Persuader's Might: Shattered Realms, #3

By S. B. Sebrick

With the arrival of the Great Malik, the violence in Issamere was supposed to stop. Keevan's schooling should have prospered and his family as well.

But when the Suadan High Priestess is assassinated, and the evidence points to Corvan, Keevan must put to his recently used Persuader skills in an effort to clear his friend's name. To make matters worse, the new High Priestess holds no love for Outlanders like Keevan and Corvan, echoing the Harbor Guild's violent sentiments toward sight seeker and varadour alike.

But even greater plots than murder are boiling beneath the surface of Issamere. With the Great Malik ruling so close by, powerful Etrendi are setting their sights even higher than the Malik's throne. It will take every ounce of Keevan's skill to survive, and even then, Issamere will never be the same.

Decades of conspiracy, deception and murder come to a head in the final addition to the Shattered Realms trilogy.

Immerse yourself in S. B. Sebrick's elemental world, The Shattered Realms Trilogy.

Don't delay!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Golden Bullet Publishing
• Release date: Apr 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9781536573503

S. B. Sebrick

S. B. Sebrick was raised in Vancouver, Washington. He has published short stories in 2005 and 2006 of Clark College’s annual ‘Phoenix’ Anthology. He recently finished ‘Dire’, the last of the ‘Assassin’s Rising’ novels. He often posts updates and teasers about the rest of his works from his website at www.sbsebrick.com Email him at [e-mail] You can also join him on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn and Goodreads

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Chapter 1

Lanasha sat before a thick stack of parchments. She groggily scribbled away at one report, then another. A single candle, burnt down to a puddle of wax, flickered on top of her desk. The light threw countless shadows around the room, as if whispering of the uncertain times ahead. A heavy rain pounded on the closed shutters and the door to the veranda outside, like a constant tidal wave on the verge of pulling her under.

High Priestess Lanasha kept her quarters clean and modestly furnished. Suadan Acolytes kept her official robes pristine and elegant, but here alone, she wore a simple linen gown. A hand-carved pendant, depicting Suada with her loving arms outstretched, hung from around Lanasha’s neck. A tray of half-eaten gruel, buttered toast and a pitcher of water sat on a tray alongside her. She refused to eat better than her people. The restriction reminded her of the people’s current troubles, a practice she wished the noble houses would adopt.

The final decree from the Great Malik himself hung on the wall above her desk. In one week’s time, she, along with Pyran and Kade would receive the official order to step down from their positions at the head of their respective orders. This left her with only a handful of days to prepare the Suadans for the transition. How would her life change when she rejoined her fellow Suadans as a regular priestess? The answer, in large part, depended on the nature of whoever the Great Malik called to replace her.

The candle’s flame tripled in size when Lanasha’s thoughts drifted to Kade’s rash action, calling the Great Malik to Issamere in the first place. After all, Kade managed to still Zerik’s assault on the palace, if only barely. But he’d sent his envoy to the Great Malik before the riot commenced, just in case his efforts to halt the chaos were in vain.

The candle’s flame diminished gradually when Lanasha steadied her breathing and her thoughts. Even for the most powerful Etrendi, there was always something that succeeded in breaking the focus required to control water.

Still, in the case of the Suadans, Lanasha was determined to ensure the Great Malik’s decrees were met. The Suadan doctrine taught her followers to embrace trials and make the most of difficult situations, much like water patiently followed gravity’s pull through every crevice and around every obstacle.

Lanasha released a mirthless chuckle.

Surely Pyran and his Beletokan priests would not bend the knee so easily, though she doubted his resistance would go so far as open violence. Not with the Great Malik’s personal guard walking the streets. Beletokans were taught to solve most obstacles by force of will. The Great Malik’s presence was a bitter reminder that even as a High Priest, there was still someone above Pyran Ignius, with authority to rein him in as needed.

The door opened with a creak of complaint. Soft bells announced Varta’s arrival. Lanasha glanced over her shoulder at the aged Suadan. Despite their differing opinions on a number of subjects, Lanasha felt no ill will toward her second in command. Although, Lanasha had to make a mental effort to restrain the jealousy she felt at seeing Varta, still in her official dress of bells so late at night. As if the Great Malik’s eyes were literally everywhere and Varta’s extra piety might be rewarded with the opportunity of filling Lanasha’s shoes.

