Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1) Read online

  “You’re really worried about this, aren’t you?”

  The king tilted his head. “This is a critical time for us as a nation. We’ve finally rebuilt to a point where we can throw a festival and celebrate.” He gave a wry smile. “I’m not just throwing a party for my own sake, you know. It’s a statement about our country’s morale. If the people think we can’t stop some lunatic committing multiple murders throughout Kalanon at a time of celebration, how do you think that will affect them?”

  “They’ll survive it,” Brannon said. “They always have.”

  “But they shouldn’t have to. And if it looks like Nilar is responsible for it, then sooner or later they’ll get angry again and demand war.” His face grew very serious. “You better hope we can clear this up quickly, Brannon. You won’t get to play physician anymore if we go to war again. I’ll need you back on the front line.”

  Brannon let his hand trail over the painted form of Aldan’s father. “I know,” he said. His sword felt very heavy at his side. How much more blood would it soak up before he could no longer lift it? “I know.”

  Over at Keldan’s body, Ula was waving the others back. “The living must not be too close or might confuse kaluki.”

  Jessamine and Taran moved away and, after a brief hesitation, Roydan followed them.

  Ula began to chant in her own tongue as she took the bundle of chaff and held it up to a torch flame. It burned easily and she moved it slowly across Keldan’s body, just a finger-length above his skin. Ash drifted onto him like dark snowflakes, melting blackly into smudged marks. As the last of it burned, Ula crushed the flame between her hands, rubbing the remaining ash into her palms. Then she dipped a finger into the pot of dirt once more and drew a line from the top of her forehead down to the tip of her nose.

  She fell silent and the crypt seemed to swallow up all other sound.

  Brannon’s skin prickled with sensation as the room filled with energy, lifting the hairs on his arms. He looked across at Draeson and the mage’s face was tight. The dragon tattoo was stretched across his neck, tail reaching his collarbone and the head on his cheek. As the feeling of energy in the crypt intensified, the little dragon turned its head and hissed.

  Brannon took a step back. When he looked again, the tattoo was still.

  Ula began making a long, low hum in the back of her throat that seemed to vibrate the energy in the air. She leaned over the body and a string of drool oozed from her lips, glistening in the torchlight, onto Keldan’s face.

  Roydan scowled and started forward but Jessamine caught his arm and held him back. “Let her finish.”

  Ula spread her feet wide and squatted, bringing her face level with Keldan’s. She stopped humming and took a deep breath. As she did so, the tingling left Brannon’s skin, rushing toward the Djin woman as though drawn in with her breath. Then she blew. The sound of it echoed in the crypt like the north wind howling in the mountains. Her breath hovered at the edge of vision, as though it shimmered with something more than air. The shimmer spread across Keldan’s face and seeped over the rest of his body, absorbing like ink into blotting paper then vanishing entirely.

  For a moment, all the torches in the crypt dimmed, almost going out. Then the flames rose again.

  Keldan sat up.

  Brannon felt himself twitch in shock. He was not the only one. Jessamine gave a little yelp and King Aldan swore. “Blood and Tears!”

  “Hooded Wolf, more like,” Draeson said.

  Roydan shook off the restraining hands and moved forward, his eyes wide. Brannon held his breath as his old friend called out. “Keldan? My son? Are you awake?”

  Keldan ignored his father and turned to Ula. He worked his jaw as though stretching the muscles in it, then spoke. “So, shaman, you have brought me from my place to this one. It is not yours.”

  Ula stood and Brannon noticed suddenly that she was quite a small woman. She spoke with authority beyond her stature and appearance. “Kaluki, you are bound and must obey. Agreed?”

  Keldan growled at her. “Agreed.”

  Duke Roydan paused in the process of reaching out to touch his son’s shoulder. “Bound? Obey? What does that mean?”

  Keldan’s hand reached out and grasped his father’s shirt. He lifted Roydan bodily into the air. His toes kicked above the floor and his hands grasped Keldan’s arm.

