The Alchemist: Dark Horizon (The Alchemist Saga Book 2) Read online

  Jaric snorted. “…and then there’s the magic.”

  “Magic, eh? Not surprising, I guess. Disappointing, maybe.”

  “You have something against magic-users?” Jaric shot back, ready to lash out in defense of his friends and their powers.

  “Not in the least. Just one more thing I didn’t know about him. He’s also smarter than you think. There was a time where I thought he would be the greatest tactician and ruler the Vrelin Empire had ever seen.” Isum’s expression saddened. “And now he’ll be its undoing. A lot of good all that schooling did.”

  Eilith sniffled, holding her dingy wedding handkerchief to her nose.

  Isum continued. “I also know of your comrade. She’s a formidable foe, a well-trained warrior. We’ll have to deal with that situation delicately.”

  “You assume a lot for a man who’s never met her.” Jaric eyed him.

  Isum quirked an eyebrow and continued. “Roann will put up a fight, as I’m sure Kaia will as well.” Isum swirled the brandy around in the small tumbler. “He’s lost himself, Lyrax saw to that a long time ago. I should have known something wasn’t right with him the day after his father died.”

  “Isum?” Eilith’s attention piqued at the mention of Artol. “What do you mean?”

  “He almost killed me. Sparring. I knew right away it wasn’t the fog of training—or grief. There was a fire in his eyes I had never experienced before.” The weapon master sighed. “He was a man possessed, if only for a fleeting moment. A quick slash to the ribs turned him off, and he regained his mind. But still…”

  “Keeping a close eye on Roann and Lyrax will be top priority. Mounting an attack before we’ve had time to raise an army and plan would be foolish.” Symond mulled over his words before continuing. “Clandestine reconnaissance.”

  “Spies? I like the way you think, Your Majesty.” Jaric’s eyes twinkled with nostalgia. “You would have fit in nicely with the spymasters in the Guard.”

  “There was no outfit more honorable. And please, call me Symond. In times like these, there is no need for formality.” The king rang a small silver bell kept tableside and summoned his steward. The young woman emerged from a panel door in the side wall. “Elynor? Would you please call for Commander Pourth? Tell him there’s wine. He’ll be here in a heartbeat.”

  “How big is your army, if you don’t mind me asking?” Jaric grabbed a slice of cheese from the tray on the table.

  “Not anywhere near the forces Roann has at his disposal, unfortunately. But, they’re a well-trained lot, and we have reserve soldiers.”

  “I guess it’s a start, then.” Jaric took a bite of his cheese, wincing at the moldy aftertaste. He politely set the rest down on a napkin with an embarrassed smile.

  Symond chuckled. “Zaiterran goat cheese isn’t for everyone.”

  “Well, I hate to be a rude guest, but what else do you have? I’m famished.”

  The king smiled warmly. “I’m sure you are. My staff is preparing a feast as we speak. Of course, I hope your large friend will join us as well?”

  Jaric’s expression sobered. “Grildi. He won’t leave Ryris’ side. I can bring him something later, if that’s alright with you.”

  “Of course. I’ll see to it he has whatever he desires.” Symond filled Jaric’s glass with more wine. “In the meantime, I’d like to propose a toast. I hope it’s not in bad taste seeing as though the world is about to be in shambles.”

  Eilith raised her glass, Jaric and Isum mirroring her actions.

  Symond cleared his throat and spoke with determination. “To victory. To regaining ourselves. To finding lost friends—and healing old ones.”

  “To victory…” Jaric responded, draining his goblet.

