Myths and Magic: An Epic Fantasy and Speculative Fiction Boxed Set

by K.N. Lee

"South," he snapped, and it was clear he didn’t wish to discuss his heritage any further.

  No wonder, with one of the king’s first acts over twenty years ago being a law that granted the right to own land to humankind only.

  "Just what are you and your prince doing here?" I burst out, trying to rescue the conversation. "Are you hunting?"

  If so, then why come to Densby? When the king cast his Humans Only law, he’d confiscated the forest holdings in the south where some of the wolvren clans once lived, and created a royal hunting preserve. As for the wolvren there, when they resisted, they'd ended up in chains. There was more than enough game there for any bloodthirsty royal.

  "You could say that."

  "But most of the game has turned deeper into the woods," I said. "The winter’s are harsher up here than in the south. You won’t find much larger game left unless you venture miles into the woods. I came home empty-handed today myself."

  "You did?" Averill couldn’t quite hide her dismay.

  "I’m sure we’ll find what we’re hunting for," the stranger replied. "I can track anything."

  "So can I." The words were out before I could stop them.

  "You?" He looked me up and down. "All those years of experience, no doubt?"

  "You can’t be much older than I am," I snapped.

  "I wasn’t speaking of age."

  We stood toe-to-toe, and to my disappointment, he was a good four inches taller than I was. And twice as wide.

  I was not going to think about those shoulders. And how well he filled out his hunting leathers.

  "Casimir!"

  It was the prince, his voice as finely pitched as one would expect. That voice could summon a lord to his knees, or a lady to the prince's bed. It shivered through me, and even Averill—who actually preferred women to men—blinked as if she felt it too.

  "Causing trouble, are we?" The prince clapped a hand on his friend's shoulder, his manner considerably warmer than one would expect toward his wolvren servant.

  Or slave.

  I knew what the gold chain around his throat meant now.

  "We were speaking of the hunting hereabouts," my stranger—Casimir—said, in a far milder rasp. "The girl thinks she can outhunt me."

  The prince turned a considering look upon me. And smiled.

  It was as though the sun suddenly rose.

  A sun that thought the very idea of my expertise ludicrous.

  "Cas has the finest nose I’ve ever seen," the prince said, in the sort of voice that said I should be charmed to be found lacking. "There’s nothing he can’t track."

  "He’s not used to my forests," I growled. "And you’re not the predators here in Gravenwold. You have no idea what you’re facing."

  "And you do?" asked the prince mildly.

  "My father’s spent years teaching me the woods. I know them as well as I know my own reflection."

  "Neva," Averill whispered.

  "Your father’s a hunter?"

  "The best." Or he had been.

  "What sorts of predators reside in the woods?" Casimir broke in.

  "It’s said there are monsters and witches in the woods." I faltered a little. "If you go too far inside its boundaries, then you don’t come out, so no one truly knows for certain."

  "The monsters of old?" the prince asked. "Chimeras? Unicorns? Dragons and whatnot? In Caskill, there are rumors of a firebird deep in Gravenwold. Of course, we’re certain they’re just that. Rumors."

  "They’re not rumors." How typical of these city-folk to doubt everything they couldn’t see with their own eyes. "I’ve seen the White Hart myself. And my father once saw the firebird burst into flames and soar off through the trees."

  "He did?" the prince asked, his gaze focusing sharply upon me.

  I thought of the single burning feather my father kept in a magic-sealed glass container in our cabin. It was all the firebird left behind the day he saw it, and the feather burned day and night, though it surged a hot blistering white-flame in the presence of evil.

  He’d given it to my mother on their wedding day, and though it surely could have been traded for a small fortune, not a single one of us would ever dare think such a thing. I knew I’d rather starve.

  "He once found—"

  "That’s all well and good," Averill burst in. "But not all of us are interested in tales of hunting and monsters." She fluttered her lashes at the prince, and held out her hand. "Surely you’d prefer to dance?"

  The prince’s smile wasn’t quite as bright as it had been before. "Perhaps some other time."

