The Deathless Ones, page 1
The Deathless Ones
Niranjan K
Published by Geetha Krishnan, 2020.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE DEATHLESS ONES
First edition. September 16, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Niranjan K.
ISBN: 978-1393727309
Written by Niranjan K.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Prologue: The Children Who Died
The Soldier
The Inn in the Middle of Nowhere
The Shaking Earth
Two Cities
The Hand of Death
A Mutually Beneficial Arrangement
The Traitor’s Dilemma
The Elementals
The Healer
The Captive
The Confrontation
The Women
The Lines of Fate
Life and Death
Destiny
Hidden Agendas
The Agreement
Revelations
The Disciple of Nadais
Reunions
Plans in the Making
The Bringer of Life and Death
Ancient History
The Pupil and the Master
The Magician and the Soldier
The King and the Thief
Change of Plans
The Lord of Rhenon
Miscalculations and Mistakes
The Ambush
Reversal of Fortunes
The Lord of Mirrel
The Sisterhood
The City at the Foot of Nadais
The Magicians
Promises
The Decision
The House of Nadais
The True Story
Preparations for War
The Thief
Arrival at Mirrel
The Pieces in Place
The Attack
The Plan
The Message
Envoys
The Magic of the Elementals
The Deliverance of Dell
The Armies of Rhenon
The Defenders of Mirrel
The Attack on Mirrel
The Armies
The Happenings in Mirrel
The Fight for Mirrel
The Reinforcements
Plans and Countermeasures
The Fall of Mirrel
The Battle Won
The Battle Lost
Confusion and Despair
Trapped
Risks and Possibilities
Questions and Doubts
The Escape
The Rescue
Victory and Defeat
Actions and Consequences
The End of the War
Epilogue: The Gems of the Elementals
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Also By Niranjan K
About the Author
Editor: O.R. Faulkner
Cover Designer: Nola Song
Prologue: The Children Who Died
Madh was eleven the first time he died.
As life ebbed out of him and his vision dimmed, he could see a flash of white, the boots of soldiers, and the glow from his own body. Rough hands turned him on his side, and patted him down, taking away the dagger that was secured under his tunic. He couldn’t think. His hands scrambled in the dirt, and he could feel his throat closing, before darkness took him.
When Madh resumed breathing, he was inside his home, if a one room wooden hut could be called that. Rysa sat near him, her gaze anxious. He could see the dirt and tears staining her face, and as he opened his eyes, her expression turned to relief.
“What-” he began, wheezing, as he tried to sit up, but unable to. He gasped, a scream bursting out, as the pain took over. Rysa put her hand over his mouth, stifling his screams, her eyes wide and fearful as they darted towards the door. As his screams settled into whimpers, she removed her hand, helping him sit up, and poured something down his throat. It tasted bitter, almost making him gag, but numbed his pain.
Madh examined his torso. There wasn’t even a scar on his chest where the arrow had struck him, but he could see the strange markings that had glowed so brightly as he had taken the arrow to the ribs.
Rysa stared curiously at him. “Are they there? Did they glow?” she asked.
He nodded, as he slowly lay back down. No one could see those markings, not even Rysa, but according to her, she had markings too, and he’d never been able to see them. The pain was returning, and he wished it would disappear as easily as his wounds. Though all his wounds and injuries healed almost instantly, the pain lasted for a while. It ranged from a few hours to a few days, depending on the severity of the injury. He’d never had an arrow to the chest before, but he could guess that it would take a few days for the pain to go away.
Madh couldn’t see where Rysa was, but it was comforting to know she was near. She was the only one who understood what he was going through. Rysa had been five when she had been bitten by a snake, and had turned blue and her breath had stopped. Madh still remembered the astonished and fearful look on the face of the healer their parents had brought from the next village when she had started breathing again. The man had muttered about witchcraft and had hastily left their house, though their parents had thought she’d only fainted and that the healer didn’t realise because he was drunk at the time.
When Madh and Rysa were both eight, their parents had died in the fire that one of the passing armies had set in their village. Madh had been in the forest at the time and he’d seen the orange glow. He’d run all the way, run until his breath came in gasps and his legs ached, but when he got there, the entire village was on fire. He’d found Rysa, hiding in a ditch, shaking, ash and soot all over her hair and body. They had hidden out here since then, in the one room hut that everyone said had been built by a magician who lost a wager to the carpenter. The two of them had to stay hidden since they had no parents. If the slavers had found them, they would have taken them away- if the soldiers didn’t find them first. The hut was hidden behind trees, and wasn’t too close to the road, nor too deep in the forest. It had been there for as long as Madh could remember, behind trees that grew so thick, no one ever thought of going near them. Madh and Rysa were small enough to squeeze through the gap between the trees, and they had played there often before, when they were slacking from their chores.
