Blood of the Scribes Read online

  Blood of the Scribes

  William Cali

  Contents

  By William Cali

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Epilogue

  From the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by William Cali

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Michael Hirshon

  http://hirshon.net/

  Editing by J Wade Dial

  [email protected]

  Formatted by Drew Avera Formatting

  https://drewavera.com/book-formatting/

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, events, and organizations portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination, or used fictitiously.

  This book is dedicated to my mother.

  I wish we had more time to get to know each other. I miss you every day.

  By William Cali

  Path of the Crusaders

  Book One: Out of Nowhere

  Book Two: Blood of the Scribes

  Prologue

  The orb glowed, showering Yozer’s chambers with dull light. Agme approached the artifact slowly, his hands twitching involuntarily.

  For as long as he had served his great master, the object had collected dust in the corner of the keep. “The orb is a container,” Yozer had explained. “It was made to store something of great importance. Pray you never see it filled.”

  But it is full now.

  Agme had been pacing the room in a panic, awaiting news of Yozer’s conquest. Days had passed, but he had been unable to summon his agents of the shadows, the crows, to gather information. My conjuring powers have weakened. Something horrible must have happened.

  A pale white mist seeped in through the cracks of the door. It circled around the orb, passing through the murky glass, and clouding the contents of the sphere. Agme regarded the glowing orb with an evil smile.

  “Master?”

  There was a deep rumble and Draemar Castle seemed to quake around him. The noise was deafening; Agme braced his ears, trying to block out the horrid pain. As the rumbling subsided, a familiar voice greeted him.

  “Who draws near?” Yozer’s voice boomed from the sphere.

  “Master! It is I, your faithful apprentice!” Agme studied the sphere. Could this be the secret to immortality that Yozer had discussed? “I knew it was you, Master. This essence, who else could it have been?”

  “Agme. Yes.” Yozer responded.

  “To be reduced to such a state, Master. What has happened? You could not have possibly fallen in battle!” Agme cursed under his breath. I warned him before he departed. I warned him that any person could die, even him.

  The orb was silent for some time, the mist darting from side to side. When Yozer’s essence finally spoke, it was filled with choking hatred. “Pent! Pent! That damned brute. He has slain me. I must have been wrong… He was a Crusader after all. Damned Crusaders. Kill them all! Kill! Kill! Kill Pent!” Yozer began to chant the words, as if they were a mantra.

  “Master,” Agme stammered. “You may still draw breath. You spoke to me once of this orb. The contingency, you called it. Immortality, the secret to your resurrection!”

  Yozer’s chanting slowly died off. “Yes… I have taught you well, Agme. I shall return from the grave and wreak a horrible vengeance on this world. However, in this form, I have need of your assistance. As those shadow warriors you summon do your bidding, so shall you be my agent in the world. Certain elements are needed to fuel my return.”

  Agme frowned. He walked over to the nearest bookshelf and selected an ancient tome. Yozer’s castle was full to the brim with knowledge. It would be easy enough to just leave him to his own devices and claim all of this for my own. The secrets that I need are surely here. But… “Master, you spoke of my crows. I had meant to send some to seek information on your whereabouts, but the summoning of them has become more taxing than ever. How can I serve you in this weakened state?”

  “It is true,” Yozer rumbled. “My power was vast in my old form, vast enough to augment one of far lesser talents.”

  Agme winced at the admission. He had long suspected that his growth in power was not entirely his own doing. “I see.”

  Yozer continued, “Even now, the effects of my powers should be fading away. The seals and runes I have placed in the world—that once prevented chaotic forces from unleashing their fury on mankind—will be lifted. Pent shall find a world much less safe than I’m sure he had anticipated. Pent. Pent. Kill Pent! Kill Pent! KILL PENT!”

  Agme dropped the book and approached the orb again. “Master, please! With enough time, we can deal with him. For now, we need to return you to power!” Agme said, thinking of his own return to power.

  “Yes, yes of course. Damn this form. We had best move quickly. I fear a… deterioration if we do not act with haste. You need three things to ensure my resurrection. The first is already within our grasp and is why I claimed this dread castle as my keep. The hemites that gather in the rivers below, they are essential.”

  Agme nodded. “Of course, Master.”

  “The next is the essence of one from that ancient race. I need the blood of the Scribes to fuel my second coming. As their passion wrote magic and the laws of nature into existence, so will they write my resurrection.”

  “But Master, the Scribes have not walked the land in centuries. How can I gather such a thing when it no longer exists?”

