Bloom of a Poisoned Seed: A Losandran Chronicles Novel, #1

By James Kampras

"Where does the Enforcement Coalition fit into your plans?"

Faceless removed his boots. He placed his feet on the corner of his desk and asked, "Why do you suppose I have chosen Strat? I have found my replacement. This will free me to pursue the organization's interests without having to run the day-to-day affairs."

"The boy is only ten years old," Tooth argued. "You know next to nothing about Strat. He has no formal education. His life has been tormenting and wild. He survived three years on the streets of Jorron – a feat never accomplished – but that does not make him leadership material. What makes you believe he'll make a good leader?"

"How many times must I tell you the same thing before you stop asking the same questions. No matter how you word them, they amount to the same thing. I know you have doubts, and that is okay. What I will not accept is the constant interrogation when you are not satisfied with my answers."

"I worry over the future of the coalition," Two-tooth stated.

"Meaning?" Faceless demanded, his voice a silky whisper.

Faceless never moved a muscle, but Two-tooth could swear the man was ready to spring across the desk and kill him. Faceless had never been this way in the past. Something else was at play here. He needed to figure out what before life was lost. Notably, his own.

"Just because I abdicated the leadership to you does not mean I stopped worrying about the Enforcement Coalition, Faceless. Politics are dangerous for our members. Killing and stealing are straightforward affairs: politics are not."

"Facetiousness? Assassinations and thefts are contracted, planned, conducted, and concluded by flawless execution. Politics are no different in that regard. Your age is beginning to show, old friend."

"Maybe," Two-tooth admitted. "I am accustomed to the laws and rules governing our organization. I may have a narrow-minded view of politics in general. I know we should not mix the two, however. The objectives are diametrically opposed. What the council might want, we would find detrimental. And vice-versa."

"Strat is going to blossom into the role perfectly," Faceless said, placing his feet back on the floor. Our future will be secure under his leadership. You doubt this now, but time will prove my words accurate. I only need to sit back and watch. And our throwing our hand into the politics governing Jorron is the wisest thing we can do as a group who is despised in general. No. Having a grasp of both sides will prove invaluable."

"And should your intuition prove wrong?" Two-tooth queried.

"A question I will never have to answer," Faceless replied confidently. "Strat is the future of the coalition."

• Language: English
• Publisher: James Kampras
• Release date: Feb 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393155683

James Kampras

Currently residing in Atlanta, Ga. with my beautiful wife of 32 years. I have four children, and two grandchildren. I have enjoyed fantasy and science-fiction from an early age, and continue to read both genres.

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Special Thanks

Cole Worley. The one and only Tudor- Mansard- Colemeister- Brown, sir. Thank you for taking the time to proofread this book. Your enthusiasm and input while working on this project was invaluable.

Brandon Holcombe. The man who quotes, ‘I would have a glorious man bun if I only had hair.’ Thank you for taking the time to proofread and edit this book. Your suggestion to include more description of the story was spot-on.

Draft2Digital for providing a platform for authors who do not wish to be subject to traditional publishing contracts.

Viergacht for his cover design. https://selfpubbookcovers.com/Viergacht.

Selfpubbookcovers for providing the largest platform of its kind. A place where beginning authors can shop for artists and book designs. https://selfpubbookcovers.com.

Introduction

A long-winded tale follows in the ensuing pages. This series is to tell the story of a people who shall endure suffering beyond imagining: life bereft of hope, love, families, and freedom. Within the pages of the series, there are going to be situations that will anger, disgust, annoy, nauseate, and tug at a myriad of emotions – should I do my part – but these are not written for that reason; it is an integral part of the series. As you will see.

I ask only that you continue to read beyond this point, sharing with me a vision of a world where good does not always prevail. Immoral people can be amoral when the need arises. And a tragic childhood does not dictate the person you will become.

Prologue

D o you mind if I join you?

Strat jumped completely off the bench he was sitting on and slid under the surface of the water. Spluttering, coughing, and spitting, he turned to see Jesfel standing on the other side of his pool. You nearly scared me to death!

I am sorry, Jesfel told him. This was not my intent.

Yashar promised I was to be left alone, Strat said, not understanding how Jesfel had gotten into the room without him hearing the door open and close.

You would have remained alone had I used either entrance to gain access, Jesfel replied, slipping down into the warm water opposite Strat. Besides, we both know Yashar is also someone else. A man hiding from the world.

I thought I was the only one... Strat clamped his mouth shut. How did you get in here?

