CURSE BREAKER: Books 1-4
MELINDA KUCSERA
Copyright
Curse Breaker: Books 1-4 © 2018 Melinda Kucsera
Cover design © 2018 designed by J Caleb @ jcalebdesign.com
Curse Breaker: Enchanted [The More Epic Version] © 2017 Melinda Kucsera
Curse Breaker: Darkens © 2017 Melinda Kucsera
Curse Breaker: Faceted © 2017 Melinda Kucsera
Curse Breaker: Falls © 2017 Melinda Kucsera
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
ISBN-13: 9780997214185
Table of Contents
Dedication
Want Free Adventures?
Would You Leave A Review?
We’re Boxed In
CURSE BREAKER: ENCHANTED
CURSE BREAKER: DARKENS
CURSE BREAKER: FACETED
CURSE BREAKER: FALLS
Characters Speak
Would You Leave a Review?
Want Free Adventures?
In Memoriam
We’d Love to Hear from You!
The Curse Breaker Series
Dedication
For my sister Carolyn, your last request is fulfilled.
Rest in peace.
“O Guardian most dear,
Hold those loved and lost near,
Shield those who live from fear,
Always be with us here,
O Guardian most dear.”
—Traditional Shayarin Prayer
Want Free Adventures?
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Would You Leave A Review?
As fictional characters, we appreciate the feedback we receive. Reviews also help readers decide to buy our book. (Since we exist only when someone’s reading our stories, reviews are very important to us.) So, if you’re enjoying the magical mayhem in this book, please consider letting everyone know by leaving a review. And of course, tell everyone you meet about us. Our survival depends on it!
Thank you for reading Curse Breaker: Books 1-4!
We’re Boxed In
Hi Readers!
Welcome to our first boxed set. We’re excited and we hope you are too.
What’s included in this boxed set?
Curse Breaker: Enchanted [The More Epic Version]
Curse Breaker: Darkens
Curse Breaker: Faceted
Curse Breaker: Falls
No commercial breaks, no waiting, just magic and mayhem starring Sarn (Papa), me (his adorable son and sidekick, Ran) and various other characters doing what we do best—getting into trouble. Okay, Papa’s the one who gets into the lion’s share of trouble. Though his master stumbled into some pretty epic danger as well.
Papa can’t help walking into trouble and I enjoy tagging along. I might even encourage him. You’ll have to read on to find out. But the commander? Now that was a surprise. He doesn’t seem like the type. But when duty calls, he unearths himself from his never-ending paperwork to battle the forces of evil. After all, he has to set a good example. I’m always watching.
So, without further ado, we bring you—drumroll please—Curse Breaker: Books 1-4!
We hope you enjoy it!
—Ran, son of Sarn, “the official greeter”
CURSE BREAKER: ENCHANTED
[The More Epic Version]
~
Chapter 1
Dodging people, statuary, and foliage, Sarn threaded through a crowded tunnel. He must reach his master before the next bell rang despite the lollygaggers blocking his way.
Delve down deep, urged the magic sharing his skin. Delve into the roots of the mountain.
Why? Sarn asked his magic without breaking stride. He checked the map scrolling across the backs of his eyelids seeking a convenient gap, but saw only a thousand—
Nine hundred and nine—corrected the magic after performing a quick count of the people icons on his map.
Whatever, Sarn shot back. Why do you want me to go downstairs? My family’s down there. Are they in trouble?
Fear niggled at Sarn as he patted the bodies ahead of him searching for a way through.
The Litherians—replied the magic in a reverent tone.
Not that again, Sarn shook his head.
They were a race of stone mages who’d carved a city inside the cone of a mountain. And their statuary fixation complicated his commute. Sarn cursed at a wall of bodies halting his progress.
What about the Litherians? Why are you so interested in them? They’ve been dead for centuries.
You could find out what happened to them, his magic taunted, but it didn’t offer a reason why he should care.
They likely lost their way and starved to death in this place. And it would serve them right. Sarn felt a break in the crowd and squeezed into it. Damn capricious magic, I need to earn my daily bread, not search the bowels of this mountain for clues about a legendary race of dead mages. Of course, it would help if the crowd started moving. What’s the holdup?
Unnatural, screamed his magic, but Sarn ignored it.
Nausea tightened his gut. He slipped through a narrowing gap in the crowd and gained a couple of feet toward his goal. More grumbling accompanied him, likely the same warning again.
What do you want me to do? Sarn asked his magic. Drop everything to find the unnatural thing upsetting you? Then what? I have no training, remember?
No, he just had an overactive magical gift pressing against his closed eyes, begging for release. Showing it who was the boss, Sarn pushed back on the magic and felt for a way through. But his hands encountered more bodies, and none of them were moving—damn.
Unnatural, shouted his magic as it threw itself backward and knocked Sarn off balance.
