Vitiosi Dei (Heritage of the Blood Book 2) (44 page)

              Rigael snarled and pulled back his arm. A large meaty hand grabbed the Stroml’dier's arm before he could throw the punch, however.

              “Apprentice of Dunnagan, is this young barbarian bothering you?” the Orc who held Rigael’s arm in place asked calmly as two other Orcs stepped up behind him and folded their arms. Rigael tried to move his arm, but the Orc was obviously much stronger than the young Stroml’dier. After a moment, he gave up trying to free his arm and stared daggers at the Orc holding his arm.

              “This isn’t your fight, Blood Orc,” Rigael spat.

              “I don’t believe that this is anyone’s fight,” the Orc replied. “I also don’t believe that this is the time or a place for such a thing, even if your reasons were valid.”

              Looking around at all the eyes on him, Rigael looked like he might put up a fight anyway, but then his gaze locked with the disappointed look on his sister’s face, and his head fell slightly.

              “Fine,” Rigael said, tugging his arm free as the Orc loosened his hold. “This conversation isn’t over though, son of Aerick.” With that, he turned and pushed his way out of the room.

              “Poor young man, all of that hate and he’s directing it towards the wrong people,” the Orc said quietly as Rigael left.

              “Yeah,” Shawnrik said. “Thank you for the help. Without your intervention, it would have turned into a brawl and ruined the night.” He stuck out his hand.

              “It's of no consequence,” the Orc said. “We have heard from Thaddius about you, and wanted to meet the man who Dunnagan chose to teach for ourselves anyway.” The three Orcs placed their right arms over their chests and bowed slightly. “If you ever have need of us, we will be there.”

              Shawnrik stared at the trio, unsure what to say for a few moments. Before he could ask them their names, they had turned and began to move back through the crowd.

              “Well, that could have gone a lot worse.” Olivia said, moving up beside him. “It’s nice to know Thaddius hasn’t forgotten about us.”

              “Yeah, I never thought I’d ever be grateful to another Orc,” Shawnrik said as he watched the backs of his retreating benefactors. Knowing that there was one cultured Orc out in the world had required Shawnrik to change his view of the world, but not nearly so much as the confirmation that there was indeed an entire tribe of them. Shaking off his newest revelation, Shawnrik turned to his date and in a loud enough voice that those near him could hear as well he said. “I believe this is supposed to be a dance?”

              The music started up not long after and Shawnrik offered his hand to Olivia, who accepted is elegantly. It would be their first of many dances together that evening.

              “So, what you are saying is that if I read this scroll, the Arch Magus of the Protectorate is going to show up and put you inside of me?” the boy asked. He hoped his tone told the High Commander exactly what he thought about the idea.

              “In so many words, yes,” Stewart Cantel replied. “Though he’s not really going to show up, it will just be a projection of his will. I’m not certain exactly all that he can accomplish with this Shaping, but I think it will work. This is something that has been done to quite a few of the High Commanders in the past when a new High Commander takes over.”

              “And why would I want to do this? I already have one voice in my head that doesn’t like to behave.”

              Stewart Cantel raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

              The boy sighed. “It is a long story. Suffice to say, the gods did something stupid at my birth and my mind created a self-defense mechanism to blunt the damage. That’s who took care of those Dracairei that were attacking you, and no I have no idea how he did it.”

              “Ah, well, that sounds like another reason for you to do this, then. I might be able to help you keep it contained. With my will and yours combined, we should be able to at least put it back in its cage if it does get loose.”

              “Yeah, maybe. It took a whole tribe of Quaelyne to help me do it last time. I have no idea why he isn’t in control right now. He seemed satisfied after he made those trees eat the assassins, though.” He looked down at the new line of silver running across each side of his left manacle. “These things seem to help keep him contained as well.”

              “Aren’t those the manacles that you were trying to steal when Nim found you?” Stewart asked.

              “Oh right, you don’t know that part yet either,” the boy said. “I don’t have any memories from before I woke up in a mine north of here sometime last year. None that are mine, at least.”

