Darkfire: A Book of Underrealm Read online

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  DARKFIRE

  Garrett Robinson

  Copyright © 2015 by Legendary Books. All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events or locales is purely coincidental. Reproduction in whole or part of this publication without express written consent is strictly prohibited.

  To my wife

  Who gave me this idea

  To my children

  Who just make life better

  To Johnny, Sean and Dave

  Who told me to write

  And to my Rebels

  Don’t forget why you left the woods

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  one

  THE WESTERLY ROAD SNAKED ON for endless miles, winding until it vanished in the feet of the Greatrock Mountains that loomed far, far ahead. Summer hung full in the air. A heavy sun roasted Loren as it set, forcing her to lower her hood.

  “This seems as good a place as any to stop for the day,” said Jordel. “Make for that copse of trees just off the road.”

  Loren looked up and saw it: a small cluster of oaks in a circle, trunks almost touching. The barest tug on Midnight’s reins turned the horse. Annis and Gem clutched Loren harder. The mare’s hooves fell less rapidly now that the day wound to a close; she was a powerful horse and sure-footed, but they had ridden hard through the day, and Loren knew she would appreciate the night’s rest.

  “At last,” grumbled Gem, sitting behind Annis, who sat behind Loren. “I thought my legs might fall off.”

  “If you think you are weary of riding, think of how Midnight must feel having to carry you all this way,” said Loren. “Be grateful we are not walking.”

  “Gratitude comes hard when I am weary and saddlesore,” said Gem. “Let me dismount, and my thanks shall flow like a river.”

  “If only that were true,” murmured Annis. “I should dearly love some cool water.”

  Jordel made them approach the trees slowly, in case another party camped within. But the place was empty, and all sighed with relief as they slid from their saddles.

  Xain, trussed up and secured to Jordel’s horse, glowered at the Mystic as he was lifted from its flanks. Jordel was careful not to jostle him, lowering the wizard gently to the ground before tying his hands to a tree. A gag prevented his speech, but he looked at Loren with poisonous eyes as the Mystic bound him. She could barely meet his glare before turning away with a shudder. Every time Xain looked at her, she saw the madness in his eyes, and remembered him fighting Mystics upon the King’s road. Her mind filled with visions of men and horses twisting in darkfire, black flames licking their clothing and flesh, consuming everything until even the white of their bones had been swallowed. Despite the summer warmth, Loren felt a winter’s chill.

  “Here, Loren,” said Gem. “Help me get the bedrolls. Your blasted steed still nickers whenever I draw near.”

  “You thought she was fine enough when first you saw her.”

  “She had not yet tried to bite me. I am a brave warrior, but value my fingers.”

  Loren rolled her eyes. Midnight had merely tried to smell him. She did not feel like explaining this again, so she pulled the bedrolls from Midnight’s back herself. Annis took hers without comment, bleary-eyed; the girl looked as though she had slept through the ride.

  “Get yourself to sleep,” said Loren. “You are weary.”

  “Yet I do not wish for slumber,” said Annis quietly, looking askance at Gem, standing nearby. “Sleep brings dreams dark and terrible. Visions of the wizard.”

  Loren looked away. She too faced the same nightmares, but there was no refuge — her mind’s eye often turned to Xain’s madness even while awake.

  She dropped the bedrolls at Gem’s feet, then took both horses to the other side of the copse where they could graze on lush turf. Returning, she unfurled her bedroll upon the ground.

  For a moment she paused, rubbing the fine green cloth between her fingers with a smile for the kindly clothier in Wellmont who had made them. Loren hoped the woman was safe and well, free from the ravages of the Dorsean army besieging the city.

  It had been two days since Xain cast darkfire upon the King’s road. They had not found Vivien afterward, and Jordel suspected her survival. That was why they had ridden so hard since, testing the mettle of their horses to leave many leagues behind them. Jordel had risked everything for Xain, and if Vivien had indeed survived, he would now be an outcast amongst the Mystics. His own order would be hunting them, along with the King’s law. Their only hope was that the fighting in Wellmont would distract their pursuers long enough to offer escape.

  Loren was prisoner to one memory in particular: the moment Xain had attacked her with his flames, only to have the fire gutter out. He had tried it thrice, and thrice been thwarted, until he forced her to drop the dagger — the blade that now hung on her belt, concealed beneath her cloak.

  Her bedroll was laid out, and now she was smoothing it overmuch, her hands searching for any small motion to distract her thoughts. She went to tether the horses before going to Jordel. The Mystic had laid his own blankets apart from theirs, and now dug into his pack for food. His gaze rose to meet Loren’s approach.

  “I thought we might step beyond the trees, to look upon the road ahead and discuss our path.”