  Isum eyed them all before taking a sip of his brandy.

  ~~~

  Grildi stood in the corner of the room, relegated to the sidelines as the doctors worked. He nervously chewed his fingernails. The sun had set, and the entire chamber was bathed in the brilliant light of dozens of oil lamps.

  He didn’t like going to the doctor, they always made him nervous and made him take icky-tasting medicine. The few times he absolutely had to visit the town physician, he always dragged Ryris along for moral support. And watching them fret over his friend now, his stomach lurched. Grildi hoped Ryris wasn’t in any pain.

  The physicians moved efficiently, stripping Ryris of all his clothes to make a thorough examination. Grildi averted his eyes for a moment, not wanting to intrude on his modesty. One of the doctors covered his groin with a towel. Ryris shivered unconsciously on the bed, his naked body now exposed to the chill of the room air. Grildi just wanted to keep him safe, to comfort him.

  Because the sight before him was truly awful.

  Ryris’ entire body was a mottled mess of bruises and blood. His chest rose and fell with labored tension, each breath a struggle. The joint of his left shoulder bulged awkwardly from the socket, obviously dislocated. An angry-looking burn marked his sternum above his heart, a remnant of the searing-hot amulet’s fury. One-by-one, as each of Ryris’ swollen eyes resisted being pried open to inspect his pupils, Grildi was greeted by a horrifying sight: the whites were stained bright red. One of the physicians removed the bandage from his temple and scowled. Another turned his head to the side to inspect the contusion to the back of his skull. His lips were caked with dried blood. Prodding and poking, they examined every inch of his body before turning their attention to treatment. The alchemist never stirred.

  Grildi wrung his hands together and willed tears not to fall from his eyes. He needed to be strong for Ryris. He couldn’t cry again.

  The physicians carefully cleaned the wounds on Ryris’ body before thoroughly drying them. One of them slathered a sticky green balm across the burn on his chest. The wound on his scalp would require stitches, the doctor said, and Grildi cringed. He remembered cutting his finger as a child, and the town medicine man had sewn it up. It hurt—and he didn’t want Ryris to be in any more pain. For now, the physician placed a clean piece of fabric soaked in antiseptic underneath Ryris’ head until it was time to suture.

  Grildi heard their words, even if he didn’t understand most of the medical jargon they were using. He had no idea what a clavicle was, but the doctors talked about it being broken. Phrases like contusion, hemorrhaging, and sepsis floated around the room. Big, scary words like those could only mean trouble.

  He didn’t know if it was all the commotion, but Ryris suddenly began to moan, writhing slightly under the hands of the doctors. Knowing they had to work fast before he completely awakened, they swiftly began work on his dislocated shoulder. One of the physicians held his arm out straight, while the other violently popped it back into place. The sound sent a chill down Grildi’s spine. Unfortunately, it was all the motivation Ryris needed to be rocketed back to the realm of the conscious, for he cried out in pain and began to flail.

  Instinctively, Grildi dashed to his side, nearly bowling one of the doctors over to get close to his friend. He laid a comforting hand on Ryris’ forehead and leaned in close, his voice a soothing whisper.

  “Boss…it’s me, Grildi. You know, from Blackthorne.” He thought carefully on his words, knowing he needed to be reassuring, even though he was scared out of his mind. “You’ve got to be brave. Remember? Like a lion.”

  Ryris mumbled incoherently and tried to pull away from the doctor securing his injured arm in a sling. He wasn’t sure if the alchemist heard him. Grildi patted his hand and gently held the limb steady so the physician could finish treatment. Ryris eventually calmed, falling back into unconsciousness. Even though Grildi was happy to see him awake, he was relieved he had gone back under. It had to have been terribly painful to be manipulated like that while injured. At least Grildi finally felt useful again and was happy to help the doctors.

  The physicians eventually took their leave, having done all they could for the moment. Grildi asked what was to happen next, and was greeted with a straightforward, ‘we wait.’

  Grildi stared at his feverish friend and wondered how long it would take for him to get better. If he even would get better. He remembered back to Roann’s vicious attacks and shuddered. It was amazing Ryris had even survived.

  But he had survived.

  And now, he had to thrive. For Kaia. For the cause. For himself.

  Grildi knew he could do it. After all, it was Ryris who taught him to be braver in the first place. Any time he was scared, Ryris was always right there for him. Now it was time to repay the favor. Ryris would be scared—so scared—when he woke. He would be in pain and be wracked with sadness and guilt. And it would be Grildi’s job to make sure he hung on. The large man sat up straight in his chair, an air of pride sweeping over him. He was going to be strong for Ryris. He was his sworn protector.

  The gentle giant reached over and took Ryris’ clammy hand in his own and watched the alchemist sleep. He hoped he was having nice dreams.