It was the first place that had come to mind when they needed to hide. All the children in the village had to learn how to hunt from the time they learned to walk, and also to help the elders around houses. Except for the fact that their parents were no longer there, neither Madh or Rysa found living by themselves very different from before.
“I should’ve been careful,” he said, his breathing heavy. "We’ll need to leave, once I am well. What if the soldiers find us?”
"We'll go," Rysa said, her voice sounding distant. "But where will we go?"
“There must be somewhere,” he said, though he had no idea about it. They had never gone farther than the next village, not even when their parents were alive. “Somewhere without the war.”
“How will we get there?” Rysa asked, “There are soldiers everywhere,”
Madh didn’t know, and he didn’t answer. It was hopeless. They had no money, no weapons, no parents; his chest hurt so much, he was finding it difficult to breathe. They were only eleven, though Madh felt older, much older.
Rysa raised him slightly to pour the same bitter tasting potion in his mouth. His pain numbed, and he gave her a weak smile.
“We will find a way,” he said, hugging her. He lay back down with Rysa still in his arms, though she was careful not to be on the side where the arrow had gone in.
He thought of the potion Rysa had made. She was good that way. She was also good at making food last a long time, though they had none left now, which was why Madh had gone out. He hadn’t been able to find any, even though he had searched all over. He had picked some fruits and nuts from the woods, but they had all fallen when the arrow hit him.
Madh’s free hand wandered to his shoulder, to the mark he knew was there, but his chest hurt and he desisted. That mark was the only visible one on his body. He didn’t know what it meant, but he remembered his mother smoothing her fingers over it, whispering to him that he was special. Madh looked at Rysa where she lay in the crook of his arm, her eyes wide open and staring at the ceiling. He didn’t feel special. If he was so special, how was it that he couldn’t find food? How was it that he and Rysa had to hide from slavers and soldiers? How was it that he didn’t notice the soldiers until the arrow caught him?
He sighed. He wanted to comfort Rysa, to tell her that everything would be fine, but the words wouldn’t come out. They weren’t fine, and he didn’t know how they would survive until he got better.
In the morning, Rysa was gone, and the potion for his pain was by the side of his mat.
The Soldier
The path was deserted, stretching out like a ribbon, and disappeared far into the horizon. It was quiet, with nothing but grass as far as the eye could see. A sea of green and brown, and the path lay in its midst, stretching almost to the foot of the hills, which could be seen as silhouettes on the horizon.
Once, there were farms here, the rider thought, as she surveyed the area. Once there were villages. Now, only a bar
Marian was a tall woman, with dark hair and grey eyes. She sat on the horse well as she surveyed the surroundings. She wore a long grey tunic that reached her knees, and breeches of the same colour. She also wore a long hooded cloak over her clothes, which at one time was brown, but now grey with dust. Her hood was pulled down over her forehead, and she had tied a scarf over the lower part of her face, leaving only her eyes exposed, though still protected from the dust by the brim of her hood.
"They are twins," Semil had told her, his sharp grey eyes never leaving her face. "The village in Bast where they were born no longer exists, but, there is a man in Sarshap who might know them—a healer named Moran. Find him. He might lead you to them. My spies were discovered and executed before they could talk to him. I’m depending on you not to be as clumsy. Be sure to find what he knows of them. Do not return without them."
Marian had nodded and had left for Sarshap. She didn’t ask why, though the question was on the tip of her tongue. She was a good soldier, and she obeyed orders. She was certain that her master must have had a good reason.
Besides, she still remembered what had happened to the last man who had questioned their master. Semil wasn’t bad or unreasonable, but he didn’t tolerate others questioning him. Their lives were his; they had to obey, and Diran had forgotten that.
Now, Diran's corpse rotted in the pit and his family with him. Semil didn’t believe in leaving loose ends. When he killed a man, he killed everyone who might seek revenge for him in the future. It was a good policy which prevented his men from befriending one another. No one wanted to die for the sake of friendship.
Diran's fate had made Marian thankful she didn’t have a family. For all that, she was still Semil's man. She owed him everything and fool's quest or not, she was going to chase down every lead she could find.
She had found the healer in Sarshap. He was old, ill, and his wits were wandering. Yet when she mentioned the twins from Bast, he had remembered.
"Witchery!" he had muttered. "They didn't believe me, but it was witchcraft! She was dead, and then she wasn’t! Her parents didn’t believe me. No, they said she had only fainted. That I was drunk, but no, it was witches’ work! Only no one believed me!"
Marian had been patient through his idiotic ramblings and she had gained the names of her quarry from him. Sadly, Moran had no idea where they were, or what had happened to them. Once she realised that he had nothing more that was of any use to her, she had thanked him and had broken his neck. It was quick, clean, and far better than the painfully lingering death he might have suffered otherwise.
