Return of the Paladin Read online

  Contents

  Dramatis Personae

  Core Disciplines of the Congregation

  Other Disciplines

  Prologue

  Chapters

  1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 • 12 • 13 • 14 • 15 • 16 • 17 • 18 • 19 • 20 • 21 • 22 • 23 • 24 • 25 • 26 • 27 • 28 • 29 • 30 • 31 • 32 • 33

  Acknowledgments

  About The Author

  RETURN OF THE PALADIN

  Book IV of

  The Blackwood Saga

  Layton Green

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, and events are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  RETURN OF THE PALADIN, Book IV of the Blackwood Saga, copyright © 2019, Layton Green

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Cloaked Traveler Press.

  Cover design by Sammy Yuen

  Interior by QA Productions

  Books by Layton Green

  THE DOMINIC GREY SERIES

  The Summoner

  The Egyptian

  The Diabolist

  The Shadow Cartel

  The Resurrector

  The Reaper’s Game (Novella)

  THE BLACKWOOD SAGA

  Book I: The Brothers Three

  Book II: The Spirit Mage

  Book III: The Last Cleric

  Book IV: Return of the Paladin

  Book V: Wizard War (Forthcoming)

  OTHER WORKS

  Written in Blood

  A Shattered Lens

  The Letterbox

  The Metaxy Project

  Hemingway’s Ghost (Novella)

  To Wick Sewell, old friend and partner in imagination

  THE TALE SO FAR . . .

  The Brothers Three

  The Blackwood brothers have very different outlooks on life: Will is a dreamer and fantasy addict stuck in a dead-end job; middle brother Caleb is a charming, happy-go-lucky bartender; and the eldest, Val, is a driven corporate attorney. One night in their hometown of New Orleans, after receiving a strange inheritance from their father—a pair of bracers, a staff, and a sword with a silver hilt—the Blackwood brothers are attacked by a necromancer named Zedock who raises a manticore from a bag of bones and stops bullets with a glance. Fearing for their lives, the brothers accept a key from a mysterious old man named Salomon and are transported to an alternate Earth ruled by wizards, where magic is real and monsters prowl the land. To survive in this deadly new world, the brothers hire a band of mercenaries to recover a trio of magical items from an abandoned sorcerer’s keep. Led by an alluring but deadly adventuress named Mala, the brothers manage to recover the items, take a portal back to New Orleans, and confront Zedock in a cemetery. Will and Caleb follow the necromancer through a portal and manage to defeat him, but end up trapped on Urfe.

  The Spirit Mage

  Desperate to help his brothers, Val enlists the Myrddinus Society to help him return to Urfe. After landing in the dangerous underbelly of New Victoria, he concludes the only way to find Will and Caleb is to enroll in the Abbey—the school for wizards—and somehow gain access to a gateway called the Pool of Souls.

  As Val struggles to survive, his brothers undergo an even deadlier trial. Reeling from the loss of Mala, who is adrift in the mysterious Place Between Worlds, Will and Caleb and Yasmina are captured by slavers and taken to the mines beneath Fellengard Mountain.

  Trapped in a land of dreams and nightmares, afraid of losing their home world forever, the brothers manage to survive but are forced apart yet again. Val is thrown into an unbreakable prison for trying to use the Pool of Souls, while Will and Caleb escape the Darklands only to find themselves under siege by wizards in a city called Freetown, home of the Revolution.

  The Last Cleric

  The Blackwood brothers have become entangled in events that threaten to upend the Realm. Sentenced to die in wizard prison, Val wins his freedom by undertaking a quest to an alternate dimension for the Congregation—but taints his soul in the process.

  Reunited with an old lover, Caleb braves the dangers of the Barrier Coast to warn his ancestors of the coming invasion. He survives the journey, but at a cost so high—the death of his wife and adopted child—it will change him forever.

