Edge of Hope

  ©2019 by Kyle Schrader

  This book is a work of fiction. All persons, places, names and occurrences are products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons or events, living or otherwise, is pure coincidence.

  All rights reserved. This book, even portions of it, may not be reproduced in any way, electronic or otherwise, without the consent of the author. Brief Passages may be quoted for the purposes of review.

  Other works in the Skies of Emerald Universe:

  The Inquisition Trilogy

  The Inquisition

  Renewed Force (Coming Soon)

  Edge of Hope

  Prologue: Emerald and Obsidian

  Agrek could not believe his luck. On an unassuming evening, while on a routine patrol around the warlock capital of Riontrii, he had been jumped by a woman wearing an emerald cloak. He remembered the moment with the utmost clarity. He, a highly trained warlock soldier, had been caught off-guard by a woman with piercing blue eyes. Her long, blonde hair tickled his face as he lay on his back. His neck felt a bit cold, likely due to the dagger she had placed there to keep him compliant. His face was flush with warmth. She cocked her head slightly, examining him closely. Agrek had made no move to escape. He was stunned, both by his own stupidity and her radiant beauty.

  “I need some information,” the woman said.

  “I have some information,” Agrek immediately replied. Her voice enchanted him. Her lips nearly danced as she spoke, his heart beating with each syllable she spun.

  Not long after they, an Emerald spy and a Warvesi warlock, became lovers. Agrek aided her and even provided her lodging in his apartment in the city. He knew what he did was treason….and yet, he could not find the will to care. He loved this woman, and she loved him.

  That was nearly a year ago. Despite everything that had happened in the past few hours, it was all worth it.

  Agrek yelled out in pain. Steam clouded his vision as it slowly drifted up from the burn the inquisitor had inflicted upon his chest. The chained warlock’s breath came out in gasps. His body trembled from the pain. But he was a warlock, a warlock defending someone he loved. He would not break. The demonic blood that surged through the guardsman kept him conscious, healing his wounds to keep the host alive.

  “Agrek you disappoint me,” the inquisitor said. He stood before the former guard, shirtless, twirling a blade about in his hand. The numerous black tattoos all across his body flared periodically, revealing the potent demonic magic locked within them. He smiled and placed his blade against Agrek’s shoulder. The metal of the sword began to turn bright orange, causing the tortured warlock to shout out again in agony. “I had always thought you quite loyal. Why would you aid an Emerald spy? What magic did she hold over your head?” he used his free hand to tilt Agrek’s gaze directly towards his own. “What magic does she still hold over you?”

  “She has not bewitched me, inquisitor. Though, you may as well kill me. I will never reveal her to you.”

  “And why not, good Agrek? Perhaps if you tell me where she is, we can work some magic of our own on her. Allow her to renounce her loyalties, then your own actions could be stricken off the record.” He lowered his blade and brought his pointer finger to the restrained man’s chest. Agrek’s eyes and neck veins bulged as the inquisitor manipulated the blood in his very body. The searing pain, caused by something so foreign to Agrek yet also an integral part of his being, threatened to boil his muscles to mush.

  Agrek spat at the inquisitor. “I am as good as dead. The Council will not allow me to live after this, and I wouldn’t allow you to brainwash her anyway.”

  The inquisitor shrugged. “There is always your child….”

  Agrek’s eyes went wide.

  The inquisitor’s smile caused Agrek to finally go into despair. “So there is a child. Interesting,” he placed his blade down on the nearby table and wrapped himself up in a black cloak. “Not to worry, Agrek. We will find the Emerald cur, and your child will soon be in our loving grasp.”

  Agrek’s face became awash with tears. They would find her. She couldn’t go far. Their only hope had been for the warlocks to give up….but the Inquisition would never allow such a child to slip through their fingers.

