The Legend of the Seven Sages: The Kin of Caladen Read online

  THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN SAGES: THE KIN OF CALADEN

  By B. A. SCOTT

  THE LEGEND OF THE SEVEN SAGES: THE KIN OF CALADEN

  By B. A. SCOTT

  © 2017 Bryan Andrew Scott

  ISBN: 978-0-615-79159-3

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Lord Daro

  Chapter 1: Caleton

  Chapter 2: King Mercer

  Chapter 3: The Last of the Tyken

  Chapter 4: The Skaelar

  Chapter 5: Erygians

  Chapter 6: Trendell

  Chapter 7: Ambassadors

  Chapter 8: The Bane of Vexen Alakai

  Chapter 9: Into the Corren’dai

  Chapter 10: Allestron

  Chapter 11: The Tears of Life

  Chapter 12: Intentions

  Chapter 13: Confession

  Chapter 14: The Skael’akron

  Chapter 15: Chakuda

  Chapter 16: The Fountain of Skael’demále

  Chapter 17: Mount Breyen

  Chapter 18: The Spawn of Mirrorblood

  Chapter 19: Furenti

  Chapter 20: Discovery

  Chapter 21: The Grove at Greenhill Lake

  Chapter 22: The Ambassadors Return

  Chapter 23: Fury

  Chapter 24: Forbidden Love

  Chapter 25: The Battle of Caleton

  Chapter 26: Escape to Palthea

  Chapter 27: The Fate of the City

  Chapter 28: Evindar Unleashed

  Chapter 29: Survivors

  Chapter 30: The Kin of Caladen

  Table of Contents

  Prologue: Lord Daro

  “Rise, Sages of Adoran,” said Arey’n, the Goddess of Fortune. The Borean and Human Sages stood at her command. “Welcome back to the Adorcenn Tower,” she told them. “It is good to see you again, Finwynn Fayle.”

  “Arey’n, my Goddess,” spoke the Human Sage, bowing his head in reverence. He addressed only the deity before him, though all three Goddesses were present. Each emanated a heavenly radiance and sat upon a throne in the triangular chamber.

  When Finwynn lifted his eyes, he could not tear his gaze from Arey’n’s astounding beauty. Her presence was commanding, yet maternal, and long hair of dark green only accentuated piercing eyes of the same color.

  “And Duvian, it has been a long time,” the Goddess greeted the Borean Sage.

  “It has indeed,” said Duvian, who bore a demeanor as icy as his appearance. Blue skin peeked from beneath his cloak. “The journey from the Northlands proves long and trying, my Goddess. But what dire and dreadful news I bring more than legitimized my passage. Have no other Sages come tonight? Has none other come to my call?”

  “The nations of Adoran haven’t convened in full since before the War of Ages,” Arey’n said. “You had to know, my child, convincing everyone to come was always a dubious fancy.”

  Duvian turned to the Human Sage. “I thought news of Lord Daro would’ve been enough,” he said, “or at least the prospect of divine counsel. But they have abandoned us yet again.”

  “Not all of them,” Finwynn said. “I’m mind-marked with Athiux, so he’s as good as here,” he tapped his temple, “and spared the journey, I might add. As for the others—”

  “You don’t understand,” Duvian stressed. “It’s happening, Finwynn. This might’ve been our last chance.”

  “What’s happening?” asked Finwynn.

  “We have seen Lord Daro’s demons in the Northlands.”

  “This is your dire news? Daro has always prodded our realms for resource.”

  “Not in these numbers.”

  “The demons are a thorn, certainly—a plague, and a persistent one at that—but one we’ve managed to suppress.”

  “It has never been like this,” said the Borean. “They’ve never come so close to our homeland.”

  “Have you been invaded, old friend?” Finwynn asked.

  “The crows are certainly circling the carcass,” said Duvian. “I fear something terrible is about to happen.”

  Before Finwynn could respond, a breeze blew in through the chamber’s windows, causing every torch to flicker. Then, the sound of heavy footsteps approached from beyond the chamber doors.

  “Perhaps another Sage has come after all,” Finwynn said, just before the two doors burst open and a violent wind rushed in.