You’re still up, Varta observed, stroking her gray, braided hair. The wrinkles on her face seemed light and shallow tonight, an oddity. Usually, Varta lived life in a perpetual scowl. I thought you’d be in bed by now. I haven’t seen you stay up this late since the riots last month. Everything alright? You’re soon to be living a life of ease, without nearly so much responsibility. Why not get started now and perhaps sleep in tomorrow? I’d say you’ve earned a reprieve.

Issamere is still shaken from the riots, Lanasha said, gesturing outside. As if on cue, a hollow rumble of distant thunder echoed through the night. I’m leaving ample records and suggestions for whoever is called to take my place. As well as orders to the Priests and Guards to maintain their duties until otherwise ordered. We don’t want anyone getting lax in their duties, during the transition.

I agree, Varta said, walking up behind Lanasha. She glanced at a few of the reports, then up at Lanasha’s copy of the Great Malik’s decree. Why did you hang this so prominently on the wall? I would think you wouldn’t want to look at this.

Serving as the High Priestess is a wonderful opportunity, Lanasha answered, sitting back in her carved oak chair as she stretched. But there are a number of mistakes I made along the way. Perhaps, with this new change of position, the damage I’ve caused in the past will be somewhat mitigated.

One can only trust in Suada and the wisdom of the Great Malik, Varta agreed, standing alongside Lanasha’s desk. For what it’s worth, High Priestess, I’ve learned much while serving under you. I only hope Suada will bless me with the chance to put those lessons to good use.

Oh, Varta, Lanasha said, setting her quill aside and rising to her feet. If you want me to suggest the Great Malik to put you in my place, you need only ask. After years of dealing with nobles and Maliks and rebellions, I’ve little patience left for subtle hints.

Very well, Varta said, her charm diminishing. Anger glowed in her eyes and she puckered her lips into a pout. High Priestess, would you kindly suggest to the Great Malik my worth as a candidate to serve in your absence?

I’ve already considered such an action, Lanasha said, walking to her wardrobe against the wall. She retrieved her favorite wool shawl, the edges embroidered with red satin. Wrapping the cloth around her shoulders, she continued, But the simple truth is you and I have very different priorities. I shudder to think of the harm you would inflict on Issamere, in your haste to protect it.

Harm? Varta said. I love this city and its people. I would gladly give my life to protect Issamere.

To protect Issamere as she was, Lanasha said. But the world is changing and you would take innocent lives to protect the old world.

Now, you’re talking about the Outlander boy, Varta said, folding her arms defiantly. The bells on her dress did not ring from the motion, glistening with water contained therein. So much for the second priestess’ constant chime of support, the symbolic intent of her garb.

Yes.

Can’t you see the damage he could rue on every Tri-Being? He sees secrets in the elements, things best left buried. You would have him live to turn our world upside down? Varta said.

I would have him serve the people, as every citizen of Issamere does, Lanasha insisted stubbornly.

He’s an Outlander, pure and simple, Varta insisted, pacing in her frustration. Somehow, he’ll find a way to bring more of his kind down on us. Mark my words, when given the chance, he’ll turn against Issamere.

If you spent more time getting to know the boy and less time hissing in dark corners with the Harbor Master, you might see the folly in those words, Lanasha said coolly. In just six month, the boy has saved Issamere twice. I’d say he’s made his allegiance quite clear.

As have you, Varta said, flashing a smile of smug satisfaction. She took a step backward, toward the closed doors leading outside, to the veranda. I’ve tried to reason with you for months now, to show you the fate awaiting Issamere if the boy is left alone, but you’ve rejected my council at every turn.

You’ve supported Keevan’s execution from his infancy, Lanasha said, extending her hand. Water seeped from the pitcher on her desk, writhing across the ground like a serpent until the precious liquid reached her body. She coiled the water around her arm, watching the growing hostility in Varta’s eyes. I refuse to execute someone because of what they might someday become. I’m not in the nature of giving a sentence to someone who hasn’t committed any crimes.

Well then, rest easy, High Priestess, Varta said, flipping the latch and pushing open the veranda doors. Your failure to act against the Outlander is seen by many as a crime against all of Hiertalia. Soon, you’ll suffer the consequences of those crimes.

A cold wind sliced through Lanasha’s gown and the heavy rain cascaded onto the stone floor. Distant flashes of lightning made Varta look particularly menacing, with only the vague light of the candle to pull her figure from the gathering shadows.

