DAW Books Presents
the Finest in Fantasy by
MICKEY ZUCKER REICHERT
FLIGHTLESS FALCON
SPIRIT FOX (with Jennifer Wingert)
The Novels of Nightfall:
THE LEGEND OF NIGHTFALL (Book 1)
THE RETURN OF NIGHTFALL (Book 2)
The Books of Barakhai:
THE BEASTS OF BARAKHAI (Book 1)
THE LOST DRAGONS OF BARAKHAI (Book 2)
The Renshai Trilogy:
THE LAST OF THE RENSHAI (Book 1)
THE WESTERN WIZARD (Book 2)
CHILD OF THUNDER (Book 3)
The Renshai Chronicles:
BEYOND RAGNAROK (Book 1)
PRINCE OF DEMONS (Book 2)
THE CHILDREN OF WRATH (Book 3)
The Renshai Saga:
FLIGHT OF THE RENSHAI (Book 1)
FIELDS OF WRATH (Book 2)
The Bifrost Guardians Omnibus Editions:
VOLUME ONE:
GODSLAYER
SHADOW CLIMBER
DRAGONRANK MASTER
VOLUME TWO:
SHADOW’S REALM
BY CHAOS CURSED
Copyright © 2015 by Miriam S. Zucker.
All Rights Reserved.
Jacket art by Jody A. Lee.
Jacket design by G-Force Design.
DAW Book Collectors No. 1680.
DAW Books are distributed by Penguin Group (USA).
All characters in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
ISBN 978-0-698-13505-5
DAW TRADEMARK REGISTERED U.S. PAT. AND TM. OFF. AND FOREIGN COUNTRIES —MARCA REGISTRADA HECHO EN U.S.A.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Map
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
EPILOGUE
Appendices
To Koby Moore,
who defies explanation,
an enigma wrapped in riddles
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Sheila Gilbert, for her always invaluable assistance, Jody Lee, for her always invaluable cover art, and Mark Moore for his always invaluable invaluability.
Also Sandra Zucker, who never fails to ask, “How’s the writing going?”
SUNLIGHT SEEPED THROUGH the thickly-bunched leaves of the towering kirstal trees, the clearing beneath them riddled with chaotic patches of brilliant light and gray shadow. Ensconced in play with his young mistress, Bobbin could never remember feeling so happy, so comfortable and secure. Then again, remembering was hardly his virtue. To his mind, the world began only nine months earlier, when he had awakened tucked firmly into what turned out to be a doll’s bed.
Mistri toddled toward a wall of shale. Though only a head shorter than her playmate, her thick limbs and proportionately large head aptly demonstrated her youth. She was half his weight but seemed not to notice, dragging him around like a favorite stuffed toy. Bobbin did not quite understand his place in the world, but he never doubted his mistress’ love. She clutched him more fiercely than she did her dolls and insisted on having him beside her every waking moment.
Bobbin glanced toward Mistri’s nursemaid, who perched on the root ball of a fallen tree, alternately peering thoughtfully and writing feverishly on a scrap of parchment. She seemed gigantic compared to her charges, half again as tall and at least twice as broad as Bobbin, though well-proportioned and feminine. He knew humanity came in two distinct sizes: the Masters, like Mistri’s nursemaid, and the Servants who resembled him in size and breadth. Bobbin, however, did not fit in with either.
A movement on a large rock over the shale slope caught Bobbin’s attention. He peered through the checkered light, trying to make out a shape poised above Mistri. Only rocks, it seemed, yet Bobbin still thought he had seen a glimpse of motion. He had just decided to dismiss it as the flutter of loose leaves in wind, when he saw another movement. Gradually, his gaze carved out a dark creature crouched on a huge stone over Mistri’s head.
Suddenly, it pounced.
“No!” Bobbin dove for Mistri. His hands struck her, driving her forward with a gasp of breath. The girl staggered a few steps, lost her balance, and crashed to the ground, wailing. The creature slammed into Bobbin with a force that rattled his teeth, hurling him to the ground. Enormous, curved claws ripped through his clothes to draw a line of blood along his spine. Teeth scored his scalp, and he sensed a jaw powerful enough to crush his skull if he allowed it to close.
Bobbin rolled, throwing off the creature. It dropped back to a crouch, utterly still. Rich brown hair covered its stocky muscular body, and stripes of creamy gold ran from each shoulder, along its flanks, to the base of its short bushy tail. It was smaller than its strength suggested, a quarter to a third of Bobbin’s weight, its length perhaps half his height. Its tail was low, its back seemed slightly arched, its snout pointed and short, its head blunt, broad, and flattened. Widely-set eyes studied Bobbin as it snarled and hissed at him, otherwise unmoving.
Bobbin growled back at the creature, mock lunging with his arms spread wide to increase the appearance of his size. Rather than frighten it, the feigned attack seemed to enrage it, and it sprang at Bobbin again with a speed that belied its previous immobility.
“No, jarfr!” Mistri screamed through tears. “No hurt Bobbin!”
