Bacorium Legacy (5 page)

Lodin shook his head.

“I will not kill you Zinoro,” he said sombrely. “I will not even raise a hand to defend myself. If you wish to end me, you will have to do so in cold blood. I will not allow you the comfort of a quick kill in the heat of battle.”

Zinoro spat at the ground.

“You would insult me after all these years?” Zinoro turned to Luca, and addressed him for the first time. “Look, boy, at the man your father is. To spend fifteen years fleeing from his enemy, only to insult him when they do at last meet? A spineless fool.”

Luca turned from his father to glare at the armoured man. He didn't understand much of what they spoke of, but he would not abide by this man insulting his father. His short sword was drawn in a second, and he charged at Zinoro.

The armoured Acarian turned his head ever so slightly, and he frowned. He was clearly not threatened by his charge, but merely annoyed. He made no visible movement, not drawing his own weapon or attempting to dodge, but Luca could feel the man gathering his mana about him.

Too late, he realised just how much mana Zinoro had gathered, and how quickly, and regretted not setting up a defencive shield. Zinoro's single red eye stared right into his own.

Luca saw no visible sign of the spell, but he felt an intense pain shoot through every nerve in his body. He collapsed, cut off from his very senses. He was unable to think, or move, or do anything but twitch pathetically. He couldn't tell if he was screaming - he likely was. He could see nothing - his eyes were open, but all he saw was darkness. A black void. The pain was unbearable, horrid, invasive, and vile. He could feel Zinoro's mana. It was black and thick and dirty - like polluted water.

Shadow-form mana.

When his senses finally returned to him, the situation around him had changed. Lodin was now on his knees, staring ahead with dull, lifeless eyes. He was bleeding from a gash across his forehead, and several slashes and wounds across his body.

Zinoro stood before Lodin. His blade was now drawn, a large and heavy claymore that he somehow held with only one hand. There was an aura of mana shrouding the edge of the blade, something between a black fire or mist. Luca had never felt so much mana in his life. Even from where he was, several metres away from Zinoro, Luca could feel the overwhelming intensity of the black flame around the sword.

He then knew just what sort of sword that was.

It was a weapon that would never dull or chip or rust. A weapon as light as a feather, yet heavier than a hammer when swung. A weapon that would burn the flesh of anyone that should try to wield it who was not its master. A unique weapon, one with eight siblings.

It was one of the nine fragments of Rixeor, the legendary weapon that slain Ekkei in the early days of the world, according to legend. Whether it was true that Ekkei existed or not, there was no doubt that the sword had - as the man before Luca held a part of it in his hand.

The black fire around the blade was manaflame - a magick manifestation of the sword's power. When the wielder channelled mana through the sword, the manaflame appeared and gave the sword an unnaturally sharp edge. If Zinoro swung that blade, it would cut through ten metres of solid stone like a hand parting wind. No ordinary weapon could match a Rixeor Fragment.

Whoever this Zinoro man was, he was a master swordsman if he wielded a Rixeor Fragment. Only the most skilled of warriors could attain them, for one needed to kill the previous master to use one. Luca had spent many hours reading about them, and dreaming of the day that he might carry one of his own.

But he had not the time to think of such things. For Zinoro was standing before Lodin now, his sword pointed at his father's chest.

“No!”

He climbed to his feet, his body still half-numb with the pain of Zinoro's magick. The arrow in his leg had snapped in half at some point - possibly broken while he had been thrashing around in agony.

Zinoro glanced back over his shoulder, noticing Luca's struggle. Turning away from Lodin for a moment, he approached Luca. He drew close to Luca, and got on one knee to look him in the eyes.

“You have determination, son of Lodin. It is possible that you could beat me. I am ready for that. But for now, I am here for your father. Your time will come, have no fear. But until then, you are weak, and nothing more than an annoyance to me. We are bound by the chains of fate, and I am bound by them to be the conqueror who will destroy a kingdom. Stop me if you can. I am not invincible - you have the ability to kill me. But not today. Today you will watch your father die.”

