Waiqar: a Descent: Legends of the Dark Novel by Robbie MacNiven

Author:Robbie MacNiven [MacNiven, Robbie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Media Tie-In, Fantasy, Epic, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781839082115
Publisher: Aconyte
Published: 2023-03-07T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Down Kyndrithul Dalibor took his visitors, through the manse and then further yet, to dank, crumbling cellars and crypts. Beyond even those was a warren of narrow tunnels, burrowed into the dead soil beneath the mansion and spreading like a hidden infection under the surrounding forest.

Tristayne had never journeyed to the Dalibor estate before, and he had little expected what awaited him. Kyndrithul was known as a dabbler in experiments, an unstable genius according to some, but what Tristayne had seen so far defied comprehension. He was on his guard, wary of betrayal at every turn. Zarihell had shown clear influence over Kyndrithul, but how far did it extend, and did she intend to use Tristayne in the same way? There were greater schemes at play, he was certain, and yet still the ultimate, tantalizing prize lay just before him, drawing him on. Power without recourse to the Deathborn dust or any other petty artefact or demon-curse. An ability currently beyond any in Terrinoth.

Dalibor, at least, became more coherent the further they walked. The worst of the blood haze left him, though he continued to carry the dead rat in one hand, and would occasionally gnaw on it. The vampire walked with a stooped gait, and seemed to have abandoned all the tarnished trappings of nobility that so many of the other vampire lords clung to pathetically. Tristayne wasn’t sure whether to be disgusted or intrigued by the strange figure.

“You must forgive my caution,” Kyndrithul said as he led them down a set of dirt steps and through an uneven, sloping tunnel ankle-deep in brackish water. “These are difficult times. You all must know of the Bilehall brood’s rebellion?”

“Of course,” Tristayne said, using the haft of the Black Scythe to help guide him through the muck. “Many in Zorgas were surprised you did not throw your lot in with your kin.”

“Kyndrithul’s experiments are far more important than Torvic’s petty power struggles,” Zarihell said, seemingly speaking for Dalibor. “Isn’t that so?”

“Of course,” Kyndrithul said. “Naythen Torvic’s arrogance is second only to that of the Betrayer. Both will become insignificant once my work here is complete.”

“And just what work is that, Lord Dalibor?” Tristayne asked pointedly. The vampire replied through a mouthful of half-chewed rat.

“You shall see soon enough, necromancer.”

The tunnel became wider, held up, it seemed, by the dead roots of the corpse trees that protruded in knots and bundles across the ceiling and along the walls. There were doors now as well, to the left and right, dozens, built from timber but daubed with warding sigils and binding magics. They began to rattle as the group passed by, and an unearthly shrieking went up, filling the corridor.

“My children are hungry,” Kyndrithul said, casting a glance back toward Tomaz. Tristayne deliberately blocked him.

“You will show me these experiments,” he told the vampire. “And explain to me the merit of your work. I am in no mood for games or riddles, not anymore.”

Dalibor grimaced and turned to Zarihell, but the elf offered him neither support nor instruction.

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