  “Blood and Tears!” Brannon was halfway across the distance between them, sword in hand, when Ula spoke again.

  “Kaluki! Put down! No harm do! No touch!”

  Keldan set his father down gently and sat still.

  Brannon watched him and Ula warily, his sword up. “Back away, Roydan,” he said. Let’s keep everyone out of reach.”

  Roydan ignored him, his eyes on Ula. “What have you done to my son, witch? What have you done?”

  Ula tucked the pot of dirt from her homeland back into her bag. “I do what you ask. Make Risen. Fresh body mean kaluki have much power. Very strong. Do much work.”

  Brannon felt as though something horrible was uncoiling in his stomach. “What do you mean when you say you made him Risen? Why would Keldan do that to his father?”

  She gestured to where Keldan sat, impassive. “I put kaluki in body so can work. Is not Keldan. Is kaluki.” She looked from Brannon, to Roydan, to Aldan and back. “Keldan dead,” she said, as though explaining to a child. “He die.”

  “Ahpra save us,” Aldan said. “What is a kaluki?”

  Ula’s mouth twisted and her hand traced circles as she searched for the right words. “Kaluki like spirits but not. They bad spirits. Want come from bad spirit place to here. Put in dead body so they use power to make it live and not build up too much power in bad spirit place.”

  “Demons!” Brother Taran exclaimed. “You mean they’re demons?”

  Roydan began to tremble, his breathing fast and shallow. Brannon, not wanting to put up his sword, gestured to Jessamine who hurried to take the duke’s elbow and ease him back to sit down on a bench. Aldan joined her, and took his cousin’s hand.

  “You put a demon in my son?”

  “Let’s not get too caught up in definitions,” Draeson said. “Demon is a scary word. What you’re saying though, is that something from another dimension is in Prince Keldan’s body right now, is that correct?”

  Ula nodded. “Yes. That is what it is to be Risen.”

  Brannon held out his left hand. “But wait. Before, you said you could bring Keldan back. You said he would remember his old life and everything.”

  She shook her head and the dreadlock beads clacked in chorus. “Not say can bring Keldan back. Say can make Risen.” She pointed to Roydan, who sat with his face in his hands, shoulders shuddering. “He say he want it! Risen can use memory of life from body they have. It remember from Keldan memories, like you say.”

  Brannon finally lowered his sword as the full impact of the misunderstanding sank in. “By the Wolf.”

  Ula’s voice took on an almost pleading quality. “No one can bring back dead person! Foolish to think!”

  Brannon sighed and rubbed at his scar. “Yes, I suppose it was.” He looked across at the animated body of his friend’s son. This was worse than seeing him bloody and abused. At least then he had been himself. “What do we do now?”

  “We question him,” Aldan said. “If this kaluki has access to Keldan’s memories, he can still tell us who killed him and why.”

  The thing that was Keldan began to laugh, a high-pitched, nerve-scraping sound. Brannon raised his sword again, half expecting the thing to lunge at one of them. It let the body shake with mirth for a few moments, then leaned forward to speak. “I can access memories of life, not of death. The closer the memory is to when the body died, the more likely it is lost.” It pulled Keldan’s lips back from his teeth in a malevolent smile and gave a mocking bow. “I cannot help you, Your Majesty.”

  “Ula?” Brannon turned to the Djin woman for confirmation.

  She shook her head, unable to meet h
is eye. “I sorry. I did not understand what you asked. I cannot give you Keldan and cannot give you answers from his memory. I can only make him Risen or put him back.”

  Duke Roydan stood up, his hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides. “Then what good are you?” he said fiercely. “What good are any of you?” He strode from the crypt, and Jessamine, after a quick glance at Brannon, followed, with Taran on her heels.

  Keldan began to laugh again and Brannon couldn’t stand it. He pointed the tip of his sword at the thing’s chest. “Shut up.”

