Seeker of Legends (Fate of Legends Book 2), page 1
Seeker of Legends
Books by Clayton Taylor Wood:
The Runic Series:
Runic Awakening
Runic Revelation
Runic Vengeance
The Fate of Legends Series
Hunter of Legends
Seeker of Legends
Destroyer of Legends
Seeker of Legends
Book II of the Fate of Legends series
Clayton Taylor Wood
Copyright ©2018 by Clayton Taylor Wood.
All rights reserved.
This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published by Clayton T. Wood.
ISBN: 978-1-948497-91-6
Cover designed by James T. Egan, Bookfly Design, LLC
Printed in the United States of America.
Special thanks to my brothers and my wife for their invaluable advice.
And to my son Hunter, for whom this book was written.
Table of Contents
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
Epilogue
About the Author
Seeker of Legends
Prologue
Countless stars shone down on the King’s Road, a seemingly endless series of stone slabs suspended seven meters above the ground by massive wooden posts. The three moons of Varta, nearly full now, cast their pale glow on the forest the road cut through, casting soft shadows on the forest floor. A cool wind whipped through the trees, a prelude to menacing clouds approaching slowly from the west.
And on the King’s Road, a lone carriage rolled steadily northward toward the Kingdom of Tykus, pulled by two burly horses.
Seeker Dante shifted uneasily in his seat inside the carriage, his buttocks aching from the days-long ride through the forest. The carriage was old and worn, the seat cushions stiff and uncomfortable. It was far from the usual luxury the Guild of Seekers provided. No one who managed to spot the carriage would think it was owned by the guild…or that it carried such precious cargo.
And that, Dante knew, was precisely the point.
He glanced to his right, at the other man seated in the carriage, a younger man with light brown hair and a pencil-thin mustache. It was Seeker Murin, a low-ranked Seeker Dante was mentoring. The man – practically a boy – was still green, fresh out of his apprenticeship. As with most fresh graduates, Murin’s confidence far exceeded his competence. With experience, that would change.
If it doesn’t, Dante mused, he’ll be dead.
Dante sighed, looking down at the large wooden music box sitting between them on the seat cushions. It was well-made, with intricate designs carved into every inch of its exterior. A convincing counterfeit; anyone lifting the lid would find a fully-functioning machine inside. But hidden within that machine was a sealed secret compartment, nestled between its gears. And in that compartment was an obsidian container containing a very valuable artifact.
A very illegal artifact.
What the artifact did exactly, Dante didn’t know. That was often the case with the guild when they acted as their own client. Most Seekers retrieved artifacts for private clients, giving a percentage of their profits to the guild. A few of the more skilled – and more trustworthy – Seekers ran missions for the guild itself, retrieving artifacts that High Seeker Zeno felt were necessary to strengthen the guild. These artifacts were sacred indeed; the traits stored within them were almost guaranteed to increase the powers of all the Seekers, making them stronger, faster, or smarter.
Each artifact brought them one step closer to the Founder’s grand vision: the Ascension.
Seeker Murin stirred, glancing at Dante.
“That was some weird shit, huh?” he said, shaking his head. “The Kingdom of the Deep, I mean.”
Dante said nothing, not meeting the man’s gaze. He recognized the statement for what it was…a banal conversation-starter. Silence made Murin nervous. It was a weakness of the young, and it betrayed a lack of self-confidence. All signs of a low-level Seeker. Assuming he was ever promoted, Murin would be exposed to a stronger form of the Founder’s will, through an upgraded Seeker medallion. This would cure his weaknesses eventually, even if experience did not.
“If you ask me,” Murin continued, “…they’re all a bunch of freaks.” He smirked then. “Ever wonder how they, you know?”
“No, I don’t,” Dante grumbled.
“How they do it,” Murin continued. “Especially the guy who sold us that,” he added, gesturing to the music box. “I mean come on, the guy was huge.”
“Like I said,” Dante stated coolly, “…I don’t.”
“They’re not even human anymore,” Murin pressed, oblivious to Murin’s unspoken sentiment – that he didn’t want to talk. “They’re like…animals there.”
Dante ignored the younger Seeker, closing his eyes and resting his head back against his seat. They’d traveled from the Kingdom of the Deep, passing through the Glade of the Deep to reach the King’s Road. Then they’d taken the road all the way to the Fringe, the last few kilometers of forest before the Deadlands…and the Kingdom of Tykus. A vast wasteland, the Deadlands was all that remained of the old Outskirts, a city once filled with peasants. Peasants that, under the leadership of the Original, had risen up to start the great Civil War a half-century ago.
Tykus had driven the peasants – and the Original – out, laying waste to the old Outskirts, digging the tainted earth of the ruined city up and tossing it into the ocean.
