DESCENT INTO DARKNESS: HIS OWN
A DARK FANTASY NOVELLA
DORIS ROSS
Copyright 2012 by Doris Ross
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SAMPLE CHAPTER FOR DESCENT INTO DARKNESS: HIS BEAST
SOUTH-WESTERN REGION OF THE CONTINENT OF ORTHANOR
Mid-Winter, 1304 AF
lATE AFTERNOON
GLASTEN PORT, THE WESTERN COAST OF ORTHANOR
BA’TVIAN Delthanurk dragged the last of his bound captives into the back room of the basement he’d taken over for tonight’s work. A torch mounted on the wall illuminated his harvest. The prisoner wasn’t much of a sacrifice, as most of them weren’t. They were street people, vagrants, malnourished, too old or too young, and half of them had some illness or other. Killing them could be seen as a small mercy.
He wasn’t interested in mercy. Tonight was the full-moon. There was payment to be made.
A flicker of darkness at the light’s edge caught his attention. He turned away from the twelve people he’d collected to watch one of his Shadows slither across the floor to his side.
He comes. The soft words slid into his mind. Its dull white eyes gleamed as it swung its lizard-like head to point in the direction of the basement doors that let out into the alley above. We watch.
“Good.” He waited, ignoring the muffled groans and whines of his ‘currency’ in the heap behind him. That’s what they were, he thought. The currency with which he paid for information, as per the agreement he’d made months ago.
A moment later, he heard the rusty hinges of the doors creak. He strode forward to meet his guest, a pale man with golden eyes and hair the color of fresh blood. He was well-dressed in non-descript garments that were nevertheless finely made. A mage of means, with enough connections to be able to operate without much interference, he provided Ba’tvian with information in exchange for victims. Neither had given their names when they’d struck their agreement. Ba’tvian called him Red; Red called him Shadow Master.
The younger mage considered the title both an acknowledgement of his alliance with the creatures that now circled the room as well as a mockery of Ba’tvian’s ambition.
They exchanged nods of greeting, then went to the back where the captives were being held. Red raised an eyebrow as he surveyed them.
“I don’t believe I require more than one as payment,” he said mildly.
“Choose one then.” Ba’tvian stood, impassive, as Red studied each prisoner. In the end, he chose a scruffy child who looked to be the healthiest of the lot. With little effort, the child was hauled up and set apart from the rest.
“The Mancer Absol Omine is headed to Glasten, Shadow Master.” Red paused to see what his companion’s reaction was. When one wasn’t forthcoming, he continued. “He travels alone, on horseback. He is perhaps two days behind you, but could arrive earlier than that if he’s determined enough. At present, he is the only Mancer near enough to be of any concern.”
“What other news have you?”
Red gave a negligent shrug.
“The Port City of Menie has doubled the bounty on your head. The present lord there is very put out with you.”
Ba’tvian nodded. One day, he might pay the lord a visit.
“There is a rumor that Absol is caring for – or at least paying for the care of – a child he found in the ruins of the Spirlan Forest. I have not yet confirmed if this is true. If it is, the child is likely at Destiny’s Way, a place the Mancer seems to visit often. It is not a place I can obtain much information from.” Red tilted his head. “Confirming the rumor will take extra time and effort.”
Meaning, the younger man thought, a larger payment. He mulled it over, then shook his head.
“It can wait. I may ask for it at a later date, however.”
Red nodded, then gave a short report on the current political atmosphere. There wasn’t much of one. The cities were self-governing, the trade agreements solid, all active laws and policies more or less accepted from place to place. Orthanor was such a politically stable continent that the only unrest to surface was a dispute over a herd of cattle that had wandered between territories.
“Ah, yes. There was also a man over in Chalbrooke that had killed his family. At first, it was believed that you might have been responsible. They called in a local Mancer who determined that the murders were not committed by any blood mage, let alone you.” Red smiled. “Your infamy has spread to the eastern coast. There isn’t much else, Shadow Master. Unless you had something specific in mind?”
“No.”
“Then I will trust you will take care of yourself.”
Ba’tvian watched as Red picked up his prize. The older mage carried the urchin out of the basement without another word. Ba’tvian didn’t move until he heard the basement doors slam shut. Then he kicked at the nearest captive, catching him in the ribs. As the old man wheezed into his gag, he took several deep breaths, seeking calm.
Infamy wasn’t what he wanted. It only made moving about more difficult. Now with Absol nipping at his heels, he had little time to do what he’d come to Glasten to do. He would succeed. He had to. Turning to his Shadows, he gestured them closer.
