Runic Revelation (The Runic Series Book 2) Page 14

  “Kalibar,” Erasmus replied, stepping forward and placing a hand on his shoulder. “One of Jenkins' butlers woke Kyle this morning, and got him ready.”

  “What? Who?” Kalibar asked. Then he waved the question away. “I specifically stated that an elite guard was to accompany Kyle to and from the Tower,” he growled, pulling backward so that Erasmus's hand fell from his shoulder. He clenched his fists, turning back to Master Owens. “Is a butler an elite guard?” he asked, his tone ice cold. Master Owens shook his head mutely.

  “No sire,” he mumbled.

  “Damn it!” Kalibar shouted. A burst of magical patterns shot forth unbidden from his mind, and the glass table to his left exploded, shards of glass and metal flying across the room in all directions. He stared at Owens, spotting the gravity shield springing up around the Weaver, and felt a sudden desire to lash out at the man. Owens was a master-level Battle-Weaver, considered among the finest alive. But Kalibar was better – far better – and he had the sudden, mad desire to hurt Owens. To unleash his power, to show people what happened when they invited his rage.

  Not wearing his armor!

  He felt a warm hand on his shoulder, and turned, seeing Erasmus still there at his side. The Runic's blue eyes were gentle, his expression sad.

  “Don't,” he mouthed.

  Kalibar paused, staring into his best friend's eyes, the rage draining from him. A part of him regretted its leaving, wanted to hold on to that anger, to sate its blood-lust. To feel the pleasure of giving in to it. But he nodded, knowing that Erasmus was right. He took a deep breath in, then let it out slowly, turning to Owens. He felt a sudden shame, knowing that Owens hadn't been responsible for Kyle not having his armor, and that he'd lashed out at the poor man – already wracked with grief over Banar's death and Kyle's absence – without provocation. Kalibar had not lost his temper in years; being possessed of enormous and deadly power had a way of instilling patience, out of necessity. At least in the just.

  “I'm sorry,” Kalibar apologized, putting a hand on Owens' shoulder. “You didn't deserve that. I hope you can forgive my temper.” Master Owens glanced up at Kalibar, a weak smile on his lips.

  “I'd forgotten you had one,” he replied. Kalibar had to smile at that; Owens had served in the military with Kalibar, and had witnessed Kalibar losing his temper – to sobering effect – on the battlefield more than once.

  “Yes, well, I'll save it for my enemies,” Kalibar countered. “Not for you, old friend.”

  “You love your son,” Owens stated with a shrug. And that, Kalibar knew, was true. Despite only having known Kyle for a few weeks, he'd grown terribly fond of the boy, a testament to the strange power that love could wield.

  “Speaking of Kyle,” Erasmus interjected, “Master Owens was just telling me that Kyle had told them of an idea he'd come up with, something that Master Banar had gotten very excited about.” Kalibar frowned, only half-listening. Despite having regained his composure, his anger had not completely left him. He would have to have a conversation with that butler – and the elite guard who'd been scheduled to escort Kyle – to get to the bottom of their failure to protect his son.

  “What was it?” he asked absently.

  “Kyle had come up with an idea for finding new magical patterns,” Owens answered. “He asked why we didn't just put random sensory runes into a crystal, then place magical plants or animals nearby, and see which runes lit up.”

  “What?” Kalibar asked. Owens repeated what he'd said, and this time Kalibar paid attention, frowning slightly. “Interesting idea,” he murmured, turning to Erasmus. “What do you think?”

  The Grand Runic frowned, running a hand through his thick white beard. Then he shook his head. “Not very practical,” he opined. “Don't get me wrong...it would probably work, but it'd be a damn slow process,” he added. “Probably take years just to stumble upon one pattern.”

  “That's what Banar and I said,” Owens agreed. “But then Kyle said something...something about using parts of runes instead.”

  “Yes, well,” Kalibar muttered. “...I don't have time for this right now. We need to find Kyle.”

  Erasmus put a hand on Kalibar's shoulder.

  “I'll get my Runics involved,” he promised. Then he turned to Owens, nodding at the man. They both left Kalibar then, closing the door behind them. Kalibar watched them go, then stood there in the empty room, the most powerful man in the most powerful Empire in the world, feeling anything but.

