The Riven Wyrde Saga
by Graham Austin King
Copyright © Graham Austin-King 2015
Cover Art © Vin Hill 2013
Fae - The Wild Hunt © Graham Austin-King 2014
Fae - The Realm of Twilight © Graham Austin-King 2014
Fae - The Sins of the Wyrde © Graham Austin-King 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or any other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests email [email protected]
This a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and intended to be fictitious.
Table of Contents
Fae - The Wild Hunt
Fae - The Realm of Twilight
Fae - The Sins of the Wyrde
Map
About the Author
Fae - The Wild Hunt
by Graham Austin King
Fae - The Wild Hunt: Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Acknowledgements
For Gillian
Chapter One
Miriam gazed through the small window at the sun as it sank slowly behind the tiled rooftops of Kavtrin. Smoke was rising from the chimney pots, lending a contrast that painted a dirty stain of indigo across the flaming skies. It was a sunset for young lovers and poets, but Miriam was blind to it. Once there had been a time when the sight would have struck a chord within her, but those days seemed long gone to her now. She traced her fingertips idly over the worn and knife-scarred worktop, and sighed as she picked up a damp cloth and began to run it back and forth over the surface. There was nothing to wipe up. The counter was as clean as anyone could make it, but hands need to feel busy and the cloth worked almost unnoticed by her as she stared unseeing out of the window.
She caught sight of her reflection as she turned and she froze in place, one hand coming up to touch her cheek. Her face was lined and drawn. Her once lustrous brown hair was tied back into a severe bun, which only served to highlight the faint touch of grey at her temples. She looked... old? She wondered at herself. Who was this woman looking back at her? How long had it been since she'd really looked at herself? How long since she'd really been herself?
She turned to stir the pot resting on the woodstove, and glanced nervously at the door. The stew was catching again, but he probably wouldn't notice unless it was really badly burned. She was a good cook, she knew she was, but there was only so much a person could do to keep food hot once it was ready. The mutton had stewed for a good six hours and she had been trying to keep it hot for the last four. She glanced at the door again and tutted as she caught herself doing so. Sliding the iron vent in the base of the stove closed, she lifted the pot with a grunt and placed it onto the heavy table.
Her eyes drifted to the simple cot in the corner and she padded over on quiet feet. The only joy she had found in the last fifteen years of her marriage lay sleeping soundly in this small bed. Caerl hadn't really wanted children, but she'd hoped that it would mellow his temper and when Devin came along, he'd seemed to calm for a time. Then of course, he had taken up the drink again.
Creaks and mutterings drifted in from the stairs. She turned, with a smile carefully arranged on her face, as the door opened and Caerl slumped against the frame. She took in all of his appearance in a single glance. The stained and slovenly clothing, the unwashed and unkempt hair, the filthy and scraggly beard. Where, under all of this filth, was the man she had married? The man who had stolen moments with her, risking her father's wrath when she'd been little more than a child herself.
“Hello dear,” she said, forcing lightness into her voice. “How was the marketplace? Would you like some dinner? I made your favourite.”
Caerl grunted, a non-committal noise that could have meant any number of things, and staggered the three steps to the sturdy table before collapsing into a chair. Miriam busied herself with the stew, spooning out a healthy portion into a large earthenware bowl and setting a hunk of bread on the side. She put it down in front of Caerl's slouched form, and stepped quickly away to busy herself in the tiny kitchen. Not that anything needed doing, the rooms were spotless. Living in fear of Caerl's dark moods had turned her into an efficient cleaner, and the fewer reasons she could give him to start off with her, the better.
Caerl dunked the dark peasant bread into the stew and chewed. He shovelled a spoonful into his mouth, and then grimaced and spat. His dark eyes sought her out and seemed to flash in the light from the fire and the oil lamps on the walls.
“This is burnt, woman.” He slurred, seeming to chew out the words from a mouth slack from drink.
“I'm sorry Caerl,” Miriam said, hating herself for the way she sounded. “I tried to keep it warm for you, but it must have caught.”
“Dammit girl, how hard can it be to put some food in a man's belly?” He pressed his hands to the tabletop and stood in a sudden burst, knocking the simple wooden chair to the floor. It made a sharp crack as it splintered. “I run those damned carts all day long for you. Put food on the table and a roof over the head of you and your brat, and you can't even make a decent meal?”
Miriam rankled at him starting on the boy. She knew she ought to keep her head down, just as a rabbit will stay in the warren when a storm is coming, but somehow Caerl always knew what would set her off.
“Well, maybe if you had been home instead of in the tavern three hours ago, it wouldn't have caught,” she muttered, the words spilling from her lips before her good sense could stop them.
Caerl stopped and stared at her with dark eyes for a long moment. A slow smile spread over his stubbled face.
“So, it's my fault is it?”
“No, Caerl. I didn't mean it like that.” She took a step back away from him and began edging along the wall towards the window.
