Mother of Wolves

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Book excerpt

Firefall 

Isle of Whispers, Year of the White Boar, 2012 CE

    Al'dhumarna yawned, stretching his essence, exploring the confines of his cage yet again. Something had awoken the Nagali from his ages-old slumber, something powerful and world-shattering. Whatever it was had weakened the binding the Magi of old had placed upon him, turning him to mythril.

     With time, he would be free. All he had to do was wait. What were a few more years to one who had waited millennia for freedom? He would wait, oh yes. Wait and gather allies.

     The great Nagali sent part of his essence out, questing for just the right kinds of sympathetic minds to aid him. Minds hungry for power, for wealth, for revenge. All these things he promised them, in exchange for their devotion and obedience. Sibilant instructions were given, plans laid by the trapped demi-deity against the time when he would finally be free again.

Unknown Location, Year of the Golden Hart, 2013 CE 

    A young man lay twitching and whimpering in his sleep, tormented by nightmares. A cool voice slid through his thoughts demanding obedience and promising swift punishment should it be lacking. The voice was not happy with his conduct of late. It showed him, through his dreams, exactly what he could expect if he continued to be a disappointment. Death was the least of these things. It whispered to him of what he was to do.

    Pain seared through the young man's soul, eating him alive. He woke then, stifling a howl of fear and despair. The cold, serpent-smooth voice had given him a nearly impossible task. Seek out and slay the Keeper of the Deep Forest, on Argoth, in the heart of the Forest People's empire. The voice had given him the knowledge of 'how' to slay the great guardian. It seemed so simple, yet he knew that was not the case and he shivered, trembling to think of even contemplating such an act as the destruction of a demi-deity.

    In the darkness of night he whimpered again, hugging himself. He seemed destined to be a disappointment to everyone he came in contact with. A strangled sob and the young man drew himself together. He pulled all of his unhappiness and fear into a ball and shoved it away. By morning all that was left were a burning anger, a gnawing bitterness, and the determination to carry out this task without fail.

Skycity Sevfahl, 10000ft above the Aeryth Ocean, Year of the Golden Hart, 2013 CE

    Kalla kyl'Solidor snorted, thumping her staff against the ground in agitation as she strode down the corridor, red-trimmed black robes fluttering around her. Deep in the dim, dank depths of Dante's Inferno, the mage had come to seek a magister.

Culled from felons sentenced to death, a magister was bound to their mage, serving as a fierce and deadly protection, and as an extra conduit of power. Until now, Kalla had refused to take one. She felt that a mage should be capable of taking care of themselves, but the Sin' of Cryshal Kanlon disagreed, insisting that she follow tradition, and so she found herself in the pits of hell, following an overweight warden and forcing herself to ignore the lewd, sneering remarks of the prisoners they passed.

    Dante's Inferno was arranged in a series of stacked levels, with the death row prisoners located at the bottom of the facility. She had been drug back and forth on a circuitous path through several levels so far and she was beginning to become annoyed. Kalla was fairly certain that there was a more direct route to the lower level and that the warden was just toying with her.

   Kalla kyl'Solidor was a short female, with bright green eyes and jet-black hair, Argosian by birth. Though petite, the mage was filled to bursting with the power of her calling and the temper of her House. Despite her relatively young age, Kalla was already a maester, worthy of the prefix kyl' to her House name, skilled in healing, alchemy, and seership.

     Kalla followed the warden down another spiraling staircase, but balked when he started to go down yet another shadowy corridor smelling of stale air and unwashed bodies.

    “Enough! I have more important things to be doing today than traveling 'round and 'round through the dismal depths of Tartarus!” she snarled. The warden turned back, an oily smile plastered on his face.

    “It is not much further, Lady, not much further,” he said.

    “That is what you said three levels ago. How many does the Inferno have?” Kalla's voice was low and cold. The warden scowled at her.

    “Twelve levels, Lady kyl'Solidor,” he replied in a sullen voice.

    “Twelve… Basa! No more fooling around. We will go to Carron's Run now!”  Reaching out, the mage touched the warden's forehead with the tip of her finger. An instant's discernment and she had a mental image of the Run. Another instant and she had transported them there.  

     Kalla shivered involuntarily, leaning against her staff to hide her sudden weakness. Teleportation took a great deal out of any mage, so much so that most did not even consider it in the worst of times, but Kalla was lucky in that it was another gift she excelled in. She scowled, glancing around, while the warden recovered from the impromptu trip.

    Carron's Run, the death ward of the Inferno, was even darker, danker and smellier than the rest of the prison. Kalla held back as the warden walked the Run, bellowing for the inmates to line up at the cell doors, telling them what was expected.  A low murmur of excitement and shuffling ensued. The chance to be a magister was a rare and lucky break for a criminal, one they weren’t likely to pass up.

    The warden finished his spiel and beckoned for her to examine the inmates. As Kalla passed by she could see the man was still wild-eyed. Her little demonstration of power had put things into a new perspective, giving him a greater respect, if not for her, then for the title she bore.      

