Reign of Magic

  He seethed, shooting daggers into the monk’s face with his sharp glare.

  “Come to gloat?” Kylan snarled. “Because I wouldn’t recommend it. I will be free from these chains, and I will break every bone in your body with my bare hands.”

  He meant those words. They were bitter and salty on his tongue, but nothing would bring him more joy than to make them true.

  Father Marduk didn’t react to his threat. He was a hard man to read. The deep scars on his swarthy skin were symmetrical lines on his cheeks. He couldn’t help but wonder where those came from.

  Instead of replying, Father Marduk unlocked the cage and stepped aside.

  Confused, Kylan’s brows furrowed as he stared at the open cage.

  “What game is this?”

  “Not a game, young dragon. You can come out now.”

  Kylan wasn’t sure if he should. He didn’t trust the monk, and a sliver of worry scurried up his spine that this was a cruel trick.

  Then, he reasoned that if it was, it was worth the try. Being cooped up in the cage had made his bones ache. He needed to stretch and breathe.

  “Come, I want to talk to you, outside,” Father Marduk said, turning his back on the man who had just threatened his life.

  The monk’s conceit was apparent and it only made Kylan scowl with disgust. Somehow, he knew that he wouldn’t be able to touch him or cause him harm if he tried. Not with that blasted collar on his neck.

  Begrudgingly, he crawled out of the small cage and stood outside of it. His head almost touched the ceiling, and he had to slightly bend as he walked to the staircase and followed Father Marduk. As the went up another floor, he paused. He could hear her soft breaths, and that calmed him a bit. To know that she was sleeping peacefully gave him comfort.

  Once outside and in the salty night air, he stretched his arms above his head, and rolled his neck. It felt good smell and feel fresh air again. The smallest measure of freedom was worth whatever game Father Marduk played.

  He looked to the moon above and crossed his arms over his chest. He could stare at it for hours. It was much better than the dark, dreary setting of the bottom of the ship.

  Father Marduk stood at the edge of the ship, his hands gripping the railing. They remained that way—quiet and solemn—for some time. Kylan didn’t mind. He had no desire to hear Father Marduk speak.

  When he did, Kylan let out a sigh, and clenched his jaw. Father Marduk turned to him, and Kylan towered over him, looking down at the man as if he were as small as a child.

  Despite the wide disparity in height, the monk didn’t show any signs of intimidation. He stroked his chin and glanced up at Kylan, looking him right in the eyes.

  “You think you are special, don’t you?”

  A brow lifted over Kylan’s right eye.

  “You hold the key to an empire and think the gods actually care about you and your people.”

  Kylan tensed. Father Marduk knew who he was—what he was. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, fear flashing in his eyes.

  “Yes,” he said, cracking a grin. “I know who you are, Wregardian. You are descendant of the dragons of the First Age. And, that young woman is your rider.”

  He took a step back as the monk approached, but froze as his collar began to glow and heat his flesh. A jolt of energy shot down his frame.

  “What are you doing?” Kylan asked, panic setting in as his bones and skin began to tremble.

  The answer to his question came as his body began to shift into his bestial form without his consent or control. The cracking of his bones resonated through his ears and echoed into the night.

  He cried out and tried to run as the magic of the collar forced him to transform. He couldn’t understand what was happening, or how, but before her could process what had just occurred, he stood on deck as a dragon, cowering like a tiny pup before a bear.

  This was unlike anything he had ever suffered. His heart broke and filled his chest with a crushing agony. He could not fly, or run. He was at the monk’s mercy.

  Horrified, Kylan flickered a glance at Father Marduk, who smiled from ear-to-ear as he placed his hand on top of Kylan’s head.

  “Now,” he said. “I will be your rider, and you will obey my command.”

  A sinking feeling filled Kylan’s gut as he realized the truth of what he’d witnessed all of his life—the frightening truth of the firedrakes.

  They didn’t let the monks ride them. They weren’t mindless beasts. He could never understand why they let men ride them when they’d once been regal creatures who ruled the skies.

  As Father Marduk climbed onto his back, he knew that what had just happened to him was what befell his brethren. Father would have cried tears of shame if he were alive to witness this sorcery.

  “Rise,” Father Marduk commanded, and Kylan had no choice but to obey. “I am your master now.”

  7

  Amalia emerged from the darkness of the ship’s lower decks. The sun glared at her once they stepped onto deck. She shielded her eyes and winced at the brightness of the sun's rays.

  Her heart raced and soared when she saw Kylan was already on deck. She swallowed, marveling at how big he was. Tall, and muscular, he had the body of a true warrior, but even bigger than the Wolves. She looked up to his serene face. He had to be at well over six feet tall.

  When their eyes met, he smiled at her, and somehow that gave her comfort that things would work out fine.

  Father Marduk and the other monks watched them in silence.

  She glared at him—hating him more and more with each passing day. He always had a self-satisfied look on his sun-darkened skin. He stood there now, his hood lowered, revealing dark curly hair.

  After escaping him years ago, he still managed to find her. It was a bitter realization that all of her father’s efforts had been wasted. She couldn’t let this be her end. Memories of her father showing her his power for the first time haunted her dreams. She wished she could have learned more about what they could do, and why they never told her the truth of their past.

