War of the Immortals Read online

  War of the Immortals

  Noëlie Frix

  Copyright © 2019 by Noëlie Frix

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  PROLOGUE

  Chapter 1: The Arena

  Chapter 2: Jason

  Chapter 3: Four Hundred and Ninety Three

  Chapter 4: Storm

  Chapter 5: Nature’s Haven

  Chapter 6: A Plan Somewhat Insane

  Chapter 7: War’s Fortress

  Chapter 8: War

  Chapter 9: Operation Stealth

  Chapter 10: Free Falling to Freedom

  Chapter 11: Wind

  Chapter 12: Myegi

  Chapter 13: Protector of the Moon

  Chapter 14: Traps

  Chapter 15: The Moonlight Flower

  Chapter 16: Death’s Prisoner

  Chapter 17: Prison Visits

  Chapter 18: Escape

  Chapter 19: The Death Brew

  Chapter 20: A New Strain

  Chapter 21: Voyage

  Chapter 22: King Damien

  Chapter 23: Training

  Chapter 24: The Sun and Moon

  Chapter 25: Chaos

  Chapter 26: Sleepless Night

  Chapter 27: Seth and Heka

  Chapter 28: Reunited

  Chapter 29: Winter

  Chapter 30: Enemy Plans

  Chapter 31: Bloody Night

  Chapter 32: On the Road

  Chapter 33: The Battle of Augoro

  Chapter 34: The Aftermath

  Chapter 35: New Beginnings

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  The night was silent, pierced only by the occasional owl’s cry and the wind ruffling the leaves on the trees, covering the sleeping down in a black shroud as the clouds obscured the stars. Only a few stumbling drunks and the desperate tavern-owners trying to force them out were still awake.

  It was the perfect night, Rurik licked his lips with anticipation as he eyed the open window of his target’s home. The slender man tossed his knife once more before sheathing the blade along his thigh and quietly ran across the roof, jumping at the last second. He successfully latched his fingers onto the windowsill and pulled himself up through the narrow opening.

  The assassin crept across the empty hall cautiously, sweeping his legs in large, circular motions to check the floorboards for any creaking. He pushed the well-oiled door open and quickly took in the scene. The girl was sleeping soundly, her back turned to him, a book lying open on the floor and a nearly burned-out candle dimly illuminating the room, casting menacing shadows upon the bare walls.

  Rurik drew his knife and froze, holding his breath as the girl shifted in her sleep, her long curly locks tumbling over the side of the bed. He remained perfectly still until he ascertained the girl’s breathing remained even.

  Rurik sighed with relief and took another step towards his unsuspecting victim.

  Only one.

  Inexplicably, the girl was now standing behind him, a blade of her own pressed to his neck, her other hand wrapped so tightly around his wrist he dropped his blade.

  “Who sent you?” she asked coldly.

  Rurik was too stunned to process what had just happened. Only when she pressed the dagger tighter to his neck, drawing blood, did the reality sink in.

  “I asked you a question,” she maintained her unyielding grip on the man. “Why are you here?”

  “I was paid to take you out,” he whispered, a tremor in his voice.

  “By whom?”

  “I…I don’t know his name,” Rurik trembled, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d made it out of seemingly tougher situations.

  “What did he look like?”

  “Tall, curly brown hair and beard—”

  “Oh,” she loosened her grip, but somehow Rurik had the good sense to realize he should not even attempt to take advantage of it. “I see. He’s getting bored, that’s never a good sign,” she sighed.

  The girl spun him around and gave him a hard shove toward the door, “Leave.”

  The man gave a brief prayer to gods he’d forsaken long ago and dared a question before exiting the room, “Who are you?”

  The redheaded girl smiled menacingly, “I am the Warrior.”