  It obediently fell silent, lips twisted in a smirk. This was definitely not the Keldan Brannon knew. No matter what memories the kaluki inside had access to, it would not be kind to the dead man’s family to allow them to see him like this. Brannon couldn’t help feeling responsible for the pain this had caused Roydan. If only he’d known the right questions to ask before they’d started.

  “Put it back, Ula,” he said, sheathing his sword. “For Ahpra’s sake, undo what you’ve done.”

  The Djin woman held out her hand and Keldan lay back down on the slab. Brannon turned and walked away. As he reached the door of the crypt, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  “Take the team to Sandilar,” Aldan said. “Find out whatever you can about the other murders and get back here with some answers before the festival.”

  “What about Roydan’s trade rival idea?”

  The king shook his head. “Give him some space. After this, he’s not going to be in a hurry to see you again soon.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Brannon had never really enjoyed travelling by boat. He could adjust to the gentle rocking motion easily enough, but there was a detached boredom involved in watching the world slide by on the banks of the river and not being part of it, that he found intolerable. In his younger days, he’d tried learning tasks to be useful but quickly discovered he had no aptitude for sailing. Now he knew to just keep out of the sailors’ way and spent much of the time at the rail, watching the river and the various other boats as they passed.

  The River Queen was a mid-level passenger and small cargo ship with big square sails and a crew mostly consisting of the captain’s family. It wasn’t the best boat available but it was the one willing to leave quickly and make a direct run to Trallene without stopping.

  They had rounded Valda, the port sister city to Alapra, two days ago, entering the Tilal river from the canal and heading north. Little villages and farming communities lined the riverbanks on either side, houses, people, and animals like toys in the distance. Watching them made him feel alone.

  On the river, there was nowhere to hide from your own thoughts and memories. Lately, too many of his had been about death and failure. He’d hoped that some space away from the happenings of Alapra would allow his mind to provide some clue or solution he had missed, but so far it had been unsuccessful.

  When Ula joined him, he was glad. The Djin woman had spent much of the trip trying to improve her use of the Kalan language. It was one of the few distracting things on the boat and he suspected they both felt some lingering guilt about the misunderstanding at the palace crypt.

  She still wore the same leather tunic-dress she’d arrived in and had refused offers for anything else. She had a musky, earthy aroma that was unmistakable. “Is peaceful,” she said, then corrected herself. “It is peaceful here, no?”

  Brannon nodded. “It is.”

  “Hard to think it be place where many died. It is near here that Nilarian army try to cross?”

  “They crossed between here and Valda, yes.” Behind his eyes he could see the soldiers spread out wide, as far as anyone could see. All of Eastern Kalanon was lost, and the Tilal, down to just a trickle, had been all that stood between the invaders and the cities and goldmines of the West. “They didn’t know the Tilal and they figured the low water level was because of dry summer weather and that it was safe to ford.”

  “But it was not.”

  “No. We knew we didn’t have the army to stop them. The river was all we had. It took all of our engineers and mages but we managed to dam the Tilal. Then we waited for them to cross. When the first quarter of their soldiers reached the other side, the water was released.” He held his forefingers out, using them to divvy up the section of railing. “The middle half of their army drowned. The first quarter was stranded without support and the last quarter eventually ran for home. And that is how we won the war.”

  He looked up at Ula’s face. Her dark eyes were somber. “A sound strategy,” she said.

  He gave a sigh. “Yes. Very.”

  In the distance, the riverbank on either side showed no sign of the carnage he remembered. But then, life was different in peacetime. As Aldan had pointed out, he was free to train and work as a physician much of the time now. As King’s Champion, he still had duties at court and in the justice system but they were limited. Rather than plotting ways to kill more and more soldiers, he could spend time healing people who needed help. Going back to war meant being responsible for the kind of strategies that had drowned thousands. He wasn’t sure he could face that.

  He shook off the melancholy mood before it could overwhelm him.

  Ula was quietly staring down at the water flowing past the hull.