  Yozer chuckled harshly. It sounded as if a sword was being scraped against a stone. Agme trembled. “You fool. You will need to be wiser if you mean to serve me. The Scribes have not walked in this world for years because of men far greater than yourself.” Yozer’s chuckle became a wheeze as he continued, “Karpas was the first, but I learned his lessons well. We sealed the Scribes away in times long passed, for their power and thirst were more dangerous than any other creatures’ in Cinraia. I am standing between two worlds, in the veil between life and death. And so, the last of those seals will be fading. The havoc they will reap may be a horror for the world to behold, but it is a convenience for us. Capture a Scribe, Agme, and bring me its blood.”

  “I shall do as you command, my master.” Agme hesitated, then asked, “And what of the third component?”

  The temperature in the room plummeted until Agme could see h
is breath turning to frost in the air. The mist that was Yozer swirled around in the orb as if he was dancing in delight.

  “Why, the last piece is the most exciting of all. You just need a corpse. The corpse of a Crusader!”

  Chapter One

  Pent gazed down from the cliff’s edge at the village of Somerville tucked away in its natural ravine, taking in the lay of the land. He drew a deep breath, and though he had already spent over a month in this strange new world, the allure of nature still had a certain appeal. The air was fresh, not a hint of trash or pollution. And the sky was full of sounds of life, but no cars or planes. The longer I stay here, the more it feels like home, he thought.

  He surveyed Somerville—the new Somerville. Or is this the old one? He shook his head. The one without technology; the one that a bunch of medieval, fairytale villagers lived in. Not the Somerville with the busted grocery store he used to work at, the Somerville with knights and wizards. Sorcerers, I guess. That’s more accurate. Sorcerers, one of which I killed less than a week ago.

  He rubbed at his face. A bit of curly beard was growing there; it had been awhile since he had had a good shave. His hair was getting unruly, too. “Hey, Hanar. I know you guys don’t have barbers here, how do you keep this in control?”

  The woodsman shuffled from behind the trees. He scratched at his own beard in his familiar, contemplative manner. Hanar was tall, only a couple of inches shorter than Pent. But definitely not as big as me. Hanar’s tunic was loose fitting, hanging awkwardly from his wiry frame. He was thin, but strong, Pent knew. A lifetime of hunting animals with nothing but that bow has kept him in shape.

  “I don’t think you need any upkeep there.” Hanar said as he continued to scratch his beard. Pent smiled. Of course, he wouldn’t see an issue. Hanar’s scraggly dark red beard was always disheveled. The man spent so much time in the woods away from others, he clearly didn’t see the need for tidying up.

  “Let me be the judge of that,” Pent said.

  “Very well, my friend. You have your blade with you? The one that bends in and out?”

  “My folder, yeah.” Pent reached into his pocket and withdrew the folding knife. He may have left his jeans behind, but his new pants had pockets sewn in them all the same. Can’t get rid of all the modern amenities, can I?

  “Follow me then. There is a stream back in the forest we can use. The village can last a little longer without our presence,” Hanar said, smiling. “It’ll give you more time to share your tales of conquest with me!”

  Pent sighed, but he followed closely behind Hanar. “Man, how many times do we have to go through this? You’ve already heard all there is to say!”

  “That can’t be all there was,” Hanar said, deftly ducking a branch. Pent had to sway to avoid it, but Hanar moved swiftly, as if he was born in the woods.

  “That’s it. I was just one guy, fighting along with everyone in Somerville. All those villagers, they are the heroes here.”

  “Of course,” Hanar said. “And we’ll never forget the sacrifice of those we lost. But you, Pent. You toppled the king of the world. You defeated Yozer!” Hanar spoke with a tone of religious awe as he said the sorcerer’s name.

  Pent shook his head, happy to see the stream that Hanar had mentioned. They approached it together.

  “He wasn’t ready for me,” Pent said at last. “He wasn’t ready for this either.” Pent tapped on his shoulder holster, feeling the impression of the gun beneath his tunic. “No magic required.”

  “Every Crusader has their sword,” Hanar said.

  Pent scoffed. “Oh yeah? Well, swords don’t run out of bullets, so I’m not sure about all that.”

  Pent leaned over the stream, looking at his reflection in the slow-moving water. Crusader. He ran a hand through his curly hair and across his beard. He ran his arms down the length of his new outfit. I’ve been here maybe a month, and they’re already calling me hero names. And all it took was killing a bunch of people I’d never met and barely surviving a crazy battle.

