Return of the Legacy Read online

  Return of the Legacy

  Portals of Destiny Book 1

  KH LeMoyne

  Digital Crystal Press

  Contents

  Book Description

  The Prophecy

  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

  Also by KH LeMoyne

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Return of the Legacy

  (Portals of Destiny Book 1)

  Sign up for the author’s list at http://khlemoyne.com/newsletter/ for information about new releases, free books, and more.

  The Prophecy

  Before the dark ages of man, all the lands on Earth were joined,

  Rich with the ethereal forces of the universe.

  Mystics and magic coexisted with man

  Until humans coveting greater power,

  Sought magic that did not belong to them.

  Hunted, vilified, and threatened to extinction,

  The children of magic fled Earth.

  The most powerful ripped great holes in the universe,

  Taking parts of the sacred lands with them,

  Rearranging the landscape and magic,

  Hiding their brethren throughout space and time.

  One true bloodline—Makir bonded with their partners—remained,

  Forever charged with protection of the great portals between the new worlds.

  To mankind the exodus passed without event,

  Without notice,

  Without remembrance.

  The existence of magic became mere fables,

  Traces of the Makir became scattered and lost.

  But the tides have turned,

  The darkest of magic conspires to come home for revenge.

  Only the bloodline of the Makir can brave the challenge.

  1

  Dimension of Tir Thar

  Isle of Iverna

  Briallen dug her fingers into the chiseled rosettes of the stone lattice and peered at the courtyard below. Guards, prisoners, and smoldering piles of refuse obscured the garden pathways. The sparkle and vibration from the enchanted flowerbeds lay crushed beneath heavy boots.

  Her shirt snagged on the rough stone as she pushed away, and she bit back a curse, even with her minimal risk of visible detection. While only her family knew of the secret stairway within the castle’s walls, the vaulted ceilings echoed even the smallest of sounds. One slip and Owain’s leather-winged sentries circling above the watchtowers would detect her.

  Her hand clenched over the six-inch-square shape buried in the heavy folds of her skirt, confirmation that her mother’s spell book was still in her possession. Perhaps it was a worthless item, but she couldn’t waste time searching for more. She pressed her lips together tightly and made her way down the stairwell.

  The unobstructed view through the shimmering magical door at the landing showed a close-up of the destruction. Broken pottery, shredded tapestries, and shattered furniture cluttered the courtyard as visible reminders that her homeland had lost the battle. Just the beginning of the hardships her people would endure under the sorcerer’s rule.

  She swallowed hard and leaned against the wall. Now wasn’t the time for sorrow. Straightening her shoulders, she removed a stone from the wall and dug inside the hole until she triggered the latch. Soundlessly, the fissure opened into the corridor. She slid out and pressed the door seamlessly back into place.

  Her quiet tread and nimble movements toward the center of the courtyard would have made her father proud. A small bit of comfort, though she held on to the thought as she crouched behind the remains of her father’s hand-carved desk. Splintered and cracked, it barely offered enough coverage for concealment, but she moved closer.

  Harsh barks from the sorcerer’s soldiers, Owain’s enforcers of justice, rang in the air. They prodded women and children—what was left of the people who’d lived and worked beside her family—toward the courtyard’s gates. Fearful cries fused with the clamor of shattering glass. Howls from giddy looters reverberated along the bare patches of stone wall.

  She blinked back useless tears. As the stench of burned flesh and smoky tar drifted from the charred remains of the stables, her rage hardened into a knot in her stomach. Her heart ached for the day’s losses, but she seethed with fury. The need to save her brothers wrestled with the vengeance percolating in her veins.

  A makeshift platform covered the courtyard’s singing fountain, the magical melodies which had been silent since Owain’s horde had breached Iverna’s shores.

  Guards obscured her view, but the tall, dark hood of Owain’s minion, overseer of the destruction, stood a head above all others. She shuddered as an evil chill slithered across her skin. The guards shifted enough for her to glimpse four stakes raised in the center of the platform.

  Her chest tightened as her heart raced. His wrists bound to an iron ring at the top of the first stake, Nicholai slumped with his dark head hanging, blood staining his white shirt.

  “Please don’t be dead,” she whispered at the sight of her older brother.

  Christoph, Nicholai’s twin, stood tethered at the next stake. Blood, thick and dark, discolored his pale-blond hair, but he held his head high. Even bound and gagged, he glared defiantly at the surrounding guards.

  Ten guards—six of them bearing the insignia of a black flame, symbol of the sorcerer’s special protectorate—and one minion guarded her brothers. The number was a testament to the difficulty of her brothers’ capture, and their perceived threat. Their strong magical powers coupled with their years of training should have awarded them the edge in battle.

  Yet they’d fallen.

  If she didn’t act fast, death would be a kinder fate than what Owain planned for them. He wouldn’t settle for their deaths. He’d extract their souls, twist and drain them to feed his power, leaving vile carcasses—like the minion on guard before her brothers.

