The Willbreaker (Book 1) (16 page)

              “There!” Florian yelled, pointing to one of the tunnels that branched off to their left. “You need to clear out number four! The blokes that be digging there got themselves caved in on!” he said, belting out a laugh. “Don’t expect that you pigs will get so lucky! Everyone leave your carts here, except you,” he said, pointing to one of Galadin’s men. “Once you fill up one cart, bring it back here, and grab another. We’ll stop once all of our carts are full to the top." With that, he bent down at the base of the tripod holding the burning brazier and picked up an extinguished torch. He dipped its top in the bucket of pitch hidden behind the tripod and then lit it from the brazier’s open flame. He slammed the torched into Korel’s chest and gave him a scowl. Korel took the torch in his left hand. “Now get moving!”

              With quick glances to each other, the men moved into the mine entrance. Florian stood with a wicked grin, repeatedly smacking his paddle into his left hand. The noise it made echoed throughout the central station. Korel inched into the lead, and with his torch hand extended far in front of him, he cautiously entered the mouth of the mine.

              The mine seemed to suck the light out of the torch. The rough, black material of the walls, ceiling, and looked like coal and absorbed not only the light, but voices and noise. Although two pushcarts would fit side by side, the circular mine seemed confining and suffocating. The smell of wet rock filled the air.

              As the men inched inside, Florian yelled at them.

              “Get moving! It won’t clear out itself!"

              “What an ass,” remarked one of the soldiers.

              “We should kick his ass, eh, Rallick?”

              Galadin barked at them quiet enough that Florian would not hear.

              “Rallick! Terrin! Enough! Do you want to get yourself, or perhaps all of us killed? He will have his day. We don’t know enough of this place or how it is ran to be challenging anyone yet. Just do the work assigned to you, and don’t piss anyone off. I haven’t just been sitting idly by. I’ve been paying attention to our surroundings. I’ve been watching where the guards have been stationed, and I have a general idea of how the city is laid out. You just need to have patience, I’m working on it.”

              With regretful voices, the two men whispered simultaneously, “Yes, Lieutenant General.”

              As they moved deeper into the cave, a sickening smell of decay rose from within. With each step deeper into the cave, the smell of rotting flesh grew more pungent.

              Within minutes, the rancid stench overwhelmed them. Terrin clutched his middle, vomiting to the side of the tunnel. A bellowing chuckle came from outside the entrance; Florian. As the fingers of light stretched weakly into the cave, the image of the cave-in slowly came to focus. Large boulders from the ceiling lay in a huge pile, stretching from wall to wall, all the way up out of view. The purple, discolored hand of a miner reached out from the rock mess, as if trying to grab for something out of his reach. His fingers bent in a still image of agony. Other ghastly body parts revealed themselves as the light flickered its rays upon the heap of rocky death. The men stared in silence.

              Edward approached Baby cautiously, looking around at all of the carnage; off fifty paces on the opposite side of the road, Firecracker grazed in the tall grasses. Bodies of the fallen lay in pools of blood that painted the road for as far as he could see. Jasmine waited by the woods edge, thirty paces behind him, hiding amongst the trees.

              “It seems safe, there is no more danger here,” Edward voiced back towards Jasmine. Edward’s brow bent with worry. He could not sense danger but he could not sense life either. “Brandon is not here."

              “Do you, is Brandon . . .” her voice trailed off into silence.

              “I don’t know, dear. Let us hope he is okay.”

              They walked into the war zone, stepping carefully over the bodies and avoiding the random weapons strewn about. Baby followed shortly behind them, looking around with eyes wide at the odd and peculiar sights. There were so many bodies; bodies on top of bodies, in the road and off, and scattered throughout the tree line. The ground squished beneath their steps, spattering blood and dirt on their shoes and along the bottoms of their robes.

              “So much death. So much life wasted. It’s Reinhold’s boys, and there, Blade Maidens,” Edward said, pointing to a woman in a silver breastplate. “This is fresh, within a day I would say. But why isn’t anyone here recovering this equipment or retrieving their dead? It just doesn’t make any sense.”

              “What could have done this?” came quietly from Jasmine’s lips. Edward turned around to see her crouched down, rubbing her finger over a slice in the back of man’s chest plate. Edward scrunched his eyebrows and moved eagerly over to her.

              Jasmine’s words were whispers. “It is so clean. I have never seen anything like this." Edward kneeled over to take a closer look. After a brief pause, Edward’s eyes opened wide.

