The Titan's Tome (The Mortal Balance Book 1) Read online

  The Titan’s Tome

  Book One of

  The Mortal Balance

  M.B. Schroeder

  This is a work of fiction. All of the names, characters, places, incidents, organizations, and events either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by: Oliviaprodesign

  All Rights Reserved

  Copyright © 2018 by: M.B. Schroeder

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgements

  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

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Dedication:

  To my parents, Charles and Rita. For everything.

  To my husband, Robert. For the other half of everything.

  Acknowledgements

  Very few works of art are created in a vacuum, and this book is no different. From my parent’s encouragement, to the sounding board of my husband, there have been a lot of tributaries to this deep river of creation. I will miss names, for I am a fallible soul, and I beg forgiveness.

  To Krystal Schroeder and Toni Cann, thank you for your time, notes, and late night hand holding.

  To the usual suspects, thank you for putting up with my early work.

  To Jenny, Amy, Kevin, and Sean thank you for those early days, those younger years, telling stories and rolling dice.

  To Unfinished Tale and everyone else I can only reach by keyboard, thank you for being real.

  Finally, to all the teachers and mentors who gave me a hand up along the way.

  Chapter 1

  Age of The Breach: year 309, fall

  “Chaos is all and nothing.”

  -The Titan’s Tome

  D raKar was wasting time staring at the mountain giant girl. Demons had been tracking him and Armagon since they’d escaped from the Hells two weeks ago.

  She was alone and several hours walk down the mountainside from her clan’s cave. He’d taken only a moment to ease the tight hold on his magic to check her aura. She could almost match him in raw power. Untrained, the magic was caught in her feeble control, like a burst of wind swirling in a corner.

  Blue scaled eye-ridges drew down over DraKar’s draconic eyes. Girl was an inaccurate term. She had to be physically mature for magic to manifest within her. She was simply thin and underdeveloped. He hadn’t seen someone with that much potential outside of the Hells for many years. That she was a mountain giant made her more peculiar. From the little he knew of the race, they weren’t often magically active. Elves and humans were more prolific and produced the most mages, but the talent was uncommon, even amongst them.

  Her long gray hair with shimmering blue highlights attracted his eye. Leather clothing covered most of her gray skin, baggy and unflattering on her narrow frame. A long skirt flapped against her legs as she ducked under the low branches of a pine tree, skidding on the rocks and dirt.

  As DraKar leaned forward to catch sight of her again, loose rock shifted under the thick pad of his three-toed foot. His talons bit into the ground, but a small cascade of gravel tumbled over bare roots and broken ground. He spun away, disappearing into the surrounding bushes before the giantess could focus on where the sound had come from. Despite the large claws on his toes, leathery wings, blue scales, and nearly nine-foot height, he could be quieter than a lizard skulking over rocks.

  DraKar caught a hint of a shadow flittering unnaturally against the light of the setting sun in the trees above him. Armagon’s obvious move in his shadowy form was a sure sign of his agitation at DraKar’s blunder. They hadn’t come here to look at magically active giants, however rare they were.

  The mountain DraKar and Armagon were camped on wasn’t deep in the Black Mountain range, in the northern reaches of Teranack. Their camp was a full mile west from where he had seen the mountain giantess, and well clear of the clan’s trails to remain unnoticed.

  The black sarpand settled down across the fire pit from his larger blue companion. Both were thickly muscled, with overlapping scales that rippled over their defined frames. Armagon’s dark leathery wings set to either side of his long tail as he shifted the daggers belted at his waist to a more comfortable position. He scratched at an irritated ebony scale under his armor with one claw before focusing his yellow eyes on the robed figure across from him.

  “That was a child’s mistake,” Armagon said.

  DraKar lifted his head; many of the fine scales that covered his features had regrown twisted or broken. Some were gone completely, leaving only scarred flesh in their wake. “Yes. But I wanted to have a better look at her. She has the potential for power that could rival my own,” he answered, in a deep rumbling voice. He lit the wood in the fire pit with a casual spark of a spell.

  Armagon raised an eye-ridge at him. The dark scales around his muzzle and eyes were mostly whole and unblemished. He wasn’t magically active and couldn’t sense the girl’s potential, but he didn’t know of many mages who could match DraKar in raw power. “The youngling from the mountain giant clan?” His voice was a smooth baritone with a hint of a hiss, like sand sliding down a dune.

  DraKar shrugged, the motion shifting his large wings. He ran a restless hand over his head, fingers and claws combing through the blue mane that ran from the top of his head and down the length of his neck. He repositioned a lit log. The flames licked over his hand and scales, but couldn’t burn him.

  “Rare to even hear of one with magic. She interested me,” DraKar muttered.

  Armagon sighed. “Still.”