“I work all damned day and this is what I get? Burnt slop I wouldn't feed a dog!” He slammed his hands down on the table, making the bowl jump.
Miriam flinched and turned quickly to see if Devin had woken.
“Dammit, woman. Look at me when I'm talking to you!” He snatched up the bowl and hurled it at the fireplace. It shattered on the woodstove, splattering stew over the walls and onto the hearth where it bubbled and hissed.
Miriam cried out as the bowl smashed, ducking involuntarily as though it had struck her. She cowered down, her hands shielding her face as Caerl stormed towards her with rage dancing in his eyes. She drew back as he came closer and grabbed for her, then skittered along the wall towards the woodstove and the doorway to their own tiny room. Caerl followed swiftly, his movements unimpeded by the ale he stank of, as if the rage had burned the alcohol from him.
“Caerl, don't. Please?” She backed into the darkness of the bedroom. “You'll wake the boy. Try to calm down.”
“Don't you tell me what to do.” He reached for her and managed to grab her hair, pulling it free from the bun, as she twisted and tried to dart away from him. “Who in the hells do you think you are, telling me what t
o do?”
He yanked savagely on her hair, bending her backwards and off-balance as her eyes filled with tears. “You're nothing!” he spat. “That's what you are woman. You know it, and I know it.”
He let go, dropping her to the floor and she curled up tight, balling her fists and pressing them to her face as if to ward off the hate.
“Say it,” he whispered, but she lay silent, biting her cheek to hold in the tears.
“Say it!” he roared, drawing back his foot and kicking her savagely in the ribs with his heavy boot.
Miriam gasped as the pain flooded through her. Her vision was blurred by her tears and she felt him crouch down and grab her by the throat, wrenching her towards him. His calloused hands were rough on the delicate skin of her throat, and she fought to draw in a ragged breath as he squeezed at her neck.
“Don't you ever tell me what to do.” His spittle sprayed onto her cheeks with his words and the stench of stale beer turned her stomach. She began to sob silently as she fled inside herself. Her silence seemed to enrage him more than her defiance had, and he struck her with the back of his hand, the force throwing her to the floor.
“Da?” A small voice carried in from the doorway.
Miriam's eyes flew open in horror and her pain was forgotten. Devin was a slight boy and the nightshirt made him seem all the smaller as he looked up at his father.
“Da, don't hit her,” he said, a world of reproach in his voice.
Miriam flew to her feet as Caerl turned and bristled at the lad.
“You telling me what to do, boy?” he asked in a low dangerous voice as he moved toward the doorway.
“Don't you touch him, Caerl,” she warned. “Don't you dare touch him.”
“Boy needs to know his place,” he muttered, almost to himself, as he looked down at the dark-haired child backing away from him.
Desperately, she reached for him and clung to his arm, trying to hold him back as he dragged her into the kitchen again. Snarling out a curse Caerl struggled to throw her off, turning to face her once more. His face was a mask of pure rage as he struck her with his open hand across the face. This was no slap, his hand was rigid and she staggered backwards into the wall, her head ringing. He stalked towards her as she dashed the tears from her eyes and looked up at him. Her face throbbed and one eye was already starting to swell.
He staggered suddenly as Devin launched himself on his back screaming like a feral cat. Caerl's eyes went wide in shock and then pain as the boy’s nails clawed at his neck. He reached back almost casually, grasping a handful of the nightshirt and threw the boy at his mother.
“You both got no damned respect,” he spat and began to undo the thick leather belt he wore.
“That's enough Caerl,” Miriam snapped, her lips white with anger as she got to her feet, clutching Devin to her skirts as they moved sideways towards the fireplace. He laughed coldly and shook out the belt. Miriam reached out behind her, her hand scrabbling for something, anything. She took up the first thing she touched, the heavy iron ladle from the pot.
“So help me Caerl, if you touch this boy...”
His laugh was frost as she thrust Devin behind her awkwardly. She shrieked as he feinted towards her and she swung wildly with the ladle, missing and spraying stew across the room.
He grinned and lunged again, but this time his balance or the ale betrayed him and he had none of the grace of moments ago. She lashed out, screaming, and the ladle caught him solidly on the temple with a sickening crunch.
Caerl staggered backwards and fell, crashing through the chairs and table before hitting the floor. The silence when it fell, was louder than her screams had ever been. She stood frozen, holding the ladle with both hands. She was dimly aware of Devin behind her, both arms gripping her dress and his face buried in the cloth. Extricating herself from his grasp she crept towards Caerl's prone figure. Blood was seeping slowly from his temple and one nostril, and his eyes were half closed. She looked carefully, but saw no signs of movement. He lay still, seemingly out cold. She felt a wild exultation in her breast but then, just as powerfully, the reality of what she had done washed over her and Miriam was filled with a fear deeper than she had ever known. He would kill her. Her and the boy both, that much was certain. If he didn't kill her, he'd either make her pay so savagely that she begged for death, or he'd have her up before the Justice.