I used magic to teleport myself here, Jesfel explained. Aren’t the waters unquestionably marvelous? I could sit in them for hours, letting the world go by and not miss it at all. Once in them, all my cares seem to fade into insignificance."

My cares were rapidly vanishing until a certain warlock said something, nearly causing me to shit myself, Strat retorted. I am surprised the water is not stained brown.

Jesfel laughed, positioning himself more comfortably in the water. That would ruin the water for only a short time; there is a running spring under this building. The water is continually changing, but the heat remains constant. This is due to a fissure that heats the stone around the pools and not the water itself.

What are you doing here? The timing of your visit is no coincidence. Strat sank back down into the waters up to his chin. Yashar would be angry if he discovered you in here without permission.

I won’t tell if you don’t, Jesfel retorted.

I have no reason unless you give me one, Strat warned.

Easy, young man. I am not here to harm you in any fashion. I simply wish to talk to the boy Faceless has chosen as his replacement. Understand why he believes you are the one to replace him. Is this acceptable?

Strat knew it was the effect of the water that had him calm when he should be terrified. Jesfel, under other circumstances appearing right in front of him, would have him running for his life. Well, either that or curled on the ground in a fetal position. However, there was something oddly familiar about the warlock he could not place. His natural curiosity overrode his fight-or-flight instinct with the man.

I will not betray Faceless or the Enforcement Coalition, Jesfel. No bribe will be entertained, and no pact made. Strat informed him without preamble. Why would you want to talk to me?

Understood, Jesfel said, nodding his head, putting Stat at ease. You have had a rather colorful life to date, young man. Born of a woman who refused to leave a man who abused her because he could: her love reasoning, he would eventually change back into the man she fell in love with. A father who was an abusive alcoholic who killed your mother one night in a drunken rage.

How do you know what happened?! Strat demanded, rising to get out of the water.

I will reveal everything once you have returned to your seat, Jesfel promised. I will never harm you, Strat. You have suffered enough for a lifetime, and you’re not yet eleven.

Strat returned to his seat. Why are you telling me this? he asked, tears welling in his eyes. Surely, you must know how this is affecting me?

There is nothing I can say that will ease the pain of my words, Jesfle told him kindly. I only ask you to listen.

You were forced onto the streets of Seedy Acres at seven years of age. Not an easy thing for a child to face even when much older. Yet, you survived three years of living day-to-day, not knowing whether you would see another sunrise. And again, you avoided the City Civil Force, Searchers, and the flesh-peddlers for three years.

Stop bringing up those horrible memories, Jesfel. I have done nothing to deserve reliving my life in its horrid, soul-crushing detail.

I am near the end, Strat. All that’s left is the present. I shall speak of this, and then we may move past it.

Do not take too long in the telling, Strat told him, tears streaming down his face.

I shall endeavor not to. Jesfel stretched out his arms, placing them on what would be the floor was he outside the pool. An encounter in an alley brings about the loss of your innocence, merely because you were not paying attention to where you were walking.

"How do you know so much?!" Strat demanded through his sobs.

I told I would reveal all to you, Jesfle reminded him.

Then make it quick, warlock, you’re going to be the reason I lose tonight! I’ll never be able to focus on the fight after your words!

You were rescued before the man could...finish. Saved by the world’s most renowned assassin, no less. Jesfel took a deep, cleansing breath. "Now, you serve a man with blind devotion because you feel he saved your life. Admirable, but foolish. You are more than the thief they are training you to be, Strat. Become your own man. You need not become your father. There is no reason to become like Faceless. Learn all you can, but never trust the coalition or Faceless: his agenda is to use everyone under him."

Why’re you telling me this now?! Strat asked, wiping the tears from his eyes. I am going to be fighting for my life tonight, and you have just taken what confidence I had tricked myself into believing and dashed it away!

Other factions are vying to pull you away from the Enforcement Coalition, Strat. They want you for their own agenda, just as Faceless does.

What does that have to do with my past? Strat demanded, anger seeping into his words.

Your mother was someone special, Jesfel told him. A woman with an extraordinary gift she was unaware resided within her. This is why I talked about those things.

I am still no closer to knowing how you are aware of all that has occurred in my life, Strat told him, rubbing his chin in thought.

Have you wondered why your stomach warns you of someone looking for you? Jesfel continued. How can people find you so easily? And why are they capable of finding you?

Too many, Strat replied. Yourself included.

Seems like an awful lot of coincidences, would you not say?

Strat thought about it and nodded. I have been confronted with far too many people wanting to speak to me or wish me well in tonight’s fight against Bontin.

