The Gaellean Prophecy Series Box Set

by C S Vass

  Nicolai left her to the humble little room. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it just wasn’t what she wanted. She had never imagined traveling to the capital. She never had a desire to leave Tallium. Not since she had seen what the world had to offer. Since then Faela was of the opinion that she had been born in the luckiest place in the world.

  She placed her ruby-pommel sword by the side of her bed, sat down in a wooden chair, and prodded the fire. Wistfully, she tried to summon a ball of flame into her own hand. The effort was futile. It was as though all of the air in the world had simply disappeared. As though she were trying to breath but there was nothing to fill her lungs with.

  Staring at the fire, she remembered everyone in Tallium being so excited for her when they discovered she was a Dragon. Following the elven tradition, her parents had declined to consult the stars or speak with a guardian when she was born. Instead they preferred to let whatever gifts she may have had reveal themselves in due time.

  That time came when she was but four years old. After being sent to her room for some childhood transgression she had thrown a tantrum, and while screaming and crying had managed to set their house on fire.

  They had all told her how special she was after that. How the Dragon had known her spirit and smiled upon her at the time of her birth. Her mother had held her and cried, saying how she had worried so deeply that Faela had been Forsaken.

  The only one who wasn’t thrilled with it was Faela. She began to notice people staring at her silver eyes. People being nice to her for no reason and never being able to know if it was because of her or because of what she could do.

  Now look where it’s landed me, she thought. Far from home and happiness. The target of a mysterious attack. And on top of it all I have lords lying to my face about what I’m doing here. This is no place for me. I’m never going to make it in Iryllium.

  She looked at the fire as if hoping it would have some sort of answer for her. But it was just a fire. It could only burn.

  It was a dream, the memories of which were already slipping away from her like an icicle turning to water in her hand. There had been a lightning bolt. A massive one that fell from the sky and struck Iryllium’s castle right in its central keep. But the lightning didn’t disperse. It stayed there, connecting the castle and the heavens like a long staff of fire.

  In the dream Faela had rushed out to see it. There was something impossibly beautiful about the sight. As she approached it, the lightning started expanding. It grew sideways into an oval, then a perfect sphere. The inside was filled with living creatures. They were trapped. Suffering. She needed to help them. She needed to destroy the barrier they were stuck in.

  She reached within herself, looking for her fire. Looking for a way to help the poor beasts. But there was nothing. An empty void. A void inside of her, and a void that those creatures were trapped inside of. It was suffocating to watch. She tried to get close enough to the strange sphere to do something, anything.

  A boy stood in her way.

  His eyes were silver like hers, but so different. They were narrowed murderously. The eyes of a killer. He carried a strange sword, and as he walked a small braid of black hair swung behind his head like a pendulum. He was coming for her. Coming to kill her.

  She went for her weapon but it was gone. He was charging too fast. She reached for her fire, for anything that might help her. There was nothing. She saw his hatred-filled eyes one last time before he swung his sword…

  She awoke with a start. She thought she saw a shadow move along the wall. To her surprise sweat was pooling on her forehead despite it being cold in the room. The fire must have burned out in the night. For a moment she collected herself, fishing in her mind for memories of the dream. It had been urgent. And terrible.

  There was nothing. She could remember lightning, but nothing else. She was about to close her eyes when she saw the shadow move again.

  She felt blood pounding in her temples. This time she was sure of it. There was somebody in the room with her. Fearfully, she considered her options. This was no simple burglary. Who in their right mind would break into the inner castle of Iryllium just to steal some trinkets?

  Could it be the bandits coming back for her? Maybe she should have stayed with the other Dragons. At least she would have been safe with their numbers. She had to do something, quickly. Did the figure realize she was awake? Did they realize she knew they were there?

  Her eyes focused on the spot where she saw the shadow move, but the room was nearly pitch-black. She couldn’t see a damn thing. Slowly, not daring to breath, she reached for the sword with the ruby pommel. To her horror she grasped at thin air.

  It was gone.

