The Destiny Series Boxed Set: Books 1-3

by Christine Grey

  Not that one, you dolt, came the voice she’d heard in her dream, seeming to originate from the sword in her hand and from somewhere in her head, at exactly the same time.

  Dearra took in what had just happened, her hands frozen and extended above her head, poised to strike. Did the sword just speak to me?It couldn’t be!

  Dearra realized she was standing stock still, her sword in her hand, feet from death. Why wasn’t she dead already? she wondered, as she tore her eyes from the sword and looked again at the young warrior standing across from her.

  His hand, too, was poised as if to strike, but he remained frozen as she was. He stared at Dearra, his eyes taking in every inch of her, from her mud caked boots all the way up to the smudge of dirt on her nose. He seemed almost fascinated by the strands of hair whipping furiously about her face, having escaped the braid she wore.

  It was incredible, but Dearra actually felt a maidenly blush creep into her cheeks as their eyes met and held before he crumpled to the ground in a heap, no longer moving. Dearra looked to the spot just behind where the young warrior had been standing, only to see Daniel with a self-satisfied grin on his face. Daniel dropped the club he had used against the strange Breken’s head, and replaced the now useless stick with his own sword.

  “Didn’t see a reason to damage my blade,” he stated, matter-of-factly, “Easy pickings when you distract them for me, Dearra. Nice work!” And then he trotted off in search of more Breken to add to his total.

  She watched Daniel run off, clearly enjoying himself, too stunned to speak. She looked down at her feet and felt a strange sense of pity and sadness over the loss of this particular Breken. Dearra shook her head in frustration with herself (he was a Breken, after all), and after another brief glance at the handsome, young warrior, followed after Daniel.

  The tempo of the battle ebbed and flowed, first seeming to lean in favor of the Breken, and then shifting to lean in favor of the Maj, until a low note blown on a distant horn sounded from one of the Breken ships. As one, the enemy turned and took flight, the warriors of Maj following their retreat.

  A sense of jubilation filled the Maj as they watched the last Breken leave their shores in haste. It was over! They had scattered and defeated the enemy! Never had they known such a one sided victory against their most hated and feared adversary. The people gathered to their lord, questioning their victory as it seemed almost too good to be true.

  “Where’s Dearra? Where’s my daughter?” Hugh bellowed over the singing and celebration.

  “Here, Father! I’m here.” Dearra skipped into the excited crowd of people, and threw her free arm around her father, the other hand still clutching her sword.

  Hugh brought both arms around Dearra, and held her to him in a warm embrace. He lowered his head closer to her ear so that only she would hear him, and whispered, “We have much to discuss, my daughter.”

  Dearra bit lightly on her bottom lip in nervous anticipation of that conversation. She nodded her assent and continued to cling to her father.

  “To the caves!” Hugh said with a smile that lit his whole face. “Let us go to the rest of our people and let them know the danger has passed. There’s a feast to be prepared, and songs of victory to be sung. My own daughter may even have a story or two to tell.” Hugh grinned proudly at Dearra who blushed at the praise and the cheers of the people around her.

  They walked together toward the caves, and the people hiding within came out to meet them when they heard the songs and laughter. Loved ones raced into each other’s arms. Fathers tossed children into the air, enjoying the squeals of delight from the little ones as they flew first up and then down into the safety of their fathers’ strong arms.

  “Phillip! Pip, boy! Come and greet your father!” Hugh’s joy beamed as he searched the milling children for his wayward son.

  Unsteady feet pulled Meggy toward Lord Hugh, her face pasty white, her lip trembling as she spoke. “Phillip isn’t with you, my lord?” Her voice came out shaking almost as badly as Meggy, herself.

  The words took a moment to reach through Hugh’s elation, but when they did, he grabbed Meggy by the upper arms and lifted her cleanly from the ground. Shocked, the people went deathly silent.

  Hugh was rigid with fear, and his fingers dug savagely into Meggy’s arms. He shook her roughly, and bellowed into her face, “What are you talking about? Why would he be with me? You were to be watching him! You! Where is my son? Speak Meggy! Where is my son?”

  Dafyd’s own strong hands were on Hugh’s arm now, and he spoke as calmly as he could. “Lord, release my wife.”

  Hugh looked into Meggy’s eyes, saw the tears that ran freely down her face, and then looked to his own hands clamped like vices around the soft flesh of her arms. He set her down, and spoke gently to both Dafyd and Meggy. “Forgive me.”

  The look of humiliation on his face coupled with the fear he felt for his son, went to Meggy’s own, soft heart. Dafyd took his hand from Hugh’s arm and stepped back. Meggy took a step forward, and lay her gentle palm against Hugh’s face, forgiveness and sympathy in her eyes. “We came directly here as you ordered,” she said rapidly, for time was of the essence now. Phillip was in the rear helping to watch over the little ones. I saw him enter the cave with the others, and he seemed to be helping as best he could, but after we had been here for some time I noticed he was gone. We all searched for him, Lord, but we could not risk leaving the cave and drawing the Breken to the other children. I swear to you, I thought he had gone to join you. He is such a little man now, and so like his sister.” Meggy choked on the sob she desperately tried to contain.

