Rise of the Lich Sentinel Read online

  RISE OF THE LICH SENTINEL

  JESSAMYN KINGLEY

  Copyright © 2017 Jessamyn Kingley

  All Rights Reserved

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Editing: Flat Earth Editing

  Cover Design: 2017 © L.J. Anderson, Mayhem Cover Creations

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite eBook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  About the Author

  Prologue

  36 AD

  “Welcome to life, Lich Sentinel,” a kindly voice said.

  “Have I a name?” the Lich Sentinel asked. The thoughts in his mind were hazy as he lay there. The resurrection spell was pummeling his brain with all the information he was required to learn.

  “Alaric,” another voice, this one not as friendly, replied.

  Alaric opened his eyes and found himself in a dim room with several sorcerers. His stomach roiled but he pulled his body into a sitting position.

  “Have a care—you have just been resurrected,” the kind voice instructed. “I am called Le’Terrius, Lich Sentinel.” He pointed to a lad with copper hair. “This is my son, Carvallius.”

  “He doesn’t need to know our names. He is not likely to ever see us again,” the frosty voice from earlier snapped. “Let us cast the spell on him and be gone from this cursed place.”

  “You need not make my home sound unpleasant, Egidius,” a dark-haired necromancer remarked. “The Lich Sentinel will require some time to recover before we cast on him again.”

  “Sigimund, you try my patience,” Egidius said. “I do not have time to waste. You lacked the power to create the Lich Sentinel on your own so I came without delay. It is the fault of Arch Lich Faustus and his horrid mate who created this mess. The wizards should not need to live in fear of these animals.”

  “Surely you can see the sentinels are not animals,” Le’Terrius argued.

  “You have ever been foolish, Le’Terrius,” Egidius accused. “Otherwise you would have not helped Faustus and Domitia summon forth these beasts to begin with.”

  Lich Sentinel Alaric struggled to determine the import of their words, but he could only listen as he still feared his body would revolt and he did not wish to give into the pressing sickness.

  “Let us not argue,” Sigimund requested.

  “No, let us finish our work so I might leave,” Egidius said.

  “Arch Wizard, he will need time,” Sigimund pleaded.

  “I have none to give,” Arch Wizard Egidius retorted. “If you do not wish to get it over with now, then you will have to do it without my services.”

  “Are you well, Lich Sentinel?” Le’Terrius asked.

  “Well enough,” he answered, though it was far from the truth.

  “His eyes are strange,” Carvallius observed as he peered at Alaric.

  “We asked Fate as we resurrected him to create a leader of the sentinels,” Sigimund replied. “Obviously she would wish to mark him. I imagine that is why his eyes are the color of the poison on his blades.”

  “There is a special place where you will dwell with your sentinels,” Le’Terrius explained. “It will react to your commands. An endless supply of parchment lies upon your desk. All you need to do is write down your wish, and the castle will respond to your request.”

  “You must make sure he cannot leave the castle once he arrives,” Egidius said. “Otherwise he may return here and kill us all.”

  “You need not fear sentinels, but it would not do for him to be able to leave,” Le’Terrius replied. “The others need him to see to their care.”

  “I must agree with Egidius,” Sigimund threw in.

  “He will not be able to leave without a necromancer to summon him, is that not true, Father?” Carvallius asked.

  “That is likely the way of it, Son,” Le’Terrius answered.

  Alaric did not trust this group of men; no matter what kindness he heard in the voice of Le’Terrius, they seemed to wish to trap him and all the men under his new command in a magical castle. He made the decision not to inform them of his ability to transport himself anywhere. Not being tied down by a necromancer meant no one could keep him in this fortress of theirs—although he cared not to return to the company of people like these.

  “He cannot leave. What else needs be taken care of?” Egidius asked impatiently. “And what of the dark poison at the bottom of his daggers? All the others had only green.”

  Alaric knew the black was a separate poison which could kill anyone resurrected like himself, but he would offer no explanation to these men.

  “I was not privy to the entirety of the spell Domitia and Faustus used,” Le’Terrius said, though Alaric detected dishonesty in his voice. “I have no answer.”

  “It could be more dangerous than the green,” Sigimund remarked.

  “The green is deadly to us all. How can anything be more harrowing than that?” Carvallius asked.

  “I have already given him the knowledge of casting a spell to burn the names of the sentinels into their daggers. It will be necessary to avoid a disaster such as the one Domitia orchestrated,” Le’Terrius explained.

  “A disaster you have yet to explain fully to any of us, Le’Terrius,” Egidius accused.

  “I have given all the knowledge I can impart,” Le’Terrius replied, though something in his tone gave Alaric the distinct impression the warlock was still lying. Sick as he may be, his abilities were still able to detect such flagrant dishonesty. “Now we must see to it the sentinels are not harmed. Your former Arch Liches were not high in popularity, Sigimund, but there may still be people who blame the sentinels for their deaths and wish for retribution.”

