Crown (The Manhunters Book 3) Read online

  CROWN

  The Manhunters

  Book Three

  by Jesse Teller

  Copyright 2018 Jesse Teller

  Kindle Edition

  Also by Jesse Teller

  Legends of Perilisc

  Chaste

  Liefdom

  Mestlven

  The Manhunters Series

  Song

  Hemlock

  Crown

  For Darrin, forever a brother, my first audience.

  To Rayph Teller, starting is nothing without finishing.

  Thirty-four Years After The Escape

  “I’m fine. Help Castin. He has been hit. Do we have the street? Is the Brown Way ours?

  “The Dirteaters will catch us again if we are on the street too long. Follow me into this alley, then into the sewers we shall go. We can reach her from there.

  “Genna, I want you to meet a dear friend of mine. This is Bree. She has been holed up here for years now with only a few scraps of weapons and a bit of luck to aid her and her children.

  “Bree, my dear, such a woman you have become. We have come to get you out. The city is beyond saving. Dragonsbane is no more. All that is left of it is waste and violence. There is a small band of us in the sewers. Come, we must be quick. As you know, it wakes up at night, and the light is failing.”

  Map of Lorinth

  Prologue

  Six Years After The Escape

  Rayph stared at the most terrifying building in the whole of Lorinth. He turned to Smear and Trysliana. “He is in there, and we are going to get him out.” His anger ruptured and ran like an infected wound, filling his heart and edging him ever closer to his temper snapping and his mind letting loose of all the power at his command.

  “There will be many people in our path,” Trysliana said. “This is going to get bloody.”

  “How are we going to deal with the soldiers in there and the apothecaries?” Smear added.

  “We are going to kill them all,” Rayph growled.

  “Well, we can’t do that,” Smear said.

  “Then go home. Go back to Ironfall and the Stalwart Dreark abandoned. Go back to your ranch and the cheese. Go back to—”

  “Watch who you are talking to, Rayph. That was not fair,” Smear said.

  “I’m going in,” Rayph said. “Follow me or go home.”

  Rayph took one last look at the Crown and fought back the shudder that threatened to overtake him. Prison, asylum, hospital, and harborer of the darkness of Lorinth, in this place Phomax had hidden all his terrible secrets. This was the dark heart of the nation. Here, hunkered into the shadows of the building, hid those still loyal to the dead king. Still, they did his work, and they had one of Rayph’s friends.

  Rayph spoke a word, and the air above his hand ripped open. He whistled and a pocket of air beside him spat out a creature of stone. It was canine in shape and bore little resemblance to a dog, save its body and its stone jaws. It snapped its maw shut, and Rayph stepped forward. His hound howled, and he jumped the high wall to the Crown and landed in the courtyard.

  A blaring alarm ripped out over the air and doors shot open all over the building, purging soldiers like a sick beast vomiting filth. Rayph pointed at the main door, and his hound burst forth in a run. Its stone paws tore up flagstones as it ran. An instant before it collided with the door, it lowered its head to strike with the flat of its skull. The door rattled on its hinges and the wood split. Rayph turned to face the coming onslaught, grinning as two figures leapt from beyond the wall and clung to the structure with all four limbs. Smear and Trysliana crawled the towers like insects invading a corpse. Rayph spun, letting loose his first wave of terror.

  He waved a hand in the direction of the coming surge and, with a word, their flesh ripped and tore into shreds of blood and muscle. The rest of the soldiers pulled back, and Rayph spun from his macabre spectacle to address them all.

  “Your judgment has come for you. Too long have you preyed on the downtrodden and the sick. This place, I condemn for treachery. Drop to your knees and lay your weapons at your feet, or I will crush you all to bone and tendon.”

  Every one of them dropped. Rayph held a hand up, and their weapons lifted into the air to collide with his hand. He held them all, a hundred or more weapons attracted to his hand like a great magnet before he swung his hand behind him and tossed the arsenal away and out of reach of the soldiers.