  “Let’s just hope the child is a more loyal soldier than you were. Perhaps he will bring honor back to your family name?” The inquisitor cackled as he left the room. Agrek screamed and cried and struggled against his bonds to no avail. In the corner of the small room, unbeknownst to the wailing warlock, bright green eyes opened and closed in anticipation.

  A terse growl was all that alerted Agrek before he met his end, screaming as the demon consumed every ounce of magic in his body.

  Pagred frowned at the scene before him. His blade was stuck in the throat of the Emerald spy. Blood covered the bedsheets. Yet, not all of the mess had been caused by his final attack. Without turning his head, he shifted his eyes to look towards the end of the bed. Sergeant Lara was busy wrapping the newborn child up in a bedsheet. She used a bit of magic to induce sleep upon the infant so that it would stop crying.

  “What do we do with it?” she asked him.

  “The inquisitor said to save the child if possible and bring it back to headquarters,” Pagred shrugged. “If they want him, they can have him.”

  “Maybe we can adopt him,” Lara said.

  The male warlock chuckled. “I would be surprised if they allowed the kid to live, Lara.” He looked back down at the body of the mother. Wrapped around her neck was a silver-chained necklace with an emerald pendant. “If he does survive,” he pulled the chain off the corpse’s neck, “we may as well keep this for him as an apology for killing his mother.”

  “She had to die,” Lara said. She was cradling the baby and rocking it back and forth in her arms. “It is the way of things. I am sure the little guy will understand.”

  Pagred grinned. “Let’s get back to headquarters. With some luck, they will let us adopt it. Then you’ll get a few years leave and can set up our home before I retire.”

  Lara glared at him. “We shall see, corporal.” They did, in fact, adopt the child. Though it was Pagred who stayed at home and raised the boy when their demon nanny was otherwise indisposed.

  Part I

  Chapter I: Flavius Caeli, Son of No One

  My breathing was ragged. My vision was so blurry I couldn’t even distinguish colors. I tasted iron in my mouth. My right hand struggled to form a fist. I was ten years old, and I had just been mauled by one of the other warlock students.

  But I was a strong little bastard. I only cried a little.

  Despite my dazed state, I could hear the other students giggling as I near drunkenly attempted to sit up. The instructor angrily shouted at those gathered, prompting immediate silence. He stepped over in front of me, his brown boots blending in with the sand as my vision slowly returned.

  “Get up Flavius, you rat!” he screamed.

  Struggling to lift myself up, I had managed to get onto one knee, preparing to rise the rest of the way, when the instructor decided to kick my shoulder, sending me tumbling back down. I cried out as my head slammed against the ground again. My left hand shot towards the point of impact, immediately feeling the telltale dampness of fresh blood.

  “Come on Flavius! Do you think the enemy will be any nicer to you? Will they let you gather yourself once they have beaten you to a pulp?” the instructor asked. His voice dripping with contempt and anger.

  “No, sir. They would just kill me,” I replied. My swift response was rewarded by a kick to the stomach, knocking the air out of my laboring lungs. Coughing up blood, anger surged through me, my right hand overcoming its disability and clenching tightly. If I could have seen myself, I am sure that
my eyes would have been glowing bright green rather than their typical blue, indicating my usage of the demonic blood that had been slowly introduced into my bloodstream over the previous five years.

  I used the sudden surge of magic to launch myself to a standing position. Dodging back as the instructor swung at me again, I deftly picked up my dropped sword. The instructor was smiling.

  “Good, Flavius. Cedric! Back to battle position. I expect you to test him under these new circumstances,” the instructor was taking a sadistic glee in my suffering. The demonic magic had allowed me to stand, even hold my blade, but my eyes were bulging out and my muscles screamed from the exertion. The veins underneath my pale skin shone a bright green, some of them turning black as I burnt through the magic.

  Another boy took position opposite of me, brandishing his own shortsword. Compared to my light, blonde hair, Cedric’s likewise military cut hair was a deep black. His natural green eyes were nearly as colorful as my dancing veins, and his wicked smile, far more evil and sinister than any eleven year old should have been able to produce, sent shivers down my spine. He tilted his head back, indicating that I could make the first move.