  Kylan stood beside her, nudging his elbow into her side. He leaned over to whisper.

  “Have they been treating you well?”

  She nodded, glancing up at him. It was nice to be near him again, but she knew it wouldn’t last. “And, you?”

  He shrugged. Though he appeared to be nonchalant, she could see that something had changed within him. There was a bitterness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. What could have caused it?

  “Move along,” one of the monks said, pushing them forward with a spear. It dug into her back and Kylan grabbed it, lifting the monk from the deck and into the air.

  “Watch it,” he warned, through clenched teeth.

  The monk’s eyes widened, and Kylan dropped him to the floor.

  Amalia couldn’t help but smile. Even collared and chained, Kylan was a force. She couldn’t help but wonder if they know what they'd done?

  They'd brought together a mighty team who had pledged to destroy and wipe their sect from their world.

  Birds flew overhead and Amalia’s attention was turned to the beautiful beach they'd docked on. A mixture of white sand and silvery stone gave way to lush, tropical trees that stood tall and hung with white flowers and orange fruit.

  Her eyes widened. She'd never seen anything like it.

  Father Marduk walked past them, and off to the docks. “Connect the chains, won’t you, Brother Durick? I’ll not have another scene like that from either of them.”

  A gasp escaped her throat as she was pulled away from Kylan and had her hands bound behind her back. They didn't try to handle her gently, their rough hands digging into her tender flesh and forcing her to her knees.

  She cried out as her hair was pulled, yanking her head back so that her neck could be cuffed with a collar that connected to the chains around her wrists. It was an awkward position, one that assured that she would not be able to fight back.

  Face reddened,
she glanced over her shoulder to see him being handled the same way. Together, they were shoved away from the ship, and down the wooden dock to the quiet village.

  Once they were close enough to exchange hushed whispers, Amalia brushed her shoulder against Kylan's arm.

  “We have to find a way to escape,” she whispered.

  He nodded and gave a look to Father Marduk who led the procession through the road that cut through the village.

  “Not with these collars on our necks. They have a magical ability to mute your magic and my ability to shift,” he said, and she couldn’t help but imagine what it must be like to see him as a beast. Aros had showed her once, and it had been an incredible moment.

  “I’m thinking of a plan. I'll let you know when the time is right. As long as we stay together, all will work out.”

  She sighed with frustration. “That’s it, exactly. I don’t think they will let us stay together.”

  “Patience,” Kylan said. “The gods might be liars, but the prophecies will not lead us astray.”

  She lifted a brow. “You still trust anything you’ve been told? Because, I don’t.”

  “I do,” he said, shortly.

  She wanted to make a run for it right then, but despite her distrust of others, something innate inside of her wanted to put her faith in him. Impulsiveness wouldn’t get them anywhere.

  No matter how much she tried to make sense of it, Kylan was a stranger, but she could have sworn they’d been together every day since their births. Their bond went deeper than their souls. It was written in the stars.

  “Fine,” she said. “But, I don’t like this one bit.”

  “Neither do I. Our options are limited. So, to survive, we do what we can to make it through this.” He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper. “My people will not rest until me and my father are avenged.”

  Those words gave her hope. So, she gave a single nodded and pressed on.

  The villagers stood on either side, watching in silence, their eyes fixed to Amalia and Kylan. A little girl pointed to Amalia and began to speak, when her mother shushed her. She pulled the girl back into their cottage and quietly closed the door. It was then that Amalia realized with dread that the people of this village were deathly afraid of the monks.

  She wasn't surprised. She knew what they could do—the destruction they could accomplish.

  Her stomach grumbled, loudly, and she licked her dry lips. They hadn't eaten more than gruel in days. Still, hunger was the last thing on her mind. Why would they feed her well if they only planned to sacrifice her? She clenched her jaw as they shuffled her along. She didn't understand the obsession with gods who hadn't shown their faces in more than two centuries.

  Why did they expect the death of a Mage to bring them back?

  The world had moved on from the old practices and beliefs. It would be a miracle if the old gods would return to put the world back to its original splendor.

  The ancient texts and Keepers said that the world had once been a paradise. There was an abundance of food for everyone, and the different races had once lived together in harmony. Such a concept was little more than a tale of fiction to Amalia. But, now that she was reunited with her Keeper, she began to wonder if such a thing was truly possible.

  An entire empire waited for their return.

  She glanced to the sky.

  They just had to escape and reclaim it.

  8

  Aros raced down the stairs of the Royal Antiquities Hall. Sweat beaded on his forehead from having been stuck in the vaults all night, studying the ancient scrolls. Now, he was about to be late for the Rites.

  Cloaked in black like the other scholars, he tightened his collar and slowed at the bottom, catching his breath. The slippery floors were notorious for making scholars look like fools as they slid across and fell on their hides.

  The bell tower chimed and the sun began to set through the openings in the archways that encircled the circular room. He stepped outside into the pale sun began to sink into the horizon in a blend of orange and purple.

