Tales from the Kurtherian Universe: Fans Write For The Fans: Book 3

by Michael Anderle

  A guard appeared from around the corner of the shed and Troy moved off.

  Adaire walked to the castle, hoping Scroat would stay busy with his visitor. Talking to Troy had made her aware of how alone she was. If she hadn't had Calum in her dreams, she'd go mad.

  It was time she made plans to leave. She hadn’t been able to come up with a plan that involved taking the three young children, but, she could explore the tunnels under the castle in preparation for escape.

  Adaire spent the next day working in the kitchens. The cook, who everyone called “Cook,” gave her a bowl of venison stew.

  “Yee’re too thin, child.”

  Adaire forgave her for calling her a child when she tasted the stew. She’d never tasted anything so glorious in her life.

  She mopped the bowl with a chunk of fresh bread. “Why have you got separate pots?”

  “Ah, that’s for his Lairdship.” She lowered her voice. “Never touch that pot.”

  Adaire nodded, stuffing the bread in her mouth.

  “We be sure to spit in it to show our appreciation.” She winked.

  Adaire almost choked with laughter.

  Chapter Five

  How annoying that the anticipation of seeing Calum delayed her getting to sleep.

  When she arrived it was early evening, with the sun dropping toward the horizon. The smell of grass took her back to another time. Alone in their usual spot, she pushed her fingers into the earth. Moist soil caught under her fingernails.

  She closed her eyes to hear her brother splashing in the water and her mother’s complaint that he was part fish.

  Calum flopped down beside her and started a small fire.

  She rubbed her eyes and leaned into him, soaking up his dependable warmth. “I thought you needed fire to use fire magic?”

  He grinned. “Not here.” Then he became serious. “What happened to your hair?”

  “It was annoying me.”

  Calum’s brow furrowed, giving the impression he was about to ask more, but he shook his head. "There's talk of us attacking the clans."

  Adaire shivered, even though the fire was warm and it was never cold in their dream world. "Like what they did to our clan?"

  Calum poked the fire with a finger and flames curled around his arm as if seeking contact. "When they raided our clan, I think they wanted children. Us—"

  She finished his sentence, "To train as weapons against our people."

  "I need to get away, Adaire. I can't... I just can't." Calum stopped speaking, unable to say anymore.

  Adaire shuffled until she was virtually in his lap. "Okay, then, what are the options?"

  "I've thought about it." He grabbed her arm. "Because they're all fire mages, they never watch us near the sea, and you know I'm a good swimmer."

  The image of her brother playing in the loch came back. She didn't even know if it was a real memory. Her heart hurt; what if Calum drowned? She would be alone forever.

  He squeezed her. "It’s risky, but we’re barely surviving. This isn't life, and if there’s a chance to escape..."

  She wasn’t sure that throwing away what she had was the answer. Life had taught her to grasp what she could and appreciate the hell out of it.

  Chapter Six

  It was late the next day when Adaire was called to see Scroat. She felt dizzy and wondered if she was ill. If so, she would make every effort to infect him.

  He was behind the big oak desk in his study. "I have sad news. The boy you knew..."

  Adaire didn't hear anything else. “Knew” was the worst word in existence. If she could eradicate one word, it would be that one.

  Scroat shuffled papers on his desk. "Perhaps you will reconsider my offer."

  Was he going to do this now?

  A scream was building. "Can I go?"

  "Of course."

  He was lying. Adaire didn't feel any different, and she would if Calum was dead. If she could get to sleep, he would be waiting for her.

  The dizziness was worse when she closed her eyes, and the more she wanted to sleep, the longer it took. Her face was wet, but eventually, she slept.

  On waking in the cowshed, her mind full of images and shadows, all she knew was that she hadn't been home. Was it lost to her forever, or had worry stopped her?

  The shed was too quiet. The children were asleep, and when she climbed through the loose board, there were no guards. Perhaps they'd given up watching them.

  Dawn was a faint line over the forest. It would soon be light, and there was no point waiting. At the back of her mind, Adaire knew it would be better to plan, but all she could think was that if she couldn’t go home in her dreams, she had to get there somehow.

  The dizziness was still there, but manageable. Adaire had no food or provisions, no weapons, and no plan. Nothing mattered except getting home.

  Without returning for anything, Adaire raced to the grate. She was in too much of a hurry to remove her clothes, not caring about mud. With lots of tugging and ripping, she was through. She regretted not having explored the tunnels earlier.

  She shuffled sideways through the crack, and once it widened into a corridor, she ran. Crashing down the steps, she avoided spraining an ankle by holding onto the walls.

  Angry voices came from one of the rooms. Adaire had an awful feeling that someone had already discovered her absence. She should have left her clothes next to the river, so they thought she'd killed herself.

  The corridor divided, and without pause, she slipped and slid down a steep slope. The walls became damp and slick with green moss. There was no light at all. Adaire had visions of plummeting over a cliff or running smack into a wall, but she didn't dare slow down.

  If she’d escaped late at night, it would have been less likely that someone would notice her gone this soon. Thoughts flitted through her head, but they didn't slow her down.