  Kyle isn't wearing his ring, he brooded. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. It didn't matter, of course...the ring was useless. Unless of course...

  Kalibar frowned. Unless of course Ampir – or whoever it was that was protecting the boy – needed the ring's transmitter to find him.

  He walked across the massive suite, to the thick glass wall at one end of the room. He gazed out over the city, past the expanse of lawn, past the countless buildings in the distance, past the massive bridge crossing the Great River.

  Then a thought occurred to him; Darius had gone looking for Kyle earlier that morning! Kalibar spun around, sprinting up to the communication globe, signaling the head of the elite guards. He resuming pacing, intermittently glancing at the front door to his suite, waiting impatiently. If Darius had gotten to Kyle in time...

  A man appeared in front of the door – one of the elite guards. Kalibar made his door translucent for the guard, watching as the man's eyes focusing on him.

  “Your Excellency,” the guard greeted.

  “I want Darius found,” Kalibar ordered. “He left to find my son a few hours ago, when he was with Master Banar.” The guard's eyes widened at that. News traveled quickly in the Tower; no doubt everyone knew of the Runic's fate. The guard bowed crisply.

  “Yes Grand Weaver.”

  “And...” Kalibar added, willing his voice to remain calm. “...get me the guard that was supposed to wake Kyle this morning.”

  “Yes, sire.”

  Kalibar dismissed the man with a wave of his hand, and the guard went immediately to his task. Kalibar turned away from the door, running a hand through his hair. He began pacing yet again, considering the possibilities. If Darius had gotten to Kyle before Master Banar was attacked, then there was hope for Kyle. Then again, despite the bodyguard's skill, he wouldn't stand a chance against a group of Weavers. But if Darius hadn't gotten there in time, he would have found Master Banar's corpse himself, and one would hope that the bodyguard – unpredictable as he was – would have returned to notify Kalibar before running off to find Kyle.

  Kalibar sighed, feeling the weight of his son's fate on his shoulders. It felt every bit as heavy as that of the Empire he'd sworn to protect.

  Not wearing his armor!

  Kalibar grit his teeth, feeling the enormity of his failure. He'd vowed to protect Kyle at any cost, to do for the boy what he'd failed to do for his own son, so many decades ago. Now the boy was gone, kidnapped or worse, and he had no idea where Kyle was...or if he was even still alive.

  And despite his immense magical power, and the influence he wielded, all he could do now was wait.

  Chapter 11

  Ampir closes his eyes as the slab of gray stone falling from the ceiling falls toward him, draining the last of the magic from his armor's runes and weaving strands of power into a complex knot in the center of his mind. An old pattern, one he'd learned long ago, one he'd taught to Renval.

  Teleportation.

  He thrusts the pattern outward, right at Torum.

  The air around Torum rips, the very fabric of space and time bending to Ampir's will. The dark Weaver vanishes...then reappears behind Ampir. Torum's multilayered gravity shields intersect with Ampir's back, throwing Ampir bodily forward...and out of the path of the falling stone slab.

  Torum doesn't even have time to register what has happened before the slab slams into him from above.

  Ampir stumbles forward, losing his balance and falling onto his belly on the stone floor. He cries
out, his shattered left shoulder and broken ribs screaming in pain. Stars float in the periphery of his vision.

  He lays there in agony, his breaths coming in short gasps. Then, slowly, painfully, he rolls onto his back. He raises his head, staring at the pile of rubble where the slab had fallen...where Torum had been standing.

  Two black boots protrude from the rubble.

  Ampir stares at the boots, then lowers his head to the floor, closing his eyes and taking long, slow breaths. Each breath sends stabbing pains through the left side of his chest.

  Focus.

  He grits his teeth, then rolls back onto his belly, biting back a scream as more pain shoots through him. He spins around slowly until he's facing Torum's boots, then pushes himself onto his hands and knees. Using his good arm, he crawls forward.

