Revenant: Seekers Saga Book 2

By Leslie Tyre

Alastair Seiver, wielder of fire, has vanished, leaving his father and his friends Caelyn and Mydia behind. In the wake of Tenebrae’s attack, the city of Lyrias is left shaken. Whispers of war are on the horizon, creeping ever closer.

Caelyn is summoned home, back to the restrictive life she had been so desperate to escape. With the help of Doctor Seiver, and a little determination, she makes a startling discovery in the place she least expected.

Mydia resolves to pursue Alastair, searching for clues to where he might have gone. She seeks the wisdom of the only person who seems to have any answers: the sorceress who gave Alastair the enchanted ring. With her help, will Mydia be able to find him before their enemies do?

A darkness follows Alastair, he can sense it. His whole world has been turned on its head in a matter of months. Determined to figure out who he really is and where he came from, Alastair must learn to harness his power and unlock the secrets his father kept hidden. With the shadows looming closer, will the answers he finds be enough to guide him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798889105121

Leslie Tyre

Leslie Tyre lives with her husband in sunny Central Florida. Working as a physician assistant at a local chiropractic clinic, she spends most of her free time writing and working hard to bring her characters to life. When she isn’t working, Mrs. Tyre spends her time either playing video games or getting lost in the pages of a good book.

Book preview

About the Author

Leslie Tyre lives with her husband in sunny Central Florida. Working as a physician assistant at a local chiropractic clinic, she spends most of her free time writing and working hard to bring her characters to life. When she isn’t working, Mrs. Tyre spends her time either playing video games or getting lost in the pages of a good book.

Dedication

Dedicated to my family who have been a constant source of encouragement, and to Erika and Kylie who have been the first to read and help develop my manuscripts.

Copyright Information ©

Leslie Tyre 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Tyre, Leslie

Revenant

ISBN 9798889105107 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798889105114 (Hardback)

ISBN 9798889105121 (ePub e-book)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023921571

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

[e-mail]

[phone]

Acknowledgment

Julian Bauer (cover artist)

Manu Velasco at Tessera Editorial and Binoy Rialubin (map artist)

Chapter 1

The screams of terror ringing in the night sent shivers of pleasure through the old witch’s body. Rokerth—the once mighty bastion, which became a school for Solheim’s elite—had finally been taken. Flames rose from one of the buildings, lighting up the darkened sky. The witch strolled casually through the yard, humming to herself amid the chaos. The bone amulets she wore clacked together with each step.

The ground was slick, saturated with blood from the slaughter. Soldiers clad in heavy leathers stormed through the towering buildings, hunting down the students residing there. Bodies lay strewn about, some corpses tossed in piles while others were scattered all over the complex.

After spending months tracking down the boy, she had finally found him. All those years ago, the child had been snatched from her grasp. The man who had stolen him had proven a bigger thorn in her side than she could have predicted. And now, after nearly two decades of searching, she had done it. The witch breathed deeply, reveling in the chaos she had wrought.

The blood and fear hanging heavily in the night air were intoxicating.

Out of the corner of her eye, the witch glimpsed movement along the edge of the garden. As she drew closer, she realized it was a young girl who looked no older than fourteen. The girl’s ankle was bent at an odd angle, and blood oozed down the side of her head. When the child spotted the witch, she tried to crawl away, but there was nowhere for her to hide. The girl cowered against the wall, tears streaming down her face. The old woman reached out to caress the young girl’s cheek.

Hush now, child, the witch said tenderly, kneeling beside her. There’s no need to be frightened.

The girl’s brown eyes widened, fear reflected in them. She opened her mouth to speak but only managed a few strained whimpers. The old woman shushed her like a mother trying to calm a frightened child.

You don’t need to be afraid anymore. The witch smiled wickedly. The delicious scent of terror made her entire body tingle with excitement. It smelled exquisite. Everything will be alright now.

The witch’s red eyes glinted brightly in the firelight. She whispered a spell in the ancient tongue, her voice dark and commanding. The girl suddenly went rigid while gasping for breath. A strange mist-like substance rose from her mouth. The old woman inhaled deeply, swallowing the mist whole. The girl’s body shriveled, a mere shell devoid of life. The witch, now young and beautiful, tossed the corpse aside.

