Harbinger: The Downfall - Book One Read online

  “We ran after that, a whole troupe of those carnival bastards chasing us. We ran for hours.”

  Maurence brayed again, and flashed fifteen fingers.

  “Well, it felt like hours. But Maurence apparently worked for the carnival, but followed me back to the Lady’s Luck since he couldn’t go back to there. I vouched for him, and we have been best of friends since then. He even got that haircut I recommended.”

  Tildan raised a flask to Maurence, took a deep drink, and passed it to his friend who returned his salute.

  Rogen’s arrival was announced a short while later, as he clumped up the gangplank with his heavy boots. The men waved him over. Tildan held out another cigar for the newcomer. Rogen accepted it with a grateful nod. With practiced ease, he drew an odd contraption from one of his many pouches. It looked like a mini guillotine about the size of a child’s hand. He set it on the railing and lifting the small wooden handle that raised the blade; he placed the cigar’s butt through the waiting hole and pushed down on the handle, severing the end of the cigar in a clean cut. Tildan and Maurence were impressed and took turns looking over the wonderful little cutter.

  Cite was sitting to one side staring at the deck.

  “Is he going to be all right?” Rogen asked. Maurence let out his braying laugh and Tildan clapped Cite on the shoulder, almost knocking him over.

  “Yeah, he will be fine. He just didn’t expect it to hit so hard, he had to sit down for a bit,” Tildan said.

  “I think perhaps he may be more of the pipe type of guy,” Rogen said, studying Cite. Words caressed the Rokairn’s mind, ‘Smoking makes this easier; I have been in and out of their heads all night. It is amazing. You are much harder though, even now I can feel the walls building, trying to push me out. I think that the tobacco makes my mind do something,’ Rogen went over to Cite and kicked his boot, forcing him to look up and breaking the mental contact.

  “He sure talks a lot when he smokes, does he not?” Rogen asked. The other two men grinned and went back to what they had been talking about what cargo needed stowed before casting off in the morning.

  “They have till I finish this.” Tildan held up his cigar, which only had about two inches left before it was gone. “Then I pull up the gangplank and they can find a bunk in town somewhere. They know the rules, Maurence, so don’t go arguing with me.”

  Rogen looked at Maurence, who smiled his toothy white smile, leaned back, puffed on his cigar, and blew fat white smoke rings. Rogen looked back at Cite, who was now staring at a group of men on the dock.

  Chapter 10: Shadow Puppets

  “Do you like how they dance? And I barely have to twitch a finger to make them do so.”

  Nomed

  5854 – Thon – Quebal – Lasin

  Lord Father Alixin smiled as he heard the confession of the man. He always enjoyed the ones who spoke of forbidden things that most would never talk about. Adultery, murderous thoughts, and theft were a couple of the interesting ones. Confession in the church of Jonath was done openly, more of counseling session than a secret meeting. People were judged for crimes by the church, but not for thoughts. The thoughts were judged and the confessor told whether they could be dangerous. It was similar to what many men did at bars with strangers, except the priest was sober.

  The man sitting across the table looked upset. His daughter had joined the court of Duke Malvornick, and he said she had changed since that time. The man had approached the Duke, who had made himself readily available. The nobleman had sympathized with the father and had shown understanding. He had offered the man two young girls to replace his daughter in the household chores and promised to assist in finding a good husband to marry the girl. He had done as promised. The girl was now married to a knight from Malvor and attended the Duke personally, seeing to his linens and other needs. It was a good station in life for someone who was not high born, and the priest told the confessor that. He advised that the man should show only gratitude for being so generous.

  The man had come to Alixin for other reasons though. The two young women that Duke Malvornick had sent to him had both come to the man on separate occasions and offered themselves to him. He explained that the one was innocent, but had been abused as a child by someone she trusted. She felt she could never trust a man again, but had seen how the man was with his daughter. She wanted that kind of trust with a man. She wanted to know intimacy that was not evil, wrong, and painful. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but he reassured her, offered her a drink, one thing led to another and they had spent the night together.

