The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Christine Grey

  Carly was the same age as Dearra. They had grown up together. Carly was everything Dearra was not: quiet, even tempered, and ever-patient. She had soft, brown hair and soft, brown eyes. Slender and smaller than Dearra, she was often the one chosen to send messages to the mainland. Her serene and comforting manner ensured she would both bring and send accurate information, and not let heightened emotions taint her views. She was the perfect sounding board for Dearra, calming her when she had worked herself into an agitated frenzy, and help her to see the situation more clearly. Dearra missed the steady strength of her friend, especially now, as she felt helpless in her efforts to control the thoughts whipping and whirling within her.

  Dearra wasn’t afraid of the imminent battle exactly, she was just more edgy than she could ever remember being before a fight. Of course, the fact that the Breken represented fear, itself, to most Maj, and were also the source of most of their nightmares might have had something to do with it. It wasn’t about the fight, but about the sheer terror of losing loved ones. These enemies came, specifically, to make off with as many slaves as possible, and to kill as many of the rest as they could on the way out. It was destruction and death for no other reason than to satiate their bloodlust and greed. Plus, from what she had been told, the Breken had their own magical abilities. Oh, they fought with weapons just as the Maj did, but they could also call upon ancient magic to aid them in battle. Most powers were subtle, such as being able to twist the light around themselves, just enough so they would appear to be standing in a slightly different spot than where they actually were, or to move with blinding speed, long enough to pop up behind an unsuspecting victim. Yet another was able to create sounds that distracted or disoriented his victims by calling out in the voice of a loved one, plucked from a mind. The ability to make that voice call out as if in pain, at just the right moment, could be quite efficient.

  Dearra pushed away from the tree, roughly. Those thoughts did her no good, serving only to heighten her useless worries. She would deal with the Breken when they came. She sighed quietly to herself, and with a small shake of the head, began walking back toward home.

  Without warning, Daniel was standing in front of her, and she jumped a little in surprise. How had she let herself become so distracted she neither heard nor saw Daniel’s approach? As she looked at her friend, she could see he was tense and guarded. She quickly scanned the area around her. Seeing nothing that would give her reason for fear, and since Daniel was still and holding no weapon, she brought her eyes back to him, and cocked a brow in question. Without a word, Daniel set a long, wooden box on the ground in front of her. It was the same box that had piqued her curiosity in the weapons room only the night before. Suddenly, the dull ache in her hand flamed to a sharp and stabbing pain. She gave a shrill yelp, and grasped her right hand in her left. If Daniel thought her behavior strange, he gave no indication, but remained standing as he had been.

  “Open the box, Dearra,” Daniel said, his voice grave and commanding.

  A million questions erupted in her mind, and she asked not a one, but rather, dropped to her knees beside the box. Fighting past the now excruciating pain in her hand, she fumbled with the latches on the wooden case. As she tore the lid open, her head spun and her hands shook. Her brow creased with a look of determination. Still Daniel reacted not at all, but remained, standing over Dearra as her eyes rested on the magnificent sword before her for the first time. There was no question in her mind what it was. The Sword of Cyrus had been described so often in legend, song, and children’s bedtime stories, it was as though she had looked on it every day of her life.

  Dearra expected to burst into white hot flames as her hand slowly reached for the great weapon. The anguish was so tremendous at that point, she wondered how she was able to think straight, and yet her hand continued to reach, until, at last, it came to rest on the hilt of Maj’s most treasured relic. In that instant, the pain was gone. It did not diminish or fade, but was simply gone.

  She lifted the sword from its simple case and held it up to her eyes. Etched finely in the blade were magnificent runes that glimmered and sparkled, and the large, brilliant gem at the hilt flashed as she turned the sword left and right, testing its weight in her hand. It should have been heavy. Strong as she was from years of practice, Dearra was too small to handle a sword this size, but this felt almost light in her grip and perfectly balanced. She stood, and backing away from Daniel, made a sweeping arc with the blade.

  Isn’t the blade supposed to be hot, or at least unusually warm? Dearra mused. She continued to swing the weapon and get to know the feel of it in her hand. This blade is cool instead, comforting, like a breeze off the sea on a summer afternoon. I guess not all legends are true after all.