  ~~~

  “Kaia!”

  Grildi nearly toppled from his chair, having fallen asleep at the alchemist’s bedside. He turned his attention to his flailing friend, his body jerking under the layers of blankets piled atop of his weak body.

  His left arm in a sling, Ryris struggled as he attempted to reach out into thin air, combating invisible demons. He raved; nonsensical gibberish tumbling from his feverish lips. Sweat soaked his hair and beaded on his forehead. His eyes shot open, revealing red-stained whites. The bandages constricting the young man’s chest bulged as he writhed on the bed. Grildi was terrified Ryris would hurt himself. He was just plain terrified.

  “Kaia!” He screamed again, his frantic eyes scanning the room.

  All the bravery Grildi had instilled in himself earlier in the evening was gone in a
heartbeat. Never in his life had he seen Ryris so out of control. Laying a gentle hand on his left bicep—partly to soothe him, partly to immobilize his injured arm—he made sure his voice was the calmest it had ever been. With terror running through his veins, however, it was harder than he thought it would be.

  “Ryris…you’re safe! I’m right here and I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

  Ryris grabbed for Grildi, his wild eyes unseeing in the dimly-lit room. He seemed to stare right past him. The bandage on his temple slid off, the newly-formed scab underneath going along with the fabric. The wound immediately began to bleed again, staining the pillow.

  “Gotta…get out! Kaia...! Run…! Need to…” Ryris clawed at Grildi’s arms, trying desperately to scramble from the bed. His strength was incredible for a man knocking at death’s door.

  “Please, Ryris! You gotta calm down! You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

  The alchemist kept struggling, the soft blankets tumbling to the floor. His pillow slid from the bed, knocking over a bottle filled with antiseptic. Grildi stood, whined softly while wringing his hands together, and made a split-second decision. As gently as he could, but keeping pressure on the flailing alchemist, he pressed down on his shoulders just enough to keep him from leaping from the bed. Ryris kept screaming out, his agitated and frightened voice cutting through Grildi’s very soul. He fought the tears threatening to come.

  “Wh-where…?” Ryris’ eyes glistened with moisture. His determination was quickly being replaced by fear. “…Grildi? Please…!”

  “We’re in Zaiterra, Boss. You’re safe…” Grildi felt awful for holding him down but would not let go.

  “Zai…” Ryris’ eyes bulged once again, and he tried to sit up, his fever-hot body straining against Grildi’s strength. “No! Roann…! Don’t…!”

  The alchemist thrashed under Grildi’s restraint, threatening to tumble off the bed. Tears wicked the corners of the massive man’s eyes. As the doctors rushed in to see what the commotion was, the look of sheer terror in Ryris’ eyes was more than Grildi could bear. He wished Kaia was there to help. She’d know what to do.

  One of the physicians took out a small envelope of pink powder and forced Ryris’ mouth open. He sprinkled it on the alchemist’s tongue. Within seconds, Ryris relaxed and stopped screaming. Moments later, his eyes fluttered shut and the room was once again devoid of chaos. The physicians hovered around him for several minutes, readjusting bandages and repositioning him on the bed. As they took their leave, the last doctor paused at Grildi’s side.

  “You did the right thing by holding him down until we arrived. He would have hurt himself if you hadn’t.” She patted him on the arm while offering a warm, sincere smile. Grildi liked this doctor. She smelled nice and paid attention to him. The others didn’t even notice him half the time and didn’t bother to give him any updates.

  “Will he get better?” He tried to hide the warble in his voice.

  “In time.”

  “Aye. Time…” He looked back at his friend in the bed. Ryris seemed smaller than ever. “Thank you for takin’ such good care of him.”

  “You’re welcome.” She put something small in his hand and closed his fingers around it. “Your other friend told me you might like these.”

  As she walked away and closed the door, Grildi opened his palm. The doctor had deposited two wrapped hard candies in his hand. He hoped they tasted like berries. He stashed them in his pocket for later. Now was not the time to be eating sweets. He decided he would save them both and share with Ryris when he woke up.

  Making his way back to the alchemist’s bedside, he once again took his seat, sitting vigil as he waited for the next sign of life from his friend. He just hoped this time it would be calmer. Reaching out, he took Ryris’ hand and held it tight.

