The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  Finally, after years of searching, his men rooted the droos out. A small gathering of tired old men and women hiding in huts in the woods. A greedy farmer with an empty purse had been supplying them with grain for their animals and he sold information about their whereabouts to Caltus's agents.

  It was a dark business, but they were butchered almost to a man one night, under the full moon, while Caltus hid in his fortress and huddled under his blankets. Only one of the droos was allowed to live and he was dragged back to Caltus and thrown before him in chains. Caltus sat quivering on his gilded throne, staring at this bedraggled old man, who wore only a thin, grey robe and the chains he'd been bound in. Caltus's men demanded to know the location of the treasures of the droos, because none would believe that over centuries of power that they'd hoarded nothing. The old man lay on the cold stones and said nothing, though they beat him and kicked at him with savage blows.

  Finally, Caltus gave the order. and they dragged the droos to chambers far below and had at him with glowing coals and spikes of iron, until he screamed out into the night. Not a word about their treasures did he utter, though. In disgust, Caltus had him brought before his throne one last time and demanded himself to know the nature of their treasure.

  The droos pulled himself up onto his knees and stared Caltus in the eye, shaking slightly from his pains, but showing no fear or deference. “You wish to know the nature of the treasure of the droos, small king?” He cackled, as blood ran from his wounds and his eyes fought to close.

  “Yes!” cried Caltus. “I demand it!”

  “You sit upon it, foolish man.” The droos laughed, and then bent double with a hacking cough, as Caltus screamed at him to make his meaning clear.

  “This whole world was our treasure, you fool,” the droos wheezed, as he lay upon the stone floor. “The treasure of all mankind. We guarded it against a foe more terrible than you.”

  Caltus was enraged. He grabbed a sword from one of his guardsmen and drove it down into the old man's back, twisting and wrenching the blade to force the droos to speak. The droos didn't seem to even notice the pain though, and laughed and howled on the floor. “Spent your life searching for a treasure you already had, and then worked to hand it to an enemy you never knew,” cackled the pitiful man. Then, bright blood boiled from his mouth and he dropped dead at Red-Eye's feet.”

  Samen looked around slowly, meeting each pair of eyes briefly before moving on and catching another. “Some say that was the end of the droos right there. Others say they never existed, that they are just creatures from a tale. That they're stories designed to scare children in the night, like the tales of the fae. But then, there are others who say the droos had a terrible secret, and that they are out there still, hidden away in the dark places of the world, watching, and waiting.”

  He drained his glass in one slow, deliberate motion and rose to his feet, his hand grasping at his stick. Weaving amongst the tables, Samen fought the urge to smile, as questions flew at him like stones, as he made his way to the door and out into the night. The inn came slowly back to life in his wake, conversations starting slowly and quietly, as if its patrons were waking from a deep sleep.

  “He may be a miserable old sot, but he does spin a good tale,” Khorin offered to Devin, as he lifted his drink and peered mournfully in at the dregs. He looked at the young man's tankard. “You going to drink that? We ought to be heading back soon.”

  Devin looked at his ale and was surprised to find it almost untouched. He was not a big drinker, mostly through lack of opportunity, but when Khorin bought him a drink, it didn't usually sit in the cup for long. He took a long drink, savouring the malty taste as his eyes roamed around the, now noisy, taproom.

  “She's grown into a pretty one, I'll give you that. I'd not want to take on her father, though,” Khorin said to him softly. Devin realised he'd been staring unseeing at Erinn, who sat with her father across the room. “I wasn't. I mean, I don't think of her like that. We're just friends. Really,” Devin protested, as Khorin smiled at him, clearly not believing a word of it. Devin drank deeply, hoping the tankard would hide the deep blush on his cheeks, and then caught Erinn smiling back at him from across the room.

  “Are you sure she knows that?” Khorin asked slyly, and laughed as Devin coughed and spluttered into his cup.

  ***

  It moved with caution now, on its graceful hooves, as it stalked towards the farmstead. The satyr stopped and sniffed the air every few steps, licking its lips often with its long, dark tongue before moving on. It moved in a curious fashion, inspecting the windows and the brass door hinges, and looking closely at the lintel above the doorway. It circled the cottage three times, still grinning wildly, before returning to the front door. An old iron ring set into the dark oak served as a knocker and the creature hissed at it, as if fearing it might bite. It grasped hold of it with both hands and wrenched at it forcefully. Its face twisted in pain, as a bright blue light flared from between its hands, accompanied by a faint hissing noise. With a tortured squeal, the nails tore out of the wood and the knocker came free. The sudden force was enough to bowl the creature over backwards, and the knocker came down and landed on its chest.

  With a scream of pain and fury, it batted the iron ring aside, for once heedless of the noise it was making. The cry was high and visceral, like the cry of an owl in the night or a cat fighting. There was another element to it, however, something primeval which spoke eloquently of fury and blood and hurt. The sound carried well in the still night and the animals, still penned in the barn, began to panic at the noise, crashing against their pens and crying out in the inky blackness inside the barn.