  And in a distant unexplored jungle, Will finds his warrior spirit as he and Mala lead a party of adventurers in search of the Coffer of Devla, a fabled artifact thought to reside in the lost pyramid of a sorcerer king. Used to annihilate the enemies of its possessor, the Coffer might be the only hope for the struggling Revolution. While the expedition is a success, prophecy holds that the Coffer can only be used by a cleric of Devla—and yet it mysteriously opens for Caleb during an attack by the Congregation.

  Dramatis Personae

  EARTH

  Will Blackwood: The youngest brother; apprentice builder; wielder of the legendary sword Zariduke

  Caleb Blackwood: The middle brother; bartender; thought by the followers of Devla to be the Templar, a warrior who prophecy has foretold will lead their people to freedom

  Val Blackwood: The oldest brother; attorney; spirit mage and member of the Congregation

  Yasmina: Zoology PhD Student; budding wilder of the Realm

  The Brewer: Former rock star from New Jersey; bard

  Lance: Former police officer and Marine; Will’s best friend in New Orleans

  URFE

  Lord Alistair: Chief Thaumaturge of the Congregation; arch spirit mage

  Mala: Adventuress; master thief and swordswoman; daughter of Clan Kalev

  Allira: Healer from a land beyond the oceans

  Marguerite: Member of New Victoria Rogue’s Guild; Caleb’s deceased wife

  Luca: Roma child adopted by Caleb and Marguerite; deceased

  Dalen: Young illusionist from Macedonia

  Mateo: Roma warrior and cousin to the Blackwood brothers

  Tamás: Leader of the Revolution

  Adaira: Cuerpomancer and daughter of Lord Alistair

  Dida: Bibliomancer from the Kingdom of Great Zimbabwe

  Synne: Majitsu loyal to Val Blackwood

  Kjeld Anarsson: Tenth Don of the Order of Majitsu

  Yasir Ookar: First General of the Protectorate Army

  Alaina Whitehall: Governess of the Protectorate

  Rucker: Adventurer

  Professor Groft: Dean of Spiritmancy at the Abbey

  The Prophet: Leader of the followers of Devla

  Salomon Elder: Spirit mage searching for his lost son

  Core Disciplines of the Congregation

  Pyromancy (fire)

  Aquamancy (water)

  Aeromancy (air)

  Geomancy (earth and stone)

  Sylvamancy (the natural world)

  Cuerpomancy (the human body)

  Alchemancy (transformation)

  Spiritmancy (spirit and astral travel)

  Other Disciplines

  Electromancy (lightning and related phenomena)

  Necromancy (scrying and the dead)

  Menagery (adaptation, breeding, and fusing of species)

  Illusomancy (illusion and light)

  Artisamancy (magical artistry)

  Entomancy (insects)

  Cyanomancy (sound)

  Relicmancy (creation of magical items)

  Bibliomancy (runes, wards, and lore)

  Phrenomancy (exploring the inner mind)

  PROLOGUE

  JEFFERSON
PARISH, LOUISIANA

  On a lonely country road outside New Orleans, at the entrance to a sanatorium nestled among a grove of live oaks, the old man with silver eyes appeared out of nowhere.

  Humming a folk melody from his youth, a time forgotten by all but the most knowledgeable of bards, he strolled right through the security gate and onto the manicured grounds. The morning sun warmed his chest and fingers, breathed life on weary bones. When one of the staff glanced in his direction, sensing a presence but seeing no one, the employee’s eyes lingered and then slid away with an uneasy feeling. Some of the patients, whose minds were tuned to a different station, had better luck. They noticed a displacement of the air or even, in one or two extreme cases, saw the old man outright.

  One of these outliers, a slender woman in her mid-fifties with gray hair that retained a smattering of sunflower strands, her fine-boned features reminding the old man of her middle son Caleb, bore an inquisitive expression as she watched him approach. She smiled as he handed her a bouquet of gardenias, her favorite flower.

