Silverlight

by Jesberger, S. L.

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  1: MAGNUS TYRIX

  2: MAGNUS

  3: KYMBER ORYX

  4: MAGNUS

  5: KYMBER

  6: KYMBER

  7: MAGNUS

  8: KYMBER

  9: MAGNUS

  10: KYMBER

  11: MAGNUS

  12: KYMBER

  13: MAGNUS

  14: KYMBER

  15: MAGNUS

  16: KYMBER

  17: KYMBER

  18: MAGNUS

  19: KYMBER

  20: MAGNUS

  21: KYMBER

  22: MAGNUS

  23: KYMBER

  24: MAGNUS

  25: KYMBER

  26: MAGNUS

  27: KYMBER

  28: MAGNUS

  29: KYMBER

  30: MAGNUS

  31: KYMBER

  32: MAGNUS

  33: KYMBER

  34: KYMBER

  35: KYMBER

  36: MAGNUS

  37: KYMBER

  38: MAGNUS

  39: KYMBER

  40: MAGNUS

  41: KYMBER

  42: MAGNUS

  43: KYMBER

  44: MAGNUS

  45: KYMBER

  46: MAGNUS

  47: KYMBER

  48: MAGNUS

  49: KYMBER

  50: MAGNUS

  51: KYMBER

  52: KYMBER

  53: KYMBER

  54: KYMBER

  55: KYMBER

  56: KYMBER

  57: MAGNUS

  58: KYMBER

  EPILOGUE: KYMBER

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Silverlight

  Copyright © 2016 by S.L. Jesberger. All rights reserved.

  Editor: Kelly Jesberger

  Cover Art: Kerry Hynds at Hynds Studio

  Map: Kerry Hynds and Kelly Jesberger

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author. You must not circulate this book in any format.

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to the point of acquisition and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  “Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in

  getting up every time we do.”

  Confucius

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  My thanks to my husband, Gordon, who got us lost in Sproul State Forest, Clinton County, PA the day this story dropped into my head. A tale given in such agonizing detail is a gift from the Almighty Muse, and I hope I got it right.

  To Kerry Hynds of Hynds Studio for your amazing cover art, bringing the map of Calari to life, and your patience.

  To Kelly Jesberger for your excellent editing skills and for listening to my ridiculous ideas with a straight face.

  To my beta-readers Amy Tiracorda, LaDonna Pigg and Jamie Russler. I could not have done this without you.

  And to those who continue to read the stories I write – I appreciate each and every one of you.

  As Kymber Oryx once said, “Not giving up is the key to everything.”

  1: MAGNUS TYRIX

  If the damned summer heat didn’t kill me, the memories surely would.

  Kymber Oryx had haunted my thoughts since I left Adamar. She’d never been one to take no for an answer, so I allowed it for two reasons. One, I thought she’d leave me alone if she could have her say. Two, I wanted to see one of those heart-stopping smiles again.

  I wasn’t disappointed. She was running away, though. Yes, running away but looking back, daring me to follow.

  Gods, how I longed to follow her, but I could only watch. Her neatly braided hair was the dark brown of rich earth. It caught the sunlight as she ran, throwing golden-amber sparks, as though an unseen fire burned within her.

  Her winter-blue eyes were the most startling contrast – like thick ice on the deepest lake. I reached out for her, but she lingered just beyond my fingertips.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d thought it: If I could touch her, hold her, I might be able to stop her.

  I clutched my chest and doubled over, barely able to breathe. Fitz, my horse, came to a halt, snorting and stamping his feet against the gravel trail.

  “Why?” I groaned. “Why am I doing this?”

  Even as I said it, I knew I couldn’t turn back. Jalartha was only three or four miles away. I was close. So close.

  The letter from my sister Karia had nearly broken what was left of my heart. Please come to Jalartha. It’s been eight long years. You and I are the last of our family. I want to see you again, while we’re both living. Can you put the past behind you long enough to come home?