  “Daniel, Eldan, Dearra, with me!” Hugh boomed. “The rest of you, fan out and search!”

  The joy of victory turned to desperation as every person not badly injured ran, walked, or limped in search of the little boy. Hugh fought back the crippling fear he felt, and ran wildly to the beach and the retreating Breken ships. The sight that greeted him when he arrived was like an icy dagger plunged straight into his heart. All four of Maj’s ships were in flames. Clouds of thick, black smoke billowed in the air as the fire licked at the sails and jumped from one rope to another in the rigging. But that was nothing at all when compared to the sight of his son gripped tightly in the arms of a Breken warrior, his legs kicking wildly in desperation. His Breken captor smiled a cruel grin as Pip called out to his father, terror evident in his voice. Hugh watched in horror as the ship slipped silently into the fog.

  Dearra sank to her knees. Sobs of pain and grief racked her small frame, and she collapsed to the ground, curled into a tight ball. Never had she known this kind of crippling pain. Even the sadness of her mother’s death had not touched her so deeply. While her mother waited for them in Heaven, Pip went into Hell itself, accompanied by the vile Breken, who would not care that he was just a sweet little boy. What hideous future awaited him in that foul land the Breken called home?

  Hugh was no less crushed by Pip’s abduction, but as leader of Maj, he fought to control that pain. His shame over his behavior with Meggy still fresh in his mind, he would not allow himself to lose control again. His people needed his strength as did his daughter, and he feared that if he let himself slip again, he might completely lose himself to a darkness from which there would be no return.

  Hugh leaned down, scooped his daughter into his arms, and whispered to her, “We’ll get him back, Dearra. I swear we’ll get him back.”

  Daniel took off the heavy, leather vest he wore and wrapped it around the hilt of Dearra’s sword. Praying the leather would be enough to protect his already damaged fingers, he gently lifted the sword, and then followed behind Hugh and Dearra as they made their way back to the castle. It wasn’t far, but time seemed to lose all meaning as they trudged in silence.

  The people of Maj kept a respectful distance from the small procession that made their way through the gates and headed toward the main building. They were all in a state of shock. One moment they had been singing and laugh
ing, and only heartbeats later their world had been completely changed.

  Hugh’s arms never showed the least sign of strain, nor did his step falter as he carried Dearra up and around the winding stair to her room. He used his booted foot to nudge open her chamber door without breaking stride. Dearra made small keening sounds, but did not speak. Hugh lay his daughter gently down on her bed and turned quietly from the room.

  Daniel looked down with unblinking eyes at Dearra’s form, curled on her side. He was torn between trying to offer comfort where there could be none, and following Hugh. Knowing there was nothing he could do for Dearra at the moment, he chose the latter. He set the sword beside her on the bed and left the room, and pulled the door softly shut behind him.

  Dearra roused slightly and reached a hesitant hand out to tug the sword closer to her side, taking comfort in its cool and solid strength. What was she going to do? The Breken had Pip. The Maj ships were destroyed. Many of the Maj were injured. It was hopeless.

  Well, then, if it’s hopeless, you may as well just jump off the nearest cliff and be done with it.

  Chapter 7

  Dearra bolted upright at the voice that seemed to come from all around her and inside her head at the same time.

  “Who is it? Who’s there?” She meant to speak with authoritative calm, but the words came out in a pitiful squeak.

  You really aren’t very bright, are you? came the response, the voice flowing around her and through her.

  She leapt from the bed, dropped to the floor, and looked beneath it.

  Not even warm, taunted the voice.

  Dearra sprang to the window and tore aside the heavy drapery…nothing.

  It will come to you. I know you can do this. Connect the dots, girl.

  Dearra’s gaze drifted back to her bed and the sword that waited for her on top of the soft coverlet. But it couldn’t be, could it? It was impossible, wasn’t it? Dearra took a small, tentative step back toward the sword. What else could it be? She took another step.

  Ah, success! There may be hope for you after all, girl.

  Coming to a stop at the bedside, Dearra let her weak knees have their way, and she sank to the floor in shock.

  “How are you…? I mean…what are you…? I mean…Wow! You can talk!” The words tumbled from her in a confused jumble.

  Yes, yes, very good, girl. You’ve not only managed to grasp the obvious, but you almost succeeded in completing a coherent sentence. Very, very impressive. I can see we’re going to get on famously.

  It was impressive, when you considered it, Dearra thought, that without facial expression to assist, one could convey that level of sarcasm.

  Thank you; I try.

  “Have you always been able to talk?”

  Certainly. I am incredibly intelligent, even for my kind.

  “Your kind? Are there other swords like you?”

  Of course not; I am quite unique. And as to ‘my kind’, well, that is a story for another day, if I decide I can tolerate you well enough to share that kind of personal information with you.

  Dearra sniffed lightly. “Not too full of yourself, are you?”

  The sword paused, as if considering the question seriously before responding. No, I should think I am full of myself just the right amount.

  Dearra wrapped her arms around herself as a fit of giggles shook her from head to toe. She slowly regained control, as the events of only an hour ago came flooding back, and a frown creased her brow.