  Jordel eyed her carefully, then nodded. Loren needed no such discussion. They both knew he meant to take the Westerly Road to Feldemar in the north. But the Mystic had warned Loren about speaking of the dagger in front of Gem or Annis, and so she had to get him alone.

  He stood and went to inspect Xain’s bonds. Before they left the trees, he turned to Gem. “Keep an eye on the wizard. If he should move, shout for us. We will not go far.”

  “Aye. Though if he thinks to tangle with me, he shall find me no easy mark.”

  Loren smiled, and so did Jordel. “Still, do not fail to call for us. We will not be gone long,” he said.

  The Mystic led her out of the trees to the north, stepping beyond them into the day’s
final carmine colored rays. Rolling knolls wavered in the heat, and their world had grown stuffy with barely a breeze to air it. The Mystic’s keen blue eyes fixed on the Greatrocks far away, then he turned to Loren.

  “What ails you?”

  She looked over her shoulder to make sure neither of the children had followed, then placed a hand on her dagger.

  “Something that happened on the King’s road, when Xain was overcome with madness. You saw how he was. He would not have hesitated to kill any of us if it would have offered escape. He turned his flames on me. They died upon the air, and yet I am sure that was not his intent. I saw the look in his eyes, Jordel, and he meant to kill me. Something stopped him.”

  “Indeed. Something you hold even now.”

  “My dagger.” Loren nodded. “I thought as much. But how? What is this blade, that it can cast aside a wizard’s wrath?”

  Jordel’s brows drew together, and he turned from Loren to look east. Then he turned back without an answer.

  “Before your parents had it? Where did they get it from?”

  “I do not know. I never spoke with them of it. Indeed, my parents never knew I was aware. I found it by accident as a child, and never saw it again until the day I ran.”

  Jordel nodded. “Very well, then. I will tell you something of an answer. The full story would take many days in the telling, and we do not have such luxury. But even this small piece carries a heavy burden. The more you know of this dagger, the greater the danger upon you. That is why you must never reveal what you know to Gem or Annis, unless you wish to bring them great harm. I do not say this lightly, nor from jealousy. Those who hoard knowledge for their gain are a corrupt kind of men, for wisdom should be open to all who seek it. Yet some knowledge tempts the heart, and in that temptation lies death. Do you understand?”

  Loren snorted and looked toward the sky. “How can I? You speak in riddles. Tell me the truth plainly, and mayhap I will see what you mean.”

  “I shall. But only because you have pledged yourself to my service. I pray you will remember that oath well, Loren. With it you have earned my trust, and could land my head on the block. But mine would be only the first life lost in a great calamity that threatens all the nine lands. Do you hear me?”

  “I do.” She nodded. “I promise, you will not regret accepting me.”

  “With what you have done already, I could never regret it. So be it. Sit with me, and let me see your dagger.”

  Loren hesitated. Rarely had another laid their hands upon her weapon, save for Auntie in Cabrus, who tried to make it hers. And now that she knew the dagger’s history and value, Loren was even more loathe to relinquish it.

  He did not grow angry at Loren’s reluctance, giving her only a rueful smile. “You must trust me, and honor your vow.”

  Yes, she had pledged her skill to Jordel, such as it was. But in her heart she had thought it a gesture, an oath to fight by his side, so long as he kept his word and never asked her to take a life. Little had she thought he might demand her weapon. Mayhap her vow had been made in haste. But it was done now.

  Together they settled themselves on the grass, Loren sitting on her black cloak. Jordel wore one of plain brown, for his Mystic’s red made him stand out like blood upon snow. Loren drew the dagger from its sheath and placed it in Jordel’s waiting hands. His fingers traced the black designs worked into the blade. Finally, he spoke.

  “This dagger is a weapon of the mage hunters from many yesteryear past. You remember I told you that in my early days as a Mystic, I was one?”

  “Aye. Do all mage hunters carry such a weapon?”

  “Not for many hundreds of years. You know that in the Fearless Decree, the High King Andriana forbade wizards from seating any throne, after the dark times of the Wizard Kings. What many do not know is that the Fearless Decree was not only an edict: it was a treaty. Andriana knew that if she passed such a law without the consent of at least some of the other Wizard Kings, she would throw the nine lands into war.”

  “You mean the wizard kings gave up their power of their own will?” Loren looked at the Mystic with wonder. “Why would they do that? Their rule was unquestioned until Andriana stripped them.”

  “You must remember that even among the wizard kings, there were many of kind heart and just mind. Those who abused their strength made the Fearless Decree necessary. But some saw how power could corrupt, and they agreed to surrender their thrones for the sake of their kingdoms. But not without a price. In those days, all mage hunters were under the High King’s command. And if the wizards were to be stripped of their thrones, they would not let the High King maintain a force that could find and kill them at will. So mage hunters were given into the control of the Mystics, and diluted of power. Weapons like yours — like this dagger — were destroyed, by royal decree.”