Lanasha gritted her teeth with the mental effort of keeping the sudden cold from impeding with her thoughts. The despair of losing her position among the Suadans, her fears for Keevan’s wellbeing and for the protection of Issamere as a whole, welled up inside of her as the cold bit into every inch of her skin. Pulling a thicker coat from her wardrobe, Lanasha bundled up until the icy wind could no longer mar her thoughts.

Well then, Varta, Lanasha said, the water from the pitcher still coiled around her arms. If you’re going to strike out at me, do so. Scholars have always wondered which of us would prove the stronger. The younger against the elder.

They say the emotions of youth are far more intense, and therefore command the elements with more force, Varta said, licking her lips. The rain splattered against her hair, arms and dress, and formed a puddle around her feet as she considered something. But the elderly have had decades to master their feelings and through those, the elements.

You are one hundred years my senior, Lanasha said, raising her arms. Water from the open veranda leeched across the floor, siphoning up her body when she marshalled her full strength. If you wish to test your command of water against mine, you’ll find no better chance than here, tonight.

Varta didn’t summon a single drop of water to her figure. Despite the rain trickling down her legs and back, her cocky smirk did not relent. Whatever emotions drove Varta tonight, they were strong enough to keep the cold’s usual effects at bay.

I would never dream of striking against the High Priestess, Varta said evenly, her voice straining with effort, but controlled. The Great Malik would surely look down on such mutinous action. I’d never be able to replace you. Is that what you were hoping for? To bait me into striking you?

I was hoping to protect the boy until he grew up a bit more, Lanasha admitted, fighting mixtures of curiosity and alarm. What was Varta planning? For her to openly challenge Lanasha, then back off so easily? Something felt amiss about the whole scene. Now, I see he’s only got a week.

No, Varta smiled. Her wide grin reached into the deep wrinkles on her face, as if the death God himself were looking on Lanasha’s feeble defenses and laughing. The boy has only one night.

Without drawing so much as a drop of moisture to her body, Varta walked across the room to the entrance. She interlocked her fingers, dipping into a respectful bow.

United we stand, she whispered, the prayer of the city, not a Suadan invocation. Issamere will soon return to the old ways and all will be right again.

You can’t touch the boy, Lanasha said. Water coiled along her legs, arms, torso and hair, a powerful display usually reserved for those who threatened the Suadans as a whole. Steady streams of water poured in from the storm outside, further fuel strengthening her. Tell your puppet masters in the Harbor Guild as much.

As you wish, High Priestess, Varta said, opening the door.

Lanasha glimpsed one of her Suadan guards outside, shooting Varta a knowing glance.

I will give your regards to the boy the first chance I get, Varta said as her parting shot.

Then she closed the oak door behind her with a firm thud.

Lanasha stood there a moment, wrapped in the full aquatic might of the Suadan High Priestess. She stared at the shut door, puzzled. For over a decade, Varta had endured their opposing ideals. Even the best Suadans could succumb to a moment of poor judgement. Perhaps Varta’s outburst was nothing more than idle words.

Behind her, on the veranda, the pattering of rain stopped. Not even one drip of moisture, or the rumble of thunder entered Lanasha’s quarters. Instead, there was only total and complete silence.

Then the doors to the veranda clicked shut.

Lanasha glanced over her shoulder, clenching her fists in restrained anger.

Now, she understood the glance between Varta and the guard.

Even if Lanasha screamed, no help would burst through the door.

Of course they’d send you, she spat at the intruder. The Great Malik will hunt you down for this.

He’ll hunt someone down for this, the man spoke with a grin. That’s the idea.

Chapter 2

What could Lanasha possibly want, this early in the morning? Keevan grumbled, following Madol through the winding hallways and shadow-clad stairs of the Suadan Tower. A few curious acolytes peaked through cracks in the doors when they passed, whispering nervously to each other.

You’ll see, Madol said evenly, taking the stairs three at a time. Despite Madol’s serious injuries only a month before, the stubborn Haustran insisted on pushing himself quite hard, as if to convince himself the near-death experience didn’t actually happen.

I’m. Just. Saying, Keevan said with great pauses, struggling to keep up with Madol’s pace. He fought to keep his tone respectful, despite his frustration. Why. Could. This. Not. Wait. Until. Morning.