  “I care not if they all die. They should not have been created from the start,” Sigimund shot back. “I know I was most happy when the sentinels were all sent to their castle. All I wish for is to be Faustus’s replacement as Arch Lich, and I have many people to sway.”

  “I do wish you cou
ld both find a way to open your minds about this topic,” Le’Terrius argued.

  “Get on with it,” Egidius demanded.

  “Very well,” Sigimund said. “He has many men to watch over. I see no reason why we should not remove his desire for sleep or food. It will give him many more hours of the day to rule.”

  Le’Terrius’s dark green eyes were pleading. “It will cause him pain to be deprived of nourishment.”

  “I have no wish to starve nor crave the comfort of a bed,” Alaric stated. His body swayed as he continued to fight his stomach’s need to retch.

  “Is there no way to silence him?” Egidius asked.

  “You are punishing him needlessly,” Carvallius commented as if elated at the prospect.

  “Le’Terrius, kindly teach your son manners,” Sigimund said.

  “Do not tell me how to raise my son.”

  “Enough,” Egidius demanded. “What else must we concern ourselves with?”

  “He should not be distracted by thoughts other than those of what benefit the sentinels,” Sigimund suggested.

  “Should you do that, he will be deprived of his own feelings and considerations,” Le’Terrius cried out.

  “Not likely,” Egidius offered in a bored tone. “He will still feel them—they will just remain unexpressed.”

  “Should he ever escape, he may wish us dead for casting such a spell upon him,” Carvallius added as he crossed his arms over his dark tunic.

  “He will have no memory of this day,” Le’Terrius said. “I have made the castle so it dampens the memory. It seemed wise after all that transpired.”

  “I have no wish to be deprived of my own desires,” Alaric stated.

  “No one has any interest in what you wish,” Egidius responded without any heat in his voice. “Have we left out anything, or have we come to an agreement on all that need be cast upon the Lich Sentinel?”

  “Just rest now, Lich Sentinel. We shall make this easy upon you,” Le’Terrius promised as he patted Alaric’s shoulder. Alaric had no wish for the warlock’s touch but as he had been the only voice in the room with any compassion, he chose not to shake off Le’Terrius’s hand.

  Carvallius gave him a toothy grin. “You should likely lie down before you fall to the ground. Dark magic can be quite painful.”

  “Do not cause him fear, Son.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “But you should heed my son’s words,” Le’Terrius told Alaric. “You are too newly resurrected to have this spell cast upon you as it is.”

  Alaric was given no choice but to lie down as Egidius pushed him back with a hand upon his chest. Weakness crept over him and he wished he had the strength to remove himself from the assembly of twisted sorcerers.

  “The spell will be well disguised, will it not? Should he ever get out of the castle, I have no wish for anyone to know I have been part of this plot,” Egidius stated.

  “That is why it takes the four of us to cast it,” Le’Terrius explained. “It will go undetected. Only a truly powerful group of casters would be able to even sense a spell is upon him at all. It is dark magic but not foul, so no mark will be left upon his skin.”

  “It is as I have said before—he is the leader of his people. We simply seek to make him more dedicated to his task,” Sigimund said. “It will keep the sentinels from putting together any sort of revolt. I do not share your confidence that these men cannot be corrupt in heart or deed.”

  “I would revolt should I be confined in such a place,” Carvallius declared.

  “We shall summon them from time to time,” Sigimund argued. “Once to cement the bond from sentinel to necromancer, which will happen when they come of age. And there will be those who will need a sentinel to see to their defense should they be in danger. You need not make it seem like we are sending them off to a dungeon.”

  “How many times must we go over this?” Egidius demanded. “Have I not expressed my wish to leave?”

  Le’Terrius let out a sigh. “Very well, let us get on with it. Though I do wish to once again say I am against this plan of forcing him to forgo so much of himself.”

  “What if he should meet his mate?” Carvallius asked.

  “Foolish lad, how could he meet his mate when he will be stuck in a fortress no one can see?” Egidius asked in return. “There will be no mated sentinels.”

  Alaric was not aware of what the word mate meant. It was not in his vocabulary, and he was not given time to ask questions. The quartet began to chant and black smoke filled his eyes as magic invaded his body. His mind rebelled as the spell swept over him, but they were too strong and his own thoughts were now trapped beneath a veneer of thinking solely for the future of the sentinels. Rolling over as the men stepped away, Alaric’s belly emptied onto the floor as the teenage boy, Carvallius, laughed.