The nursemaid scooped up Mistri and carried her safely away.
This time, Bobbin ducked, and the animal sailed over him. Its scent filled his nostrils, chokingly musky, strong and horrible. The instant its short legs hit the ground, it bunched them again and flew toward him.
Bobbin dredged at the ground with his fingers. He caught up dirt clods and weeds, nothing solid enough to harm the creature. Nevertheless, as it careened toward him, he hurled both handfuls at its face. The debris proved enough to throw off the attack, and its sharp-nailed claws barely grazed his ear as it soared past him again. Wholly fearless, it gathered itself for another attack.
Blood trickled down Bobbin’s back, and cold air seeped through the opening in his undertunic. His head ached. He knew he could not keep this up forever; the beast’s endurance would last far longer th
an his, especially wounded as he was. He dug up more ground, this time rewarded by a fist-sized rock. He yanked it free, his hesitation nearly his downfall. The thing Mistri had called a jarfr flew at him again. This time, Bobbin had no choice but to catch it, to embrace it like a lover. The claws raked his sides. The teeth snapped wildly at his face. The foul odor emanating from it seemed to fill his head and made his eyes water. Struggling with its weight and momentum, Bobbin found himself hard-pressed to raise the rock. It slipped in his grip, forcing him to make a desperate choice. He could grapple fully with the creature while the stone fell or grab for the rock and risk losing track of the jarfr for the instant he did so.
Bobbin looked away just long enough to snag the rock out of the air. The beast took full advantage, seizing Bobbin’s other wrist in its jaws. He could feel the teeth settling into place, prepared to shatter bone. He raised the stone, driving it against the jarfr’s skull between its small and wide-set eyes. The thing barely flinched, but the teeth did ease on his wrist in sudden surprise. Using all his strength, Bobbin slammed the rock against it again, in the same place. This time, something gave. Blood spurted from the wound, and the creature’s hiss became a howling snarl.
Bobbin expected it to release him, but the jaws clamped tighter on his wrist. The claws flailed relentlessly, the hind ones tearing at his thighs, the forelimbs ripping through air to catch and tear his sleeve. Bobbin felt something collapse in his wrist, and agony speared through his entire arm. He could think of nothing except the pain; it consumed him fully. Yet his other hand acted with mindless instinct, hammering the rock repeatedly against the jarfr’s forehead until a hunk of skull detached, and the eyes drifted inward to touch in the center. The jarfr stiffened, then went limp in his arms.
Bobbin sank to the ground as well, focused entirely on his wrist, his vision an empty white plain. He barely heard Mistri’s voice in his ear, sobbing, “Bobbin, Bobbin.” The nursemaid tried to pull her off, then abandoned that job to free the jarfr from Bobbin’s sagging arms with a broken branch. She poked the beast, apparently making certain it was dead. The blood of man and beast smeared all three of them.
The nursemaid did her duty. “Mistri, are you hurt?”
“No.” The girl tightened her grip. “Bobbin hurt. Help Bobbin?” she pleaded, looking up at the woman, teary-eyed.
Bobbin rocked back and forth, trying to divert his attention from the pain. It was diminishing slightly, just enough so that he was becoming aware of the words and actions around him.
The nursemaid crouched beside them, sighing. She clearly saw little reason to assist the man, aside from the frantic entreaties of his mistress. “Where’s he hurt?”
Bobbin held up his injured hand, wrist flopping.
“Ah.” The nursemaid reached for Bobbin.
His first instinct, to pull away, passed quickly. He doubted she could make things much worse.
In fact, she cradled his wrist with such gentleness and warmth that the pain started to noticeably recede. Then, she made a few guttural noises, tossed her head, and normalcy slid quietly back into place. By the time she released him, Bobbin felt only a throbbing ache in a wrist that, only moments before, had felt on fire.
Bobbin stared at his wrist, moving it gingerly to assure it worked again. He had seen the Masters use magic before, and it never ceased to amaze him. He knew he had no such powers, nor did the Servants, and it seemed to him as if magic should not exist at all. Yet, clearly, it did. And now, he knew, it worked on him as well.
Mistri tore a piece off Bobbin’s tattered tunic and awkwardly bound the wrist. Her sweet, childish touch felt as soft and harmless as butterfly wings, and a chill of delight fluttered through him. There was something inherently remarkable about a child’s ministrations that made everything feel acutely sensitive and innocently special. He smiled at her, and she patted his head.
The nursemaid examined Bobbin’s torn back, touching here and there, muttering a few syllables, and the pain faded. Bobbin had not worried about the scratches, despite their depth. Their sting had disappeared beneath the all-consuming agony of his wrist. Finally, she took Mistri’s hand and rose, pulling the girl up with her. She brushed the dirt from her clothing, frowning at the blood smeared across her frock, but clearly realized the girl was not the source of any of it.
“Come, Mistri. Time to go home.”
Mistri nodded, pulling free of her nursemaid’s hand to take Bobbin’s instead. She tugged at his arm.
Worried about the stress on his wrist, Bobbin rose quickly, using only his own power. He looked at the jarfr’s corpse.
