Captive

by Lori Holmes

  Lori Holmes

  Captive

  Copyright © 2020 by Lori Holmes

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  Lori Holmes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

  First edition

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Captive

  1. Fallen

  2. Stranger

  3. A Leader Lost

  4. Resistance

  5. Fury

  6. Search

  7. Defeat

  8. Acceptance

  9. Building Trust

  10. Deception

  11. Shadows

  12. Beliefs

  13. Attack

  14. Power

  15. Uncontrollable

  16. Pain

  17. Betrayal

  About the Author

  Also by Lori Holmes

  Acknowledgement

  A huge thank you to the team at Writing.co.uk Literary Consultancy, for all their hard work and endless advice on editing this manuscript and helping me shape this book into what it is today.

  Another big thank you goes to the team at Damonza.com for their incredible design skills in creating the wonderful book covers for The Ancestors Saga.

  Captive

  Book Three of The Ancestors Saga

  How do you escape the enemy who holds the key to your soul?

  He is a hunter, protector, a raknari warrior. He is Forbidden.

  Raised his entire life for the sole purpose of defending his clan, Khalvir serves the chief who saved him from certain death; death at the hands of the hated elven tribes who see him only as an abomination to be destroyed.

  Now held captive and at his enemy’s mercy, Khalvir must somehow find a way to escape the mysterious elf witch who holds him. An elf whose motives for keeping him alive remain shrouded and whose very presence calls to his soul, threatening to turn every truth he has ever known into a lie.

  The Ancestors Saga

  Exciting and compelling, the Ancestors Saga takes readers on an epic journey 40,000 years into our own dark and forgotten past. As the world teeters on the brink of another glacial winter, homo sapiens are not the only human species to walk the Earth. When the destiny of the entire human race hangs in the balance, the prize for survivors will be Earth itself.

  The Ancestors Saga is a prehistoric fantasy romance, combining history, mystery and legend to retell a lost chapter in humanity’s dark and distant past.

  1

  Fallen

  Khalvir ran through the trees. The forest was dark, pressing in claustrophobically as the sounds of the night roared in his ears. He was careful to keep his wits about him as he plunged through the restraining undergrowth.

  This forest was not safe, filled as it was with elf mischief and magic. He could feel it, hazing across his senses, his own hated elf blood rising in answer. He quashed it viciously.

  He could no longer hear the footfalls of his men behind him over the din of this accursed place. It would not do to be separated. Khalvir came to a stop beneath the overhanging branches of a thick-bodied tree to wait for them.

  The elf settlement had been empty. He cursed his bad luck; his chief would not be pleased. Each time, he would send Khalvir and his men out into the forests where elves were reported to be and each time Khalvir would return empty-handed.

  The chief had made it clear that this was Khalvir’s last chance and that if he failed, his displeasure would be immense. Khalvir winced beneath the spear cat skull covering his face. He had failed.

  The old resentment for his chief flickered through him and he was quick to stamp on it. Khalvir struggled to understand the irrational hatred that he felt when he met those black eyes at times. Yes, the man was hard, even brutal, but without him Khalvir would have been dead long ago. Dead at the hands of the very creatures that he sought.

  True hatred blazed within his heart as he thought of them; murderous wood sprites that they were. He did not understand his chief’s need to possess them.

  At least this raid had not been a complete waste of time. The abandoned settlement had still been stocked with the food of the elves. Khalvir had ordered his men to gather as much as they could carry away, hoping such a prize would appease his chief. The roots and fruits the elves grew were far more sustaining than anything that could be found elsewhere.

  He shifted beneath the tree, feeling a prickle run up his spine. The elves may be gone but he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he was being watched, as if their ghosts lingered, cursing him with their unseen eyes. He tightened his grip upon the long curving knife in his hand. He was not so foolish as to think the talismans carved into spear tooth would protect him against the power here, but its familiar weight in his palm made him feel better all the same.

  At last they came, he could hear the heavy, muffled footfalls, the puff of breath on the cool air. One by one, his men emerged from the shadows and joined him under the tree. Their movements betrayed their own unease and longing for clear open spaces where an approaching enemy could be easily seen.

  “What are we going to do, Khalvir?” Galahir’s deep voice sounded from beneath the oxen skull that concealed his features. His most trusted companion’s query was thick with doubt. “The chief will not be pleased.”

  Khalvir sighed. “There is nothing to be done. The elves are gone. Perhaps there are no more to be found. I will be the one to inform him of the failure. No one else need share in his displeasure.”

  Galahir shifted as though he was about to protest but Khalvir silenced him with a warning glance. It would be foolish to speak ill of their chief in such company. Not all here were friends. He swept his eyes to where Lorhir lurked upon the edges of the group, thin and shrewd. That one would relish any opportunity to sour Khalvir’s favour with their chief. It was Lorhir’s greatest wish to see Khalvir fall from grace. Khalvir gave a soft snort. It appeared Lorhir’s prayers were about to be answered.