  The ground leveled out, and she found herself running through ankle-deep water. What if the tunnel came out in the castle grounds? Then she’d be stuck forever…or until she agreed to be Scroat’s mistress. She’d rather die.

  Ahead a patch of light grew until she was at the entrance to the tunnel. She had no idea how far she had run. Her eyes adjusted to the brilliance of day.

  Clouds covered the sun, but she could see that it was halfway to its pinnacle, making it midmorning. Too much time had passed. There was a real danger that the search had expanded beyond the castle and grounds.

  Her hands were bright red like they were in her nightmares. It took her a moment to realize she'd scraped them on the walls.

  Like a bird let out of its cage, she wasted precious time staring at the forest. This was the nearest she'd come to freedom since they’d brought her to the prison as a ten-year-old.

  Chapter Seven

  They were waiting in the beautiful forest. The bright green of it was almost too much for her senses.

  She was surprised that so many had bothered to chase her. Later she would think that they couldn't afford to give up. Not because she was valuable, but because they didn’t want any information to reach the clans.

  She had no strategy, and couldn't think clearly with adrenaline pounding through her veins.

  Her sodden feet hit old leaves and mulch as she leaped over branches and darted through trees. Brambles snatched at her legs, leaving bloody scratches even through her clothes. Each breath was a loud rasp in her head.

  Something crashed through the foliage, and men shouted to each other. The birds had gone quiet. Only Adaire was out in the open, wishing she could hide with the forest creatures. This close to freedom, she would rather die than go back.

  The sound of breaking branches and crashing was so loud, it sounded as if they were on top of her.

  Then she saw the determined faces of the hated guards, out for blood. Her brain could not process their words, but she picked up on their pleasure at being so close to catching her. The nearest guard was a few feet away and had a crazed smile on his ugly face.

/>   Adaire stopped in a clearing, her chest heaving. The desire to run and hide had gone, replaced by a sense of injustice. It consumed her until something snapped. A surge of strength forced its way out of her small body, and the ground shook as if there were an earthquake.

  The guard slowed, looking around as if expecting to find the cause of the shaking. His confused expression was the last thing she saw before something sucked him beneath the ground.

  A muffled cry came from the soil and rocks where he had been moments before. Adaire couldn’t believe what she'd done. There were too many, but by God, she'd take as many out as she could.

  "Who’s next?" she shouted to the remaining five men, who were staring around in confusion.

  Two went under in a cloud of dust before they knew what was happening. The others ran in circles, not wanting to present an easy target.

  A wave of tiredness hit Adaire, but she couldn't stop. They belonged under the ground where they couldn’t cause more harm.

  The earth sucked more under, but darkness had started to creep in at the edges of her vision.

  The sound of more guards crashing through the forest was the last thing she knew before she succumbed to darkness.

  Chapter Eight

  Adaire served a sentence for her escape attempt in the place where they questioned the children. Not that she cared.

  Images haunted her. Bright blood, much brighter than it should have been, leaking from the wound in her mother's neck. The broken body of her baby brother tossed into the bushes. All was accompanied by the shouts and screams of people she knew and loved.

  The mystic visited to tell her that she’d killed four guards. One they had managed to dig out before he suffocated.

  Had she killed Troy? She couldn’t remember the faces of those she’d buried.

  Did they expect her to feel bad? She couldn’t pretend remorse, except perhaps for Troy. They told her she’d go mad, and that she deserved it. Perhaps she already was.

  It was weird, how grief insulated her from the terror of being trapped again. She certainly used it against the mystic at every opportunity.

  He explained slowly and carefully, so she would understand that she had earth magic. As if she hadn’t been able to work that out for herself. She only recognized the trap when he took that information from her mind.

  Adaire wondered whether she could break through the stone floor. Not that she would try, because she suspected that they left her here alone to attempt to escape again. It was their way of finding out about her skills. She’d never been stupid, though.

  Curled in on herself, she thought about Calum. With him dead, there was no reason to go on, except for revenge. She had the means. That way, she could make her life count for something.

  The clang of the outer door signaled the return of the mystic. It didn't matter. There was no fight left in her, or at least that was what she repeated over and over in her mind.

  She felt the pressure as he entered her mind, and clenched her teeth. Her body shook as she fought for control, trying not to hurt him like she was being hurt. Instead, she focused on memories of death and grief in all its vividness. She protected her inner self, while she trusted her subconscious to plan.

  Let them see the broken parts. Pretend to go along with them so that she could get out. Troy had been right; there was no fighting them.

  The mystic didn't stay long, his nose wrinkling at the stench. Strange how it didn't offend her anymore. He nodded at the guard as he left. After he’d gone the scent of roses lingered, but that could have been a nightmare.

  "Move, girl." The guard jabbed with the blunt end of his spear, catching her shoulder.

  The dull pain barely registered, and she struggled to stand. She was able to use the wall on her right to balance, but on taking a step, she swayed. The guard cursed and grabbed her arm, almost yanking her shoulder out of the socket to prevent her from falling to the dirty floor.

  Every muscle in her body screamed and tears came to her eyes, but she staggered out of the place.