Luca said nothing as Zinoro spoke, simply glaring back at him. Then, as Zinoro moved to rise, he sprang back up, ignoring the pain in his leg, and swung his sword.

Genuinely caught off guard, Zinoro's eye widened and he jumped back. The blade struck only empty air. His face twisted into an ugly scowl of anger and indignation.

“You should learn your manners,” he spat. “When your elder speaks, you would do well to listen.”

Zinoro swung his claymore without moving from where he stood. The blade, shrouded in black fire, cut right through the steel of the short sword Luca held, leaving behind only a hilt. Then, Zinoro swung again, and the very tip of the blade cut across Luca's right cheek.

Luca gasped, and then lines of red blood ran down his cheek, and dripped down into the snow. The wound burned, in a strange way that no other cut ever had.

Zinoro smiled. “That's better. Never forget your mistakes, for there are some scars that a healer cannot mend.”

Zinoro snapped his fingers as he turned away from Luca. A very large Acarian, who was armoured from head to toe and had a large battle axe strapped to his back, stepped up behind Luca, grabbing his shoulders and lifting him to his feet.

“Hold him,” Zinoro ordered. “He will not like the next part.”

Luca struggled against the man holding him. The grip only tightened. The only weapon left was Lodin's sword, but it was far beyond his reach, resting in the snow beside his father. Luca started to gather his mana, which was his only option. Zinoro would be able to sense it, but he did not seem to care.

Luca's hands were not free, so directing a spell would be difficult. But he wouldn't simply stand there and watch Zinoro...

He couldn't feel his mana.

Luca began to panic. He had never felt such a thing before. His mana was always there, a bodily sense not unlike sight or taste. To suddenly lose it...

The cut on his cheek was burning. He noticed that the more mana he tried to pull, the more it hurt.

There was nothing he could do. The frustration of his powerlessness setting in, Luca struggled in vain against the powerful hands holding him in place.

Luca began to panic. He knew what was about to happen.

Zinoro walked back over to where Lodin knelt, unmoved since his beating. Lodin's white hair and beard swayed as a heavy wind blew through the cold tundra. A sombre wind. The village was all but gone now - the wooden huts had been reduced to ash, and what remained was being buried by snowfall. The villagers were all dead now, and the Acarian soldiers had disappeared as quickly as they had arrived.

Only four souls were present to witness Lodin's death.

Zinoro said something as he stared impassively at his former enemy. Luca did not hear a word of it. The wind was so loud now, and the snowfall was blinding. He could barely see the shape of his father against the whiteout.

Luca screamed when he saw Zinoro's blade glow again with his dark mana, and he twisted and flailed in a useless struggle at escape as he saw red blood spill from his father's chest.

The snowfall ended suddenly then, as though cut off with Lodin's life. For a brief second, Luca could see his father lying in a pool of red before the body was taken by the spiritual plane, leaving only the fur clothes and blood already spilt behind.

For a moment, he simply stared in silence, unable to believe that his father, his only family, and sole companion for fourteen years, was dead. Zinoro also seemed to be in a sombre state. He seemed disappointed, as though he had expecting more out of the confrontation.

Zinoro conjured a cloth out of his pocket, wiped his sword down, and slid the blade back into its sheath. Then he turned and addressed the Acarian holding Luca.

“Knock him out,” he said. “We return to the circle. Our business here is done.”

Luca's mind did not register the words, but he did recognise Zinoro's voice, which brought him back to the present.

Zinoro turned his back and started to walk away. His ebony form was gone within a blink, somehow vanishing into the white landscape.

Something clicked in Luca's mind. Grief filled him, and he struggled with renewed fury. The Acarian holding him released him, and he stumbled forward into the snow. As he hit the ground, pain filled his chest, like he had been stabbed. He did not see the red blood dripping onto the snow, nor the tip of his former short sword sticking out form between his ribs. None of this registered in his fever dream.

Luca climbed back to his feet, and spat out a mouthful of blood. Everything was burning up, despite the freezing cold around him. Everything was on fire. He couldn't even feel the icy wind in his face.

