The Echoes of Sin (The Kinless Trilogy Book 3)

by Philbrook, Chris

  “That was incredibly brave,” Chelsea said honestly.

  With a shake of her head, Umaryn indicated otherwise. “Not brave. Doing something foolish because you’re angry is not the same thing as bravery. We were doing what we thought was best, blinded by rage and this… all-consuming need for vengeance at any cost. You know what’s strange? I don’t have that feeling anymore. The rage, the anger, that pit of the stomach need to find someone and destroy them because of what happened to my family. I feel oddly hollow instead. Like my prize was stolen from me after I won it. You think that’s because Alisanne is dead? Maybe because I wasn’t there to see it happen?”

  “I’m sure all that is part of it. I think the loss of your uncle and aunt today will have an effect on you for a long time Umaryn. That’s the strange thing with grief. It comes and goes as it pleases like a thief in the night. Taking your happiness and leaving shit behind in its place. I think there might be a bigger problem with you than just that though,” Chelsea said.

  Umaryn looked at the blonde warrior and raised her eyebrows in curiosity. “What problem is that?”

  Chelsea spat on the dry earth as the horses settled into their temporary homes. The stable manager was nowhere to be seen yet. “Well,” she started, “the way I see it, you don’t have a strong reason to live anymore.”

  Umaryn looked offended. “I have plenty of reason to live Chelsea. I have my brother, my magic, the Guild, all of the smithing I love so. I have plenty of reason to live.”

  Chelsea expected that answer and her smile gave it away. “I mean an emotional reason to live. Something to wake up to that consumes you day and night. For a year now, you and your brother both have been utterly obsessed with finding out what happened in New Picknell. You’ve killed the Queen’s Necromancer that led the attack, and now you’ve seen to it that the woman who set that attack into motion met her end too. Finding out where the door is that the key we have opens is very secondary emotionally. I’m sure it’ll be satisfying to you—hell, I want to know myself—but that’s not the same thing. You need something to consume you. Drive you. Give you passion. You aren’t passionate about your brother, and The Way, and smithing. Those are tools for you to live your life. The Guild is a job. A dream job for you, a noble and honorable job, but that’s not quite what I’m talking about.”

  “I have plenty of passion,” Umaryn said without passion.

  Chelsea laughed at her. “How long have you been seeing Marcus?”

  Umaryn was speechless, then defiant through ignorance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The walls in my barracks are thin Umaryn. You’re a moaner not a screamer. You came and went a few times before this all came to a head with your aunt. I know you saw Marcus. It’s okay. I’m happy for you. I’m very happy for him. He needs someone in his life. For passion.” Chelsea poked Umaryn in the ribs playfully.

  Umaryn was blushing the color of roses now, high in the cheeks. She squirreled her face down and kicked the dirt. A loose stone dribbled away into the grass. “I guess it’s been happening since you and Mal started seeing each other. A little before. I’ve never really been much of a lady, but you probably understand that. I grew up in a forge holding a hammer, not in the sewing room holding a thread and needle. I don’t really know how to… how to love. Or be loved. As my parents loved me, I understand that kind of love.”

  “Working in a forge? The sewing room with tea and the village society-sharks nipping at your heels? Both of those jobs can be near impossible and fatal in their own ways my friend. Have you ever tried to stitch and hold a conversation about something inane that happened at the market at the same time? By the ancestors it is painful.”

  The women shared a laugh in the warm summer sun. It felt good to the both of them. Talking. Being human and normal, if only for a moment.

  “What about you and Malwynn?” Umaryn asked her. Her cheeks were ruddy and spotted sparsely with the red now. Less embarrassed.

  Chelsea puffed her cheeks and raised her own eyebrows. She shrugged hopelessly. “I don’t know. Things were going well for awhile there, then it all changed in your apartment with those damned Spirits that tried to kill us. I don’t know quite where we are anymore.”

  “What do you want?” Umaryn asked the other woman. Umaryn’s concern was genuine.