  The deep sadness was about to take hold again when the sword spoke brusquely. Now, now, none of that. We have much to discuss and much to do, and curling yourself back into a useless ball on the bed won’t get us anywhere. Unless, of course, you wish to reconsider the whole notion of death by cliff. That would certainly save me a fair bit of trouble.

  Dearra scowled at the sword and snapped, “No, I have myself quite under control now, thank you.”

  Good. Now, what else would you like to know before we save Darius?

  “Well, I guess I would like to know…Wait—who’s Darius?”

  Excellent, girl! You grasped that one much more quickly. You’re improving.

  Exasperation dripping from Dearra’s tongue as she fought to control her simmering temper, she said, “Could you please just answer the question?”

  Darius is the Breken warrior I saved from you earlier today. The one that little man so thoughtlessly clubbed on the head.

  Dearra was stunned. “Wait! He lives?” she said.

  Wouldn’t make much sense to save him if he were already dead, would it?

  Dearra was overwhelmed. The image of the handsome Breken warrior shimmered in her mind.Questions came in a steady stream and her pulse quickened. How had he managed to survive such a vicious blow to the head? How did the sword know he was alive, and why was it so important she save him?

  Are you quite finished?

  It was amazing how quickly Dearra had gotten used to someone responding to the thoughts she hadn’t spoken out loud. Strangely, it felt like remembering a skill she had been born with and forgotten from lack of use.

  Firstly, I have no idea. The Breken have hard heads, what can I say? Secondly, I know a lot of things you don’t and do not feel the need to share the whys and hows of it with you, and lastly, because we need him to get back that little brother of yours so you won’t spend the rest of your life in a useless catatonic state. Oh, and he’s your destiny, which I suppose you may find an interesting piece of trivia, though hardly useful.

  Dearra nearly choked. “My what?”

  He’s not going to be your anything if we don’t get moving. They’re about to find him. You may want to hurry things along a bit, girl.

  Scooping the sword from the bed, Dearra raced from her room and down the winding staircase, past the shocked faces of Daniel and Hugh, and out into the courtyard.

  Not knowing what else to do, the men followed behind her. The look they shared clearly conveyed their fear that Dearra had lost her mind, perhaps as a side effect to the terrible loss of Pip. They were not really trying to catch her, just follow her to make sure she wouldn’t hurt herself in her mad dash to Cyrus only new where.

  Coming to a skidding halt at the gate, she asked out loud, “Where now? I can’t remember where I was.”

  Take the path east out of the castle, cross the stream, and you should hear them. Hurry, girl!

  As she sprinted over the bridge, familiar voices came to her. The hatred and anger in their tone made her feet slow to a gentle trot so she could make out what they were saying more clearly.

  “Run him through!”

  “He’s half dead already.”

  “Evil spawn doesn’t deserve to live.”

  Dearra felt shock cross her features as she came around the small clump of bushes that had hidden the scene from view. This was not the behavior she expected from the people of Maj. Certainly, they had a right to be angry; their home had been invaded, their lives put in jeopardy, friends and family injured, and dear Pip had been taken from them. This last thought sent a shiver through her. But to speak with such bitter hatred and eager anticipation of the death of another, even a Breken, made Dearra’s blood run cold. Then she saw him and it all clicked together.

  Jacob stood back and a little away from the others, but there was no doubt in her mind as to who had stirred the people into this angry mob. Jacob was not born to the isle but had joined them three seasons ago. He seemed a quiet and unassuming addition to their group, but wherever trouble was, so too would be Jacob, usually whispering in someone’s ear. Her father tolerated Jacob, hoping that, eventually, the people of Maj would rub off on him, making him into a useful and productive part of the community. Dearra had her doubts as to their potential for success, but it seemed important to her father so she held her tongue.

  Sitting part way up, his back propped against a large stone, Darius held his sword out in front of him. It was a futile gesture; his arm shook so badly from the effort it took simply to hold the
sword, there would be no force behind any swing he could manage. His black hair was matted from the head wound he had received from Daniel, and the blood that had run so freely had dried to form a gruesome mask covering the left side of his face. Dearra’s eyes met his for just a moment, but it was long enough to see recognition flitter across his features.

  “What’s going on here?” she said evenly, meeting each pair of eyes that looked to her own.

  Hugh and Daniel walked around the same cluster of bushes Dearra had passed and moved to stand behind her.

  “I said, what’s going on here?” her tone became sharper.

  Several of the people dropped their heads. Shame washed over them as they realized what they had been about to do.

  Jacob stepped forward, and with no hint of remorse in his voice as he addressed Dearra, said, “We were about to exterminate a pest, Dearra. You’ve been through enough today. Return to the castle, and let us deal with this unpleasant business.”

  “No,” she stated simply.

  Oh, that’s wonderful, girl. I am sure everything will be fine now.

  “You be quiet,” she mumbled. “I can handle this.”

  Concerned glances flitted about the assembled group at what appeared to be Dearra speaking to herself. But one set of eyes widened almost imperceptibly as Darius, from his prone position, looked first at Dearra and then to the sword she held.