Kastori Restorations (The Kastori Chronicles Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Bibliography

  Dedication

  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

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Thank You

  Bibliography

  Copyright

  Bibliography

  The Kastori Chronicles

  Kastori Revelations (March 2016)

  Kastori Devastations (May 2016)

  Kastori Tribulations (July 2016)

  Kastori Restorations (September 2016)

  Dedication

  To you, for reading this series from start to finish.

  1

  “Cast your magic here and you die.”

  Hanna froze as she felt the sharp tip of a dagger on her back from a white-robed Kastori behind her. Around her, weary but focused humans and Kastori alike worked to rebuild the decaying and desecrated Imperial Palace, even late into the night.

  “You and I are going to take a walk in the woods, and you’re going to tell me what everyone’s plans are,” the Kastori said.

  “Who wants to know?” Hanna asked, even as she already knew the answer.

  The Kastori snickered and led her away from the palace, his dagger concealed by the starry night above and the overflowing robes he wore.

  “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Hanna said. “You’re dealing with powerful people who are far smarter than you are. They’re going to notice if someone from Nubia has come here looking for answers.”

  “Smarter than me, perhaps. But none is greater than our Lord.”

  “Maybe—”

  The edge of the dagger pressed against Hanna’s right side, creating a small cut and silencing the girl. About a mile outside of the palace, the white-robed Kastori forcefully pushed her her off the road, into an abandoned building destroyed—likely when I worked for “our Lord” and helped bring the empire down.

  “I’ll repeat what I said before, cast any magic and you die. Scream, and you die. Do anything that might make others aware of our meeting, and you die.”

  “And am I going to die anyways when this meeting is over?”

  “Be good and you’ll get a second audience with our Lord. Resist, and I’ll be the last person you interact with. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  Hanna nodded, never wavering from her calm demeanor even as her stomach flipped.

  “Typhos hasn’t seen any activity from any of the Orthrans or Crystil in the last couple of weeks. What are you planning?”

  “I’m planning on helping to repair the damage that Typhos inflicted, and then I’m going to go to sleep, and—”

  The magicologist slapped her and shoved her to the ground.

  “I don’t have time for these stupid games!” he yelled. “Answer me honestly or I’ll cut your throat!”

  Hanna said, “OK, OK,” repeatedly as she rose, her vision blurry.

  “I just know that the Orthrans are going to the magic planets to get stronger. That’s all I know.”

  “That can’t be all you know,” the Kastori growled. “We know you were the first to offer your services to them, Hanna. We know how much you want to get back at our Lord.”

  “What makes you think such a thing?” Hanna said.

  The Kastori raised his hand once more, but Hanna put her hand up to delay the Kastori from hitting her.

  “Last chance, stupid woman,” the Kastori said. “Say anything else that wastes my time and you die.”

  Hanna, her breathing heavy, nodded. She did not have the confidence that she had before and began to feel anxious.

  “They plan on going to Nubia first. They want to take on Typhos in a weakened state and capture him.”

  “Hah!” the Kastori bellowed. “Our Lord may have been weakened by a lucky blow by one of the Orthrans, but trying to take on our Lord in a weakened state is still a grave mistake. They will have to go through all of us just to get to our Lord, and then they would have to fight the most powerful being in the universe. Don’t you think he would see them coming?”

  Hanna smiled when a word flashed across her mind at the same time that she responded.

  “Hopefully better than you saw this coming.”

  Duck.

  She dropped to the ground as an electric spell shot into the room, pushing the Kastori up against the wall. The Kastori swore as Hanna got to her feet as the front door busted open.

  At the entrance, Crystil Bradford stood with a rifle cocked at the Kastori. To her right, Cyrus Orthran held his sword out.

  “Something funny about your actions,” Cyrus said. “I don’t need magic to know when one of my friends has disappeared. Oh, and also, you talk really loudly. It’s kind of rude to scream when Hanna is right next to you, don’t you think? I mean—”

  The Kastori cast a quick push spell, and though it barely knocked Cyrus and Crystil off balance, it gave him enough of a chance to teleport away. Cyrus sighed as he looked at Crystil.

  “They always want to run away, don’t they know who we are?”

  Crystil smirked but said nothing. She turned to Hanna, who by now had regained the composure and confidence of the most powerful pure Kastori on Monda.

  “Shall we?”

  Hanna nodded and cast a spell that teleported the three of them to the same spot the other Kastori had gone. They landed outside a forest just as the other Kastori had sprinted into the woods.

  “He’s not strong enough to get back to Nubia without concentrating for a period of time,” Hanna said. “As long as we don’t lose him, we’re good. So—”

  But before she could finish, Cyrus had already sprinted into the woods, his sword held at the ready, leaving the two women behind. Hanna looked askance at Crystil, who shrugged nonchalantly.