  Chelsea looked even more hopeless. “I don’t know. I thought he and I had a chance to fall in love, but I can’t shake the fact that he’s a necromancer. Sometimes I think about it when I’m looking at him, and my heart starts thumping, and then all of sudden it stops, and I get clammy and feel betrayed. I know how I feel, but so much of everything I’ve learned tells me to feel otherwise. He’s the enemy I don’t want to live without it would appear.”

  Umaryn patted her on the shoulder. “Chelsea he is the man he is. No one could say he’s never done bad things, least of all me, but he’s a good man. He wanted justice, and did what he had to do to see it through. He’d change if he could, but he can’t now and you know it as well as the rest of us do. And believe me; he’d change for you if he could. He wants the best for the world, for me, and right now especially for you. He may not have said it yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s in love with you.”

  Chelsea’s spirit visibly returned. “You think?”

  Umaryn chuckled. “Deep down, yeah. This may sound awkward, but I’ve only seen him look at anyone like he looks at you once before. Marissa, the girl he was going to propose to.”

  Chelsea looked disappointed. “She died in the attacks didn’t she?”

  “Yes. And worse even, Omniri the death mage who did it all had her body in Graben, and Mal had to put her down himself when we finally got to him. I saw Luther, dead as can be there too. He was the man who taught me how to smith. A good friend and mentor. And you wonder why Malwynn became a necromancer? He would’ve done anything for her. And in the end, to get the justice for our family and her, he did everything he had to do, including learning all of the Empire’s dirty tricks with The Way.”

  “I never looked at it like that,” Chelsea said with some guilt.

  “It’s hard to put your mind into his perspective. Imagine his loss, his desperation. I can tell you this Chelsea: where we are going we may never come back from. If you think you love my brother, then tell him soon. After we reach that forsaken mine in New Falun, and encounter whatever damned horror our Aunt left behind for us there, you may never get another chance to. Don’t let him slip away if you’re not prepared to live with that.”

  Chelsea looked at Umaryn and appreciated her in a different light for the first time. She thought of her as a sister. “Thank you Umaryn. I mean that.”

  “Thank me later Chelsea. To be honest, I wanted to beat you away with a stick when I thought my brother was getting involved with you. You’re a distraction. You were a distraction. Now... Now I think I like you quite a bit. You can stick around.”

  Chelsea couldn’t look happier. The two women leaned in and gave each other a tight squeeze. Both women felt better for having done it. When they let go, there was a new peace inside both of them.

  A man who was tromping towards them impatiently cleared his throat, breaking up the moment. “Here comes the stable manager. Negotiate a good price for us. Use your intimidating soldier voice again. That was fun at the gate,” Umaryn winked at her friend.

  “It would be my pleasure.”

  “Seven Marks please,” the young boy behind the counter in the shop said.

  Mal fished out seven of the coins the boy wanted from his coin purse affixed to his belt. The coin bag helped conceal the small pouch filled with necromantic spell components. Hiding everything about his true self had become something of a hobby for the Everwalk man.

  “Here you go,” Mal said, dropping the golden coins into the boy’s hand. With a youthful attention to detail that could only come from being the owner’s son the boy checked the money to ensure it was real. After a bit, he smiled.

  “Thank y
ou sir, safe travels,” he said with a voice only a year past puberty. Mal had to wonder if the boy felt as awkward and off kilter as his voice sounded.

  “Good business to you,” Mal said as he took the thin burlap sack filled with supplies from the teenager. “Let’s go, Apostle. The road awaits us.”

  James sat down a hand painted porcelain deer that he had been examining and trotted to catch up as Mal left the building. The two men went down the stairs at the front of the porch side by side. “We get everything?”

  Mal tossed the sack over his shoulder and was rewarded with a painful whack to the spine. “Ouch, damn it. Ancestors help me but I am not a bright man. Who tosses a bag filled with a hammer over their shoulder?” Mal laughed at himself and James joined in. “Yeah. That’s all of it. We got a good deal on the wine and the lamp oil as well.”