Dante stifled a yawn. It would only be another hour before they reached the Deadlands, and not much longer than that before they made it to the great wall surrounding Tykus. Going through customs would be risky, as usual; if they were caught transporting illegal artifacts, they would be tried and convicted of treason. Thus the necessity of building the music box around the obsidian container housing the artifact; customs officials would not break apart such a delicate machine to find the artifact, and the wood of the music box would insulate the traits emitted by the artifact, making them difficult to sense.
Dante had been through the process countless times, and had never been caught. A skilled smuggler like himself was exceedingly valuable to the guild…a fact that had made him a wealthy man.
Customs would use the guild’s own Seekers to test the artifacts, as was the protocol. These Seekers were trained differently than the rest, of course. None carried the Founder’s will. The kingdom tested each of these “false” Seekers by having mentally deficient, weak-willed people called Testers spend time with them, absorbing their wills. Then the Testers were extensively questioned by the kingdom. Any anti-Tykus sentiments a person might have would be absorbed by the Testers, and as they were simple-minded, they would not think to hide them.
A real Seeker would not stand up to such scrutiny.
“Wonder what that thing is,” Murin mused, breaking the silence. His eyes were on the music box.
“If you’re smart,” Dante grumbled, “…you’ll never find out.”
“Why’s that?”
“You should know why,” Dante retorted. It was well-known that artifacts from the Kingdom of the Deep were often wild artifacts, those containing traits that weren’t human. In the Kingdom of the Deep, humanity was not valued as it was in Tykus, and it was perfectly legal to expose oneself to wild traits. In Tykus, such a thing was forbidden. Preservation of one’s humanity was the sacred mission of the Acropolis, the great fortress where the highest nobles lived…and King Tykus himself.
“I wonder if this came from the Deep,” Murin mused. Dante glanced at him.
“Doubt it.”
“Why’s that?” Murin pressed. “What is the Deep, anyway?”
Dante sighed.
“What did I tell you about asking questions?” he stated wearily. Murin grimaced.
“Don’t ask more than one at a time.”
“You know it,” Dante stated. “So do it.”
< br /> “Right,” Murin muttered. He shifted uneasily in his seat. “So what is the Deep?” he pressed.
“No one knows,” Dante answered. “Except maybe High Seeker Zeno. All I know is the Great One went there a long time ago.”
“What was what, a hundred years ago?”
“Hell of a lot longer than that,” Dante corrected.
Suddenly there was an ear-splitting shriek.
Dante’s gaze jerked forward, and he spotted the horse on the right through the front window of the carriage. It reared up on its hind legs, then bolted leftward, slamming into the other horse. The driver shouted something unintelligible, yanking back on the reins. But the horse ignored the driver, breaking out into a gallop, veering off to the left…and bringing the carriage with it.
“What the hell?” Murin blurted out.
Then Dante saw what’d spooked the horse: an arrow was sticking out of its right flank.
“Get out,” Dante ordered, shoving Murin toward the rightmost door of the carriage. “Go!”
Both horses veered to the left, bring the carriage rolling straight toward the leftmost edge of the King’s Road…and the sheer, twenty-foot drop to the ground below.
“Get out!” Dante shouted, shoving the music box off the seat and diving rightward toward Murin’s door. He grabbed the door handle and pulled it, shoving the door open…just as the carriage’s front left wheel rolled off the edge of the road.
Shit!
Dante scrambled over Murin’s lap toward the open door…and felt the carriage tilt to the left, making him slide toward the opposite door. His back slammed into it, and he grunted, bracing himself. He saw the horses plunge off the side of the King’s Road, then felt his stomach lurch as the carriage entered into free-fall.
His Seeker instincts kicked in.
He curled into a ball, ducking his head in his arms, every muscle relaxing, going limp. He felt the carriage accelerating downward, time slowing as it careened toward the ground seven meters below. The carriage driver leapt from his seat outside of the carriage, falling to the right of the horses. As Dante watched, the horses slammed head-first into the ground, the driver hitting moments later. The driver’s seat struck next, disintegrating as it smashed into the forest floor. The front of the carriage exploded, pieces of wood and stone flying toward Dante. He closed his eyes, remaining limp.
And then there was darkness.
* * *
Dante groaned, opening his eyes.
He found himself lying on his back, staring upward at the seat cushions of the carriage. He frowned, wondering how they’d gotten up there…then realized that he was lying on the ceiling. The carriage had flipped upside-down.