“Watch the wharves. We need a ship. You know what to look for.”
As they slithered away, he went to his pack for his knives. It was time to get to work.
CHAPTER 2
NERISSE se li Astorae ran down the steps to the corridor, then out the heavy doors that opened to the street in front of the College of Magery. Her white hair flashed in the sun, showing starkly against her slate blue skin as she moved. The skirt of her bleached woolen frock whipped about her legs, her booted feet slapped on the chilled pavement. She dodged passersby on the street, murmuring apologies as she cut around them, through them. She couldn’t afford to slow her pace; she was already late.
Dashing through the city that perched atop the natural column of stone that was the Red Tower, she wondered just who would be there. She still wasn’t comfortable with the crowded conditions here. There were so many people all piled on top of each other…she was still trying to get used to it. Back home, she hadn’t had to deal with this overwhelming populace; so few were there that she had been familiar with their faces, their names, their families. Here, that was impossible. Even among the student body, the number was too great to recognize them all. In truth, the sheer amount of people there was intimidating. Still, curiosity sometimes pushed her past the threshold of her natural bashfulness. She had made a few friends.
Today marked the end of her first six months at the Trinity, and the anniversary of the day of her birth. A few of her classmates were meeting her at the Dragon’s Head Tavern for a small celebration. She wasn’t the only one to have reason to commemorate the day, as one of them had just passed the first trials that were a prelude to becoming a Master Mage.
She was intrigued by his recent experience. Her own trials had been different from those held at the Trinity. Part of that difference was cultural, part of it was the nature of her magic. Her magery was specialized, with a primary focus on the magic of the mind and a secondary focus on that of earth. Kyle’s magery was more generalized, not leaning toward any one type of magic. Perhaps he would be open to discussing the particulars…
Turning the corner sharply, she saw the carved wooden dragon’s head that was the trademark of the tavern. The sight sent her stomach jumping with nerves. She forced herself to stop, taking a few bracing breathes. Self-conscious now, she smoothed her hair. Her nerves weren’t soothed. Ah, well…she couldn’t keep everyone waiting on her much longer.
Opening the door, she stepped inside.
INTERLUDE 1
HE had many names and faces. Today, he was Master Thursden of Gunvar. A tastefully dressed, well-moneyed man of low-birth with a reputation for philanthropy, he played the role to the fullest. He was eccentric by some standards, irresponsible by others, yet none could say was not generous. That generosity was the key to his presence here. One of the things this persona was reputed for was keeping track of the mages he’d invested in, funding the simple parties that were thrown after a successful hallmark in a mage’s rites of passage.
Unlike Sir Kendell of Menie Port, Master Thursden didn’t mind the antics of boisterous students in a mediocre pub.
So from his discreet seat in the far corner of the tavern, he watched with an amused air of detached interest as a group of students toasted one of their own. They were loud – they always were at these things. They were free with congratulations, sharing stories of other trials. Large quantities of ale, cheese, and bread were consumed as the conversation flew about the room. By the end of the night, there would be a mess for the barmaids to clean up.
He let his gaze drift toward the elven chit in white. Nerisse se li Astorae. Oknare’s newest apprentice. She sat among them with a slightly anxious smile, trying to blend in with her peers. She failed utterly.
She was an oddity. An Elvanarae, one of the oldest races in the world, and slated for the priesthood, he had found it surprising that her people had allowed her to leave their northern caverns. Then he’d seen her, seen the mage-potential. He had understood. The Elvanarae did not often produce adept-level mages. It was extremely rare that they possessed more than one at any given time. Nerisse was the first in several centuries to have that kind of power. So they had sent her here to learn what she needed to before she became a priestess.
She blushed now, her blue cheeks flushing dark as the attention turned to her. As they began to sing a ditty off-key, he realized that it was her birthday. A slight smile touched his lips. Excellent.
He would wait, and see what happened next.
CHAPTER 3
OKNARE tended a small potted plant on his desk with loving care. It had been a gift from his student not long after she had first arrived, an herb that could be brewed to make a relaxing tea. He snipped some of the leaves now, placing them in two mugs. He had a visitor coming. He also had a sinking feeling that he would not like the direction of the discussion to be had. Taking up the waiting kettle, he poured hot water over the leaves just as a knock sounded on the door. Kettle still in hand, he answered the door and waved the newcomer inside.
“Welcome to the Red Tower, Mancer Omine,” he greeted, gesturing him to a chair before he rounded the desk to take his seat. “You indicated in your mage-sending that you had questions for me.”
“I do, and it’s just Absol, Master Oknare.” The doffed his hood, running a gauntleted hand through his unkempt brown hair. “Do you want to go through the social niceties first or get to the meat of it?”