Lanasha needs you, Madol said grimly, powering onward, leaving Keevan to practically run in his wake, like a puppy trying to keep up with his adult counterpart. You’ll understand soon.

Cold. Up. Here, Keevan grumbled. You. Walking. This. Fast. To. Keep. Warm?

Madol didn’t answer. With each floor they passed, rising higher in the tower, the air chilled a few more degrees and even the torches lining the walls seemed insufficient. Despite his rain coat and Persuader armor, Keevan shivered.

When they passed the next window, Keevan saw the frost spider-webbing a path across the bottom of the glass pane. Each tendril of ice crept along like an angry swarm intent on devouring the window. A heavy feeling of dread washed over Keevan and he stumbled against the next step. Bruising his shin from the awkward landing, he looked up at Madol and accessed the elemental plane.

Keevan’s eyes flashed with blue energy. Madol’s frame turned a cloudy white, with strands of energy connecting the Tri-Being to the surrounding elements. Though hidden beneath his clothes, Keevan knew first-hand the extensive Danica enhancements surgically grafted to Madol’s bones. Usually, Madol angrily walked the streets of Issamere, with powerful blasts of heat ready to release upon the slightest provocation.

Tonight, however, Madol repelled heat. A bubble of cold hovered around him with such intensity, Keevan couldn’t believe the Haustran wasn’t showing signs of depression or icing out. Instead, Madol simply paused his hurried pace, stared into Keevan’s eyes and waited patiently.

I said she needs you, boy, Madol repeated, his voice thick with emotion. I never said she sent for you.

What’s happened? Keevan asked, massaging his shin before rising to his feet.

Come and see for yourself, Madol insisted, heading up the stairs at a slower pace now. We’re nearly to her quarters.

Two Suadan guards stood at attention on either side of the door. They interlocked their fingers and bowed as Madol passed.

Keevan hovered outside for a moment, trying to still his writhing insides. There wasn’t much that could unnerve a hardened Persuader like Madol. Whatever Lanasha wanted to discuss, the situation was dire. Gritting his teeth, he stepped inside.

Kade Mathur, High Priest of Raejin, stood over Lanasha’s bed. His arms were folded across his chest, eyes closed. For once, his spike-clad armor did not crackle with electricity. An inch of water coated the floor around the bed, resisting gravity’s pull to spread out further. Ripples from the outside inward, to the center, marked his efforts to restrain the elements in the room from spreading out. There was only one reason to restrain the elements like this.

A wave of dread washed over Keeven. He fought the urge to step into his elemental vision, to bury the grisly scene in cloudy white and strands of energy reaching out to the elements in the room. Instead, he forced himself to take another step to his left, around Kade. The High Priestess had supported Keevan since his infancy, determined he was someone worth protecting. He had to see her remains with his real eyes.

Lanasha, the former High Priestess, lay on her back, on top of her covers. She wore a simple linen gown, a wool shawl around her shoulders, her arms hanging limply at her sides. The skin of her hands and fingers were shriveled. Patches of her scalp had already reverted back to water. Individual strands of her hair vibrated, trying to melt as her body regressed back into the elements, but Kade’s elemental field kept Lanasha’s remains from degrading further.

Her eyelids were open, staring up at the ceiling as if imploring Suada herself for mercy, even in death. Thin cracks lined her exposed skin, droplets of moisture gathering at the lowest point of each one. A sturdy dagger protruded from the center of her chest. The image of an outlander’s ship engraved the hilt, torn sails sharply contrasting with the horizon.

I don’t have to tell you who that dagger belonged to, Madol said, standing off to the side, fingers intertwined in a humble salute to the formal High Priestess.

The Harbor Guild’s special service dagger, Keevan said bitterly. These aren’t handed out very often, are they? I don’t know the Guild’s inner workings that well.

The dagger is both ceremonial and functional, Madol explained, glancing at the veranda outside. The stone floor glistened with moisture in the light of multiple torches, now fixed to each wall. But, to my knowledge, only one Guildsman lost his, in recent months.

Have you already sent for him? Keevan asked.

Sent for him? Kade echoed, without opening his eyes. I returned his body to the elements myself. His body took weeks to return to the elements. Our departed High Priestess’ remains can’t seem to get there fast enough. I’ve never seen a body regress so quickly. We will have to hurry.

