Ageless Fury

by S L Matthews

  A warmth overcame Taryn while her hand pressed against his chest. The woman smiled, and several tiny braids fell from behind her ear, tickling his mouth and nose. “Taryn,” he whispered, allowing the warmth to settle into his chest.

  A genuine smile crept across her face. She pulled against the feathered braids, tucking them behind her ear and whispering, “Well, hello, Taryn. It’s nice to meet you.” Taryn’s vision faded as the warmth calmed his muscles. He drifted into a tranquil slumber, hearing a final word from his exotic rescuer.

  “You can call me Rae.”

  The adventure continues in

  Weight of Indifference!

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  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for your continued interest in the survivors of Wyvern’s Rest, and their epic adventure. Want a more exclusive look into the world of Kel Doran? I invite you to sign up! Receive behind-the-scenes updates to my series, character information, and special offers to other authors and their amazing worlds!

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  About the Author

  Scott Matthews was born in Oklahoma City in 1976 and has spent his entire life in the great state of Oklahoma. By day, he puts out IT fires...by night, he raises teenagers and herds cats. Or...raises cats and herds teenagers. He's discovering more and more that those two are interchangeable. He's married to an amazing woman and has three great kids. Somewhere in between all that, he writes the "Mists of Kel Doran" epic fantasy series.

  *******************

  Learn more about the Mists of Kel Doran series

  www.mistsofkeldoran.com

  Mists of Kel Doran

  Season I / Episode II – Ageless Fury

  Table of Contents

  CONTENTS

  | Prologue

  Angel in the Mist

  | Chapter I

  The Caro Expedition

  | Chapter II

  Darkest Hearts

  | Chapter III

  Burning Tide

  | Chapter IV

  Blue Flame

  | Chapter V

  Shattered Dreams

  | Chapter VI

  Kneel

  | Chapter VII

  Unfinished Business

  | Chapter VIII

  The Mist

  | Chapter IX

  Monster in the Midst

  | Chapter X

  Haunted Memory

  | Chapter XI

  Toricien Honey

  | Chapter XII

  Die Trying

  | Chapter XIII

  Broken Charm

  | Chapter XIV

  Murder

  | Chapter XV

  Feathermoon

  | Chapter XVI

  Abyssal Heart

  | Chapter XVII

  Anora’s Call

  | Chapter XVIII

  The Calling

  | Chapter XIX

  Sabre Tooth

  | Chapter XX

  Tide of Darkness

  Book One – The Weave of Fate

  The Weave of Fate

  – The Weave of Fate –

  Dragon-Touched Book One

  – A Mists of Kel Doran Novel –

  By S.L. Matthews

  Cover Illustration by

  Ivan Cakic (Cakamura Design)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by S.L. Matthews

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review.

  First paperback edition March 2019

  Book design by Ivan Cakic

  Maps by Scott Matthews

  ISBN: 978-1-7927-8433-0 (paperback)

  www.mistsofkeldoran.com

  | Prologue

  Harbinger

  Dusk settled over the ancient Forest of Valshyr. After four long days, the eager moon had its turn in the spotlight, cresting the hills to impose its will upon the still evening sky. Ordinarily, the animals of a forest would eagerly greet the birth of a new night, to worship this heavenly newcomer; however, this was no ordinary forest, and this was certainly no ordinary night. Tonight, the air would be still, and the forest would be quiet, as it had been for nearly a thousand years.

  The forest floor ebbed and weaved through an aged valley, its rolling hills filled with one thing…ash. Mountains of decayed life blew across the primeval site, cloaked in a blanket of gray waste, while colossal, blackened spears jutted forth from the hills. The final remains of these towering oak trees stood watch over the vale, their shadows etching jagged scars upon the land. The vast forest was once home to storied civilizations. Now an ocean of barbed vestiges, this forsaken land laid barren, twisted—and broken

  A spectral fog leeched throughout the ashen remains, molding to the valley’s sensual curves in a sickening embrace. This blanket reflected the light of the moon, while it sucked the light from below. Within this fog, darkness grew. Shadows were deep and the moon whispered grave thoughts. Where once lived the great Forest of Valshyr now lived—the Mist.

  Nestled within the forest, in the heart of the mist, stood triumphant, jeweled towers and the broken skyline of an abandoned citadel. Remnants of a great city crested the ashen dunes, stalwart against centuries of relentless, dust-blown indifference. Giant walls encompassed these ruins while wide streets wound through the wreckage, a conduit of blackened ash through a crippled city.

  Higher, the moon rose. A sinister shadow lurked through the broken streets, emerging from the mist and snaking along the stone walls of an ancient cathedral. Along this shadow, a woman walked, her withered, pale skin echoing the ghostly glow of the new moon. She staggered, stumbling through a slanted void. The ancient, elegant frame had not held up to its years, both of the woman and of the doorway she now occupied.

  As she crept across the floor, darkness captivated the room. A breeze whistled across the shattered rafters, and the moon cast long shadows of a new night, but the center of this broken city was corrupt—and silent.