  Flopping onto his back as his vision grew dim, he watched as the stone ceiling began to waver. Power once again rippled over him as the warlock transported him to the sentinel fortress where he was destined to spend all of eternity. Though he was sick both physically and mentally, his new existence would not allow him to recover. He was forced to begin going from sentinel to sentinel and seeing to their needs while his own were screaming at him to rest. The sorcerers had sent him to a hell from which there was no escape.

  Chapter 1

  Present Day

  “May we talk?” Gavrael asked as he entered Trystan’s office with his mate behind him.

  Trystan smiled. “Sure.”

  “Do you guys need me to go?” Blodwen, Trystan’s mate, asked.

  Gedeon wrapped his arms around Gavrael from behind. “No, in fact, we need you too.”

  “What’s up?” Blodwen asked.

  “We have thought a great deal about Conley’s idea, and we believe he is right. We must do more to help sentinels,” Gavrael said.

  “Conley—it feels weird to still be calling him that. He should be Dad-mate or something,” Trystan remarked. Conley was the mate of his biological father, Reverent Knight Drystan Gylde-Kempe. They’d been together for a few months now for the second time. The first time they’d exchanged blood and vows it had been as the dragon emperors, until they were murdered. Now they ruled over the resurrected race of the Order of the Fallen Knights.

  “Dad-mate? Oh my gosh, they’ll love that,” Blodwen gushed.

  Trystan straightened the spectacles on his face. “So will Grandma and Grandpa.”

  “Is she going to wish to hug me again?” Gavrael asked. While he liked Trystan’s grandparents, he preferred to be touched only by Gedeon. Sentinels were simply not the outwardly affectionate type.

  Blodwen laughed. “You’ve been so sweet to her—I know you aren’t big on that stuff.”

  “At least it’s not daily any longer now that she and Grandpa have set up their court,” Trystan replied.

  “It was really great of Dra’Kaedan to give them the land the Council awarded him when the warlocks rejoined the Council of Sorcery and Shifters,” Gedeon added. The Grand Warlock called their own dragon court home and so the Beradraconises were now neighbors.

  “I’m glad they’re close by, and I know Dad and Dad-mate are too,” Trystan agreed.

  “Speaking of Dad-mate Conley, we’ve gotten off topic,” Blodwen said. “So, you like his idea of trying to do more for sentinels? What exactly was his idea?”

  “He suggested that since the necromancers don’t seem interested in our plight, we should speak with Alaric and see if he would be willing to leave the sentinel compound,” Gedeon explained. “He could petition the Council to allow sentinels to become a recognized race of their own.”

  “Do you think your Alaric would want the sentinels to become a full-fledged race with a seat in the assembly hall and voting rights?” Blodwen asked.

  “Conley thought it was the best path,” Gavrael stated.

  “I agree with him, but it will take time and work,” Trystan said as Blodwen nodded.

  “Yes, he’ll need to
make some powerful allies, and the sentinels have no resources since they all live at the compound. Some fundraising will be necessary—although once he fills out the forms, he may qualify the sentinels for aid. It will depend on whether the Council is willing to see them as independent of necromancers. With your souls bound to ours, there may be some resistance,” Blodwen added.

  “I wish all sentinels had necromancers like you two,” Gavrael remarked.

  “Yeah, then we wouldn’t be the only mated pair,” Gedeon replied. “And it wouldn’t be just us and the Arch Lich’s two sentinels, who don’t even live here full-time, who get to enjoy life outside that prison.”

  Blodwen grimaced a little. “Well, you’re here now but it took some time to convince me it was a smart idea. But I do think Conley has come up with a good approach. If nothing else, maybe Alaric can be given a stage to educate necromancers. We can try and do away with all these rumors about sentinels killing necromancers and all the other crap about some flaw which doesn’t exist.”

  “You do know you don’t need our permission to go forward with this plan,” Trystan commented. “You’re our sentinels but you don’t answer to us.”

  “Duh, we know,” Gedeon said with a chuckle. “But if we return to the compound, we need you to summon us back here. You know, so we don’t spend the rest of eternity in a shitty gray prison.”

  Trystan smiled. “Oh right, forgot about the whole ‘you can’t return on your own’ business.”

  “Perhaps you could summon us back in an hour?” Gavrael suggested.

  “Sounds good,” Trystan replied. Gavrael pulled the hood of his cloak over his eyes as Gedeon did the same. Within seconds, they were back in the dreary monstrosity where Gavrael had spent a miserable ninety-four years.

  “It feels weird here,” Gedeon whispered through the mindlink they’d acquired on the day of their matebond ceremony before rocking forward on his toes and pressing a light kiss to Gavrael’s lips.

  “Yes, I forgot this is your first visit since you came to our new home at Court D’Vaire. It is the building itself—it steals memory.”

  “That’s fucked up. Where do we find Alaric?”

  “I assume his office.”