  It took a week until she recovered enough to start training. She didn't hide her magic and tried hard to succeed at tasks.

  The last of the children were gone. She was alone, except for guards who hated and feared her for killing their colleagues. Scroat stayed away, and she wondered if it were a strategy to make her feel desperate and isolated enough to fall into his bed.

  Part of her wanted them to know they were going to die. To explain how taking away the children was their biggest mistake. If they'd kept the children she would have had to protect them, but now all she had to do was focus on making them pay.

  The mystic visited from time to time, scanning her mind and forcing her to lie. In some ways, he was worse than Scroat.

  Adaire showed him what he wanted to see. She used the tricks she'd learned from Calum to convince him that what he saw on the surface was everything. Inside was a different story. Deep in her heart, she only cared about going home one last time. That need hadn’t dimmed.

  She didn't plan beyond getting there and didn't worry about being captured. By the time she'd finished, there wouldn't be anyone to chase her.

  "Are you making up for lost time?" she asked the mystic.

  "Careful, peasant, that sounds like dissent."

  She could have shown him true dissent but held back. Deep below, the earth shifted. That happened a lot now, and she had to fight to stay in control.

  In sleep, she was afraid of going home and being there alone. Instead, she retreated to the dark earth, where the soil and rocks shifted.

  The next day, Troy was in the yard. She was glad that he hadn’t died.

  He made a raspy sound, his version of laughter. "I see you, girl."

  Perhaps he did. If so, he was the only one. He led her to the field to train for the last time. Afterward, she saw him in the distance, relieving the gate guard.

  Scroat chose that day to watch. His eyes burned into her as she moved soil and rocks into shapes. Satisfied that his fascination with her had not dimmed, she continued to perfect her technique.

  The rough plan in her head had started to acquire details, and she needed to convince Scroat that she wouldn’t hurt him.

  A few days later he called her to the castle, asking to see her before he left on some mission. She had tried to wash off some of the dirt that was ingrained in her skin before the meeting.

  At the entrance, the mystic stood aside to let her pass. There was nothing of interest to him in her mind. Since Calum had died, she’d appeared to be an open book, and that was okay.

  "The laird would like privacy for this meeting," she told him.

  He sneered, believing he knew the reason. "Leave that here." He indicated the bag on her shoulder.

  She shrugged and dropped it to the ground. There was nothing she couldn’t do without, just food and clothes. There’d been more of both since her magic had appeared.

  A guard led her to the familiar study, where Scroat stood at ease next to the window. He was more relaxed than she'd ever seen him, dressed in black cotton pants and a robe, opened to reveal his naked chest. She stared at the light dusting of fine hairs on his torso.

  He smiled, and when she lifted her eyes, he took both hands. "I've missed you, little bird."

  She returned his smile and held onto him without speaking, not trusting the right words to come out.

  "It is good that you've come around to our way of thinking. You will be an asset to the goddess’ cause."

  She lowered her eyes. "Is that why you asked to see me?"

  He brought her left hand to his lips, closed his eyes, and kissed her knuckles. Revulsion washed over her, and she was thankful the mystic was not near.

  She prepared for when he opened his eyes, but the pleasant smile plastered on her face must not have been convincing because he abruptly dropped her hands.

  His tone had changed. "I have a job for you." He moved to his desk to pick up a piece of paper. "Think of it as a test."<
br />
  Adaire nodded as if she weren’t screaming inside. Nothing matters.

  "I don't need to tell you what will happen if you fail."

  "Dale, I'd like to thank you."

  That look was back in his eyes—the one she suspected meant he was thinking about sex.

  He came toward her. "Do you now see the benefits of a relationship with me?"

  This might be her only chance.

  "It isn't that. I'm just so grateful." She smiled

  His face softened. "I think we should start again."

  She stepped in close and slid the kitchen knife up through his abdomen into his diaphragm. "You really shouldn't leave knives lying around."

  The shock in his eyes was almost worth everything. He hadn't thought Adaire was capable.

  Warm blood flowed over her hands as Scroat repeatedly swallowed, making a rasping noise in his throat. His whole body was tense and heavy . With the knife still in her hand, she let him slide to the floor.

  "I could have let you die with the rest, but it felt too impersonal."

  With that, she dropped the blade. She wiped her hands on the drapes, unable to do anything about the blood on her clothes, although the black material only appeared wet.

  By the time she’d finished, Scroat had stopped breathing. He lay in the center of a puddle of bright red blood.

  “Goodbye, Scroat.”

  She walked to the front door as if she had every right to be there. Grabbing her bag from the porch, she slung it over her shoulder.

  Then she detoured to the kitchen, where the servants were preparing the midday meal with one less knife. "There's a fire in the study. Everyone needs to leave."

  Adaire didn’t wait to see if they listened; it was the only warning she could afford. Halfway across the yard, she reached into the earth beneath the castle.

  The ground shook as a chasm opened and the building folded into it. A cloud of dust billowed into the air, and shouts of alarm were lost in the crash of masonry.

  Troy was at the gate, staring at the mound of rubble. “Now, that was impressive.”