  Slowly, painfully, he reaches Torum's exposed legs. They're covered in a tight, black, almost woody fabric. Ampir spots a tear in that uniform at mid-shin; a jagged, pearly white shaft of broken bone protrudes through Torum's skin there. Blue light emanates from it.

  Ampir pulls himself forward until he's directly over the exposed shin bone, then lowers his forehead until it is almost touching it. He pulls, feeling magic flow into his mind's eye, then redistribute to his starving skull bones. He lets them fill, knowing it will be easier to weave if they're sated.

  After a few minutes, the bone is drained. Ampir redirects some of his magic into his armor's runes, feeling its incredible weight immediately vanish as its gravity fields come back online. He activates its ventilation and temperature-control runes, then fills a few runes on his gauntlets.

  He needs magic. So much more magic.

  Ampir reaches down, clearing large chunks of rubble from Torum's body with his right hand, shoving the heavy stone aside as if it weighs nothing. He exposes the Weaver's shattered corpse, finding islands of blue light glowing from tears in that black uniform. Slowly, methodically, he drains the magic from Torum, redirecting it to the critical runes in his armor.

  Then he stands up, turning away from the Weaver. With a thought, the armor covering his left arm becomes immovable, forming a virtual cast around the broken limb. It still aches terribly, but at least it's bearable now. He glances at the pit in the ground nearby, then weaves magic, a huge hunk of rubble rising up from the floor. It floats forward until it levitates directly over the pit, lowering itself to seal Vera's final resting place.

  Torum was right, he knows. It was his fault that Vera was dead. And that the Empire lay in ruins.

  He gazes up at the massive hole in the ceiling, at the stars far above. With a thought, he rises through the air, passing through the hole. Above ground, he sees the vast campus of the Secula Magna spread out before him. The Great Tower is nothing more than a pile of rubble, the shattered cityscape beyond the campus covered in a thick layer of black smoke.

  Ampir rises high above the ground, staring at the devastation around him, feeling numb. Millions of lives had been lost in mere hours, many of them his colleagues, a few his friends. All because of Sabin.

  Ampir opens his eyes, lowering his gaze and using his visor to magnify his vision, staring at the countless blackened corpses lying in the streets. At the bodies floating in the Great River. He knows what most of them had been thinking before their deaths.

  Ampir will come. Ampir will save us.

  He turns his head, spotting the Behemoth in the distance, now wading across the Great River. The dark water comes only to its mid-thighs, massive waves shooting upward from each leg as they move forward through the water. The fact that the Behemoth isn't flying across the river is telling; it means that its magic capacity is limited, that it is conserving its remaining power.

  Ampir flies forward toward the Behemoth, passing over the campus of the Secula Magna. He crosses the Gate shield, flying over the ruins of countless buildings, until he lands on what remains of the roof of Stridon Penitentiary. He closes his eyes, picturing Sabin's small cell back in this very prison years ago. How pathetic Sabin had looked, how utterly defeated.

  I should've let him rot in there.

  He stares at the Behemoth, using his visor's power to study the Behemoth. A slight vibration buzzes the back of his head, and he turns to see a black-cloaked Weaver descending through the air toward him. Like Torum, he is bald, with tattoos on his face and skull. Multi-layered gravity shields surround him.

  Ampir just stands there, staring at the Weaver as his feet touch down on the roof, his black cloak rippling in the wind. The Weaver stares back.

  “Where's...” he begins.

  Ampir reaches out with his good hand, the runes on his gauntlet flashing bright blue. The Weaver's head lurches forward, flying toward Ampir's open palm. Ampir's hand and arm go right through the Weaver's shields, and Ampir grips the man's face, a burst of white light shooting from his palm.

  The Weaver's head disintegrates, his body falling with a thump at Ampir's feet.

  Ampir kneels down before the headless corpse, leaning over until his forehead is inches from the stump of its neck. He closes his eyes, pulling magic from its bones, feeling his mind's eye fill with power.

  Minutes later, when he's had his fill, Ampir stands, turning to face the Behemoth in the distance. Slowly, methodically, he fills his armor's runes, studying the monstrous machine as it finishes crossing the Great River miles from where he stands. A pale white spotlight shoots outward from its lone eye, scanning the buildings in the other half of the city beyond the River. A burst of green light shoots outward, reducing several buildings to red-hot rubble.