The ground trembled, and nine hundred people panicked. Shouts of “earthquake” motivated the crowd to move. They shoved past, jostling Sarn in their haste to exit this tunnel.
If this is an earthquake, then I must go back. I must save—Sarn slammed into one of those damned statues. They were everywhere. And its marble hand brushed cold fingers over his burning eyes and the magic fighting to escape.
Let us out!
Magic pushed against his eyes, opening them.
A slice of white marble slashed across the emerald glow wreathing a sea of heads. No! Sarn squeezed his eyes closed and tried to slip out of the statue’s grip.
I must save—but his awareness shrank to the stone hand gripping his. Where are my damned gloves? Why aren't I wearing them?
Let us out, begged the magic as Sarn slid away.
His awareness seeped out of his ungloved hand into the statue. No, into Mount Eredren itself, then beyond it—Sarn was the tip of an arrow speeding toward a wrongness out in the gloaming. But he never reached it.
A dozen voices merged into one voice repeating five unintelligible syllables. They hammered at Sarn. His head throbbed with each repetition until the voice faded.
&
nbsp; Wrong, wrong, wrong, shouted the magic as his world blackened.
The ground stilled, calming the crowd. No one saw a statue pivot on its plinth and deposit a thrashing youth behind its base. Nor did anyone see a green glow snake down his scarred cheek when his seizure ebbed.
Sarn woke up slumped in a corner. Magic blanketed him. Maybe it had protected him from discovery, but he doubted it. How long was I out cold? Long enough for the earth to calm and the crowd too, by the sound of it. Just in case, he kept his eyes closed to conceal their emerald glow, and his magic didn’t fight him on that.
I hope my family’s okay. Fate protect them until I can. Pressing a hand to his aching brow, Sarn winced when his head map expanded from a two-dimensional icon-rich line drawing to a three-dimensional wire frame. Like he needed those extra details pointing out how much of the mountain stood between him and his waiting master.
What just happened? Sarn felt along a high relief setting of a historical event for a handhold then hauled his six-and-a-half-foot tall body off the floor. Information slammed into him, providing the tonnage, context, and type of stone he touched. Damn magic, couldn’t it wait until I'm a bit steadier before drowning me in so many unnecessary details?
Gritting his teeth, Sarn sifted through that information seeking what had disturbed his magic until pain forced him to stop. He stuffed his hands into his pockets despite the protests from his magic, and information quit pummeling him.
Relieved, Sarn pushed into the throng, letting it sweep him into its flow. I don't know what just happened, but I know someone who might. His master’s icon blinked green on his head map inviting him for a chat. Unfortunately, the guy kept moving.
Sarn left the crowd behind and slipped into a side passage hooking off the north-south transept. The sudden turn screwed with his balance, and Sarn wavered until the visuals projected onto the backs of his eyelids stabilized. In his haste, he struck something hard, a sculpture perhaps, judging by the shape of the wire-framed heap.
The Litherians had folded rock imitating paper’s crisp folds and silk’s graceful drape while sculpting their vertical city. Then they’d wrapped five balconies around said mountain fortress adding extra space for their statuary obsession, and more obstacles to dodge.
An arrow flashed on his map, and Sarn turned toward it. The arrow now pointed to a balustrade and beyond it to the meadow spreading from the mountain’s feet. Ah, so my master’s down there tonight with answers, I hope. But intercepting that man had just become trickier.
Sarn bypassed a column supporting the veranda above and stepped over a raised vegetable patch with care. Its young shoots might become part of his dinner one day. Footsteps, out of sync with his quiet tread accompanied a new icon flaring on his map. Someone headed this way. Did that someone follow me?
Sarn cursed his ill-luck. Well, down is where I need to go. So he climbed onto the coping and jumped before anything else went wrong. Thank the Litherians their balconies overlapped each other, widening as they descended. Otherwise, I’d be in trouble.
Magic sheathed Sarn in cold purpose as it reached for the balcony below, turning it malleable. After falling several stories, Sarn landed in a crouch. His magic forced the bench under his boots to flex, absorbing the energy from his fall.
Sensing no one around, he opened his eyes, and their glow dyed the balcony and its statuary green. Sarn blinked until the flagstones lost their polygonal afterimage and his minimized map parked itself in his peripheral vision.
The wind whispered five syllables and repeated them until its voice faded out. What are you telling me? Nothing good, I'll bet.
Sarn struggled to parse those sounds as he hopped off the bench. Beyond the balustrade, a red orb bled onto the serrated horizon, and the metallic stench of blood wrenched his guts. Darkness rippled through the enchanted forest, where a silent army of trees waited for something or someone. Their eyeless stare focused on Sarn, making his skin prickle and his magic circle him, alert for trouble.
Are thousands of branches beckoning me onward? Or is that a trick of the wind?
