re sure to encounter will be. My traveling companions and I are on official Darisian 2nd infantry business heading south to Farmington. We require a small restock and resupply before heading to the rail station further south. We must move with some haste to catch the next train.”

  The guard atop the tower looked thankful for her advice, but skeptical of her story, and he pressed her. The questions made the others quite nervous. Inquiries about their presence and course of travel couldn’t lead to anything good for them. “Why wouldn’t you simply take a train at the Guildhall in Daris? Why travel
to Acton on horseback if you were in a hurry?” the guard asked her.

  “I hardly think the affairs of the Darisian 2nd elite infantry are the business of a Private First Class in the Acton Militia young man,” Chelsea said firmly, ending the man’s line of interrogation. “It should be sufficient to you to know that we are dealing with affairs related to the aggression of The Empire, and that delaying us any further at this gate will hurt the war effort. Now open your gate so we can spend our coin and do what has been commanded of us.”

  Private First Class Garand’s jaw moved up and down as he tried to find a rebuttal to the blonde’s tough words. Eventually he turned without saying anything else and signaled to someone deeper in the tower to open the portcullis. A moment later gears ground away, and chains rattled, lifting the sturdy gate up slowly for the beaten travelers to enter.

  “Enjoy Acton, Sergeant,” the private said from above. His voice betrayed his frustration with her.

  “Thank you Garand. May your eyes and ears keep these people safe tonight and every night forth. I fear the wolves are heading south faster than ever,” Chelsea said back to him with dread in her voice.

  For them to leave as little a mark in Daris before their explosive departure, it was important for them to remain out of sight, unseen by the throngs of people who might identify them later, and worst of all, see them come and go from their home base, Chelsea’s family home. Besides what they had brought with them, all of the twin’s worldly possessions were stored in the Rourke’s family basement, and her parents still lived there. Her mother worked at the very cathedral where the skirmish between the guards and their group had taken place, and where Bishop Alisanne had been killed by Weston, the twin’s uncle. They had to play it very safe.

  So the group had left the city of Daris with minimal supplies, despite having multiple mounts that could carry a large burden for them. The largest thing Chelsea had seen them bring was a large case that sat squarely on Bramwell the Gvorn’s hind quarters. It measured the length of her forearm on each side, and the dirty leather cube-shaped trunk looked worn and old. It was locked securely with a robust looking padlock that Umaryn claimed to have made herself, and the twins dismissed her few questions regarding it. That behavior only made her want to know about the contents of the mysterious box even more, but she had to pick the right time to ask again. Prying too hard would shut them down. If it was important enough for Malwynn and Umaryn to avoid talking about it, it must be relevant to their ultimate destination of the mines in New Falun. The presence of the box tickled Chelsea.

  New Falun was at least five full days away by train from where they were in Acton. Three days south along the massive rail lines heading to Elmoryn’s largest city, Farmington, then another two days north through the Akeel mountains into Duulan, and towards the city of Eden Valley. They would be getting off the train at the abandoned mining village very alone, and in territory that they knew to be infested with some strange form of undead. Undead that apparently only came out at night.

  The group rode their mounts at a steady pace down the main dirt street of Acton. Behind them on long leads they towed the now extra horses Chelsea had ‘acquired’ from the Varrland military for their mission inside the Cathedral of Saint Kincaid. They were passing the village’s modest militia barracks, and would soon be at the merchant quarter, their only real destination in the hamlet. They were to buy and sell, then leave as soon as possible.

  “Is it really so wise to stop here? So close to Daris? It seems awfully daring,” James asked, smiling at the locals who waved at him. He was wearing a fresh cream colored robe identifying him as an Apostle. He’d taken off his bloody robe and burnt it at the paddock where they’d rejoined. Apostles were always welcome in new villages.

  “Wise enough,” Malwynn answered him. “Any message preceding us would’ve arrived by a Sending spell. Any Apostle receiving a Sending about us is more apt to be in Farmington, not in a town so close to Daris. We shop here, get what we need, and hopefully all we need to do is outrun any authorities on our heels searching for us.”

  “I guess that makes sense,” James said, agreeing half heartedly with Mal’s logic.

  “We need to sell the horses Chelsea got for us from her barracks. We need dry food that will keep for at least a week in the mountains,” Malwynn said aloud to the group. “Water skins, a bottle of wine or two wouldn’t be the worst thing to pick up either. Call it our nerve tonic. More rope, a few extra daggers. Another hammer. A few more flint and steels won’t hurt, even though I can always cast a Spark spell. Speaking of which, I have enough materials for my spells for quite some time. James, Umaryn, how are you two on spell materials?”