  “Great,” James said as they reached their two mounts. Mal put the contents of the sack into the saddle bags of the two animals, and within a minute they were in the saddle and looking for the path to the western gate where they would be meeting the women.

  After riding in the small village for minute, Mal looked over at James. “You still have the thing?”

  James was confused, and then figured it out for himself. “I have the key, yes. It’s in my trouser pocket beneath my robe here. Safe and sound.”

  Mal surveyed the off white robe the Apostle wore, then looked displeased with it.

  “What?” James asked him, suddenly self conscious.

  “You need armor. That robe is pretty and all, but when we get off the train at New Falun you’re going to wish you wore something a little thicker. I think I saw an armor smith a dozen buildings back. Let’s turn around. Pick you up some leather at least. Maybe they have some ring mail. Ancestors bless you, I wish we had the time for Umaryn to make you some proper armor.”

  James motioned not to bother. “Mal I’m not trained to wear proper armor. I’ve got The Way to protect me, and my faith. The Spirits have yet to let me down in a fight, and I believe they’ll be at our side more than they ever have when we reach where we’re going. Armor I feel would be a waste on my back. It would only serve to tire me out.”

  “My faith will protect me,” Mal said half mockingly. He tossed out a powerful shrug and conceded his argument to the Apostle. “Okay James. If you have faith, then I have faith. All I’m saying is that it seems silly to not wrap up our lone healer like a turtle on the eve of a great battle.”

  “I see. What you fail to realize Malwynn, is that I’m already surrounded by more armor than you’ll ever understand, unless you change the way you view the world.”

  Mal couldn’t help but sigh. “Spoken like my mother.”

  “She was an Apostle, yes?” James asked. James realized then he had a craving to learn more about Mal. In truth, this was the first time the two had been alone together. It was odd, but comfortable.

  “Yeah. A more powerful caster than we’d known growing up. We thought she knew some healing spells, and the Blessing of Soul’s Rest. Fooled us. She was a good person. Wise and caring. A good teacher. Old beyond her years but had so much energy to give. There’ll never be another like her. I miss her.”

  “I can’t imagine your loss. My father and mother are from a very small village between Melchay and Monsaille. Not too far from where you came from. My father was a cobbler and my mother wrote law documents for the town council. She had impeccable handwriting.”

  “My mother too,” Mal said with happy memory in his voice. “My father as well actually. He was the village elder. Mayor if you will. Also a Waymancer. Didn’t know that fact either. It occurs to me when I think of my parents that I feel lied to. Deceived. I understand they were trying to protect my sisters and me, but in the end, all their protection achieved was two children who couldn’t help them when their past caught up with them.”

  “Mal, if you and Umaryn were there to help when The Empire came, it is just as likely you’d have died in that village beside your parents. I asked your sister about that day. You’d gone for a long walk to pick berries. It was the work of the ancestors, that. You may not have felt it, but they protected you. Sent you away so there would be survivors. So there would be someone to avenge those who were about to die. Our dead take care of us when we take care of their souls, Malwynn. Truer words will never be spoken on this world.”

  Mal looked comforted. “Thank you James. I never thought of it like that.” The two men had left the denser portion of the village and were on a dirt road moving through a small open space of grazing field before the tall city wall. Just as with the northern entrance, this gate was flanked by tall twin guard towers. They could see sentries at the top regard them as they approached. At the closed portcullis below the two women waited astride their horses. The other animals were gone.

  “Looks like they sold the horses,” James said.

  “Hope they got us a good deal. It’ll be helpful to have some extra coin when we’re killed in the middle of nowhere next week.”

  “So negative Mal. With that kind of attitude I have half a mind to leave you here and head to the mine with the two ladies. You can sit and stew,” James said with sarcastic judgment in his voice.

  “You’d have to beat me and tie me to a very large stone for that to happen,” Mal threatened with a grin on his face.

  “That’s the spirit. Ladies, how did we do?” James asked as they approached the girls.