  I started this.

  He uses up the last of the magic he'd taken from the Weaver, his armor still only filled to a fraction of its full power. Hopefully it will be enough.

  Now I'm going to end it.

  * * *

  Kyle opened his eyes.

  He squinted against a bright light shining on him, putting a hand between his face and the offending rays. He groaned, his shoulder aching with the movement. Slowly, it came back to him...traveling with Master Banar back to the Tower. Tumbling to the ground. Master Banar's...

  Kyle squeezed his eyes shut, tears dripping down his cheeks. He'd known the man for only an hour or two, yet even in that short span of time, he'd grown fond of the Runic instructor.

  Then he felt a spike of fear in his belly, a horrible, sickening hopelessness coming over him.

  The Dead Man.

  Kyle forced the fear away, opening his eyes and blinking against the light. He was in a rectangular room, with metallic walls, ceiling, and floor. There were slit-like windows on the sides, letting in narrow beams of light. He was sitting up against one side-wall, a small rectangle of white gauze-like material laying on the ground beside him.

  The room looked familiar somehow.

  He braced his hands against the cool metallic floor, ignoring the pain in his shoulder as he pushed himself to his feet. Swaying a little, he walked to the narrow, horizontal window in front of him, peering out. He saw only blue light, nothing more. Turning away from the window, he noticed a man slumped against the wall.

  Kyle froze.

  The man was dressed in a simple white shirt and gray pants, his biceps bulging out of his short sleeves, the sinews of his forearms clearly visible underneath his tanned skin. His feet were bare, the calloused soles caked with dirt. He was asleep – or worse – his hands bound in front of him with metal cuffs. Kyle frowned, not recognizing the man...at first. Then he felt his heart skip a beat.

  “Darius!” he shouted, running to the bodyguard. He grabbed the man's broad shoulders, shaking them. “Darius!” he repeated, shaking harder. The bodyguard said nothing, his eyes remaining closed. Kyle felt a pang of fear, and reached for Darius's neck, feeling for a pulse at his carotid. Kyle's parents, both emergency room doctors, had showed him how to do this years ago. To Kyle's relief, he felt a slow, steady pulse there. Darius was alive!

  Kyle shook Darius again...but it was no use. He stood up, looking around. Where wer
e they? In a prison cell? He walked up to the slit-like window above Darius's head, peering out. He saw more blue, as before, but this time he spotted a faint wisp of white all the way to the left. He frowned, staring at that wisp, realizing that it was moving slowly, from left to right in his field of view. He blinked, then stared at it again; sure enough, it was still moving.

  Then it came to him...that wisp was a cloud.

  Kyle spun about, taking in the four metallic walls, the narrow windows. He suddenly realized why this room had seemed so familiar earlier. It wasn't a room at all...it was a carriage. A flying carriage.

  Kyle stepped back from the window, a chill running through him. He'd flown in a similar carriage after the Dead Man had defeated Kalibar at Crescent Lake...the carriage that had taken them to the Arena.

  He stood on his tip-toes, trying to look as far downward through the narrow window as possible. Sure enough, he saw treetops below the sea of blue, moving slowly in the distance. He felt his knees weaken, and he sat down with a thump, despair coming over him. After everything he'd been through – the harrowing escape from the Arena, nearly dying at the feet of the Dire Lurker, and the final battle with the Dead Man – he'd thought that the whole experience had been far behind him. Now he knew that his escape had been temporary...a cruel taste of freedom before returning to the depths of Hell.

  Kyle slumped over, burying his head in his hands. He was doomed to live underground, to be viciously and systematically molded into a servant of the Dead Man's dark lord. But this time, Ariana wouldn't be there. Kalibar wouldn't come to save him. He would be utterly alone.

  Wait...

  He looking up to see Darius there, still fast asleep against the wall. No, he wasn't alone...not yet. He felt a glimmer of hope, knowing that if he could just get the bodyguard to wake up, the man would know what to do. He always seemed to know what to do, after all. Kyle got to his feet, walking up to the bodyguard and grabbing his shoulders again.