by Colt, K. J.
I did not. How could I? All I knew was the pain, the blood loss, the infection. “Why? Why do you do this to me?”
“I’m trying to show you the truth. Pain is necessary.” He was crying. He always cried. Not from sadness. Not from joy. From the memory of something—something I could not understand. He was not looking at me, truly. He was looking past me. Seeing the past. Seeing the future. Seeing everything except my suffering. “This is something we must share together.”
He cut. He cut, and I failed to control my screaming again. He cut at the skin near my nostrils, near my armpits, anywhere the scales were weakest. I hated this knife. It was barbed, twisted and crueller than the others. I named it Kurdax, after one of my classmates from Atikala, one I disliked.
I had named all the knives. They were the only friends I had left.
Kurdax let my blood run out. I had spilt so much the board was stained a gold hue. Blood had soaked into the wood itself, unable to be separated. The board and I were one now. We were old friends; me, Kurdax, the pain, and my father.
“You bleed more than usual today, Ren. Your heart beats stronger.” Contremulus studied the wounds he had made with a careful, patient eye. “I will make sure Jhora brings you extra water.”
Jhora, his pet knight in her golden helm. I hated her too, for what she had done to Khavi.
Kurdax continued his work, but it seemed as though his wielder grew bored with me. The knife was withdrawn and came to rest with my other classmates, each personified as instruments of torture.
“Perhaps,” said Contremulus, “I am going about this the wrong way.”
He studied me. Actually looked in my eyes. For a fleeting second, I had the briefest feeling that I was his daughter. Not an experiment, a plaything he tortured for reasons I could not begin to understand, but someone he cared about.
It faded as quickly as it had arrived. “Perhaps I should try something else.”
Then my father did something he had not done before. He moved behind me to a place I hadn’t seen yet. I had woken up in this room, strapped to this table, and the sides of my world ended at the wood. I could not see the things behind me. Sometimes, when Contremulus was away on business, I would imagine things there. A plate of real food. Maybe a nice warm blanket. Or the skulls of every kobold who had been killed in the last year—including Khavi, Faala and Jedra, and the unborn infant in the egg Pewdt had crushed. Other times I saw them alive. Those times were less often.
Some wishes were more likely than others.
My father returned with a clear glass vial. He put it to my bleeding wounds, letting my golden blood trickle past the lip.
“It should be tested,” he said, watching the small container slowly fill. “But on whom?”
He spoke as though I was just another thing in the room, something that blocked the light of the coals and took up space on his bloodstained board. A toy to stab and slice and beat. Something to bleed and harvest.
Contremulus withdrew the vial. He spoke arcane words of power, and the room flooded with light, yellow and sunny like my own, emanating from a small ball at his human fingertip. He brought the light to the vial, inspecting it carefully.
“So much potential,” he said. “So much power.” He held the vial out to me. A vial of my own blood as big as his thumb. “Don’t you see?”
I couldn’t. It was just my blood, yellow and metallic as it always was.
“No,” I said, my jaw aching with the effort. “I do not see.”
His face fell, a mask of bitter disappointment. He reached for Kurdax. “Then let me shed some illumination.”
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AFTERWORD
I’m not that interesting really. I’m thirty, I live in Australia, and I've always been thinking of stories for as long as I've been alive. I have way, way, way too many to tell and far too little time to tell them.
I've been writing stuff all my life, but I still couldn't tell all the stories I wanted to. It was only in 2011 that I actually started shaping and weaving those random, jumbling, chaotic masses of thoughts into coherent narratives and began self-publishing.
I write a little science fiction, a little fantasy, a little humour and comedy, and a few other things all over the place.
Want more information about new releases for the Kobolds series? Ren of Atikala: The Scars of Northaven is currently available, and the next book Ren of Atikala: The Empire of Dust, is in the works. There’s also Sacrifice, which gives a bit more insight into Contremulus, and the novella series The Pariahs, The Pariahs: Freelands and The Pariahs: Elfholme, which are set in the same universe of Drathari. The Pariahs: The Abyss is coming soon, too, so there’s a lot happening in the Kobolds world!
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www.lacunaverse.com
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DAVID ADAMS BOOKS
THE KOBOLDS SERIES (FANTASY)
REN of Atikala
The Scars of Northaven
The Empire of Dust (coming soon)
The Pariahs
The Pariahs: Freelands
The Pariahs: Elfholme
The Pariahs: The Abyss (coming soon)
Sacrifice
The Lacuna series (science fiction)
Lacuna
The Sands of Karathi
The Spectre of Oblivion
The Ashes of Humanity
The Prelude to Eternity
The Requiem of Steel (coming soon)
Magnet
Magnet: Special Mission
Magnet: Marauder
Magnet: Scarecrow
Magnet Saves Christmas
Magnet: Ironheart (coming 2016)
Faith
Imperfect
The Symphony of War series (science fiction)
Symphony of War: The Polema Campaign
Symphony of War: The Eris Campaign (coming 2016)
The Immortals: Kronis Valley
The Immortals: Anchorage (coming soon)
Other Books
Insufficient
Insurrection
Injustice (coming 2016)
Who Will Save Supergirl?