              “Bauth’Dok.”

              Edward focused on his powers, reaching for a sense of anything. The power cooled and soothed him, washing over him like a fresh rain, clean and exhilarating. If he closed his eyes, it might have seemed like he floated on nothingness. Edward had done this countless times before; it was nothing new. He did not pay attention to how it made him feel; he simply searched for the sense. He searched for life, for danger, for anything, but they were alone. No danger. No life. Nothing.

              He stood and walked deeper into the battlefield, fully alert and scanning the edge of the woods. “C’mon. We need to keep moving.”

              They traversed the combat zone for what seemed like days. As the sun reached higher in the sky, the smell of death grew and the flies became overwhelming. They mounted up on the horses and rode urgently out of the clouds of death.

              “We have to reach Victorville,” Edward said.

              “What about Brandon?”

              “There is nothing either of us can do now to help him. We must reach my sister, and hope that she can help us.”

              As they rode away from the destruction, Edward explained the seriousness of the situation to Jasmine, who really did not understand the severity of it all.

The Bauth’Dok were human during the time known as The First Age, around two thousand six hundred years ago. They lived and partook of society like everyone else. Then, a man by the name of Ingtar Bauth’Dok, the believed founder and ruler of the people now known as the Bauth’Dok, left his family to explore the undiscovered land across the Paraline River. Highly intelligent and Gifted, he devised a way to cross the river using a pulley system with an odd-shaped bamboo boat that deferred the powerful current, which repeatedly swept boats and swimmers miles down shore. It was not said how or when he discovered the trexalite, but everything changed for him after that day.

              He took a sample of the metal back home, and studied it. He revealed that his gift grew in power when used with the metal on his body; it could be in his hand, around his neck, or even in his pocket. In certain instances, or in specific quantities, the metal could do things by itself, like boil water, or turn candle wax to stone. He obsessed about the metal and all of its wonderful and awesome properties. To a Gifted, this metal could boost one’s abilities, and therefore became invaluable.

He gathered a few of his gifted colleagues and they mined and experimented with the metal. The Ril’Kaloth Mountains had the highest concentrations of it, so they dug. They learned how to forge the metal, using intense heat aided by magic. He found it harder than forged steel, and if sharpened, it would never lose its edge. They formed small pieces of the metal into little animal shapes, and sold them to other Gifted for lofty prices in order to pay for their endeavor. These “Marks” are especially powerful and extremely rare pieces of the “first metal,” and are the only known examples of the metal outside of Bauth’Dok control. The first metal discovered was especially old; a hundred thousand years older than the trexalite mined now, and the older the metal, the more powerful it is. They discovered that the metal could do more than boost one’s powers, it could amplify them exponentially. Edward’s brother mentioned an animal Mark hidden inside the vaults at Castle Belkin.

              Trexalite became everything to these people. They lived for it, and built their entire society around it. It took them decades to realize that the metal radiated death and killed them. Raw trexalite, the most powerful for channeling magic, emits small amounts of deadly radiation. The effects of the radiation were incurable. The Bauth’Dok people ignored the pleas of others telling them to leave the metal alone and that it would kill them. So they moved inside the mining caves and cut off all ties and relationships outside of their colony.

              They felt resentment for the outsiders who wanted to help them. The Bauth’Dok people felt the outsiders wanted the mining stopped so others could exploit the wonders of their metal. That resentment, over time, turned into hatred. As the metal turned them into a mighty adversary, it also turned them into something else. Their bodies changed over the years. Their skin changed colors and their bodies changed shape. Their physical vision faded, as a new type of sight began to grow. Even with their perceptible evolution, one thing stayed the same; a person would live only a half-life if they mined the metal. That is why they abducted people from the surrounding areas; to force them to mine. With the power of the trexalite behind them, no one could refuse or stop them.

              “And now Brandon is mining for them. I fear he doesn’t have a lot of time,” Edward said as they traveled into the wind.

                   Elsewhere, in a place far from this world, yet too close for comfort, the wind howled throughout a cold and dark castle. It’s daunting wall, fifty feet high and covered in razor sharp rocks, surrounded the entire castle as torches spread flickering shadows amongst the guarded walkways behind. Armored men prowled the wall, looking over the edge, anxious and ready for something unseen. These were not ordinary men; each man an exact copy as the soldier behind him, in appearance and creation; duplicates. They walked the same, eyed the land the same, and looked ready to kill, the same. They each gripped their torches in their outstretched hands identically. They were of one mind. When one man became alert of something, they all became alert.