  I knew I had very little time. The demonic magic would be spent and I would burn out, either going unconscious, perhaps losing control of all of my limbs….or both. I lunged forward, an awkward but powerful blow. Cedric, knowing he couldn’t hope to block a magically-charged strike, dodged out of the way and slashed at my back. I kicked out with my left foot, landing a solid hit on his ankle and shoving myself just out of range of his attack.

  Cedric laughed away the pain caused by my blow. I continued my assault, and rather than counter-attacking, the other boy chose to simply dodge my swings. One after the other he evaded. My anger boiled to a breaking point. I switched my strategy, swinging two more times in the same manner before channeling my magic towards speed instead.

  Cedric shouted as my blade sliced across his cheek bone. I smiled, excited for victory….just before my vision faded to black.

  I awoke sometime later on my cot in the junior trainees’ barracks. In addition to the wounds I had sustained before I fell unconscious, I now had a few broken ribs and a broken left shoulder. Cedric must have taken the scarring of his face pretty hard.

  I ran my fingers along the bandages wrapped around my chest. The healers had done a fine job with today’s injuries. In only a couple days I would be able to go back out and nearly die again. No one else was in the barracks, giving me the opportunity to see the building unoccupied. My cot was on the floor, along with all of the trainees who were between the ages of five and ten. The eleven year olds, including Cedric, were allowed to sleep on the raised cots at the other end of the long building. The concrete structure was colder than the instructors who trained us. It was all part of the physical training: the stronger we could become as children, the stronger we would be as adults.

  I heard the sounds of the other students excitedly talking just outside the main iron doorway. I braced myself - the youngest students would want to climb all over me and see the wounds up close. The older ones were liable to mock me. I had made no friends. No one trusted me due to my lack of a family. I was “that state boy” to most of the students.

  The other young warlocks burst through the door like a flood. A few of the youngest immediately jumped on top of me, one of them shouting in victory. “I defeated an older student!” he said triumphantly. I smiled at him as he roared his dominance over my immobile form. I could appreciate their enthusiasm, but the rocking up and down on my ribs elicited small yelps of pain from me.

  Cedric, flanked by two female students, stopped by on his way to the other side of the barracks. “Try a bit harder next time, eh Flavius? It would be a shame if you were killed in an accident.” His tone was unclear as to whether the bastard cared if I survived or not. The older boy chuckled and urged the young ones on top of me to continue. They bounced even more excitedly, causing my other wounds to begin screaming with pain as well.

  I frowned and asked the children politely to get off of me. Most of them did except for the one who was focused on proclaiming his victory over my prone form. “You can’t beat me, Flavius. You’re too weak! I won!”

  I laid my head back on the cot and resigned myself to the tactic of ignoring him. If I made few sounds and didn’t move, the overzealous toddler would grow bored and leave me alone. He did eventually leap off of me, revealing that the cots on either side of mine were empty, even with all of the students present in the barracks. I questioned one of the other trainees closest to my age about it.

  “Two students died today,” the trainee shrugged. “I am sure new transfers will be here within a day or two.”

  I frowned. Not only was I being chastised by the rest of the class for having been beaten so bad, one of the only other students who treated me humanely had died today. I barely remembered the kid’s name, but his loss still stung. As everyone fell to sleep that night, I resolved to learn everyone’s names so that, if something were to happen to them, I could give them the honor of a proper prayer. I grasped the pendant that always hung around my neck, the only possession my caretakers had allowed me. It’s soft emerald glow soothed my thoughts. I said good night to Emer, the god whom the warlocks told me was false:

  Dearest Emer, Lord of Order, Lord of Salvation.

  Please bring me happiness and the strength to keep moving.

  And please protect those around me, whether I know them well or not.

  For our glory.

