The Runic Trilogy: Books I to III (The Runic Series)

by Clayton Wood

  They stopped at the arched doorway, and the Dead Man turned to face Kyle, putting an ice-cold hand on his shoulder. His sunken eyes peered into Kyle's, his gaunt features softening for a moment.

  “You are destined for greatness, Kyle,” he said, raising his hand off of Kyle's shoulder to pat him on the cheek. “We have something very special in mind for you.”

  * * *

  Kyle slumped onto his narrow, stiff mattress, laying on his belly, his head buried in his pillow. He moaned, rolling over onto his side and rubbing his eyes. His head throbbed, undoubtedly from the countless hours of training the Dead Man had put him through.

  If I have to weave one more pattern, he thought darkly.

  After their trip to the Void, his pale master had grilled him on the light, water, and fire patterns, forcing him to weave each of them over and over again. With eyes closed, then open. Then faster. Then two lights at once, followed by three. Then weaving the light and fire patterns side-by-side, and so on.

  And every time, Kyle had been terrified that he'd screw up...and that the Dead Man would do something horrible to punish him.

  Kyle rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. There was no doubt in his mind that this was going to be his life from now on. Grueling training all day, every day. The Dead Man had made that painfully clear.

  You'll never see Ariana again.

  It was true; not only was Kyle going to train with the Death Weavers and the Dead Man, he was to dine with them as well. He would never get a chance to see her, not really...the one person who cared about him in this awful place.

  Now he was truly alone.

  Tears blurred Kyle's vision, and he wiped his eyes on his blanket, gritting his teeth against the grief that threatened to rise up out of him. More tears came, followed by a muffled sob, and he curled up on his side, burying his face in his pillow. He took a deep, shuddering breath in, clenching his jaw tight.

  You have to stay strong, he told himself. You have to survive.

  Then he pictured Ariana's face, her sweet smile, the warmth of her hand clutching his.

  And then the dam broke.

  He cried into his pillow, sobs forcing their way out of him, one after the other. He wept until his belly ached, until his nose had stuffed up completely, mucous dripping down his face and onto his sheets. He cried until there were no more tears, not caring if anyone heard him. It didn't matter anymore.

  Nothing mattered anymore.

  At long last, curled into a ball, his pillow soaked with tears, and his blankets curled tightly about him, he fell asleep.

  Chapter 17

  The black-cloaked Weavers follow behind Ampir as he races over the Great River, Vera curled up in his arms. He sees the cliffside to his right, beyond a small forest, and turns toward it, leaving the river behind. The Weavers follow him...as does the Behemoth's diamond-shaped eye. Though Ampir is miles away, the monstrosity is somehow able to track him. He can't risk a direct hit from the thing, not with Junior on his back.

  Almost there...

  Ampir aims for the forest, going in low, weaving between the densely-packed trees. The Weavers behind him fly above the treetops, gaining on him quickly...but he pays them no mind. It’s the Behemoth he’s worried about.

  He sees the thing's eye flash in the distance.

  Ampir slows rapidly, diving down to within a foot of the ground, behind a small hill. A wide beam of deadly green light shoots over him, striking some trees a few yards in front of him, igniting them instantly. The trees explode, sending debris flying.

  The beam fades.

  Ampir bursts forward, flying a few feet from the ground, zig-zagging through the trees. He sees the cliffside, only a hundred feet away now. The entrance to the secret underground tunnels is there, hidden by an illusion of a sheer rock wall. Only the members of the Council – and the Grand Runic and Grand Weaver – know where it is. Luckily, Ampir is still a member of the Council.

  He reaches the cliff wall, slowing, then landing on the grass before it. He scans the near-vertical surface, spotting a faint blue light coming from the rock a few dozen feet to the left.

  There!

  He hears something behind him, turns to see a half-dozen black-cloaked Weavers landing on the forest floor. They face Ampir, their faces hidden by the hoods they wear. One of the Weavers steps forward, but another holds out a hand, stopping the first in his tracks.

  “Hold,” the second Weaver commands. The voice is deep, obviously male. The Weaver steps forward himself, reaching up with both hands and pulling his hood back.

  Ampir freezes, and he feels Vera tense in his arms.