Evelyn’s Locket
MAGIC OF THIEVES
Legends of Dimmingwood, Book #1
by
C. Greenwood
A BEGINNING
THE BRISK AUTUMN WIND PLAYS through my hair and tugs at my clothes impatiently, as if trying to pull me down the forest trail more quickly. Each new gust sends a storm of red and ocher leaves showering to the earth to crunch beneath my boots as I follow a well-remembered path to a better-remembered destination, one that has been my home almost longer than I can remember. One that will be my home no more after today.
Unwilling to explore the feelings accompanying that realization, I jerk my thoughts quickly in a safer direction. It’s surprisingly easy to feel hopeful right now despite the previous day’s events. The birds are noisy in the trees overhead, and the sun is rising in the sky to warm my back. Or possibly that reassuring warmth is radiating from something less dependable than the sun—the bow slung across my back. The bow often grows warm, glowing with an eerie light for no apparent reason. I’m still not used to that. I’m not used to a great many things, not the least of which is the plan before me and all that led me to it.
As my steps draw me nearer to Red Rock camp, I find my memories drifting to an area less familiar, to a time and place almost forgotten, and to a voice lost to me many years ago…
CHAPTER ONE
“HURRY, LITTLE ONE. WE MUST be ready as soon as Da pulls the cart up to the door.” Mama’s voice was tense and her hands were busy as she s
poke, shoving food and provisions into a bag.
“I’m trying, Mama,” I whined. “But I cannot find my boots.”
“Never mind. There’s no more time,” she said, snatching a woolen scarf from a peg on the wall and kneeling to wind it around my head and shoulders. I couldn’t understand the reason behind the tight lines around her mouth or the dread filling her eyes.
She said, “You’ll be riding in the cart, so we’ll just wrap your feet up snug in a blanket. Come now, quickly.”
She grabbed my thin shoulders and pushed me toward the door. Her grip dug painfully into my flesh and I gave a little squeal of protest, but she appeared not to hear it.
I was amazed at being permitted to go outdoors with bare feet in the dead of winter, something that had never happened according to my short memory. I still wore my sleeping gown beneath my cloak, and my silver-white hair remained matted and uncombed.
Mama threw open the door, and an icy blast of wind slapped me in the face, cutting through my clothing. I peered out through the torrential sleet and into the dim world ahead. It was not yet light out, but I could just see far enough ahead to make out Da pulling the cart into the yard, our old nag hitched to the front.
Grabbing my wrist, Mama dragged me out the door and down the front step, moving with surprising strength for a woman so small. My naked feet barely touched the frozen ground, but when they did the cold of the sleet-spattered mud made me cringe, so I ran as fast as my short legs could carry me across the yard.
A shrill scream erupted suddenly in the distance. Carried on the wind, it echoed across the valley, rising over the gale of the storm.
Fear shot up my spine as Mama froze for a moment, looking off toward the hills ringing our farm. A little village lay just over the near rise, but it was impossible to see beneath the darkness and the thick veil of the blizzard.
Spurred by the scream and the series of chilling cries that followed, Mama took to her heels again. I stumbled over the frozen earth, and she grabbed me up in her slender arms, carrying me the rest of the way to the cart. I could feel her heart thudding against my ear as she ran, her breath rasping in and out as she stumbled to a halt alongside the wagon.
Then I was passed into Da’s strong arms and lifted upward.
“They’re coming!” Mama had to shout at him to be heard over the wind. “They’re in the village!”
“I heard.” Da sounded unrushed. His eyes met hers over the top of my head and she seemed to grow calmer beneath his steady gaze.
She said, “We’ve no chance of outrunning the soldiers. Not in a cart.”
“Not together,” he agreed. “But with the weight of only two, you might make it.”
“Habon, what are you saying?”
Da didn’t answer immediately, settling me down quickly in the bed of the cart and giving me a reassuring pat on the head.
“I want you to make for Borlan’s farm on the other side of the ridge,” he told Mama. “Borlan’s a magickless, but he’s a good neighbor and I believe he’ll hide you from the Praetor’s Fists. At any rate, he’s your only chance.”
“I won’t go without you,” she insisted.
Da turned his back to her, making a hasty check of the nag’s harness. “You must, Ada. You understand what has to be done for the sake of the child. Quickly now, get into the cart.”
Another unexpected cry rent the air—not the terrified scream of a distant villager this time, but a ferocious howl of bloodlust. The shout was swiftly echoed by a host of others, each sounding closer than the last.
I fixed my eyes on the dark line of the ridge in the distance, knowing at any moment something terrible was going to crest the rise, even if I couldn’t guess what. I heard Mama choke on a sob, was aware of her falling into Da’s arms, but couldn’t tear my gaze from the hill. A handful of shadowy figures on horseback suddenly vaulted over the rise and into view. Then what looked like an entire army was pouring down the hillside like a flood aimed directly at us.
