Cold Blades (title pending), Chapter One

The day was cool, and a gentle breeze blew through the small clearing an old sorcerer and his apprentice sat in, resting after their long walk. They were travelling through the southern lands of Atra, one of the center kingdoms in the largest known continent in all of Beirania. The sorcerer's daughter, Kyanne, was married to the prince of Atra, and recently had given birth to a set of twins. The old man wanted to see his grand babies.

The boy, a lad in his early teenage years, was sitting cross-legged by the small fire he'd built to to cook their midday meal. He was bent over a thick leather bound book, carefully moving down the page with his fingers, intensely reading the spell. That wasn't like him. Usually the boy was reluctant to do his reading, favoring rather his applied studies-- casting spells and summoning Spirits. The old sorcerer watched him a moment, his suspicion growing as a small grin broke out across the boy's face, and he murmured under his breath.

"What are you reading, Kieran?"

The boy looked up, seeming startled. "What? Oh. Nothing."

The old sorcerer narrowed his eyes, his hands stilled from tamping tobacco into his long wooden pipe. The boy tried to shrug his suspicion off. "Nothing. Really. Just getting caught up on the pages you assigned me."

"Mm." The old man lit his pipe, unconvinced. "You're still a rotten liar."

"I'm not lying." Kieran said resentfully as he closed the book and stood, carefully placing the old volume in the saddlebag where it was kept. He walked over to the fire and poked it with the tip of a partially-charred stick. He carefully sat a small pot of water on the smoldering pile of wood to boil. "The fire's ready."

"Good." The sorcerer tossed the boy a rabbit he'd killed with a small stone. "Then you can fix this."

The boy caught the large hare, and pulled the dagger out of his belt. A few minutes later the rabbit was skinned and gutted, and skewered on a spit over the fire. The boy took the stopper out of a water skin, and began rinsing the blood from his hands. He was distracted. He cursed when he finally noticed he'd spilled water on the legs of his trousers.

The old sorcerer watched silently, puffing in on his pipe, considering all of the things that could be troubling his young apprentice. The boy put the stopper back in the water skin, and tossed it down, seeming annoyed. He made a half-hearted attempt to dry his trousers with a rag, before throwing it down too, sighing.

"What's troubling you?"

The boy glanced at him, before frowning and looking away. "Nothing."

"Come, now. You've got something on your mind. That's plain to see." He took the pipe out of his mouth. "Tell me what it is."

"Well..." The boy took a deep breath, before hastily answering. "I want to summon a spirit."

"Well that's simple enough." The wizard said, relieved it wasn't something harder to answer. He didn't enjoy talking boys through their questions about manhood or, worse, the woes and trials of love. "You did well these past few times."

"You mean I can?" The boy lifted his head quickly, excited. "Really?"

"Sure." The old man smiled at the boy's enthusiasm. "Did you have a specific spirit in mind? Or just a spirit in general?"

"Yeah... there's this one I've wanted to talk to."

"Mm?" The sorcerer asked kindly, as he pulled the small bag of spices out of a fold in his cloak and held them out to the boy.

"Well, I was thinking..." The boy said slowly, as he opened the pouch and moved toward the fire, pulling his dagger out of his back for the second time.

The old man frowned at the curious look on the boy's face. "What's wrong, Kieran?"

"I want to summon Morden."

"No!" The old man was on his feet. "Absolutely not."

"I can do it."

"He's too strong."

"You've summoned him." The boy said, his jaw getting hard, defiant, as he stepped around the fire, carefully staying out of the reach of the old man.

"I'm the master, you're the apprentice." The old man held his hand over the firepit. "Give me the spices back."

The boy hesitated a moment, before dumping the spices into his palm.

"Kier--"

The boy tossed the spices in the now boiling vat of water, and hastily chanted the words to summon the spirit.

"Don't!" The old man shouted, as he moved around the fire, trying to stop the boy. It was too late. Kieran moved too, keeping the fire between himself and his master, his gleaming blade trembling in his hands.

A black fog whispered into the clearing, staying low to the ground, filling the space around their feet. A voice not of this life came with it. "What human dares to summon me?"

"Me. Kieran." The boy said with a strength the sorcerer didn't think he had in him.

"Don't be a fool!" The old man bellowed. The fog shrank back from the sorcerer's voice a moment, before locking around his feet and holding him in place. "Kieran! End this."