  The shadow twitched again. In a flint of moonlight through the curtain she caught the deadly glimmer of sharpened steel. It was coming towards her. It was going to kill her.

  With a surge of adrenaline, she felt as though something inside her snapped. She leapt up, reached deep within herself, and felt the smallest piece of power inside of her. Her hands erupted in flame and flooded the room with light. A man with a hawkish nose and dull brown eyes stood before her. She startled him so that he stumbled backwards.

  Faela meant to roast the intruder, but her magic had not fully returned. Still, she had bought herself a moment and brought her knuckles as sharply as she could into the side of the man’s head.

  He grunted with anger and slashed at her with her own blade. A searing pain flared along her arm as she instinctively leapt back. She placed her left hand on her right arm beneath the shoulder. She felt the sticky sensation of blood. Lots of it.

  The man punched her hard in the face with his sword hand and Faela was flung into the wall. She slunk down, stunned. She tried to force herself to get up, but she stumbled.

  The intruder approached. “You should have stayed asleep, bitch,” he said in a nasally voice. “You would have died peacefully.” He raised her blade to finish her off. There was nowhere to go. She was defenseless. This was it.

  Bloody steel erupted from the attacker’s stomach. His eyes grew wide as he looked at it. “Oh!” he exclaimed.

  He fell to his knees.

  Chapter 11

  Bellweven moaned terribly. He cursed every constellation in the sky while Donald tended to his wound.

  “Godwin.” Yaura’s voice was urgent. “What should we do?”

  Godwin observed the scene that unfolded before them. Frida was swearing like a prisoner from Snowpit, and the raiders were quickly coming towards them. It may well have been possible for him and Yaura to continue their flight and escape. Donald clearly wasn’t going to leave Bellweven, and Frida would never keep up with two sprinting Shigata.

  “Don’t even think about it,” Frida hissed at him. Her crystal blue eyes were wide with fear.

  Godwin swore and trudged up the hill. The raiders who just a few moments ago were a pack of tiny fleas moving over the snow, were now no more than a hundred strides away. An arrow sprung from the ground near Godwin’s left boot.

  He swore again, unstrapped his sword, and flung it to the ground. The men came closer still, arrows aimed for his head. There were nine in total. Tall men with long pale faces shaved clean. They were surrounded. Nobody spoke. The only sound was Donald sobbing quietly as he attempted to save Bellweven.

  “My, what hateful eyes you have,” a lead archer said to Godwin.

  “What do you want with us?” Godwin asked.

  “That’s no way to greet servants of the King now is it?” His voice dripped with sarcasm. He lowered his bow, but the others kept theirs raised.

  “Which king would that be?” Godwin asked.

  The man raised an eyebrow. “The only King.”

  “Wolves usually leave some paw prints,” Godwin said.

  “Usually, we do. This is not usual. But before we get to introductions, I suggest your friends disarm themselves. We don’t want to have any accidents, do we?”

  “Drop your weapons, fools,” Yaura hiss
ed at them as she threw her sword down. Scowling, Frida did the same. Donald was in his own world, putting some ointment on Bellweven’s wound.

  The lead raider looked at Yaura’s sword. “Now that’s a surprise. What’s a Shigata doing in the Chillway?”

  “Two Shigata,” Godwin grinned.

  One of the raiders took a step back. “They say the Shigata are never without weapons even if you take their swords. We should bind them, sir.”

  Yaura laughed. “Come and see if you can, boy. I could use the laugh.”

  The young raider’s face reddened, but he held his silence.

  “Enough of this stupidity,” Godwin said. “You’ve killed one of our allies. Or at least you may have. Let us tend to him, and then we can get on with whatever needs to be done.”

  “You’re not very observant for a Shigata,” the leader said. “The injured man has been tended to as well as you can expect.”

  Godwin turned and saw that he was right. Donald had already removed the arrow and wrapped the wound. Bellweven was pale and shaking, but his companion wasn’t done. Donald was moving his hands over each other in a deft series of patterns and movements while humming. Godwin could hear the magical energy in his voice. He knew that the elf would find better care nowhere else.