  ​The woman lumbered toward a dais at the far end of the chamber. Her shadow crept past rows of petrified, collapsed pews, basking in the glow of the newly born moon. Even without the light of the moon, her figure cast a deep shadow upon the land; yet in this broken structure, a sharper shadow emerged. A wicked net snaked across the unholy floor. The malevolence in the mist confirmed that the being was no woman…not any more.

  Atop the raised floor stood a coarse, rock altar. Its sides were rough and porous, worn to a finish over untold years. From this altar, the mist gathered. Thick fog surrounded the rock as an unseen breeze played its haunted melody.

  As the female form lurched forward, the air smoldered in a sickly, yellow glow. Within moments, the light was blinding. No longer able to gaze upon it, her eyes burned and her soul ached. Her body was no longer hers to control. She wanted to look away, to end the torment.

  She could not.

  Through no effort of her own, her feet pressed forward. Her eyes sizzled and a slow, steady stream dripped down her face. She wanted to cry out in terror, though the ability had long since passed.

  Her body thrust downward. The ancient stone shattered as her knees struck the floor, followed by the unmistakable sound of splintered bone. Blood pooled into the cracks while the woman’s eyes remained fixed and unmoving. Her heart beat to a merciless rhythm, y
et the torture endured, revealing no signs of pain, agony, or free will. The amber light pulsed before her eyes, now as empty as the starless night sky.

  The mist swirled. A dense fog wrapped around the altar and the woman held captive before it, spinning into a vortex of sickly sweet light. When the mist settled, the outline of scars, scales, and teeth materialized beyond the rock. A deep voice boomed from the inhuman visage and echoed throughout the cathedral.

  “You have done well, my fallen angel.” The words resonated within her bones, their tone gristled and broken. The woman, in full reverence of the being before her, became aware. She endured the absence of sight and the numbness in her legs. She sensed the unholy air and the unnatural silence of the cathedral. Her face, however, did not show pain. It did not show confusion, remorse, or guilt.

  It showed terror.

  “Th-thank you, my L-Lord,” she muttered, bowing toward the swirling mist. Her arms trembled, and her lips quivered as the featureless face absorbed every ounce of fear.

  “You have served truly, and faithfully,” the face continued. “As such, you shall be rewarded.”

  The woman relaxed, even as fear ripped at her heart. She opened her mouth, but no words would come; instead, the mist grew tighter. It enveloped her body and pressed upon her form, a cocoon of shadow and moonlight. The mist swirled faster until it bound the woman in a sinister vortex. Her meager trappings flung free to expose the wrinkled skin of a feeble woman.

  Her eyes contorted while a torrent of sick, yellow energy consumed her. A calm overtook her expression, and her face relaxed. Within moments, however, the sedated expression washed away. The mist culminated around her wrinkled flesh and had nowhere else to go—but in.

  She dropped her head, flung out her arms, and let loose an earsplitting scream. The mist pressed through her mouth, nose, ears, and blackened eye sockets while her arms remained fixed, pinned by the energy as it violated her prone form.

  As the agony intensified, her wrinkles receded. Her skin tightened and muscle tissue reformed from within. Wrinkled flesh gave way to soft, toned tissue. Flattened breasts reshaped into firm, supple mounds. Matted hair lengthened into a long, flowing mane. Teeth regrew to form jagged, malicious blades. Her skin tone darkened, twisted from a silken white to a polished onyx.

  The mist mercifully diminished, giving way to the penetrating silence of the cathedral. The blackened, toned body of a young woman descended and came to rest on the cold stone, a crouched, shapely figure before the stone altar. The mist settled into the fractured stone as it leeched its way into the streets of Valshyr.

  The young woman gasped for air. Her ribs pulsed. Jagged fingernails scraped against the stone as her hands forged a tight fist. Small nubs formed on her forehead and a ridge chiseled across each shoulder. The nubs lengthened into sinister points while the ridges distended into long, arm-length appendages behind her kneeling body.

  When the pain subsided, the polished onyx figure became aware—aware of her transformation, aware of her power, and aware of the face that studied her from beyond the altar. She also became aware that, after several terrified minutes of blindness, she could see.

  She opened her eyes to discover loose figures of light swimming through the mist, figures forever bound to the land. As they swirled throughout the cathedral, they took on the shapes of men and women, their faces suspended in disbelief. The young woman looked upon the figures with a child-like curiosity.

  She held up her hand and surveyed each slender finger. Her sickly, golden eyes sharpened to examine her elegant, toned arms. While she studied her new body, her lips curled into a faint, sinister grin. With her eyes fixed on the back of one hand, she struck out to the side with the other and grasped a shimmering figure by the neck.

  The young woman drew her fist tighter to reveal the devilish nails of pure, blackened hatred. She squeezed harder. The spirit twitched violently, then grew limp, dissipating like snow upon the warm ground. Her smile grew and her eyes narrowed. She stood, her full, imposing form brought to bear before the rock altar and the twisted face.

