Hollen the Soulless: A Fantasy Romance (Dokiri Brides Book 1)

by Denali Day

  The voices grew louder. Closer. She barely noticed them, unable to take her eyes off Sigvard. Invoking the name of every god she knew, Joselyn begged them for mercy, fearing she was about to watch something horrific. Sigvard went diving out of the saddle, tossed forward by a particularly powerful buck. His leg caught and, even in the commotion, Joselyn heard a sickening popping sound. Sigvard wailed in pain.

  Tears streamed down Joselyn’s face. Before she could stop herself, her legs went sprinting toward the wild creature.

  She made it all of three paces before an arm shot round her waist and hauled her off her feet. Joselyn screamed, more from instinct than actual fear. Her arms flailed wildly as she was swung until she came face to face with a handful of men clad in scarlet and gold winter armor.

  “Milady! You’re safe!” She heard her attacker yell as his hot breath poured into her ear.

  She froze. Her mind raced to make sense of what was happening. Those were House Fury’s colors. Her colors. These were her men. Not Morhageese peasants. Knights. Soldiers from her own, ancient lands of Tirvine. She stopped crying.

  What were they doing here?

  “Get her back! To safety!” A different man yelled to the one still holding her at the waist. They were carrying bows, arrows already notched.

  Joselyn gasped. She threw a look over her shoulder at Sigvard, who still hung upside down. The bolas had just fallen free of Grelka’s wing, and the wicked creature turned its attention on the group of men approaching her. She roared in rage.

  The knights paused; they drew backward a moment before letting their arrows fly.

  “No!” Joselyn cried in horror, just before the knight tossed her bodily over his shoulder.

  She kicked at him, screamed, pounded her fists on his back, demanded to be released. Her father’s men ignored all and ran through the trees. A pair of soldiers followed, bows in hand, frequently tossing their eyes backward as if to ensure they were not being pursued.

  Joselyn’s gaze lifted to the sky when she heard Grelka’s shriek rising above the trees. She was flying clumsily away, back toward the mountain.

  Sigvard dangled in tow. An arrow jutted from his limp body.

  34

  Hard Choices

  The blast of the horn from the common area had shaken the stone walls of Hollen's bok. The sound, which was a call to arms for every available Dokiri man, should have ignited dread in his stomach. Instead, all Hollen could feel was the fierce pounding of his heart, as he woke to find his bed empty. Joselyn was gone.

  He sprinted to the common area half-dressed. She was nowhere in sight. Erik was at his side in an instant, recounting the details of a veligiri sighting unlike any ever before. Hollen barely listened, too intent upon finding his bride.

  Had she fled? Left him just as before? Had he hurt her somehow?

  A darker, more sinister side of Hollen whispered, perhaps she intended to leave all along, just when you’d not expect.

  Hollen crushed those thoughts as quickly as they arose. His fear for his bride’s well-being overshadowed all.

  All around him, his riders spilled out of the cave and into the ravine, calling down their mounts as they did. The women and children made their way up to the floating caves, inner pockets which could only be reached by rope ladders descending from the ceiling. They’d stay there until their husbands and sons returned. With no one left to guard them, it was the only way to ensure their safety when all men were required at once.

  “Mu Salig!” Erik cried, grabbing Hollen by the arm. “Did you hear what I said?”

  He hadn’t.

  “She’s gone,” Hollen said in Dokiri, unable to stamp the panic from his voice. “I can’t find her anywhere.”

  Erik’s face paled, “Are you certain? Would she really leave after…” Erik trailed off, his question answered by the terror on Hollen’s face.

  “I can’t leave.”

  Uncertainty crossed Erik’s features before he nodded. “I’ll lead the men. Soren says the veligiri pack was sighted on the north face, near the throat.”

  “I’ll come to you when she’s found,” Hollen said, grateful.

  Erik nodded and pounded a fist to his chest before racing to join the others.

  It was a hateful choice, his duty to his bride over his duty as Salig, but in that moment, there was no contest. He must find Joselyn and get her back to Bedmeg where it was safe. If the report about the veligiri was true, the danger had never been more real than it was this morning.

  “Mu Salig.”

