Saviors- Duty and Sacrifice

  Saviors

  Duty and Sacrifice 1

  Devon Vesper

  Duty and Sacrifice - Saviors © 2017 Devon Vesper

  All rights reserved.

  Cover art © 2017 Devon Vesper.

  Cover Figure Painting digitally painted by Mathia Arkoniel.

  Cover Background, Font Work, and Design by Devon Vesper.

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

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, at info@magelightpress.com.

  This book contains explicit material in regards to childhood abuse, M/M (male/male) sexual encounters, and incestuous thoughts by a male authority figure, and is not intended for any persons under the age of 18 years.

  ISBN-13: 978-1976438998

  ISBN-10: 1976438993

  To Jodi, who helped make this dream become a reality.

  I couldn’t have done it without you.

  Thank you.

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  Short, newsletter-exclusive stories are on their way! Did you like Kerac in the first few books? The first short story that I'm working on now is picked by reader poll from my newsletter, and features Kerac and Darolen's romance!

  And this is just the beginning. :D

  Contents

  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

  Want to Know More About God Jars?

  Also by Devon Vesper

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  The hounds bayed. They crashed through the underbrush as they gave chase. Valis panted hard. He pushed for more speed, vaulted over a fallen tree. They loomed so close that their fetid breath sickened him with each puff.

  Farm work didn’t teach you how to run. It taught you how to be strong. It taught you how to adhere to duty and accept responsibility. Terror taught you how to run. Terrified, Valis lengthened his stride. He forced all he had into putting one foot in front of the other.

  Howls echoed close behind him as the hounds scented his fear. They put an extra burst of speed into their gait and leaped ahead. One of them caught the tails of Valis’ tunic and jerked back, nearly forcing Valis off his feet. He lunged forward at the last moment. As the shirt tore, he prayed to his Patron God to give him more speed. Please, Sovras, help me. I can’t do this alone.

  Light flickered ahead. It glinted between the trees. How far was it? There wasn’t another farmstead for half a league in this direction. Strangers. He shuddered, but his run didn’t flag. Anything and anyone was better than his father—better than ending up a smear on his blade.

  “Help!” he cried. “Please, help me!”

  “You get your pathetic ass back here, boy!” his father bellowed from behind the hounds. His heavy footsteps thundered behind him. They trampled the thick underbrush and ate the ground. “I own you!”

  Valis’ vivid imagination told him that his father’s face grew purple with rage and exertion from the mad chase through the forest. He knew from memory that spittle flecked the man’s lips, and his fists habitually clenched and flexed. If those hands reached him, they’d snap his neck like a brittle twig. He may appear stately, but in a rage, he was nothing but a beast, no better than the hounds that snapped at Valis’ heels.

  Sovras, please… I beg your mercy! Shouts arose from ahead. The light flickered nearer. The whispers of steel against leather came unnaturally loud, shivered the air as if by magic. Just as he broke the tree line and entered the clearing, brilliant shining armor nearly blinded him. A wall of two large bodies surged in his direction.

  Without thinking, Valis dropped into a skid feet-first. He laid flat as he slid between the legs of the two men and came to a stop a few feet behind them near their surprised horses. The yelps of his father’s hounds sounded their demise. His heart hammered in his chest as Valis looked up at the warriors, too scared they would remand him to his father’s custody to do more than whimper, “He’ll kill me.”

  “Quiet,” the brown haired man on the left ordered.

  Valis shrank back and huddled in a ball on the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible. Unseen. Unheard. He wasn’t weak, nor was he a coward, but at the moment he wheezed every breath and shook with the adrenaline that flooded his system. For all his almost eighteen years, Valis had never run that hard, that far, or that fast. He knew he’d never survive running from these men, not with horses at hand.

  His father entered the field, a smug smile on his face that belied his earlier rage. He barely glanced at Valis as he spread his arms wide in welcome. But Valis knew all too well that his father knew exactly where he was, what state he was in, and was already calculating ways of making him pay for chasing him three quarters of the way across their property. “Thank you, gentlemen, for detaining my errant son. I am Roba Bakor, Mage Lord of Vau Taun. You are camping on my territory.”

  “Your son is afraid of you, Lord Bakor,” the raven-haired warrior on the right said. “He says you will kill him.”

  “Children say many things of their strict parents,” Roba said with a light chuckle. He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. With as hard as he ran, Valis’ father looked fresh. His breath came slow and even as if he ran all day every day for sport. Rather than a sweaty, matted mess, his golden hair fell in glossy waves behind him, his skin clear and radiant as if he sat before the hearth in his office with a warm brandy in one hand, and Valis’ mother’s hair in the other. The sight of him, how perfect he looked, how he appeared to be a benevolent man to these strangers, made Valis want to rip his father’s face off. The Mage Lord went on, his brief smirk brighter as if he knew Valis’ every hateful thought. “He shirked his duties, and must pay the consequences.”