She shuddered with pleasure as the child’s soul filled her, her wolflike ears lowering slightly in contentment. It had been so long since she had feasted on one so young. Fear; it made the soul taste so much better. She gently stroked the smooth skin of her own cheeks and sighed contentedly.

It feels good to be young, she sighed, relishing in the youth her body now held. Shiny, luscious curls, smooth skin, perky breasts, and a figure that could entrance anyone.

This academy would be full of supplies for her spells, especially blood and fresh souls.

She would be sure to harvest everything she could before they departed. But before she could set about collecting them, hoofbeats caught her attention. She rose and turned back toward the breach in the wall. What was left of the thick stone barrier was broken in pieces. A black stallion—a young man sitting astride it, his head held high—plodded into the yard.

My lord! The commander of the soldiers stepped forward and dropped to one knee, his head bowed.

The old witch muttered a curse under her breath. The young man turned his horse toward her, not bothering to acknowledge the commander. As he drew closer, the firelight illuminated his features—handsome, with hair as black as a raven’s wings and eyes like amethysts.

Have you found him yet? the young man asked.

No, Master Lucien, she replied, bowing her head as she spoke.

She could feel traces of the ancient magic throughout the bastion. The boy had spent much time here. She could sense the pure energy of the Great Mother, finally loose and rampaging. The air was heavy with it. It stirred within her an unnatural hunger—a thirst for such raw power.

I thought you said the boy was here. He turned his gaze away from her, scanning the buildings for signs of their target.

He is, my lord, she replied, gesturing to the flames that engulfed one of the towers. You see? The magic has finally awakened—the fire is proof. He is here.

Lucien nodded, gazing at the flames licking the side of the southern tower. This violence is excessive, he said as he surveyed the carnage around them. Emperor Dyrein might condone this for the sake of his political advancements, but to murder children while they sleep is far too cruel.

Wasn’t that Lord Drakar’s plan? she asked. To use the chaos of His Majesty’s assault to capture the Child of Fire?

Yes, but we were not to engage in excessive violence in our mission, he said pointedly. "Your job is to find the boy and bring him to me, not to indulge in murder for your personal gain."

The young lord gestured to the commander who still knelt before him to approach. The soldier lowered his voice as he spoke to Lucien. As they discussed casualties and the survivors who still lingered, the witch scowled up at Lucien. The young lord had everything she desired—youth, good looks, charm, and the favor of Lord Drakar. Master Lucien was only twenty-seven and already commanded great respect and power. She envied him more than any other.

Even after all she had done to curry favor with Lord Drakar, it had not been enough. She had been the one to seek out the boy. It was she who placed the tracing spell upon him. She had been the one to finally find the Child of Fire after all these years. But, to her dismay, Lord Drakar had decided to send Lucien—an up-and-coming young lord rising through the ranks of their den—to oversee the mission.

Worst of all, before they departed, Lord Drakar had forced her to submit to Lucien. She had been stripped of her freedom, binding herself to the will of this young welp. She was nothing more than a servant now. Until they returned victorious to Tenebrae with the Child of Fire, this young lord held her life in his hands.

N’gayi, Lucien said, a commanding tone in his voice.

The witch hated when Lucien said her real name. After all, names held power, and it was proof she was now bound to his service. N’gayi clenched her jaw but forced a smile. Yes, Master Lucien?

You would do well to hide your fangs, he said, his gaze fixed on the soldier in front of him.

My lord?

I can feel the daggers on my back. He glanced over his shoulder at her. Your malice is palpable.

I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean—

Do not test me, witch. The light in the courtyard suddenly shrank, the shadows creeping ever closer. There was an iciness reflected in Lucien’s amethyst eyes. I will not tolerate your poisonous words or murderous looks.

A chill surged through N’gayi. Forgive me, Master, she whispered, eyes downcast.