“Devin, sweetheart?” she called softly. “Let's take a trip, just you and me. We'll have an adventure.”
The boy looked at her with huge dark eyes. “Without Da?” he asked in a quiet voice. Miriam nodded.
“Good.” His young face was stone, hard and cold.
Forcing a smile onto her face, she set about grabbing clothes and what little food they had in the house, filling bags while Devin dressed. Taking his hand, she led him to the door and reminded herself to walk normally and calmly into the hallway and down the stairs, even as her mind screamed at her to run.
Kavtrin was not a small city and even at this time in the evening the streets were filled with people. Miriam held tight to Devin with one hand, and the bags with the other, as she tried to thread her way through the crowded streets. Many people were still making their way home from work. Some few hawkers shouted out from street corners, trying to sell this and that. Miriam noticed first one, and then several more evening girls coming to stand under the, as yet, unlit street lamps with their lost and hopeless eyes.
She hurried Devin along the cobbled streets, trying to keep from being forced into the gutters by the sheer weight of traffic. They darted over to the side from time to time to avoid the carts that clattered through with their drivers flicking the whip at the horses and cursing at all who stood in their way. She was only dimly aware of where she was going. It had been so long, she was surprised she even remembered the way. Devin had been silent since they left the house, and she desperately needed to get him into the warm.
Miriam didn't notice the rain when it first started, a soft misting drizzle that was more like spray, but which soon began to soak through her simple woollen dress. It slowly changed into a steady downpour that plastered her long brown hair to her face and made her dress cling to her legs with each step. They were both soaked to the skin as they finally crossed the high cobbled bridge and saw the golden glow of the lamplight coming from the windows of the Broom and Badger. Miriam made her way around to the rear of the inn and pounded on the large oak door as Devin pressed himself hard against her hip. The boy was shaking, not simply shivering, but a solid trembling. Miriam drew in a breath to speak as the door finally opened, but the wide-eyed girl in the doorway pulled them both out of the wet with a gasp.
“Lords and Ladies, look at the state of you two.” she exclaimed. “Boy'll catch his death out in that. So will you! An' what's wrong with the front door anyway?”
“Shalin said I could call on her if ever I needed anything,” Miriam told the blonde girl in a tiny broken voice. The girl looked at her, taking in the deepening bruises, and her face softened. “Ah darlin', you've been through it, haven't you, love?” She hurried them through into the warm kitchen, still filled with the aromas of dinner, and sat them close to the fire set in the long wall.
“You two sit here and I'll find Shalin. I expect you could use something hot inside you too.” She bustled around and set a large bowl in front of Devin, before leaving through the double doors that led into the inn proper.
The kitchen was long and low-beamed, with huge cast-iron ovens set against one wall and a long table filling the centre of the room. It was well-lit with the oil lamps on the walls shedding a warm, comforting light. It smelled of chicken, freshly baked bread, and hope. Miriam let the warmth from the fire soak slowly into her body and watched Devin devour a large bowl of warm apple pie as only a ten year old boy could.
“My stars, Miriam, I never thought I'd see you again!” exclaimed a slim blonde woman from the doorway. Shalin seemed determined to overcome every stereotype about innkeeper's wives. She was
tall and willowy, with a figure that made other women hate her on sight. She was neither matronly nor blousy, though that was not to say she was not beautiful. She had long hair the colour of fine honey, and piercing blue eyes. It would be easy to assume that she was just some young thing the innkeeper had been lucky enough to end up with, but Shalin was far more than a pretty face. She ran the inn with a brisk efficiency that showed in her eyes. This was a woman that commanded loyalty and who no man with a whit of sense would cross. She had once been Miriam's closest friend, and the last things Miriam had said to her had been lies.
“Shalin,” she said with relief as she made her way to the doorway.
“Lords and Ladies woman, look at the state of you,” Shalin muttered as she drew Miriam close into a fierce embrace, ignoring the water that was pooling by her feet. “What's happened to you?”
Miriam sucked in one shuddering breath before spitting out, “Caerl.” The name tore from her throat and carried all the years of venom and fear. All the love and betrayal, the hurt and every bruise. She clung to Shalin, taking strength from the simple knowledge that another adult cared for her. Shalin stroked her hair softly, making hushing noises. “Deena,” she called through into the hallway. “Why don't you get the lad a warm bath and wrap him up in Thomas' old room?”
The girl nodded, smiling at Devin as she held out her hand. “That pie was good wasn't it? I always feel better after coming in from the wet, when I can get something hot inside me. Now, how about we get you out of those wet clothes, into a hot bath, and then find you a nice warm bed?” Devin nodded sleepily and allowed himself to be herded from the room.
“He'll be fine,” Shalin said, stepping back to look at Miriam. “Now, how about we get you warm and you can tell me just what is going on? Go on with Deena and she'll get you one of my robes. You can wrap up in that for now and get dry.”
The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set Page 1