  To everyone’s surprise, the lone figure of a tall dark man stood in the massive doorway. A mask concealed his face, and gleaming white hair contrasted his black, blood-soaked armor. Though neither of the Sages had ever seen the man before, they knew exactly who he was.

  “You,” Finwynn spoke as the figure walked to the center of the room. The Goddesses swiftly rose from their thrones—into the air—floating guardedly above the stone-laid floor.

  “You reek of death,” Duvian uttered with a scowl. A faint mist danced upon the Borean’s skin, as though he’d grown colder on account of his heated emotions. “Why have you come to this sacred place?” The dark man remained silent, refusing to oblige the Borean. “If it is not to bow before your Goddesses,” Duvian continued, “or to seek the Creator’s forgiveness for your crimes, then speak quickly, lest we rip the life from that darkened heart of yours, and rid the land of your evil forever, Lord Daro!”

  “Peace, Duvian,” Finwynn attempted to calm the Borean, who returned the dark man’s glare with his own. “I admit, your news was dire indeed. But I fear, even with your haste, you have come far too late.”

  “Daro,” Arey’n spoke. “What is your purpose here?” After a tense silence—when it was clear Daro would not speak—the Goddess sighed. She looked to her fellow Goddesses, who nodded in consent. “My child,” Arey’n proceeded, “you have disrupted the natural order of a great many things. It’s time you answered for the laws of magic and men you have broken.”

  Daro’s head moved slightly up toward the Goddess, as though his interest had finally been piqued.

  “Your depravity ends this night,” Duvian told Daro.

  “Be warned, Duvian,” Arey’n cautioned. “There is nothing in your power that can harm him.”

  “What?” Duvian responded in disbelief. “Well, can you do something then? Surely the Goddesses of Adoran could make an exception just this once.”

  “You know we cannot,” Arey’n spoke.

  “Then what do you expect us to do?!” Duvian asked.

  “Bind him in holding spells,” said Arey’n, “until such time that you have the means to claim what life he has left in those cursed veins.”

  The Sages looked to Daro’s imposing figure, sizing the man who appeared to welcome their attempt to restrain him. At once, they filled themselves with magic. Yet the moment their glowing eyes revealed the fervent power boiling inside, Daro broke his statuesque stance.

  In one fluid movement, he knelt and thrust a palm toward the floor. With a loud crack, a destructive energy flow radiated in an expanding ring of bright green flames around him, violently knocking not only Duvian and Finwynn against the walls of the chamber, but the Goddesses as well.

  The room fell still. Daro stood as a veil of dust settled upon his victims’ bodies. They were sprawled awkwardly across the stone floor, bearing expressions of horror, as though they’d endured a string of twisted tortures.

  Arey’n lifted her head from the ground, and looked to the others around her. Blood coursed from a wide crack in Duvian’s skull, and everyone else appeared paralyzed or dead.

  Suddenly, a beam of blinding light shot up from the Borean Sage. It passed through the ceiling, and raced into the heavens, illuminating all the lands surrounding the Adorcenn Tower. After
a few moments, the beam vanished.

  Daro walked to the Sage’s corpse, studying it intently. He scowled beneath his mask, and cursed the Borean’s frailty.

  “You didn’t want him to die?” Arey’n asked.

  At the sound of the Goddess’s voice, Daro’s head twitched in her direction. The will to sustain her consciousness began to wane as Arey’n watched the dark man approach her. She could feel the pounding of his boots with every step. Daro knelt, grasped the Goddess by the neck with one hand, and lifted her body high into the air.

  “Your body is broken, Arey’n,” he said. The Dark Lord’s eyes glowed fiercely as his grip tightened. And in the quiet of the council chamber—the safest haven in all of Adoran—Daro’s words echoed in her ears: “And your world is ended.”

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Caleton

  A flash of lightning reflected in Gabrel’s eyes.

  “Hold on, Ady,” he said, gripping the reins tighter as his injured wife clung to him. “We’re almost there.”

