Bound to Survive (The Magic Within Book 1)

by Sharon Gibbs

  Bound to Survive

  The Magic Within Series

  One man with a Sorceress at his side seeks revenge.

  One man with desperation in his heart is determined to make a difference.

  One man with a secret is about to change everything.

  Bound to Survive

  by

  Sharon Gibbs

  Copyright © Sharon Gibbs 2015

  Cover art and chapter heading illustrations by Lydia and Isaia. http://worldsbeyondart.com

  Sharon Gibbs asserts the moral right

  to be identified as the author of this work

  ISBN-13:978-1502859778

  ISBN-10: 1502859777

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are fictitious or used in a fictitious way. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.

  To Henry

  Thank you for appearing. You have taught me there’s always more to life, no matter what age.

  To my husband Rob, thank you for supporting my journey and putting up with me, coming to bed late every night.

  To Barb, your love and support has helped me flourish, and your blue pen always, made me think and grow. Thank you for your editing work. This book is as much from my imagination as it is from your support.

  Thank you Lydia and Isaia, from Worlds Beyond Art for the absolutely fabulous illustrations.

  To my Editor Todd Barselow, thank you for your hard work and I know my book is better for your input.

  To Jill, a big thank you for reading everything I’ve ever written. Without your questioning and feedback this book wouldn’t have been what it is, and to my beta reading team Jill, Claire and Jade, thank you, for reading Bound to Survive. Your input is valued more than you could ever know.

  Lastly a big thank you to the friends I’ve made on Facebook.

  Sharon Clarke, your support and friendship mean the world to me. To my fellow writers A.M.Dunnewin and Sheila Kell, who are always there to help me out. Thank you ladies you rock!

  Happy reading to you all

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Chapter Forty-two

  Chapter Forty-three

  Chapter Forty-four

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  A thousand years ago Sorcerers and Wizards governed the lands of Solencia. The people lived in peace and harmony because these two magical sects held the same beliefs.

  To be at one with nature was divine living and should be held in the highest regard.

  The Sorcerers lived deep in the south in a city called Alden. Upon the edge of a sheer-faced cliff they’d built their residence, the Sorcerers Dome, so named because of the shape of the roof that rose from the middle of the building. The village of Canistar was further north, just far enough so the days were warmer but during winter the snow still fell. Here the Wizards lived in a Keep, built into the side of Mount Burlog. The massive structure had been built with stone taken from the mountain, forming a plateau, which was now used for gardens and the immediate needs of the Keep. At the bottom of the mountain a very small community had been established where workers who attended to daily matters within the Keep could reside if they so desired.

  The Sorcerers of Alden and the Wizards from Canistar met regularly in a neutral town called Canameer. A great manor had been built there where the two sects would gather to discuss and solve problems relating to the realm and meter out punishments for crimes committed.

  Both parties agreed upon most decisions and life was prosperous for the lands of Solencia.

  This state of harmony continued until a young student, Zute, came to live in the Wizards’ Keep. After many years of studying the Wizards’ teachings he became frustrated with the way they taught and governed the use of the students’ magic. Discontented, he asked the Hierarch who governed all at the Keep if he could take a sabbatical from his studies and journey south to spend time in the southern city. The Hierarch granted Zute’s wishes and he travelled south the following summer.

  Caught up within the city of Alden, Zute decided not to return to Canistar. He’d fallen into the ways of life at the Sorcerers’ Dome and had become entwined in the secret cult of the Dark Arts studied there.

  Zute loved this new life as the Dark Arts called to his very being and filled him with a power he’d never known before. Over the years his study and passion paid off and he rose within the ranks at the Dome, until finally he became their leader.

  The Wizards in Canistar had come to learn of the Dark Arts studied at the Dome and conflict arose. The disputes grew between the two sects until eventually war erupted.

  Zute rampaged the lands and led the people into an age of destruction and devastation. Many Wizards and Sorcerers were lost to each side in the battles over the years. As Zute continued to ravage the lands and destroy all in his way, the Wizards finally managed to send Zute to a place they’d conjured to contain him, The Underlands.

  As Zute was sucked into this new realm he used his magic to cast one final spell. He pulled as much energy from the living as he could and dragged it with him into the Underlands. Zute’s right arm, Isham, the man he’d entrusted with his life, had survived the final battle and led the few remaining survivors to new lands. Abandoning their home they fled from Solencia upon a ship destined for Reist. Settling in an area far to the east called the Mystic Swamps, they gradually rebuilt their sect while they continued their worship of the Lord Zute, now of the Underlands. The power Zute had taken with him was used to boost his followers and from there he began to rebuild that which had been lost to him.

  Over the many years that followed, the lands of Solencia recovered and once again began to prosper under the sole rule of the Wizards. They held fast to their beliefs and any meddling with the Dark Arts was dealt with in a swift and harsh manner, brooking no mercy for the offender.