Madam Sorceress! One of the soldiers raced toward them, his leather creaking as he ran. Blood was splattered across his armor. When he saw the jet-black steed and the man sitting astride it, the soldier stopped suddenly and dropped to one knee. My lord!

What is so important, you imbecile? She snarled, her wolf ears flicking back in annoyance.

F-forgive me. He straightened up quickly. But…four children managed t’ flee, Madam.

What? she shouted. N’gayi snatched him by the leather chest plate and yanked him closer. A low growl rose from her throat. How could you let them escape?

T-they were strong! He protested. Them kids held their own with magic an’ such. And there’s this vicious Johte’ir—she’s the one that let ’em get away!

Where? She snarled.

The soldier pointed toward a pair of gates. Through there.

The witch tossed him aside and stalked toward the gates. She could hear the clop of the stallion’s hooves behind her. This mistake could cost her everything. With Master Lucien here, observing everything, there would be no way for her to smooth talk her way out of this failure.

N’gayi reached into her tattered robe and drew her wand. It was bent and knobby, the old wood dark from age. Secured to the end was a crow’s foot, the talons curved as if it were ready to grasp something unseen.

"Accantus!" she commanded, pointing her wand at the doors.

There was a loud crack. The doors, along with part of the wall, exploded in a shower of splinters and gravel. Beyond the hole in the wall stood a woman dressed in a white uniform, the cloth stained red with blood. The woman had dark hair, the rounded tips of feline ears peeking out beneath her curls. She was surrounded by a dozen of N’gayi’s soldiers, a falchion in her right hand and a dagger in her left. Her teeth were clenched in a snarl as the men encircled her.

A Bria’alan warrior, N’gayi muttered.

One of the soldiers charged forward, sword arcing down toward the woman. A war cry escaped the Bria’alan woman’s lips as she quickly ducked out of the way. Her own sword flashed, severing the man’s arm. The woman’s eyes darted toward N’gayi as she approached.

Taking another step forward, N’gayi raised her wand. "Tsa’l, jorakh o breekahn!" she shouted.

"Mae’an, bul o matanwei!" the warrior’s words rang over the chaos.

The air around them crackled. N’gayi’s eyes widened as her binding spell sputtered and vanished. This Bria’alan knew the language of the ancients—magic that rivaled her own.

Master Lucien pulled his horse alongside the witch. We don’t have time for this, he said.

Lucien lifted his arm, palm facing the Bria’alan warrior. Without him reciting any incantations, a dark cloud sprang up around the woman, engulfing her completely. The woman shouted spells, trying to dispel the blackness, but nothing worked. The hair on N’gayi’s arms stood on end as Lucien’s power dominated the warrior’s spells. No light could penetrate the cloud of shadows. Even with her keen feline eyesight, the Bria’alan could not find her way out.

The woman screamed, enraged, but could not break the unnatural darkness. Lucien closed his fist, prompting the shadows to condense around the young warrior.

Take her, Lucien commanded.

One of the soldiers charged in. The ring of steel echoed from the blackness, and moments later, the man’s lifeless body fell from the shadows. Half his body still lay within the lightlessness of Lucien’s magic, making it seem as if his legs had simply vanished. It seemed that even if the Bria’alan woman could not see her attackers, she was far from helpless.

N’gayi. Lucien glowered down at her, his gaze commanding.

"Jja-un waje o denga, varak. The witch flicked her wand as she spoke an incantation to command the dead. Myrtsa-un kahleesir o punjja ra jahe!"

The corpses of the men the warrior had killed rose awkwardly. Though their spirits had departed, their bodies still moved. They lumbered into the dark mass. N’gayi could hear the Bria’alan shouting as she tried to fight them off. A cry of frustration rang from the darkness.

Finally, Lucien released his hold on the magic. The shadows dissipated, revealing the woman on her knees, arms pinned firmly behind her back by the reanimated soldiers. She struggled against the dead hands that restrained her, but they held her fast. N’gayi slowly approached. The woman opened her mouth but the witch lifted her wand quickly.

"Confuto," she commanded.

Instantly, the Bria’alan’s mouth snapped shut, her words sealed. She would not be able to cast her spells now. Up close, N’gayi could see the deep wounds the woman had sustained.

