A Promise of Vengeance

3. Sethian Plots

Sethian Plots

Sethian Desert

1364 AE (After Exile)

First Cycle of the Second Moon

Third Calendar of Light

Lukaan sought the most remote corner of Sethia, a spot where the shield might be more vulnerable, though he had yet to discover a weak spot or even a hint of how the shield got its strength.

Just like Antar's manor, he thought, stirring memories from the deepest recesses of his mind.

Memories of Antar, his trusted friend—later, his most bitter foe. Memories of the Darkness Wars, when he and Antar basked in the glory of victory—when the seven worlds of Nelstar worshiped and idolized them. Memories of the power that infused his soul whenever he used the Sacred Book. The ecstasy...

How good it would feel to be a god again.

Sethian Desert

Hot, pitiless winds tore granules of sand from the parched earth and a death–black cloak whipped about his frame, slapping the loose ends against his calves. Lukaan raised his hands to the winds and invoked a mystic call—the winds stilled.

He unleashed a barrage of forces that once razed cities and flattened mountains. Lightning shot from a clear sky and BlackFire erupted from his hands. Steaming fissures gouged wounds in the ground, spewing fire and rock, while a tempest of winds hurled brush and trees. Finally, the earth itself raised and crashed against the impregnable barrier—all to no avail.

He could see the snow on the mountains in the distance, smiling at him, taunting. Freedom so close, yet untouchable.

snow in mountains

The air rippled and the ground throbbed. He took a moment to calm himself, then Shifted to the Sethian Palace.

Lukaan's chamber grew cold, dampened with the eerie mist that haunted the palace. It oozed across the marble floor, writhed up the steps, and slunk around his boots.

He remembered a time when he had ruled; when he was worshiped; when he was not imprisoned in this forsaken land of Sethia; when the sounds of steel-against-steel rang in his ears and the feel of mind-against-mind sang to his heart.

He shuddered at the thought of freedom. It had been so long, so very long. But he would—

The prickling sensation of power interrupted his thoughts.

Melissara entered, bowing low. "You summoned me, Lord?"

Her words rode on a confident wave. She was one of the few who could look upon his countenance for more than a few heartbeats. But she knew that the smart dog did not show the master all its teeth, so her head remained bowed.

An aura surrounded Lukaan now, a dark, forbidding presence that threatened prying eyes.

"I can still sense the boy, Melissara. Why do we not have him?"

Images of death stole into her thoughts. Dared her to answer wrong. "It is my error, Lord. Perhaps I should have—"

"I know who is to blame. Inform the Victa commander that Twin Forks is to be destroyed. If the boy survives, bring him to me."

With her head still bowed, hair dusting the floor, Melissara backed across the cold marble. "Yes, Lord. I will see it is done."

The eerie mist climbed up Lukaan's legs, caressed him. Soon the mortals will pay the price for siding with Mikkellana. Soon, they will all pay.