  “Very well,” Godwin said. “You say you serve the King. Prove it, and I’ll be happy to hear you out.”

  “Gladly. I am Jeri of the Bloody Paw. I command these men in the name of Mexdon Boldfrost, Lord King in the West and Master of Ice and Shadow. Here is my royal emblem.”

  He reached into his padded jerkin and pulled out a silver wolf’s paw.

  Godwin nodded, not needing to inspect it further.

  Yaura spit. “Just because you serve the King doesn’t mean you’re not a bunch of scoundrels and jackanapes. What do you want with us?”

  Jeri smiled angrily. “I see the women of the Shigata have the tongues of men. I suppose I should not be surprised.”

  Yaura’s hazel eyes shone with malice.

  “Why are you pursuing us?” Godwin asked. “We’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “They’re criminals and thugs!” Frida cried suddenly. “Why are you speaking to them, Shigata? These men are only after my gold and once they retrieve it from me they’ll cut our throats and vanish into the wilderness.”

  Godwin shushed her, which caused her to say a great deal more. “So they have a silver trinket?” she said, after a great deal of cursing. “What of it? They killed some real wolves and wear their skin. Wolves are said to be the ones who take the skins of sheep. What kind of monster is so horrible it has to take the skin of a wolf?”

  Godwin nodded. “What say you, Jeri of the Bloody Paw. How am I to know you’re a real wolf and not an imposter?”

  “Because if I were an imposter, you would all be dead by now,” Jeri said.

  “Perhaps,” Godwin conceded. “Though perhaps not.”

  “Captain!” a giant of a man with quick impatient eyes stepped forward. His bootprints in the snow were twice the size of any other man there. “Why are we negotiating with these monsters?” he asked. “We have our orders from the king. Let us take them and if we have to skewer two meddlesome Shigata who get in the way, then so be it.”

  “You have something against Shigata, friend?” Godwin asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do,” the man replied. Godwin’s silver eyes met the newcomer’s black. He had seen that look before. Hatred worn like armor. But like all such hatred, it merely shielded its wearer’s pathetic inner fear.

  Godwin grinned. “You and I will have some business before this is over with, one way or the other. Am I right?”

  The mammoth nodded.

  “Get back, Murtough,” Jeri commanded.

  Murtough, the giant, assented. But as he stepped back he looked to his Captain and said, “Don’t forget your promise to me, Jeri.”

  “I forget nothing,” Jeri said. “I suggest you remember your own promises.” He abruptly turned his attention back to Godwin and the others.

  “As for you all. We are here for one reason. And she knows exactly what that is. Will you come peacefully, Miss Frida, or will you go biting and scratching to your fate? It makes little enough difference to me. Do as you please.”

  Frida’s face had turned very white. Godwin was certain she had been lying to him.

  “We must surrender,” Donald pleaded. “Bellweven needs attention. He is in danger!”

  Godwin observed that Donald was not wrong. He had removed the arrow, treated the wound with some ointment, and bandaged it. All the same, the elf was barely conscious and as white as the snow he lay in.

  “What are your crimes?” Godwin asked them.

  Frida trembled and Donald’s face was filled with anger.

  “My crime,” Bellweven said faintly. Donald’s eyes widened when he heard his comrade speak.

  “Be silent,” Donald implored. “You must save your strength.”

  “What does it matter,” Bellweven wheezed. “They will never leave us be. Our crimes are not unlike your own, Shigata. We are freaks. Abominations cast out by our respective orders. We are also bandits. Yes, we serve the Legion. What does that matter? What other choice did we have after being shunned for the simple crime of existence.”

  Godwin looked at them carefully. Donald’s trembling lip. Bellweven’s rage-twisted face. Their hands, almost touching.

  He understood.

  Godwin lowered his eyes to the ground and slowly bent over to pick up his sword. The wolves made no attempt to stop him.

  “You lied to us,” Yaura said to Frida.