  Chelsea sat up proud as possible in her saddle. “Hundred Marks for the warhorse. Fifty for the riding horses. Fleeced him proper, I did.”

  The two men laughed heartily. “Near full value? How did you manage that?” Mal asked her.

  Umaryn answered, “She told him the money was going to the war effort against the Empire, and that we were dispatched on our mission south before funds could be appropriated. The man was a veteran of the town militia, and had fought some Empire patrol when he was a youth. He was more than happy to give your Sergeant a fair price. A patriot.”

  “That’s my girl,” Mal said, looking at the blonde with his own pride.

  “That’s yet to be determined. Don’t get cocky,” Chelsea said as she turned her horse around to the gate.

  Umaryn winked at her brother. Mal smiled back, happy.

  “Shall we? To the train? A few hour’s ride?” James offered.

  “To the train,” the rest of the group answered together.

  The portcullis rose, and the four exited the safety of the village of Acton to head west and then south. First to the city of Farmington, then northeast to the abandoned village in Duulan, where they hoped to find the door that fit the strange black key that was hidden away in James’ front pocket.

  —Chapter Two—

  THE SUN SETS

  It was coming. Looming over their world. War. Death. Knight Major Marcus Gray stood at parade rest inside the top level of a small archer’s tower within the tiny border village of Ockham’s Fringe. Out on the wide green plains of Elmoryn’s flat heartlands was a war host the likes of which was unrecorded in hundreds of years of history. Nothing like this had happened since the Great Plague. Not only because the Empire’s army was massive, but because the warriors composing its bulk were undead.

  The sun was setting behind them, which was an advantage for the time being. For the next hour, any shots sent up by Empire archers would be sent into the glaring yellow orb of the sun, and would be wild. No more than sharp guesses thrown up into the wind, looking for an answer in flesh.

  Across the village were half a dozen of the same towers, spaced apart as equal as they could make them, as well as another large tower built using the local church’s bell tower as a support. In the streets below were horses, mules, and the footmen who would be called to hold the gates should they be put to the ram. Civilians were scurrying for safety, or helping where they could be of assistance. It would take extreme effort from all those able if they were to survive the onslaught that waited outside their walls. Looking down on them th
ey were absent of emotion. All they were was busy. Moving at a run everywhere, putting last minute preparations into place so there would be less panic when the dead began to pile up. And they would pile up. At their sides were the light robed Apostles, the ready healers and tenders of the faith that would move amongst them, and yank out the arrows that might fall on them soon. And if they should die from their injuries, the Apostles would tend to their souls too, perhaps a greater calling in the long run of life on Elmoryn.

  Marcus wasn’t too worried about the arrows. He had other vulnerabilities on his mind, but it was too late to do much about those. He had to have trust in his preparations, and faith in the people who would wage this war with him.

  At his side stood Sergeant Dunwood; the veteran who had stepped up to replace his squire Chelsea Rourke. Chelsea had been sent away by Marcus on a mission of potentially grave importance, but he sent that thought out of his head. There was no time to spare thought on what he could not change. The sergeant with the pock marked face and straw colored hair stood resolute in his heavy plate mail, helm held at his side. His armor did not gleam or shine; it was dented, pitted, and worn. It had stood against violence more than once and turned enough of it aside to survive for another fight, the same as the man who wore it. Arrayed around them were younger soldiers, more junior men with long bows and quivers filled with arrows that exuded a mellow menace. A knife left on the floor with a child nearby. These men were veterans in their own right, having served at least one enlistment with another unit before transferring into Marcus’, the Darisian 2nd Infantry, but they were afraid in this moment and couldn’t help but wear it openly on their faces. They had every right to be. This was an Elmoryn warrior’s worst nightmare, and it was real, in the sea of decayed flesh less than three hundred yards distant.

  One of the archer’s hands was trembling. Strong, calloused fingers worn from tough living twitched with tense energy. His nerves were being tested as his body amped up in anticipation of the bloodshed that looked imminent. Marcus knew how he felt. He’d felt that way many times before the rush of combat.