              The High Commander let loose a string of curses. “You mean you came all the way out here and helped me without even remembering who I was?”

              “You and the old squad,” the boy replied. “Za’erath and Za’kereth were rescuing Elandria and Rundig when I left. I helped them draw one of the Dracairei out and then came after you.”

              Stewart Cantel stared at him for a moment before he began to laugh. It turned into a wracking cough a few moments later, but even without air in his lungs he continued to laugh.

              “Hey, I did help!” the boy said, thinking that the High Commander was laughing at him.

              “No,” Stewart Cantel breathed out, trying to get his laughter and breathing under control. “I’m laughing because even without your old memories, you are just as reckless and courageous as you were when I first met you.”

              “Oh,” the boy said. “That’s alright then.”

              “Now,” the High Commander said as he took a shallow breath. “I can feel this crap creeping through my body, so it might be best if you get on with it if you are going to. Otherwise, I’d appreciate it if you’d help me end it quickly.”

              Faced with the choice of having to kill the man or have him riding around in his head, he decided that he would rather not have to stab the High Commander. “Alright,” the boy said as he began to unroll the scroll. He knew he had never seen anything like the flowing script that unrolled before him, but he also understood every character.

Speaking the words slowly, he felt a tingling run up his hands and stop at his wrists, which began to heat up way too quickly. Suddenly, the bottom of the left manacle fell apart right where the line of silver was and the right manacle began to crack and break apart as well. As the right manacle began to break loose he tried to stop speaking, afraid that whatever was contained inside of him would get loose if the manacle fell, but found he was unable to stop the incantation.

With a loud clatter, the right manacle fell to the ground. Now, both of his silvery wrists were exposed to the world. He could see the High Commander looking at the silver scales with interest before a blindingly bright light burst from the scroll.

“Well, Stewart, I can’t say I’m surprised you had to use this,” a glowing shape of a man said. The man was currently facing away from them, and as he turned the resolute face of the Arch Magus turned to surprise. “Victor? What in the name of all that is good and holy are you doing?”

“It was my idea,” Stewart Cantel said weakly. “I told him to use it. I want you to take as many useful things from me and give them to him.”

“Really?" the Arch Magus asked. His tone told them that he was more intrigued than put out by the idea. The transparent image of the Arch Magus stood for a moment in quiet thought. “He’s too young, so I don’t think I’ll be able to do much physically. Maybe not even mentally if his brain hasn’t developed enough.”

“Just do what you can,” the High Commander said.

“Is that an order, Stewart?” the grinning form of the Arch Magus said.

Stewart gave a grunting laugh. “As if I could ever order you to do anything—even if you are technically under my command.”

“Ah, wisdom in the final moments of life; it's a pity it took so long.”

“Gallows humor, Simon, really?”

“Live as long as I have and you see a lot of friends die,” the Arch Magus said, his smile faltering. “Sometimes I think it is the only humor I have left.”

              “Cry me a river, you old goat,” Stewart Cantel said, which drew a short laugh from the Arch Magus. “I’m the one dying here. This is my pity party; go find your own on your own time.”

              “You two are odd,” the boy said.

              “Victor my boy, you should know that already,” Simon Windsbane said.

              “Memory block,” Stewart said. “Wow, I bet you are tired of explaining that to people.”

              “You have no idea.”

              “Well, that makes things even more interesting,” the Arch Magus said. “Alright, let’s get to work and see what we can do here.”

              The tingling sensation started in the boy’s arm again as the image of the Arch Magus reached out to touch him. This time, however, it quickly spread throughout his body. He felt a compulsion to move over next to Stewart Cantel and his body responded almost instantly. Arch Magus Simon Windsbane reached out with his other ethereal hand and placed it on Stewart Cantel’s forehead. They stood like that for several minutes as the Arch Magus studied each of them.