  It was a far step away from his life before. He had gone from bagging groceries to fighting knights, from slamming beers at the bar with his deadbeat friend to parlaying with a hundred-year-old wizard. A wizard with a bizarre name. Who names their child Gordenthorpe?

  “I look so different in this getup,” Pent said. “I wonder if momma would recognize me.”

  Momma. He couldn’t forget about her. Or about everything he had left behind. I haven’t had a chance to search for some kind of way home. But maybe now things will be calm enough. Maybe now I can venture out past Somerville’s borders and see if I can figure out a way home.

  He hadn’t been the first person to desert his mother without a word. His father had left home, years ago, done with his responsibilities as a parent, as a husband. Or maybe he found something better on the west coast. I always thought he looked like some kind of surfer bum in those pictures. That punk. Wherever he was now, Pent didn’t know, and he didn’t care either. But I can’t do moms like that, can I?

  Hanar rested his hand on Pent’s shoulder. “You seem troubled, my friend.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Thinking of the world you left behind again?” Hanar asked, shaking his head. “Or perhaps thinking of your father?”

  “I’m like an open book then, huh?”

  Hanar stifled a laugh. “You’ve spoken of your troubles, almost as much as I’ve asked about Yozer.” His expression sobered as he stared into Pent’s eyes. “Regardless of what kind of man your father was, you are not him. You are a hero. The hero of Somerville. The hero of the world!”

  Pent laughed. “Well help a hero out then.” He handed his folder over to Hanar. “Tighten up my hair in the back, would you?”

  Hanar palmed the knife, staring at it inquisitively. “I usually handle my hair by myself.”

  “Hey, this is my first rodeo. And I don’t think I’m gonna find a barber who can deal with these curls. So, you’re my best bet.” Pent shook his head. “Just keep it short. I’ll handle my beard.”

  Pent watched as the shavings fell into the water. They drifted down the stream, following the path of the slow current. Hanar took his time, pulling strands of hair straight out and sawing through them.

  I don’t know about a hero. But damn, I’ve already made bigger waves here in a month than I did in my entire life back home. Back in his old home, he was like those strands of hair—just going slowly with the flow. No control over his direction in life. But now... He leaned over, scooped up a rock, and cast it into the river. Now I’m making waves.

  “It would be best to stay still as I work my friend,” Hanar said. “I don’t want to take off more than you’ve asked.”

  Hanar continued uninterrupted, stopping when he felt satisfied. “It is certainly shorter than it was.”

  Pent ran his hand through his hair, then looked down at his reflection in the water. “Yeah. Yeah, this is good. Good work man, you could have opened a barbershop in my world.”

  Hanar smiled. “Many shoes, my friend.”

  “No, no. It’s many hats. Not many shoes.” Pent shook his head. “Never mind. Let me get that knife so I can touch up this beard.”

  Hanar handed the blade over. “You’ll want to wet it first and go slowly.” He laughed, scratching at his own beard, and casting Pent an embarrassed look. “I’ve since given up the practice! Too many close calls for my taste.”

  “Looking at that beard you’re rocking, I don’t find that hard to believe.” Pent leaned as close to the water as he could, slowly applying the blade to the month’s growth of wiry whiskers. Hanar looked over from time to time to see his progress. Before long he was finished, his face looking cleaner than it had in weeks.

  “Much better. I definitely think Ellie will appreciate this,” Pent said.

  “Ellie? Why would she appreciate it?” Hanar asked. “Is this some kind of matter related to your health?”

  Pent shook his head. “Never mind man. Let’s m
ake our way back to town.”

  Hanar nodded. He took point, leading the way past the stream and back to the edge of the forest. Pent followed a step behind and continued to dodge branches, as well as dodge questions about his involvement in the battle against Yozer.

  Before long, they were back to the cliffside again, looking down at the village of Somerville.

  “Do you remember when we first visited this edge, when you arrived here for the first time?” Hanar asked.

  “You know I do—looked like something out of National Geographic,” Pent said. “I was still in disbelief that all this could be real and was trying to figure out a way to wake up. Part of me still doesn’t believe it, if I’m being honest with you.

  Hanar looked at Pent, his expression slightly hurt. “I suppose I will never know what it’s like to be so suddenly jarred from one life and thrown into another.”

  Pent shrugged. “It takes some getting used to. But I’m trying to make the best of it.”

  He took in the village below: the small but well-constructed homes of wood and stone; the village square; the simple people, milling from house to house. It’s like one of those groves from Lord of the Rings, except without the hobbit holes and little people.