  “Rest,” he told his men. “I want to be out of this forest by daybreak and it is a long way to the borders. I do not like the feel of this place.”

  He was not alone in his assessment. Eyes darted as his men began to sink wearily to the ground. He was sure half of them would like to forego the respite and run until dawn, run until the trees no longer crouched over the top of them, cutting off the sky.

  Crack!

  Khalvir and his men leaped to their feet, weapons raising with the swiftness of warrior’s reflexes as the sound of splintering wood and a high pitched cry cut through the air.

  “Nyri!”

  Khalvir drew a sharp breath. Two she-elves were in the tree above them, one was clinging, clawing at her companion as the branch she had been perched upon gave way beneath her weight.

  “No! Kyaati!” The dark-haired girl screamed in the tongue of the elves.

  The heavy branch fell away and came crashing down through its brethren. Khalvir and his men scattered backwards as it smashed to earth. The grip of the dark-haired girl failed and her pale-haired companion began to fall.

  Khalvir knew it was too late for her. No one could survive a fall from such a great height. Her helpless bod
y bounced off one branch, then another before crumpling to the ground with a sickening thud. Khalvir could almost hear the bones snap. Her cries cut off abruptly.

  For one stunned moment no one moved. Khalvir stared at the stricken elf. The quarry he had thought lost had fallen right at his feet like a gift from Ea Himself. And yet, Ea appeared to have a twisted sense of humour. He had thrown an elf to his feet, a discovery that would have assuaged his chief’s displeasure, but now the thing lay dead at the base of a tree. He didn’t even look up to find the other, she would be long gone, disappearing into the trees like the witch she was.

  Khalvir studied the fallen elf and saw that she had been with-child. His lips pulled down at the double stroke of bad luck. Dead. What a waste.

  Or was she? The barest movement caught his eye and Khalvir took a step forward. To his utter disbelief he saw that the elf was still breathing. He felt a trickle of hope. If she and the baby could be saved she would be a prize above imagining.

  A cat-like snarl and a rushing of leaves was his only warning. The dark-haired she-elf that he had all but dismissed came flying down the tree like a vengeful falcon. Her own preservation seemed to matter little to her as she threw herself recklessly to the ground to land between him and her fallen companion.

  Khalvir felt his muscles lock as her eyes fixed on his; fierce, indigo eyes. Her face stunned him into immobility, her courage impressive to behold. She stooped to grab hold of the fallen branch and swung it at him as he stood stupidly before her.

  Or at least she tried to. The large branch proved too much for her slight body though she tried to brandish it all the same. Such spirit from one so small. Mesmerised, Khalvir edged forward.

  “Get away!” the elf witch hissed between her teeth.

  Another step, it was as though he was being drawn by an invisible cord. Unconsciously he lifted a hand towards her. This one was coming with them whether she liked it or not.

  “Leave her alone! Get away from us!” she continued to screech in her peculiar tongue but now an edge of desperation was eating away at her rage.

  His men began to laugh at her feeble attempts to intimidate their leader. Khalvir almost smiled when she bared her teeth at them in defiance. He took another step and despite all of her bravado, she took a step back in retreat.

  The laughter intensified and Khavlir felt an irrational flash of anger. This elf witch was showing true courage. She deserved some respect. He turned sharply.

  “Quiet!”

  The laughter ebbed and he refocused on his target. She was so close now he could almost feel her body heat. He shivered. Her glorious eyes fell on the stained knife he had forgotten was still in his hand. Khalvir watched as the strength went out of her. She knew she was defeated. Her eyes closed and her lips moved in a soft whisper.

  Khalvir had been so captivated by the spell she had put him under that he didn’t see the danger until it was too late.

  A snarl ripped the air as a huge grey form burst from the trees and leapt past the girl’s shoulder. The wolf stood before her, its face twisted into a grisly snarl. Khalvir’s breath caught as the beast was followed by another and another until fifteen great wolves stood bristling and crouching before him and his men.

  The hairs on Khalvir’s neck rose. Never before had he seen such a sight. They were outnumbered and out matched, his men were only lightly armed. His mind worked furiously for a way to salvage the situation but it was futile. Caught off guard, he was about to lose and lose badly.

  Khalvir’s lips pulled back from his teeth as the bitterness of defeat washed over his tongue. He knew what he must do. There was only one way to save as many of his party as possible.

  Without taking his eyes off the wall of teeth and fur, Khalvir gave the command that he had never before had to give.

  “Run.”

  Responding to some unseen signal, the wolf pack howled in unison as his men ran for their lives. He wondered which of them would make it, if any. The sour taste of defeat spread until it filled his whole mouth as the wolf pack gave chase, snapping at the heels of the men under his leadership.

  He had failed them. Yet again, he had underestimated the witchcraft of the elves.

