The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2)
Read The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) Online
Authors: Kevin Hoffman
This book is dedicated to Isabella and Victoria.
It was their encouragement and enthusiasm for great stories that kept me going.
I also need to thank my wife,
who never allowed me to give up, despite my best efforts at sabotaging my work.
Kevin Hoffman
Twitter: @kshmusings
Facebook: facebook.com/kevinhoffmanauthor
Copyright © 2016 Kevin Hoffman
All rights reserved.
Chapter One
Urus Noellor wondered what it felt like to die.
Shirtless and shackled to the wall by a chain fastened to the metal collar around his neck, he climbed up onto a stool in the middle of his prison cell. A broken, rusted remnant of an iron bracket hung from the stone ceiling. Death would be simple. All it would take was to loop his chain around the bracket, kick over the stool, and it would all be over—at last.
There would be no more war, no more blood mages, no more sigilords, no grey men—no one to use him; to manipulate him and his power to their own ends.
Images of the people he would never see again flashed through his mind—Cailix, Goodwyn, Uncle Aegaz, even Murin. He closed his eyes to hold back a tear, then stepped off the stool. The loose chain rattled as he landed safely on the floor. Despite having been kidnapped, stripped of his weapon, his friends, and his family, there may yet be something worth living for.
He shouldered into the door of his cell, probing for weaknesses he knew he would not find. Just hours earlier, his silent guards had tossed him into the cell without a hint as to his captors' plans.
Arbiters
, his kidnappers had called themselves, but they had offered no further explanation for his captivity.
He had arrived in a flash of light, stepping from the soft sand of Aldsdowne's shore onto the cold, hard marble that was a hallmark of the arbiters' home. His captors had led him out of a purple chamber ringed by obsidian podiums carved with curved vulture wings, and across a bridge that extended from the purple spire to an impossibly large inner castle. A low parapet ran along either side of the span, an arched stone roof capping the skywalk that provided more decoration than protection from the elements.
On his trip to the cell, Urus had taken note of more towers surrounding the central castle—eight in total—each of which could have held all of Kest within it. At the top of each of the spires, the magnificent stone had been carved to appear as though it was twisting, and out of the swirling form rose eight more small spires.
He took a step back from the cell door and absently ran his fingers along the metal collar clamped around his neck. As the guard had fixed it in place, an overwhelming sense of loss had swept the wind from his lungs. Try as he might, he could no longer summon the heat and pain of the blue wisps of smoke that heralded the use of his power.
So now he stood, just as he had that day back in Kest during the culling ceremony, powerless and at the end of a chain. At least this time he wasn't standing knee deep in elephant dung.
Urus made his way to the straw bedding and lay down, letting exhaustion and fatigue wash over him. He was asleep before even getting a second leg up on the bed.
He woke to a finger gently tapping his shoulder. It felt as if he had only been asleep for a second, but the drool crusting on his hand and red imprint on his arm suggested otherwise.
A tray covered with pastries appeared in front of him. The warmth and aroma of the fresh baked goods brushed his face like a summer breeze, and his mouth watered. Without looking to see who had brought such a bounty, his hunger overcame his curiosity. He snatched two hot, puffy crescent-shaped biscuits from the tray and devoured the first in two bites. He became keenly aware of how long it had been since he'd eaten.
What if they poisoned these?
Urus stopped mid-chew and examined the tray's owner.
She was a beautiful young woman, her skin lighter than his but not as pale as that of the people from Waldron. Her long hair was as black as pitch and lay across one shoulder, coming to rest on her chest in an intricate knot. She wore a long, dusty blue coat that split in the back like a bird's tail, dark pants, and thin shoes that looked like slippers. Flat, wide oval eyes with green irises and folded eyelids marked her as someone who wasn't from anywhere Urus had ever been.
He glanced from the girl to the tray of pastries, trying to decide if it was safe to continue.
Seeing his hesitation, she smiled and took a small bite of a triangle-shaped concoction that oozed fruit jam as she bit it. "Ordinarily I might be insulted that you think my pastries are poisoned, but I will let it go this time."
Convinced he was in no danger, at least from the food, Urus swallowed what remained of the first biscuit, then made short work of the second.
"Are you a blacksmith?" she asked with a wide grin.
Urus blinked, confused.
"Your chest," she added with a smile, nodding toward Urus's shirtless torso. He suddenly felt very exposed. "It's like someone stuck muscles to the outside of a barrel."
"How do you know Kestian?" he sputtered, shooting pastry crumbs onto the floor. He was too hungry to care about manners.
"Try that again?" The girl handed him a flagon of water, then hopped up onto the stool across from him and crouched, her coattails adding to her birdlike demeanor.
Urus drank, then repeated the question.
Still smiling in her odd perch, she waved dismissively. "There is magic here that makes everybody think they're speaking the same language,
one of the many things the arbiters have scavenged from people on other worlds."
Urus went back to eating, snatching another pastry covered in a delicious, sticky lemon coating.
"Slow down, I've still got to feed the other prisoners," his unexpected companion said.
"What's your name?" Urus asked.
The pastry girl rocked back on her heels with surprising grace, seeming almost weightless as she balanced on the edge of the stool—the only other piece of furniture in the cell. "I have been called many things by many people for many reasons. I never really thought my given name suited me much. My favorite, though, was given to me on a world with no magic, overlooked and dismissed by the arbiters. The people from that world call me Luse Lingxiu."
Urus squinted as the name rolled off her lips, lips that seemed so small and delicate. "I have no idea how to say that."
"I just said it," she said. "You say it like that."
"I'm deaf," Urus told her. "I can't hear what you said."
She seemed unfazed by the revelation. "You can just call me Lu or Luse then. As you may have guessed, I am the pastry cook for Almoryll's main kitchen."
"Main kitchen? How many kitchens does this place have? Is Almoryll the name of this city?"
"Almoryll is the name of the castle complex. As for kitchens, there are three in the main spire and two in each of the eight outer spires."
Nineteen kitchens!
The imperial palace at Kest only had two!
"How many people are here?" Urus asked, incredulous.
"More than we can keep track of, to be sure. All I really measure is how much dough I need to make every morning."
Lu hopped off the stool with feline nimbleness and left without another word, closing the door to the cell behind her. With the collar around his neck blocking him from his sigilcraft, clearly the arbiters didn't think him much of an escape risk.
What a strange girl
, Urus thought.
With an even stranger name
. Before he could give Luse another thought, he drifted off into a warm, pastry-induced nap.
Again he awoke to a tap on his shoulder, and again it was Lu, holding another overflowing tray, this time filled with all sorts of sweet-smelling gooey treats. She set the tray on the bed next to Urus, and it took all his willpower not to devour the entire thing.
"Can't make it look like I'm spending too much time with you," Lu said. "Just peddling my pastries. I didn't get your name."
"Urus."
"The bull?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest, making bull horns with the fingers of her right hand. "A fitting name. You look as strong as any bull."
His uncle Aegaz was the only one who ever made that sign. Thinking of him, of Kest, Goodwyn, and everybody else he had left behind made his heart ache. His eyes welled, but he held back the tears.
Lu flashed a big smile. She seemed like a genuinely happy, cheerful person, a stark contrast to the pall of tension hanging over everyone else he had encountered so far.
"What's that thing?" Lu asked, pointing at Urus's chest.
Urus glanced down, again feeling exposed and vulnerable. "It's a long story," he replied without looking up.
"Back in a slice," Lu said, ignoring the comment. She snatched up the tray and twirled off the stool, landing with a flourish as though she was some kind of pastry-themed dancer. She skipped out of the cell with a curtsy and a well-practiced spin.