"I plan to." The boy said, staring at the fog, his brow covered in sweat, breath coming heavy. He lifted his blade and pressed the tip into the soft flesh of his left palm. He dragged the blade across his hand, forcing it to make a deep incision. Blood welled from the cut, and filled his palm. He squeezed his hand shut tightly, making it bleed more, and held it over the fire.

The fire lapped up the blood greedily, sizzling loudly. The old sorcerer was left helpless, unable to do anything but watch, and pray to whatever gods might be listening, that his apprentice was strong enough to command Morden. It wasn't likely.

He watched breathlessly as the fog swirled around his apprentice's body, before entering. The old sorcerer watched breathlessly, as his apprentice moaned loudly, swaying. A moment later the clearing fell silent, the fog gone, his apprentice's face no longer contorted in pain.

"Kieran?" He nearly whispered.

The boy turned toward his master, and gave one of his boyish grins. "See? What did I tell you? Everything is--"

The boy let out a howl, clawing at his face, his entire body trembling. He fell to his knees, still scratching his head and neck, eyes watering, breath constricted, face flushed bright red. He collapsed on the ground, screaming and writhing for several long, terrible moments, before falling still.

"Kieran!" The sorcerer shouted, finally finding his legs and running to the boy.

As the old man rolled the boy onto his back, he hesitated to look at the peaceful look on the boy's face. He almost looked like he was sleeping. The old man swallowed hard, still clinging to the small shred of hope that the boy was only sleeping. "Kieran?"

Suddenly the boy's eyes snapped open, an unnatural look on his face. He sat straight up, thrusting his palm into the sorcerer's throat, making the old man fall backward. The boy cracked his neck, eyes cold and staring straight ahead.

"Kieran?" The old man asked again in a trembling voice, fearing he already knew what had happened.

"You fool." The other world's voice came from the young boy's mouth. "You know the kid wasn't nearly strong enough. You aren't strong enough. Not anymore. That's why you stopped calling me, isn't it?"

The old man pushed himself to his his feet, mustering every speck of courage he could, grasping his staff tightly. "You didn't have to kill the boy, Morden."

"There's a lot of people I've killed that I didn't have to." The dark spirit laughed cruelly. "And there are a lot more to come."

The old man straightened his shoulders. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

"Oh, but you don't... in fact, you're the first person I plan on sending to the Afterlife...Kyanne is the second, and her little bastard children too."

The color drained from the old sorcerer's face and his voice became a whisper. "Oh, gods, no. Not my dear Kyanne."

The spirit laughed again, a chilling noise that rattled even the experienced sorcerer to his very bones.

"Morden," the sorcerer found his voice. "I don't care if you kill me, but you will not touch my daughter, or her family."

"You old fool-- you don't control me."

The old man was breathing heavily, scared for not only his life, but for the lives of his daughter and her young family. He had to humble himself. There was no choice but plead for mercy. He suddenly sounded very old indeed. "Please."

"Oh, no, it's far too late for pleading." Morden turned toward him, pure hatred flaming in his dark eyes. The old sorcerer threw up a magical barrier between them. Morden stretched his arm toward the old man, pushing hard against the shield. "You should've thought of that long ago...when you were singing those incantations, to bind me, against my will, to do your every whim and wish."

"But you didn't." The old sorcerer grunted, his strength quickly dwindling under the pressure the spirit put on him. Morden kept walking forward, his arm outstretched, strong and unwavering as he pushed against the sorcerer's magic barrier.

Suddenly the spirit broke the old man's spell, and Morden's fingers wrapped around the sorcerer's throat. He squeezed tightly for several long moments, staring into the old man's eyes as they watered, and then began to dim. "And for that, you die, old man."

Morden dug his fingernails into the sorcerer's throat, so hard they broke the skin and buried themselves deep within his flesh. The spirit gave a swift yank, pulling the old man's windpipe from where it belonged. Morden threw the sorcerer to the ground and looked at his corpse a moment, before looking at his blood covered hand.

The spirit lifted his hand to his lips, licked his fingers, savoring the taste of warm, fresh blood on his tongue once more. Morden groaned in pleasure, licking the rest of the old man's blood from his hand, before glancing up at the sky. He could get to the palace by mid-day tomorrow, if he moved quickly. He swung himself onto the old sorcerer's horse, and kicked it into a gallop.