Black Magic
Prologue: Purification of the Soul
Megan Derr
When High Paladin Sorin discovers the brutally dismembered body of his cousin Alfrey, a much loved priest in the royal palace, he is left baffled as to who would do so terrible a thing to so good a man. But to find the answer to that question, he must cooperate with one of the highly despised necromancers, men who practice black magic, sleep in graveyards and feed upon souls …
The necromancer Koray, however, is far from what he expected. He is beautiful, stubborn, and possessed of a tongue sharp enough to cut down even the High Paladin himself. Koray is also possessed of a strength like nothing Sorin has ever encountered, and the power of the Goddess herself.
It does not take them long to realize that solving a murder is the easiest challenge they must face, and in order to save a kingdom they must first unravel centuries of lies and misunderstandings.
Black Magic
By Megan Derr
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha M. Derr, Caitlin Penny
Cover designed by London Burden
Cover art drawn by H.M. Burns
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition October 2012
Copyright © 2012 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 9781620040379
Gone. Rakken was gone.
Dead by the hands of Ambrose's comrades; dead because he had tried to defend Ambrose; dead because they had dared to love where they were told love was impossible. Ambrose could not bring himself to care that his own death was only marks away. All that mattered had died with Rakken. Ambrose did not
have
to die, but he would sooner accept execution than renounce his love for Rakken.
Despair clawed at him, but he was too exhausted to cry again. He wanted it over and done with. Even the gentle warmth of the Goddess pulsing in his chest was not as reassuring as it might once have been. He loved his Goddess, but he loved Rakken more.
Let them burn him.
Ambrose stirred at the jangling of keys followed by the click of a lock being turned, the grating of the door and the tread of booted feet. As the steps inevitably drew closer, Ambrose slowly stood, noting the faint gleam of armor in the weak light of a small torch. He stayed well away from the filthy bars of the cell and stared out at High Paladin Levent, not bothering to hide his hate.
"Ambrose." Levent said his name gently, reassuringly, as though they were old friends. How had Ambrose ever thought him kind? Wise? Why had he ever thought Levent a worthy mentor? He did not deserve to be High Paladin, and Ambrose did not care if the Goddess took offense at the thought. Levent had cut down Rakken, despite begging, pleading, the bidding of the Goddess—
He realized that he still had a few tears left to cry.
"Ambrose," Levent said again. "Please, you are free now. I know you think you and that demon …" His lip curled. "He had you bespelled, Ambrose. You are free now. Please, just realize it and renounce your false feelings—"
Ambrose did not realize that he had screamed, or moved, until he felt the hot sting of power forcing him back, causing him to crash into the far wall with a pained grunt. Levent opened the cell door, hauled Ambrose to his feet, and embraced him. Ambrose shuddered with revulsion and pulled roughly away, but Levent did not entirely release him. Ambrose did his best to convey all of the hate he felt with his expression. Levent flinched, but stubbornly persisted in saying, "He was just a demon. A vile, deceptive demon. Why—"
"I loved him," Ambrose choked out. "He loved me. There was no black magic, no deception. The Goddess guided me to him, brought him to me, blessed our union—and you took him from me!" He managed to twist free and swung, catching Levent's nose. Levent pinned him to the ground and Ambrose screamed in rage and hate and grief. The Goddess's warmth pulsed in his chest, mingling with the sharp pain of her anguish. They were not behaving as her paladins should, nothing was as it should have been. He and Rakken should have been the start of something new and wonderful. Instead, they were just one more tragedy in a bitter struggle that had lasted far too long.
"Why?" Levent demanded, and the sudden anger and bitterness there drew Ambrose up short. "Why him and not—" He cut himself off with a muttered curse.
Ambrose drew a sharp breath as realization slammed into him. Levent? Had loved …
That just made it all the worse. Ambrose might have forgiven Levent anything once, but not the awful killing of Rakken. He could not even say he was sorry for not being able to return Levent's feelings.
Any man or woman would have gladly surrendered a limb or two for the chance at Levent's favor. Yet all Ambrose wanted was dark skin, a bare, smooth head riddled with scars left from sword and knife and burns and a body with more of the same. The worst scars had been those on his back, ragged edges where wings had been hacked off. Brutal, awful, cruel—that was the life Rakken had lived as a demon soldier of the Lost North. But then there had been his dark blue eyes; his sweet, hesitant smile; the infuriating smirk that had first goaded Ambrose; and the clawed hands that had shown a gentleness Ambrose had never known.
Gone. Gone forever.
"Renounce him, Ambrose," Levent pleaded. "You're too good a man to waste, to lose to demonic corruption. What of your brethren? What of your sister? I saved you, Ambrose. I can love you better than any—"
Ambrose screamed and threw Levent off, lost once more to blind rage. To hate. "I will never renounce!" He spat the words, flung them, watched with black amusement as Levent recoiled from them. "Rakken was a demon. I loved him. I loved him more than life. More than the Goddess. I will not renounce my love for Rakken. The Goddess blessed us, and I will go to that pyre knowing that She approved of my union with a demon."