Just behind the wall sat the fortress, menacing and colossal. The solid stone castle stood unyielding and unseen behind it, except for the single tower that reached toward the sky, jetting upwards with spiraling windows that started from its base and ran its length to the conical roof at the top. Illuminated purple clouds plastered the sky and raced by as if time accelerated. Three yellow moons held their position above them, spreading an eerie glow to the world below.

Poor light spread throughout the room at the top of the tower. The only light came from the large circular pool of water that filled its center, held in a white granite well fifteen feet across. The solid wooden rafters that supported the tower were lined with Screechers, large humanoid creatures that looked more bat than human, with large bony wings and pointed ears. They sat like gargoyles, staring down into the room. The darkness hid them well, apart from their glowing green eyes that stuck out like stars in the midnight sky; eyes that watched the shimmering figure that moved from within the water’s image. They screeched and clicked their tongues at the figure on the edge of the well, watching the water intently. He stood wrapped in a thick, black wool cloak that hung on him like a heavy sheet and dragged on the ground. He stared into the water attentively.

The images that danced over the surface of water were of a dark place. The men in the image, dark and dirty with very poor light, moved and shuffled together in a space that left them shoulder-to-shoulder. They formed a workman’s line, moving materials from man to man through the line to the man in the back who tossed them in the metal cart that sat behind him. They moved quickly. Two men stood out amongst the group. They moved and looked different, and behaved different around the other men. They were unruffled and composed, even though they were slaves.

The fifth man back in the workman’s line, the man in the center of the watery image, held The Watcher’s gaze. It was too dark to see what he wore, but clearly fire burned behind his eyes hidden beneath his dark leather skullcap as he diligently worked with the other captives. The Watcher cracked a small smile as a single word exited his bloodless lips.

“Interesting . . ."

              The sun stretched its rays over the mountaintops, illuminating the brilliant blue sky that stood cloudless and warm. A slight breeze carried around fallen leaves, dried pieces of plants, and spread wonderful fresh air throughout the grasses. Birds sang their peaceful songs and the sound of people could be heard off in the distance; the birth of other beautiful day.

              In contrast to the deep green leaves that covered the trees and the lighter green grasses swaying  in the wind, Victoria stood on the edge of the woods, watching the line of vendors and tradesmen headed into Castle Belkin. Her heart pounded hard enough that she could hear it in her ears. Her adrenaline pumped and made her hands feel jittery. She sighed heavily, already regretting her plan, a plan she
had
to complete. She looked at the people; at the guards doing their job, at the vendors carrying baskets and pushing carts full of fruits, vegetables, crafts, and other knick-knacks, and her eyes fell to the ground. She had to do this; she had no choice.
Would this turn the tides of war? Does it matter? It will not affect me. My son will have the opportunity to live a full life, something that I cannot give him without help, and she is the only one who can help me. Does it really matter who wins this war? Aurora will not hurt me. Reinhold will not even know who I am. I
have
to do this. It is the only way. I am sorry. Please forgive me.
Victoria grabbed her woven basket of fresh breads and headed to the road.

              Victoria had grown up troubled. She had loving parents and never went without in life, but her ability made things difficult for her. She came from a small village with no Gifted. Everyone knew each other. When things were bad or needed done, all of the villagers would pitch in to make things work.

When she turned four years old, a fight with her three-year-old brother tragically cost him his life. She did not understand what  happened. She got angry with him because he threw mud on her dress  before they headed for church. She felt frustration and anger at his mocking laugh. Rage built up inside of her as he giggled his little, three-year-old laugh. He found it funny; a three year old doing what they do best, and a four year old who could not handle her younger brother. His eyes went white as they rolled back into his head. He collapsed to the floor.

Her parents, along with the rest of the local villagers, had no explanation of what happened; he did not have a mark on him. The villagers concluded it must have been his heart, even though Victoria thought otherwise. She knew when her anger built up inside of her and reached a peak that something happened; the that was the exact point her brother collapsed. Even though her parents assured her he died of natural causes, she knew different.

Victoria grew up to be a beautiful young woman. She had long, straight black hair and a light, fair skin. Her eyes were a deep brown; her daddy used to stare into them and tell her they were deep enough to see her soul. He would tell her all of the wonderful things he saw in her eyes. She loved him very much.