  Hollen froze, and turned to see the wrinkled face of Ginny, a Dokiri gritu. Her husband had died of fever a decade ago.

  “Get to the high caves.” He barked and started to turn away.

  “Mu Salig!” She repeated, her voice far more insistent, her mouth drawn into a disapproving scowl.

  Hollen sucked in a breath, forcing patience. “What is it, wise one?”

  “It’s your bride,” she said.

  Hollen stiffened, his attention rapt.

  “She’s with Sigvard.”

  His face slackened. “Sigvard?”

  She nodded solemnly. “I saw him take her outside early this morning. Later I saw him flying away on his new mount.”

  Hollen’s voice went flat. “Was she with him?”

  The woman looked uncertain. “These eyes don’t see so clearly anymore. But I believe so.”

  “And they’ve not returned?”

  She shook her head.

  Hollen called his thanks and sprinted from the cave, catching up to the few remaining men who were still mounting their gegatu.

  “Mu Salig?” they called, curiosity and concern plain.

  “Forgive me, brothers. Erik will lead you.” Hollen didn’t slow to assess their reactions. He called for Jagomri.

  Hollen had set out hoping to find his bride. Now, the day nearly gone, he prayed he’d return to Bedmeg to find her and Sigvard already arrived. Once he’d taken to the air, his mind had tormented him with grim possibilities.

  He relied on the idea that Sigvard, idiotic as he was, had merely convinced Joselyn to ride with him. He’d want to brag on his new mount’s speed or grace. There were other explanations, each less palatable than the last. That she’d convinced him to take her to the lowlands. Hollen couldn’t believe that Sigvard would do so knowingly. But his bride was clever. Perhaps she’d found a subtle way to manipulate him. The idea would have sickened him, but it wasn’t convincing enough. It didn’t speak of the Joselyn he’d come to love and trust.

  In the fading daylight, Hollen was making his final pass over the north side when something caught his sharpened vision. A break in the canopy of trees ahead, like something had fallen from the sky. Lightning? His blood ran cold. A gegatu? Hollen urged Jagomri forward, praying for the former.

  He circled over the broken branches. With every foot closer to the ground, Hollen’s horror grew until they glided but a man’s height over the accident. His stomach threatened to upend itself then and there.

  Sigvard dangled heels-over-head by his mount’s torn stirrups. His mount lay lax in a tangle of trees, caught by the leather bindings of her saddle. Her wings were spread wide, torn in several places, as though she’d batted at the branches, trying to free herself. Her eyes were closed, her breathing slow yet steady. What Hollen couldn’t see was whether or not his little brother was alive.

  He urged Jagomri down, having to convince the beast to land in such a densely packed area. Even so, once he’d freed himself from his saddle, he had to backtrack a short distance to reach the place where Sigvard hung suspended, perhaps forty feet in the air. Joselyn was nowhere in sight. He thought of calling for her, but it was growing late, and he dare not attract the attention of any nefarious creatures roaming about.

  “Sigvard!” he hissed. Horror threatened to turn his low call into a bellow.

  Sigvard didn’t stir.

  The broken shaft of an arrow sticking out of the right side of his brother’s chest.
Had it pierced his lung? Hollen couldn’t tell. Terror seized him as he set to climbing the tree, desperate to reach him.

  He was panting when he reached the level of Sigvard’s head, but the auburn-haired man hung too far from the center for Hollen to reach him. Taking hold of the trunk, he crept out to the periphery of the branch, mindful his weight didn’t snap the limb beneath him. It groaned precariously.

  “Sigvard,” he hissed. His fingers just brushed his brother’s coat. He swatted at him, catching him just enough to spin him around. Deep scrapes and bright purple bruises covered his face. From the tree, maybe?

  Sigvard moaned low. His eyes didn’t even flutter. He was breathing. Alive. Hollen breathed his thanks to Helig.

  What had happened? Had Sigvard been conscious, Hollen would have demanded answers. Where was Joselyn? Had she been with Sigvard when this happened? Had she ever been with him at all? Hollen cursed, drawing his knife to work at the leather which bound his brother in the tree.

