The Maleficent Seven by Cameron Johnston

Author:Cameron Johnston [Johnston, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9780857669087
Google: 2kYIEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: 0857669087
Publisher: Angry Robot
Published: 2021-08-09T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 22

The gloomy thatched hovel was barely suitable for Maeven’s needs. Fragrant herbs and bags of grain hung by twine from hooks on the ceiling, and pots and pans from the rough stone walls to utilise every possible inch of the meagre space. How a family of six lived in this tiny, cramped room with its single table, central fire pit and bed of straw, the necromancer had no idea. Nor did she care where they had gone, after she sent them fleeing with a miniscule display of her magic.

She blocked off the entrances with barriers of churning death magic to stop anybody or anything from eavesdropping, then set down her pack and extracted the small box within. She set it down on the woven reed floor mats, dusted off the lid, opened it and removed her grandfather’s finger bones from their velvet cushion. She carefully placed them on the hovel’s table and took a seat as she called forth his ghost.

Then, safely hidden away from prying eyes and ears, she burst into great heaving sobs. Hot tears rolled down scarred, tattooed cheeks.

Cease your crocodile tears, the ghost whispered in her mind with a voice like dry parchment and old bone. You have not cried truly for forty years and I believe it not. You will have no sympathy from me.

Her sobs changed into mocking laughter. “One day I will fool you. Nevertheless, I am not a dusty old dead relic like you. I still hurt and I still feel – how you hate that you cannot…”

Save it for when you have the time, girl. We have work to do. Are you positive that this is the only option left? Even if he kidnapped your sister and tried to kill you, he is still your blood.

“My brother needs to die. My sister lives and I will step over his butchered corpse to free her from his grasp. Black Herran has promised me that he will appear on the field of battle. She thinks herself so very clever, when in truth I am the one manipulating her. When the time is right, Black Herran too, will die by my hand.”

Have you readied the artefact?

She pulled the glossy black obsidian blade from her pack. It was set in a pure silver hilt, the grip bound in soft human leather skinned from a living wizard’s left hand and forearm. He hadn’t lived for long, of course, but long enough for her to complete the ritual of creation, bury the blade in his heart and seal his soul into it. The more lives it took, and the more souls sucked into it, the more power over death she could wield through it. At the current time it could kill any mortal with a single wound, though it could only empower her to raise and maintain a few dozen corpses. She needed more, much more to achieve her goals.

“The rituals of empowerment are complete and have been tested,” she said. “It has absorbed a few souls already, including one from a hiver.

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