The Twilight Thief: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (Thrones of Midgard Book 1)

by J. Levi

  “Now, you stay here. I’m going to fetch someone to sit with you inside while I heed the rhinoxen. Don’t want you sitting out there with me while we trail out the city walls. I’m sure Oriand is on lockdown, which means they’ll search for everything as we leave. We’ll hide you. Can’t say it’ll be comfortable, but it’ll work. Now sit there.” She points to a tuft of hide crafted into a long bench on the other side of her round table. I sit, pulling my feet under me, crossing them, and tucking loose strands of black hair behind my ears.

  I press my tongue into the inside of my cheek, memorizing the inside of the cabin. Warm and vibrant colors paint the interior. Wafts of fabric, beads, and glittery gems cascade from nearly every surface. Motes of dust dance along the ray of dull light preening through the windows. Muffled chatter of people outside the wooden walls, the occasional neigh of a horse, and obtuse grumble of rhinoxen.

  Before long, Kezia trails back in with a boy around my age. He’s short, almost as short as Kezia, with pale blonde hair, golden skin, and purging green eyes. His ears have a slight point, not nearly as pronounced as mine. His smile stretched nearly ear to ear and a cheery demeanor. His cheeks are sun-kissed, lips bright and full, and his languish body carries confidence I’m very unfamiliar with. It’s nothing like my mother’s, which is graceful and precise. His is clumsier and more sporadic but confident all the same.

  “This is Merida, my coadjutor,” Kezia introduces.

  The spritely boy’s smile widens further as he rushes forward with an outstretched hand. I hunch backward and growl in defense—an instinct like an animal being cornered. The boy startles and steps back, lowering his hand and tucking it behind his back. His smile is still unwavering, and his eyes are soft and kind.

  “Hi Merida, I’m Duck.”

  “Duck?” I ask. He preens at his name on my lips. “As in the bird?” I know what ducks are. When I was younger, the king tolerated storybooks that my mother would read. It wasn’t until I aged into a disobedient child that such privileges were taken away. My wolf stirs, taking in Duck and deciding he is no threat.

  “Yeah, just like the bird. It’s a funny story, actually. It all started when—” before the boy can continue, a sharp knock comes from the door, and a scruffy blonde man peers in—a human with a burly beard and wrinkled eyes.

  “Headin’ out. Get your arse in gear,” Lan growls. He peers at me for a moment and back at Kezia. They must have a silent conversation because a few heartbeats pass. The burly man nods his head and leaves the cabin.

  “You heard ‘em Duck, help Merida into my cubby. You know what to do when we are searched by the royal guard. I’m counting on you, boy,” Kezia says sternly. Duck nods and turns to me.

  “This way, m’lady,” Duck coos as he bows, very low. I almost chuckle at him but bite back the urge. He walks over to the room beyond the kitchenette with the layers of hide and wool. He sifts through the wads of fabric until he reveals a wooden platform underneath. He slips a loose plank free and reaches in to pull something. A feint krrrrr whirls beneath the wood, and a hidden door latches free from the wall near the bed. Duck pulls it open, and I peer inside. It’s barely enough room to fit Kezia, let alone myself. I look at Duck, whom I didn’t realize is standing so close. He smells like wood and smoke, but unlike the smoke that already besieges the air.

  “In you go, Merida. It’s probably gonna be cramped. Just remember slow, steady breaths. Don’t panic. Once the coast is clear, I’ll let you out,” he says.

  “And not a moment later,” Kezia chimes. She’s speaking to Duck, not me. I stand frozen and perplexed by the two strangers who stand before me. Their willingness to put their own lives at risk for mine baffles me. My wolf whispers, are they now pack, friend, love? I don’t know how to answer so I say nothing.

  “Why…why are you doing this?” I ask. I realize I’m expecting a sinister explanation. An evil ploy that surely leads to my misery and their future fortune. I recall the twisted machinations that I’ve endured at the hands of king Veryn—my father. The occasional display of kindness swiftly carried by a wicked capriccio. I mistrust this kindness. I’ve been raised to not trust it, yet here I am, willfully considering crawling into that tiny crawl space so these mere strangers may hide me from those who are hunting me.