  The man reveals a bald head, with skin as black as night. Multicolored tattoos crawl up the sides of his neck, and thin, raised scars run up his temples like the bones of a bat's wing. The man's eyes are black, and hard. He stares at Ampir for a long moment.

  Then he smiles.

  “Ampir,” he greets, giving a curt nod.

  “Torum,” Ampir replies coolly, his back to the cliffside.

  “Forgive us,” Torum apologizes. “We did not know it was you.”

  “Now you do,” Ampir counters.

  Torum says nothing, glancing at Junior, then at Vera. At her bloodstained nightgown. Then he meets Ampir's gaze.

  “The tribes had nothing to do with this,” he states, gesturing at Vera.

  “That so,” Ampir replies, his tone ice-cold.

  “The Empire is our enemy,” Torum insists. “Not you.”

  Ampir stares back at Torum, his eyes hidden behind his visor.

  “The Empire is dead,” he replies. “Are you?”

  Torum says nothing for a long moment. Then he pulls his black hood forward over his head, making a sharp gesture to the men around him. He gives a curt nod, then turns his back to Ampir, walking away from the cliffside. Torum flies upward, clearing the treetops in seconds, and the others follow suit.

  “Who was that?” Vera asks.

  “An old friend,” Ampir answers, turning back toward the cliff wall. “From the war.”

  “A friend?” Vera exclaims incredulously.

  Ampir ignores the comment, continuing forward until he senses the entrance to the tunnels. A section of the cliff-wall, looking for all the world like real stone...yet the faint blue glow around it betrays the illusion.

  He steps through.

  * * *

  “Wake up!”

  Kyle groaned, turning over onto his back, the healing wound on his spine aching slightly. He felt someone grab his shoulder and shake it, and he groaned again, blinking against the murky darkness. The hand shaking him shook harder. He felt a surge of anger, and suppressed it, rubbing his eyes groggily.

  Damn Jayce, he grumbled to himself.

  “Wake up,” the voice hissed. Kyle sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, walking up to the dresser to grab his uniform. Then he remembered that he was still wearing it. He felt dazed, as if he'd slept even less than usual, and his forehead ached.

  “I'm up, I'm up,” Kyle grumbled, slipping his shoes on. He yawned then, and turned to face Jayce.

  Except it wasn't Jayce at all.

  The person in front of him was dressed in a red cloak, the hood pulled over his head, his face hidden in shadow. He was far too tall to be the boy who'd woken Kyle up every morning since he'd gotten here. Kyle stiffened, backing up. His legs struck the bed behind him, and he lost his balance, falling onto his butt on the bed.

  The figure standing before him reached up with both hands, drawing the hood back over his head. No, not hands...gauntlets. Golden gauntlets. Kyle's eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat.

  “Darius!” Kyle exclaimed.

  “Yes, it's me, shut up.” Darius whispered back. Kyle nodded mutely, staring at the bodyguard, not knowing how to feel. Despite the terrible things Darius had done, a part of him was relieved to see the man.

  “What are you doing here?” he whispered, scooting backward in his bed until
his back hit the stone wall behind him. Darius said nothing at first, staring off into space for a moment, as if he was listening for something. Then his eyes refocused on Kyle.

  “I'm getting you out of here,” Darius replied. “Come on,” he added, reaching toward Kyle with one hand. Kyle stayed where he was, shaking his head.

  “You betrayed us,” he hissed back, glaring at the man.

  “Bullshit.”

  “No,” Kyle shot back. “I don't trust you!”

  “You trust them?” Darius retorted, pointing at the closed door. Kyle said nothing. Couldn't say anything. The man had a point, after all. But he still didn't move.

  “Let's go,” Darius pressed, his hand still outstretched. “We have to get Kalibar.”

  Kyle's eyes widened, and he hesitated, staring at Darius's outstretched hand. Even if Darius was lying...even if he was a traitor...he was still as much of a prisoner here as Kyle and Kalibar were. He had every reason to want to escape.

  Kyle reached forward, grabbing Darius's hand.

  Darius pulled Kyle off of the bed, then turned to the door, cracking it open a bit. He peered through, then opened the door all the way, motioning for Kyle to follow him. They snuck out of the room and into the hallway.

