Conrad Edison and the Broken Relic (Overworld Arcanum Book 3) Read online

  I gripped him beneath the armpits and dragged him down the hall and the stairs. I was huffing and puffing by the time I got him into one of the cells on the floor below. I didn't bother putting him on the table and closed the door behind me.

  On the way back up the stairs, I flicked the wand through a pattern and said, "Illumus." A small globe of light appeared at the tip. I snuffed the spell, satisfied that the wand wasn't charmed to refuse the commands of another spell caster.

  I took the man's staff and flicked it out to full length. It rose half a foot taller than me, making it awkward to aim, so I reduced it to compact size and stuffed it in my back pocket.

  Though I now had magical means, I was merely a novice. I knew only one offensive spell and one for defense. If there were other people in this dungeon, I would do well to avoid them.

  The parchment the man had been so intent upon caught my eye. I shuffled back to the first page and found the title: 5002 Analysis by Seer Paul Plinth. I didn't understand what about a number needed analyzing and read the introduction.

  Foreseeance 5002 has been a subject of great debate. Should action be taken, or should events take their course?

  I argue for the former.

  Arcnology may pave a path for the subject to become stronger much faster than a traditional Arcane education. It may also lead to another Overlord scenario or worse. We cannot discount the dark influence on an impressionable mind.

  Remember this dire warning: Dark specters shall herald the destruction of worlds.

  I believe it means all the realms will suffer if we leave the future to chance. Overt action is justified and required.

  The third paragraph sent ice spiders crawling down my spine. The Overlord was the name Victus had adopted once he forcibly took control of the Overworld. It appeared this fellow didn't know my father had risen from the dead on the back of his own son.

  I wished to read more, but there was no time. I had to make my escape.

  After searching the desk and the pockets of Plinth's robes in his closet, I found nothing else that might aid my escape, so I crept back out into the hallway and along the wall. More stairs were around the corner. I walked up to the top and found three doors. Only one was unlocked so I eased it open and peered through.

  A wide room with neat rows of bookshelves was on the other side.

  "How odd," I muttered. This was a strange place. Why were there living quarters on the floors just above the dungeon? I wondered if all those levels had been converted from one use to another at some point, or if this was some sort of dormitory.

  After listening carefully for several seconds, I felt confident there was no one inside the library, so I ventured in and faced three doors. I'd crossed halfway through the room to the door straight across from me when I heard a snort and loud sniffs. I froze and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The clack of claws echoed against the stone, coming closer and closer.

  Bookshelves blocked me on both sides. I had nowhere to run but forward or backward. Unfortunately, I didn't know where the sound originated. I readied the wand and waited. A huge black dog wearing a collar like the one I'd woken up in stepped around the corner in front of me and growled. I turned to run back the way I'd come, but the growling went from mono to surround sound. Another dog blocked my retreat.

  What a conundrum, Della said in an amused voice.

  Any advice? I asked.

  Run, Vic said dryly.

  My parents' soul fragments weren't much for offering helpful advice. Where do you suggest I run to?

  There was no reply.

  The dogs stalked closer, teeth bared in angry snarls. I pressed a hand against the bookshelf to my right, heart thumping. It was solid wood, sturdy, nearly immovable. Before the dogs came any closer, I shoved books off the shelf and clambered up. The dogs charged.

  I pulled my feet up to the fourth shelf just before canine jaws tore into my ankles. I'd hoped the cases had open backs, but whoever built these hadn't cut any corners, and solid wood prevented me from slipping through to the next row. I reached the top of the bookshelf and lay on my back, facing the ceiling. Sweat trickled down my forehead and my heart pounded like a frightened rabbit's.

  Four feet separated the case from the ceiling—more than enough room for me to crouch-walk. The dogs paced below, ready to pounce the moment I returned to the floor. Though they continued to snarl and growl, they didn't bark. That surely would have alerted anyone in nearby rooms.

  I looked across the tops of the other bookshelves at the other doors. The aisles were just narrow enough for me to jump, so I did. I hopped left, going from shelf to shelf until I reached the other side. The dogs whined in confusion as they searched for me. I clambered down from the shelves and tested the two doors on this wall. Both were locked. Clacking paws told me I had no time to jimmy the doors, so I went back up to the top of the shelves just as the dogs rounded the corner.

  I hopped my way to the other side of the room, once again throwing the dogs off my trail. The three doors on this wall were also locked. I took a moment to inspect the latch, but it appeared to be a deadbolt. Before the dogs reached me, I climbed back to the top of the bookshelf. Falling books thudded to the floor behind me.

  It wouldn't take much in the way of brains for anyone who came in here to realize that someone unauthorized had been in here. I took a book from the top shelf and examined it. Surely there must be valuable books in this library to warrant guarding them with dogs.

  This book was about an organization called the Illuminati. Apparently, they'd been quite powerful, judging from the summary, but had been nearly wiped out by Templars and other organizations. I hopped over a couple of aisles and found a tome about a man named Peter Evans, a once prominent Arcane. As I leafed through more books, I realized many were like spy dossiers on individuals and organizations.