The boy was expecting the thing that lived inside his mind to lash out or try to block the Arch Magus, but the attack never came. Before he could even begin to wonder at the creature’s motives, the ghostly image of the Arch Magus stepped back, cutting off its contact.

              “Alright, we can do this,” the Arch Magus said. “His brain is definitely far enough developed to handle the transfer. In fact, if I didn’t know any better, I might even say it has developed in just such a way to be able to handle such things with ease.”

              “Maybe the gods know what they are doing after all,” Stewart Cantel said.

              “Perhaps,” the Arch Magus said, though his voice didn’t sound like he thought it was likely. “Either way, we can continue with the procedure. I’m afraid that there isn’t much I can do physically. He’s still developing and it looks like he’s going to be quite the warrior when he’s finished regardless. However, I can deposit samples of your muscles and blood so that his body can incorporate them into his growth and perhaps develop some of that speed you are renowned for.”

              “Well, it’s better than nothing,” Stewart Cantel said. “Let’s get this over with.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Also, would you tell Elyse that I’m dead so she can take command or try to foist it onto Nim’s shoulders?”

              “I can do that, my friend. It has been an honor.” Turning to the boy, he said. “This is going to hurt, but I’ll do what I can to limit the pain. I will also attempt to do what I can for the block in your memories, but without knowing exactly what was done, all I can do is weaken it a little. If we tried to do any more than that we’d risk damaging something irreparably. Your mind knows what to do better than I do.”

              “Alright,” the boy said.

              “When you wake up, Stewart Cantel will be dead, but you will have all of his memories…”

              “Hopefully not all of them,” the High Commander laughed.

              “Alright, most of his memories,” Simon Windsbane said and grinned back at his friend. “I’m pretty sure I know the ones you’d rather take with you to the grave.”

              Stewart Cantel nodded.

              Turning back to the boy, the Arch Magus continued. “Though you will have his memories and a facsimile of his personality in your mind, know that Stewart Cantel will be dead. After a time, his voice will fade and he will fully become a part of you. Utilize his knowledge and experience while you can, and learn what he has to teach you. When it is gone, believe me—you will miss it.”

              The Arch Magus reached out once again and put a translucent hand on each of their foreheads. “Goodbye, old friend,” he said, and the world went black.

Epilogue

Year: 3045 AGD

Midwinter Festival

Safeharbor

              Nim had just taken one of the lines of power back to Safeharbor and was happy to be heading home for the first time in eight months when he received a summons to the Royal Palace. Instead of heading home, he requisitioned a mount to take him to whatever god awful meeting His Royal Majesty had planned. It took nearly an hour to navigate the streets and reach the palace from the pad where travelers of the line were removed from the stream.

              The first sign he had that something was amiss was the giant black tapestries and purple tapestries with the symbol of the Protectorate on them that hung along the entrance to the building. Normally, those tapestries were purple with black and gold making up the crest. He knew the black and purple were only taken out when someone of import had died. Stopping to stare at the purple crest of the Protectorate, Nim bit his lip when he realized who they must be for.

              “Damn it,” Nim said as he walked past the saluting guards who held the door for him. “Damn it, damn it, damn it!”

              The Chamberlain had just enough time rush out of a side room and hop in front of Nim to escort him to the war room. Nim even managed to wait the few seconds it took the man to open the door before he walked in.

              “No,” Nim said as he entered the room.

              “Now Nim, hear us out.” King Theodrik Theromvore II said as Nim stomped into the room.

              “No,” Nim said pointing to Elyse Winterstar-Theromvore, current High Lieutenant Commander and interim High Commander, if Nim’s guess was correct.

              “Attention.” Adrian Theromvore’s voice rang throughout the room, causing everyone but the Queen and Princess Helmenvier to stand to. Years of training were hard to break, and Adrian Theromvore had a perfect voice for parade grounds.

              The King looked sheepishly at his wife, who wore a slight grin. “Don’t even say it.”

              “Who, me? I’m sure I have no idea what you are talking about, dear.” Queen Sophiana Theromvore replied.