  Chapter 1: The Arena

  The smells of freshly baked bread, sweet pastries, and the aroma of foreign spices filled Heka’s nostrils as she wove effortlessly through the crowded market street, the cries of merchants, dealers and swindlers echoing loudly even as the morning dew still clung to the blades of grass lingering in the shade cast by the morning sun. The fighting arenas were already starting to attract large crowds of enthusiasts and gamblers who wasted no time placing their bets, even though the fights wouldn’t start for at least another two hours. With her unruly coppery red curls which cascaded down to her waist and piercing emerald green eyes, the tall, lithe girl tended to catch people’s eyes.

  She spotted a scrawny teenage boy waving at her as he pushed his way through the throng of haggling shoppers and vendors towards her, “Good morning, Heka!” he cheerfully greeted when he had finally caught up.

  “Morning, Andy,” she smiled. “Were you running to get here?” his friend noticed he was slightly out of breath and a bead of sweat ran down his temple.

  “Yeah, since it’s market day, my boss kept me at the shop well past midnight last night. I got the day off as a result though,” he beamed. “How are you?”

  “I’m good, hungry though,” she winked. “Which baker’s stand should we raid today?”

  “Why don’t you pick? And it’ll be my treat since your birthday is coming up soon, right?”

  Heka groaned inwardly, cursing his good memory, “Yeah, but it’s not a big deal, I don’t celebrate my birthday so…”

  “Nonsense,” he grabbed her hand and started pulling her towards the stalls which gave off some of the most enticing smells. “Seventeen years of life is something to celebrate, so what do you feel like eating?”

  Heka shook her head behind his back then decided to humor her friend, “Sixteen,” she lied, pretending to correct him, “and I saw some pastries that looked like fried dough filled with custard cream a couple streets down that way.” Heka flipped her wrist around so that she was holding his hand instead and guided him toward the much-anticipated breakfast. Her deep burgundy-red cape swung with each of her graceful, fluid movements, revealing only her knee-high brown leather boots and concealing the rest of her attire. Andy remembered his initial surprise when she’d told him the only reason she was staying in King Adalr’s city was to conduct research. From the way she moved, he’d been so sure she was one of the dancers that had been recruited for the royal summer festival.

  “It’s actually good you got today off,” Heka pulled him back to the present, “since I won’t be here on my actual birthday.”

  Disappointment creased the boy’s features, “Why not? Are you leaving?”

  “Yes, I’ll be in Syra, visiting family,” she sounded about as ecstatic as he seemed at the prospect of her departure. “Here, these are the ones!” she suddenly stopped and triumphantly pointed to the golden pastries that had caught her eye, salivating as she ogled her breakfast and her stomach grumbled.

  Andy laughed at her expression and bought two buns. They slipped into a less crowded s
ide street running perpendicular to the main market place and sat on the steps of an empty chapel to eat.

  “I still can’t believe I got your age wrong,” Andy chided himself, biting into his warm fried custard bun.

  “Don’t beat yourself up about it,” she gently nudged him, “I just look older than I am.” That was one massive but practiced lie that rolled easily off her tongue.

  “I’m also bummed you’re going so far away,” he grimaced.

  “Me too,” she honestly replied, sighing heavily. “I’d much rather stay here, but it can’t be helped.”

  “Are you going to be gone long?”

  “Yes,” Heka gently said, petting a stray cat who came to rub against her leg, “but I will be back at some point. And with your apprenticeship going so well, I’m sure by the time I visit this place again, you’ll be the most famous jeweler in town, even king Adalr will be requesting your services.”

  Andy laughed, scaring away the cat who seemed to glare pointedly at him before disappearing into the chapel’s gated garden, “Thanks, I appreciate the confidence, but I’m not there yet. Wait a minute,” he straightened up suddenly, “you’ve been doing research for months and have barely made a penny in all this time.”

  “Um…yes, I’m broke. Thanks for reminding me?” she raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

  “What I mean,” he rolled his eyes and stood up, dusting crumbs off his jacket and pants, “is, how are you going to pay for the trip? It’s a long journey to Syra, and I remember you saying you’d be as likely to work in a shop as to wear a dress, so how will you make enough money for the fare?”

