The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I expect we'll make it through. If the worst come to worst, I'll come and ask your father for work.” He laughed at the thought. Whilst Harlen was a nice enough man, he was known to be a harsh taskmaster and Devin could think of nothing worse than being cooped up in a hot forge all day long. It was bad enough that Hannah had made him promise not to hunt anymore for the time being.

  “Listen, Devin, I need to talk to you about something,” she said. The serious expression seemed out of place on her sunny face, and he looked at her in concern.

  “Um, okay.”

  “Not here.” She grabbed his hand, leading him between two of the new cabins the soldiers had built that morning. “It's about your mother. She's been all over town talking to people.”

  “She does do that on occasion, you know?” Devin said, with a crooked smile.

  “I'm serious, Devin,” she scowled. “She told my father to make sure I was kept in tonight. That something was coming. She's scaring people and, to be honest, she's not sounding like herself.”

  “What did she say was coming?” he asked. She'd seemed fine that morning, although a bit quiet. “I'm sure it's nothing,” he added, with a confidence he didn't feel.

  “You'd better find her, Devin,” Erinn said, with a frown. “Some of the things she's saying...well, they aren't good.”

  “Like what?”

  “There's no time, Devin. Just find her.” She darted past him into the street, pausing long enough to give him a serious look and was swallowed up by the crowd.

  He wandered out of the alleyway. Despite the addition of the extra cabins, Widdengate still wasn't large and there were only so many places Hannah could be. The mid-afternoon sun was slanting down, slicing through the haze of sawdust that seemed to have been floating over the village all day. For want of a better idea, he headed for the church.

  His short trip took him past the smithy and he paused for a moment to enjoy the sight of the sparks flying. He might not want to work in there, but ever since he could remember he'd loved watching them.

  “Devin!” a voice called from inside. “Hey Devin! Get in here!”

  He took a hesitant step forwards into the shade of the building and saw Harlen staring out at him. “What are you up to, lad?”

  “I was looking for Hannah,” he replied, feeling a bit foolish.

  “I expect she'll turn up. Come and give me a hand here for a bit.”

  There was no polite way to refuse, and Devin found himself being put to work on a bellows as Harlen pounded away at the forge. By the time he managed to extricate himself, the sun was close to setting. His ears were still ringing from Harlen's hammer strokes as he made his way to the inn.

  ***

  The setting sun was warm on Trallen's shoulders as he walked along the well-trod path to the woods, fuming to himself. It was simply unacceptable. First Erinn and then Hannah. Running around filling people's heads full of stuff and nonsense. “Damned old fool.” he burst out. “He's got the whole town jumping at shadows.” He spat and kicked at a pebble on the track, sending it skittering across the packed dirt and into the grass.

  They'd all been so helpful when he first arrived, Sarah and Hannah especially, settling him in and helping him to get to know the villagers. Sarah had even helped him to organise the choir, though she claimed she hadn't the voice for it herself. And now, since the old man had arrived, all his hard work was beginning to fall apart.

  “Honestly, it's no wonder I need a break,” he muttered.

  He passed into the woods, following the clear path made by woodcutters over the years, and hurried along to the little clearing where he knew Sarah would be waiting. As usual, he felt the combined twinge of guilt and excitement as he walked. He resisted the urge to glance back over his shoulder to check he wasn't being followed.

  It was darker under the trees and cooler without the sun on his black robes. He found the birch easily, and turned to part the bushes and step into the clearing. The expectant smile fell from his face. It was empty. She must be delayed. He knew she'd come, though. She'd not been able to deny him once since that first forbidden encounter in his study. He shuddered slightly, with remembered passion, as he settled down against a broad horse chestnut tree.

  Still, she was married. It was probably part of the attraction, the forbidden nature of it all. It definitely wasn't her mind that drew him to her. He laughed softly to himself at the thought. She was definitely not the sharpest woman in the village. Conniving, certainly, and with an eye to a man with some money, if her miller husband was anything to go by, but no, she didn't have a quick wit. That said, he wasn't meeting her for conversation. They talked, of course, but that was usually afterwards.