  “I trust that he’s got it under control,” Crystil said.

  “I assume it took you a while to get that trust?”

  “Yes.”

  Hanna laughed as Crystil took a few steps forward, putting the scope of the gun to her right eye.

  “We should still probably support him, though,” Crystil said. “He can be a bit reckless, to say the least. I’ll flank left, and you flank right.”

  “Understood,” Hanna said, but curiosity got the better of her. “How are you going to help in the dark? You don’t have any magic.”

  “Nope,” Crystil said. “But I got something better than that. Years of experience as a soldier.”

  Hanna didn’t need to hear anything else as she circled right. Using her sense powers, she could see that Cyrus had
gained on the escaped Kastori and would probably have him pinned in a matter of minutes, if not sooner. Just don’t do what Crystil said. That Kastori could be valuable for us.

  But suddenly, she froze when she felt her head rush with energy and an ominous, too-familiar laugh which she’d once loved and had now come to fear. Is he here? Where are you?

  “Nowhere near here, Hanna. But let my little pawn serve as a warning to you. I am almost at full strength. And when I come back, I will not be relying on the strength of other pathetic Kastori, but on the powers of my creations.”

  Just as quickly, the voice vanished. But the ominous feelings in Hanna’s head remained.

  Suddenly, she found herself running after the fleeing Kastori for a very different reason.

  2

  Cyrus sprinted through the forest, ignoring the screeching of arachnias, aviants, and other nightmarish creatures which prowled the forest after the sun had set. Up ahead, he could sense the fleeing magicologist darting through the woods, trying to lose him. The magicologist cast a sense-block spell, but Cyrus knew the woods too well and listened for the sound of the magicologist’s crunching footsteps to guide him.

  He darted underneath low-hanging branches, ignored the thorn-laded plants on the ground, and deftly maneuvered through the uneven terrain of the forest. Within a minute, he came within a few feet of the magicologist.

  “Got you now,” he said.

  But then a hand went up, and fire erupted inches from his face. Cyrus quickly turned away, shielding his face from the fire. He took a moment to recover before casting a water spell to remove the flames.

  “OK, maybe I spoke too soon.”

  He resumed the chase and sensed the magicologist heading toward the Narshia Gardens. When he saw an open flat area, he briefly closed his eyes and sent a message to Crystil. “He’s heading to the gardens.” He opened his mind, knowing she could not respond with words or thoughts but would make a noticeable statement with her actions.

  “Hey!” he yelled to the magicologist. “Why are you running from us? You know we’re just like you!”

  “You’re nothing like us!” the magicologist shouted back, which, to Cyrus’ satisfaction, confirmed the direction the enemy headed. “You defy our Lord! He will come back and finish what he started with you and your sister.”

  Celeste.

  The reminder of the near-death experience burned at Cyrus as he reached an even higher speed. The magicologist had barely broken into the gardens when Cyrus caught up to him and tackled him from behind, drilling him to the ground. Behind him, he could hear the pounding footsteps of Crystil, but he ignored those as he drilled the magicologists with a barrage of punches.

  “Typhos will not finish anything,” Cyrus said, accentuating each word with a hard blow to the face of the enemy. “Tell him his days are numbered.”

  The magicologist tried to push off, both physically and with his magic, but Cyrus’ strength and bursts of magic resistance prevented the magicologist from escaping. After about a dozen punches, Cyrus stopped, his breathing heavy from running, punching, and anger.

  “Why did you come here?” he growled.

  The magicologist groaned and gave a mocking smile.

  “Tell me!” Cyrus said, grabbing the magicologist by the throat and slamming him down.

  “Cyrus!”

  The young man froze at the woman’s voice, but it was not Crystil’s.

  “You know that if we employ the same tactics as Typhos we’ve just devolved to his level,” Celeste said, appearing from a teleportation spell in front of Cyrus. She walked with a confidence and certainty only someone with a second chance at life had, her eyes unwavering on her brother and her words measured and precise. “We need to get information from him, but we don’t need to kill him in the process.”

  “Because that’s exactly what Typhos thought when he captured you.”

  “It is, actually,” Celeste retorted as she gently but firmly placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder, a signal to let up. “He treated me with respect for the first few days.”

  All a setup, though. This is different. She wants to actually treat this guy with decency. It’s not going to work. He’s just going to play coy and not tell us anything.

  Cyrus stared back down at the magicologist on the ground, blood trickling from his nose but the arrogant, amused smirk not yet wiped off.

  “Tell me your name,” Cyrus said.

  The magicologist said nothing.

  “I repeat, tell me your name.”