  “The sword belongs to you now, Dearra,” Daniel said, disrupting Dearra’s thoughts.

  “How…?” she began, and then ended when she realized she didn’t really know what to say or ask. Though she hadn’t realized it was missing until she found it, the sword was hers, and seemed like it had always been. A sense of calm settled over her. She looked at Daniel and simply nodded her head.

  “After all these years, I am sure it had to be you, and it had to be now, I don’t know why. Perhaps the rest of it will be revealed in time, perhaps not, who can know for sure?

  “Come on, now, Dearra. We have to be getting back.”

  “Uh huh, back …right.” Dearra nodded and continued to stare at the sword.

  Daniel began the long trek back, taking her by the elbow in order to guide the bemused young woman as they walked.

  Dearra’s mind began to clear as they continued their hike, and when it did, she started speaking rapidly, with child-like enthusiasm. “You’ll have to start training me right away. I’m not used to a sword quite this long. Do you think Father will be angry? No, how could he be? I mean, if you say it’s alright, he will know it’s alright, right? I’ll need a scabbard for the blade. I can’t go around with it like this; I’ll cut my leg off. See how fine the edge is, Daniel? I’ll bet there isn’t a finer sword in all the realms.”

  “Peace, Dearra, you’re making my head split. Yes, we will begin your training, and yes, you will need a scabbard.”

  “And Father?” Dearra asked, a little frown marring her face.

  “Your father will understand,” Daniel said reassuringly, though he did have some doubts of his own.

  “One thing is odd,” Dearra mumbled half to herself.

  Daniel couldn’t help himself. He roared with laughter, stopped in his tracks, and turned to face Dearra. “Just one thing?” he asked. “Truly, you have a unique view of the world if, standing there holding the Sword of Cyrus, you can say you find only one thing odd.”

  Dearra wrinkled her nose at Daniel, her expression scolding him. “Okay, okay, more than one thing, but one thing in particular. I had always heard how the blade was warm to the touch, and sometimes even hot.”

  “Yes, that’s true.” Daniel looked at her questioningly.

  “Well, this blade is cool.”

  “Really? That’s strange.” Daniel shook his head at the unusual turn of events. The heat of the blade was as much a part of it as the runes or the eye-like gem on the hilt. Perhaps something was wrong. Maybe he had made a mistake. Worry etched his forehead. He reached out a hand, looked at Dearra, and said, “May I?”

  She hesitated, but only for a moment, before handing the blade to Daniel. His fingers touched the end of the sword near Dearra’s hand, but before she’d had enough time to release her grip on it, Daniel let out a fierce yell of pain. He yanked his hand away, and stuffed the two fingers that had brushed the handle quickly into his mouth.

  “Oh! Let me see! Daniel! Are you ok?” Dearra said.

  Hesitantly, Daniel removed the fingers from his mouth and held them out for her to see. They were blistered, as if they had been held to a fire. The skin around the blisters had already turned an angry red. Daniel looked at the scorched fingers and chuckled softly.
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  “What could possibly be so funny?” Dearra asked, startled by Daniel’s reaction to what surely must be a painful burn.

  “Nope, no mistake,” he said cheerfully, and he continued on his way.

  Dearra followed, shaking her head in confusion. Oh, well, she thought, I rarely understand men, anyway. Why should today be any different?

  Chapter 6

  Dearra and Daniel broke free from the woods where they exited next to the practice field. A lone runner sprinted in their direction, waving frantically as he came.

  “Thank Cyrus I found you!” the runner’s voice said in breathless relief. “They’re here. No warning. None at all.”

  Daniel immediately took control. “How many? Are our ships meeting them now?”

  “Only two ships, but they came out of the fog. Rordan, Eldan, Serah, and Tiersa, along with their crews, were all forced to abandon their ships and make a stand here on the island. They hadn’t had enough time, and would have been easy targets where they were withtheir backs to the reef and nowhere to maneuver.”

  Daniel nodded, taking in the new information.

  “What about the children? Where’s Phillip?” Dearra demanded.