  “I’m right here, Boss. Right here…”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “A man is only as strong as his will. And in turn, his will only as strong as his body. For if the body gives out, the will is sure to follow.”

  --Proverb, Reymond the Instigator

  As searing pain ripped through his chest, Roann instantly knew several of his ribs had cracked.

  Pushed up against the wall, the young man allowed himself to be pummeled, knowing full well there was a good chance he wouldn’t leave the room alive. Bony hands imbued with crackles of electricity slammed his abdomen, forcing the air from his lungs. He could fight back, but it would mean certain death. Lyrax hadn’t expressed explicitly what the beating was for, but Roann knew.

  He had let them go.

  His heart lusting after his new prize, he left his guards to deal with his mother, Kaia’s friends…and that alchemist. His errant decision was not without consequences, and Lyrax was currently seeing to it that Roann suffered for his mistake.

  Blood dripped from his nose, his right eye swollen shut. His stomach lurched as the necromancer kept at him, Lyrax’ blows precise and vicious. Volley after volley of unrelenting pain washed over him, and Roann’s skin tingled with the telltale after-effects of magically-enhanced punches. He may look frail, but Lyrax’ strength was that of many men.

  His vision blackened at the edges, and Roann realized he was moments from losing consciousness. It would be no respite.

  The two days after the incident in the palace were surprisingly enjoyable. Lyrax’ insatiable need for rest allowed Roann to take his time getting to know his new companion on the most intimate of levels. The necromancer had all but disappeared, falling into a trance-like state to recover from the faltering necromantic aura. The amulet’s initial surge of power waned quickly, and Lyrax was left weaker than before. Only undisturbed rest would allow him to recuperate.

  It allowed Roann and Kaia to bask in one another’s energy.

  When Lyrax finally emerged from his hibernation, and discovered the prisoners weren’t dead in the square, Roann experienced his ungodly wrath. Lyrax had been swift and uncaring, yanking the young emperor from his bed without so much as a word to Kaia, and disappearing into a cloud of angry red mist. Seconds later they appeared in Roann’s training arena, with Lyrax immediately beginning his assault. Roann fought back at first, but it only made the striking blows fly faster and with more fury. Unconsciousness had come quickly the first time.

  When he awoke, Roann lay in a puddle of his own blood on the stone floor. Naked at the time of his—capture—the tiles were cold against his skin. Lyrax stood against the side of the chamber. Without any words, upon seeing his protégé return to the realm of the conscious, he picked up where he left off.

  Throughout the day, the vicious cycle continued, with Lyrax beating Roann into blackness time and again. The necromancer would leave from time to time, healing the young man enough to stave off death.

  The only thing keeping Roann clinging to reality was Kaia. Her face, her voice, the prospect of feeling her touch once more. The ecstasy he had experienced mere moments before his punishment kept him going. He longed to feel it again. In his darkest moments, when Lyrax’ blows were particularly vicious and agonizing, he imagined her with him, urging him to hang on—for her.

  And here they were.

  The emperor’s body cried out for reprieve, his mind losing focus every time the pain washed over him. He knew there was no way he could physically fight back, not in his present condition. Yes, he was a trained fighter, a veritable master with a katana, and perfectly capable of taking down a foe with his bare hands if need be—but not when he was on his knees, bleeding from his ears, and unable to breathe without gasping. But he had to do something. Death was close, of that he was certain. And this time, he wasn’t sure Lyrax would allow him the luxury of backing away from the precipice of the abyss.

  Roann tasted the metallic tang of blood, and briefly thought of verbally defending himself. Speak up, and maybe Lyrax would see it from his perspective? What did he have to lose? His life? That already belonged to the crazed necromancer. It had ceased to be his long ago. His pride? What good would pride be if he were dead in a bloody heap on the floor, his kingdom belonging solely to Lyrax? His love? Kaia’s face floated in front of his fogged eyes. Even before he had turned her with the potion, he had harbored feelings for her. There was no way he could deny those emotions. He just hoped, even with the magical wisps floating through her veins, her feelings were as true as his, buried as though they may be.