The scene wasn’t lost on Mama and Da.
“You’ve been a good husband to me,” she said quickly. “And a good father to our daughter.”
He nodded wordlessly and bent his head to hers in a swift kiss.
Then, without another word, he was gone, a tall shadow disappearing into the falling sleet.
I had no time to comprehend what was happening. Mama scrambled into the cart ahead of me and took up the reins. I looked back over my shoulder and saw the descending horde of horsemen riding into our farmyard. One instant they filled my vision, a black tide surging toward us. The next, a lone shape stepped into their path. My Da made a strange figure, standing alone before the fierce, inflowing host, a wheat scythe gripped in his hand.
Our cart lurched forward, and I was slung roughly against the back as we bumped along, picking up speed. I glanced behind us in time to see the dark figure that was my Da disappearing beneath the thundering hooves of the first horsemen.
“Da!” I screeched.
I threw myself over the side of the moving cart, hitting the ground with a force that drove the breath from my lungs and sent a jolt of agony through my body. I rolled a short distance in the mud. For a brief eternity, I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Cold sleet hailed down on my upturned face. I labored to draw an aching breath and then was sucking in the air in great gulps, choking on the freezing rain that found its way down my nose and into my mouth.
Footsteps pounded toward me. Suddenly Mama was there, kneeling in the mud beside me, lifting me gently off my back and tucking my head under her dry cloak. I clung to her waist, shivering against her warmth, and breathed in the heavy scent of soggy wool. Then I became aware of the rumbling of hooves signaling the approach of many horses. Safety disappeared as the world came rushing in on me again.
Mama quickly pushed me back from her and set me on my feet. I tried to crawl into her lap again, but she held me firmly at arm's length.
I squinted through the downpour and made out the shapes of the horsemen bearing down on us, their scarlet cloaks flaring out behind them, the beating of their horses’ hooves drowning out the thunder of the skies.
Mama’s face was slick with rain so I couldn’t tell if she was weeping or if I imagined it. Taking my head in her clumsy hands, she put her forehead against mine until I could see nothing but her face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth tight. Strands of wet hair, whiter than pure snow, clung to her face and neck.
She shouted over the roar of the battering wind. “I need you to be brave for me! You must hold tight to what I’m about to give you and never lose it, for if all else fails, it may protect you.”
Fumbling inside her cloak, she withdrew something that she pressed hastily into my hand. It was too dark to make out what it was, but the object was cold and hard like metal with ridged edges that cut into my palm when she closed my fingers tight around it.
“Take this and go to Master Borlan. You must run very fast until you can run no more, and then you must hide. Do you understand?”
Before I could answer, she pushed me roughly away from her and I reeled forward.
“Go now!” she commanded. “Hurry!”
I hesitated, every instinct telling me to disobey the incomprehensible order and cling to my one source of safety.
But she was already turning her back on me to face the approaching horses with arms outspread, as if she could hold back the tide of darkness. Blue sparks of magic appeared, sizzling at her fingertips.
As the nearest horsemen advanced, bright bolts shot from Mama’s hands, striking the ground at their feet. The earth erupted as if hit by lightning, and chunks of mud flew through the air, spraying in every direction. Horses reared and shrieked, flailing their hooves. There were shouts from the men who fought to regain control of their mounts, and several riders were thrown to the ground, but others barreled on.
Terror seized me at the sight of them closing in and, unthinkingly, I turned and fled. When next I looked back, it was to see the lead rider
bearing down on Mama’s slight figure. She stood firm, blue lightning crackling in her hands, but this time she didn’t cast her magic swiftly enough. I saw the horseman’s thick arm, holding a length of steel, sweep toward her in a single, smooth motion, and she crumpled to the mud like a broken doll.
I felt nothing. No anguish, no horror. Senses overwhelmed, I ran like a wild creature to outpace my pursuers until I made the shelter of the thick trees at the edge of the farmyard. Plunging into their depths, I was whipped by sharp branches and tripped by saplings and fallen logs looming out of nowhere. The darkness was so complete I couldn’t tell where I was going.
One moment I was stumbling blindly through the undergrowth. The next, my feet tangled in a thick tree root and I fell headlong into an overgrown pile of brush. Thorny leaves pricked my hands and face, immediately setting my skin tingling with the mild toxin they secreted. I struggled to fight my way free of the mass, succeeding only in gathering more injuries and tangling my hair among the branches.
In the distance, I heard a heavy crashing sound as something, or several somethings, entered the stand of trees and attempted to force their way through the brush. At the sounds of jangling harness and stamping horses, I lay motionless, pain and discomfort forgotten. Blood rushed in my ears, and my heart beat an unsteady rhythm. The harshness of my breathing sounded louder than the noise of the approaching horsemen, and I wondered if my enemies could hear it for they moved closer with every second.