  A movement caught his eye. The witch who had cost him his men had fallen to her knees. No doubt her efforts at summoning the demon beasts had drained her. Her eyes met his, somehow captivating him once more even amid the chaos and the screams as his men were run down and savaged.

  She had enchanted him, luring him in with her show of helplessness and now his men were paying for his mistake with their lives. He should have been more alert. He tore his eyes away from her and ran into the trees without a backwards glance.

  Khalvir fled into the forest, avoiding the worst of the commotion. He had to keep running until he was sure the wolves had given up their pursuit. The forest blurred by, branches whipped at him, the undergrowth sapped his strength but still he kept going, listening for sounds of pursuit.

  Then he heard it. The pounding of paws gaining fast. He increased his speed but knew he could not outrun the beast that was closing with every stride. Unbidden instinct took hold and he grabbed hold of the nearest tree, scrambling up into the branches.

  He wasn’t fast enough. Lupine jaws sank deep into his leg, ripping a cry from his throat. The wolf dragged Khalvir down and slammed him into the earth. His vision was filled with the sight of snapping fangs. Khalvir grabbed the beast about the throat, it was all he could do to keep the jaws from closing around his neck.

  His knife was tucked into his fur boot. If he tried to reach it, he was a dead man. He already was. If he still lived, Lorhir would be pleased. The great Khalvir brought down by a wolf.

  The strength in Khalvir’s arms began to fail. The end was close but he was determined to keep his eyes on the frenzied gaze of his killer until the last. He would not flinch before death with eyes closed.

  And so it was that his eyes were wide open when the wolf flinched violently and gave a wrenching howl of pain, spattering Khalvir’s face with blood. He watched as the wolf’s eyes drained of life before toppling to the side, dead.

  Stunned, Khalvir dropped back onto his elbows, panting with exhaustion and shock. He was alive. Relief washed over him. As a raknari he was prepared to face death whenever it came, but that did not mean he had to like it. He looked at the now lifeless wolf lying at his side and saw the spear protruding from his side at the same instant that he heard Galahir’s voice calling him.

  “Khalvir!”

  His friend burst from the cover of the trees and ran to his side. He clamped his hand around Khalvir’s forearm and yanked him back to his feet. Khalvir winced at his grip. Sometimes Galahir forgot he was part Thal and could crush a skull in his hands if he so chose.

  “Thank you,” Khalvir told him, flexing his fingers behind Galahir’s back as his friend turned away to pull his spear loose from the wolf’s body. The wounds the beast had dealt to his leg stung. He winced as he tested his weight upon it. It held. Just.

  “I think they’ve stopped chasing us now,” Galahir said in a hushed voice.

  Khalvir listened. Indeed, the forest had fallen silent around them.

  “How many?”

  “I don’t know,” Galahir said. “You are the only one I have found.”

  Khalvir was still for a minute, the anger of his defeat burning low in his chest. Beside it, a strange pull was growing in strength; an inexplicable compulsion to run back the way he had come.

  “Khalvir,” Galahir’s voice shook him. “We have to get out of this forest. If any of the others survived, hopefully they made it back to the borders and we can regather.”

  He stared into the trees. The pull was becoming a slow burn. Accursed indigo eyes filled his every thought.

  “Khalvir?”

  His eyes still fixed on the trees, he spoke. “Go to the edge of the forest at the point where we entered,” he ordered. “Find as many survivors as you can and then wait for me there.”


  “And where are you going?” Galahir was eyeing him wearily.

  “I’m going back. That elf witch and I have some unfinished business.”

  “Go back?” Galahir was askance. “Khalvir, their magic is too strong. You cannot face it alone.”

  “Do as I say, Galahir.” His voice was sharp, the pull in his chest was now a torment. “I will return when I have finished with her. Wait for me on the borders. Regather. Send word to the chief of what has happened here.”

  “But the clan is days away!” Galahir protested.

  “Send Lorhir.”

  A smile tugged at Galahir’s wide lips. “You have a wicked sense of humour when you put your mind to it, Khalvir.”

  Khalvir grinned at him. “Go.”

  Galahir’s frown of concern deepened before he obeyed and disappeared into the trees. As soon as he was gone, Khalvir let the confident smile drop from his face. He turned to the deeper forest where the indigo eyes waited, tormenting him, calling to him. He began to run, ignoring the pain in his right leg, faster and faster as the call grew in strength. He was going to capture that witch. He was going to have his revenge for the deaths of his men. The burn in his chest blazed. She would not even see him coming.

  The sharp snapping of twigs was his only warning. His stomach lurched as the ground gave way beneath his feet. The last thing he remembered was tumbling away into the black abyss.

  2

  Stranger

  Khalvir drifted, unaware of the passage of time, unable to distinguish between dreaming and awake. The light slipped in and out of the sky, unnoticed. Time was marked only by brief flashes of excruciating pain, followed by the strangest visions as his mind was sucked back into oblivion.