  ***

  Hannah didn't mind when Khorin and Devin went to the inn together of an evening. It was nice to see them spending some time together. Devin had changed as he'd grown older, all boys do. He'd changed in different ways, though. He'd always had a guarded way about him, ever since Khorin had first brought him home. It was as if he was never quite sure how what he said would be taken, and if there might be consequences. As he'd become a young man, he'd become more sullen, but then this was the way of boys the world over. He'd also become adept at avoiding his chores and helping Khorin with the farm work, but this also was no different to any of the lads in the village.

  No, it was something almost indefinable. He looked at people just that little bit too long, gauged their reactions just that little bit too carefully. It wasn't that he seemed to be scared of the responses to anything he said, it was more as if he simply didn't understand how people would take things. As if he didn't truly understand people at all.

  So it was nice when they went off to the inn together. She could have gone along of course, but that wouldn't have been the same for them and this way, they could both be that little bit more foolish and free. That said, it was definitely time they were back now. It had been dark outside for a good few hours and the snow was coming down hard. She'd sat for a time in her favourite chair in the corner, sewing in the light of the fire, but it had mostly died down now. She felt little inclined to put more wood on it this late at night.

  She looked around the darkened room and decided it was high time she went off to bed. If the fool men wanted to traipse home through the snow in the middle of the night, then let them! She laughed to herself at the image of them trying to get into the house and up the stairs whilst being quiet. They never drank too much, but they were incapable of not waking her. She was a light sleeper anyway, but the whispered conversations on the stairs were enough to make her split her sides as she lay under the blankets, pretending to still be asleep.

  She left the fire to die on its own and lit a small hand lamp. Little more than stub of candle on a mounting really, but it would light her way. She could have made her way around the cottage with her eyes closed, of course, but she'd never been fond of the dark. Not that she'd ever have admitted that to either Khorin or Devin. Give them something to tease you about and they were on you like a terrier on
a rat. She went up the stairs, stopping after two or three steps. A cup of tea might be just the thing. She smiled as she made her way down into the kitchen, lighting the lamps from her candle's flame. The stove was still hot, not hot enough to boil a kettle full, but enough that she would be able to boil a cup's worth. She busied herself with cup, water and kettle and went into the pantry for the tea leaves.

  A sudden noise from the barn stopped her. The animals were hardly ever this loud. The goat, in particular, was making a frantic bleating. She muttered to herself and glanced through the window. The snow was still coming down hard. Fetching a thick fur-lined cloak from a peg by the door, she lit a large, heavy oil lantern and opened the door to the darkness. The barn was only a two minute walk from the house but it always felt longer at night. She huddled against the snow and cursed herself for not putting on boots. Her slippers were covered in snow already and, really, what was the point in grabbing a cloak if you walked out in felt slippers? She scuttled to the barn quickly and wrenched open the side door, hanging up the lantern on the hook and shutting the door against the weather.

  “What's all this noise about, then?” she asked, in a soothing tone. She didn't feel like soothing, she felt like bed. Shouting at animals rarely soothes them though, so she worked to keep her voice calm, low and even. She looked quickly around the barn but could see nothing amiss. She popped some oats in for the horses, and made sure the goats and sheep had plenty of hay. She even tossed some food to the ducks. “No reason you should miss out is, there?” she said softly, then wondered why she was almost whispering. “Right, you lot, no more noise tonight. Understood?” With that, she stepped out into the snow.

  ***

  The satyr shrunk back against the wall, as the human slipped and slid her way to the barn. Even under the covering of snow and the heavy cloak, there was no mistaking the scent of human female. The smell almost overwhelmed it for a moment. It had been so long since it had touched the flesh of a woman. It shook its head violently, dislodging snow from the thick hair on its head, and fought down the urge to chase after the woman and take her where she stood. It moved up to the side of the cottage and pushed open the door. The smell of iron was stronger in here, but not as strong as it remembered. The kitchen stank of it, the stench of iron and fire grating at its nose. It could spot the hateful items from the small hallway.

  Forcing itself, it moved into the long, low kitchen. The firebox was solid iron and hot, at that. The satyr grimaced and muttered. There was a counter against one wall, under the window and a rack of knives stood close to the sink with its simple pump. The smell was less. The satyr cocked its head, confused. Knives, but not the stench of iron. It moved quickly to the rack and plucked out a long carving knife, the steel shining brightly in the lamplight. The satyr stared at the metal. Gingerly, it reached out a finger and touched the steel, flinching in anticipation. The hard, dark nail scraped down the length of the knife and the satyr laughed in delight. It reached out and licked the blade and then laughed even harder, tossing the knife away. Playing a trill on its flute, it danced and twirled in a joyful caper.

  The barn door slammed in the wind and the sound brought the creature to attention. Fixing its gaze on the window, it cocked its head and turned its ear to the glass. A slow smile spread over its lips, as it tucked the flute back into its belt next to the long bone knives.

  ***

  Hannah pushed the barn door shut and scurried to the house, eager to be inside and warm. That cup of tea was even more appealing now. She stumbled in through the door, a tangle of cloak and lantern. Kicking off her frozen slippers, she danced her feet on the rug by the door, trying to force some heat into her toes from the friction.