  As the decades passed, the people forgot, but the Wizards kept a close eye on all who held magic within their power and only those who dedicated themselves to the Wizard’s philosophies were abl
e to develop any potential with their magic.

  The Prophets in the Keep were watchful and studied the prophecies of old. Never again would they allow such atrocities to destroy their lands and devastate its people.

  Chapter One

  Gerard lay in his bed and beckoned his son closer. His cheekbones protruded through his yellow skin and his eyes had sunk in their sockets. As Arnak knelt by his side, his heart yearned and he reached out and held his father’s hand. Gerard’s skin felt like ice. The Healers hovered in the room as incense burnt and they prayed as they waited. No medicine they mixed could help their Lord now.

  ‘Arnak, my son. Take care of your sister and rule well.’ Gerard’s mouth contorted as pain ripped through his body and tears ran down his cheeks. Eventually his body relaxed as the pain eased.

  Arnak stared at the men who tended his father. ‘Do something you fools,’ he said.

  They bowed their heads and fidgeted; there was nothing they could do. Time was all Gerard had left until he passed on. Arnak pleaded with his father not to die. With each gasp Gerard took, his body heaved and the flesh below his rib cage concaved as his body tried to pull the air into his lungs. Time expanded between each breath, and each time Arnak thought it would be his last until Gerard’s body jerked as he drew in a rattling draught. Then there was silence. Arnak stared at his father. Gerard’s soul had left his body.

  It was some time before Arnak could accept his father’s death. Eventually he lifted his head from where it rested on the bed and said in a voice loud and clear so all in the room could hear, ‘I’m Lord of these lands now! All will fall on their knees or suffer my wrath.’ The men in the room bent to their knees and said in unison, ‘Lord Arnak!’

  Arnak looked at Gerard as he lay motionless on the bed. ‘Father I’ll make them suffer. I’ll make them rue the day they cast you out. They’ll bow before me and beg for their lives. They’ll pay for the way they desecrated you.’

  He clenched his fists and when he rose from beside the bed he paced the room.

  ‘I’ll rule with vengeance in the sake of your name,’ he ranted. ‘So help me, this I promise you!’

  Arnak turned to his bodyguard. ‘Take me to Athena!’

  Chapter Two

  Not far from the village of Corn Fallow, Henry sat alone in the ramshackle hut he’d repaired and now called home. His threadbare clothes clung to his skin as a veil of moisture hung in the air. He pulled at his clothes in the hope of finding relief. As he scratched at his beard the sweat irritated his skin and although the heat was unbearable, he still needed to eat. Within the stifling hut Henry moved over to the fire to stir the bubbling liquid the iron pot held. As he swirled the stew around the carcass floated to the surface and Henry poked at the bones to remove some of the meat.

  The last rays of light had begun to fade as the sun slipped beyond the horizon. ‘Ahh,’ he sighed. The aroma made his mouth water and his stomach gurgle and groan. Thomas had dropped by earlier with a rabbit he’d caught. Normally Henry’s meals came from the garden out back or food he foraged for in the countryside. He remembered when he’d first met Thomas and Mary some twenty years ago as he’d travelled the roads. He’d looked for a safe, out of the way place to seek refuge and had decided to head towards Corn Fallow. Thomas’ wife Mary had been heavy with child. They’d little money and nowhere to live after they’d fled their home and had decided to make camp in the thicket not far from the road. Thomas had worried when Mary had first felt the pains of labour. The maids, who would’ve helped Mary birth the child, had been slain in their beds and now the couple were alone.

  Thomas had searched for wood to keep the fire lit through the night and his arms had been laden with branches as he’d strode back to their camp. Thomas’ flaxen mane wafted in the cool evening air. He’d been walking back to the road where he’d seen some heavy logs that would keep the fire burning well into the night when Henry had appeared on an old nag. Thomas had greeted him and Henry had waved in return and continued on his way. Thomas’ heart had sunk as Henry passed him.

  ‘Your horse looks tired. Would you like to stop and rest by our fire?’

  Henry certainly was tired. The sun sat low in the sky and he’d wanted to find some shelter for the night, light his own fire and prepare something to eat.

  ‘Thank you but I can’t stop. I’ve many miles to go before nightfall.’

  Fear had pricked at Thomas. What if something went wrong? ‘Please sir, my wife is with child and her time is here.’

  At that moment Mary had called out. ‘Thomas! Are you near?’ He’d heard the fear in her voice and so had Henry. Henry’s heart twinged and his conscience had ridden up to rest on his shoulder. He knew he could help, but should he? Although he didn’t know them, he knew the dangers of childbirth. Henry had spent much of his life easing a child from its mother’s womb. There were also the times when his fear for the child and mother where overwhelming and the use of his gift could not staunch the flow of blood that brought death.

  ‘Thomas! I need you,’ Mary had called again.