  What, by Vashta, had gotten into my sister? Averill didn’t even care for men.

  "I insist," she said flirtatiously, taking his hand and practically dragging him toward the bonfire in the middle of the village green.

  I lay in bed that night, tucked in against Averill while father snored in the next room. Eloya kept her cot at the foot his bed, just in case his health worsened during the night, and I waited until her breathing began to deepen before rolling toward Averill.

  "You wanted to dance? With the prince?" I asked dryly, for I’d been chewing over the earlier encounter all night.

  "You weren’t paying attention to his face," she murmured, rolling onto her side so we stared at each other in the faint glimmer of moonlight. "He was far too interested in the woods and the firebird. I didn’t think it a good idea for him to know of father’s feather."

  "I was about to tell them."

  "I know."

  I frowned. "I lost my temper."

  Avie rolled her eyes. "You? Lose your temper?" She clucked her tongue. "Whoever would have thought?"

  I threatened to pinch her and she laughed softly.

  We both subsided.

  "Thank you. I have to admit I wasn’t paying attention."

  "Of course you weren’t," she scoffed. "You saw a pretty pair of yellow eyes and all of a sudden you weren’t thinking about whether the prince was lying to you."

  "The wolvren?" Heat flamed in my cheeks. "I wasn’t— I was curious, that was all. He’s the first wolvren I’ve ever seen. And utterly aggravating."

  "He’s the first wolvren I’ve ever seen too," she replied. "You didn’t see me losing my wits over him."

  I held up thumb and forefinger threateningly and pinched them together.

  Averill laughed. "I forgive you. Even I have to admit he’s a very well put together creature. For a man."

  I’d never hear the end of this. She was right. I should have been thinking. But the second they started talking about my woods, I’d bristled up like a hedgehog. "Let’s presume you’re correct. Why would they be interested in the firebird? It’s a creature of legend, and it’s made of pure flames. It’s not as though the Crown Prince can mount its head on his wall."

  "Who knows," Averill drawled. "Perhaps his highness has got a flagging staff. Some fools believe if you grind a unicorn’s horn into powder and consume it, you can restore your, uh, vitality. Maybe he needs a little fire in the old pipe."

  "Sweet Vashta," I groaned. "I don’t want to know about that. Where did you even…." I stopped there. Averill knew things. She could always sense a storm on the horizon, or knew when a man or woman was bound to drop dead during the night.

  "Ellie told me about it. The healer had her helping search for some mandrake in the edges of the forest." Averill gave an evil grin. "You should hear what the mayor does every full moon with it."

  Clapping my hands over my ears, I glared, until it became clear she wasn’t going to say anymore.

  Slowly I took them away. "I think his highnesses conquest of the princessa proves he doesn’t have any problems of that nature. No. You’re right. They’re definitely interested in the firebird. I just can’t imagine why."

  Averill shuddered. "Hopefully they’ll leave in the morning, and we won’t have to see them again. Perhaps something will eat that horrible Hussar."

  "Avie! That’s a horrible thing to say! I wouldn’t wish that upon any poor monster."
/>
  "True. He’d give even a dragon indigestion."

  Through the small gap in the curtains, I could just make out the moon. "Whatever they plan on doing in Gravenwold, it can’t be a good thing. And if they make the forest angry, it’s us villagers who will have to bear the burden, you mark my words."

  We both fell silent, thinking it over.

  "We don't want to make the forest angry," Averill whispered.

  And once again I thought of the strange old woman I'd met in the woods.

  "No, we wouldn't."

  3

  BANG. BANG. BANG. A fist hammered on the door to my home, dust shuddering from the heavy boards.

  I almost dropped my wooden spoon in the pot of porridge I was stirring.

  "Open up in the name of the king!"

  Hussar.

  I’d recognize that malicious bellow anywhere.

  Averill caught my eye as she rolled from our bed, pausing to shut the door to the room we shared. I could sense father stirring in his own room, and crossed swiftly to the door before they could wake him further. His color had been better last night, and Eloya assured me he'd eaten well yesterday, but he needed the rest.

