Tales Of Nevaeh: The Trilogy and Backstory of the Epic Sci-Fi Fantasy Series Tales Of Nevaeh: (The 4 Book Bundled Box Set)

by David Wind

  From above, Gaalrie’s warning tugged within her mind and she stopped thinking. He comes. She stood, let her senses expand, and shot off into the thicker woods.

  Racing through the forest, zigzagging between trees like a mad weaver creating a bewildering drapery, Areenna moved with the swiftness of a rantor on hunt. Above her, the foundling treygone she had rescued and bonded with four years before flew in pace with her running, its six foot wingspread rode the currents above the treetops. The thickness of the forest prevented her from seeing her pursuer through her aoutem’s eyes, yet she knew he was close and coming fast; exactly where she wasn’t sure, for he had blocked himself well. She paused for a breath.

  To her left was another giant gazebow tree, its long and heavy branches curved downward to kiss the ground, offering her a degree of protection. To her right stood a tall pine, hundreds of years old, its trunk almost as wide as the gazebow.

  Standing between the two trees, Areenna sought him with her mind. There! He was close. She could not read him through the block, but recognized the complete absence of anything as the block he’d raised around himself. She closed her eyes and drew on her inner power, seeking one of the new abilities gifted to her on the Island. When the heat roared through her abdomen, she created a mind picture of herself and set it under the gazebow tree. She positioned the vision so only the barest glimpse of her arm and shoulder was visible. She moved behind the bole of the tall pine and drew her short-sword. Gaalrie settled on a branch above her. She slowed her breathing, knowing she could not hold this ability for long.

  Thirty seconds later came the faint echoes of dead twigs and old leaves crunching beneath boots. She drew in a slow breath.

  Emerging from behind a small cluster of trees to her left, tall and broad, black hair hanging to his shoulders, and gray eyes searching everywhere, Mikaal of Tolemac stepped between the gazebow and the pine, took three steps, and turned. He spotted the mind picture hidden by the branches.

  When he moved toward the gazebow, she launched herself from behind the tree. She was on him in three strides, her shortsword swinging in a deadly killing stroke.

  Before the blade reached him, he spun and caught her sword on his longsword. The ring of metal upon metal echoed loudly in the quiet forest. A smile broke across his face. Good!

  “Good? Is that all it was?” she asked aloud, lowering her sword and sheathing it. “Anyone else would not have known I was behind them.”

  I am not anyone else, Mikaal told her in their wordless way.

  True, she replied, returning his smile with her own. “Let’s rest for a minute. We’ve been at this for hours.”

  Mikaal lowered himself to the mossy grass and Areenna did the same. Sighing pleasantly, she looked at the sky. The sun had crested three hours earlier and was deep into its western descent. Rays of staggered sunlight, filtered beams of yellow and white, slipped through the tree branches of the forest near the border of Tolemac, at the edge of the Southern Outlands. These shafts of light, like fences separating the trees, marked the boundaries of the training field Areenna and Mikaal had been using for the past months. Here, away from prying eyes, and for days at a time, they worked on their abilities, sharpening them, practicing each until they were available at the merest hint of a thought.

  Here, they worked on their physical fighting abilities—sword work, bow work and knife training. Mikaal, halfway through his twentieth year, was the equal of any warrior of Nevaeh; at eighteen, Areenna, under his tutelage was not far behind.

  Yet more potent than the training of blade and shaft was the understanding of their special abilities. Areenna’s abilities had grown twenty fold since the Island. Still her most powerful weapon was the blue-white light she could wield to stop or destroy an opponent, while Mikaal’s ability with fire had grown into a weapon both fierce and fearful.

  “My father’s Sixes will be here shortly,” Mikaal announced, offering her water from his gourd. The ‘Six groups’ were his father’s specially trained guards—trained in the same manner Roth had been trained in the twenty-second century, before boarding the starship that had kept him alive and in stasis for three thousand years.