  I’d crumpled the letter up in my hand and stared out at the ocean after I received it. Go home, after all these years? Unthinkable. The pain of loss was not so sharp at Seacrest, my home near the sea in Adamar. Hundreds of miles separated me from the life I’d wanted, now beyond my reach.

  But I loved my sister, my only remaining sibling out of five. Life is, after all, for the living, so I’d penned a return message, telling her I’d see her midsummer. I needed to honor my promise, but the closer I got to Jalartha, the more I regretted planting my ass in the saddle.

  Agony held me in her arms for a moment then eased off, as she always did, leaving me trembling and weak. The mighty warrior I’d been would’ve forged on. The miserable shell I’d become wanted to die where I stood.

  I’d heard the stream off to my right as I travelled. I saw it now, running fast and hard parallel to the road. Perhaps a drink and a short rest were in order. I needed to collect my thoughts before I faced the mean streets of Jalartha.

  Fitz held perfectly still as I slid to the ground and pressed my forehead against his warm, damp withers. As wave upon wave of nausea assailed me, I tried to focus on the wind in the treetops, the birdsong, and the sound of the small waterfall nearby. Anything to turn my mind away from the past.

  “Help me,” I whispered to no one. “Help me put it behind me.”

  It was the foolish plea of a broken man. I’d never be able to put Kymber’s death in any kind of perspective that made sense. My heart would forever remain buried in a grave outside of Jalartha.

  If only I’d stayed with her instead of trekking halfway across the Marilian battlefield.

  If, if, if. Pointless. I wasn’t there, and I couldn’t go back.

  Slow, steady breathing helped with the nausea but not the whirling dizziness, the sense of running headlong into a future where I had no purpose.

  I stumbled through the trees, slid down the embankment, and dropped to my knees in a sand bar along the edge of the stream. Scooping up a handful of water, I drank deeply, then poured the rest over my head.

  It helped a bit. I was able to calm myself enough to note the peace of this place. If I hadn’t been so close to the city, I would’ve pulled the blanket from my saddlebag and settled against one of the old pines nearby for a quick nap.

  Fitz nickered softly, a warning. My scattered wits focused instantly. “What is it, old boy? Catamount? Wolves?” I rose and pulled Bloodreign, my sword, from its sheath.

  My gray gelding tossed his head and shuffled backward several steps. He couldn’t speak, but I understood him nonetheless. I ran up the embankment, expecting to see thieves or highwaymen.

  It was a woman’s voice I heard, carrie
d to my ears as soon as I hit the trail.

  “No. No! Stop that!” Her piercing scream echoed off the trees, making it hard to pinpoint a direction. I tipped my head at another scream, and another, my gaze darting over the landscape.

  “Let me go, damn you!” She sounded panic-stricken. My feet refused to move for a moment. Another shriek stiffened my spine. I pulled Fitz off the road, taking shelter under an ancient oak. Male voices – more than a few – soon drowned out the woman’s screams.

  Off the road, the forest now acted to focus the sound. She – they – were farther down the road. Near the Hoakum caves.

  I sheathed my sword. Thieves were probably accosting a carriage full of travelers. Scattering the miscreants – or killing a few – wouldn’t take long.

  “Keep calling, woman.” I tugged on Fitz’s reins. “Help me find you.”

  No worries about that. She did plenty of shouting, followed by a string of curses so foul they’d have made a sailor blush.

  The Hoakum caves just south of Jalartha were not caves, exactly. Part of the shale and sandstone cliffs that stood behind them had collapsed at one point. It must have been magnificent, that ancient fall of rock, heard for miles around as one long, rolling roar of thunder.

  The massive boulders had slid down the cliff and piled up at its base, forming small, dark clefts and deep pockets in the jumble of debris. Haunted, cursed, and inhabited by demons, if one happened to believe in that sort of nonsense.

  “Absolute silence, Fitz.” I stopped well back in the foliage, kneeling to watch the scene unfold in the clearing before me. It was never a good idea to intervene in a situation without first taking a moment to observe. Moreover, I was outnumbered.