He hated the cold.

His mana was rising, as though on its own. He was weaving a spell. It was strange, because he wasn't even thinking about it. It was like his mind was doing things of its own will.

He half-walked, half-stumbled few steps backwards, and stepped on something buried in the snow. His father's blade. Almost absentmindedly, he reached down and picked it up. It felt warm in his hands - too warm for a steel blade covered in snow.

The armoured Acarian, in response, drew his heavy axe. Zinoro had simply ordered him to knock Luca out, but this mindless brute was going to end up killing him with how much of a struggle he was going to put up.

It was getting harder to breath. He was gasping and wheezing.

Everything was burning up.

His mana was overflowing now. He had never drawn so much in his life. The old nursery rhymes and cautionary tales about overloading yourself with mana echoed in his head. He could feel it. He could feel his own life energy fading with each breath.

The Acarian swung his axe...

And as he released the magick he felt himself being ripped away from the snowy ground below his feet. He felt every molecule in his body being shredded to oblivion, and he felt them all rocketing away at the speed of light.

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I knew this day was coming.

Lodin watched as Zinoro pointed his sword at his chest. The blade was burning black.

How many times have I seen this in my dreams?

He was bleeding. He didn't even feel pain anymore. Lodin fell backwards, landing in the snow. He could see his son struggling against the grip of a massive Acarian, screaming and crying.

He had never seen Luca cry before. He always tried so hard to hide his pain. Was the boy even aware in his sorrow?

Lodin closed his eyes. He didn't want to say goodbye with a lingering gaze. He had always hated goodbyes. When the time for his seclusion had come, he hadn't said goodbye to any of his friends. He hadn't said goodbye to his wife, or his youngest child.

Farewells pained him more than anything.

Still, I was selfish in denying him that. I've made so many selfish choices over the
years...
 

He had hoped he could hold things off. But the remnants of the Acarian scout's campfire in the cave had told him that his day of reckoning was nigh. He had intended to
warn the others away. The girl Arlea's death was his fault. All the slaughtered villagers were his fault. He should have warned them away the moment he got back from the hunt.
 

Once again, he had failed. Just as he may well have failed his son.

He didn't want to think of such things in his final moments. Instead, the dying man comforted himself with other images from his dreams. His son, and the girl with hair as dark as the night. The other five in the group. His son's second family. The family he had failed to give him.

He knew that great hardships awaited the boy, but he also knew that, no matter how dark things got, it would all work out in the end.

“Luc-”

Zinoro's blade entered his heart, and he was unable to finish saying his son's name. Then, he was dead. The final piece of his puzzle had been put in place.

And with that thought in mind, Lodin smiled as he faded into the embrace of death.

Chapter II

A Soul's Refrain

Luca's sleep was short and fitful, and his dreams were troubled by painful memories. He saw the death of his father, repeating again and again in his mind's eye, continually taunting him with his inability to stop it. He saw the glowing, single red eye of Zinoro, watching him endlessly from some dark place. He saw the barren wasteland that had once been the village, now nought but ashes buried under snow. He saw the clothes and blood of those taken by death. He saw the look of resignation in his father's eyes as Zinoro ended him.

He woke, suddenly and without sound. His instincts kicked in, and he reached for his blade. It was not by his side.

Wherever he was, it was not where he had been before.

He was lying in a warm and comfortable bed, wearing a change of soft bedclothes he had never seen before. He was in a bedroom, illuminated by the silver glow of moonlight streaming in through an open window. The room was sparsely and indifferently furnished in the way that inns always were.

The air was different. It was warmer - a welcome relief from the harsh and biting cold of the Arimos region. He did not know where he was, but it was certainly farther south.

The real question was how he had came to be in such a place.

He thought back as best he could. His final memory was of Zinoro walking away, leaving him to be dealt with by the large Acarian with the axe. After that, he remembered being seized by a great fury, and blacking out.

Zinoro had delegated his work to one of his men, not even bothering to kill a person who was, in his eyes, nothing but a child. Even after everything he had done.