  Our final training, yes? she asked, using thought rather than word as she removed her padded leather tunic to allow her skin to cool in the chilled air. The short-sleeved undergarment was damp with sweat. While the weather in Tolemac was never too cold, this winter had been one of the coldest in many years. For them, it was beneficial, as they had spent the past months acclimating themselves to the cold, in preparation for the Frozen Mountains of the northwest.

  The only bad part of the winter was that instead of leaving for the northwest when they had planned to, the heavy blizzards in the northwest and western dominions caused them a month long delay.

  Watching her, Mikaal traced her features, taking in the smooth lines of her cheekbones set beneath sea green eyes and hesitated only momentarily on her full mouth before dropping to her exposed arms. The lean muscles of her upper arms glowed in the afternoon light. “If we are to leave in three days, today will be our last here,” Mikaal agreed.

  “Are you sure about the Six?”

  Mikaal’s smile was gentle, his nod emphatic. “They will be a good test. We must know whether we can handle fighters of their level, individually and as a team.”

  “But we already know this.”

  His smile faded, his voice turned low and serious. “We, you and I, are good against one or two, but there are no fighters in Nevaeh who are their equal. If we can hold our own against six of them, we will know we are ready, physically, to do what we must.”

  We cannot use our abilities with them. It will not be easy.

  True. Then, aloud, he reminded her, “Today isn’t about how we combine our powers; it’s about how we blend together in physical battle.” He sat straighter, the water skein in his hand forgotten. His eyes glazed momentarily. They come. Put on your leather, they are near.

  Areenna put on her padded leather tunic, closed her eyes and pushed out with her mind. Gaalrie left her roost and flew low through the trees. She joined with Gaalrie and through her aoutem’s eyes, saw the Six moving silently through the woods. She watched their progress while she closed her padded leather tunic, which she would wear beneath the special armor Roth created for her as he had Mikaal.

  Join with me, she requested.

  Mikaal immediately connected with her. Since their testing on the Island, their joining had become fast and natural. He settled within her thoughts, and watched through Gaalrie’s eyes as the six warriors wove toward them in silent passage.

  Charka’s warning came as a tweak to their shared minds when the men passed the kraal and closed in on them. When Mikaal stood, Areenna did the same.

  Leave your sword sheathed until the last second. Let them think us unprepared.

  “Your father said he will have my armor ready tomorrow,” Areenna said aloud. They have surrounded us, she added silently.

  “I know,” he responded, to both her voiced words and her silent ones as well. Now!

  They spun, drawing their weapons and ending up back to back, as the six men charged from behind trees, racing toward Areenna and Mikaal with their swords held high.

  Like all Nevaen men, they were tall, broad, and powerful. Today they wore full battle armor—their bodies encased within hammered metal, the joints of subtle leather. A moment later, they broke into two packs of three and charged.

  Areenna eyed the three who veered toward her. She set herself, her stance solid, just before the first man reached her. Tall and broad-shouldered, the soldier’s sword glinted in the waning sun, its long blade blurring toward her. She moved fast, ducking low and weaving to the left while reaching out with her sword. She struck him hard across his thighs with the flat of her blade, recovered quickly, and blocked the second man’s sword when he attacked from behind.

  The third man swung. She summersaulted forward beneath his blade, rose to her feet, and in a smooth and swi
ft movement, blocked the descending blade of the second man who had recovered and followed her move. The two warriors backed away from her, one in front, the other behind her.

  <><><>

  Mikaal, having taken out the first of his attackers, was backing away from the other two when they struck simultaneously at him. Flashes of sunlight reflected from his sword as he wove a defensible figure eight over and over, deflecting their blades and, instead of back, moved toward them. He sensed Areenna’s battle behind him, but kept his concentration fixed upon his attackers.

  Mikaal watched the two carefully as he parried their thrusts and saw, in a quick exchange, when their eyes met and the one on the left nodded imperceptibly. Something inside him flashed and he saw, to the very last detail, every movement they would make. The man on the right shifted slightly and side stepped. When he did, the one on the left lunged forward in an attempt to push Mikaal toward the other. Instead, Mikaal moved directly to the man on his left, caught his sword with his own blade, and spun. The tip of his blade reached the attacker’s cross guard and with a flick of his wrist, tore the sword from the man’s hand.