              Nim noticed that even though the King and Queen were smiling and joking with each other, they both looked haggard. The kidnapping of their daughter Tatiana was nearly two months ago. Last time he had seen the King and Queen, they had both looked vibrant and had a commanding presence; today, they just looked tired. He even noticed a few gray streaks sticking out on the King’s dark mane.

              “Nim,” Adrian Theromvore said. “This is political. We can’t have a Theromvore as the High Commander, especially not when there are so many Theromvore’s in power near the King already.” He continued confirming Nim’s suspicions about Stewart Cantel’s death.

              “Bullshit,” Nim wanted to yell, but kept his tone nearly civil. “That’s just a technicality. She’s only a Theromvore by marriage. Not only that, but if you remember, my mother was a Theromvore as well.”

              “While that is true,” the King said as he took a seat at the table, “the people know you as Nim Mithriannil and you, David, and Zander are legends among the troops.”

              “Don’t let Ashur hear you call him David,” Nim said, “he hates that name. Why don’t we just call Elyse Winterstar in the proclamations, then?”

              “Well, first of all, I don’t even want to be High Commander…” Elyse began before Nim interrupted her.

              “Neither do I!”

              “…Second, while the men respect me, I’m not exactly a young woman anymore,” Elyse said.

              “You are only ten years older than me, and you still look ten years younger than you are,” Nim replied.

              “Thank you, but I do not feel ten years younger than I am, Nim,” Elyse said, her hand tightly gripping the pommel of her sword. “I’m slowing down. I have more human blood in me than anyone else in this room, and we simply don’t last as long as the rest of you. If I had any ability in Shaping I might be able to fight for another twenty years, but I don’t. I’m afraid my time as a soldier is going to be coming to a close in the next few years.”

              “Oh.” Nim sat down and tried not to notice Adrian Theromvore glaring at him from across the room. He knew how much of an admission that had been and he respected it. That didn’t mean her husband had to blame him for it, however. “So I’m it then, huh?” Nim finished reluctantly, letting the room know what he thought about the decision as he looked each of them in the eyes.

              “Pretty much,” Analya Theromvore said as she put a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “You should know that Victor was there when Stewart died. The Arch Magus performed a graft from Stewart to Victor.”

              “Of course he was,” Nim sighed. “I don’t suppose he’s coming home?”

              “From what the Arch Magus said…” Lagelion Daystar said as he moved out of the shadows to stand behind his wife. “…the Blood Mages blocked his memory about a year ago, and stuck him in that mine. Simon didn’t know what the boy’s plans were, but now with Stewart in his head I’m betting there’s only one place they’ll go.”

              “Siniquity,” Nim said. “Neither one of those idiots will stop until the Princess is safe. What name is he going by now?”

              Analya smiled. “The Arch Magus said that he hadn’t decided upon a name yet, but he wouldn’t accept that he was Victor anymore. I wonder who he gets that from.” Her head turned slightly to the left towards her husband before she stopped herself, and in that moment a few things clicked in Nim’s mind.

              “He’s your son,” Nim said it quietly, and in the moments that followed the entire room grew still.

              “Our son died,” Lagelion said with a note of hostility.

              “Tyrdra,” Nim laughed. “How did I not see this all before?”

              “See what, Nim?” the King asked, but the Queen seemed to already be on the same page as Nim.

“Tyrdra was living in the Dock's District in the guise of this Shaylyn Arasmé. She must have known what you two were planning and somehow planted the suggestion that you bring him to her.” The Queen shook her head and looked at the King. “Your mother used to tell me stories about Tyrdra that had been passed down from Queen to Queen since the cataclysm. I always thought that they were just exaggerations, but now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m willing to bet most of what you’ve heard is true,” Nim said. “I met Tyrdra when I was younger and have done a lot of research on her since then. She came on the ship with the Newcomers.”

“If that is true, how could a Blood Mage have scared her off?”