  “Yet this one survived.”

  Jordel nodded. “And not by accident. Few know of this, but the Mystics saved some of the weapons in secret, hidden from both the mages and the High King herself, and kept them as one of our most closely-guarded secrets. That is what makes it dangerous.”

  Loren shook her head. “That, I still do not understand.”

  “The dagger is not simply a weapon of fine make. It is imbued with power — magic to help the mage hunters track and slay wizards they were ordered to destroy. You saw one such power on the King’s road.”

  “Xain could not touch me with his magic.”

  “Just so. It is proof against his fire, just as it would be proof against any other wizard. The dagger has other gifts as well, more than I can explain just now. In time, I will help you unlock its power. But first we must find safety, and I am afraid that is in short supply in the land of Selvan.”

  “You still have not made yourself clear. It has power, yes. Is that why the Mystics fear it so? Why would I be seen as a danger if it were found in my possession? I did not know its abilities.”

  Jordel’s mouth soured as if he were chewing bad fruit.

  “It has little to do with your knowledge, and more to do with the politicking that still holds too much sway in the nine lands. You see, the High King gave her mage hunters over into the service of the Mystics, then ordered them to have all such weapons destroyed. This was a royal decree, to be carried out upon pain of death. Yet when Mystics chose to keep some of the weapons intact, they became guilty of treason. They put themselves and our order at risk. Yet I might have done the same. The Fearless Decree might not last, and thus the Wizard Kings would return. If that were to happen, Mystics would need to end the threat.”

  “I think I take your meaning at last,” Loren said. “You fear that if it were discovered that Mystics had kept these weapons, they would face the High King’s wrath. But I find that hard to believe. This happened many hundreds of years ago. Can such a decree still be held so dear?”

  “It might not. Except that wizards have again grown in power, though they still cannot seat a throne. They established the Academy upon the High King’s seat, and since then have wormed their ways into positions of power in every court throughout the kingdom.” Jordel swallowed. “Twenty years ago they found a Mystic in possession of a weapon such as yours.”

  Loren paled. “What happened to him?”

  “He was put to the question, and died in the High King’s dungeons,” said Jordel, his voice growing heavy. “Yet he remained steadfast. He never revealed the truth: that the Mystics still keep other such blades in secret. Still the High King Enalyn, with wizards whispering in her ear, was full of wrath, and reaffirmed the Fearless Decree. If ever another weapon were found, she would know that the Mystics had been false in their promise.”

  Jordel turned the dagger over in his hands, then held it out to Loren by the hilt. She almost feared to take it. Never had she thought to held a secret so terrible, it might lay an entire order of warriors to the ground. An order whose purpose she still did not fully understand. She took the dagger and slid it back into its sheath. Then her thoughts
turned to Cabrus, and the constable Corin.

  “Is that why some who have seen my dagger feared me so? Did they think I was one of you? A Mystic, working for some high members of your order?”

  “Just so.” Jordel nodded. “Scarcely any know of such weapons. Most who do are Mystics. They have many agents throughout the nine lands. We are only fortunate that you have never met a high member of the Academy, for they would have taken the dagger and used it to terrible effect.”

  “I understand much at last. Yet I am offered no comfort.”

  “As I said. Most knowledge is a gift, but not all. And if the children were to know this tale, and lend it voice in a careless moment—”

  “You do not need to describe it. I will say nothing.”

  “Good. I trust you, Loren of the family Nelda. In the short time we have known each other, you have done much to earn it.”

  Loren’s cheeks flushed. Never in the Birchwood had anyone placed much faith in her. Other than Chet — though he had never stated his feelings so plainly. So much of their friendship occurred without words.

  “Gem and Annis will think we have left them.”

  “Indeed,” said Jordel, moving to rise. “Let us sup then rest well, for tomorrow we have many leagues to cover.”

  Loren followed Jordel through the oaks, pulling the edge of her cloak tighter, swathing the dagger in shadow.

  two

  JORDEL WOKE THEM FOR A meager breakfast early the next morning. At first he had let them handle their own foodstuffs. But after the first day’s ride, he had seen Gem stuffing his face by the fire. Then he took all their food into his own saddlebags, and carefully rationed each meal. Loren did not mind, but the children had complained terribly — especially Gem.

  The boy groaned as he tried to gnaw on a roll of hardtack. Mayhap it was stale, or rocklike in nature — Loren had long ago given up trying to determine which. “You mean to starve me, Jordel! I am already nothing but skin and bones. Give me more, I beg you, or I will waste away and die, and the nine lands will lose a brilliant mind.”