  While the sword arced, Mikaal followed through and placed the tip of his sword on the man’s neck. The instant it touched skin, Mikaal lowered the sword and spun to catch the swing from the third man. Behind him, the clash of metal rang loud. The light touch of her mind whispered across his senses and he knew she was holding her own while he dodged a killing blow aimed at his head.

  Mikaal’s eyes locked on his attacker’s, their blades met and held. Just when the man began to withdraw his sword, Mikaal sidestepped, lashed out with his right leg and swept his opponent’s feet from under him. The warrior hit the ground hard and the same instant, Mikaal placed his sword at his throat.

  The fighter released his word, “Well done, My Prince.”

  Mikaal lowered his sword and turned to watch Areenna, who was holding off the other two. He started forward to aid her, but the man he’d just defeated grabbed his leg. “Hold. Let her deal.”

  <><><>

  The two men separated just far enough so Areenna had to face one while the other edged close behind her. Sensing what was about to happen, Areenna let instincts take over—there was only one chance and it had to be used right. When the second man edged past her peripheral vision, she turned to face the first. She feinted with a lunge; the man raised his sword defensively. Twisting in the opposite direction, Areenna dove toward the ground and rolled forward. Like flowing water, she rose behind him, even as the other fighter swung at the space she’d been standing in a half second earlier.

  Gaining her feet before the man could turn, she slammed the flat of her blade against his head and faced the third, who was regaining his balance from his swing. In the heartbeat before he could plant his feet, Areenna pulled her knife from its scabbard and lunged. The knife caught the man just above the groin, slipping into the exact spot between the joining of upper and lower armor. The tip of the blade did not break skin.

  The man dropped his sword, took off his helmet, and stared at the blade, which was slightly above the joining of his legs. “Good choice, Princess,” he praised, eyeing her knife.

  CHAPTER 2

  The evening meal was long over and in a clear, crisp, and cloudless night, a slice of crescent moon hung a quarter way above Tolemac’s main keep. Beneath it, Roth, High King of Nevaeh walked alone on the parapets, his fingers tracing along the smooth stone surface of the surrounding balustrade while he worked out his troubled thoughts. He had a decision to make, and although his wife had urged him toward it, he wasn’t sure if the weight of what was required was worth so much.

  Ten minutes later, his mind made up, he started down. When he reached the second level, he found Enaid waiting for him. Her gray eyes, awash with a mixture of silver and green flecks, stared openly in question.

  When Roth nodded, she reached out and stroked his cheek. “It is for the best. They must know the depth of what they face.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said as he took her hand in his and held it tight. “Too much knowledge can be as harmful as too little.”

  “In certain situations, I disagree not, but for this it is important they know the true magnitude of those who they will face. They must know what those who created this have done and what they remain capable of doing.”

  Roth tried to smile, but failed. “Call them,” he whispered.

  <><><>

  Areenna sat before the flowing fountain in the center of the keep. She saw not the movement of water; rather, she flew on Gaalrie’s wings as her treygone circled the outer reaches of Tolemac on her nightly patrol.

  Ever since returning from the Island, she had followed the same routine as she had since gaining her abilities and finding her aoutem four years ago. Tonight, like all the nights before, the giant treygone flew in search of what might be about. The only difference between now and before was Areenna’s understanding of how insidiously deceptive the Black Sorceress was, and of how desperate she had become since failing to kill Mikaal and her at the Island.

  Over the past few months, there had been a few attempts on them. While none had succeeded, one stood out for her. It had been a month ago, when she’d gone home to visit her father and to make sure all was well in Freemorn. It had been a wonderful homecoming, and being with her father had eased the tensions she had been under for too long.