  Henry had turned his horse around and dismounted.

  ‘I can help you. I’ve delivered many children into the world before. Don’t worry, my friend,’ he’d said to ease the man’s worry.

  Relief filled Thomas and he’d grasped Henry’s hand and shaken it. Thomas dragged the logs back to the camp and Henry had followed.

  ‘Mary, this is Henry,’ he’d said as they’d climbed up into the wagon. ‘He knows all about babies, thank heavens,’ he’d whispered. Mary had lain on a bed of soft furs. Thomas had been a trapper and he knew his trade well. The meat he’d sold to the local butcher and the pelts he’d trade in the markets. Life had been prosperous until they’d had to flee. Mary had smiled at her husband as he’d wiped the sweat from her brow. Her hair had clung in strands and her skin was glistening with sweat as her labour progressed. Mary had panted as another pain began.

  ‘Hello, Mary. I’ve done this many times before,’ Henry said as he’d moved to her side and touched her forehead, checking for fever. ‘You’ll be fine. When did your labour start?’

  ‘Thank you, Henry, thank you,’ Mary said as the pain had begun to ease. ‘The labour began early this morning.’

  Henry had examined her. ‘The child will be here soon. I need to prepare. Thomas, put some water to heat on the fire.’

  Thomas had untied the cast iron pot from the wagon and he’d hung it on the makeshift stand over the fire. After he’d filled it with water he went to gather more wood. He’d returned as the sun sank behind the hills. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees and a hush had settled over the land. Henry had relieved his horse of the leather satchel it carried which contained odds and ends; things that Henry always carried with him. Henry then had returned to Mary’s side and he’d torn a piece of linen into squares and had placed them in a pot of cold water. He’d squeezed out the water and placed them on Mary’s forehead to ease the heat and clear away the sweat.

  ‘Try and slow your breathing, Mary,’ he’d said. ‘You need to save your energy to push the baby out.’

  Time had moved swiftly and before long the baby had begun it’s decent. Henry and Thomas had helped Mary deliver the child into the world, a beautiful baby girl. She’d been perfect. A mop of ebony hair crowned her head and she’d the tiniest hands and feet Thomas had ever seen.

  Mary and Thomas had called her Leonie Bartholemew.

  Memories always made Henry sad. Thoughtfully he stirred the stew again and as his stomach rumbled he decided it was time to eat. He heaped the steaming food into the bowl until it nearly overflowed. Over at the rickety table in the corner he eased himself onto an old tree stump and cut some stale bread. Good old Thomas, he thought. Thomas lived not far away and always popped in here or there to drop off this or share that and Henry always tended Thomas and his family when they were sick or when he and Mary added another member to their household.

  The stew was good and he licked his lips as the
gravy ran down his chin. Henry lifted an eyebrow as he heard a noise under the bed. It wasn’t the first time. ‘Alright,’ Henry said annoyed and he waggled his spoon in the direction of the noise. ‘I’ll go soon.’ Tomorrow would be soon enough or maybe the next day. He knew he couldn’t put it off much longer; he had to return the box to the boy.

  Boy. No, he was a full-grown man now at the age of twenty-four. Yes tomorrow he’d set out and travel to The Dale to return to his grandson, Christopher.

  Chapter Three

  Sweat poured down his arms as he stoked the glowing coals of the forge. To keep the heat to a maximum was essential. Heat billowed around him; it dried the sweat and tingled his skin. When the forge was hot enough he plunged the steel into the fire and allowed it to become a glowing yellow haze and sparks blazed upward towards the flue that towered overhead. He removed the red-hot steel and lay it across the anvil and with the heavy metal hammer he pounded and drew the steel into shape. Sweat again glistened on his skin as he shaped the metal and flattened it into whatever he desired. He worked on another axe for the woodcutters. Christopher was in the workshop not far from the house and had nearly finished the last of the heads for the axes. As he glanced over to the far corner of the workshop he noticed the pile of steel that waited and he snarled at the work for tomorrow. Christopher hated to make weapons for the invaders, especially Kovak Turr.

  Kovak was Captain of the guards and he’d been placed in command in The Dale for the last ten years. Kovak Turr was rude and arrogant and he always found a way to wheedle himself under Christopher’s skin and provoke his ire every time they met. When it suited Kovak, he failed to uphold the law as governed by the Lord and would turn a blind eye to line his pockets with more coin. There was no justice for the people who lived in The Dale. The soldiers took more than they needed and the people of the village would often go hungry. When crops were harvested, the soldiers under Kovak’s command confiscated them and there’d barely be enough food for the villagers to last until next season, let alone enough seed to plant for the next year’s crops. Edgar Poe had been hauled off after an altercation with the soldiers. They’d accused him of hiding the precious grain and he hadn’t been seen again until he was found hung on a pike in front of the village church with a sign around his neck. On the sign the word ‘thief’ had been written.