  “Why should I? Your leader has emasculated you and prevented you from—”

  A swift slamming of his head into the ground changed his mind. Cyrus shot Celeste a commanding look before she said anything.

  “Phylus,” the magicologist said, followed by some hacking.

  “Phylus, I’m Cyrus, so glad we could meet this way,” Cyrus said with dripping sarcasm. “Here’s the deal. You are not going back to Nubia. You are not going to talk to Typhos again. But what you can do is help us out. You can tell us what Typhos is doing and help out our Kastori instead of being an ugly magicologist.”

  “And if I don’t?” Phylus said.

  “My sister won’t be here forever to protect you.”

  “Cyrus,” Celeste said, and Cyrus did not turn to face her, but he did ease his grip on the magicologist.

  In fact, Cyrus stood up, allowing Phylus to finally breathe. But the young Orthran removed his sword and held it to the magicologist’s chest, lest the enemy try to escape. His hand remained sure, even as he felt the discomfort from his sister. Behind him, Crystil had her gun cocked with equal aplomb.

  “Now, Phylus, since I’m sure you’re much more comfortable and able to think rationally, let’s begin our little evening chat. How much has Typhos recovered?”

  “Enough to defeat all of you,” Phylus said. “It’s only a matter of time before he has the strength to assume the planet’s power. And when he does that, whatever chance you had of killing him disappears.”

  “We need to make a move quickly, Cyrus. We need to head there and stop him.”

  Cyrus turned to his sister with pursed lips. He could still see the scar where Typhos’ sword had pierced through her chest, and it reminded him every minute of his failure to help in battle. He could not possibly see how just a couple of weeks later she would feel comfortable facing off against him again. And that’s not even accounting for the new dynamics.

  “Let’s get more information out of him,” Cyrus messaged. “He can tell us.”

  “Don’t do anything stupid. I’m going back to Anatolus to gather strength. Let Dad talk to him too if you bring him to the prison in the palace.”

  Celeste closed her eyes and vanished seconds later. Crystil came closer, assuming the position Celeste had.

  “Aww, you’re free now. You won’t be—”

  But the hard, artificial foot of Crystil stomped the arm of Phylus, producing both a sickening crunch and a loud scream.

  “We won’t be held back,” Cyrus sneered. “But you need to start talking, or it’ll get worse. How many magicologists does Typhos have around him?”

  “You!” Phylus screamed, but as Crystil twisted her foot, he answered. “There’s about a dozen of them. A few have died from exhaustion, though, and the rest aren’t strong.”

  “And how long until he’s actually ready?”

  “I don’t know!” Phylus cried, a genuine enough response that Cyrus motioned for Crystil to stop. “He seems powerful enough that he could go, but he’s said he needs to be as strong as possible.”

  “And why did he send you here?”

  Phylus groaned. Cyrus and Crystil waited patiently, though with a time limit in their heads, for the magicologist to speak.

  “I—”

  But suddenly, Phylus violently shook. His eyes rolled back, and his body trembled.

  “Crystil?”

  “I don’t—”

  But then a disturbing laugh came from Phylus as
his body settled down and his mouth formed a wicked smile. It was not the laugh of Phylus.

  “You want to know why I sent him?” the distorted voice of Typhos said. “I wanted to pull you guys out of hiding so I could see what you are doing. You spend most of your days training and meditating at the peak, making it difficult to read you. But thankfully, because you care so much about pathetic traitors and for doing things in some self-righteous way, you came out of hiding. I thank you for that, Cyrus.”

  Cyrus grimaced as he tightened his grip on the sword, more to take comfort in having power over something than in preparation for an attack. If he’s able to do this… what else is he going to do?

  “I know now that you are not recovered from our last battle, and that I will now have an opening to take the power of Nubia. I thank you.”

  Suddenly, the eyes of Phylus rolled forward, and a terrifying smirk appeared.

  “And when I see you again,” he said, now in the voice of Phylus but in the tone of Typhos. “I will kill you. And I will finish the job on your sister and your woman.”

  Cyrus’ rage boiled over at the memory of Celeste nearly dying. He let out a loud cry as he slammed the blade through the chest of Phylus, withdrawing it in a fury and slamming it to the ground. Phylus’ smirk never left, and he collapsed to the ground with an unchanging facial expression.

  “Typhos!” Cyrus screamed, but he got no response.

  “Cyrus,” Crystil said, her hand firm on his arm. “He’s taunting you. You know this. For all we know, he could be playing mind games on you.”

  “Typhos always plays mind games,” he said.

  Seconds later, Celeste appeared with a look of horror on her face.

  “What have you done?” she asked. “I told you not to kill him!”

  “Well you probably didn’t tell him not to become possessed by Typhos and then taunt me with the image of your death,” Cyrus said.