  A lifetime of pain and rage flooded Valis’ system until he shook with it and clenched his fists. “He lies! He killed my mother. He plans to sacrifice me to Qos next!”

  “Qos?” Both warriors tensed and regarded Roba for a long moment. Valis didn’t dare hold out hope, didn’t dare believe the satisfaction in his guts. His father, the Mage Lord, gave nothing away. He kept a serene, confident smile in place and remained in a relaxed pose. This was when his father was the most dangerous—these times when he appeared the most beneficent.

  The raven-head lifted his chin defiantly. “You are an adherent of Qos, Lord Bakor?”

  “He has the tattoo!” Valis cried. “It’s behind his left ear!” And then his guts twisted and churned, because he’d just lost any hope of their mercy, if they had any to begin with. But his father wasn’t done yet. The man would never be done until he was dead.

  A black haze burst to
life around his father as he keyed into the power of Qos. His voice held a hard edge, even as he whispered most of the words, “Traitorous little whoreson! I will teach you to keep your tongue!”

  Black mist swirled about him. He pushed his hand out, and a bolt of black lightning streaked toward Valis. He cringed, expecting to die, but forced himself to watch. If he was to die, he wanted to see it coming, not hide behind a false wall of darkness and cowardice.

  When it struck a golden sphere just inches from his head, Valis blinked. He’d never seen magic of this color before. Only black. The gold almost made him want to hope. Made him want to believe the difference in the colors meant they were nothing like his father, nothing like the rest of their family. That difference briefly made Valis forget he should have just died.

  “This boy is under our protection,” the raven haired warrior growled. “You are under arrest for wielding forbidden magic.”

  Roba paled at the golden glow and reinforced his shields. The warrior on the right murmured what sounded like a prayer. The one on the left spoke a single word, and Roba’s translucent black shield shattered. His eyes went wild, too much of the whites showing, as if his magic had all but fled him. Another word, and golden bands encircled his arms, legs and mouth. He tottered and fell onto his back. Valis had only a moment to wonder if his father was so easily dispatched, or if these men were better—or worse—than Roba.

  Now unconcerned, the Paladins turned their gazes on Valis. The raven-head knelt next to him. “What is your name, boy?”

  “Valis Bakor, my Lord,” he replied, head down and shoulders hunched. He didn’t dare look either in the eye, as that always got him a boot to the face, or whatever was lying at hand.

  “Do you have the tattoo, as well?” he asked, his voice hard, but level.

  “Y—yes, sir.” His stomach pitted. It always did that when he was about to get into trouble. But maybe if he cooperated, his punishment wouldn’t be severe. Maybe, if he cooperated, they would have mercy. One look up at the one with the hard brown eyes, craggy face, and short, brown hair, and Valis doubted he’d get anything less than a heavy hand. But, he turned his head and pulled his left ear toward his face to show the red insignia of Qos on his neck hidden behind it and explained hastily, “Father did it when I was an infant. I swear!” He hated the tremor in his voice, but pushed on, his words water weak, and trembling. He couldn’t seem to keep the wobble out of his lower lip, which made him hate himself almost as much as he hated his father. “I didn’t want it. I want Sovras.”

  The man with the long raven hair quirked a brow when Valis whispered his god’s name, but nodded and patted his shoulder, then frowned when Valis flinched away. “I believe you.” His voice turned kind as he said, “We must return you to your holding. If you spoke true, your mother deserves a proper pyre.”

  The kinder tone forced Valis to relax. It seemed strange to have that tone directed at him when he thought there was no reason. He scrubbed a hand over his face and pushed back his long blond hair, wincing as his hand encountered leaves and errant twigs from his frantic run. Now if only he could get his voice to work. Perhaps if he was polite, the man’s voice would retain that kindness. At the very least, it might keep them from hitting him or putting him in those magical bands as they had his father. His voice cracked, but he prided himself that it otherwise remained steady. “Thank you for saving me, my Lords. May I have the pleasure of your names?”

  “Your father does not seem the type to give you such formality.” The Paladin let out a huff of subdued laughter. “Your mother has reared you well.” He squeezed Valis’ shoulder with a kind smile that made his handsome face more striking with the way his golden eyes shone in the firelight. “I am Kerac Vihn, and this is Darolen Jaund. We are Holy Warriors, or Aesriphos. Your people call us Paladins.”

  Valis nodded and did his best not to shrug off that hand. Must remain polite. Kindness can be a lie. “You serve Phaerith, the Faceless One.”

  Kerac chuckled but shook his head. “Phaerith is correct, though he is not faceless. That is the wrong translation.” His accent was barely there, but as he spoke more, it grew just a little thicker. “Idai Sos does not mean Faceless One, it means Many Aspects, or Many Faces.”