An unusual occurrence, to say the least. What if I told you I could stop everyone from knowing where you are? Give you the ability to remain hidden from those who use magic spells to locate you?

How would you do that? Strat asked in spite of himself.

With magic, of course.

No! I don’t want you touching me!

The alley crashed to the forefront of his mind. He tried to clamber out of the pool and found he could not move. Jesfel wore an odd expression but made no move to grab him in any way. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled in vivid detail the events of that horrific night.

Be calm, Strat, Jesfel soothed. I wish you no harm. I want nothing from you. I just want to give you a gift that will ensure a fighting chance to survive the future and the power struggle to take place.

Let me go!

I cannot, Jesfel replied sadly. I wish this could have been done differently.

You don’t have to do this! Strat screamed.

You will not live beyond tonight without the gifts I give you, Strat. This is the truth. The rest you will learn in the years to come. For now, know that you are not alone.

Strat’s heart hammered against his ribs until he thought they would break. Jesfel was making his way toward him. Even under normal circumstances, this would have scared him no end, but Jesfel was also naked. This terrified him more than anything else.

Forgive me, Strat.

Strat felt Jesfel’s hands grab the sides of his head and blacked out.

Chapter 1

19th of Arunast. 1279 B.O.H.

An alley in Seedy Acres

Day 1: Faceless’s grand scheme

Strat’s sanctum invaded

Strat ran, clutching the Gilip he pilfered from the vendor’s cart in a death grip. His hand, shaking from the cold, had not failed him as he lifted the apple from the pile. No one called out, alerting the vendor to his theft. Even the seller was unable to notice his tiny hand on the side of the stack, but that did not stop him from running pell-mell, once away from the cart, toward his home in the alley.

The Gilip, ripened to perfection, was the first food Strat would taste in days. He would enjoy the apple as if it were a grand banquet. For a stomach that had known only empty grumblings, it was going to be a magnificent feast. Nothing required his attention more than the red and yellow striped fruit in his hand.

A gust of wind streamed his coat out behind him, making him wish winter would release its grip on Jorron. Spring had officially begun eight days ago, but the westerly winds still held the cold, pimpling his skin where it touched with its icy fingers. Strat refused to pocket the Gilip in fear of it falling through a hole in his pocket and pull his cloak more tightly about him. His attempts to draw it close with one hand met with failure each time.

The air grew more frigid as the sun sank below the horizon. Arunast was supposed to be a time of growth and rebirth, but Uhntab – the last month of winter – refused to relinquish its hold over the country. Strat endured the unseasonably cold weather, sparing it little attention; it was the Gilip in his hand that attracted his mind.

Strat, customarily, waited until nightfall to venture into Greater Jorron. However, gnawing hunger had forced his hand. His tattered clothing and filthy appearance marked him for what he was, a street urchin. An orphan. Knowing he would stand out among the citizens, he was forced to travel the streets before the sun had set. His fear of dying from starvation moved him to the decision, and it had paid off handsomely.

Keeping to the shadows and backstreets as much as possible, Strat kept his head on a swivel, looking for any of the City Civil Force who might be searching the streets for children to sell to the brothels. Those who were not deemed worthy of keeping by the flesh peddlers found themselves rushed through a trial and swiftly hung from the gallows. The body would then be tossed in an unmarked, mass grave, soon to be forgotten forever. And though he was malnourished, he still had all his teeth. This made him prime meat for the flesh-peddlers, and he would be a favorite in the brothels until someone killed him.

His mouth, watering in anticipation of the first bite of the Gilip, Strat made his way back toward the alley he currently called home. Located in the most violent section of the seaport – Seedy Acres – he would not trade it for a palace in Greater Jorron. The thought of living among the swaggering, arrogant, wastrels made his empty stomach want to relieve itself of the bile that was its only contents.

As a particularly strong gust of wind pulled at his cloak, Strat noticed the silence that had fallen within this section of the city. Looking about, he found not a single pedestrian on the street. The shops were open, the lights within falling on the paving stones. He stopped, fear gripping him tightly, and looked both directions. He scanned the rooftops and street with a practiced eye. There were only two reasons a lane would be deserted; assassins or the City Civil Force.

Stepping back into the shadows, Strat paused, listening for any sound or movement that might indicate what group might be lying in wait. Try as he might, his ears could find nothing amiss. This did not mean there was no reason to fear; it suggested the person or persons were keeping as silent as he was himself. He waited, silently counting.

Sixty heartbeats. This was Strat’s routine in situations of this nature. He would remain quiet and hidden, counting his heart’s thumping rhythm. His rate only climbed when he was in imminent danger of being captured by the authorities, or caught in the act of theft. And until he was given a reason to fear, his pulse would remain steady and even.