  The harder Adelyne squeezed, the more the thought of losing her filled Gabrel’s mind. Dread, doubt and rage stewed in the pit of his stomach, but Gabrel refused to acknowledge them. Nothing else mattered beyond getting Adelyne to Caleton. Not the storm. Not the mud that sought to impede his horse’s speed. Not the scrapes and gashes that covered his body. Not even the possibility that more demons might be following close behind.

  They came out of nowhere, Gabrel remembered, kicking his horse hard in the flanks. Right into our home. There was no warning—no way we could have... Gabrel looked to his left, where his father, Doniel, rode steadfast, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder for any pursuers. To Gabrel’s right, his younger brother, Kaven, held tight to his own wife, whose face was deathly pale.

  Far off in the distance, the city of Caleton flashed into view behind thick curtains of rain.

  “We’re almost there,” Gabrel told his wife again. “Hang on just a bit longer.”

  “Stay with me, Kiara,” Kaven said. “Stay with me, love.”

  “Kaven,” Kiara managed to speak. “I’m so scared.” Kaven watched as her eyes widened and lost their light.

  “Kiara?” Kaven said, shaking her desperately. “Kiara?!” But no response came. Kaven bellowed into the night, clutching his beloved’s body as though he could somehow squeeze it back to life. Gabrel forced his gaze back to the city, and wondered if the same fate would soon befall his own wife.

  When they reached the city gates, Doniel shouted to the guards, high on the wall. “Let us through!” he yelled. “Please, let us through!”

  “Who are you and what is your business in Caleton this night?” one of the guards called down.

  “I am Doniel Caladen and these are my sons, Gabrel and Kaven,” Doniel spoke. “We’ve come from the village of Genton. Our home was just attacked by Lord Daro’s demons. Please, we must get to a healer at once!”

  The gates of Caleton opened. “Follow me,” Doniel said, leading his sons through the city streets to the nearest healing house. When they arrived, Doniel dismounted and held the door open for Gabrel and Kaven. “I’ll take your horses and find your brother,” he said. “Quickly now!”

  Gabrel and Kaven dismounted, and carried their wives indoors.

  “Help, please!” Gabrel yelled upon entering, sighting a gray-haired man and a number of elderly women tending to patients. “Our wives have been bitten by Primen. Help them!”

  Standing next to each other, Gabrel and Kaven looked about as different as brothers could. Gabrel had blackish-brown hair and skin so naturally darkened, it looked as though he’d spent all his 29 years under the sun. Kaven had much fairer features, blue eyes and the three-day stubble of a neglected beard. Though both of them were rain-drenched, splatterings of blood still stained their clothes.

  “Lay them here,” said the healer, moving toward a row of empty beds. Gabrel laid Adelyne down, and looked to her mangled arm.

  “It looks worse, doesn’t it?” Adelyne asked. Gabrel nodded.

  Kaven laid Kiara’s body on the bed next to Adelyne’s, clutching her bloody hand in his.

  “Can you help them?” Gabrel asked the healer.

  “I fear I can do nothing for this one.” He motioned to Kiara. “She’s already gone. Keep away from her wounds, young sir, and wash her blood from your hands,” he told Kaven. “There’s a basin of water just next to you.” Kaven reluctantly released his wife’s hand, but didn’t move an inch toward the basin. The healer looked to Adelyne and noticed the fullness of her belly. “Good heavens, you’re with child!” he exclaimed, then put a palm to her forehead. “How are you feeling, my dear—besides the pain?”

  “Very weak,” Adelyne replied.

  The healer observed her injury, prodding it with a tool to see just how much flesh had been ripped from her arm. Adelyne winced at his touch. “A Primen bite is a nasty thing,” he told her. “They’ve an evil sort of venom in their teeth. Those who are bitten, well, the lucky ones die of their wounds before the infection can spread.”

  “The lucky ones?!” Kaven lashed out.

  The healer quickly realized the insensitivity of his remark. “I’ve seen what comes of wounds like this and it’s not a pretty sight,” he defended himself.

  “Is there anything you can do for her?” Gabrel asked desperately. “Is the Sage in Caleton? Can he heal her with his magic?”