  He spoke a word and stone hands erupted to grip all their thighs, pinning them to the ground. He turned to his hound. The beast nearly had the door open. Rayph passed the defeated men and climbed the stairs to the main door, tapping the fetish on his chest to communicate with his crew.

  “How is it progressing?” he asked.

  “I have three of my scanners placed,” Trysliana replied.

  “Four more to go,” Smear added.

  “We will know where they have him soon,” Trysliana said.

  “Good,” Rayph said, his hand gripping the fetish. “I’m almost in.”

  “Rayph,” Smear said.

  “Yes?”

  “Mercy is a virtue to rise to.”

  “I will exercise mercy when I have Cosmo back. Until then, I know only wrath.” The door split right down the middle, falling into two halves and booming through the entire courtyard. Rayph stepped into the Crown, his sword high, his hound gnashing beside him.

  Rayph met all aggressors with fire and steel. His spells were muted here. His potency curbed to light magic and lesser powers. Truly devastating spells dissipated in the air as he fought to cast them, but he had a few powerful items at his command. He reached the bottom of a long row of twisting staircases, and he stopped. Seven staircases squirmed before him like a set of stone serpents, each rising to a different tower, each of differing ages and stabilities. Rayph knew not which rise to take, so he waited. The alarm screamed, more and more soldiers rushing to meet him. He patted his hound, and the next wave of enemies hit him. He cast as they collided with him, and an invisible wall sprang out in both directions, leaving a thin narrow corridor for them to get through. He stood in the breach, chopping and firing until Smear sounded off in his head.

  “He is in the decrepit tower, the Stone Snake. You must be careful, Rayph. It is falling apart.”

  “Meet me there. Trysliana, find me an escape point. Set the charges and get out of the way. I’m headed to the Viper.”

  He tossed his sword, and the air zipped closed around it. He spoke a word, his bow dropping into his hands. He pulled at a pocket of air above his shoulder and drew a long arrow boasting an ivory-colored fist where an arrowhead should have been. He shot it at the most degraded of the flights of stairs and grinned when the fist opened and gripped the stone. A flaming cord trailed from the arrow’s wake. Rayph gripped it tight and spoke a word. The flaming cord pulled tight, and Rayph flew into the air. He screamed out to his hound to keep fighting. He whipped through the air until he reached the doorway at the top of the stairs leading to the Stone Snake. He entered the darkness and stowed his bow, calling once again for his sword and enjoying the way it felt in his grip. He stepped onto the staircase that would take him to the top of the tower, bracing himself for the climb.

  The stairs crumbled as he climbed. Wind whistled through the stones, through weak spots in the mortar. Novices had built this tower over a hundred thousand years ago. It had nearly fallen a dozen times and had been patched with stone and steel caps over and again. As Rayph walked past one of these caps, he could see it riddled with rust and holes that looked out over the city. The streets of Dragonsbane at night stood dark and enticing. The nation’s most dangerous city seethed beneath him. Rayph fought back a chill that could have been from the
currents of air ripping through the Stone Snake, or it simply could have been his aversion to this city.

  He reached a rip in the wall, where stones had tumbled into the courtyard long ago, and he slipped past the hole and the wind that blasted through it. He kept climbing as footsteps clattered above him. If they were casters and idiots, they could easily break through the tower and send it all tumbling down on them. Rayph would be buried in a pile of stones at the bottom of the courtyard. He knew he could not let that happen. He slipped out of the next hole he found and gripped the stones on the outside of the building.

  It was like climbing a wall of crumbling cheese. His every grip broke and ran as the bricks spat rock dust and split. The icy wind ripped at his robe, tearing away the edges to flap around his head and his hands. His feet could not hold anywhere on the structure, and he was forced to climb without them. He thought to release and call upon a flying spell but knew not whether it would fail beneath him. He had no play except to climb. He looked up, the tower waving in the wind like a charmed viper.

  He finally found a hole in the structure again and climbed through to cling to the stairs as a trembling fit passed. He reached the door at the top of the Snake and kicked it in.