  The second girl had come to him the next night. She told him she knew what happened and was very forward, letting him know she expected the same benefits. He tried to explain it was a mistake; he was married and never meant it to happen. She told him he did nothing wrong, it was between two adults. She had not bothered with subtlety. She had crawled all over him and would not stop. He had hit her and she just smiled and asked him to do it again. He had been with her many times since then, even with both at the same time.

  He had told Alixin about these events on previous visits though. This visit was because the repercussions of those events. The man had gone to Duke Malvornick, explaining his worries about his wife. Malvornick had said not to worry; he would clear this up. He had taken the two women away and sent the daughter home for a week. The two women then came back and were assigned as the man’s wife’s personal servants. The Duke himself came to visit, under the guise of a trade contract.

  The man was not sure how it happened but after the dinner he had gone to see his wife and found her in bed with the two girls. His wife was now eager for these two women to share the private affairs of the marriage. The man wasn’t sure how to feel about all this.

  Lord Father Alixin advised and comforted the man, giving advice as his position warranted. He also knew he would have to look into this more. He had heard other, similar stories and would have to investigate further. It was his duty to do so, and discover how deep these things went. Besides, he deserved the benefits that his flock received, and would partake of their fruit. They could consider it a tithe. Malvornick had assured him that this was the natural order of things.

  Three days later and hundreds of kilometers south of Humbrey, Nomed waited underneath the city of Everyway for a man. He knew the man - if that is what you wanted to call him - would be coming. Nomed’s spies and magics had warned him well in advance. The tunnels under the city were cool and humid from the runoff of rainwater. Odd echoes could be heard, and often led any unfortunate enough to get lost in the forgotten halls to their doom.

  A rat scurried along the edge of the room, watching the large man on the gray stone dais. He was as still as the stone itself, but something emanated from him that made the scavenger keep its distance. The man stared down the long square hall in front of his seat, and watched it fill with the shadow of the one for which he had been waiting to arrive.

  Nomed leaned forward and looked closer at the man in front of him. The new arrival’s skin was gray, a definite change since last time they had seen each other. The extra foot of height was even more defining. The man had shown surprising resourcefulness in finding Nomed, something even the most powerful people in Everyway could not do. The guest smelled of powerful magics, and of something more ancient and dangerous.

  “Nomed, I didn’t seek you out to banter or have some sort of competition of ego or wit,” Grenedal Dragonblood said, as he strode into the room. He stopped three paces from the other man.

  “Fair enough, I am in no mood for that anyway,” the demon-kin said with a wave of his hand. “So where are your wings? I heard a rumor that you have wings now, and that you fly over fields and steal sheep for snacks. You aren’t going to cough up some horrid bloody cotton ball, are you?” Nomed grinned.

  “The priest named Cyril which you sought,” Grenedal said, ignoring the other man’s taunting, “I have found him. He is going for his God’s ultimate temple. I think others may k
now about this too.”

  Nomed cocked his head, his smile slipping into a look of boredom. “Why should I give a hairy nut’s handy damn about some priest?” Nomed sighed. “The other-worldly blood in me veritably boils to think of any do-gooder priest.”

  “Don’t play games, or if you must, at least wait until I have left to play with yourself. Great evil spills from the comet, Talisman. Unnatural things come to the lands, and though the people fight it, they need leaders to stop them from squabbling amongst themselves and powerful allies to help them in the coming war. No matter what happens, good or bad, it is guaranteed to change the face of the land.”

  “I know what it means. Is your tongue becoming forked too? I see your skin is etched; are those scales?” Nomed asked and the man, giving a frustrated sigh, turned to leave when Nomed said something that caught his interest. “Spend any more time strapped to huge machines that drain magic, Grenedal Dragonblood? You were just a man before that, weren’t you? I am just curious if your change is accelerating on its own, or if you have had more of the treatment that activated your heritage in the first place. Your dragon heritage. It must have been a hell of a woodpile to hide that relative in it.”