“All part of some grand plan of the Watchers, I’m sure,” Arch Magus Windsbane said as he entered from a side room. No one was surprised that the wily old mage already knew what they were talking about. After all, he was the one who maintained the wards around the room to make sure no one besides the council heard what went on inside.

“Watchers?” the King asked.

“It is what the Dragons who were tasked with overseeing this world are called. I have been looking for information about what they were watching and why for years, but my search has found very little.” The Arch Magus sat down with a groan.

This was the first time that Nim had ever seen Simon Windsbane so worn out. Nim could understand why the man was tired, though. Understanding only the rudiments of the willpower and concentration required to perform a graft on someone, Nim knew it would drain even the strongest Shaper. He could only imagine how strong of a will the Arch Magus must have to be able to complete the procedure from half a continent away.

“Great, so he’s the pawn of these Dragons?”

“Not only the Dragons,” the Arch Magus said. “The boy had been gifted thrice by the entities the church calls gods.”

“You’re lucky the High Priestess isn’t here to hear you say that,” Prince Theodrik Theromvore III said. “She would throw a fit.”

“Priestesses do not throw fits,” the Queen said with a wink. “They simply have tantrums of righteous indignation.”

“Be that as it may,” the Arch Magus continued. “If anyone might know why the gods did this—and which gods exactly were involved—I would be interested to know.”

Lagelion was standing beside his wife now, and she was pointedly not looking him in the eye. “What are they talking about?” When she turned her head away from him slightly he reached up and gently turned her face towards him. “Analya, what did they do to our son?”

Serenity Valley

“Well, aside from you almost getting in a fight, that was the loveliest evening I’ve ever had,” Olivia said as Shawnrik escorted her back towards her dorm.

“Yeah, I never thought I’d go to a party like that,” Shawnrik said as he looked up at the dark cavern overhead. That was the one downside about living in Serenity Valley: you couldn’t see the sky. The old volcano curved up thousands of feet into the air, and then a platform had been built across the hollowed out interior. He imagined someone had made it look like a dead volcano that had blown its top, but he couldn’t imagine why someone would go through all that trouble of hiding an entire city.

“Syranna looked lovely, didn’t she?” Olivia asked.

“What? Oh yeah, she looked really good,” Shawnrik said. “All of you girls did.”

“You know she’s crazy about you, right?”

“What?” Shawnrik stopped in the path, drawing the attention of several nearby groups with his outburst.

“Ugh, men are so dense,” Olivia said, but she was smiling.

“But I don’t, I didn’t…” Shawnrik tried to form a complete sentence and failed.

“I know. I think she knows that, too, but the heart wants what the heart wants,” Olivia said, mimicking an older woman’s voice.

“Sage advice from someone you know?” Shawnrik said and began to move again once the next group ahead was far enough away.

“My grandmother,” Olivia said. “She wasn’t with us when we were captured by the Blood Orcs. She had gone off to some gathering of the Phuri Dai, a kind of gathering of the eldest mothers.”

“Lucky her,” Shawnrik said.

“Yeah,” Olivia looked at him. “So what are you going to do?”

“What am I going to do about what?”

“Syranna,” Olivia huffed.

“Is there anything I can do?” Shawnrik asked.

“You can tell her you aren’t interested, and that you already have a girlfriend? You aren’t interested, are you?”

Caught unaware, Shawnrik knew he hesitated just a moment too long to reply to the question. “No, I mean she’s sweet, and cute, but I have my sights set on someone else, and what do you mean I already have a girlfriend?”

“Good enough, I suppose,” Olivia said with a hawkish glance. “Well you are going to ask me, aren’t you?”

“I uh…” Shawnrik replied elegantly.

“You? What?” Olivia replied stepping in front of him.

“Are you sure?” Shawnrik asked and she gave him a look that told him she was less sure with each passing second. “I mean, would you like to be my girlfriend?”

“Shawnrik Larston, I thought you’d never ask,” Olivia said, feigning surprise. “Now lift me up so you can kiss me properly.”

He did.