  Brannon followed her gaze. “Are you talking to the water elementals? The spirits, I mean?”

  Ula shook her head. “I not know this river. The spirits here do not choose to speak.”

  “So, no chance of them speeding up the boat for us, then, huh?”

  She gave him a rueful shrug. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.” He scratched at his scar. “So what’s the difference between the spirits and the kaluki? Are they the same sort of creature?”

  Ula wrinkled her nose. “Same but not same.” She spoke slowly, clearly trying to ensure she was understood. “In my language we call the earth spirits kaluk and the ones who inhabit the Risen kaluki. Earth spirits are good. They belong in this world and make it grow. Kaluki are evil. They want to destroy and control. They build power in their world so we bring them here and put them in Risen so they must use up power and not build too much.”

  The wind started to pick up, blowing a chill over them both. “So you make the Risen as a way to siphon off power from the kaluki in their realm? For you, managing demons is like draining a boil before it bursts or pruning a hedge so it doesn’t grow too big?”

  “Yes.”

  “And using a dead body, what? Contains them? Makes them use up their power? The one you put in Keldan was very strong.”

  “No,” Ula disagreed. “It was a weak kaluki. Only strong because the fresh body let it bring most of its power. An old body uses up the power for repairs and making it work.”

  “And if you gave it a live body? Or no body at all?”

  Ula’s eyes opened wide and she muttered something in her own language before shaking her head in short, staccato bursts. “No, no, no. Must never! Kaluki in live body too powerful to control! Unbound kaluki in this world be bad. Very bad!”

  Brannon thought about Keldan picking his father up off the ground with one hand. And that was a weak and bound kaluki. “Yes, I suppose it would be.”

  “It is the reason I come to your country. We cannot allow such a thing here.”

  “I suppose we’re lucky the murderer doesn’t seem to know what he’s doing then or we’d have Risen or worse running around Kalanon causing problems.”

  Clouds were rolling in from the mountains and the afternoon turned dark. “Lucky, yes,” said Ula. “Unless they try again.”

  The first heavy drops of rain splattered onto the deck and they turned and made their way inside. Passenger cabins ran along both sides of the ship, directly under the deck, with the cargo hold below that. A large hatch behind the main mast allowed access via winch to both levels but remained tightly closed when not in port. On the passenger level, this area beneath the hatch had floor boards put in place so it could be used as a shared living area
where passengers could play cards, chat, or read a book in comfort without having to be restricted to their cabins.

  Brannon and Ula moved toward the communal living area, passing Draeson and one of the sailors heading in the other direction. Draeson opened the door to his cabin and guided his companion inside with a hand on the small of the blond sailor’s back.

  “That’s not the same one he was with last night, is it?” Brannon asked as the door clicked shut behind the pair. The Malon family, who ran the ship, were all deeply tanned with white-blond hair.

  Ula smiled. “No, that be a different one. Lucky we have private cabins, no?”

  “Indeed!” Brannon shook his head. Draeson seemed intent on sleeping his way through the entire family, male and female. He supposed he should be grateful the mage had turned his attentions to someone other than Jessamine. He much preferred him satisfying his “young body’s needs” with someone Brannon wasn’t responsible for.

  Jessamine and Taran were in the living area playing cards. She looked up with a smile when they entered. “Just in time. We can deal you in, if you like.”

  Brannon shook his head, taking a seat nearby. “Thanks, but I’ll just watch for now.”

  “I not know the game,” Ula said.

  “I think Jessamine’s winning anyway,” Brother Taran said. He had traded his full monk’s robe for a shortened tunic version over pants and had left the cowl pushed back.

  “Well, you can entertain us with stories instead,” Jessamine said. “We were talking about scars and tattoos before you came in.” She held out her arm and pointed to a pale patch of skin. “This is from getting too close to a forge when I was younger. Turns out I wasn’t cut out to be a blacksmith! Brannon, I know you have a few scars from the war. Any good ones?”