  Seven . . . eight . . . nine men and a . . . I’d thought I’d heard a woman calling for help. The person struggling in the grip of two men was a…

  Hm. I had no idea. If it truly was a woman, her brown hair was cut short, so ragged I thought perhaps a blind barber had taken a blade to it. The clothing she wore was mismatched and too large for her: a faded tan tunic riddled with holes, and gray leggings tucked into tightly laced deerskin boots.

  I narrowed my eyes. Were those small breasts pressing against the tunic?

  Yes, they were. A woman, then, though she was slight and thin as a child.

  After a time, the men grew weary of her desperate struggles and began to shove her back and forth between them, taunting her with words I couldn’t make out. She swung at them with closed fists, quickly tiring herself. She fell to her knees, head hanging, shoulders heaving with the effort of breathing.

  “Ha! On your knees. A good place for the likes of you,” a man in a brick red tunic and light tan breeches – the ringleader I thought – said with a sneer. “Get her on her feet.”

  Two men snatched her off the ground, wedging her body between them, leaving her dangling several inches above the rocky turf. Defeated, she went limp, like a mink pelt nailed to the wall.

  Redshirt stood smiling, smug and cocky, his hand on the hilt of his sword. The others busied themselves carrying things out of the cave and tossing them onto a heap. I saw pots and dented kettles, wooden spears, rusted knives, clothing, and half-tanned animal hides added to the growing pile outside. The woman they’d captured had apparently been living in the caves. How long had it taken her to amass the goods that now stood as high as Redshirt’s waist?

  There was nothing terribly valuable on that mound of junk. What did they want of her? I moved closer in order to hear them better.

  “Where are your potions, witch?” Redshirt asked.

  “I have no potions, you brainless twit.” The woman kicked at him. “I’m not a witch, and you know it. You just want to steal from me.”

  Redshirt ran a hand through his dark hair, a predatory smile on his face. “It’s not against the law to deprive a witch of her things, and thus, her ability to harm folks. Is it, Gand?”

  A blond man with a dreadful limp threw several cooking utensils onto the pile and shook his head. “Lots of knives and weapons in there. Wonder who she was plannin’ to murder?”

  The woman clenched her fists. “Every single one of you, if I get free.”

  The thieves erupted into hearty laughter. “And there it is, from the mouth of a witch,” Redshirt said. “An admission of guilt.”

  And then . . . then the woman executed a maneuver I’d seen only once before, expertly done by another young woman who’d been lifted and left hanging between her mischievous brothers. She swung herself back, forward, back, forward, picking up speed and momentum.

  A wry smile curved my lips. “That’s it, sweetheart.” This would end badly for at least one of those men.

  She used her legs and what little body weight she had to pivot backward as fast as she could. Last one, I thought as she began the forward arc.

  When she was as high as possible, she flung her legs outward and forced her heels back. I inadvertently cupped my testicles and grimaced when the unfortunate bastards who held her each had a bare foot planted firmly in his crotch.

  Predictably, they dropped her like a hot rock. She landed nimbly on the balls of her feet and surged toward Redshirt, snatching at the knife tucked into his leather belt with her left hand.

  I jumped to my feet to watch, nearly bursting out of my own skin. I’d seen that done before too, a thousand years ago in another lifetime. She missed the hilt of Redshirt’s blade by less than an inch – I heard her curse as her fingers brushed over it – but she tucked in, spun, and went after it again.

  Mouth open, I stared. This woman had seen combat training. There was no doubt in my mind, but I knew of only one who could claim that honor. Shaking like a leaf in the wind, I whispered her name. “Kymber Oryx.”

  No. No, it couldn’t be her. She was dead. Dead these past ten years, and I should know, for she’d taken my heart with her.

  Redshirt jerked to one side as she flew by. She was as lithe as a cat stalking along a narrow ledge, but she missed again.

  Oh. Her right hand. There was something wrong with it. It didn’t seem to want to cooperate with her.