Keevan stared down at the blade. The old tales, fully of glory and battle, left out much of the travesty of war. Seeing the dagger protruding from one of his closest supporters drove the lesson home quite clearly. If the most powerful Suadan in the city could so easily fall, anyone could.

Aren’t weapons like this buried, along with the person’s affects? Keevan asked, leaning in to inspect the blade. This weapon is new, freshly polished even.

The family couldn’t bury this weapon, because the Guildsman was deprived of the blade when he died, Kade said, wincing.

Who was he?

Madol didn’t respond right away, glancing out onto the veranda again. The recent storm had passed, but a cool wind still caressed the room, ever so gently. The Persuader pushed one of the doors to the veranda shut. He left his hand on the polished mahogany door, looked down and sighed. Ivy veins of frost left his hand, spreading out across the face of the wood.

Madol, what aren’t you telling me? Keevan pried.

Use your eyes, boy, Madol sighed, his shoulders sagging in defeat. The guards outside didn’t hear a thing, nor did anyone suspicious come or go. Yet the killer… he let the words hang.

Keevan glanced back at the corpse and the dagger. He suddenly felt dizzy and could feel his pulse double in rate. The Guildsman who died, what was his last charge?

Overseeing the Outlander, Corvan, Kade said grimly. The Guildsman was still more boy than man when he died. The dagger technically belonged to his father, but the old man handed the weapon down to his son, to maintain the family’s influence in the Harbor Guild.

No, Keevan grunted, folding his arms across his chest. No, no, no. You can’t be serious. Why would Corvan do something like this?

My guess? Madol offered grimly, Someone with a lot of resources made the Varadour an offer he couldn’t refuse. Can you think of anything he wants bad enough to kill for?

You’re asking the wrong question, Keevan insisted, slamming his fist into the mattress. The reverberations sent ripples through Lanasha’s body and the water pooling up beside the bed.

Easy, Kade interjected, raising a cautionary finger. I can’t hold her together much longer.

What should I be asking then? Madol insisted, striding over to the opposite side of the bed. There are questions a plenty. The High Priestess was one week from her release of duty by the Great Malik himself. Why kill her now? If she gave someone trouble in the official capacity, they needed only to wait and strike a deal with the next High Priest or Priestess. So this must be personal in nature, someone wanted her dead for reasons outside her official role. They clearly sent the best assassin in Issamere to do it.

He hasn’t killed anyone since he broke out, Keevan said, feeling the heat rise in his face. He promised me he wouldn’t.

We can’t currently trace any murders back to him, Madol said, waving a dismissive hand. Doesn’t mean he’s innocent, only careful. Since the famine there are deaths a plenty. These doors should give you pause though. They do not open from the outside. They were shut when the Suadans found her body. The killer skirted in, murdered her and skirted out, all the while avoiding detection. Ignoring the dagger entirely, can you name anyone else capable of something like this?

Dark thoughts rolled over Keevan’s mind. After their struggles in Issamere a month prior, Keevan felt like the two Outlanders had built a certain understanding. Sure, Corvan still lived in the catacombs, hiding from noble and Guildsman alike. Keevan’s studies among the Persuaders kept him too busy for idle chat, so they’d rarely spoken since.

As I said, you’re asking the wrong question, Keevan sighed, rubbing his eyes. If Corvan did this, he’s broken his promise to me, the only other Outlander on this continent. That’s not a bond anyone else here can truly understand. Nor is it a bond one gives up lightly.

What would Corvan want so much, that he’d sever his ties with you? Madol asked, resting his hands on his belt. He stroked the hilt of his sword with his thumb, not a threat, but a reminder this crime could require deadly action.

Do you remember when the Council asked me about Touric? Keevan said. Lanasha’s corpse trembled slightly, when Kade opened one curious eye.

Of course, Madol nodded.

Touric made us an offer, Keevan admitted, He claimed to have a small vessel, capable of traveling under the Harbor Guild’s ships, to take us across the ocean. He offered to send us both home.

Touric, not a popular name in your family, Madol noted. He sterilized your mother, did he not? Through poison?

Yes, Keevan said. Madol was nothing, if not direct.

What was your answer to his offer?

I’m here, aren’t I? Keevan admitted, shrugging.

As is Corvan, Madol sighed, understanding. "Well then, why would Touric