“You’re a blunt one.” Oknare smiled slightly. “I’ve tea steeping for us. Other than that, well, we might as well get on.”
“What do you know of the Shadowed Ones?”
“Not a great deal. Ba’tvian Delthanurk is suspected of dealing with them. The few texts that mention them at all refer to them as the Cursed Ones and label them as Daemons as well as death-eaters.” He grimaced as he said the last. Death-eaters consumed or absorb the spirit of the newly dead, overtaking them before they had properly moved on. He hadn’t cared for the descriptions. It was common knowledge, however, that the Mancers dealt with such on a regularly basis.
“That’s the gist of them, though not the whole. They’re on the lowest ranking of Daemon society. They tend to be disregarded by higher Daemons. Not, however, by Daemon Lords. At least, not some of them. If they’re smart, they’ll pay attention to what they do, who they follow,” Absol explained. “Generally, they’ll align themselves with the strongest or the most promising Daemon Lord on the rise. Or they’ll strike out on their own, giving allegiance to none. We, the Mancers, mostly encounter the latter.”
“But…if they’re following Ba’tvian…” Oknare’s brow furrowed. “What would that mean, Absol? He’s mortal, a human.”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out. He’s not just suspected of leading a band of them anymore; it’s been confirmed by another Mancer.”
Oknare took a measured breath. He found that, surprisingly, he didn’t feel shocked or guilty over the news. Resignation and disappointment laid heavy on him, yet the guilt that had plagued him months before was gone.
“Would your comrade speak with me, perchance? I’d like ask him specifics about the encounter.”
“He died shortly after confirming the identity of his attackers.” The quiet statement left Oknare staring at him.
“He – I’m sorry, Absol.” Now the guilt came, a thin wash of it over his heart. “I didn’t realize.”
“It happens.” The Mancer sighed, shaking his head. “There’s no need to apologize for it. Ba’tvian Delthanurk is who is responsible. We just don’t know what else he might be besides a blood mage on the run. Daemons don’t follow humans unless enslaved. They turn on their masters in the blink of an eye. These…the Shadows were protective of him.”
“This troubles me, my friend.” Idly, he took up one of the mugs and a spoon to stir the leaves in the hot liquid. “Would you say that he has found a way around the blocks we’ve placed on his gifts?”
“I couldn’t say for sure. Blood magery’s tricky in that regard. It doesn’t always require a mage gift. Still, all accounts that I’ve heard indicate that he hasn’t been able to break the blocks. Strain them, maybe. Loosen them just enough for some wild and uncontrolled power to slip out briefly. Do you remember the gallows incident in Menie?”
Oknare nodded, tasting his tea to test its strength. He decided to let it brew a bit longer.
“It burst into blood-red flames. That’s where the Shadows were first sighted.”
“If he was able to do that consistently, he would have. He hasn’t. There’s been very little evidence of that kind of power. What there is of it doesn’t show a great deal of control.” Absol lifted his mug from the desk to sniff the steam. “Chamomile?”
“Yes.” Oknare was a bit pleased that the Mancer had recognized the scent. “I find it soothing.”
“I’ve a good friend who drinks nothing else.” He sipped, then returned to the subject. “Ba’tvian uses the Shadows more than anything else, outside of blood-rites.”
“What is he trying to accomplish?”
“Aside from regaining his gifts? I don’t know.”
The Shadows followed him…Oknare couldn’t keep that thought far from his mind.
“He may well want revenge,” he said softly. “For that, he will eventually come here.”
“I think vengeance is a given. In my experience, it is one of the most prevalent reasons for someone to become a blood mage. You had best take precautions here.”
He sipped, then stared broodingly into the tea.
“Still, it’s what comes after that I’m truly worried about.”
CHAPTER 4
THE NEXT DAY
THE DOCKING CAVERN, THE RED TOWER OF THE TRINITY
HERS were a people belonging to the earth, yet the sea fascinated her. As Nerisse sat on the stone outcropping just beyond the cavern that served as the Tower’s harbor she watched waves lap at the rock, with gulls kiting above. A few of her fellow students try their hand at fishing. Securely perched on a boulder, she tugged at her woolen cloak, scanning the water for ships. It was a favorite past-time. If there were no ships and the birds lost her interest, the sea alone was worth the effort of traversing the narrow ledge that led out this way.
She found it soothing, though not nearly as great a comfort as the caves of home.
