by Brandon Barr
He stopped and his eyes drifted toward a noise in the distance.
The muted beat of hooves sounded in the snow behind her. She turned around. Seated on horseback were the two remaining red-cloaked hunters, along with Dendryn.
Each of the hunters drew his bow.
Dendryn jumped from his mount and took a step toward them. “Don’t move, Rathan,” said Dendryn, “or we’ll decorate your body with arrows.” Then he motioned with four fingers for Ella to come to him. “Are you alright, Monaiella?”
She stared at Dendryn. He didn’t know the two riders he’d come with were trying to kill her, and that meant his life was in danger. But if he could somehow help her and Rathan…
She didn’t move. “I’m alive so far, thanks to Rathan.” Her eyes flicked to the two men with drawn arrows. “Those two you came with, they want me dead.”
“Monaiella, please, that is not true,” said one of the red-cloaked riders. His face was clean-shaven except for a neatly trimmed beard on his chin. “Brantieth sent us to save you from that madman. Do you mean to tell us that you left the Hold of your own will?”
“You play games,” she said coolly to the man. “Dendryn, those two and two more tried to kill us on the road.” She glanced over her shoulder at Raem. He remained where he was, arm lifted, a smile cocked on his face beneath his unreadable eyes.
“We were trying to rescue you,” continued the bearded rider. “Whatever Rathan has told you, it is a lie.”
A small seed of doubt birthed in her mind at the rider’s words.
Whatever Rathan told you…
It dawned on her that her flight from the Hold was predicated on Rathan’s warning. Yes, there were the words of the Old Seer…although, he had said nothing of Brantieth’s intent beyond him seizing control of the throne. As for the mission given her, the Old Seer had conditioned her future on her safely delivering the item. His words had hinted at danger—and yet, the silver-handed man behind her provided amply for that.
She turned to Rathan.
The questions written on her face seemed to startle him. “Don’t believe them, Ella. They’re lying. Why would I deceive you?”
“Because of your fierce love for her,” said Dendryn, “that is why. Your romantic adherence to the old ways and your stringent devotion to the former Luminess—I suspect your mind became unhinged when Brantieth and the other regents dethroned her. Admit it. You couldn’t bear to leave her and serve the new Luminar, so you concocted a story that would allow you to remain at her side—her fanatic devotee.”
“Dendryn, I overheard a plot against her. I—” Rathan’s words trailed off, then he looked directly at Ella. “On the road that first long day, when the riders were at our backs, did they not shoot to kill?”
Ella remembered well that frantic ride, leaving her horse, Calebren, to die on the road. An epiphany came instantly as she recalled the rider whose knee she broke. “That’s right. I was on the back of your horse when that rider shot the arrows.” Her eyes turned to Dendryn. “Rathan couldn’t have been the target, only me—my back was exposed, not his.”
Dendryn frowned, then looked back to the two red-cloaks.
“Damn you,” said the second rider, who had a nose like the beak of a hawk. He pivoted, and his bow rang like a deadly song.
Dendryn dropped to his knees and stared down at the bloody arrow shaft protruding through his chest, and then fell face first into the snow.
Ella felt both relief and fury. Rathan was proven true, but Dendryn lay murdered before her. She stood helpless before the two assassins and glanced down at Quanthum. To anyone not near, his eyes would have appeared closed, but she saw the slight flutter of his eyelids and his black pupils staring back at her from beneath.
“Enough of this,” said Dendryn’s killer, having drawn another arrow. “Who’s that man you’re meeting with?”
The rider with the beard smiled. “One of King Tapherd’s court magicians by the look of his clothes.”
“I am a magician of sorts,” said Raem from behind her.
“Can you stop an arrow with your art?” said the bearded rider.
The words of the hunter hung in the air for just a moment, unanswered, and then suddenly the white hot lightning snapped the air like a whip, forking into the two red-cloaked hunters. The horses beneath them cried out, rearing in terror.
Ella turned, and saw Quanthum, the great white bear, charge at Raem, but the silver hand turned, and the lightning pierced Quanthum before his deadly claws could strike.
Ella positioned herself behind Quanthum’s enormous form and drew her sword. She darted around his wide girth, the light blinding her eyes. Through the bright emanation of lightning, she saw Raem’s outstretched arm very near, and swung her sword in an upward slash. Raem’s eyes turned to her and he pulled his silvery hand back towards his chest. The blinding light disappeared as her sword tip sliced his forearm, splitting open the muscle to the bone
Raem cried out and leapt back out of the range of her sword.