  The long appendages across her back unfolded to reveal majestic wings of smoke and shadow. Her jeweled eyes were focused, and satisfied. The ancient voice boomed through the remnants of the cathedral and the bones of his onyx apprentice.

  “With duty comes power,” it said, as a father to his enthralled young daughter. “With absolute duty comes absolute power.”

  Dust fell from the stone walls while cracks chiseled through the ancient rock. Timbers crashed into the broken stone floor as the voice echoed throughout the fossilized holy site.

  The young woman remained silent. She acknowledged her master and brought her legs and feet together. She drew her body to a perfect line and bowed her head. She brought a fist across her bare chest, held for an exaggerated moment, then released.

  The voice echoed again, felt more than heard: “This world will burn, my apprentice. And you will be the torch of damnation.”

  The face dissolved. A torrent of air swept the mist through the ruin’s crumbled windows. When the last remnants leeched into the streets of Valshyr, a whisper of evil echoed.

  “Rise Kryxys…take your place as the harbinger of extinction.”

  | Chapter I

  Into Darkness

  A twisted, gnarled twig set poised on the end of a small bow. Its tip was sharpened to a wicked point, carved with deadly intent, while small feathers tickled Dari’s nose. He held his elbow high, hearing his father’s repeated instruction in his head.

  “Back straight. Elbow up. Tight grip. Breathe,” Dari whispered, replaying every lesson he’d ever received, all in preparation for a single moment—this moment.

  He let loose a long, slow breath, squeezed one eye shut, and lined up his prey. Dari gasped as the majestic beast came into view. Through a lush meadow, nestled against the backdrop of sharp hills and rolling bluffs, the antelope grazed. It ducked through fields of wildflowers, under the shadow of towering, highland grass. It perked its ears and lifted its nose, testing the brisk morning air for hints of danger.

  Dari held his breath.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead and his arm quivered in anticipation. He suppressed the pain in his stomach and the intense hunger that woke him night after night.

  “You can do it, Dari,” came a light whisper, as soft as the morning breeze.

  Dari mustered the smallest of grins, flashing a glance to his older sister. Elan stood watch nearby, concealed in the shadow of a collapsed stone wall. Layers of dust caked across her cheeks, her freckled adolescence blending seamlessly with countless hungry years on the street.

  He didn’t know why she had to come. This was his hunt, his first prize. Their father had already taken Elan on plenty of hunting trips, though never this far from home. The antelope rubbed its antlers against a nearby boulder, eliciting a dull rumble that echoed through the grass. Dari’s eyes widened—it was huge. His chest tightened, muscles tensed. His heart pounding, he peeked at Elan, comforted she was by his side, though, of course, he would never tell her.

  Elan motioned toward the magnificent animal. She crouched low, withdrew an old hunting knife, and gave Dari an eager nod. He raised his elbow, straightened his back, and took aim.

  The antelope lowered its bony antlers and gave a gentle tug on a clump of grass, revealing shattered, red cobblestone. Behind the animal stood a broken brick wall, once home to a bustling inn. Beside the inn lay a collapsed roof and a rusted anvil, still rooted into the ground.

  The young hunter stared down his prey, grazing in the Outer Quarter of Wyvern’s Rest. His bowstring strained under the tension, his arm quivered, and his pulse raced until the final, merciful release. The twig fluttered through the air, tumbling end over end before falling into the grass a few feet away.

  The antelope snapped its ears to attention while a piercing whistle streaked across the old square. It bolted as an arrow exploded through its chest, raising high onto its hind legs, then collapsing
to the urban wilderness.

  Dari’s heart filled with pride, and his mouth fell open in excitement.

  “I got it, Papa!”

  Elan sprinted from the shadows. The young girl bounded through the grass, unable to contain her excitement.

  “We got one, Papa! We finally got one!” Elan’s wavy brown hair bounced with her through fields of red and orange flowers. Her head disappeared, but her voice continued to resonate off the city walls and collapsed stone buildings.

  Dari threw his bow and sprinted toward his father, a smile beaming across his face. He tucked his scraggly hair behind his ears and raced into his father’s outstretched arms.

  “You sure did,” said the hunter, tucking his bow behind his back. Dari studied his father’s green eyes and crooked smile. He saw the tears of joy wash away layers of dust and the long scar that cut across his face. Dari smiled back, knowing a full meal and a good night’s sleep awaited them for the first time in weeks.

  His father gave an eager, heartfelt embrace, yet his eyes drifted toward Elan and the shadows that danced along the old street.

  “Come, Dari. We must be quick. Let’s get your sister.” With a nod, they stood up and hiked through the abandoned square to collect their prize. Crumbled stone lined the old roads, now home to acres of highland wilderness. Dari’s gaze wandered to the nearby bluffs. Other than the city walls, he found it hard to see where Wyvern’s Rest ended and the highlands began. A horrible scent drifted through the air, and Dari snapped a hand to his nose.