Nothing. No one entered the street from either direction. Strat craned his neck to peer at the top of the building he currently rested against, searching for the movement that might indicate an assassin was preparing to strike. Again, nothing. He felt foolish but always trusted his instincts when faced with these circumstances. The law prohibiting the outright murder of unwanted children was still relatively new in Losandrus, and he was taking no chances.

The current ruler, King Culbheart, had repealed the law permitting the hunting and killing of children. There was not a single city, town, or village that did not murder children when the law was in effect. Unfortunately, that law did not extend to orphans and street urchins. Those who were beautiful enough, young enough, and retained most of their teeth were sold to the brothels. Some might suppose this would be a better life than the streets, but only a handful survived beyond six months in those horrific establishments. For some reason, no one could fathom, the adults of Losandrus bore hatred toward children.

Scholars were unable to unravel precisely when the people of Losandrus turned bestial, killing unwanted babies. Husbands would beat their pregnant wives, causing miscarriages, and killing more than a few women in the process. No familial lineage was safe from the madness that seemed to have swallowed the country in its merciless, malevolent grasp. It was not until the past generation, children were permitted to live because of the decline in population. However, this did nothing to stop mothers and fathers from tossing unwanted children into the streets to live and die by their wit or selling themselves for a meal or room out of the cold for a night.

King Culbheart’s annulment of the law was not from benevolence; it stemmed from his fear of being invaded by a foreign country. The average age of the men in the country was becoming worrisome to the insane ruler, and he abolished the law, killing those who spoke out against his decision.

Children were given to the local authorities in cities all over Losandrus. Parents might not be permitted to kill their children, but they would not be forced to take care of them either. With the influx of so many, King Culbheart decreed each city would train the children to become soldiers in the Losandrun armies. Those too weak to complete the rigorous training would be given over to the flesh-peddlers. The children refused by the flesh-peddlers were summarily killed and tossed into mass graves outside the city walls.

Casting one last look around, Strat pushed away from the wall and continued his way. The feeling of being watched did not leave him. He kept searching the alleys and buildings as he made his way toward the quiet solitude of his home.

Gilip in hand, Strat rounded the corner that brought him to Stellan Road. Or as the locals called it, ‘Warlock’s Way.’ Those who practiced the dark and forbidden arts were relegated to Warlock’s Way. This was another of King Culbheart's decrees. Sorcerors, warlocks, necromancers, enchantresses, and occultists plied their trade on Stellan Road. This proved to be a boon to the mages; it meant they would not be bothered by the City Civil Force. And their clientele could seek their services without being accosted by Greater Jorron’s authorities. Not even the City Civil Force entered Seedy Acres unless they were in a large group.

The seaport had become a stigma because of the bandits who once held the docks. Since the establishment of the Enforcement Coalition, it was now just a busy seaport with hardened people who had no qualms about killing. In fact, the streets around the port were rarely frequented by the sailors who landed at the docks. Even those tough men who sailed the seas of the world were careful when in Seedy Acres.

Strat did not understand why the practitioners of the dark arts were considered ‘undesirable’ by those in Jorron. The seaport used to be the whole city at one time. People now referred to the newest section of Jorron as ‘Greater Jorron.’ This did nothing to sway his image of these men and women: all of them were affable and genuine. Unlike the wizards who believed themselves superior to practitioners of the darker arts. Those men were all self-centered, self-serving assholes.

Kelton, a charlatan who held a shop on Warlock’s Way, was about the only establishment on Stellan Road sailors would visit. This was not because of his power or the goods he sold, it was the first building on the street from the docks. This meant men fresh off ships would not have to venture into the rougher section. His place stunk nearly as much as the alley Strat called home, but that did nothing to stop visitors from the seaport. The locals knew to steer clear of Kelton’s, he was a fraud of the highest order. Only the Enforcement Coalition’s laws kept the people from burning the shop, and the shopkeeper, to the ground. Even this man was more polite and affable than any wizard.

Strat could not shake the feeling he was being watched. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. His attempts to shrug it off failed. In fact, the feeling grew with every step that brought him closer to his alley. Rubbing the back of his neck, Strat stepped into the shadows between two buildings, searching once again for the cause of his unease.

Wiping his grimy hand on his cloak, Strat transferred the Gilip to his other hand and repeated the process. This did nothing to remove the grime embedded in his skin, and only made the stains of his cloak worse. He waited out his count then moved down the street, keeping close to the shops lining the eastern section of the road. Making one final turn into the safety and security of his alley, Strat bumped into someone who had, by the smell, just pissed on the ground.