He heard groaning, and turned to see Murin lying beside him, a deep gash in the man’s forehead. Blood poured from the wound, forming a puddle under their heads. Dante grimaced, sitting up, feeling pain in his back and arms as he did so. He looked down, seeing pieces of glass and wooden splinters jutting out of his forearms…and his legs. Sharp, stabbing pain shot through the left side of his chest with each breath, and he grunted, putting a hand on his ribs there. The merest touch brought him agony.
What the hell happened?
It took him a moment to remember, and when he did, he swore.
“Get up,” he ordered Murin, rising to a crouching position, ignoring the pain the movement caused. He lent the younger Seeker a hand, pulling him to his feet. Murin looked dazed, his eyes glassy. Concussed.
“What…” he began, but Dante cut him off.
“They’re coming,” he growled. “Go out that way,” he added, gesturing to the still-open door nearest the man. “I’ll go the other way.”
“Who-”
“Shut up and go!” Dante hissed, shoving Murin toward the door. He turned to his door, yanking at the lever to open it. But it didn’t budge. He swore.
They’re watching, he knew. Whoever had shot the horse. If they saw his door open, they’d know he was trying to escape. Hopefully Murin stumbling out of the carriage would be distract the enemy. The kid was useless now, except as bait.
Dante waited for Murin to get clear of the carriage, then braced himself, kicking his door just below the handle. It burst open.
A fresh jolt of pain shot through his ribs, and he held his breath, his eyes watering. He waited for the pain to lessen, taking shallow breaths. Eventually it did.
He peered outside.
Pieces of the shattered carriage were strewn across the forest floor, lined by pale moonlight. The carriage had struck front-first, then tipped over onto its back. Which explained why it was upside-down. He spotted a man lying in a broken heap nearby…the driver.
If the man wasn’t dead, he would be soon.
Dante drew his longsword from its scabbard slowly, turning so that his body was blocking the blade from view. Otherwise whoever had shot them down might see the moonlight flashing on the blade. He peered into the darkness, seeing nothing but trees and bushes.
Then he heard footsteps behind him.
Crunch, crunch.
Dante spun around, then relaxed. It was Murin; the man was limping into the forest, his sword in plain sight, moonlight shimmering off the blade. Exactly as Dante had hoped.
Idiot.
Murin jerked back suddenly, an arrow protruding from his chest.
Dante broke out into a run toward a large tree ahead. He reached it, ducking behind it, keeping his sword down low. He felt panic rising within him, and suppressed it, trying to focus. Panic would get him killed. He needed to think.
The arrow came from straight ahead, he reasoned, recalling the angle it’d struck Murin at…and the horse earlier, on the King’s Road. That meant that the archer had to be to the right of the road. Dante circled around the tree trunk until it was between him and the carriage. His ribs hurt terribly, and his hands were slick with the blood trickling down the countless wounds in his forearms. The hilt of his sword felt slippery, and he wiped his hands on his pants one at a time, then gripped the hilt of his sword tightly.
He had to kill whoever ambushed them, he knew. If he didn’t, whoever it was would get their hands on the artifact. His hand went to his chest, reaching for his Seeker medallion, but of course it wasn’t there. He’d left it at the guild, as he always did when going out to transport illegal artifacts. Couldn’t have the enemy getting ahold of his medallion, after all.
There could be more than one archer.
The thought made the hair on the nape of his neck stand on end, and he glanced out from behind the tree, peering into the woods. He still couldn’t see anything; a dense mist hung in the air just above the ground a few dozen meters away. There was no way the archer could have shot Murin through that haze. Which meant…
Pain lanced through his left leg, and he cried out, dropping his sword and falling onto his back on the hard ground. He looked down.
An arrow was sticking out of his shin.
He scrambled to his feet, then saw something burst out of the mist ahead. A man in a black cloak, their face hidden in the shadows thrown by the hood over their head. Holding a bow, sprinting right at him!
Shit!
Dante reached down, retrieving his sword. The cloaked man dropped the bow, unsheathing a sword from their hip in one smooth, quick motion. Moonlight danced off the silver blade, and the man reached Dante within seconds, swinging their sword at him with terrible speed!
Dante felt his Seeker reflexes kick in, and he blocked the blow, their blades ringing with the impact. He counterattacked without thinking, without needing to think. He’d spent years absorbing the skills of the finest Seekers who’d ever lived, some of the most skilled swordsmen in the world. He thrust at the cloaked man’s chest with perfect technique, aiming unerringly for their heart.
The man dodged to the side at the last second, then slashed at Dante’s neck!
Dante parried the blow…or tried to. The man pulled the attack back at the last minute. But the feint caused the enemy to lose his balance, stumbling backward. Dante lunged forward, slashing at the guy, but the man dodged easily, scooping dirt from the ground and flinging it right into Dante’s face. He closed his eyes automatically, turning his head to one side…