  Hollen cut the first cord, and Sigvard’s mount began thrashing. So wild were her movements that Hollen had to withdraw, afraid he’d be knocked from his perch and fall to his death. He bit out a few Dokiri words, ordering the newly tamed creature to stand down. He resheathed the knife and extended an open palm, mindful to keep it out of reach of her snapping jaws. He shushed the creature, tried to ease her wild fear.

  It was useless. Even were he Sigvard, the beast was too frightened to calm herself. She shrieked, warning him to keep his distance. Her yellow eyes locked on him and dilated. White teeth flashed.

  Hollen swore. He needed Erik. His second-born brother could make short work of this situation and free both Sigvard and the creature. Hollen could return to Bedmeg, hope that Erik was there, and return with him. But what if he wasn’t? Even if he were, could Sigvard wait that long? Could Joselyn?

  “Sigvard!” Hollen whispered loudly, trying to rouse his brother.

  Nothing.

  Hollen gritted his teeth and made a decision. He climbed down, jumped the last several feet, and sprinted back to Jagomri. He withdrew his bow and quiver and returned. There was barely enough light to see through the trees. Hollen nocked an arrow and took aim.

  The beast screamed when the iron point lodged in her throat. Dark blood fanned onto the white ground below. He drew another arrow, muttering a word of pity for the dying beast as he fired at her again. Her body thrashed, desperate for life. A third and final arrow bled the creature of its strength. Her rage-filled cries grew dim and muted as her jerky movements stilled. Glanshi. If only there had been a way to kill her quickly.

  Determined not to make the creature’s sacrifice a vain one, Hollen threw down his bow and scurried back up the tree. This time, after what seemed like hours of careful toil, he was able to free Sigvard. They nearly fell as his brother’s heavy weight settled with Hollen’s onto the branch. It cracked, and they slipped to a stronger one below.

  The sky was almost dark, and Hollen was covered in a mixture of his own sweat and the gegatu’s blood when he finally lowered Sigvard to the snowy ground. His pulse was rapid and thready. Hollen shook his brother by the shoulders, calling his name. After several moments, Sigvard’s orange eyes cracked open. They rolled sluggishly in his head.

  “Hollen,” he croaked, his voice full of gravel.

  “Brother,” Hollen said. Relief flooded him. His voice took on a tone of command. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Lowlanders. They ensnared Grelka, brought us down.”

  “Was Joselyn with you?” Hollen’s voice was low and even, not betraying the anxiety pulsing in his veins.

  Sigvard nodded, squeezing his eyes shut in pain, or guilt.

  “Where is she, Sigvard?” Hollen squeezed Sigvard’s shoulder, willing him conscious.

  Sigvard looked Hollen in the eye. “They took her.”

  “Who?”

  “Soldiers. Red and gold.”

  The colors of House Fury. Hollen wanted to know why. Why had Sigvard taken his bride traipsing about the skies? Why had she agreed to go with him? But there were more important things. Hollen had to work his jaw loose to speak. “Was she hurt?”

  Sigvard hesitated. “I don’t know. I think not.”

  Hollen breathed, trying to still his racing heart as his mind projected images of every dire possibility. Sigvard coughed, bringing Hollen back to the present.

  “Hollen, I’m sorry. I—” Sigvard broke off with a scream as Hollen snapped the shaft of the arrow in his chest. The healers could remove the head. For now, they needed the shaft out of their way.

  “Come.” Hollen planted his hands beneath Sigvard’s arms and hoisted him upward. “We have to get you to Bedmeg.”

  “But, Joselyn—”

  “Home first. You’ll die if I leave you here.”

  “Set me on my mount. I’ll fly back myself.”

  Hollen grimaced as he swung one of Sigvard’s arms over his neck and pulled him toward Jagomri.

  “Your mount is dead.”

  A part of Hollen wanted Sigvard to suffer at those words, to feel the pain brought about by his own stupidity. But as he watched his younger brother’s gaze turn up to the tree above them and lock upon his newly mastered steed’s dangling body, Hollen only wished for the power to turn back time. To stop this nightmare from occurring.

