A Thread in the Tangle

by Sabrina Flynn

  A doorway loomed at the end of the tunnel. Oenghus ducked under the lintel. Rivan, Lucas and Captain Mael followed on his heels. Rivan threw his weight against the door. The iron squealed in protest, gaining momentum, and a moment before it slammed shut, a flapping shadow darted through the gap.

  Oenghus skidded to a stop, reversing directions. The Lore sprang to his lips, and he slapped his palm against the door, spreading his fingers over the iron. While the paladins wedged a rotting beam into place, he chanted, in low, growling tones, tracing crude runes of warding. The runes flared to life on the iron, and then dimmed, glowing with faint power.

  The Imp chortled at the Wise One’s shoddy work, swishing its tail in mockery.

  Oenghus glared at the pest. “It will do for now.” But in truth, an apprentice could unravel his wards.

  The faint, green glow of ancient everlight flickered in rusty sconces, casting sickly shadows in the deep dark. Far overhead, stalactites poked through the blackness, reaching towards their counterparts on the cavern floor. The gaping maw of stone twisted sounds, throwing voices and footsteps hollowly against its walls.

  Oenghus was familiar with this cavern. Every Wise One was. A ring of tall, slender stones was cradled in the cavern’s basin. Fifty standing stones in all, each ten feet high. The air between the stones shimmered like a rippling pond. But there was a gap in the circle, a section between stones that was free of enchantment—a doorway leading into a circle of Runic Gateways.

  “This is a dead end,” Captain Mael observed. The only indication of her disapproval was a slight narrowing of her eyes.

  “Hold the door,” Oenghus ordered before racing down an uneven set of steps that had been hewn from the rock. Captain Mael left her men to guard the door and sprinted after the Nuthaanian, joining him at the bottom of the cavern. As they approached the ring of stones, they slowed, warily eyeing the shimmering circle of energy.

  Where the air was stagnant, Oenghus squeezed between the slender stones, and strode to the center of the circle, towering over the exhausted pair. Marsais was on his knees, and Isiilde was slumped against his chest, studying her surroundings with alarming disinterest.

  “Please tell me you’ve suddenly remembered how to navigate the Pathways,” Oenghus growled when he reached the pair.

  The Gateways of the Isle had not been used since the Shattering (at least by anyone who valued their life). A few adventurous Wise Ones, who thought they had solved the puzzle of the foreign runes, had entered, but the Order never saw them again.

  The Pathways had been so well known when Portal Magic had been common that no one had bothered writing them down. As with many things, the knowledge had been lost during the Shattering, along with the keepers of their secrets. And now the stones sat, a monument to lost knowledge, waiting for someone to remember.

  “We need to get her off this Isle, Oenghus,” Marsais answered with an unsteady breath.

  “You mean you don’t know where they lead?” Captain Mael asked, sharply.

  “It’s Portal Magic,” Oenghus grunted. “These Gateways are easy to activate, but no one can remember how to decipher the runes, let alone control them. Without direction, the Pathways shift like the wind, changing locations from one minute to the next.”

  “We could end up in the Nine Halls, or a thousand feet above the ground.”

  “Well, at least you’d have plenty of fiends to take out your righteous anger on.”

  Captain Mael had no intention of being provoked by the ill-mannered Nuthaanian. Her only reply was a sharp lift of her brow.

  Marsais ignored them both. He brushed Isiilde’s forehead with his lips, and at his touch, her eyes sought his own. “I need you to pick one, my dear. You may pick any Gateway, it doesn’t matter, but it must be your choice.”

  “I don’t want to.” When Isiilde spoke, it was never with the tone of a spoiled young lady, rather, it was simple honesty, and nothing more. “What if I choose wrong, Marsais?”

  “Hmm, then the responsibility falls on my shoulders for listening to you. Oenghus, take her around the circle. Let her look at them—quickly now,” he added as the iron door shuddered on its hinges.

  Oenghus gently lifted her, walking over to the first set of standing stones. At their approach, the runes swirled to life, moving like blue fireflies beneath the stone’s surface. Isiilde said nothing, so he moved to the next, and so on. When they had traversed half the circle, he stopped to make sure she was looking at the standing stones.

  It was difficult to tell. Her eyes were wide and her gaze unfocused.

  The noises behind the door increased—more urgent and forceful. With every echoing thud, stone and gravel pelted the paladins’ heads.

  The traitorous Wise Ones would soon join the soldiers, and from the look in Marsais’ eyes in the dungeon, there was more to Tharios than he originally thought. Oenghus would test his metal against any man or beast, but he wasn’t willing to risk his daughter, especially when Marsais could barely stand, let alone weave. As much as it pained Oenghus to admit, the Scarecrow was right—they had to get her out of here. His daughter’s safety was paramount.

  “This one.” Her quiet assuredness brought him up short. The stones looked no different from the rest—the same set of indecipherable runes swirled below the surface.

  “Why this one?”