There weren’t many gulls today, and only one small fishing vessel in the distance. The sky was clouding up; a storm coming in, she supposed. The wind began to pick up. She saw the small waves turn choppy. As the students began to pack up their fishing gear, she decided that going back was probably a good idea. She moved with slow care along the slick rock to the ledge to the shelter of the harbor.
“Bad storm a-brewing,” muttered a dockhand as she neared the catwalk that butted up against the ledge. He looked up at her, nodded in greeting. “Anymore of yon out there?”
“No, sir,” she replied softly. She looked over her shoulder to see the rest following her back. “We were all that was out there.”
“That’s good, then. You have a good day, miss. Be sure to keep dry.”
She gave a shy smile, then moved along the docks, finding herself reluctant to go back to the top and her dorm room. She was tired of studying. She had to admit, too, that she felt a yearning for home. The people of the Red Tower weren’t bad, boring, or really all that uncomfortable for her to be around. She had friends, though not any close ones, a caring mentor, respect, and admiration from her peers. She didn’t lack for a social life; the party she’d attended at the tavern a few days ago had been enjoyable. Still, it didn’t replace home in her heart.
Home had been like being in the womb of the earth, warm, welcoming, nurturing. It was unfortunate that her education in magery had to be finished in such a remote place, surrounded by so much water. Being out in the ocean like this cut her off from home, from the earth her people lived – it made her feel bereft.
It wasn’t isolation, she thought as she paused to stare out the harbor’s mouth where the sea was beginning to churn. It was…loneliness. The earth had always welcomed her before, like an old friend. This stone spire was a veritable stranger to her senses.
Still, it won’t last for long. I have this assurance. I will return home to take my place among the priesthood to serve my people.
Turning away from the water, she stepped off the wooden planking of the boardwalk onto solid stone.
The world spun, dipped, darkened. She felt the rumble of earth, heard sharp cracking, crumbling of stone. Blood filled her nostrils; she gagged on it. Rats – there were so many rats – they scurried over the rock in a mad frenzy, freed from broken cages on a filthy, desecrated floor. She could hear them in the dark, see them in her mind. Then the vision all fell away, leaving her standing in the harbor cavern with her ears ringing.
Images overlaid the present like phantoms, gliding silently through the living. A ship docked at the pier behind her. She didn’t have to turn around to know it was there. Just as she didn’t have to look ahead to see the procession as it approached.
A young man clad simply in a drab colored tunic and pants, cloaked, his face obscured by a hood, was led by an armed escort. A prisoner, was her first thought. She could see the ropes binding his wrists, the hobble linking his feet. Behind him, she saw her mentor, Master Oknare, as well as another man she had seen but whose name she didn't know. Oknare was outwardly impassive. She could feel echoes of his pain, shame, disappointment. It flowed over her until the prisoner looked up. Their eyes met.
Furious resentment slammed into her. Humiliation and vengeance swirled around her. She felt fear, true terror, as she gazed at this man. He was young, handsome. His eyes, though, were hot, hard. They seemed to glow.
He’s not looking at me. He can’t see me. This is past, only the past. He’s staring at the ship –
The procession advanced on her. She couldn’t seem to move. She couldn’t think of it. All she saw were his eyes, the dark glint of them, like drops of blood in the darkness. The guards passed through her easily, then the prisoner.
She fainted.
INTERLUDE 2
ELSEWHERE…
WASN’T that interesting?
Labiyal watched from the safety of his tavern quarters. The little elven priestess, with her close link to the world, fell in an ungraceful heap on the stone. He leaned back as the dockhands in the mirror hurried over to see what was wrong.
What had she seen, he wondered. There were several possibilities. He knew what path she had stood upon, knew what impressions the earth may have stored. Yet she wasn’t linked to the tower, was she?
“Earth priestesses must have ties to the land, one born of birth, one born of blood, or one born of destiny.” Considering, he tapped mirror’s frame. The scene vanished abruptly. “Well, then. It would seem that some of the King’s prophecies are proving true.”
It would be wise to re-familiarize himself with the Helkorex Noxim – the Written Word of the King of Hell. It meant returning to his current base of operations, though. Taking the tome into what was technically enemy territory was foolish. So it was time leave. Not, however, before he laid a final layer of foundation for what was to come.
After all, not even prophecy was guaranteed.
CHAPTER 5
OKNARE rushed into the Healing House adjacent to the school, bursting through the doors quickly. An elderly matron gave him a disgruntled look as she planted herself firmly in his way as he tried to bolt through the lobby area. He skidded to a halt, ignoring the attention he was getting the few others waiting for treatment.
“Hold fast, now, Master Oknare. I take it you’re here for the female student just admitted in my house?”