  DraKar made an annoyed sound deep his chest and unbuckled the baldric that carried his sword between his wings. “She’ll likely kill herself before she learns how to control it.” He dropped the subject with his sword. “The demons will track us here within two days. I can keep them from us for a few more after that, but the longer we stay in the area —”

  Armagon held up a hand to pause DraKar’s argument. His hand was smaller than DraKar’s, his six-foot build dwarfed by DraKar’s taller stature. The two represented the extremes of height for their species. Though they regarded each other as brother, their colors marked them from different bloodlines.

  “We could be farther away from them before they make it here,” Armagon reminded him.

  DraKar could keep his snouted face a neutral mask but didn’t bother, Armagon could see through it. He grimaced in distaste, lips curling back from fangs. He didn’t like running from the demons. It was a disagreement between them that hadn’t been settled yet. They could easily kill the small pack of demons. But what would come next?

  “The book…” DraKar began in protest.

  Armagon suppressed a snarl of frustration. “Yes the book. Arkhed wants the book. So, the Hells want the book. A book so
me mountain giant clan just happens to have.” He waved a dismissive hand. “And this wouldn’t be the first farce of a mission we were sent on to test our loyalty.”

  A tremor of tension rustled DraKar’s wings and his tail tapped the ground. He wouldn’t further the argument though. He pulled at the slim chain around his neck and plucked the blue gemstone free from beneath his armor. The living armor shifted restlessly, the faint rainbow of oil on water colors swirling over the metal.

  Armagon let him have his moment of silent speculation. He had a similar gemstone, black, and also attached to a necklace. The Legacy Crystals had been given to them before they’d struck the bargain that bound their souls to the Hells. If DraKar had never re-discovered the enchanted crystals, if he’d never given Armagon his own black Legacy Crystal back, they’d never have regained their memories.

  Finally, DraKar spoke. “If it wasn’t for Arkhed wanting it… If it wasn’t written in Titan…” He trailed off and shrugged his shoulders, his wings shifting with the movement. “It might have some information that will help us break the pact.”

  The pact. The pact he’d led DraKar into. The pact with Asmodeus. Armagon heaved a sigh.

  “All right.”

  DraKar lifted his head. “We’ll get it?”

  “Yes, but not as the Hells taught us. Give me two days to continue studying the clan’s movements, and I’ll get it. I want to watch them, find out if they are expecting us. If this is another trap I won’t go in the cave. And if the tome does show a way to break the pact we’ll have to find a way to free Selien’s soul first.”

  “Of course.” DraKar’s lips peeled back from his fangs, almost a snarl, but more a smile. “I’ll give you more time. Make a false trail for the demons to chase.”

  The two simultaneously reached across the fire and clasped forearms in agreement. After a meal together, they would begin their separate tasks.

  ***

  Armagon perched in a tree overlooking the cave, one of the few stout and close enough for him to get a good view. He kept in the shadow of the trunk, creeping with the sun around the tree, his dark cloak wrapped around him. He blended in with the natural shadows, more so than any mundane tracker, as though the darkness wanted to hide him from the sun, pulled in by his will, to perfectly conceal him.

  The argument amongst the mountain giants had crashed into the quiet community like a wave hitting a cliff. He only knew a smattering of their language, so couldn’t decipher what had upset them. For the rest of the day, the giants were disturbed and occasionally their voices rose enough for him to pick out words like treaty, disobedient, and honor. He suspected that whatever had happened wasn’t caused by an outside force. It seemed there was some internal conflict that wouldn’t make them wary of outsiders.

  He’d wanted to watch the clan for at least another day, but he wondered if it wouldn’t be more prudent to act that night. If there was some sort of trap he didn’t think waiting another day, watching the mountainside outside their cave, would expose it. Whatever internal conflicts there were, it seemed they were disrupting their normal activities. With the hunt and the arguments, perhaps the clan would be in a deeper sleep.

  The moon rose, its face half-hidden in shadow, offering just enough light to navigate the terrain. The fire inside the cave was a soft flickering glow. Occasionally the sound of raised voices drifted from the entrance, but Armagon couldn’t make out what was said.

  The book was written in Titan, a language neither he nor DraKar had studied. If they were to learn from the book, they would have to find someone who could translate it for them. All Armagon knew was the language was dead. In the example they’d been given, the symbols were uniquely blocky with thick and thin lines.

  The voices from the cave had quieted and the light of the fire was being snuffed out. Armagon’s breath frosted in the air as the temperature continued to plummet without the sun’s warmth. Agitation at the strange situation within the cave made his wings itch. Something was wrong, and his instincts were rarely mistaken. He would have to get the tome tonight. DraKar would have to seek him out with a spell if he didn’t return soon.