  Owain’s power had reached far, indeed. Bri murmured a silent prayer that the effort required in battling her family had at least drained the powerful sorcerer. His scope of power couldn’t be limitless. Unclear about Owain’s motivations, she understood the ramifications. Her father defeated, her brothers held captive, her mother missing, and her people enslaved—he owned them all.

  Iverna’s defensive shield, their first line against invasion, had fallen to the boiling clouds of black magic that had rolled in from the sea. The oily mist neutralized the protective sigils and wards on the lookout beacons and prayer rings dotting the isle. Her father’s fleet and the isle’s guard, the second line, stood little chance against ten thousand live, kraken-like vessels bearing legions of Owain’s troops and jackal scouts. In the port at the village’s edge, men had fallen like brittle twigs beneath the onslaught of the swarm, while minions breached the castle’s final magical safeguards.

  The isle’s people had fled inland to the dense woods, with her brothers defending the third and last line of resistance.

  Now, no location on the island was safe from Owain’s eye. His minions had hunted the people down like rabbits, tracking them despite the seasoned skill of her father’s finest warriors. She’d escaped detection in her mother’s secret chamber, and wat
ched the destruction in the large scrying chalice that dominated the room as she tossed aside bits and pieces of useless items in search of any spell or enchantment to stop the tragedy. However, she wouldn’t stay hidden for long. Owain’s creatures were thorough.

  It didn’t matter. She was done with seclusion. With Iverna smoldering in ruins, rescuing her siblings to fight another day was now up to her.

  She swallowed back bitterness at her lack of magical skill. Not permitted training in the magical powers her brothers had mastered, she’d learned bits and pieces from occasional stolen glances in her mother’s grimoire, ignoring her mother’s warnings. She knew enough to be dangerous.

  Her target hovered beside the platform. Gray wisps of devil’s fyre wafted from beneath his hood. The minion, his glowing knife slung from the belt around his cloak, stood guard at the outskirts of the other soldiers.

  Taking a breath, she stood, loosened a pearl button, then two at the top of her blouse, and pushed her neckline over one shoulder. A few steps along the courtyard’s edge, she shifted from hiding and bumped a battered brass pitcher with her foot. The noise caught the nearest soldier’s attention, a large, meaty man with more holes in his mouth than teeth.

  She winced as his hand clamped around her arm. His other hand grabbed her chin, the fingers digging into her skin. His black eyes, sunk deep beneath dark, furrowed brows, watched her with disgusting fascination. Nausea threatened as the sour stench of the man’s breath and body odor invaded her nasal passages.

  “A pretty package. A nice ease for my boredom.”

  Bri pulled back and stumbled, her fall halted by the man’s brutal hold on her arm, but her face was free from his touch.

  “The hunters have found the last one, Captain.”

  The call came from the far end of the courtyard, and it took a second before the comment registered. She yanked at her captor’s hold and scanned beyond the captain, standing several yards away in his black-and-red uniform.

  Goddess, be merciful.

  Two soldiers marshaled her youngest brother toward the platform. They’d gagged him and covered his eyes, as if the slight six-year-old posed a danger to hardened mercenaries with mere words or sight. His bound arms jerked at their awkward pulls and prods.

  Bri sought out Daniel’s mind. Are you hurt?

  Close enough to see the tear streaks through the dirt and soot on his face, she gritted her teeth at the initial anger and fear he fed back. But he shook his head. His emotional flood over their connection pulsed with concern for her and their family, not for himself.

  She muttered a curse. Daniel was a child, too young to pay for old vendettas. Her parents’ illusion of a peaceful destiny had turned to ruin. If nothing else, her mother could have stopped this—should have stopped this. She possessed power. Incredible power. Perhaps they all did. Instead, her mother’s choices had left them vulnerable. Trained only in what her mother had considered appropriate for their future.

  Bri yanked again at the hand restraining her, and dug the heel of her boot into the oaf’s foot.

  “Bring the girl here with the others.” Her struggles had attracted an officer’s attention, a momentary godsend against the thick fingers pawing at her blouse.

  Reluctant to release his prize, her guard pulled her back. “She’s only a servant.”

  Sweet Goddess, what an imbecile.

  She turned away as the officer moved closer, but he grabbed her jaw to get a good look at her face. “That’s no servant. She’s the daughter. Secure her beside the runt.”

  The guard still held her firm. “What harm would there be in trying her before they’re finished?”

  With blinding speed, the officer thrust his blade over Bri’s shoulder and against the guard’s neck. “Obey orders or you will join them.”

  “Aye, sir,” the guard rasped, frozen in place.

  “In the future, don’t think. Do what you’re told.” The officer glanced toward his captain.

  “The offspring will lure their traitorous mother, Lieutenant. Secure the girl. We’ve orders to deliver her to the sorcerer.” The captain gestured to the minion. “Prepare the crystals, but hold for my command.”

  “A damn shame,” the guard muttered, as his gaze swept over her hair and breasts. She felt unclean from his attention. With rough jerking motions, he secured a crystalline braid around her wrists in front of her body, the magical tether numbing her powers and movements.