A warning sounded in his head, startling Sarn right before an arm collided with his throat. Its mate secured itself around his waist then the two limbs yanked backward crushing Sarn against a barrel chest. Where did he come from?
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Gregori enunciated each word as if he spoke to an idiot.
Sarn’s knees jellied as he struggled to regain his footing, and his sight dimmed. Before everything went black, Gregori let go.
“Stop it. I didn’t squeeze you that hard, and besides, you aren’t fragile.”
Yeah right, but Sarn bit his lip to keep his acerbic comments to himself. He staggered until a ham-sized fist forced him to sit on a nearby bench. Gregori’s dark eyes zeroed in on a purpling bruise.
“Who did that to you?”
As he rose, Sarn righted his hood. Indentured men had no rights. So what if a bunch of fools had jumped me? Complications made it better for all if he kept his mouth shut. The incident had happened fifteen hours ago and had no bearing on the Ranger glaring holes in his back. Not that Gregori cared.
“Who hit you?” Gregori demanded with more menace.
Can’t have the Lord of the Mountain’s property damaged, oh no.
Sarn swallowed the truth before it could break free. My situation's better than most, and I'm managing just fine without interference. Still, he had to say something.
Gregori snapped his sausage fingers in front of Sarn’s face. “Pay attention boy. I asked you a question. You’re supposed to answer it.”
Sarn studied the carvings under his boots. Incised mid-writhe, insects patterned the ground, offering neither answers nor solace. The wind tugged his ankle-length cloak, pulling him toward the balustrade and the distant forest. Its eyeless stare bored into him, and a voice whispered the same five syllables as before.
What do they mean?
Magic urged Sarn to jump, but Gregori seized his arm and shook him free of the magic and its mad mutterings. The wind died, releasing his cloak and so too did the strange spell that had overtaken Sarn. He blinked at Gregori.
“You can tell me, or you can tell Jerlo, but you’re telling someone. Do you hear me, boy?”
The fortyish bruiser looked ready to plant himself in front of something in need of guarding. But nothing on the balcony required such protection.
“I turned twenty last November. I’m not a child.”
“Then don’t act like one.”
Sarn rolled his eyes. A unicorn statue with a broken horn gave him the stink eye. Even the statuary had an opinion tonight.
“Bind your eyes, so you don’t cause a panic and let’s go. They’re looking for you.” Gregori fished a blindfold out of his pocket and handed it to Sarn.
“Who’s looking for me?”
“Don’t be an idiot. You know who.”
Gregori took back the blindfold and secured it then caught Sarn by his arm. The burly Ranger’s heavy boots beat a metronome of doom as he towed Sarn toward the trouble his magic had sensed.
A sullen green star poked at the blindfold. Sarn ignored it and kept hiking. His magic hated confinement, but he couldn’t liberate it. Heat bloomed in his hands and radiated into his fingers, extending them towards a wall.
Damn the magic and its meddling. Sarn stuffed his hands into his pockets again.
A bell tolled twenty times. Uh-oh, lateness is a whipping offense. Does being in Gregori’s custody count as ‘on time?’ Would the muscle-bound Ranger vouch for me? Given the man’s current attitude, probably not.
Sarn sighed and yanked his head map into view, so he didn’t crash into any statuary or jabbering people icons. Maybe it was wishful thinking, but he picked up the pace and his minder, who was himself a tall man, followed suit.
“—They’re moving around.”
“—Letting no one through—”
“It ain’t natural—”
That last assertion
caught Sarn’s attention. My magic made a similar claim right before Gregori showed up. What I sensed earlier wasn’t a fluke. Something’s going on, and the Rangers are hip-deep in it. No wonder Gregori was short with me.
“What are they talking about?”
“Never you mind,” Gregori said, and the ground vanished under Sarn.
Thank Fate for my head map. Without it, I’d have tumbled down into the bowels of the mountain. Sarn touched the enclosing wall. Information poured into his skull and boiled over onto his map, threatening to overwhelm him.
I don't care if you found an interesting frieze to investigate. Show me the damned steps so I don’t fall.
But alas, his magic ignored his command until his master’s icon appeared below, promising answers. Only then did his map focus on the spiral stairs, after he'd tripped over a half dozen of those narrow things.
One hundred steps down, Gregori bumped a section of the curved wall with his heel, and it slid aside, sending a breath of fresh air into the dank stairwell.
“I found him. The damned fool was trying to fly.” Gregori punctuated his announcement by shoving Sarn forward.
“You were trying to fly?” Nolo asked, taking custody of him.
Sarn yanked his arm free. Sensing no one else on this precipice, he fingered the blindfold. It was time for that thing to come off.
“I wasn’t trying to fly.”
“Leave it.” Nolo captured his arm and squeezed hard enough to make his point.
“You were trying to defy something,” Gregori said, ignoring the byplay.
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