  “Thank you,” she said, inhaling the aroma and then peering over his shoulder. “Is Dane with you today?”

  Salomon gave a sad smile. “I’m afraid not.”

  “That’s okay,” she said lightly. “I’m sure he’ll come by later.”

  “Maybe he will.”

  “Did he ask you to bring me these? It’s our anniversary, you know.”

  “I do,” Salomon said gravely.

  “He was here last night and asked about the boys. Do you know where they’ve gotten off to? Maybe the beach?”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “I’m sure they’ll come around.”

  With the wistful sigh of a mother who wishes her children were still nestled at her bosom, she said, “I’m just glad they’ve stayed close over the years. Family has to stick together, you know.”

  Salomon’s eyes slipped downward, a sadness whisking through him at the thought of his own child, lost in the vastness of the multiverse so very long ago. “I know,” he whispered.

  He chatted with the woman, whose name was Elaina Blackwood, for most of the afternoon. At her husband’s funeral, Salomon had wondered at the strange absence of a spirit signature. The body was Dane’s, there was no doubt about that, yet Salomon had expected more evidence of a battle between wizards, or a flight to another plane of existence. He suspected Lord Alistair had slain the elder Blackwood, but Salomon had never known for sure. Because the Blackwood brothers were very special—anomalies—he had often come to Earth while they matured.

  And he had watched.

  During this time, Salomon brought Elaina flowers every year on her wedding anniversary. Many centuries ago, he himself had made the sword that had caused all of this poor woman’s troubles. Flowers was the least he could do. He had also harbored the selfish desire of hoping Elaina could shed light on Dane’s final hour. When her condition failed to improve, he gave up on that, and he knew his magic couldn’t help her, either. Unraveling the mysteries of the human brain was beyond the powers of a spirit mage.

  Beyond even him.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she called out, as he headed for the gate.

  Salomon turned.

  “Why is your head glowing?” she asked.

  He stared at her, a wave of gooseflesh prickling his arms. In his dream the night before, one of the strangest he had ever had, Elaina had asked the exact same question.

  She giggled. “It glows, like Dane’s. Only brighter.” She raised the flowers above her head and twirled as if she were a young woman, then crossed her arms and shivered. “I like your visits much better than that other man. He pretends he’s friendly but he’s not.”

  Salmon watched her closely. “What other man?”

  “His name is Alistair. He says he knew my husband when they were younger.” She frowned. “I’ve never heard Dane mention him. I asked him about it just last night, but he said not to talk about him.”

  “You asked who?”

  “Dane, of course.”

  On every single visit Salomon had made to the sanatorium, Elaina had claimed that Dane visited her. He gave it no credence, chalked it up to the imbalance in her mind.

  “How long has Alistair been coming?” he asked.

  “Oh, just the once. Sometime recent, I can’t keep track of the days anymore. He wanted to hear all about the children.” She giggled again. “His head glows, too.”

  “Mrs. Blackwood!”

  She turned as one of the male orderlies strode towards her across the lawn. “It’s time for lunch. Where did you get those flowers?”

  A patch of sunlight illuminated her face. She shielded the sun with one hand and pointed right at Salomon with the other. “He gave them to me.”

  The orderly took her gently by the arm. “Did one of your sons stop by? Or do you have another secret admirer?”

  “I just told you,” she said, as the old man with silver eyes waved goodbye. “That man right there brought them.”

  The orderly patted her arm and guided her towards the cafeteria.

  Salomon released a heavy sigh as he walked down Magazine Street. As always, the arch mage felt a melancholy descend after leaving Elaina. Before the injury, she must have been an extraordinary woman.

  He always suspected her husband’s death was not the sole cause of her mental state. His guess was Lord Alistair or one of his emissaries had entered her mind after Dane had passed, searching for knowledge of the sword, and left a broken vessel behind.

  The recent visit from Lord Alistair, or someone claiming to be him, did not bode well. At the very least, it meant the Chief Thaumaturge of the Congregation knew of the Blackwood children, and likely Val’s true identity.