  “What was I supposed to do?” Frida shot back angrily. “Stretch my neck out for you to chop off? Make it nice and easy for you to go get the bounty on my head? Don’t act like it’s not what you would have done. Your order doesn’t even deal with demons anymore. You went from battling vampires and giants to hunting the lesser creatures that poison wine and tie the shoelaces of children together. Now you’re just man-hunters, nothing more. You’re all pathetic.”

  Yaura watched with eyes that betrayed no emotion. “Far be it from me to stand in the way of King’s men doing the good work of keeping the realm safe,” she said to Jeri. “Do what you will with them.”

  Godwin and Yaura stepped aside. There was no resistance from the bandits, but that didn’t mean Godwin couldn’t feel the hatred radiating from them.

  “It didn’t have to be this way,” Godwin said to them as they were tied. “Had you been honest with us from the start, there’s no telling what we would have done.”

  Bellweven’s eyes narrowed in anger as they lifted him up. “A noble sentiment. We both know it’s not true, Shigata. I learned that lesson many times over. I would lecture you that your ignorance merely stems from the fact that you can move throughout society without people cursing the ground you walk upon.” He laughed, a sincere, evil sound that Bellweven choked on as soon as it shook his belly. But he laughed all the same. “But I really don’t have to tell you that, do I? Shigata. Forsaken. We’re not so different. Take a good look at these chains. I suspect you may be looking into your own future.”

  Godwin did not look away while the injured elf chastened him. He did not look away, but he didn’t respond either.

  “I hate you,” Frida said as she was led away to the center of the wolves. “I hate you all. May the earth crumble under your feet and swallow you whole.”

  “Quiet, bandit!” a wolf shouted as he shoved the butt of his spear into her stomach. She doubled over, coughing.

  “I have no quarrel with you,” Jeri said to Godwin. “It seems you truly did not know their identity.”

  Godwin nodded. Behind him Murtough the giant loomed like a mountain, his face unreadable.

  “And after our business concludes?” Godwin asked Jeri as he glanced at Murtough.

  “Nothing is inevitable, Shigata,” Jeri said seriously. “You will not survive the encounter. I implore you, do not confront him. I won�
�t allow him to harm you if you refuse to draw your blade. If you assent, you will die. The world still has need of the strong arm of every Shigata capable of holding steel.”

  Godwin sighed. Murtough waited, his face a mask. There could be no running from this, distasteful as it was.

  A short time later Godwin stood face to face with Murtough. The man was ten layers of muscle wrapped around two beady black and hate-filled eyes.

  “Are you so eager to throw your life away, Murtough?”

  “A life lost in an effort to forever cease the insufferable beating of a Shigata heart is never wasted,” Murtough said.

  “Then there is no higher way? No better path for us?”

  “I cannot allow you to live. Once I have drank your life’s blood I will slaughter your comrade so that you might rot in hell together.”

  “I offer you one last chance. You don’t understand who you fight. Walk away.”

  Murtough answered by drawing his blade. It was a beastly weapon, a broadsword more than half the width of Godwin’s own body. A good blow from that steel wouldn’t just cut through bones and cartilage, it would obliterate any nearby organs, pulverizing innards and killing one’s body from several different injuries at once.

  “Draw your weapon, Shigata.”

  “Tell me why. What happened in your life that you hate us so?”

  A light snow began to fall. The flakes melted on Murtough’s armor as they touched him. Godwin was cold.

  “I will kill you where you stand if you don’t draw your sword, Shigata.”

  Godwin drew his sword.

  The two men charged each other. Godwin knew Murtough would expect a competent opponent to try and wear him down, fight defensively and try to get the giant off his feet. It was the logical thing to do.

  He also knew Murtough was no ordinary large man. He was going to be quicker than he looked, and Godwin wasn’t sure he would be able to survive a series of swings from Murtough by dodging alone. He may need to block. And that instinct to block steel with steel would send Godwin’s blade flying from his hands. A moment later, his head would follow.