There was a large gash in her thigh and a sword wound in her right shoulder. Her dark curls were matted with blood. N’gayi rested the tip of her wand under the woman’s chin, the claw of the gnarled old crow’s foot cutting into the woman’s skin. The witch tilted the Bria’alan’s face up, forcing their eyes to meet. Anger and an unwavering determination glinted in the woman’s green eyes.

You fought bravely, N’gayi said. But it will be in vain. Your stronghold has fallen, and you all are mine.

The woman bared her teeth, a low growl rising from her throat. Where did you send the children who escaped?

The Bria’alan did not respond, N’gayi’s spell having sealed her words. Instead, she spat blood in the witch’s face. N’gayi backhanded the woman with a loud slap. The warrior glared up at her; the message was clear—she would not submit. N’gayi snatched the woman by the throat. But before she could utter her curse, Lucien’s voice stopped her.

That’s enough! he commanded. We are wasting precious time.

There was a soft thud as Lucien dismounted. N’gayi’s wolf ears twitched as she listened to her master’s approaching footsteps, the tightly packed dirt crunching beneath his boots. He stood beside her, gesturing for N’gayi to step aside. Reluctantly, she complied, releasing the Bria’alan woman.

Forgive me, Master, N’gayi said, head bowed.

Release your spell. I want to hear her speak.

N’gayi clenched her teeth. More than anything else, she hated being under the command of others, especially a childlike Lucien. She gripped her wand tightly in frustration. She wanted to strangle the woman who dared to disrespect her. She wanted to see the Bria’alan dead. But as long as Master Lucien was present, she must obey.

As you wish. She flicked her crooked wand, dispelling her silencing charm.

Who are you? Lucien asked.

The woman remained silent, a fierce glower set on her face, her rounded feline ears pressed flat against her head.

Where is the boy? He said. The woman said nothing.

N’gayi snatched a fistful of the woman’s blood-matted hair and then yanked the woman’s head back, forcing the warrior’s eyes to meet hers.

Speak, you cur, N’gayi snarled. The master asked you a question.

The Bria’alan warrior shifted uncomfortably in her restraints. But instead of speaking, she merely grinned defiantly. The witch drew a hand back to strike her, but Lucien’s firm grasp stopped her.

Don’t, he commanded.

The ice in his gaze was enough of a warning for N’gayi. Tugging her wrist free from his hand, she let go of the woman’s hair and stood aside. Lucien knelt before the warrior.

Who are you? he asked again.

Torture me as you like, the woman growled. I do not answer to cowards who attack children asleep in their beds!

This destruction was not my desire, he said, his voice softening a moment. All I want is your name.

Why?

A noble warrior deserves to be remembered by name.

She eyed him closely before finally answering. Isha.

My soldiers tell me you helped four children escape. Where did you send them? Lucien asked.

You will get nothing more from me.

There is no need, N’gayi said. If the Child of Fire was among those who escaped, I can re-activate the tracer. It will lead us to him.

At the mention of the fire wielder, Isha’s face darkened. N’gayi smirked. The subtle reaction was confirmation enough. This woman knew where the boy was headed.

You must have been the boy’s guard, N’gayi sneered. Am I right?

Isha remained silent.

What other reason would there be for a Bria’alan warrior to be in a place like this, so far from her homeland? The witch rested the tip of her wand beneath Isha’s chin, tilting the woman’s head up slightly. Such a shame for you to fail after coming so far. Just wait until I get my hands on the boy.

You bitch! Isha fought desperately against the cold, dead hands that restrained her. If you harm a single hair on his head, I swear I’ll—

Your threats have no sway here, wretch.

N’gayi. Lucien rose, brushing the dirt from his trousers. Send your troops to the city below. I’m sure the four who escaped will stop there for help. If we move quickly, we might be able to catch them.

It would be my pleasure. The witch bowed low. And what of this place? There are still several survivors running about.

Leave them to me. He marched in the direction of the terrified screams, his figure illuminated by the inferno before him. Remember, our priority is the fire wielder. Be sure you catch him, or Lord Drakar will have your head. He does not give second chances lightly.