  Sigvard’s face seized with horror as he choked on whatever words he’d been about to say. He looked back at Hollen, seeming to just now notice the flecks of blood that covered him. Devastation filled his eyes, along with tears. Instead of speaking, he made a little whimpering sound as his gaze fell into the snowy ground they limped across.

  “Come on,” Hollen said. Sympathy leaked into his voice. “You need a healer, and Joselyn needs me.”

  35

  The Gameboard of Lords

  Five hundred men. Ten times the number Lord Fury had sent with Joselyn on her way to Brance. Apparently, her father was taking no chances. She’d been locked in a carriage. Her “bodyguard” was a gruff man who spoke almost as rarely as he smiled. He’d insisted on keeping the shutters closed and the door barred as “precautions.”

  Her demands for a report on what had become of Sigvard had gone ignored, dismissed with a curt apology. Was he still alive? Had he been captured? Joselyn could only pray his mount had taken him back to Bedmeg. Pray, and curse herself for her foolishness. If Sigvard died, it would be on her conscience. Of course, she might never find out.

  They’d moved with all haste. The men were anxious to get to safety before any “dragon riders” had the opportunity to give chase. She’d been told they were headed to Castle Arland, home to a neutral family between Houses Fury and Viridian at the southeast edge of Morhagen. It was the closest keep to the Crookspine Range, a day’s journey from the foot of Mount Carpe.

  “My father is there?” she’d asked her sullen carriage mate.

  He nodded grimly. “He, and the Viridian lord.”

  Joselyn had to turn her face to the wall to hide her dismay. Dante Viridian? Here? With her father? The thrum of her heart picked up. She’d be facing not only her father, but also her intended. Her stomach churned.

  “How long have they been there?” she asked.

  “Since your father was informed of your whereabouts by a young hunter.”

  Joselyn's fingers went icy as a vague memory flashed across her mind. A young man, nearly a boy, running away. The one Hollen let escape from the clearing. He’d been the only one to consider her claim of the Fury name. It seemed he’d taken her seriously. Her father had probably made him rich enough to never need to hunt again.

  The carriage hummed as it rolled onto a cobbled pathway. A few moments passed, and it came to a stop. Joselyn swayed forward. Someone outside threw the door open, and her bodyguard leapt out. Behind him, the sky burned orange with the setting sun. Joselyn took her escort’s hand as he helped her down to the paved ground.

  Castle Arland had no walls. The Crookspine Range was more than enough protecti
on from rival kingdoms. What money the Arland family had saved for lack of defensive structures, they’d made up for in ornate details. The castle’s exterior was inlaid with swirling streaks of silver granite that formed ostentatious patterns. Surely they could be seen from miles away. Every corner of the structure boasted exquisitely carved statues of fantastic creatures, ranging from sleeping dryads to roaring wyverns. The latter were eerily close to life.

  The courtyard teemed with soldiers. Where were Arland’s residents? Perhaps, for security’s sake, they’d been cleared prior to her arrival. Whatever the reason, Joselyn was grateful. Still clad in furs, she was a feast for gossiping tongues. Joselyn took her escort’s arms and was led between two columns of men up to the giant doors of the castle. Sir Richard burst through, likely straight from her father’s side. He gave her a breathless bow.

  “My lady, Joselyn!”

  Genuine pleasure sparked in Joselyn’s chest at the sight of her father’s steward, a man who’d been like an uncle to her. She extended her hands toward him, and some of the tension left her body when he bent to kiss the backs of them. His scarred face rose up and stared down at her. Relief warred with anxiety in his features.

  “Praise the gods, you’re safe. Safe, and returned to us.”

  “I have returned.” She let her expression go blank. Safety was another matter.

  Sir Richard’s eyes sharpened. He had questions. He glanced at the small horde of men behind her. One of the captains stepped forward to whisper in his ear. Joselyn’s neck heated as she imagined what sort of report was being passed.

  With a grim smile, Sir Richard extended an arm and Joselyn was quick to take it in favor of her bodyguard’s. He felt solid. Steady. As they walked into the marble foyer, Joselyn tried to draw those sensations into herself. The smell of bread and lacquered wood hit her. The scents of civilization. A bough of pine was laid over the mantle of a vast hearth. She could smell it, too, and wanting for Hollen made her throat swell.