  “Come on, woman, you can do this,” I murmured, but the effort had clearly worn her out. She sagged, stumbled, giving her tormentors enough time to catch her.

  Redshirt pulled his sword. “I’ve had just about enough of you.”

  “No. Don’t do it!” I watched, horrified, as he lifted the hilt high over his head and dropped it, slamming it against her left temple.

  I winced as her head snapped to one side and her knees buckled. Inexplicably, our eyes met across the distance, a mere heartbeat before the half-starved woman collapsed into the dirt and lay still.

  “Gods,” I breathed and blinked, then blinked again, my flesh crawling. I dug my fingers hard into my thighs, trying to wake myself up.

  Was I dreaming? No, I knew those eyes. Those icy, icy blue eyes.

  There was only one woman in Calari who’d had eyes of that color.

  Mouth as dry as dust, I stood there and stared. I didn’t care if they saw me. I didn’t give a damn if the whole fucking world burned to the ground.

  The woman they were tormenting was Kymber Oryx.

  I fought to gather the old knowledge inside me, but it had been so long. Think like a warrior, I admonished myself, but no warrior’s hands had ever trembled like mine at that moment.

  If I didn’t act fast, Redshirt would kill her. If he hadn’t already. Still, I couldn’t allow urgency to make me sloppy. I would be of no use to Kymber if I were dead or injured.

  Securing Fitz to a tree, I settled the hood over my head and stalked into the clearing, sure that Redshirt and his cronies would hear my heart pounding like a hammer on an anvil.

  “Greetings, friends. Don’t suppose anyone has a flask or two they’d like to share?” All I wanted to do was gather Kymber into my arms and run off with her.

  Every one of them pulled a sword and turned to face me.

  “Easy now.” I skidded to a stop an
d raised my hands to show I meant no harm. “No need for that. Just a weary traveler with a thirst.”

  “Go away, old man, before someone cuts your throat for you,” Redshirt snarled.

  “Don’t tell me.” I smiled. “It’s moving day for the young lady.”

  “This one’s no lady.” Redshirt snorted. “She’s a witch. We’re confiscating her things, and then we’re going to cut her throat.” He spat into the dust near Kymber’s head. “Everyone in Jalartha will sleep safer once she’s dead.”

  “A witch, you say? I’ll be damned.” I continued to play the part, lifting my brow in surprise. “Can’t say as I’ve ever seen a witch before. How can you tell she dabbles in the dark arts?”

  “Look at her hand.” Redshirt knelt and grasped her right wrist. “The deformed hand of a witch.”

  “Hm.” I didn’t feel as though I dared take my eyes off him. “You appear to be doing the gods’ work, but I can’t see her hand from here. Will you allow me to come around and kneel beside you? I mean you no harm. I’m simply curious.” My goal was to ascertain if the woman truly was Kymber. I’d go from there.

  The man nodded. “Come and have a look, then be on your way.”

  I stepped around behind him and knelt. Dirt covered her face in layered streaks, but I’d have recognized the curve of her jaw, the full lips, that long, proud nose anywhere.

  It was Kymber. My Kymber. If not dead, where had she been all this time?

  Redshirt’s sword had opened a bloody gash on her left temple Blood seeped into what was left of her hair and trickled down over her cheek, pooling on the ground near her open mouth. She needed attention, and quickly. Anger burned hot inside me, but I forced it aside. As badly as I wanted to examine her, I would have to play the curious traveler a bit longer.

  Redshirt bumped me with his elbow. “Her hand. You’re not lookin’ at her hand.” He wrapped his fingers around Kymber’s wrist and dragged her closer.

  My gaze wandered over the hand he held before me. It was deformed. I took a closer look. No, not deformed. It had been injured.

  The fingers of her right hand folded over and pressed tightly into the palm near a long, white scar. “The other side,” I said; the man complied by flipping her hand over. A nearly identical scar marred the back. Thick, pale marks covered her wrist.