The Blood Shaman

By Jonathan Moeller

Rachaelis is in terrible danger.

She has survived the Testing, and the efforts of the assassins to take her alive. Yet a dark priest hunts her, a wicked master of blood sorcery, an enemy who seeks to use her body as a doorway for his demon patron to enter the world of mortal men. Now Rachel must hunt down the blood shaman before he finds her.

Before he claims her body for his dark master...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Moeller
• Release date: Oct 18, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465806512

Jonathan Moeller

Standing over six feet tall, Jonathan Moeller has the piercing blue eyes of a Conan of Cimmeria, the bronze-colored hair of a Visigothic warrior-king, and the stern visage of a captain of men, none of which are useful in his career as a computer repairman, alas.He has written the "Demonsouled" trilogy of sword-and-sorcery novels, and continues to write the "Ghosts" sequence about assassin and spy Caina Amalas, the "$0.99 Beginner's Guide" series of computer books, and numerous other works.Visit his website at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.comVisit his technology blog at:http://www.jonathanmoeller.com/screed

Book preview

THE BLOOD SHAMAN

The Third Soul, Part III

Jonathan Moeller

***

Description

Rachaelis is in terrible danger.

She has survived the Testing, and the efforts of the assassins to take her alive. Yet a dark priest hunts her, a wicked master of blood sorcery, an enemy who seeks to use her body as a doorway for his demon patron to enter the world of mortal men. Now Rachel must hunt down the blood shaman before he finds her.

Before he claims her body for his dark master…

***

Copyright 2011 by Jonathan Moeller.

Cover image copyright Anna Omelchenko | Dreamstime.com & Distrikt3 | Dreamstime.com

Ebook edition published August 2011.

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.

***

Chapter 1 - Disguises

Corthain waited in Rachaelis’s sitting room.

He had put aside the clothes of a Callian domn for a mercenary's garb. Mail shirt, leather jerkin, patched trousers, old boots, and a worn brown cloak. Sword and dagger hung ready in their sheaths at his belt. He had dressed this way every day for years. First as little a caravan guard, then as a mercenary soldier, then as commander of his own company. He had traveled through every nation in the West and most of the South, wandering from one little war to another.

Until the Jurgur horde had invaded. Until Dark River.

Still, it felt oddly comfortable to be wearing his old armor again.

Luthair lounged in a chair, cleaning his fingernails with a throwing knife. He had changed to leather and wool, preferring a steel-studded leather jerkin over any mail or armor. He bore a short sword on one hip, and a bandoleer with sheathed throwing knives. A lot of knives.

Just like the old days, my lord, said Luthair.

Hopefully we won’t wind up sleeping in any ditches, said Corthain.

I don’t miss the old days very much, said Luthair. Though, I still think you should be charging the Conclave for this.

I’m not a mercenary any more, said Corthain.

No, but the Domn of Moiria’s time is quite valuable.

She is my sister, said Corthain. I could not turn her away.

True, said Luthair, gesturing with the knife. But she’s not the one in any danger, is she? That pretty little Adept, though…she’s in danger. Quite a lot of it. And you’re the only one who can save her, apparently. I can see how she would…appeal to you.

Does this have a point? said Corthain.

I always have a point, said Luthair with a grin. You like to protect people, my lord. That army you pulled together at Dark River. The people of Moiria. And now this pretty young thing that needs someone to save her. He chuckled and slid his knife back into its sheath. I think you might need protecting from her, if you don’t keep your wits about you.

Thank you for that counsel, said Corthain, voice dry. Have you any other wisdom to share?

Not yet, said Luthair, leaning back and putting his boots on the table, but when I do, I’ll let you know.

Thanks, said Corthain, and the door to the corridor opened.

Magister Nazim hobbled into the room, leaning upon his cane. He had changed from the red robes of a Magister to the billowing black robes of a Brother of the Temple. A bronze medallion of a rose hung around his neck.

A Brother? Clever, said Luthair.

Nazim grunted. The Conclave and the Temple are traditional enemies. Who would think a Magister of the Conclave would disguise himself as a Brother of the Temple?

Who indeed? said Corthain. How far can you transport yourself with an astraljump?