  James nodded with confidence. “I’ve plenty with me. I made sure to get an excess in anticipation of the journey. I brought materials for a Consecration rite too, as you suggested. And don’t forget that I can use The Way to make food and water if we need it. The ancestors provide.”

  Mal regarded the Apostle. James had changed for the better since leaving Daris. They’d only been on the road for perhaps two hours, but he had changed. Grown. He’d been timid and afraid of the journey and challenges to come since they met him on the train to Davisville in search of their uncle. But now, beyond the fatal confrontation with his mentor Alisanne—the one he’d turned on for the good of all Elmoryn—he had become bolder, braver, and more assured of himself. His back was straight as they rode the horse and his eyes were up, and bright. He was ready. Perhaps he was being foolish, but he was at least trying to be brave. If they met what they expected to in the wilds of Duulan his new resolve would be tested to the limit.

  Umaryn thought before answering her brother and then shrugged, “I think I’m fine.”

  Mal took an angry tone at his sister. His patience was thinner than a spun web and nowhere near as strong. He called her out from his saddle atop Bramwell, the massive black Gvorn he’d been given as a gift before their nightmare truly began, “You need to be sure Umaryn. We can’t ‘think we’re fine’ as we head into the place of our nightmares. Be sure about this. Our lives could depend on your cutting of corners.”

  Umaryn gave her brother a dirty look. “Okay Mal,” she said venomously.

  Chelsea interjected, “Play nice you two. Now is not the damn time to act like you’re petulant toddlers. I don’t need to remind you of growing up in New Picknell do I? Shall we bring that up to shut you both down?”

  The twins looked guilty. Chelsea saw Mal’s face twist into a painful wince and she regretted what she’d said immediately. They returned their faces to the front and guided Bramwell and Tinder for a minute before Umaryn spoke. Her voice had some of the hurt Chelsea saw on Malwynn’s face.

  “No, you don’t Chelsea. Mal, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be flippant. I have plenty of my materials. I restocked from the Guildhall before I left. I’m tired. Angry. Sad too I suppose,” she trailed off.

  Mal swallowed hard and thanked her, “I appreciate that Umaryn. I’m sorry too. I’m just a bit unraveled is all. Frayed and afraid.” Mal looked down at the powerful Gvorn; half ram, half heavy warhorse. Its pitch black coat covered rippling muscles that he felt below him. The creature’s strength was a font to draw from and he did just that. It helped him that the beast couldn’t express doubt or fear, only strength, and reliability. He wished for soothed nerves, and soon.

  “That’s much better,” Chelsea said. “Umaryn, how about you and I deal with the selling of the extra horses, and James and Mal, you two take care of the provisions we need. Mal, you seem to have the best idea of what we need. Is that sensible? We all meet at the western gate when we’re finished?”

  “I like that plan,” Mal said. He pointed at the tall white steeple at the center of the village. A round mechanical dial displayed the time of day. Mal assumed the clock must’ve been built by the Artificers. “It looks like Acton’s church has a functional clock tower. Let’s meet in an hour at the west gate.”

  Everyone agreed, and after ta
king the reins for the trailing horses, the women spurred their mounts on to find a stable with excess coin to purchase them. The men found a hitching post, dismounted with a pair of grunts, and began to search on sore legs for the goods they might need in the wilds of Duulan.

  “I haven’t ever been to Farmington, have you?” Umaryn asked Chelsea quietly as they tied the horses to posts outside a stable that agreed to look at the animals. The stable hand had run off to fetch the owner. The women had a few minutes to themselves.

  “Yeah, a couple times when I was in my early years with the Varrland army. I was originally attached to the 4th Darisian Infantry for an enlistment, and we did some training with the Order of Flames Knights down there. A good unit, but nothing like the Ghost Makers. We’re the professionals. Elite. What do you know about the city?” Chelsea asked as she too tied up her share of the horse reins.

  “Other than that it’s the biggest city in all of Elmoryn, and has the largest rail yard in all the land, not much,” Umaryn was half excited, and half intimidated.

  “Coming from a small village it must scare you to think of going to a city so big, eh?” Chelsea asked sympathetically.

  Umaryn fumbled for an explanation of how she felt. “I don’t—I guess—I think it’s more that this will be as far away from home I’ve ever been. Davisville with everyone felt different somehow. It was colder, northern. Graben was nothing. Mal and I were so angry we would’ve marched straight to anywhere then. To the gates of the city of the dead we went, and neither of us batted an eye at the lunacy of it.”