  “I like these runes. They feel better,” she said with a shrug. Marsais roused himself, and staggered over to join them, leaning heavily on the barbarian for support.

  “Well, don’t you want to look at the rest?” Oenghus asked, frowning mightily at the Gateway. She shrugged in reply. For principle’s sake he completed the circuit.

  Marsais remained at the chosen Gateway, studying the runes with a critical eye. Familiarity tickled the back of his mind. He turned and called the paladins down.

  “I will stay and hold them off as long as I can, sir.” Rivan’s voice echoed in the cavern, but before Captain Mael could answer, Marsais interrupted.

  “My dear young man, bravery is overrated. Kindly join us and leave the heroics to the door.”

  The two paladins looked to their Captain, who nodded in agreement. At her command, Lucas and Rivan abandoned the door, hurrying down the stairs and stepping into the circle of stones.

  “Where does it go?” Captain Mael asked.

  “I haven’t a clue,” Marsais mused.

  “Wait, Oen.” The nymph’s ears perked up when they stopped in front of another Gateway. “I like this one better.”

  Marsais hobbled over to investigate. “Why this one, my dear?”

  “It’s very warm.”

  Marsais cleared his throat, caught Oenghus’ gaze, and with an arch of his brow, gestured towards her first choice. Oenghus took the hint. Neither of the ancients much cared for the idea of walking into Firˇdum.

  “We’re going to walk through a Gateway based on a nymph’s whim?” Lucas asked as the party gathered around the shimmering portal.

  “I won’t laugh if you piss your pants,” Oenghus chuckled.

  “It’s remarkable where a single step can take you,” Marsais whispered, staring at the Gateway with wide, wondrous eyes.

  “Oh, shut up, you dandy bastard,” Oenghus growled. With a forceful, unexpected hand, he shoved the Seer through the portal. Marsais vanished as silently as a wraith.

  “Is he still alive, Sprite?”

  The nymph gawked at Oenghus.

  “I’m guessing that’s a yes,” the barbarian grunted. He tossed his daughter over a broad shoulder and hefted his war hammer. “Into the bloody unknown, and all that.”

  Oenghus Saevaldr stepped through, leaving the paladins and an Imp to follow or not. And as it turned out, they did follow, a moment before the door burst open, spewing out a flood of treacherous Wise Ones and soldiers who rushed into an empty cavern with no exit, save forty-nine Gateways leading to realms unknown.

  Coming Soon

  King’s Folly

  Legends of Fyrsta: Volu
me Two

  If you enjoyed A Thread in the Tangle and are eager to read the next installment, feel free to follow and befriend me on Facebook for updates on the release date:

  www.facebook.com/SH.Flynn

  Acknowledgments

  WRITING IS A solitary venture, one I do for my own enjoyment, but producing a novel is a group effort. Without the help and encouragement of my friends, I would have never published A Thread in the Tangle.

  To all my friends (and enemies) at Dragonrealms, the nerdy text RPG where I dumped Marsais and let him live and breathe for a number of years. Thanks for loving and hating him (and me).

  To Justin, who believed in me and made me believe in myself. I wish you could have read the final version.

  And to Paula, the amazing owl catcher by day and wolfman by night, thanks for your years of support, friendship, and encouragement. Not only have you stuck with me through the entire publishing process, but you also slogged through the first draft—no easy feat.

  For a number of years, I lost interest in reading, due to life and a string of predictable books about people I didn’t care for, and then I came across Laurie R. King’s The Beekeeper’s Apprentice, a book that rekindled my love of reading, gave me someone to cheer for, and led me to a group of wonderful people. A huge thanks to all my friends at Letters_of_Mary Yahoo group. You guys made me think that there might be something to my writing after all. And helped a fledgling writer grow.

  To Sonja Lodder, who wanted to read something of my own. Without her tremendous amount of editing help, this book would have never made it off my computer. Where ever you are…thank you.

  To Merrily Taylor, who has spent an unbelievable amount of her time editing and working with me on my various writing projects. She taught me the importance of grammar and how to string a proper sentence together, or attempted to, and still is at any rate. Your patience is amazing.

  To Alice Wright, who taught me to slow down, accept criticism, and only accept my very best. I hope I’ve done you proud with this book.

  To Annelie Wendeberg, author of The Devil’s Grin, who I firmly believe can accomplish anything she puts her mind to. You are a whirlwind of creativity and I could not have done this without your encouragement and enthusiasm. Thanks for kicking me in the arse—repeatedly, and shoving me towards Indie-publishing.

  To my husband, my knight in shining armor and everything wonderful. And to my children: I owe you a story.

  And finally, thank you to all my readers. I hope that I managed to spin a tolerable tale, and hope you will join me for many more.

  About the Author

  SABRINA LIVES IN perpetual fog and sunshine with a rock troll and two crazy imps. She spent her youth trailing after insanity, jumping off bridges, climbing towers, and riding down waterfalls in barrels. After spending fifteen years wrestling giant hounds and battling pint-sized tigers, she now travels everywhere via watery portals leading to anywhere.