  So be it. Salomon had long ago decided not to intervene. If the smallest chance existed he could still find his own son, then extraordinary measures had to be taken. Unpleasant choices made. The outer limits of technology, the source of magic and human consciousness, the origin and meaning of the universe . . . so many secrets remained out of reach, even from the arch mage. Every time he found a new world or dimension, delved deeper into spirit or unlocked a treasure chest of knowledge, he only seemed to encounter more questions.

  Questions that dwarfed the ones that came before.

  As much as it pained him, he had to let the events surrounding the Blackwood brothers follow their natural course. The three siblings were unique among human beings, as far as he knew. Children of two different worlds, born to parents with vastly different—incompatible—spirit signatures. He sensed there were powers involved in the brothers’ struggle beyond any he had ever known, perhaps even a prime force of the multiverse. If he watched closely enough, perhaps one or more of these entities would appear in some way or reveal a deeper truth, and bring him closer to finding his son.

  As he neared Will and Caleb’s old neighborhood, deciding to re-examine the residual currents around their apartment, someone called out to him.

  “Hey you! Old man!”

  Startled, Salomon turned to find a familiar, square-jawed face limping towards him down Magazine Street. A former police officer named Lance, the young man still kept his head shaved in military style, but his once-muscular body had gone to seed, swollen with fat. An accidental companion of the Blackwood brothers on their first visit to Urfe, Lance had been badly wounded in the battle with Zedock, enough to ruin his career.

  Salomon felt a chill when he saw him, a tingling that left him feeling as shocked and uncertain as a boy wizard discovering the power of magic for the first time.

  The dream. First Elaina, and now Lance. Calling out to me on this very street.

  “Wait up!” Lance said. “I know you! You were there, in the cemetery!”

  Salomon stood in the middle of the street, unsure if he should talk to Lance or disappear. What did this mean? How did the dream affect his own promise not to intervene? From where had the dream come?

  “We have to talk,” Lance said, breathing hard.
/>   The arch mage ignored him and shuffled down a side street, deciding to test the power of the dream.

  Lance finally caught up to him and grabbed his arm. He had a crazed look in his eyes, and spittle flew from his mouth. “I know it’s you. You have to tell me, old man. You have to tell me if they’re still alive.”

  The exact same words I heard last night.

  Stunned by this manifestation of his nocturnal vision, a connection to the netherworld of the deep subconscious that not even the phrenomancers understood, Salomon tried to pull his arm away.

  Lance gripped him harder. “Where are Will and his brothers? You’re from there, aren’t you? The other world? You sent us there and you know things. Where are they?”

  Feeling unsteady, Salomon gave a furtive glance around the street and found a grove of banana trees that would shield them from view. He knew powerful forces were at work, and he had to accept that he, too, had a role to play.

  Salomon beckoned with a curled finger. “Come with me.”

  FREETOWN, URFE

  -1-

  “Did you clean your shield, Will the Builder?”

  Sitting cross-legged on the beach behind Freetown, right at the edge of the surf, the sound of Mala’s voice caused Will Blackwood to turn his head. Her lilting accent was less mocking than usual, and as she sat next to him, the breeze scattering her hair while the dusk light seemed to float within her violet eyes, she laid a sympathetic hand on his arm.

  He looked down at the battered, teardrop-shaped buckler he had taken from the tomb of the sorcerer king. The heraldic design on front, a set of runes almost faded to obscurity when he had found the shield, was now clearly outlined in a platinum hue which matched the wooden buckler’s metal edging.

  “It’s strange,” he said, in a toneless voice. Two days had passed since the attack by the Congregation and the theft of the Coffer of Devla. Though he wondered what had caused the runes to illuminate—perhaps residual magic from the Coffer—he was too grief-stricken over the death of Marguerite and Luca, and worried about his brother, to care about anything else.