  The runner had been so intent on delivering the information to Daniel, he hadn’t really looked at Dearra until this moment. As he turned to her, he was quick to notice the familiar light blazing within her eyes. Then he saw it. The Sword of Cyrus! In Dearra’s hand! It was unheard of! It was impossible! It was…perfect! For some reason, the incredible sight of little Dearra poised for battle and holding the great Sword of Cyrus seemed wholly natural. To imagine it elsewhere seemed almost absurd.

  Dearra glared at the addled messenger. There would be time for shock later. Why was this dolt just standing there staring at her as if he had never seen her before? “The children!” Dearra shouted. “Where. Are. They?” she continued, enunciating each word as she spoke this time so there would be no confusion.

  The runner snapped out of the daze he found himself in and responded without delay. Anyone who knew Dearra’s temper would say it was one of the smartest things he ever did. “In the caves, Dearra. It was all rather confusing, and people were running everywhere. Your father took things in hand, and we believe all of the children are safely hidden.”

  “And Pip? Was he with the rest?”

  “Yes, yes. You’re father sent him with the very first group out of the castle. You would have been proud of him, Dearra. He took up a position in the rear of the group to look after the little ones and make sure there were no stragglers.”

  A sigh of relief whistled from between her lips, and the sword she held dipped a few inches lower, as some of the anxiety she felt drained away. Now that Pip was safe, she could do what needed to be done with less worry.

  The three of them broke into a run. Dearra struggled a bit to keep pace with her shorter legs and the sword held in one hand, but she managed not to fall more than a pace or two behind.

  As they headed toward the castle, Daniel continued his interrogation of the man. “Where has Hugh set up the main force? How many are with him?”

  The runner’s replies came in short panting breaths. “Three dozen fight on North Beach with Lord Hugh, mostly the captains and crews from the abandoned ships. The Breken seem to be dodging and avoiding us as best they can, which has Lord Hugh concerned, since it isn’t their usual style of attack. When they do engage, the fighting is brutal, but it would appear they are in desperate need of fresh slaves on this run. They seem unwilling to damage the merchandise, so to speak.”

  “Good,” Daniel said. “If they are reluctant to kill, or at least more reluctant than usual, we may suffer lighter losses. At least we can hope. Where are the rest? You said only three dozen on North Beach.”

  “The rest are scattered, Daniel, fighting in groups of three and four. Most are trying to lead the smaller bands of Breken out and away from the caves.”

  “Which caves were used? I thought we’d planned to use one of the Sunrise Caves?” Daniel turned to look at the runner.

  “There wasn’t time,” came the reply. “Sunset Caves were used instead, since they were closer. I’m surprised you didn’t hear them. You must have nearly passed each other in the forest.”

  “Likely they were being as quiet as possible. We, ourselves, were…uh, a little too distracted with our conversation to notice much.” Daniel stole a quick glance back at Dearra and saw the amused expression on her face.

  Dearra’s eyes darted to the sword she held. “Yes. Distracted,” she murmured, almost too quietly to be heard.

  As they raced past the castle and broke out into the open, they noticed two things simultaneously. First, Hugh was in trouble. His back was to a large stone as he fought three Breken at once. Hugh struggled to keep all of them in sight and slap away any blade that came too close, while the Breken batted at him like cats batting at a mouse, springing first in, then out again. Second, an unarmed group of Maj were being herded toward the water’s edge where several small boats waited to take them to the hulking, black ships just off shore.

  “Dearra! Go! Get the others! I have your father!” Daniel yelled. He flung himself in the direction of Hugh and the Breken who were tormenting him.

  Dearra ran in the opposite direction, charging toward the Maj being forced nearer and nearer the water, her rage making her heedless to any danger, but was forced to come to a skidding halt as two war horses, ridden by dark and furious giants, wheeled on her. One of the massive animals reared in the air just inches in front of her, and screamed a terrifying whinny over the sound of the waves and battle. Coming to a rest on all four hooves, it pranced and side stepped before her. She lifted her head to meet the angry glare of her enemy. The second rider had, by this time, turned his own mount back to the group he was forcing toward shore, unconcerned with the little bit of female fluff who stood in front of him.