  The visitor turned back to Nomed, his cloak rustled and bulged as he did. Nomed smiled a charming grin; glad finally to get a rise from this man who could track him down when no one else could. Grenedal raised a clawed hand and pointed at Nomed.

  “You know about that machine? What else do you know of it? What did you have to do with that?”

  “Nothing. I know there are others like it in the city, hidden in sewers and basements. I had nothing to do with it though, except being the cause of its existence. It was made by the Troöds to drain people of enough magic to draw demons to this plane and blend them with people, like bait in a rattrap. It is nice that you and your friends broke it; I really don’t want my kin showing up and ruining my fun. It seems that the frisky little bastards who dreamed up this scheme are still out there though,” Nomed said, leaning forward in his armchair that sat in a series of tunnels deep below the city of Everyway.

  “No,” Grenedal said, as he sliced the air with one clawed hand, “I will not be distracted. I found you the same way I know how to find Hue Blueaxe, your balancing counterpart. We three are connected, but you two only through me. We need to be prepared to fight. I warn you, you will help, or you will perish.”

  Dragonblood turned and, in one movement, stepped to the end of the tunnel that led to this room, a step that was more than a fifty meters. Nomed lurched forward, his eyes shifting to the spectrum of magic that would tell him more of his guest. He saw a wide set of wings unfurl from under the man’s cloak as Grenedal took flight upward and out of the well that served as Nomed’s entrance to this hidden place.

  Hue Blueaxe stared at the clouds. They were pink tatters that belonged to a horizon and a sunset, even though the sun wouldn’t set for hours. The wind had picked up, and the hot breeze dropped sparks from the firmament. There were no forest fires or reason that sparks should be in the wind, but they fell just the same. They came from the skittering clouds that were growing heavier in the sky above. The big man could smell rot and charnel on the gusts of air that tossed fallen leaves around his feet. He knew something was off, he could feel it deep within his core. Something wicked approached again. It was different every time, but something always felt the same.

  The villagers a day’s ride outside of Everyway had spent the day like any other day. Harvesting their fields in the cool autumn weather, herding their flocks, waving at one another as they passed on the pockmarked and pothole filled road, calling out in recognition. Hue loved to see this, and in his old life he loved autumn most of all the seasons. He was called ‘Smiles’ in those days and was an old, blind beggar. He remembered how people would call out to him, though he couldn’t see them, and he would wave in the direction from which he heard their voice. He never knew if it was where they actually were, because the ears often heard sound from directions other than where they came from. In the autumn people always gave a bit more, because they had a bit more. And as they prepared for the winter, they tried to help him prepare also.

  How things had changed once he had changed. The Talisman had arrived in the sky, and though Smiles couldn’t see it, he could feel it. It came upon him like a sickness, twisting his guts and making him spill them on the dirty ground beside his favorite begging spot. Worms writhed in his belly and acid shot up his windpipe. He was wracked with spasms, and wretched everything inside onto the alley, then tried to empty himself more. It didn’t take long before he was wishing for death. A wish that the Talisman granted. Smiles eventually woke, but before that he dreamt what he thought was a nightmare. His friends later told him it had all been true.

  He felt hungry, laying there in his own shit and vomit in the alleyway. People ran past him, screaming and crying. Others chased those people, growling and shouting. The hunger consumed him, and he lapped at the puddle under his face. Reaching out with gnarled and twisted hands he scooped up anything within reach, which was mostly what his body had just ejected from one end or the other. The haze that had been over his eyes for the past four decades lessened, partially clearing and allowing him to see the people scattered amongst the street. Lurching to his feet, using his elbows and knees, he stumbled towards them. Hands held towards them he begged for a scarp to eat. He told them that he was starving and the hunger within was trying to eat its way out. The words came out as gasped syllables, mixed with grunts, wheezes, and growls. People fled from him. That was when the anger pushed into his mind and everything else faded.