  “Ah,” a mischievous glimmer lit her eyes as she followed his lead and stood, stretching her arms overhead, looking very catlike as she arched her back and rolled her shoulders, “I’m so glad you asked. This way,” she crooked a finger beckoning him to follow, as she took them around a few back alleys to avoid the crowds before turning back towards the main market street and exiting in front of the gladiators’ quarters.

  “I’m sorry, I’m assuming you made a wrong turn at some point. Where are you expecting to get hired, exactly?”

  “There,” she excitedly pointed to a small, empty arena that had yet to attract much attention.

  “Let me explain something to you,” Andy began, taken aback, “that’s a gladiators’ arena.”

  “Woah, really?” she mocked, “I had no idea!”

  He’d always known she was somewhat of a combative tomboy. But not that she was insane. “Did you bang your head on something this morning? Should we get you a doctor?” he asked concerned. “Maybe there was something weird in that foreign pastry that you’re allergic to.”

  She shook her head and smirked, delighting in his surprise, “Andy, I’m serious. Come on!” and Heka marched right over to the small fighting enclosure.

  Wide-eyed, Andy followed her, hesitantly stepping into the round, sandy arena encircled by wooden bleachers. A pacifist at heart and without a single aggressive bone in his body, Andy shuddered to even think of what these fights would hold. The sight of blood made him queasy, to the point that he’d almost given up on jewelry-making at first, when his hands had still been unsteady and inexperienced, when burns and cuts were frequent occurrences. He had very quickly assimilated the tricks of the trade on how best to avoid injuring himself. But Heka provided him with a measure of reassurance and feeling of security, so he swallowed his discomfort and observed with what he hoped was a supportive attitude as she engaged the owner in what promised to be an interesting conversation.

  The man sitting behind a wooden stall counting money certainly looked the part. His left eye was hidden behind a black eyepatch, with the rest of the scar visible as it ran from his forehead to his jawline, white and jagged against his dark southerner’s skin. A thick mane of black hair was tied back at the nape of his neck and he wore a gentleman’s suit, but it poorly concealed his bulging muscles. He barely glanced up at Heka before returning his one eye to his silver coins.

  “Good morning, sir,” she politely greeted. “I’m in need of a job and—”

  “They’re hiring wenches at the taverns across the street,” he dismissively replied with the barest hints of an accent and without any attempt at politeness.

  “Thanks for the information, but if I wanted a job as a barmaid, I would have gone over there. Believe it or not, one does not accidentally confuse a fighting pit with a tavern.”

  “I don’t need a clerk,” he still refused to look up, moving his money from one pile to another. “I don’t trust anyone else with the books.”

  “Given that I’m not the most talented at math, that’s probably best,” she managed between clenched teeth, trying to keep her growing frustration under control.

  “You seem a bit young to be offering your services as a woman, and I don’t hire personal staff for that sort of thing.”

  “I want to fight here!” she exclaimed infuriated before the conversation devolved any further.

  The man finally lifted his eyes, bemused, appraising her. He leaned back in his chair, which creaked audibly, crossed his arms and mockingly declared, “You’re a woman, and barely so. If you don’t wanna wait tables, go to the shopping center on Central. I don’t need you, leave.”

  “No, I won’t leave! I need a job. I can’t sell a dress to save my life, but I can fight.”

  “I don’t know what kind of prank you’re trying to pull,” the man glared, his eye now fixed on hers, “but it’s not amusing. Go away.”

  “It’s not a prank,” she rolled her eyes. “In fact,” Heka added with an arrogant smirk, “I can take on your best man right now and prove my worth.” The man looked annoyed and about to refuse so she pressed on, “It seems like you’re having trouble attracting a crowd today. Having someone like me on your team could be great publicity, since it’s quite a rarity to see any woman fight in these parts. As such, you can be sure a majority of spectators who gamble will bet against me. Obviously I would win, so you’d reap in huge profits and with my cut, I’d be good to go and never bother you again,” she smiled brightly, disconcerting the owner.