  “Unfortunately, Finwynn Fayle has left the city on urgent business—a meeting with the other Sages, I’ve heard. We don’t know when he’ll return. But even if he was here, the healing power of Revival is magic for mending wounds of the flesh. This bite will bring a plague Revival alone has never been able to cure. However, there is medicine for this type of wound.” The healer began cleansing Adelyne’s arm with a damp cloth, washing away blood. “It’s Erygian medicine,” he continued. “They call it ‘the Tears of Life.’”

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” Gabrel fumed. “Bloody give it to her!”

  “Our stores are depleted, I’m afraid,” said the healer. “We had very little in the first place. The wounded have been pouring in all night from outlying villages. You see how many we’ve taken in here, and we’re not the only healing house in town. Most of these poor souls around you haven’t long to live. Now, brace yourself, my dear,” he told Adelyne. “This will smart a bit at first, but it will help to dull the pain.” He poured a vile of clear, syrupy liquid over Adelyne’s wound, causing it to froth and quickly congeal. “Fortunately, King Mercer is aware of our situation. The Tears of Life are by no means an inexpensive acquisition, but he’ll send a merchant or ambassador to the Erygians to get more. Though, it could be weeks before any arrives. By that time...”

  “What?” Adelyne asked sternly. “Go on.”

  “You can’t fight this, my dear,” said the healer in the most sympathetic voice possible. “I’ll spare you the unpleasantries, but you must understand—”

  “No!” Adelyne argued. “I want to know exactly what’s going to happen to me.”

  The healer took a deep breath, clearly hesitant about divulging the inevitabilities of Adelyne’s fate. “You will endure a thing far worse than you can possibly imagine,” he said at last, then leaned in close to Gabrel’s ear and spoke quietly. “Were I you, and I truly loved this woman, I would end her life now, to spare her the torture. We have the means to do it peacefully and painlessly. I know she’s with child, but it too will—”

  “Absolutely not!” Gabrel refused, silencing the healer before he could finish his sentence.

  “You say that now, but when her skin starts to peel from her bones, when her eyes betray her mind and her insides rot away, she’ll beg for release. She’ll beg for it, lad, given she still has the capacity to utter a single word! If you don’t believe me, look there!” The healer pointed to a bed near the back of the healing house, where an elderly woman attended to a heavily bandaged man, clearly moments away from death. “Primen bite—no telling ho
w long he suffered before someone found him, and brought him here. We took him in just before sundown. The poor bastard missed his chance for the Tears of Life by a matter of minutes.”

  The man’s wrappings were dark and soiled with blood. Gabrel noticed he’d lost an arm, as well as most of his teeth and hair, and half of his crazed, eyeless face looked as though it had melted away. Trails of dark liquid leaked from his ears, nose and eye sockets, and as he died, something wicked spilled from his mouth. Gabrel gagged and turned away. “That’s the truth of it, lad,” the healer continued. “That’s how this ends. And believe you me, I’ve seen it more times than I care to count.”

  For a moment, all was quiet, save for the rumbling storm. The healer’s words sank into everyone’s hearts like gobs of molten lead. Gabrel nauseously observed the elderly woman cover the sickly man’s corpse, while calling two men over to carry it away.

  “Their faces haunt my dreams,” the healer confessed.

  “How long?” Gabrel asked. “How long does she have?” He looked to his wife, whose hands moved to her stomach.

  “Days, possibly weeks,” said the healer, “depending on her strength. It’s good you got her to us so early. We may be able to slow the spread of venom a good deal. But trust me when I say, the longer it takes to claim her life, the more she’ll wish she was already dead. And without the proper medicine, her fate is certain.”

  “That Erygian medicine will save her?” Gabrel asked. “The Tears of Life? You’re sure of it?”

  “Yes. The King’s merchant will—”

  “I don’t have time to wait for his merchant. Where’s the nearest Erygian city?”

  “Allestron,” said the healer. “A week’s ride at least.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” Gabrel said resolutely, moving to lift Adelyne from her bed.

  “No! You mustn’t move her!” the healer demanded, reaching for Gabrel’s arms.

  “You can’t stop me,” Gabrel snapped.

  “She needs rest. If she’s mobile, the infection will spread all the faster! Look! It has already started!”