  The room was run through with holes. Wind whistled from rotted stone and fallen bricks. The floor seemed to have bled cobbles from its expanse as drops peppered the floor before him. Four apothecaries stood with wands at the ready around a capsule made of iron fit with a door. It was tall and looked heavy, and Rayph wondered what held it from falling straight through the floor and down the tower to crash into the building below.

  It was shaped like a cylinder with a domed top, and the door was held closed with many locks. It possessed one thick window, scratched and cloudy as if the person within boiled from some sort of fever and had clawed at the window for years.

  The man obviously in charge stepped forward and sneered.

  “One step farther and we will blast out the floor. This wretch will plummet to the ground to his death, and your insurrection will fail. We know who you are, Ivoryfist. A criminal against the true king of this nation. A kidnapper, murderer, and a fiend. Leave us to our work, or we will destroy this waste of life and kill you along with him. Drop your weapon and hit your knees. We will find you a nice cell in the mighty Crown, and you can live out your days in peace and captivity.”

  “You’re all going to die today,” Rayph said. “This tower crumbles and—”

  A woman stepped forward, bald and spattered with tattoos. “Let me stop you there, fool. Do you truly think we would come to this place without the ability to fly? If we bring down this tower, we will soar to safety. But our spell-muting powers will not allow you the same escape. You will fall, buried by the falling Snake, and die a death terrible and sudden.”

  “Cosmo? Is he in there?”

  “Cosmo is not a man any longer. We have transformed him into the weapon Phomax commanded us to. We have only to break his mind, and it is all over. We will turn him on you and your foul bunch and bring justice to this nation. We will persuade Thomas to obey, and the leaders of the Crown will have this nation within its grasp. We will—”

  “We are ready, boss,” Smear said.

  Rayph spoke, and his bow dropped into his hand. He spun, facing the ceiling and firing. His arrow’s fist shattered and the holes in the room sealed. Apothecaries fired their wands, and Rayph curled in on himself, covering his body in his robe and weathering the blasts. After their attacks failed, they shot their wands into the floor to no effect. Rayph felt the tower beneath them explode, and the entire room dropped. It fell two feet before colliding with solid ground. Apothecaries dropped to the floor, confused and terrified. Rayph could feel the spell-muting effect had vanished, and he smiled.

  “Get my buddy, will you?” he said through his fetish, and Trysliana laughed.

  “We have him. We are coming home.”

  Rayph clenched his fist, and the room exploded in every direction. The city of Ironfall stretched out around them, and the four vile torturers dropped their wands and hit their knees.

  “How?” the elder one asked. “How did you do this?”

  “I shattered your tower. I dropped this room into a portal, and I saved my friend.”

  “Impossible,” the apothecary said. “Our tower would have muted this portal.”

  “Your tower can’t mute the charges Dova and I invented over two decades ago.”

  Rayph saw portals open, and Trysliana stepped through, his stone dog following behind. Smear stepped out of a second one, and Dran appeared from around the magistrate’s building beside them.

  “Treason, torture, attacks on a Manhunter, and wrongful conviction,” she said. “I condemn you to the prison of Ironfall until such time as you can stand before the one and only King of Lorinth, Thomas Nardoc.” Dran grabbed the nearest criminal and bound him in shackles.

  Rayph rushed to the door of the capsule and gripped it tight. He spat a word, and with one wrench, ripped the door off its hinges. He looked inside to see his friend, bound in a steel chair, his head facing up as he thrashed and bucked. Foam ran from his mouth and nose like a fount; his throat and face were purple and swollen. Rayph burst into sobs and rushed to Cosmo’s side.

  Uninvited Guests

  Eight Years After The Escape

  “Not alone!”

  The words ripped through Rayph’s head and he jumped to action. Papers and scrolls rioted about the table, flying up in a flurry as he fought his way to his feet.

  “Boss, we are not alone!” Smear said.