Nazim shrugged. Thirty miles, perhaps. Though I would need to rest afterwards. The amount of power required increases exponentially with the distance. Which is why we Adepts cannot astraljump across the continent with a flick of our fingers, alas.

If you, Thalia, and Rachaelis worked together, said Corthain, would you be able to astraljump the five of us to a location within the city?

Easily, if we knew the location, said Nazim.

Good, said Corthain. It would be best if no one saw us leave the Ring.

The door to the bedroom opened, and Thalia and Rachaelis came out.

Thalia wore clothes similar to Corthain’s; boots, trousers, a mail coat, and a leather jerkin. She did not look in the least uncomfortable. No doubt she wore similar grab during her hawking trips out of the city. Her black hair had been pulled into a tight ponytail, and a sword and a dagger hung from her belt.

Rachaelis stood besides Thalia, and did not look at all comfortable in boots, trousers, a studded leather jerkin, and a ragged brown cloak. Her sicarr rested on her hip, but she carried no other weapons. She took a hesitant step, then another.

Is something amiss? said Corthain.

You mean other than a blood shaman wanting to put a demon in my head? said Rachaelis. No, nothing’s amiss. Whatever would give you that impression, my lord?

Thalia grinned. She’s never worn trousers before.

And may I say, Lady Morulan, said Luthair, getting to his feet with a florid bow. They certainly flatter you.

Rachaelis ignored him. It’s just…I’ve always worn robes. I cannot decide if trousers are liberating or confining.

Very few mercenaries wear robes, said Corthain, and you refused to disguise yourself as a Sister. So, this is it.

He expected her to complain some more. Instead she took a deep breath and nodded.

I know, she said. What do we do now?

We leave, said Corthain. Do any of you know a location in the docks well enough to astraljump to it?

Nazim and Thalia shook their heads.

I do, said Rachaelis, voice quiet.

Really? said Thalia. Where?

It’s a…warehouse, said Rachaelis. If Thalia and Magister Nazim add their power to mine, I can get all five of us there.

Do it, said Corthain.

Rachaelis nodded, and Nazim and Thalia moved to stand behind her, putting their hands on her shoulders.

Your hands on top of theirs, said Rachaelis, and Corthain and Luthair obliged. Rachaelis took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and lifted one hand. Her eyes twitched back and forth behind closed lids.

Then a silver flash swallowed up Corthain, and he felt a wrenching moment of disorientation, his head spinning. When the light cleared, he found himself standing in a narrow dockside street, a few yards from the door to a dilapidated-looking warehouse.

Mercy of the Divine, muttered Luthair, jerking away from Rachaelis. That was…that was…unpleasant.

The first time through an astraljump is always disorienting, said Corthain. He looked around, frowning, and got his bearings. This is close enough. This way. And keep your hoods up.

Rachaelis and Thalia put up the hoods to their cloaks, and they started walking. Corthain saw Rachaelis cast one look back at the warehouse. He wondered why she knew an abandoned dockside warehouse so well that she could astraljump to it.

Later. He could question her about it later. The sooner they got off the streets, the better.

And the streets were crowded. Endless lines of carts rolled up from the docks, carrying the goods unloaded from the ships. Orange-clad slaves hurried back and forth, eyes downcast. Lords rode in carriages or upon slave-born palanquins, haughty and proud, cortanas displayed upon their hips.

At last Corthain came to a ramshackle three-story building that sat right upon the harbor wall. In places, it jutted over the wall, with some of the rooms and balconies hanging over the hundred foot-drop to the water. From within came the sound of loud voices, raised in both anger and laughter.

What is this place? said Nazim.

The Red Water Inn, said Corthain.

I’ve heard of it, said Thalia. It has an evil reputation.

Oh, deservedly, said Corthain. Outlander merchants frequent the Silver Coin, and nobles prefer the Gilded Cortana, but sailors and troublemakers come to the Red Water Inn. See how those rooms jut over the harbor wall? They have trapdoors. Someone happens to get knifed, the innkeeper simply dumps the body through the trapdoor, and the corpse washes up with the tide the next morning. Hence the name.

And if the corpse isn't found, it rises as a ghoul, said Nazim. He shook his head. "Little wonder we