“You primitive fool!” he growled. With effort he lifted his shoulder, half raising his bloodied arm, the white lightning burgeoning at his fingertips. “You want to die with your child—” he said through clenched teeth, “—so be it!”
“You kill me, you destroy the leaf,” she said frantically.
“You can burn together. Do you hear that Quanthum?! I’m going to destroy it and the woman and child!”
His fingers flashed with blinding light just as Rathan’s sword cleaved the air at his neck. The white hot light died instantly as Raem’s head spun through the air, landing in the snow beneath a burning tree.
She stood there, staring at Rathan as he searched the woods around them for further danger. She glanced back to where she had last seen Brantieth’s hunters. One lay still, a wisp of smoke rising from his body. The other—the one with the bearded chin—crawled slowly through the snow using his arms, dragging his legs as if they were a pair of boiled sausages.
Quanthum lay on his back, a man again, his bearskins dotted with burns.
She took the memory leaf from her cloak and placed it in his hand. “This belongs to you. Can you make it back to your ship?”
Quanthum closed his eyes, then opened them again. With a grimace, he raised himself to his knees, then transformed into a bear.
He peered at her with his large animal eyes and placed his great paw upon her shoulder. With a nod of his hulking head, he turned and walked slowly on three legs, favoring one, like an injured beast, and headed toward the rise.
She looked down at Raem. “You got his head this time,” she said.
“I took the bear’s advice,” said Rathan. “And you—you drew your sword.”
“I did. It was of my own freewill. And yet my oath is intact. I didn’t kill. Still, I must ask the gods’ forgiveness, for I intended to. I wouldn’t let that man kill my child.”
Rathan nodded. He took her hand, and led her in the direction of the remaining hunter, who had propped himself against a tree. “What do we do with him? Same as the one before?”
“Yes,” said Ella. “There will be soldiers here soon. We’ll take his horse.”
Rathan plodded off through the snow, to where one of the hunter’s horses had retreated.
Ella bent down beside the injured man. A warm sensation prickled in her womb. The hunter stared at her as if he would kill her if he had the strength. “If you ever want to walk again, find me. The gods have promised me a son who will be a Healer. He would repair your legs.” The arrogance left his eyes and she saw now only pain in them.
“Give Brantieth a message for me,” she continued. “Tell him I’m beyond his reach now, and I cannot be killed. Tell him that I am with child, and no longer a threat. He can have the throne.”
Rathan appeared, sitting atop the horse. She noted the bags of supplies hanging from the saddles: food for the horses, food for themselves. It was only another day’s ride to the Verdlands, and once across the border, s
he’d have the protection of King Tapherd.
Rathan’s strong hand reached down and she took it. He pulled her up behind him and she wrapped her arms around his chest.
As they rode, the form of a ship briefly passed overhead, and then disappeared into the clouds.
A laugh rolled from her throat, and Rathan glanced at her over his shoulder. She pressed her body tight against him, full of inexpressible emotions. She felt alive and free, like a new life was just beginning.
Above, patches of blue now interlaced the grey clouds. It seemed the storm that had been so fierce would be gone by nightfall.
End of the Prequel Novella,
Ella Dethroned
Grab the next book!
HER DANGEROUS VISIONS
Book One in The Boy and the Beast series
Reviews
Hello! I truly hope you enjoyed the prequel novella, Ella Dethroned. I’m an independent author, and that means reviews are precious! Would you consider rating it and giving a brief review on Amazon and/or Goodreads? One word or one sentence will do. The links take you straight to the review page, and a review takes only seconds to write :)
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Website: brandonbarr.com
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Blog: sciencefantasywriter.blogspot.com
Dedication
To my amazingly loving wife, Amanda, for all her support! She is not only a wonderful wife, she is an amazing mother, and has been my hugest source of strength and my dearest friend. I love you.
About me
Brandon Barr writes in the genres of science fiction and fantasy and often combines the two, preferring stories where the science is soft, the fantastic is vivid, and the flesh and soul characters are front and center.
The Boy and the Beast Series is his breakout, genre-blending science-fantasy drama set in a vast fantasy universe where elements of science fiction are dominated by gods and monsters, visions and gifts.
Barr has written dozens of short stories, many previously published in SF/F magazines and anthologies. He dabbled in writing modern YA and adventure fiction with a co-author, but has returned to his first love, sci-fi and fantasy.
He lives in Southern California with his wife, Amanda, and their three boys. When not writing, Brandon loves to garden, hike, fish, and play board games. He attends a small church which just so happens to be absolutely infested with wonderfully artistic members, who cheer each other on.
The most influential authors in his life are Michael Crichton, Ray Bradbury, C.S. Lewis, and Orson Scott Card.