  “What have we here?” hissed the demon sitting astride his destrier. “A tiny morsel to make my trip home more enjoyable? Did you follow me here because you found yourself unable to resist the urge to join me? Is that why you came running, little mouse?”

  “If you want her, then take her and be done with it,” the second rider said, sounding annoyed. “We’ve work to do.”

  The first rider turned back to Dearra, laughing his cold and cruel laughter, but when his eyes met hers the sound died quickly in his throat. Her eyes flashed, the golden ring around the outside edge of them seeming to consume him in a fiery rage. Steadily, as if in slow motion, Dearra raised her sword into the air. A stray beam of sunlight found its way through the oppressive clouds to illuminate her sword. Then, in a flash too quick to follow with the eye, she brought the sword around in a sweeping arc. The rider brought his own sword around to meet her attack, but her blade whistled past, and too late, he realized her intent. The flat of Dearra’s sword slapped against the giant horse’s flank, and in a fit of panic and pain at the sudden assault, the horse reared high into the air. The crazed animal swung around, catching the other horse in the neck with a sharp hoof, and becoming entangled in the strap of the leather harness it wore.

  “Now! Run!” Dearra shouted to the captives. The horses jostled and lunged blindly in their fear, and Dearra sprang away with the others as the riders struggled for control of their mounts.

  The Maj, led by Hugh and Daniel, succeeded in leading the Breken further inland, away from their ships, and away from the caves. Small scuffles were fought away from the main fray, as groups of Breken broke off to attack where they saw weaknesses, only to rejoin the rest when they were done.

  Hugh watched as best he could as his daughter darted between groups and helped to beat back attacks against those beginning to tire, or those whose skill could not meet that of the Breken they fought. At one point he noticed the sword she carried, and as realization dawned on him, his head snapped around, wide eyed, to meet Daniel’s gaze.

  “Daniel! You did this! What is the meaning of this?” Any anger
he might have felt that his daughter was in possession of the Sword of Cyrus, paled in comparison to his fear that she was fighting with a completely unknown weapon, in what had to be the most serious fight of her life thus far.

  “Lord,” Daniel began, “might I suggest later would be a better time to discuss this, as we seem to be a bit busy right now?”

  Struggling to control two especially vicious opponents, Hugh decided Daniel might have a point.

  “I promise, Lord, just as soon as we…ah…finish up here, I will explain everything,” Daniel said sincerely.

  Only mildly appeased, his worry for Dearra still digging at him, Hugh couldn’t hold back the venom from his voice as he practically spat out the words, “Damn right you will!” before turning his attention back to the fight, having been challenged by yet another foe.

  Dearra was not aware, as she continued her search for anyone who might be in trouble, that her steps had led her further and further from the others. Then, suddenly, she noticed the sounds of fighting had faded, until she could only hear the distant clang as sword met sword. Her steps slowed, and she turned cautiously, senses tingling as adrenaline surged through her veins. She took one step, then another, and then, out of the underbrush, he appeared before her. It took a fraction of a second for her mind to take in the figure looming in front of her. He looked young, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old, though it was hard to tell exactly, because of his height. His skin was a beautiful copper brown. His black hair was long, worn loose to below his shoulders, and cut in layers that framed his face. As with the others, a braid the thickness of her little finger hung longer than the rest of his hair, though from her angle she couldn’t see how far it went down his back. A few stray strands blew softly across his cheek and caressed his jaw. The tattoo on his face, a string of runes that started just above his left eyebrow and curved in a gentle arc out to his left temple and back in again and ending at his cheekbone, looked delicate compared to those of some of his kin. His eyes were different, too. Every Breken she had seen that day had deep black and lifeless eyes, which the stories said was the norm for that race of people. His eyes, however, were a stunning brown, with flecks of gold that shimmered in their depths, making them seem warm. He stood there before her, poised to strike. He was her enemy, the dread of her people, the very definition of evil, and…the most beautiful, amazing, and captivating man she had ever seen. She raised the mighty sword, and stepped as if to defend herself from impending death, and then—