     Kalla walked slowly up the corridor, silently examining her potential guardians, occasionally stopping for a closer look. None held any particular attraction and she wondered, not for the first time, why the magi used criminals to serve the role of magister. Oh, she knew the theory, but surely there were better options out there...

    Twice she walked the length of the corridor before a soft coughing pulled her attention to a half-hidden door at the far end. Ignoring the warden's protests, she pushed the door open, wincing at the smell of urine, old blood and infection that washed over her. Beyond lay a small room with four tiny, cramped cells, much smaller than those outside.  Three stood empty, doors slightly ajar. The fourth, however, contained a shirtless man chained to the wall, feet barely reaching the ground. He looked to be Arkaddian, with his coffee-colored skin and reddish-brown hair. It was unusual for any of the Plains people to be found in a skycity and she wondered how he had ended up here. 

     Kalla gave the man a more critical assessment. One eye was completely swollen shut and, if his wheezy breathing was any indication, he also had one or more fractured ribs. Dried blood crusted festering wounds along his face, arms and chest. Just barely visible under the aftermath of his new wounds Kalla could see a series of older scars, deep gashes across his chest and the top of one shoulder.

     The mage frowned. Whatever the man had done, surely it could not be worth torturing him over. Were the conditions of confinement in the Run and the threat of imminent execution not enough?

    “What crime has this man committed that he is locked here, in this state?” Kalla demanded. The man stirred at her words, peering at her through his good eye. The warden shuffled up beside her, nose wrinkling at the stench.

    “This one is of no consequence, Lady kyl'Solidor,” said the warden. The prisoner coughed again, wincing in pain.

    “That does not answer my question." Kalla narrowed her eyes.

    “What does it matter, Lady kyl'Solidor? This one is slated for execution within the hour.” The warden's tone was surly.

     A hoarse voice pulled her attention back to the cell.

    “I am a thief, milady.”

    Said thief's voice was soft and lilting, despite the hoarseness. Kalla had guessed correctly- his accent bespoke an Arkaddian heritage.

    “A... thief? You were tortured for being a thief? You are to be executed for stealing mere possessions?” Kalla's voice was incredulous.  “Truly... how many did you kill to warrant this?” she asked. The man shook his head, grimacing with the pain of it.

   “I killed no one, milady. I merely had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time." He fell silent, bowing his head back down.

     Beside her, the warden snorted.

    “He assassinated the Lord Governor of Sevfahl,” the pudgy man spat.

    Kalla turned to regard the captive Arkaddian again. Just looking at him, she didn't judge him one capable of cold-blooded killing. Kalla released a whisper of power and the cell door creaked opened.

     Deciding to find the truth of the matter out for herself, Kalla reached out and touched the prisoner gently on the forehead. He flinched away, but not before she'd gained enough of an insight to realize that the thief was telling the truth. An Arkaddian had assassinated the Lord Governor, unfortunately on the same night that this Arkaddian had decided to liberate a priceless artifact from the Governor's Palace. A feeling of familiarity lingered from the brief mind-touch, momentarily puzzling her.

    Kalla growled, low and deep, fury igniting in her eyes. A whip-crack of power and the shackles unlocked. She caught the prisoner in coils of air, gently lowering him to the ground. The warden gave her a sullen look.

    “Lord Tysin will not be pleased, Lady.”

    “I do not care about Lord Tysin's pleasure. The man speaks the truth. There were two Arkaddian visitors to the Palace that night, unlikely as that might seem. You caught a thief intent on nothing more than theft. Certainly not an offense worthy of such treatment. Your assassin is still free.” 

     Kalla knelt down by the prisoner, where he now lay slumped against the wall. She ran gentle hands over him, assessing the damage. He had many wounds, but most were minor, certainly nothing she couldn't handle easily. Kalla studied him for a moment, then took a deep breath, fully committing herself to her course. Hand under his chin, Kalla raised his face to look at her.

    “What is your name?” she asked softly.

   “Ale... Aleister.  Aleister Balflear.”  He attempted a wry grin. “The Sky Fox, at your service, milady.”

    “Well then, Aleister Balflear, I am Kalla kyl'Solidor and I am in need of a magister. What say you?"

     A single brown eye widened, then he broke out in a fit of laughter that dissolved into another bout of coughing.

    “Me? A magister?  Milady, no offense, but I'm a thief, not a warrior. I fear you would be getting the short end of that deal,” he replied.

    “To be honest, I have no wish to take a magister at all, but the Powers that Be say I must. I'm not looking for brute strength. I value cunning and intelligence more and a fox should have more than enough of that.” Her questioning look was rewarded with another half-smile.

Book details

AUTHOR NAME: J. Aislynn d’Merricksson

BOOK TITLE: Mother Of Wolves (Evalyce - Worldshaper Book 1)

GENRE: Fantasy

SUBGENRE: Arcanepunk

PAGE COUNT: 156

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