  “Aros,” Helgi called from the bottom of the gray, stone steps. For as far as the eye could see, there were black cloaks walking the lush, green grounds of the compound of buildings. Soldiers of sword and wit, they were the armies of King Harek, the ruler of all of the Wolf tribes.

  “Hurry up, little brother,” Maxim said, chuckling.

  Aros winced. He hated when his brothers, Maxim and Helgi called him that in front of the others. A few of the young men snickered as he began down the stairs. He ignored them, walking past his peers to join up with his brothers.

  They were just as tall—taller than most—with blond hair cut short. Aros kept his long, and pulled back like Father’s.

  Maxim clasped a hand on his shoulder as they began across the central square of the campus to the city. They walked through the archway and out the main gate that looked out to the stone streets of Jorunn.

  “Why are we leaving the compound?” Aros asked, lingering near the gate.

  Helgi and Maxim shared a sneaky grin and both picked him up by his arm.

  “It is time for you to become a man, little brother,” Maxim said.

  “It is your name day, and we will celebrate,” Helgi said, chuckling.

  Heat filled Aros’ cheeks. “What are you two up to? Rites are tonight.”

  “Aye, you worry too much, study too hard, and fret over nothing,” Helgi said. “Rites can wait. Trust me, once you see what we have planned, you’ll be thoroughly prepared for your test.”

  “And, thoroughly focused,” Maxim mumbled with a snicker.

  Gulping, Aros looked to the sky as the sun began to lower itself. After sunset, he’d only have a few hours before the prefects would come for him. Of course, they weren’t worried or in a hurry. They’d had their Rites the year prior.

  Sighing, he allowed himself to be taken through the crowded streets of vendors and townsfolk in their heavy cloaks and furs to a tall building with several floors with white shutters and red walls.

  He looked up at its height and the women leaning out the windows in little more than their undergarments.

  His face paled. “What is this place?”

  Helgi nudged him into the door which was being held open by an older woman with white hair, red lips, and sparkling dust on her ample bosom.

  “Welcome to the Diamond Dames,” Maxim said.

  The sights and smells overwhelmed Aros once he crossed the threshold of what he instantly understood to be a brothel. He turned and tried to push past his brothers.

  “No,” he said. “We have no business being here. Mother would have a fit.”

  Helgi laughed. “Don’t be a child. You are a man now. Stop worrying about what your mother thinks.”

  He pushed Helgi. “I’ll tell her you said that when we return for the raids.”

  Helgi narrowed his eyes. “You think mother cares if you lay with a woman? We are Wolves, not babies. This is the true Rite, Aros. You still pine over that human girl,” he said, and Aros’ jaw clenched at the mention of the one person he couldn’t get out of his head. “She ran away. If she cared about you, she would have stayed. Now, stop obsessing over her and find yourself a real woman, a real Wolf.”

  Shoulders slumping, Aros lowered his eyes as an intense wave of shame filled his gut, making him sick.

  She hadn’t run away.

  That’s what the people of Berufell believed, but it was his doing. She didn’t leave without a word. It wasn’t that she had used them and moved on once she had what she wanted. It hurt him to even think that his people believed such lies.

  Amalia was a kind soul, incapable of such treachery, innocent and blameless.

  He was the one they should hate.

  He’d sold her to the monks, not for money, but for the blessings of the gods. They trusted him to turn her over. For what, he was unsure, but the guilt of possibly sending her to her death would haunt him until his dying day.

&n
bsp; But, there was a reason behind it all. As the days went by—and his heart remained broken, and memories of waking up to her smiling face continued to haunt him—he began to forget exactly what that reason was.

  “Come,” Maxim said.

  Helgi’s smile had faded, but in his eyes, Aros could see that his brothers simply cared for him. They were tired of watching him suffer the loss of the woman he loved.

  Nodding, he allowed himself to be turned around to face the beautiful harlots of Jorunn.

  The scent of incense was strong in his nostrils, and the dim candle and torch lighting cast shadows that danced and swayed across the painted faces of the courtesans lined up along the staircase, waiting to be chosen. Some had long hair, blonde or brown, and some had short. All he noticed were their full bosoms and how tight corsets only enhanced their curves.

  He swallowed, hard. He’d never been more nervous. It was hot, too hot to be winter. He wanted to remove his cloak, but it became a shield to him, making it so that there was a layer of defense between him and those smiling women.

  His heart skipped a beat as a pretty young woman took him by the hand, her smile entrancing him.

  “I’m Eostre,” she said, in a thick Jorunn accent that rolled the R in her name. She stroked his cheek with her soft fingertips, not blinking as she held his gaze. “Won’t you have a mug of ale with me?”

  Nodding, he couldn’t find the words to respond to her. Her blue eyes bore into his, and the glittering dusk on her pale, white cheeks reflected the candlelight of the room.

  She led him to the bar, and he told himself that one drink couldn’t hurt.

  9

  Eostre took him to the bar, where she ordered two large mugs of mead. He sat down on the wooden stool and peered at her from over his mug as he drank a large gulp.

  Perhaps his brothers were right—that he needed to relax a little. It was hard to believe the truth in that when the gods had set him on this course. They were depending on him to fulfill his role in the prophecy.