  It was deserted.

  Darius turned to Kyle, putting a finger to his lips. Then he made his way slowly down the hallway, letting go of Kyle's hand. Kyle followed right behind the bodyguard, doing his best to tread lightly. Darius led him down the hallway, then turned at a fork to go down another, making no sound as he went. Eventually they reached a stairwell going downward. Darius started down the stairs, but Kyle hesitated.

  “Wait,” he whispered.

  Darius turned to glare at Kyle.

  “What?” he mouthed.

  “We have to save Ariana,” Kyle whispered back.

  “Who?”

  “Ariana, my...friend,” Kyle replied. Darius shook his head.

  “Too risky,” he argued. “We grab Kalibar and go.” He turned back to the stairwell, walking further down. Kyle stood where he was, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Darius stopped, turning back to Kyle and shooting him a murderous glare.

  “Then I'm not coming,” Kyle stated resolutely. Ariana wanted to leave this hellhole just as much as Kyle did. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he left her here to rot here while he fled to freedom. And he knew that if their situation were reversed, Ariana would come for him.

  “Fine,” Darius spat. “What does she look like?”

  “Long brown hair, brown eyes, very...um, pretty,” Kyle said, blushing at the last part. Darius rolled his eyes.

  “Great,” he grumbled. “I'll go get your girlfriend. You stay here.”

  “She's not my girlfriend,” Kyle whispered back. Darius turned his back to Kyle, walking away quickly. “Wait!” Kyle hissed. Darius turned around, looking supremely annoyed. “You don't know where her room is.” In fact, Kyle didn't know either. How were they going to find her now? But Darius only smirked.

  “Yours wasn't the first room I checked,” he replied dryly. “Stay here,” he added. Then he continued down the stairs, disappearing from sight. Kyle crouched behind one of stone columns beside the stairwell, glancing furtively behind him. If he got caught, it was all over...and the Dead Man would almost certainly punish Darius and Kalibar for trying to escape.

  He might kill Kalibar, Kyle realized, fear gripping him.

  In fact, if they caught Ariana coming with them, they might do something horrible to her, too. Kyle immediately regretted asking Darius to get her. As much as he wanted to save her, he couldn't bear the thought of being responsible for what they might do to her.

  Kyle waited there in the hallway, his heart pounding in his chest. Despite the cool air, sweat dripped down his flanks. Minutes passed, and he began to wonder if Darius would ever come back.

  Maybe he got caught, Kyle thought, glancing behind him. He considered walking back to his room; if they had found Darius, then pretending to sleep in his own bed would remove any suspicion that Kyle had been involved...and Kalibar would be spared.

  He heard faint footsteps approaching from below the stairwell, and froze, his heart leaping into his throat. A dark figure appeared at the foot of the stairs.

  “It's me,” Darius hissed, just as Kyle was about to turn and run. Kyle felt a wave of relief, and realized that the bodyguard was carrying something in his right arm. Not something...someone.

  “Ariana!” Kyle exclaimed, his eyes widening.

  Darius glared at Kyle, putting a finger to his lips as he went up the stairs. His hand was firmly planted over Ariana's mouth, his other arm wrapped tightly around her torso. She struggled against his grip, her big brown eyes filled with terror. Then she spotted Kyle, and her eyes widened.

  “Ariana!” Kyle whispered. “It's okay, it's me, Kyle.”

  Ariana nodded once, immediately stopping her struggling. “This is Darius,” Kyle added. “We're getting out of here. Do you want to come with us?” Another nod. Darius set Ariana down at the top of the stairs, her hand still covering her mouth. He leaned in, his lips inches from her ear.

  “Make a noise without my permission,” he whispered, “...and you'll never make a noise again.”

  Ariana nodded a third time.

  Darius let go of Ariana's mouth, and she bolted up to Kyle, throwing her arms around him. Kyle returned her embrace, his heart soaring.

  “Let's go lovebirds,” Darius grumbled, walking back down the stairwell. Ariana let go of Kyle, flashing him a brilliant smile before turning and following Darius. They moved down the stairs, into the hallway below.

  It too was vacant.