  She averted her eyes from the guard’s gaze, but couldn’t avoid the captain’s dark, hate-filled expression. His slow-curving smile held no warmth, leaving his dark eyes hard and flat.

  “The idiot is right. You’ve inherited your mother’s beauty.” He walked around and stopped behind her, before whispering in her ear. “But nothing would entice me to risk Owain’s displeasure for a traitor.”

  A shiver rippled unbidden through Bri’s body. She’d spent her entire life surrounded by people who loved her. Never had she felt so much hate directed toward her.

  The captain backed away and motioned the guard to move Bri beside the minion at the foot of the platform. A dozen or more crystals now surrounded the platform, pulsing yellow, signaling their activation.

  “Proceed.”

  The crystals vibrated, rising in the air, the yellow deepening, strengthened with striations of orange and red.

  Daniel let forth a guttural sound from behind his gag. Startled, the lieutenant reached between Bri and her guard and smacked her brother across the head.

  The crystals emitted a shrill cry. The colors wavered back to orange and yellow.

  A chance. At last. Bri bent her head and quietly began the chant. “Might, will, power, and fire.”

  She knocked against the guard and pivoted toward the minion, her hands brushing its cloak. The crystalline braid seared into her wrists. She ignored the acid-like fire on her skin as her fingers found and curled around the bone handle of the minion’s blade.

  With her mouth open for the next phrase, her throat constricted. Unable to speak, she blinked as somehow the words continued.

  “Powers of the universe grant me a boon.”

  Mother? Bri glanced around and up, but there was no sign of her mother’s black hair or porcelain skin, much less a hint of her unique magical essence.

  The guards backed away from the crystals, avoiding the erratic flashes of fire slashing toward the crowd.

  In a quick motion, Bri slid the blade from the minion’s sheath and pivoted. She plunged the knife deep into the stomach of the guard and yanked it back. Stunned, he looked at the blood pooling from his belly before she turned away for the next guard between herself and Daniel.

  “I am your beloved servant, Rhiamon. Sustain my will that my progeny may flee this danger and fulfill their destiny. Grant them power through time and space to refuge.”

  Mother, no. Bri gasped as the words continued. Pain spiked. Not from her wrists, but along her shoulder blade. Dull and hot, the pain radiated outward from her birthing mark. She forced aside the deep, throbbing ache and lunged, avoiding the guard’s hands and slicing his neck.

  Adrenaline pumping, she glanced at the platform. If she leaped, she could make it and cut Daniel’s ropes. But as if reading her thoughts, he shook his head.

  “Smite those who hinder their freedom. And offer bonds eternal to guide them home.”

  A burst of light, followed by wind and cold, ripped apart Bri’s pain. Sharp pinpoints of fire pierced her skin and blistered along her body as her surroundings faded from view.

  Daniel disappeared.

  Her older brothers disappeared.

  Then the platform burst apart.

  “My essence is given by free will. My being offered for the protection of all and beholden by none. By the grace of the Goddess and the Heavens, accept my plea.”

  No, not yet. Bri hadn’t reached her brothers. She needed more time.

  Behind her eyes, the pain sharpened and exploded in a starburst. Light flashed in a kaleidoscope of swir
ling colors. The wind sucked at her body, lifted her, and dragged her toward a widening, white cyclone. Her stomach spasmed, rippled, and threatened to turn inside out in retaliation as the force of the portal consumed her.

  This wasn’t going as she’d planned!

  “Briallen, control is your fate. Not power. Believe.” Her mother’s words rang inside her mind. “Your gift lies in the heart, the nexus, within not without. You are the strength.”

  Hardly the strength, Bri thought as she lost consciousness.

  Isle of Brennagmore

  Sorcerer Owain’s Chambers

  Captain Farris resisted flinching as the chamber’s thick bronze doors slammed shut behind him. Posture rigid and emotions clamped tight, he proceeded across the archway. He focused on the sharp clip of his boots on stone, and those of his lieutenant’s at his back, and ignored the orange flicker and small popping sounds of the molten lava twenty feet down. Instead, he stared ahead at the center of the chamber. It rose in a large, white, marble pedestal, an altar for Owain’s rites. Usually the rock’s absence of color absorbed and reflected the lava’s fire in a display both awesome and terrifying. Today, Farris hardly noticed.

  To enter the chamber lauding success bore a double-edged reward of promotion. Movement to a higher rank meant more pay, more responsibility, more exposure—and more opportunity for error, with no hiding place in which to run.

  To enter reporting failure assured a more immediate reaction—eternal pain and slavery. Farris had witnessed that outcome once. The experience had been more than he needed for a lifetime.

  Of course, Owain already knew of their failure. His anger was palpable, barely contained. His power spread through the air, suffocating like a thick, dense cloud.

  “Captain Farris, your report.”

  Farris stood straighter and stared at a dark recess in the rock walls of the chamber, avoiding contact with the sorcerer’s gaze. From the corner of his eye, he could see the piece of cloth gripped in his lieutenant’s hands. “We’ve brought prisoners, but didn’t find the priestess.”