  After several hours of quiet darkness, Armagon glided down from his perch. His large, three-toed feet touched down without a sound. The thick claws at the end of each toe dug into the craggy ground. Faint remains of the smoke from the wood fire and tobacco wafted in the air. His dark vertical pupils widened, close to drowning the bright yellow of his eyes. Luminescent mushrooms inside the cave provided light to navigate. Armagon was careful not to allow his claws to clack against the smooth stone floor and kept his tail slightly aloft, so his scales didn’t scrape as he walked.

  He paused a moment to study the interior, two main halls broke off from the large chamber; the one to the right carried the sounds of the sleeping clan. He would check the quieter corridor first in hopes that he wouldn’t have to get any closer to the giants.

  His movements were silent as he passed the dining area, kitchen, and food pantry. As he followed the curve of the passage, an opening for a room with a thick leather curtain drew his attention. None of the other rooms had been blocked. He pushed the curtain aside with the barest whisper of sound. Inside, the room was black, not even the smallest hint of light from the mushrooms breached the doorway.

  With the absence of light, the remaining golden-yellow of his irises disappeared beneath a dark swirl, and the room came into view. The augmentation that had been forced on him that allowed him to move and blend with the shadows, also granted him sight in pitch blackness. It was something he was used to having now. He’d come to rely on it, but the memory of the tortures that brought the change remained a recurring nightmare.

  Inside the room was a desk that seemed to have grown up from the floor, or perhaps the room had been carved around it, Armagon wasn’t sure, but he didn’t waste time wondering at it. What drew his attention were the shelves carved into the rear wall behind the desk. He slipped inside the room, the leather curtain hardly moving enough to let his shadow pass, and began looking over the few books stored on the shelves.

  He caught sight of a game board and pieces, recognizing it as Generals and Champions. Occasionally he and DraKar would challenge each other to the strategy game. They were evenly matched, if DraKar kept his temper.

  All of the books looked old, and all but two were built to fit a mountain giant’s hands. One was smaller, something a human could easily handle, and the other was much larger and had to lay flat on the shelf. The binding of the massive tome was white leather, embossed with sigils. Heavy brass hinges and fittings kept the book bound together, and a latch secured it closed. He checked the lettering in the book against his scrap of paper with the Titan language. It was the same.

  Armagon picked it up reverently, not sure why he was so careful with the artifact, but an instinctual need not to let any harm come to it had suffused his mind. He could barely open his hands wide enough to hold it, but once picked up, it didn’t weigh as much as it appeared. Armagon wondered if he should’ve had DraKar come with him to investigate the book for spells before he touched it.

  The book was too large to fit in any bag or satchel he had, so he simply tucked it under one arm and hid it under his cloak, keeping his other hand free in case he needed to draw a weapon. Just as quietly as he had entered, he left the room and made his way out of the cave.

  Armagon held the book tightly to his armored chest as he glided over the treetops. He’d heard someone stirring in the cave as he left, but no alarm had been raised as he flew away. The wind whipped his black mane back as he circled lower over the small camp he and DraKar had been sharing the past few days. There was still no sign of his brother.

  Although DraKar had said he might take two days to make the false trail, Armagon had hoped that he would be back when he returned with the tome. The shadowy sarpand swooped down, and with a few heavy beats of his wings, settled to the ground with leaves scattering from the force of the wind. He gently traced over the
embossed leather with his calloused fingertips. It was clearly ancient, older than him and DraKar and they were both centuries old. For every year that passed on the Mortal plane, five hundred passed in the Hells, and they had been kept in the Hells for an unnaturally long time.

  A sound in the woods made him go still, the book pressed protectively against his chest again. The distinctive scent of demon wafted to his sensitive nostrils. The sulfuric, acrid smell only denizens of the Hells exuded. It made his lips curl up a fraction, in a silent snarl. They were too close. The fake trail had failed.

  Armagon jumped into the air, and with quick flaps of his wings, gained altitude. He flew down the mountain, letting gravity feed his speed as he skimmed over the trees. If DraKar were in trouble, he would have sent a magical message.

  Armagon dove for the river, planning to start there and work his way back up the mountain in search of DraKar’s false trail, hoping to catch him before he went back to their camp. The demons would see DraKar, and hear him, unlike Armagon. They had been far enough away for him to get away before they reached the camp, but his brother was not as quiet, not as careful.

  ***

  Creatures with rough and black charred skin crouched on their hind legs in the midst of the abandoned campsite. Red tinted eyes without pupils were the only break in the color of their hides and the ragged rust colored armor. Their forearms stretched to the ground, and their faces were vaguely canine, giving them the appearance of large malformed hounds.

  Upon finding the empty campsite, the small group of demons had spread out in search of the direction the two lords of the Hells had escaped. Four of them waited in the small clearing for the last to return. They had gathered enough information from the trails and scents to know Lord Armagon had been watching the mountain giant clan, and Lord DraKar hadn’t been near the campsite for at least a day. It was rare for the two to separate for long while on a mission for the Hells. The largest of the five growled slowly as the last of their group returned to the campsite.