  A few books down from the book about Peter Evans, I found three books with my family name. My book came before the ones about my parents, and it was short—more of a leaflet than a book. In its few pages, it described my life as a child. I was so entranced with it, I nearly forgot I was in the middle of an escape.

  I folded the pamphlet and stuffed it in my front pocket. I wanted to take the ones about my parents, but escaping with my own hide intact was challenge enough without carrying books. This library was a treasure trove of information. It made perfect sense why the owners would so zealously guard it. This place was obviously home to an organization that spied on everyone and everything.

  The most glaring incongruity was why they'd kidnapped me.

  My next challenge was to test the final door in this room and pray it wasn't locked. To do that, I had to elude the guards.

  They're just dogs, Della said. Even you should be able to outsmart them.

  I sat down and shifted uncomfortably due to the metal buckle in one back pocket and my bloody shirt in the other. I took out the bloody shirt and one of the dogs whined and licked its muzzle. Though the dogs had probably been asleep when I came in the room, it was no wonder they'd known there was an intruder.

  The blood on my shirt probably smells like a feast to them. I walked along the top of the book case to the side of the room I'd entered on and the dogs followed as if I dragged them on an invisible leash. The open door to the cells was twenty feet away. I wrapped a book in my shirt, cocked my arm, and threw the shirt through it. It landed on the top of the stairs.

  The dogs raced toward it and began a vicious game of tug-of-war for the bloody prize. I clambered down so quickly my teeth clacked, ran to the door, and closed it before the dogs could come back through. I took a deep breath of relief to celebrate being one step closer to freedom, however far away it might be.

  Now that I had a moment to rest, I retrieved the books on my parents and skimmed through them. The highlights of Victus's evil career seemed to span from cover to cover. My mother's started off much differently.

  Though Delectra is often seen as the cold, ruthless wife
of the Overlord, she was once a very promising student. Mentored by the once peerless Galfandor, she quickly rose to the top of her novice class and beyond. He described her in his journal as a brilliant light in a room of dim candles, and yet a gentle soul, filled with empathy.

  This was before Victus set his sights on her. As the brightest star of Science Academy, many of his peers disdained his obsession with Delectra. What none realized was that he was also secretly studying magic, most notably, demon summoning.

  Through our studies of Victus's secret journals that we found after his death, we discovered that Delectra's gentle nature was destroyed by demonic inversion. He slowly destroyed her and rebuilt her into the ruthless woman that he needed her to be.

  Chapter 3

  My insides felt hollow as I continued to read the impersonal observations about my twisted evil mother. Had she truly once been a kind and gentle person? Why had Galfandor never told me he mentored my mother? My face burned with rage, but regret doused the fire and left me feeling cold inside.

  Lies, Vic said. I only brought out the real her.

  Is this true? Della said.

  Vic didn't reply.

  Whatever Victus had done to Delectra, it had been thorough. She'd wasted no time trying to kill me shortly after Rufus Cumberbatch had resurrected her and Victus.

  My thoughts came to an abrupt halt as I read the next passage.

  It was rumored that Galfandor sought the Broken Relic of Jura to cure Delectra. He apparently abandoned his search once he realized in the wrong hands, the relic could be, as he noted in his journals, "a dreadful weapon."

  On a related note, it was rumored that Victus sought the Eye of Jura. Some reports claim he found it, but if that was the case, why did he not use it to escape death? Underborn's collection is by far the largest of all the relic hunters’, though Stella Tiberius was not far behind. (For more information, please see Relics of Jura).

  What was this Broken Relic of Jura? How could it cure my mother? I held onto my parents' dossiers and ran to the R section. There I found a slim book with the referenced title and tucked it with the other books. I wished I had a backpack. There was probably one in the living quarters, but since the dogs were now trapped in that hallway, I didn't dare go back.

  I'd wasted enough time in this library already. It was only a matter of time before someone else came through here and discovered the escaped prisoner. I tested the final door in the room and discovered it was just as locked as the others.

  I'd searched Plinth and hadn't found any keys on him. How had he gotten in and out of this place without a key? I closed my eyes and visualized the desk and everything on it. I didn't remember seeing a key lying around. That meant he must have gained entrance in another way.

  It meant—I reached into my pocket and withdrew Plinth's wand. Once inserted into the keyhole, the tip elicited a click as the deadbolt withdrew. I opened the door and found a long corridor. The other doors revealed two closets, a bath house, and another long hallway. I went to the end of one hallway and found a kitchen.

  Hunger gnawed at my insides. I tore chunks from a loaf of bread on the counter and gulped it down. A pantry with a cooling enchantment held pails of milk which looked as if they'd just been filled. I was too thirsty to look for a glass and slurped straight from the pail.

  Several packages of meat bundled with twine sat on a shelf opposite the milk and in the back of the room were fruits and vegetables.

  I didn't allow myself to eat anything else. Running would be hard if my stomach was full to bursting. I exited the cooler and looked around.

  The kitchen windows looked out into a large green field, and a door led outside to a woodpile. A tall stone wall with sharp iron spikes guarded the perimeter. Though I didn't see any people, that didn't mean there weren't more dogs running about. I went back into the cooler and unwrapped the twine from the meat then used it to bind the books together so I could sling them over my back. The meat would be the final key to my escape, provided there were dogs outside.