Of course.

Turning back to the woman kneeling before her, N’gayi snatched one of the dead soldier’s swords lying discarded in the dirt. She held the tip of the blade to Isha’s chest and leaned in close.

I have no more use for you.

N’gayi plunged the blade into Isha’s chest. The warrior let out a strained grunt as the sword pierced her. She coughed up a mouthful of thick blood and sagged in the dead men’s hands.

Don’t worry, N’gayi whispered as she knelt close to the dying woman. I will take good care of the boy.

The light in Isha’s eyes dimmed, her life slowly leaving her body. Her lips moved, muttering unspoken prayers to the spirits as they took her. N’gayi could hear the soft whispers of the dead, the spirits of her victims cursing her. She could hear their voices every day, but at times like these, they were much louder. She used magic to block them out, but they were always there—an incessant buzzing in her ears that would never truly go away.

It was the price she paid for dark magic, to never be free of her victims’ hatred and despair. It did not take long for the Bria’alan’s breath to leave her completely, yet another voice joining the swarm. The reanimated soldiers released her, and Isha crumpled onto her side. She lay motionless, blood pooling beneath her.

M-Madam Sorceress? One of the living soldiers asked hesitantly.

What? She snapped.

Your…orders?

Take all the troops down to the village and apprehend those children. Alive. She yanked the blade free from the Bria’alan warrior’s corpse. We can leave matters here to Master Lucien.

Aye, Madam.

*************

N’gayi stormed through the city, the stench of blood and burned flesh permeating the air. The hollow sound of wood splintering echoed over the crackling of flames. N’gayi turned to see one of her soldiers lumbering into a nearby house, the shattered door hanging from its hinges. A bloodcurdling shriek erupted from the dwelling, but it was quickly silenced.

Moments later, the same soldier emerged from the home, dragging a woman by her hair. All throughout the city, N’gayi’s men carried out Emperor Dyrein’s orders—Leave none alive.

Soldiers bearing the steel-plated armor of Solheim’s army lay strewn about. For centuries, the large military presence in Allandar, as well as the prowess of Rokerth’s elite, had kept Solheim protected. But no more. Their soldiers lay dead, and the academy burned. N’gayi had lost several men in the struggle, but even after their souls had departed, they proved quite useful. It didn’t take long for her undead servants to wipe out the rest of the Solheimian soldiers, leaving the rest of her men free to pillage the town.

But though her army stood victorious, the witch paced the streets nervously. The entire town had been razed, but the four children who had managed to flee from the bastion were nowhere to be found. Despite the emperor’s mandate, Lord Drakar had given Lucien and N’gayi specific instructions. Using the chaos and confusion of the attack, they were to find the Child of Fire and bring him back to Tenebrae—a task that N’gayi now realized would be more difficult than she had expected.

She had failed the one task she had been given. There was no sign of the Child of Fire. It was the worst possible outcome.

As she strode through the empty, blood-soaked streets, she chose to stop before the charred remains of a dilapidating house. Though the building had been set alight, the blackened skeletal remnants still stood. Bits of the home were still intact, but the rest had been reduced to ashes. She could feel the powerful enchantment set upon the dwelling. Her skin prickled, the hair on her arms standing on end.

She slowly reached for the door. Before she could touch the handle, a powerful shock jolted through her arm. The skin of her hand shriveled, dark age spots spreading across the once smooth young flesh. She jerked back, ears flat against her head as she snarled. This was no ordinary magic; it made her tail bristle. This was even stronger than the Bria’alan’s spells. This was something far more ancient.

She could sense the presence of one of the Twelve—the Child of Fire. He had been here.

His scent was strong. This must have been his home. But there was another, stronger, aura mingling with it. The man who had stolen the child away from her all those years ago: the winged beast. After turning on her heel, N’gayi stalked back to the center of the ravaged town, where all the bodies had been gathered. The soldiers were still throwing corpses onto the enormous heap.

People of all ages piled into a tangled mass. She approached one of the soldiers and snatched his dagger, yanking it free from the hilt at his waist. He rounded on her but balked when he realized who had taken his knife.