"So be it," Levent said coldly and yanked Ambrose to his feet. He hauled him roughly from his cell and threw him at the feet of two paladins waiting just outside. "Bind him," he snapped. "Our brother Ambrose is too far gone to be saved. He must burn else he will become one himself."
"Yes, High Paladin," the paladins chorused quietly, looking miserable, but resigned.
Ambrose did not protest, did not so much as look at them. He did nothing, said nothing, felt nothing—not even when the high priest concluded his prayers and the pyre was lit.
He said nothing at all, even when he smelled his own flesh burning.
One
Sorin had seen blood
before, more than he cared to recall. He'd seen men crushed, men dismembered, men more broken in spirit and mind than they could ever be in body. He'd seen people torn apart by demon hands, seen the damage black magic could do. He'd seen ten thousand nightmares and would see ten thousand more before he died. Women, children … He still had nightmares about the children.
But none of it was as terrible as the gore and limbs and innards of his cousin, scattered and smeared across the confines of the small solar that Alfrey had favored when he wanted to work in peace and quiet.
Sorin slammed the door shut, belatedly sealing it so no others could enter, and then was immediately sick in the first chamber pot he found a couple of doors down the hall. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then belatedly recalled the handkerchief in his tunic. Pulling it out, he wiped his hand and mouth, striving to
think
and not simply recall that horrific scene. Thank Goddess She had led him to it before another had found it first.
Her warmth pulsed in his chest, bright and hot, and spread through his body to lend sorely needed comfort and strength. Sorin closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists to still their trembling. He swallowed, trying to wash away the acrid, sour-sweet taste of vomit lingering in his mouth.
Who, how, and why—those were the details that mattered. How had someone managed to commit such a crime in the heart of the castle while the king, high priest, and high paladin, not to mention the thousands of other inhabitants, remained oblivious? And why—why would anyone want to murder someone so good? Never mind the savage nature of the murder. Alfrey had no enemies to the best of Sorin's knowledge. Everyone had loved Alfrey.
Who would murder a man so close to Sorin, High Paladin of the Kingdom of Vindeia?
He realized he was trembling again and forced himself to stop. The king had to be informed, as well as the high priest. Sorin would have to figure out how to answer the questions of who, why, and how. He would have to go back into that terrible room.
Sorin would be able to tell the king right away. The high priest would be finishing the dawn ceremony, but by the time Sorin finished reporting to the king, the high priest would be available. Past that … Best that no one else knew, yet. It would cause a panic.
He made his way first to the kitchens, grateful that it was early enough the halls were still mostly deserted. Normally the smells of fresh bread, porridge, honey, cheese, and all the other myriad foods prepared for breakfast would have made him smile. Right then, they only made him nauseous. He quickly drank a mug of hot ale to rinse away the lingering taste of vomit before hurrying from the kitchens.
Slipping through the halls of the castle, Sorin at last reached the throne room. Like the halls, it was mostly deserted save for a small crowd gathered to speak to the king. Even King Rofell did not sleep long when there were so many problems to address, and people traveled long through dangerous lands to plead their cases.
Sorin pushed through the throng and motioned to King Rofell. Minutes later, the room was empty save for the two of them. "What's wrong now?" Rofell asked.
As quickly as possible, without sacrificing anything, Sorin related how he had woken earlier than usual to a painful throbbing of alarm and grief from the Goddess, causing his chest to hurt, his entire body to ache. Following the throbbing, searching the castle bottom to top, it had not taken him long to come upon the remains of Alfrey's body.
Rofell was silent when Sorin finished, grim-faced and still. At length, he asked, "No clues as to who has done this terrible thing?"
"I have not yet had a chance to search," Sorin replied. "I have sealed the room and will examine it and Alfrey's remains for clues in due course. For now, I must go and speak with the high priest. It is possible he might hear something from the Goddess that I cannot. I recommend we keep this between the three of us until such a time that we either have an answer or revealing it is impossible to avoid. I fear what will happen should people learn of the murder and the horrendous nature of it."
"Yes," Rofell agreed. "Speak with the high priest, then. Keep me informed. Find the murderer and kill him if you must. I grant you full license, High Paladin, to do whatever is necessary."
"Sire," Sorin said with a bow, then turned sharply on his heel and departed. He strode from the castle keep and across a small courtyard to the rear entrance of the royal cathedral. It was nearly as large as the royal castle, meant to accommodate every person in the city as well as the surrounding farmers for several miles around. Although the city and surroundings had long since outgrown the cathedral, it still remained the heart of the faith for those who loved the Goddess.
As Sorin reached the main room, the dawn prayers were just concluding and people were departing quickly in order to get started on their long days. High Priest Angelos was speaking to a small handful of people, but when he caught Sorin's gaze he immediately excused himself.
"High Paladin," he greeted when he reached Sorin's side. "I sensed something was wrong this morning when I rose, but it seemed I was meant to carry on and wait to learn of the problem. I see you are the unhappy messenger."
Sorin only nodded and motioned towards Angelos' office. When the door had shut behind them, he said softly, "Alfrey is dead. Murdered."