Mistri followed his gaze with her own, and the nursemaid looked as well. “Very well, Mistri. We’ll take it with us.” She ran a hand through the pelt, then sniffed her palm and grimaced. “We can wash out the scent, and it’ll make warm scarves and gloves.” She hefted the carcass and easily slung it over one shoulder. It looked small there, despite the wickedly curved claws drooping from its limp paws, its dead lips locked into a permanent snarl.
Thus far, the nursemaid had done everything with a calm manner that suggested nothing out of the ordinary, but a trembling in her fingers, a wobbliness to her steps told Bobbin the attack had shaken her at least as much as him. Only Mistri seemed unaffected, skipping along at his side, his hand clutched fiercely in her pudgy, sticky fist.
As they walked toward the massive, castlelike dwelling that served as home to Mistri’s parents, the girl sang softly to herself, a repetitive tune that Bobbin had come to know well. Along with Mistri, he was learning to speak in stages, though he had not yet done so in the presence of Masters other than Mistri and, now, the single syllable “no” for her nursemaid when the jarfr had first attacked. He knew a slew of nouns and verbs, and even syntax was oozing slowly into his base of knowledge. He had a strange sense that he had once spoken fluently, oddly impossible; and in his dreams he had no trouble communicating freely in a language he did not recognize.
Yet, even as he learned, Bobbin often felt as if he were missing huge parts of conversation, sometimes even the entire thing. Apparently, the language of both Masters and Servants contained a component he had not yet discovered: hand signals, perhaps, tone or timbre, inflection, or facial expression. Despite careful observation, he had not come close to unearthing the method. As a result, they classified him as animal rather than human.
And Bobbin knew he looked the part. Though he closely resembled the Servants in height and general shape, no one would mistake him for one of them. To a man, they had fine reddish hair and green eyes, their figures sleeker and more elegant than his. He had yet to meet one who stood quite as tall or broad as he did, though their size differential was barely noticeable compared to the enormous Masters. Coarse, black hair covered Bobbin’s head in thick curls; and, though he believed himself quite young, he already had to scrape off facial hair every day. It seemed to grow faster and thicker than theirs as well, as though furry was his natural state. His chest sported clumps of inky hair, much darker and thicker than the Masters’ or Servants’, and it even coated his limbs. Mistri clearly liked his fur, grooming it with soft brushes and decorating it with ribbons that made him look silly but never failed to earn a smile from the Masters.
The tiny forest gave way to tightly packed cottages where the Servants lived, all huddled together like sticks in a bundle. Bobbin knew open places like the one they had just left were few and sparse, treasures to savor. Though he had little experience with wild animals, he knew they rarely attacked humans, especially in broad daylight as the jarfr had. He did not know how he knew this, but he suspected the dwindling woodland played a part, forcing the creatures onto smaller and smaller ranges with more competition for prey.
The villagers ceased their normal activities to bow to the nursemaid and her charge and stare curiously at Bobbin. He was a singularity or, at least, something quite rare. He had never met, or heard about, another of his kind
. Mistri had discovered him on the shore, bedraggled and all but dead. She had insisted on bringing him home; and her parents had obliged her, as they usually did. The adults never hesitated to speculate in Bobbin’s presence, but he had only recently managed to understand what they said about him. They seemed to place him in the category of relatively intelligent animal, a distant and primitive relation to the Servants.
The threesome soon reached the mansion, with its inordinately high latches and massive construction. Four Servants on the stoop snapped to attention as they arrived, and Bobbin wondered why his mind always conjured images of swords and spears where there were only rags and brooms. Struggling together, the tiny Servants managed to shove open the massive door for the burdened nursemaid, who nodded her thanks with a friendly smile. The moment they entered the entryway, voices emerged. Three women chatted over tea and honey bread.
Mistri’s mother, Hortens, shared her daughter’s straw-colored hair and bright blue eyes. The other two women wore their reddish locks in tight buns. One was speaking, “. . . one never knows when the tamest animal might turn on you. I wouldn’t trust my precious daughter—”
Stunned by the words, Bobbin acted without thought. He ran to Mistri’s mother, seizing the gigantic hand resting in her lap. “No! Love Mistri. Not hurt Mistri never never.” Frustrated by the limitations of his vocabulary, Bobbin went silent. Only then, he realized he still wore tattered clothing steeped in blood.
Hortens leaped to her feet, screaming. The teacup dropped from her fingers, splashing its hot contents over both of them and smashing on the chair. Shards of crockery skidded across the floor.
Suddenly scalded, Bobbin sprang backward.
“Bobbin save me, Mummy!” Mistri said.
Every eye went suddenly to the child, then to the nursemaid. Apparently, the nursemaid had used that as yet undiscovered form of communication that always confounded Bobbin. Although no words emerged from her mouth, she did a swift acting out of the events, using the corpse to illustrate such points as the creature leaping at Mistri and whirling around Bobbin. Finally, she let it slip to the floor, dangling her wrist as if broken.
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