  He had woken strapped to a table with belts. Grenedal and Kaht stood over him and he could hear the voices of others echoing in the large chamber, but couldn’t understand them. The hunger was upon him again and his jaws snapped at his friends, trying to wrap his few teeth around anything within reach. The sound of machinery began, drowning out his piteous whines and the others. Tendrils crept into his mind as Grenedal leaned over him, and moments later a glow from Lyliad, a friend who used elemental magics, shrouded his emaciated form. The machine began to suck his energies, drawing out magical abilities and talents, draining him of necromantic taint that had possessed and reanimated his frail and broken body.

  That was when his mind became self-aware once more. He fought it; he drew in the magics from Lyliad and Grenedal, pushing the rest away. He saw the faces of his friends showing surprise as they tried to cut off their attempt to protect him, as their magic was forced deeper into his body. His form swelled, radiant in the aura of mystic energy. He fed upon them, chasing out the taint, filling himself. The straps that held him became tight as his body restored itself. Grenedal and Lyliad looked panicked and strained; their faces grew pale and drawn as Smiles took their essence into himself.

  The conduit between the three snapped, and so did the bonds that held him. Smiles sat up, staring at large, healthy hands. He looked down at his body, now a pale blue – like a man that had been in the cold too long – and saw it had all the strength of his youth. His eyes saw the aura of magic around his friends and felt the seed of necromancy that the Talisman had planted within him. He was whole again, no longer bent and frail from age and decay. It was that day he took the name Hue Blueaxe, a name he hadn’t used to nearly a half century. He had been reborn.

  Hue broke away from his memories and returned to the present. Since that day he had been able to sense the corruption of the comet Talisman, and had dedicated himself to pursuing it and destroying it; which is why he came to this small hamlet today.

  The villagers now gathered in small groups, talking and pointing at the odd clouds and smells. Dogs growled with their head held low and their hackles high. Cats arched their backs and hissed at things people couldn’t see. Sheep and horses bleated and whinnied, pushing into tight knit groups within their corrals. The clouds above broke open, like the belly of some ethereal beast, and insects the size of household pets rained down.r />
  Hue Blueaxe reached over his shoulder and loosed the weapon of his namesake – a magical double bladed axe that fed on the corruption he hunted. They would both feast today, so that the people may live.

  Grenedal Dragonblood flew over Everyway, his sharp eyes scouring the streets. Nothing was right anymore. Nothing made sense. Just a few years ago he had been a young man with prospects of marriage, attending balls, and rebelling against his parents. His father had mistresses on the side, and his mother spent way too much time gossiping and meddling on the affairs of others. As the only son of a minor noble, Grenedal was in line to inherit a fortune and a place in society. He had a small group of friends he spent time with, and they were going to change the world, but he never imagined it would change like this. Kaht, a woman who was a plain but talented sneak thief; Churl don, a man who was a low ranking city guard; and Lyliad, a woman who was a follower of druidic paths, all followed his lead in adventures in this maze of a sullied city. They revealed plots, corruption, and helped those less fortunate than themselves.

  Once the Talisman appeared in the sky - and didn’t continue on its celestial path - things changed. He began to display minor magical abilities, he journeyed to a Tower of Onyx and gained a powerful item of magic, and then the cult found him. Found him, and dragged him into a labyrinth under the streets of Everyway that shouldn’t exist. A warehouse of basements, lined with tables that held men and women who could channel different magics.

  Grenedal had no magical abilities, but he had the gift for them. The machines he was strapped to drained that gift, and most people died within a week of being caught. Grenedal did not. A floodgate within him was shattered and magic coursed through him, feeding their infernal devices with power beyond their hopes. A constant stream of magic energy flowed through his body, drawn from a source that the man didn’t know existed. Once he was rescued by his friends – destroying the slave laboratory in the process - the abilities began to change him as they manifested. The cult pursued the four, and succeeded in capturing or killing – he wasn’t sure which - Churldon and Lyliad before they were done.