  I resisted the urge to race outside and took a moment to survey the landscape. The wall was too high to climb, and I saw no gates. My heart sank. I'd come so far only to reach a dead end. The situation left me with no alternative but to go outside and sneak around the perimeter to the front where there surely had to be a gate.

  The doors in the kitchen weren't locked and I discovered a larder, the entrance to a dining hall, and a private dining room with a blackened hearth. I heard voices echoing through the dining hall, though the room appeared to be empty. The private room had no other doors. I would probably have to backtrack and investigate the other rooms for a route to the front of the castle.

  The voices drew closer, accompanied by the clomp of hard-soled shoes on stone. I risked another peek into the dining hall and saw two men in black robes coming my way. I dashed through the opposite door and down the hallway leading to the library. Shouts rose from the other side of the door and dogs barked in response.

  They know I escaped!

  Fighting knees weak with fear, I ran back into the kitchen and considered my last two options. Either run outside where I'd surely be cornered by dogs, or find someplace to hide in the private dining room. I ran inside the private room and looked up the chimney. It appeared wide enough for me to shimmy to the top, but the square of light looked very far from here and my bare back would be rubbed raw from the stone.

  It was the only avenue left.

  Before I began the climb, I went back into the kitchen and squeezed blood from the meat and onto the floor, leaving a trail to the back door. Then I took the chunks of meat and threw them outside. It wasn't very far, but it would give me a little extra time. I rinsed my hands in a bucket of water and grabbed a handful of dried and crushed lavender from the window sill to rub over my body to help counter my scent.

  The footsteps sounded much louder now. I had only seconds left. As I turned for the private room again, I saw another small door built waist-high into the wall. I jerked it open and found a dumbwaiter inside. Designed to carry large trays, it was large enough to accommodate me. I made a split-second decision and went with my gut.

  I shut the door to the dumbwaiter. Seconds later, the kitchen door opened and the men entered.

  "…got word he escaped," one man said.

  "Impossible," the other replied. "Even if he got out, he'll never get past the moat."

  A moat? Unless I could scale the wall around the compound and ford the moat, my odds of escape looked slim.

  "I'd like to know how he got out of the cell," the first man said. Another door slammed shut and their conversation faded.

  I pulled on the rope and the dumbwaiter inched up. I expected a great struggle to lift my own bodyweight, but found progress to be relatively easy. It occurred to me that there must be a counterweight built into the design. Otherwise the food would plummet straight back down the moment anyone released the rope.

  I reached the second floor and the wooden box clicked into place. I cracked open the door to a hallway lined with doors. A man in black robes appeared from a stairwell at the end and might have seen me had his nose not been buried in a book. He vanished inside one of the doorways.

  This definitely wasn't the floor I wanted, so I continued up to the third floor. The platform refused to go any higher, so I assumed this was the top level. A peek through the door revealed an opulent bedroom. Tapestries and paintings adorned the walls, and a large four-poster bed with a richly embroidered comforter sat against the far wall. An old man in black robes stared serenely out from one of the portraits. He held a staff topped by a circle of gold in which hung an unblinking silver eye. Something was inscribed at the bottom of the frame: Quod visum non videntur.

  What has been seen cannot be unseen, Della said.

  "What does that mean?" I hissed back at the voice in my head.

  They have been watching you, she replied. Foolish boy.

  The hairs on my neck pricked at the thought. "What do
you mean?"

  There came no reply.

  How typical! Why did she tease me with such frightening information and leave me suspended?

  I listened intently for a moment then disembarked the dumbwaiter and scurried through the room. The study next door was overstuffed with ornately carved wooden furniture, marble-topped tables with crystal vases, and richly bound leather books in glass display cases. A book with a golden cover sat directly in front of the window behind the desk.

  The plaque on the case read: The Golden Standard.

  Surprisingly, the case had no lock and the door opened with a gentle tug. I tentatively touched the book, afraid it might have a charm that would set off an alarm. When nothing terrible happened, I took the tome and opened it.

  Foreseeance 4311 – The Gold Standard

  Despite attempts by third parties to prevent the knowledge in this volume from being properly recorded, we were able to collect that which was feared lost. Though we have foreseen many important events over the past few millennia, few compare with the accuracy and the importance of Foreseeance 4311.

  What was seen came to pass and will not be forgotten. Despite the foreknowledge gained by the subject, it was agreed that most came to pass as it should have.

  The pages were thick, the letters embossed in gold. It was obvious these people were extremely proud of whatever it was they'd done. The first few pages waxed philosophical on whether it was a good thing or not that the subjects of foreseeances were given the details of their futures.

  This book spoke of Justin Slade and the Second Seraphim-Eden War, as the writer titled it. The first section about the foreseeance was a collection of snippets from various foreseers around the world. Most of them were so vague they hardly seemed connected to Justin Slade.

  The next section was reserved for the foreseeance that had been written by one of the foreseers in this organization. It was also vaguely worded, but the author praised it as being precise and thorough.