She had been skinny her whole life, but not by choice. She ate all of her dinner, and liked to snack on her mother’s homemade bread anytime she could, but she never gained weight. Her skinny figure stayed with her into her adult years.

She wore the simple black dress her mother made for her before she passed away. Although ragged along the bottom edge, she loved it because it reminded her of home. She blended right in with the walking merchants.

Four guards covered the merchant gate, two up in front, and two towards the back inside the walls. Each held a long spear that acted as a better resting pole than a weapon. They eyed the merchants carefully, wishing them good morning as they passed into the courtyard. Occasionally, they would stop a merchant and search the contents of their load. Victoria had been through this routine many times before. She made bread from her mother’s recipe and sold it to make her living, and although she did not make a lot of money, she made enough to support her and her son.

“You got more of that great bread girl?” a guard asked as she approached. He had an expecting smile on his face.

“Of course, Lilliam,” she said with a nod. Under normal circumstances, she would have been happy to talk to Lilliam. His wife loved her bread, and he would  buy a loaf or two every time she would come through the gates. He  looked forward to seeing her, and she always liked the extra coin he would give her. Today however, it saddened her to see him. She did not want to hurt him, or anyone, but she would if she had to. She could not look him in the eyes. It felt as if he could see right through her; to see what she planned on doing. She grabbed a loaf as she looked hard at the ground.

“Here you go. No charge." She held out the loaf in her hand.

An odd look grew on Lilliam’s face. “No charge?" He let out a bewildered chuckle. “Nonsense." He pulled out his coin purse. As he looked at her, his eyes squinted with concern. “You okay, Victoria? Is everything all right?”

Oh no, don’t make a scene. Don’t let him think something is wrong!

With a forced smile, she looked into his eyes. “Everything is fine, Lilliam! Don’t be silly! Now here, take your bread, you can catch me up on the bill tomorrow.”

With that, his expression relaxed and the smile came back to him. “All right. All right then. My wife will be pleased you stopped by today, you know, she just loves your bread.”

She gave him another small smile and nodded. “Thank you, I appreciate your business. I must get going." Her eyes hit the road again, her smile gone, and she moved back into the castle. She cleared the portcullis and approached the second set of guards. She thought she cleared the gates when a voice spoke a word that made her heart stop.

“Wait!”

Her eyes darted up to see if the voice called to her. Behind one of the guards, an older man, dressed like the other commoners, stood out of his wicker chair, and pointed a finger at her. “You! Wait!”

Oh no. . . .
Her heart stopped as the guards looked back at the man to see who he pointed at. He brushed by the guard as deep concern shaped his brow. He  shook his finger at her.

She could not let this happen. She had a mission, and if she did not complete it, her son would die. On any other day, she would never hurt an innocent man, but today, she had no choice.
It's now or never; him, or me.

Instantly, the look of concern faded from her face. She stopped walking as a rock solid expression became her new mask. Her eyes opened as she looked at the man who would ruin her plan. She let the flow of coolness take her. She reached deep, and unburied the strength within her. It overtook her, and the coolness exploded.

The man stopped in his tracks. The arm he pointing at her drained of strength as it slid down to his side. His eyelids closed and he collapsed. She took his life.

Move, you fool! Move!
Victoria dropped her head and moved past the wave of incoming vendors towards the inner wall. She saw the stable yard ahead. Maybe that would give her cover from the guards.

“The Sensor is down! Lockdown the gates! Now!" As the guard shouted his commands, the other guards scattered in organized chaos. Archers along the top wall split their distance and knocked their arrows, looking down into the courtyard. With a whistle from the watchtower, groups of uniformed and armed guards barreled out of the barracks building, scattering in all directions towards pre-designated areas. The gates slammed shut, followed by the clicking of the lock bars. Shouts of the commanders rang through the air. Weapons flashed and armored men flooded the area.

Victoria dashed towards the stables. Her calm demeanor vanished; her heart pounded, and her blood pumped like fire through her veins. Panic took over.
I have to make it! They can’t find me! I
must
do this!
She pushed forward so hard that she nearly fell over as guards scoured the courtyard.

Bursting into the stable house, Victoria’s foot caught an edge of gravel, causing her to fall headlong into the dirt. She sat there momentarily, belly down, trying to catch up with herself. She stared right into two leather boots. Her eyes followed the boots up to a pair of dirty pants a worn leather apron. An older man with a dirty but kind face smiled down to her. He held out his hand.

“You okay, miss?”