  Jerking the door open, I laid eyes upon the huntmaster in his stern leathers, and the prince and his Hound. The huntmaster paused with his hand lifted to beat the door again.

  "We heard you the first time," I said, through gritted teeth. "What may I do for you?"

  The huntmaster stepped forward and there was no help for it. I had to get out of the way or be trampled. "We're looking for your father. We need a tracker to enter the woods, and I hear he's the man for the job."

  A shiver of unease went through me. A sense of foreboding. Or destiny, as the weird woman in the forest might have called it. "Well, he's unavailable."

  Prince Evaron tugged off his gloves as he entered our small cottage, and I could almost sense him glancing around, trying to keep his thoughts off his face. At his heels stalked the wolvren, and he seemed more wolf than man this morning, a hungry look in his eyes.

  I grabbed a handful of last night's dishes from the table and dumped them in the small tin basin we used to wash up with. "You'll have to find someone else."

  "He's the only hunter in these parts according to village talk. The other died—some sort of accident, I believe." Prince Evaron had the grace to soften his words with a smile, but the look in his eyes was unflinching.

  Curse Bennett Hapslow.

  "And you said yourself your father is the best hunter in these parts," the prince continued. "We’ll need the best for our mission."

  Curse my stupid, fat mouth too. "He's not well."

  "There's good coin in it."

  They weren't listening to me. "Coin won’t keep my father’s belly full if he’s dead," I snapped. "Nor will it be of much comfort to me and my two sisters. My father is unwell, and a hunt like this would kill him."

  "Are you denying the word of your king?" Hussar asked with a sneer, tugging his gloves off, one finger at a time.

  "As far as I’m aware, King Euric is alive." I looked between them all, nodding my head toward the prince. "Technically, his highness here isn’t sitting on the throne yet."

  Hussar unrolled a scroll he’d plucked from his belt, scrolling down it to the pertinent part. 'I, King Euric, charge my eldest son, Evaron, with the quest of finding the firebird that lurks in Gravenwold forest, and bringing me its heart. I decree that all my subjects must render aid in my son's quest, or it shall be considered treason..." Hussar rolled the scroll up again.

  "Technically," he said, managing to leer at me a little, "if your father refuses to see us then we’re within our rights to clap him in chains."

  The blood drained out of my face.

  "Hussar," Prince Evaron said, gentling him with a frown and a small wave. "We’re here to ask for help. Not to threaten the locals."

  "You’re going to track the firebird. Why?" I demanded.

  No good could come of this.

  "The king’s health is failing," the prince explained. "All of the court physicians have said he won’t last until next summer. He’s charged me with capturing the firebird that lurks in these woods and bringing back its heart. If he consumes the heart, the head physician said, then he’ll be healed. The firebird is a creature of immortality and reincarnation."

  "You’re going to kill the firebird? Nobody’s even truly seen it," I lied. There was no need to show them the feather. "Gravenwold’s a dangerous place. You could be riding to your deaths for no reason."

  The prince sighed. "I have to try."

  "Well, you cannot take my father." I stepped between the prince and my father's room. "He barely made it through the winter. If you take him out there into the snows—"

  "Neva," called a rasping voice.

  My father leaned in the frame of his doorway behind me, clad in his thin nightshirt. I saw his proud face take in the trio of men in the room, even as I saw the faint note of shock on the prince’s face as he saw my father’s pale, lined face, and gaunt cheekbones. No matter how much he ate, my father simply couldn’t keep the weight on his bones. Something was eating him up from within, Eloya claimed, and she’d thrown herself into her healing apprenticeship in an effort to discover how to treat it.

  "You mentioned coin," father said, limping forward with his cane. "Perhaps you should sit down and tell me what you want, and how much you’re paying. Neva, would you boil the kettle?"

  "He won't change his mind," Averill muttered, watching as father packed for the trip. "He won't even listen to Ellie."

  And Eloya was his sweet favorite, the one who nursed him through the days while Averill and I tended to the five acres we owned.