Three years he had been in this place. In all that time, no one had ever entered this alley. The proximity to Kelton’s stinking shop kept even the locals from using this to cross over to the next street. Yet, someone was standing right in the middle of his sanctuary. His first thought was this man could be the reason for his unease, his second was what the fuck was he doing there.

What’ve we ‘ere? the man asked.

My fault, Strat said, sidling past the man who spoke. He noticed an odd gleam in his eye and began to fear for his safety. A tiny movement to his left caught his attention. A second man leaned against the wall of Kelton’s shop. My fault. I should have been mindful of where I was walking.

Eloquent speech for such a young boy, the leaning man said.

You’re so right! replied the man Strat inadvertently bumped into. What’re we to do about you causing me harm, boy?

Of all the days for someone to stop and piss in his alley, why did it have to be today? This was the first time in days he held food in his hand, and now he was being confronted by two men who should never have been here in the first place.

These two were looking for trouble, or his name wasn’t Strat. The fellow he bumped into was still ham-handedly trying to tie his trousers. This one was going to be the hardest to convince the collision had been an accident, and to allow him to leave. His friend, leaning against the wall, seemed inclined to watch the proceedings without interference. Either way, this was going to be a tenuous situation should he not convincingly plead his case.

I apologized, Strat said, matter-of-factly. Nothing else needs to be done.

The little whelp has brains! the second man intoned; his voice steady.

Swallowing the sigh threatening to escape his lips, Strat knew he was in trouble. The man nonchalantly leaning against Kelton’s shop was perfectly sober. The drunk might not be able to catch him should he run, but his friend was more than capable.

Brains, or no brains, he’s gonna pay for running into me!

Strat pocketed the Gilip, forlornly. His only wish was to wash the fruit and devour its sweet, succulent flesh. This situation was escalating quickly, and he wanted the apple out of harm’s way should he be forced to run. Judging from the man’s level of inebriation, which seemed a bit forced, his friend's apparent indifference, it was likely he would have to run for his life before this was over. And his only thought was to keep the fruit safe until such a time as he could enjoy it.

The westerly winds chose that moment to blow through the alley. The man he bumped into nearly vomited when the smells assaulted his nose. The man leaning against Kelton’s shop pulled a handkerchief from his vest and held it under his nose. Strat took the opportunity the winds provided and put a few feet of distance between himself and the men.

What are you talking about? Strat demanded, thinking furiously. This one-time instance, when an ill-timed intervention from the City Civil Force would give him the seconds he needed to escape, did he lament the seaport’s reputation. Please just leave me alone! I apologized. Is that not enough?"

"I’ve been inconven...inconven...you owe me!" the man said, spittle flying from his lips.

For bumping into you? Strat asked incredulously, stepping back. He knew there was no way to reason with the man, and his companion appeared to be enjoying his discomfiture.

Strat decided, at that exact moment, he would be better served by attempting to escape. He bolted toward the back of the alley. There was a small escape hole in the fence connecting to the street behind his alleyway. He could wriggle through, leaving the two men far behind. There was no way the man could catch him, and his friend seemed almost disinterested in the whole affair. He doubted the man leaning against Kelton’s shop would give chase, making his escape all but assured. At least, it was his fervent hope the man would not give chase.

Come back! screamed the man he bumped into.

Looks like you’ve lost this one, the second man said, chuckling.

Three years Strat had been on the streets of Seedy Acres. Three years spent running and hiding from the City Civil Force, assassins, thieves, Unbound, and the brothel owners. This was not by choice; it was his physically abusive, drunkard father who cast him out when he was only seven years old. No thought of whether he would live through the day, let alone years fighting for survival among grown-ups who wanted him for his body or dead. Years of avoiding precisely what was occurring now.

Nearly a third of his life had been spent on the dirty, perilous streets of Seedy Acres, and not once had he thought about his father. He had dismissed the man from his mind as surely as the sun rose and set each day. After murdering the bastard for killing his mother, Strat had taken up residence in this alley. And not once had he been in such a precarious position.

Strat’s assumption of the man leaning against the wall not participating was erroneous; he could hear him giving chase. He knew if he turned his head, the man would surely catch him. There was not an adult to date who could apprehend him, and this was not going to be the first time he was caught. Another supposition that was quickly being shattered by the sound of footsteps gaining on him as he bolted for the hole in the wall that would see him safely away. Once he was out of danger, he would ponder how the man was able to close