Page 2 of Immortal Origins (Chronicles of the Immortal Trials #1)

Throwing a quick glance and smile over her shoulder to make sure her brother was still trailing behind, she handed him her sword, and slipped through the crack and back into the inner part of the city.

The other side of the wall burst to life in circular rows of markets and homes.

To blend in, she had to be quick and decisive.

Adym knew what to do, he’d get back to his post and was no longer any of her concern.

She had to get back to the dormitories before anyone noticed she was gone.

The scent of fresh baked cinnamon buns curled through the air, filling her with an intoxicating aroma. Her stomach twisted painfully on itself as though to remind her that she hadn’t eaten breakfast yet. As if she needed a reminder.

The first rays of light began to lighten the sky and the colorless contours of elven fae and humans already bustling about the multi-story shops swarmed the streets as they prepared for the early morning.

Wood groaned as shopkeepers swung doors open in anticipation of a new day.

Voices greeted each other with an excitement that only came with the start of a fresh morning.

The early dawn air was still warm as it caressed Ambrose’s skin and she took note of how hot it was so late into the season.

The harvest months had truly been a gift and a curse from the gods this year.

She wound her way through the back alley twists and turns of the markets, admiring its different smells and the types of people that came out to open them.

Careful to keep her head down so as not to be noticed.

She enjoyed the soft hum the market produced as magickal beings roused themselves for the day.

Using only the most isolated streets she could find, she soon found herself outside the gates to the palace.

A nearby tree allowed her just enough coverage to hide and slipping behind it, she evaluated her situation.

Scanning the entrance, she noticed two guards at their usual posts on opposite sides of the tall iron gate.

Neither was paying any attention and she decided to take the opportunity while she had it.

Creating a mental map to the servants’ dormitories, she calmed herself and closed her eyes.

Focus . In. Out. Breathe.

She focused her mana and the feeling it created in her body.

Channeling it through each circuit so that it flowed evenly like a river inside her.

She could practically hear the Grand Mage guiding her, telling her to visualize what she wanted her magick to do, as he had so many times.

The air around her cracked and rippled as though made of water.

Melting and swaying until it shook violently once… and stilled.

A grin slowly spread across her face as she looked down at her body—now rendered completely invisible—and mentally praised her accomplishment.

She’d been working on this magick for weeks so she didn’t need to keep climbing the roof to get back into her bed chamber.

Too terrified to even breathe she gathered herself and took a step.

When she was sure her magick would hold, she locked in her concentration and walked towards the guards who were still engrossed in whatever conversation they’d been having—

“No way, you can’t be serious. Rowland has no magick and no other abilities other than his strength. It doesn’t matter if he’s undefeated, he won’t last five minutes when he enters the tournament!” The first guard waved his hand in the air dismissively.

“He’s beaten every mage who’s challenged him in the arena and not a single fighter has been able to take him down. If anyone is going to become a Champion this year, it’s going to be him.” The second guard wasn’t backing down.

“That doesn’t mean jack shit. He won’t just be facing other warriors in battle, he’ll be facing monsters and mages.

The tournament is designed to destroy a man like that,” the first guard replied, annoyed.

“He’s older than the other Trial Champions, and while he might have the strength needed for the tournament, he doesn’t have the endurance or the stamina. ”

Ambrose was now as close to the guards as she could be. Her heart threatened to rip itself from her chest and she willed herself to calm, reminding herself that her magick would fail with her intention.

Breathe. Focus. Breathe.

“With his strength it’ll be over before it starts, the gods won’t know what happened. He’ll be the first Champion. Watch.” The second guard pumped his chest and hit it with his gilded armored fist as though to enact Rowland’s inevitable victory.

Ambrose stepped lightly and knew they wouldn’t hear her footsteps over their conversation so she held her breath and slipped through the gate.

“No way! It won’t happen…” Whatever the guard said next trailed off and she couldn’t make out what they were saying anymore. Once she was far enough away she released her breath in silent celebration.

It worked! It actually worked! Weeks of practicing finally paid off. She made a mental note to tell Magnus when she had the chance.

As she entered the round, open courtyard, she immediately noticed why the guards had chosen their topic of conversation.

Rowland stood in the center of the yard.

A man that had become legend across the five kingdoms. A height that seemed impossible for any man to grow to, scarred from countless battles with now all dead opponents, with muscles that tensed and twitched as he watched his challenger through cold, black, silent eyes.

A beast of a man that shocked everyone to know he was fully human.

Standing taller than even the king, Ambrose would’ve thought he was a half giant if they weren’t just creatures of myth.

Standing across from Rowland was a fighter she didn’t recognize but was no doubt one of the many warriors that had come from another kingdom for the eternal honor of becoming a Trial Champion.

The Immortal Trials came once every five years.

Starting with the Champion’s Tournament, anyone was allowed to put their name down and become a Trial Champion, but once a name was given it couldn’t be taken back.

Champions were fated and neither the crown, nor gods could interfere.

The winner of the tournament would become a Champion and be allowed to attempt the full trials.

If a Champion defeated all the trials, they’d be welcomed into Naenaros: the home kingdom of the royals and the gods and the Capital of the empire.

The only problem? No one had ever managed to win the tournament and become a Champion, let alone made it to the second trial.

That didn’t stop generations of fighters from flocking from all over the kingdoms to enter the trials to fight for a chance to be placed among the gods.

Not even death could deter them from trying to get as close to Naenaros as they possibly could, knowing that even in failure, their names would be immortalized forever in history.

Win or lose, it was an opportunity countless had died for.

The strange fighter was much smaller than Rowland but he didn’t let it deter him—at least not outwardly. Lowering himself into a crouching stance he shot himself at his opponent.

The edge of his blade sliced through thick flesh, blood soaking the new wound beneath it as Rowland—who hadn’t even bothered to move—curled his hand and brought it up to connect with the other fighter’s chest. The man-giant smiled a wide-toothed grin as a gasp and a wet scream carried throughout the crowd.

The young man’s fingers uncurled from around his sword as his body slumped lifelessly to the ground. Eyes fading, blood seeped from every orifice of his body.

The stranger was utterly mangled and without a doubt dead.

That’s not possible. Ambrose stumbled back .

The fighter’s body…was obliterated.

Rowland caved in his entire chest. With one punch .

Whispers and cheers erupted from the crowd as everyone worked out what they had all just bore witness to. A few servants swept forward and removed the body now soaking blood into the grass. Grass that had grown on a steady diet of it.

Ambrose stood there, stunned for a moment and the air around her began to warp away.

She quickly regained her focus and it was over in less than a second, but in that second, Rowland looked right to where she was standing.

Their eyes locked and though she was sure her magick was holding, he was looking right at her.

She decided that was enough voyeurism for the day, turned on her heel, and ran as fast as she could out of the courtyard, through the halls and back to the servants’ dormitories.

Avoiding the pit in her stomach as the image of Rowland’s eyes burned into hers.

Eyes that knew.

Eyes that saw.