  “I don’t understand,” Valis said. His curiosity got the best of him, and he shifted so that he sat on his rump. Open curiosity often earned him a tentative respect with the seasonal farm workers. Perhaps it would work here. “How can he have many faces?”

  “Would you pack our things, Darolen? This discussion should be made on horseback so that his mother can find peace.”

  “Certainly, Brother.”

  Mild panic settled into Valis’ gut and clenched his heart and lungs. They wanted to go with him? They’d said so before, but he hadn’t believed them. Now, faced with riding with one of them, his mind spun with all the possibilities. No one would hear him scream. No one would come even if they could.

  Kerac must have sensed his panic, or seen it on his face. As Darolen saddled the calmed horses and attached bundles that never had the chance to get unpacked, Kerac smiled and held out a hand to help Valis to his feet. “You have heard of our pantheon, yes?” Valis nodded, still skeptical, still with that crawling anxiety, but took the man’s hand and stood as Kerac went on. “It is a hierarchy. Phaerith is the head. Karei and Vorik are the left and right shoulders. Sotec and Xysoz are the left and right arms. Asenth and Delys are the chest and abdomen. Dapen and Racal are the left and right legs.”

  “What about Sovras?” he asked. “Sovras is my patron.” Was my god always a figment of my imagination? He’d always seemed like my friend. A bitter taste flooded his mouth with that thought, and he fought the urge to grimace. Friends are a lie. Father took great pains to teach me that.

  “Sovras, I believe, is one of Phaerith’s many faces,” Kerac said patiently. He guided Valis toward his horse and hefted himself into the saddle. “He is called the God of Many Faces, because each land calls him by a different name.”

  Kerac reached down to help Valis onto his horse behind him. Before Valis could protest, he sat on the mount’s rump and Kerac held onto his hands as they settled about the Paladin’s waist. Valis marveled that even with the plate gauntlets he wore, Kerac was still being deceptively gentle.

  They waited for Darolen to secure Roba to the back of his own horse, and once he mounted, Valis guided them along the trail that he had crashed through only moments ago.

  Chapter Two

  Every step of Kerac’s horse brought Valis closer to losing his entire mind. They were headed back to that place. The place where he’d never been permitted to leave. The place where every beating and threat and shouted curses had pummeled him into submission.

  His stomach curdled. The place where he slit mother’s throat and drank in the resulting power like a man starved for months. The look on his face…

  Roba had been exultant. He had thrown back his head and breathed deeply. Licked a stripe of Valis’ mother’s blood from the dagger he had used to end her with a sick shudder. How he hadn’t a drop of blood on him from the spray that coated nearly every other surface seemed otherworldly. His father glowed for long moments, the black haze almost as grotesque as the congealing blood.

  And then he had opened his eyes and pinned Valis where he stood, mouth agape and breaths coming too quick. He’d grinned at Valis’ open horror, seemed to revel in it.

  Then Valis bolted, chased by the murderous bellow of Roba’s rage as he gave chase.

  And now he was going back. Back to see his mother’s ruined corpse. Back to revisit the ghosts he wished he could leave behind. Why couldn’t he escape? Just once?

  But the farmstead was all he had known. The farthest he had dared go was into the woods to hunt, a rare thing he was permitted. Or to gather forest herbs and vegetables that they didn’t grow on the farm because of the bounty the forest could provide. The one time he had tried to leave, his father found him within minutes as if he had been follo
wing Valis through the trees.

  And Valis wouldn’t put it past the overbearing bastard.

  Stomach twisting, Valis fought the urge to jump off Kerac’s cantering horse and bolt through the trees. He had not a single idea where to go, what to do other than to get away and never return. But his mother deserved peace. He could do that for her, even if he couldn’t save her.

  Perhaps her death was a mercy. She can’t feel pain anymore.

  And by Sovras, he wouldn’t cry. Not now. Not in front of these Aesriphos.

  Kerac patted his thigh to get his attention and Valis jumped. He blinked and rubbed his eyes against the threat of tears, then peered around the man’s armored shoulder with a sick groan. The weight of the place bore down on him. “This is it. Mother is in the cellar.”

  Kerac pressed his lips into a thin line and helped Valis off the horse. He dismounted soon after and looped the reins around the fence rail while Darolen did the same. They left Roba slung across Darolen’s horse’s rump as they made their way to the sprawling house. It stood three stories plus a gabled roof that housed a generous attic. The lower half was built up with various sizes and colors of obsidian boulders roughly the size of Valis’ head. Quarried from the nearby obsidian fields, the base of the house showcased Roba’s wealth with its splendor more than with its sheer size. The front had large bay windows, both on the lower story, and the upper where Roba’s office sat above the spacious informal parlor.