Victoria stared at him in fear. “It’s okay,” he said with a sympathetic gesture of his head. “I am not going to hurt you." His smile reminded her of her father, kind and gentle. He had soft wrinkles around his eyes and on his forehead, and nicely combed thin, grey hair. His eyes rose to the courtyard behind her where the guards moved like angry ants.

“You best take my hand, dear, for it seems you have attracted some unwanted attention." He reached down and grabbed her hand, pulling her up to her feet. Eagerness pushed his actions. “Hurry, get down,” he said as he moved her towards one of the stalls. A massive mare stood tethered inside, looking at them both with caution. “This is Sugar. Don’t worry, she’s as tender as they come,” he said as he pushed her head down behind the wall. He took a quick step outwards and took posture as though nothing happened.

Two guards ran into the entryway.

“Did you see a woman running this way?” the guard demanded. “The woman! Where is she?”

Victoria pushed her head up as close as possible to the wall. She nervously watched the stable master from her hiding spot.

“Girl? I haven't seen a girl."

The guards looked at him with disbelief. “We saw a woman running this way from the central courtyard. A man has been killed and we need to speak to her. She was seen fleeing the courtyard and headed this way.”

“I am sorry, there is no girl here. Just me and Sugar, and she isn’t the kind to be killing anyone,” he said, mocking the guards.

The guard gave him a frustrated glare, and exited the stable door to continue his search. The stable master stood there for a second before turning towards Victoria, holding his hand out to her. After a slight pause of hesitation, she took his hand and got to her feet.

“Now look, I don’t know why those men are searching for you, and to be frank, I really don’t care. I consider myself a good judge of character and you don’t look like someone who would be mixing herself up in the darkness of the world. Whatever you are here for, or whatever you are doing, please don't get yourself killed." He ran his finger along her cheekbone. The softest of smiles adorned his lips. “You look like my daughter. Please, take care of yourself. You can leave here through the back door.”

His simple act of kindness and compassion amazed her. She risked it all for her son, and his benevolence aided her quest. The small tears that filled the lids of her eyes showed him her appreciation. He smiled at her with genuine understanding as she ran for the back door.

She peeked outside the back of the stables. As she scanned the area, she saw the door to the kitchens. Heaps of broken crates surrounded the back door, and a mangy dog slept on an old rug off to the side. The sounds of clanging utensils and pots and pans came from within. Like an eagle, she watched the scattered guards.

Now! Go now!
Her legs would not move.
This is for Samuel! GO NOW!
Renewed energy exploded within her legs. She shot out of the doorway as if her shoes were on fire.

She had tunnel vision on the doorway, running as if her legs were powered by something unworldly. The ground past beneath her in a streaming blur. A few more strides and she would be  inside the castle, out of view of the guards along the wall. Before she reached the kitchens, a large armored soldier stepped in the doorway from within and peered outward, his eyes caught by the woman running at him. Victoria’s feet skid in the dirt as her arms stretched outward for balance, halting her sprint to a full stop. They looked at each other in surprise. That fraction of a second seemed like ages. A million thoughts raced throughout her head.
Oh no . . . am I busted? Is he going to capture me? I have been found! My son! No!

As the guard focused on Victoria, he took a deep breath and his lips opened, ready to yell.
I’m sorry, but you can’t stop me, not now!
The burly guard’s eyes rolled into his head as he crumpled into a limp pile. Immediately, she darted over him into the kitchen area, where numerous people were preparing and cooking food. Two women by the cauldron stirred and dropped vegetables inside from a wooden cutting board. A handful of heavy set women rolled and kneaded bread dough, as others moved and scurried mixing and moving materials from one table to another. Steaming pots and smoking pans covered the tabletops, giving the room a smell of spices and cooking meat.

All five women at the table in front of her stared at her with surprise and uncertainty. She did not have time to deal with them. She could see two sets of doors leading out of here; to the right a single door; old, splintered, and covered with years of dirty hand marks, and along the far wall a set of double doors, each with a small window in its center making it possible to see into the room beyond.
That has to lead to the dining chambers. That door has to be the servant’s doorway.
Victoria broke into a full run past the servants and smashed through the single door on the right side of the room.

She did not know where she headed, but she figured her best chance of finding it would be in the vaults, rumored to be underneath the castle. She looked for a way to head down. She ran down the hallway where an open doorway on the left lead into a well-lit room. Seven large washing basins sat in a circle in the middle. Five women sat and pulled sheets and clothes out of large baskets and pushed them into the water.
Not there.