  I met Ellie's eyes as she helplessly held out father's coat, and he stuffed it into his leather satchel. A great racking cough burst from him, and he turned aside, clutching his stained handkerchief to his lips. It seemed to go on forever, but when it finished he simply asked for his boots.

  I eased the door shut, my heart racing wildly. "The prince insists on hunting within Gravenwold. And father has pledged his word to provide a tracker. He didn't say it had to be him."

  "No." Averill breathed, catching my wrist. "You've never been within the heart of the forest."

  Technically.... "He'll die, Avie."

  She licked dry lips. "Perhaps he won't. You know how the forest makes him feel. And the firebird..." Her dark eyes suddenly lit up. "If they catch it and kill it, perhaps there is some way he could use its blood to heal himself. The king can have its heart. We could use the rest."

  Was she right? I bit my lip, as another barking cough echoed through the small hut we all shared.

  "I don’t think the prince intends to share," I admitted. "I can do this, Avie. I'll take his place and help them track the blasted firebird. Then I'll bring back what I can for father."

  We both eyed our father.

  "How are we going to stop him from trying to leave?" she whispered, her shoulders slumping in defeat.

  I crooked a finger toward Eloya. "It's a good thing our sweet, dear little sister has been studying herbal lore."

  4

  "Why Master Bane, you look much improved since the last time we saw you." The wolvren's eyes glowed in the morning light, and his thick black hair was brushed rakishly across his temples as I stomped out into the yard.

  "Shut up," I hissed, as I dragged my father's pack over my shoulders, and slipped my arms through it. Horses stamped as the prince's men moved about, securing girths and dragging stirrups down their lengths with a meaty slap. Nobody else had spotted me yet. I could hear the prince laughing at something his huntmaster was saying, which seemed oddly out of place, for I hadn't picked Hussar as the type to own a sense of humor.

  And I'd have to be careful of him out there in those woods.

  I didn't have a choice in going, however.

  A little nightsbane in father's tea meant he'd sleep through the day, and wake to find us many hours gone. He'd
be furious, but it was for the best.

  He'd understand when we returned.

  "The huntmaster won't like it," Casimir murmured. Not for him the dulcet tones of his master. Every word he spoke was half growl.

  Or maybe that was just my presence. He didn't seem to like me very much.

  "He doesn't have to like it. I know the forests as well as my father does, and frankly, I'm more likely to survive it. Father took a turn for the worst."

  "In an hour?"

  "In an hour."

  The wolvren leaned closer, his musky scent enveloping me. "That almost sounded like the truth," he whispered in my ear, "but your scent is all wrong."

  I looked up, finding his face only an inch from mine. My heart skipped a beat. Why couldn't it be the prince who stirred the blood through my veins the way Casimir did? "My scent?"

  Thick lashes obscured his eyes as he glanced down over my hunting leathers. "You smell like leather, soap, nightsbane... and a lie."

  "What's this?" barked a loud voice, making us both spring apart.

  Hussar glowered at me, his morning's beard black against his jaw. Every man in the company turned to stare.

  "You wanted a tracker," I said, squaring my shoulders. "And now you have one. My father hasn't the strength to make it to the Heart, and I know the way."

  "I asked for a hunter," Hussar snapped, grabbing me by the upper arm. "Not a scrawny girl who'd turn up her toes at the first sign of blood."

  "I'm seventeen," I replied tartly. "And I'm not squeamish."

  As if to emphasize this fact, I strode through the group, ignoring the faint smile of Prince Evaron and heading toward the sacrifice stone. The pigeon I'd caught earlier wasn't ideal, but it would have to do. I wasn't sacrificing one of our chickens or lambs for a king's fool quest.

  No matter how much gold he was paying us.

  Dragging out the small broken body, I knelt beside the stone. "Vashta watch over me." Then I slit it open from breast to tail, feeling the warm blood ooze over my fingers. I painted the trident on my forehead in a symbol of the three saints of the forest; Vashta, the huntress; Ermady, the trickster; and Rior, the shadow.