  “You want to fight so badly, fine. Cassius,” he called out loudly. “I should warn you, though. As my best man, Cassius has never been defeated. This is your last chance to back out, girly.”

  “The name’s Heka,” she grinned and simply tied her hair back with a strip of leather, pulling it away from her fair, freckled face.

  Cassius was built like a barge, his arms as wide as his head, the veins on his bare calves protruding grotesquely. His face was mainly hidden behind a grated mask but his surprise was obvious when his owner simply ordered him to, “Fight her.”

  “I’m sorry, boss, do you mean him?” Cassius scratched his head and pointed to Andy who took two hurried steps back and waved his hands in front of his face emphatically.

  “Her,” his boss dryly insisted. “This insolent wench claims she can beat you.”

  The masked gladiator laughed at what he assumed was a joke, “Leave now, little girl. I don’t want to hurt you. It would be a shame to ruin a pretty face like yours,” he started to turn back.

  “Afraid I’ll win?” Heka taunted, stopping him in his tracks.

  Cassius exploded into laughter once more, “You? You couldn’t possibly hurt a fly.”

  “A fly, probably not,” she allowed a sweet, innocent smile to play across her lips, “I try to respect nature in all its forms. But hurting a man in an organized fight, that’s a different matter.”

  “You run your mouth too much and are wasting my time, I’m no longer amused,” replied the gladiator.

  “I promise the fight won’t disappoint,” she cracked her knuckles.

  “Look, boss…” Cassius started, but Heka interrupted.

  “You don’t need your boss to protect you, I’ll go easy. If you’re so certain of your victory and I’m fool enough to insist, why don’t you just go ahead and fight me?”

  “Since you insist,”
he shrugged and faced her fully. She did not budge, but a safe distance behind her, Andy shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, wringing his hands and wondering if maybe he should have been more insistent they find somewhere else to make money. “I’m warning you, though, I’m the best gladiator there is and won’t hold back.”

  “But I will,” she sung provokingly.

  That final jab was the last straw and Cassius lunged at her. She easily sidestepped and elbowed him on his unprotected solar plexus. Heka kicked his legs out from under him making him buckle to the ground, gasping for air, desperately trying to breathe. She held out her hand, helping the humiliated gladiator get up while the owner looked at her bewildered. Cassius was his star fighter, he had years of combat experience, both on the battlefield and in the ring, he must have weighed no less than thrice what she did. Yet somehow, the fight had barely lasted three seconds. “Of course, I can easily give you more of a show in the arena,” she declared with a smirk.

  After a short, stunned silence in which all three men eyed her with a mix of fear, disbelief and awe, the arena’s owner asked, “Can you use weapons too?”

  “Evidently. Do you want another demonstration to prove it?” she cockily inquired.

  “No, I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Great,” Heka beamed, “so I’m hired?”

  “That depends,” he crossed his arms as he examined her anew, trying to see what he’d missed in his initial assessment, but her attitude remained the same, her green eyes were full of mischief more than anything else, and the cloak she wore hid away any possible weapons and muscles. “What is your asking price?”

  “I want fifty percent of today’s benefits which promise to be excellent.”

  “Hahaha, you really have a knack for making me laugh, girly.”

  “It’s Heka,” she growled.

  “I’m Yankari,” he offered, “I don’t know where you learned how to fight, but it clearly wasn’t in arena combat. My standard rate is thirty-five percent of your personal gains. And it’s quite generous.”

  “I’ll go as low as forty-five percent of my profits,” she countered, “but as I mentioned, I need to make a lot of money very quickly and if you won’t accept that, I’m sure other places will.”