  “That monster of a czar has done a number on you, child. Don’t let him plague your mind. Think of Ryna. Think of her kindness. There is more of that in the world than you know.”

  “How do you know her name?” I ask. The words never formed in my mind before they left my mouth.

  “In time, I’ll explain, but right now, we need to hasten. The caravan is leaving,” Kezia doesn’t offer anything further as she turns and leaves the cabin. Duck stands patiently, his smile never faltering.

  “Fine,” I mutter under my breath as I crawl into the cramped space. Pushing back the impulse to run and flee.

  22

  Leluna

  “…Laenberg was the first foothold of the Edonian empire. Edonia forefathers traded with the dwarves of Hjornholm until their precious jewels became more valuable than their newly found fidelity. The humans seized the mountain fortress after years of battle and espionage. General Montares led the final siege and earned himself house and rank, and later the lordship over Laenberg.”

  – History of Edonia: pre-seventy winter war 852 B.M.

  I pass through the wall of black void. Frigid static rolls across my skin as I sink into the darkness. I recognize the sensation of magic caressing my body, but I struggle to recall how or why it feels familiar. I push through the wave of magic and emerge into a dark tunnel. The shaft walls are rigid and crumbling as if dug by claws rather than a pickaxe and shovel. I drag my fingers against the rough surface and slowly traipse through the passage. It’s sloped in a downward slant and the floor is wet with condensation. I carefully place my feet, testing the grip before trusting my full weight. When I reach the base, I enter a small chamber. It’s round with six individual tunnels leading in random directions.

  I use the rune stone in my hand and rub it against the opening I emerged from until a noticeable groove forms. At least I’ll know how to get the hell out of here. I choose the first tunnel to the left and commit to the same routine of step, test, apply weight, and repeat. The occasional guttural snarl that echoes through the cave system cements my feet to the cold, wet floor. My heart races and I resist the urge to flee. The first tunnel leads to a dead end, so I retrace my steps and venture into the next one. I repeat this process for most of the tunnels. Occasionally, I’m greeted by cavernous rooms with iron prison bars etched into the cold stone walls. The iron doors are ajar, nothing inside, but I suspect they’ve been used recently when I find scraps of clothing and what appears to be nail marks clawed into a wall.

  I’m searching the fifth tunnel when I hear a snarl resonating before me, louder and fervent than the others. I crouch to the floor, tucking the rune stone into a leather satchel that blinds the light. A dull roar echoes against the cold stone tunnel. I can feel the brief murmur of vibration pulsing through the floor.

  “Okay, Leluna,” I tell myself in a whisper too low it doesn’t carry. “This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m crawling through a secret tunnel approaching something that probably wants to eat me. Yeah, totally fine.”

  The snarl evolves into a dissonant roar. Like a pack of wolves, several more distinctive howls bellow in unison.

  “Totally fine,” I reassure myself before I crawl forward.

  When I reach the end, it opens into a colossal cavern lit by blazing torches. Stalactites drip condensation from the ceilings. The occasional patter of water to the cave floor sounds louder than a naval fleet’s cannon fire. Along the walls are iron cages. Most of them are empty, but towards the back of the cavern, I see mounds of flesh, lifeless against the cold floor.

  When a group of languid figures emerges through another distant opening, I duck behind a nearby cage, hoping it’s enough to conceal
my location. I immediately recognize their pale skin and abnormal features: pointed ears, black eyes, and slender bodies. Four in total, seemingly male, average height with only a couple pounds on me between each of them. They carry a body between them, enter an empty iron cell, and drop the figure onto the cold floor without any show of empathy.

  When they latch the cell door and exit the same way they enter, I sneak across the cavern. I reach the cage with the newly delivered body. They’re facedown, features hidden, but my breath hitches when I recognize the feminine curves. I pull the pins from my hair and get to work on the cage lock. I’m nervous and my fingers fumble with the pins. I mutter a few curses under my breath when I drop a pin to the ground. I get the latch unlocked and slowly pull the cage door open, cringing when the hinges creak. I sneak inside and lay against the cold floor next to the limp body, hoping that I’ll blend into the cage floor in case someone walks into the cavern.