Witches indeed! There were no witches in the old Empire, only magicians, though there might be witches in the lands across the ocean. Diran had talked about travelling across the ocean someday, when the war was over, but Marian had never cared for such things. Diran was dead, and if Marian had to, she would cross the ocean too, to search for her elusive quarry.
She’d tried searching for the two in Bast, but no one knew of them there. Their village had been burned down so long ago.
Marian had been to Bast, Nairiac, and Vitae so far. All the places had survivors from various villages, but no one knew anything of the twins. Now, she was on the way to Ceatin, specifically to Mirrel, which was at the farthest corner of the empire. It sat at the foot of the great mountain of Nadais, the edge of the known world.
Mirrel had been an outpost during the days when Emperor Astillan lived, and it had developed into a thriving settlement, then a town, and later a city. At one time, there had been many other towns and villages nearby, but the war had destroyed almost all of them. No one knew if Mirrel survived or not, but many had gone there, hoping to escape the war.
It might not be a futile hope. It was Syamin, one of the enemies of her master in the war, who had ousted Semil from Mirrel. Syamin was representing a lord called Kaylas at the time, and no one knew what happened to Mirrel after her Lord Semil had sacked Albin and killed Kaylas. It was possible that Syamin had gone back to claim it, and if Mirrel was under his control, it was possible that it was untouched by the war.
Syamin had been careful to keep the fight centred on Semil’s lands, and all her Lord’s retaliation still hadn’t succeeded in taking the fight to Syamin’s provinces. There was no active fighting any more, all four warlords holding on to their own provinces. There were a few skirmishes now and then, but there was no escalation to the way it was before. That was what allowed her to move around, unmolested, so freely. Not that she wasn’t able to defend herself, but her master had told her not to attract attention.
It was the calm before the storm, and she knew that all four were just waiting for the right opportunity to resume fighting. Her master had taken advantage of the temporary reprieve when he’d given her the task. Now, she had to go to Mirrel. The ghost-city, as some called it. All anyone had were guesses about Mirrel. No one knew if it was still there, or if the people who went seeking it reached it or died on the way.
All must die someday, and to die in the service of her master was the best death there was. She had no doubt that Semil would ultimately be successful in this war. She was rather less certain of her own success. Not that it mattered if her master won the war, but she knew he wouldn’t be pleased if she went back empty-handed. Either she had to bring him the ones he wanted or she should die in the attempt. Nothing else would do for him.
Her horse whinnied, jolting her out of her thoughts. She could hear the sound of an approaching horse, and cursed her distraction. She turned around to face the intruder, though he was still some way off. He didn’t look threatening, but she knew appearances could be deceptive. Her hand touched the hilt of her sword hidden under her cloak as she waited.
It was a man, she could see now, though his face was hidden by the hood of his cloak. He rode well, and appeared to be unarmed, though cloaks could hide daggers and swords. He also rode slowly, not hurrying, even though she was certain he had seen her.
He might just be a casual passer-by. One of the many who thought that going to Mirrel would save them from the war, but Marian didn’t believe in taking chances. He might be an enemy, sent by one of her master's foes to stall her or slay her. She loosened her sword in her scabbard. She never took chances.
The Inn in the Middle of Nowhere
The rain was falling steadily, though not heavily. Bhu hugged his cloak tighter, but it was just as soaked as the rest of his clothes, and didn’t help. No sign of habitation was to be seen anywhere. He peered around anxiously, trying to find some protection from the rain. The lightning that flashed across the sky made seeking shelter under a tree inadvisable. He sighed. The choice seemed between soaking to death or being hit by lightning. He shivered. At least the lightning would be warm.
The rain was getting heavier and he nearly missed the squat brown structure to his left, all but invisible in the gloom. He was so astounded at seeing it that he stood still, staring, before he could believe it was real. The building was dark, but he guessed that was because of the boarded up windows rather than a lack of inhabitants. It had no name, but the image carved on the door—a fireplace and a table with a glass of water and a bowl of fruit next to it—proclaimed it an inn. Bhu couldn’t understand how he hadn’t seen it earlier. If it wasn’t impossible, he would have thought it had appeared there out of thin air.
He made his way to the door. A fire would be most welcome in this weather. The water wasn’t necessary—he was getting enough of it, he was soaked all through with it—but the fruit might be good. Until he saw that image, he hadn’t realised how hungry he was. His stomach rumbled loudly as if to remind him of its existence.
This was why Bhu hated being in human form. The body came with uncomfortable sensations like hunger and cold, and the unpleasant feeling of wet clothes sticking to one’s skin. Until their mission was complete, until they found the twins, they had to be in Terrin often, and that meant taking a human form. His uncles and mother could sometimes assume their true form, but Bhu and his siblings didn’t have that level of control yet. They could change their appearance to resemble their true one, though. They could also use their powers, but they chose to do so sparingly and only in emergencies. While Elemental magic itself was undetectable by humans, their auras could be found by any magician looking for them, and they didn’t want to be detected at this time.