  Darius gestured for them to continue, leading them through the maze of hallways until they emerged at the exit to the building, the massive cavern of the Arena opening up before them. Kyle glanced up at the Timestone, seeing that it was barely glowing. It couldn't be much past midnight. Darius must have woken him up a mere hour or two after he'd gone to sleep.

  Darius led them toward the Arena, then through it, the packed dirt floor muting their footsteps. They reached the stairs leading up the stadium seating, making it to the top...and to the small tunnel Kyle and the Dead Man had traveled through a few days ago. Without the Dead Man's light, the tunnel was pitch black. Kyle quickly conjured up a small light to lead the way. Darius turned to Kyle, stopping him for a moment.

  “Close one eye, both of you,” he whispered. “Keep it closed.” Kyle complied, more than a little confused. He wasn't about to question Darius about it, however. The three moved quickly through the tunnel, emerging at the end of the huge tunnel their carriage had stopped in when they'd first come here. On Darius's insistence, Kyle extinguished his magical light. Having been accustomed to the bright light earlier, Kyle could barely see out of his one eye. Then Darius turned around, motioning for Kyle to open his other eye. Kyle did so, and was surprised to find that he could see well in the darkness with it.

  Kyle nodded at Darius, feeling a grudging respect for him. No matter how he felt about the man, Kyle had to admit that Darius was damn good at what he did.

  Like betraying you and Kalibar, he thought darkly.

  Darius peered up the huge tunnel, then gestured for Kyle and Ariana to follow him in a straight line perpendicular to it, toward another small tunnel. They did so, entering the tunnel and weaving through it. The tunnel forked once, then again, and Darius went left both times without hesitation. The tunnel eventually opened up into a large room with a desk in the center, and small prison cells with barred doors lining the walls all the way around. A man in a Death Weaver uniform lay slumped over the desk in a pool of dark red blood. The crimson liquid was still dripping from the edges of the desk to the floor. Kyle turned away from the gruesome sight, feeling woozy.

  “Come on,” Darius prompted, leading the way to the desk in the center of the room. Kyle noticed that one of the cells across the room already had an open door.

  That must
have been Darius's, he realized. But how had the bodyguard managed to escape?

  Darius walked up to the corpse on the desk, searching through the dead man's pockets. He retrieved a small blue gem, then walked to one of the cells in the back of the room, disengaging the bar locking the door and bringing the blue gem up to it. The door swung inward silently. Kyle saw a small room carved into the stone beyond, with a single four-post bed, chains tied around the posts. On the bed was an old man with a scraggly white beard dressed in fine, if dusty, black clothes. Kyle's heart skipped a beat.

  Kalibar!

  Darius put a finger to his lips, as if anticipating Kyle's excitement. Kyle nodded, stifling the urge to call out to Kalibar. Darius walked up to the former Grand Weaver, nudging him with one hand. Kalibar stirred a bit, but did not wake up. Darius nudged him again, and Kalibar groaned.

  “Kalibar,” Darius whispered into the old man's ear. Kalibar turned his head toward the sound, his eyelids sunken into his empty sockets.

  “Darius? Is that you?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse, and he broke into a spasm of coughing, his face turning red. After a few moments, he got himself under control.

  “Yes, it's me,” the bodyguard replied. “I'm gonna get you out of here.”

  “Did the Secula Magna come to rescue us?” Kalibar asked. Darius put a hand around Kalibar's waist, lifting him up into a seated position on his narrow bed.

  “No,” he replied. “It's just me and Kyle.” Then he glanced at Ariana, who hadn't made a sound since she'd been freed. “And Kyle's girlfriend,” he grumbled. Ariana blushed fiercely, and Kyle felt like dying inside.

  “Kyle's here?” Kalibar exclaimed, a smile lighting up his features. “Where are you, Kyle?”

  “I'm here, sir,” Kyle whispered, unable to look at Kalibar's ruined face. Kalibar reached out with one hand, finding Kyle's shoulder, then sliding his fingers across Kyle's cheek.

  “It is you,” he exclaimed, breaking into a smile. He let go of Kyle then, his smile fading. “What do you mean, 'Kyle's girlfriend?'”