  I gently brush the hair from the figure’s face, and my eyes instantly welt with tears. Nymueh’s face is deformed by deep scarlet cuts seared into her flesh. I realize they’re runic symbols, but I don’t recognize the dialect. A guttural moan escapes my lips as tears cascade from my eyes and onto the dirt.

  “Nymueh,” I whisper.

  Nothing.

  I hesitate to touch her, afraid that I’ll cause her more pain no matter where I press.

  “Nymueh, wake up,” I whisper, more fervent. Still nothing.

  I bite my lip and cringe when I nudge her shoulder. Her skin is frigid cold. I slowly climb into a kneeling position and I shift her onto her back.

  “Oh gods,” I bemoan as I inspect the rest of her body, horrified as I realize every inch of her flesh is littered with bloody cuts, severely maimed. I feel my stomach twist with unbidden nausea. I’m an assassin for crying out loud. Blood and gore are in my job description. But the sight of Nymueh’s violation makes me want to retch.

  I watch as tears slip from my face and fall onto hers. The wetness mingles with the dried scarlet blood as they cascade down the curve of Nymueh’s cheek. I lower my ear to her lips and struggle to tame the shaky breaths hissing between my teeth. It’s hard to hear with the stalactite water drips, the guttural roars, and my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. But I think I hear the subtle hitch of breath from Nymueh’s lips. I count it as a blessing and pull her into my lap, resting her head against my knees.

  Nymueh’s eyes creep open, tiny slivers of wetness breaching her eyelids. She blinks them away until she can see my face. The recognition and resolve she has when she realizes it’s me are overwhelming.

  I have very little in life in terms of people I care for. Theor and I have a complicated relationship. Do we love each other? Probably not, more like we share a mutual appreciation for each other. I love Nova, but more like a brother now. Ricon…well, I tolerate Ricon. I love Nymueh, similar to Nova, like a sister. “We’re sisters in everything but blood,” Nymueh would tell me while we grew up together in the guild.

  “L—leluna?” She asks, still unsure if I’m really here.

  “It’s me,” I choke.

  Nymueh offers a smile, her chapped lips crack as they stretch. I peel my apron from my uniform, careful not to shift her too much and drape it over her naked, exposed body. I doubt it brings any comfort, but at least I’d give her some dignity after what they’ve done to her.

  “The—the queen,” she musters.

  “I know,” I say because I’m well aware of the twisted monster the queen truly is.

  “I was careful,” she says, “I swear, I—I was careful.”

  “I know,” I say because I know she was, Nymueh always is.

  “I d—don’t think I—I’m going to make it,” she says.

  “I know,” I reply because I’ve seen death enough times to know it. More tears slip from my face. I can barely discern Nymueh’s features through the blurred wetness.

  From an adjoining tunnel, voices resonate. I choke back the tears and slowly lower Nymueh to the ground, careful with her head. She stares at me with those eyes, those fleeting eyes that always sunk deeper than the walls I erected with anyone else but her. Nymhueh’s smile still on her lips and her crippled fingers clutch at the apron blanketing her.

  I raise a finger to my lips, a soft shush passes through my teeth.

  She nods.

  I recede from the iron cell and creep against the cavern wall until I approach the tunnel opening. The voices are congested as they blur together. They’re speaking in a foreign tongue, their voices hiss at their pronunciations. I grip my dagger, its wooden hilt familiar against my palm. I crouch low and gauge their distance by the sounds of their footfalls. I can discern three sets of footfalls approaching swiftly. I begin to count down from thirty seconds in my mind. My breathing is calm and steady. My heart gently patters even with the exhilaration.

  The first figure emerges ahead of the other two. I leap from the ground and rush the unsuspecting fae. My dagger swims through the air and the slash of the blade to jugular sings through the cavern. Before the body falls to the ground, I round kick the next figure, my heel crashing into his face. I run towards the cave wall, using my momentum to gain friction as I kick off the stone and backflip until I land on top of the third figure. My thighs cradle his head and I fling myself backward. I shift my weight, so I land on my side, but the figure slams headfirst into the cavern floor. A loud crack resonates between my legs as the fae’s neck snaps.