You, she said firmly, lifting the dagger toward him. Bring me as many large bowls as you can find.

Aye, Madam Sorceress.

The soldier hurried off, dragging two others to help him with his task. She could hear loud clattering as the men kicked in the doors to several nearby homes, searching for any large bowls they could find. It didn’t take long for them to amass several basins of varying sizes. They laid them before the witch.

N’gayi positioned a dish beneath the corpse of a young woman then plunged her dagger deep into the dead woman’s abdomen and sliced it open. Blood oozed out of the gaping wound and sloshed into the empty basin. The souls of the bodies she desecrated cursed her, more voices joining the angry chorus with each passing moment; she ignored them. It would take hours to collect enough blood for her ritual, but it had to be done.

Don’t just stand there, N’gayi said, glaring up at the soldiers. Fill these bowls with as much blood as you can.

N’gayi didn’t have many choices left. She had been tasked with finding and capturing the Child of Fire, but he had slipped through her grasp yet again. She had to redeem herself at any cost. Though she could sense the echo of the boy’s presence within the old, smoldering house, she was unable to enter it. Her only option was to place a spell upon the dwelling in hopes that, should he return, she would be alerted immediately.

Madam Sorceress? the commander asked, holding a basin filled to the brim with blood. What’re we doin’ with all the, uh….

Follow me, she said. N’gayi stood and started off toward the house. And don’t you dare waste a single drop!

The voices whispered curses in her ears. The souls of those she had killed or used for her dark rituals haunted her, spitting curses, and threatening vengeance. Murderer! The Reaper of Souls…he is coming for you. Give us back the lives you stole, witch! N’gayi’s ears flicked back and forth as if trying to dispel the voices, just as a dog would try to rid a fly from its ears. She carefully carried the bowl back to the remains of the house and knelt before the threshold.

The other soldiers all set their containers down beside her. After dipping her hands into the warm blood, she drew a magic circle around the dwelling with her two forefingers, all the while muttering her spell.

"Oh, power of creation and ruin, pay heed—pass through this blood and form your path. Take your power and return to the cycle of providence, she said in her native tongue. Become the foundation, my eyes and ears. Deliver to me the one who severs the links and return them to the ether."

The bloody symbols began to glow as she chanted her spell. She repeated the incantation as she circled the house, painting strange glyphs within the lines of the circle. Once she had finished, N’gayi took the remaining blood and painted similar runes across her own flesh.

"Bind and connect me that I might see and hear what passes through thy circle."

A jolt surged through her as the curse took hold. Wherever the blood had touched her, it was like white-hot needles were piercing her skin. She gritted her teeth as she let the spell sink into her. Slowly, the magic circle began to disappear, as if the earth itself had swallowed it up. Even the blood she had painted on her skin melted away, leaving no trace behind.

After taking a deep breath, N’gayi whistled loudly. An unearthly howl answered her. Several minutes later, two hulking figures appeared in the shadows behind one of the houses. The creatures ambled toward her in an awkward sideways gait. The almost humanoid figures were nothing but skin and bones with the skull of a wolf for a face. Sharp claws dug into the earth with each step. Its piercing red eyes seemed to glow in the darkness.

"Come here, my sweet," N’gayi cooed, opening her arms wide for the beast.

The Tsa’lmov skulked closer before nuzzling its bony head against her chest. N’gayi stroked its skinless muzzle, whispering sweet words of affection to her beast as if it were a normal dog.

"Follow their scent, she whispered. I don’t care what you do with the others, but bring me the one that bears my mark—alive."

The creatures grunted as if answering to her command. The beasts turned and shuffled away, disappearing once more into the darkness. A Tsa’lmov could hunt them much more efficiently without her. It would be far too difficult to chase after the four children with an entire army.

The Child of Fire was not the only reason they had invaded Solheim. There were other pressing matters to attend to. She would wait until her pet’s return, the fire wielder in tow.

N’gayi had already waited this long. She could wait a bit longer.

*************

Curse them!

The witch shrank back