  The warlocks told me I was foolish for having memorized the ‘false’ titles of the god of the Emeralds.

  I didn’t care. He was real enough to me.

  That evening I had a dream, more a memory, that often came to me after losing a fight. Two warlocks in black cloaks held me down, one threatening to punch me should I resist. I was only five or six and so was too weak to really struggle. A demoness approached me with a huge smile on her face, her clothing as revealing as her eyes were to her intent.

  She gingerly gripped my left shoulder. Her fingers were smooth on my skin, almost soothing. She cracked a macabre grin at me. “Are you excited for your first dose?”

  I shook my head. I hadn’t asked for this.

  She shrugged. “Oh well.” The calming sensation of her touch was soon replaced by a sharp, searing pain: that of a dagger opening a chasm in my flesh. The wound was just below my shoulder blade and profusely bled out onto the rest of my bare chest.

  The succubus then took the dagger and sliced her own hand, placing her wound to my own. Chanting words in a language I could not at the time understand, she shoved me down to the ground out of the warlocks’ grips. I could feel my body attempting to reject her magic, reject her blood as it entered my body. The pain was monstrous, so infernal did my veins feel that I was pleased to find myself awake on my cot, drenched in a thick layer of sweat rather than actually feeling that sensation again.

  The next morning I was nearly thrown out of the barracks by our instructor.

  “Get up Flavius. You are late to your next beating.”

  “My lord,” I stammered, struggling to get up. “I am not yet healed-”

  The instructor chuckled. “Do you think I much care about that, state boy? As far as I am concerned, you are here to train the other students. So get out here and show them how a wounded warlock fights!”

  I took a deep breath once I got to my feet. My ribs felt better, but my left hand was still useless thanks to the broken shoulder. I could move my right arm, and my legs seemed fine, so I did my best to put a smile on my face and march off toward where the instructor was pointing. I thought that if I at least did my best, no one could fault me for it. Not dying would just be a consolation prize.

  The young boy who had been bouncing on top of me the night before was to be my opponent. He excitedly waved his wooden training sword around, already proclaiming his victory. I was given no weapon.

  “What is your name?” I asked the boy. br />
  “Terro!” he said. “The name of the one who will defeat you!”

  The boy’s shrill voice was borderline adorable. I really didn’t want to fight someone five years younger than me, even in the state I was in. The instructor was watching from not too far away, though, so I knew I had to go through with it.

  “Let’s see you defeat me then, Terro,” I smiled and beckoned him to charge.

  The boy was quite fast for his age. Mere moments after I goaded him, he was off, leaping towards me and swinging the training blade straight towards my neck. I carefully watched his movements, myself confident but not arrogant. I did not need to receive additional wounds if I could help it.

  I focused on using my legs to leap out of the way and dodge. My left shoulder hurt and my ribs could heal incorrectly if I moved my upper body too much - I had seen it happen to others in the class. With a bit of fancy footwork I danced around as the little boy attempted to sever my head from my neck with a wooden sword.

  The instructor shouted over at me to quit playing around. I took this as an order to fight back. I smiled sadly at the kid before me and shrugged - a mistake in retrospect. I paused from the pain as I lifted my broken shoulder up, allowing the kid to get a hit in on my exposed right side.

  WHAM.

  The wood cracked as he struck me right in the ribs with all his might. I gasped out in pain, immediately bringing my left leg around in defense. My kick sent the boy flying to the side. I had landed a hit directly on his cheek. He laid sprawled out on the ground, unconscious. My eyes went wide and I ran over to him.

  “Are you O.K.?” I asked. I placed a finger on his neck, searching for a pulse. It was weak, but he had one. His head and nose were bleeding.

  “Nice shot, Flavius,” Cedric walked up beside me. “At least you can beat the green recruits.”

  I looked up at the older boy and scowled. I was rewarded with a swift slap to the face, throwing me down alongside poor Terro.