  The smell hit her like a wave. An overwhelming scent of musk. She smiled a wicked smile. Khorin must have got back while she was in the barn. She hoped Devin was already in bed. The scent was giving her ideas already. Tossing her cloak carelessly on the floor and primping her hair with one hand, she went in search of him.

  She made her way into the kitchen and stopped dead. The man was tall, dark-haired and definitely not Khorin. Other than that, the features were indistinct but the sheer presence of him was intense. She didn't scream, she didn't start at the sight of him. She couldn't care less who he was. He was here and Khorin was not.

  He smiled broadly and walked confidently towards her. By all that is holy, even the way he moves is sensual! She smiled a shy smile, but there was nothing shy about the way she moved to meet him. He gathered her up in strong arms and she met his kiss fiercely, gasping for air.

  “We must be quick. My husband,” she managed to gasp, before his mouth found her lips again. She buried her hand in his dark hair, caressing the horns on his head. She stiffened in his arms. Horns? He nibbled on her neck lightly, painting a portrait of lust with his lips, and she was lost again.

  They stumbled about the kitchen, crashing from one surface to another in a drunken dance of passion. He threw her back against the work surface, strong hands roaming over her body and tearing at her dress. She grinned and gasped with equal measure, as he ran a calloused hand up her thigh, and they sank sideways to the hard stone floor in front of the stove.

  “Please!” she gasped. It was half request, half order, her mind lost in the passion, in the scent! He moved above her and they rolled slightly towards the stove. A violent shudder ran through his body and he screamed, a shockingly animalistic sound, as he threw himself away from her. A stink of scorched fur suddenly filled the kitchen. He frantically brushed blue sparks from his arm, where it had touched the base of the iron woodstove. Hannah shook her head as if waking, pressed her hands to her cheeks and screamed.

  The man was gone and in his place stood a creature out of legend and nightmare. Slightly shorter than Devin, it had the hooves and legs of a goat, and a thin covering of fur. A dark beard covered its chin and two small horns peeked out from the curly hair atop its head. It glared at her as she screamed and made a strange motion with one hand. A look of confusion crossed its face as nothing happened.

  Hannah stood paralysed with shock until the creature reached behind it and pulled out a long, intricately carved knife from the leather belt that crossed its chest. The weapon was a dull yellow colour and she would have wondered at it, had she not been so terrified. She looked wildly from side to side for anything she could use as a weapon, but she was pressed almost up against the stove and all of the knives were on the counter by the window. She felt down and behind her blindly, her eyes fixed on the creature as it moved slowly towards her, grinning.

  Her fingertips touched a rod of some kind and her hand closed around it even as the monster sprang at her. She grabbed and swung blindly, and the poker slammed into the side of the creature's face. She would have screamed anyway from the sheer terror of the situation, but she was not expecting the explosion of blue sparks that came from the side of the beast's face. It flew across the kitchen, smashing to the floor, as if she'd stuck it with a sledgehammer rather than an iron poker.

  The poker was shaking in her trembling hands, but she clung to it desperately with both fists. The creature rolled slowly and came to its feet. Its face was charred on one side, but its eyes were ablaze with hate, glowing amber in the lamplight. It raised the knife again and she lifted the poker in response. Its swarthy face paled at that, and it turned and bolted for the door, its hooves clattering on the flagstone floor.

  She followed, slowly enough to maintain a distance, but fast enough to watch it flee through the door and into the night. Then, and only then, did she allow herself to sink to the floor, wrap her arms around her knees and sob like a broken child.

  Chapter Nine

  Winter hit the village hard, leaping from the shadows whilst some were lulled into complacency by the gentle embrace of autumn. It seemed that hardly had the golden autumn apples been harvested when the first snows fell. The wind howled down from the hills and the little collection of cottages seemed to huddle together against the cold.
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br />   Devin shuffled through the snow, bundled down in thick, heavy furs, as he dragged the sled towards the door of the cottage. It was heavily loaded with wood and, though he'd tried to move smoothly, he already knew he'd have to make another trip to retrieve the logs that had fallen off on the journey from the barn.

  The day was bright but the sun seemed to do nothing about the cold. It seemed cruel that the light provided no heat, but yet reflected so blindingly off the snow. The snow had frozen overnight and hadn't softened during the day at all. A thin crust of ice crystals lying on top of the frosty crust tore loose in the wind, flying at his face like a thousand tiny daggers. He cursed into the scarf covering his mouth and held up one mitten-clad hand against the wind, as he unloaded the wood into the bin, and began to trek back for the rest of the logs.

  Thankfully, the snow wasn't deep, just four or five inches. Widdengate only ever seemed to receive either a light dusting, like this one, or a foot or more in one night. In either event, it was a rare thing and Devin was usually glad to see it, until he had to go out into it.

  He was thoroughly frozen by the time he had stomped his way down the steps and into the cottage. He paused only long enough to kick the worst of the snow from his boots, before slamming the door hard behind him. He stripped off the furs, soaking in the heat from the woodstove. Water was already pooling around his feet and he looked around for a cloth to wipe it up with. He had just walked across the kitchen towards the sink and pump when shouting from above froze him in his tracks.