  Before I can regain my foothold, the second figure kicks my blade from my hand and grabs a fistful of hair. The fae yanks me across the cavern as I shout and kick, desperate to release his hold. A swift kick to my ribs forces all the air to gasp from my lungs. Another quick jab to my jaw enthralls a raging thunder in my ears. My vision begins to blur, fading in and out of consciousness. Now is not the time to panic. Remember the training.

  I kick off from the ground, stretching my leg until my foot slams into the fae’s face. I wince at the inadequate protection my silk uniform slipper offers. The figure stammers enough for me to shift my legs, pivoting my entire body into a smooth rotation until my legs sweep the fae’s feet out from under him. His grip on my hair releases as he falls to the ground. I quickly crawl over the man, thighs digging into his arms to keep him pinned, and then I drive my thumbs into his black beady eyes.

  He snarls as blue blood pools from his sockets, coating my hands like dark ichor. His body struggles beneath me, but I dig my thumbs further, interrupting his resolve. Above the fae’s head is a rock, slightly larger than the palm of my hand. I grab ahold with both hands, hoisting it above my head. The fae is snapping his fangs blindingly, reaching to sink its teeth into my flesh. I drive the rock with as much fervor as possible. The loud thud of stone to the flesh is grotesque. I repeat the assault, slamming the rock viciously into his face. I scream while blue ichor sprays across my face and the putrefied taste insults my tongue.

  Moments pass before the fae finally twitches into a lifeless corpse. The tainted blood drips down my face. My uniform is soaked and tacky. In the distance, I hear the assembling howls draw closer.

  Well, fuck me sideways. That’s not good.

  I cringe as my body aches in pain when I climb to my feet. I rush to the cell where Nymueh twitches on the ground. I fall to my knees and pull her head back into my lap.

  “We need to get out of here,” I say as the roars grow louder.

  “G—go without m—me,” she struggles, “I—I’m already dead.”

  I know.

  “I’m not leaving your body down here,” I resolve. Nymueh smiles fondly and coughs blood into my lap.

  I pull her over my shoulders, bracing her weight like a scarf on my neck. I slowly traipse through the cavern and back through the tunnel I entered from. The journey back up the slope is more challenging as the slick surface threatens to steal my balance. I fumble with the glow stone in one hand while I hold Nymueh tight.

  “Almost there,” I gru
nt before my foot slips against the slick earth. I brace us against the tunnel wall until I’m stable. Nymueh shivers in the damp subterranean air and says, “I was c—careful. I—I promise.”

  My heart breaks at the defeat in her voice. The loss of blood and obvious pain is retching her mind.

  When we reach the round chamber with the intersecting passageways, Nymueh convulses against my shoulders, knocking me off balance. We both crash to the dirt floor. I hiss as my shoulder rages with pain. Nymueh’s entire body shakes and twists.

  I pull her into my lap again, using my palms to pry her mouth open, fixing the wooden hilt of my dagger into her mouth, so she doesn’t choke on her tongue. Her entire body heaves and shakes. I lean down, shushing in her ear, hoping it brings her some semblance of comfort. My hand gently caresses her back, trying to tame the convulsions when I feel something abnormal. I pull her closer to me to get a better look, pulling the apron away from her skin and the runic markings etched deeply into her flesh, bone-white spikes begin to protrude. At first, I believe it to be a trick of the light, but the spikes rapidly extend from her body. I unconsciously drop Nymueh’s body, scolding myself when she hits the floor with a loud thud. Her convulsions only worsen.

  Her jaw unhinges. It’s askew while her arms and legs twist and bend backward. From her throat, a beastly growl thunders low and deep. I scurry away from her misshapen body, eyes wide in disbelief. The spikes on her back are fully extended, long finger-like bones. Her face contorts as it reshapes into an elongated snout. Her skin turns black, like the moldy flesh of a rotting corpse. Her lips curl against wicked fangs and her hands morph into monstrous paws with crescent talons.