  Her cousin Tissel had come to act as King Advisor while Areenna was at Tolemac. The daughter of her father’s eldest sister, Tissel was—at almost thirty and an unmarried woman of moderate powers—acting in Areenna’s place as advisor during her absence.

  After spending two days with her father and Tissel, she had gone with Gaalrie to the Blue Desert in search of certain herbs, which grew only there.

  Although cool, winter in Freemorn was warmer than in Tolemac. The Blue Desert was usually even warmer than Freemorn itself, but this season it was not. Areenna wore her padded leather tunic, not because she expected trouble, but because it was both warm and flexible. Three hours after entering the forest leading to the Blue Desert, she finished gathering the herbs and returned to where she had left Hero, her kraal.

  Relaxed and happy, even with the troubling thoughts about Mikaal and the future that laid before them, Areenna felt safe in this place she had known all her life and had no need to maintain any defenses. When she stepped through a grouping of trees, and saw Hero grazing not fifty feet away, a warning flashed through her mind, sent by Gaalrie, who flew above.

  Dropping the bags of herbs when Gaalrie’s mind push hit her, she spun.

  Before completing the turn, she was seeing through Gaalrie’s eyes as the treygone dove at a low branch and struck the back of the man straddling it: one hand rested on the branch, the other gripped a long knife. The man screamed out in pain when the treygone’s three inch talons ripped across his back. He tried to hold onto the branch with his free hand but his desperate one-handed grasp slipped and he crashed to the ground where he lay unmoving, the long bladed knife embedded in his chest.

  From a tree, across from the first, a man jumped to the ground, his sword held in both hands and charged at her. Her power flared instantly—an explosion of heat burst through her body, encasing her hands with crystal blue light.

  The man ran toward her and she sensed darkness swirling about him. She released her power without hesitation. Twin spheres of blue light arrowed at him. He’d stopped as if he’d hit a wall. His sword flew from his hand. His body lifted into the air and with a flick of her wrist, Areenna sent him flying backwards, where he struck the bole of a tree and lay unmoving.

  Gaalrie landed lightly on Areenna’s shoulder. Thank you, my sister.

  In answer, Gaalrie ducked her head and nestled it against Areenna’s before gently lifting skyward.

  Foul traces of the Black Sorceress lingered and Areenna knew she had taken over the two men. It would have been easy for her, as they were exiles living in the wastelands and badlands who b
elieved their physical mutation too severe for them to stay within a dominion of Nevaeh. Although no man or woman, no matter how badly mutated, was ever exiled or cast out of their home dominion because of a physical mutation, most left of their own accord rather than stay among others who were not so unlucky.

  She went to the man. He was unconscious but still lived. The other, the one Gaalrie had knocked from the tree was dead; his knife had been forced through his heart when he’d struck the ground. A wave of sadness struck her as sharply as had Gaalrie’s warning. She understood well how these men could think themselves unwanted by the Nevaens who were not malformed, but to have to live beneath the thumb of one so evil was in itself an undeserved horror.

  She could do nothing for the one who had died, but for the other, there was hope. Kneeling over him, she closed her eyes and grasped both sides of his head. She ignored his badly deformed mouth and unevenly set eyes and concentrated on her ability to heal, and gently pushed her power to him.

  While she worked in the blind darkness of her healing ability, seeing only where he was injured, a stream of memory images flowed into her mind. Rather than fight them and stop helping the man, she let the images play out. Within them, she saw the ugly malformed witch, one handless arm moving before the man’s face. The sorceress’ mouth moved, but Areenna heard no words. A dark mist grew around the evil entity, enveloping her and like a swarm of bees; it shot from her and entered the man and his companion.

  The man stirred and the images faded. Areenna stepped back, her sight fully returned. His eyes, one set an inch higher than the other, flickered open to stare at her. He stiffened and pushed back, his face rigid with fear.

  “Easy,” she whispered. “The fighting is done. How feel you?”

  He blinked several times, his face puzzled. “I... I feel like myself.”

  “You were taken over,” she explained.