  Rayph looked at his desk in Ironfall and cursed. He leapt out the window behind him, out of the magistrate’s office and into the air. His fly spell took effect and he lifted into the sky.

  Smear’s call summoned every member of the Manhunters to the middle of the street overlooking the great fall to the sheer drop off beyond. There, suspended in the air, hung six figures in cloaks, staring down with hard faces at the Manhunters assembling. Rayph joined his crew in the streets and touched his fetish.

  “Dran, bow,” Rayph said. Since the soldier woman had joined their crew, Dran had proved to be more resourceful than Dreark and less combative. She pulled her bow from her back and in less than a breath lowered an arrow on the cloaked man in front. Sisalyyon took the form of a woman made of wood and slowly pulled two thin clubs from her hip. Trysliana rested her hand on her sword handle and dropped to a knee.

  It was an odd pose, a submissive pose, and the hovering figures stared at it. Smear pulled his fist daggers and positioned himself behind Trys. Rayph stepped forward and pointed his sword at the apparent leader.

  “Why do we not rip you from the sky?” Rayph said.

  “Out of character, for one,” a tan, simply dressed wizard said. He had a kind face. His arms, relaxed at his sides, did not speak of a man who came to fight. He held a rod, three feet, no bigger, but Rayph sensed an enormous amount of power residing within the object.

  “What do you know about my character?” Rayph asked.

  “Are you going to play it like this? Like we don’t know who we are talking to or what to expect from you?” a blond man said. He sported a tall mohawk and wore a leather robe with ripped off sleeves. He pointed a finger at Trysliana and smiled.

  “Trysliana Crillian, also known as Fringe, Dents, Marred, and The Sweet. A slippery woman to pin down, for sure. Known to be impossible to track and deadlier than an angry viper, intelligent, beautiful and powerful beyond reason. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I look forward to talking in depth with you about your trainer, Beaten Rask.

  “She kneels before Smearfanalioneftylmor Kond. Known to all as Smear, the spy that found Terment, the hunter of the Darklings of Teyrend, the one man more slippery than Trysliana, though nowhere near as deadly.

  “Sisalyyon of the Cherry Tree. Half dryad, half human, the balm to all things natural, the princess of Pantilon, the love of none, though courted by many.

  “Dra
n Demar, the head of the Court Guard of Nardoc, the most devastating warrior in your band. Daughter of the Eastern Gate and most brilliant strategic mind this country boasts. Incorruptible, unshakable, unstoppable. The greatest archer of your band as well. The only one of you I fear.

  “Then there is Rayph Ivoryfist, Rayph Tellamore. We do not have time for me to regale us all with his powers. All I can say is I came prepared for him, though I would never want to fight him.”

  “You know who we are, true enough,” Rayph said. “But who are you?”

  “I am Thrak Debane, librarian and duelist of the Callden Collective. This is my brother Ithyryyn,” the mohawked one motioned to a man in blue robes hovering to his left. “This is Gale Summerstone.” The man with the rod nodded. “Tate Mestlven,” Thrak motioned to a young man in gray robes, “Roth Callden,” he motioned to another young man, wearing wizard’s robes and a massive sword. “And this is Quill. She was our method of tracking you down.” He pointed to a beautiful woman in white robes.

  “Why do you come to our headquarters uninvited?” Rayph said. “Why meet us here where we hide?”

  Thrak lifted into the air and Quill drifted where he had hovered. She was beautiful and serious. She hid her hands within the folds of her robe and was obviously nervous. “We came as friends, and we waited to find you here. We needed to approach you on your ground, where you would feel empowered and safe. We wanted to meet you in strength.”

  “Why?” Smear said.

  “We are more powerful than you,” she said with no apparent arrogance. “It only suits that we would meet you on your turf, in a place where you would be at your best.”

  Rayph did not like the way that sounded. He gripped his sword tighter. From the left came the boy Roth. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. He wore a red robe with the sleeves rolled up. From his back hung a massive sword. His hair was red and short cut on top. He had kind blue eyes and his smile soothed Rayph.