  Unbidden, the memory of Hannah came back to him, and he stood without thinking and began to pace back and forth. “It simply makes no sense!” he told the uncaring trees. “Why suddenly become this superstitious fool? She's like a peasant farmer, all of a sudden.” He laughed at himself as he realised what he'd said and turned back towards the tree.

  He stopped dead in his tracks as something fluttered down in front of him. It had the wings of a dragonfly and they shone brightly as they reflected the light of setting sun. He watched, his mouth agape. It was a tiny woman, flying slowly through the clearing, her black hair trailing out behind her.

  She was barely bigger than his hand, but perfectly formed. She wore only the briefest of tunics, which exposed her long smooth legs and bare feet.

  “Beautiful,” he breathed, without realising it was he who spoke.

  Movement caught his eye and he spotted a second figure and then a third. Before he had time to draw three breaths, the clearing was filled with them, the sunlight making their pale purple skin glow as they darted here and there in an aerial dance.

  He became aware of the sounds of their speech and laughter as they dashed past him, and he spun in place, arms outstretched, as they flitted past his fingertips, their gossamer thin wings brushing his skin. He laughed in delight but the sound died on his lips as a hundred tiny heads snapped round to face him, as if only just noticing his presence. They flocked to him, circling him slowly to form a wall of winged bodies.

  He gasped again at the beauty of them, the simple existence of them, despite everything he had learned and preached from the Book of New Days. Then he jerked in pain. He looked down at his hand, wondering at the small trickle of blood oozing from the barely visible slash.

  They circled faster, as he sucked the blood from the cut, and a rasping sound accompanied the glint of a hundred tiny knives. The whirring of their wings became a roar, as they whirled past him in a torrent of purple and flashing teeth.

  The cut on his hand was forgotten as he felt tugs on his robes, first on one shoulder and then on the other. The creatures buffeted him, their bodies striking him with glancing blows that were not enough to make him fall but enough to knock him slightly off balance.

  A long slash across his cheek made him cry out in pain and he blundered forward into the swarm seeking a way out as he held a hand to his cheek. Then the pain was everywhere, as the torrent became a hurricane. He twisted and jerked, as lines of fire appeared all over his body at once, and his robes were shredded to tatters in moments, the pieces falling from him like autumn leaves. He screamed then, high and terrible, as the cuts criss-crossed his body. He heard the winged women laughing and mocking him, as the blood coursed down.

  “Help me, Lord!” he cried out, and then finally, he could take no more and sank to his knees.

  The onslaught stopped. The last thing he saw, as his face met the soft earth, was a purple figure, licking the blood from her pale white knife, no larger than a thorn, and smiling at him coquettishly.

  ***

  Devin pushed his way through the crowd. It seemed every refugee with money, or soldier who had managed to get away from the camp, had made their way to the inn, and it took him a good few minutes to make it to the bar. He had just waved an arm to try and attract Owen's attention, when th
e church bells began to ring.

  The taproom fell silent in moments and people looked nervously at the windows. Someone in the corner hushed a couple of people still speaking loudly. “What's the matter,” one slurred. “Can't you hear the bells properly?”

  “Bjornmen,” a voice carried from the crowd, and then Devin was moving with the press of the crowd as the inn emptied. Devin ran. Later he would not be able to explain it, but he ran towards the church as if his life depended upon it. The bells ceased before he was halfway there, but that just spurred him on.

  As he drew close to the dark stone building, he heard raised voices.

  “…had no right, Hannah. The agreement was only for signs of attack. Not for some feeling you have because of that old fool you have staying with you! I don't know what's come over you. Father Trallen will be furious. Honestly, how are you going to explain this to those that fled into the village? Don't you walk away from me! Hannah!”

  Devin drew to a halt as he watched Hannah stride away from the irate miller's wife. Her head was bowed but, even at this distance, he could see the satisfied smirk on her face. She looked up, noticing him for the first time.

  “Devin?” The single word was filled with concern. “Where's Khorin, I thought he was with you?”

  “I haven't seen him since mid-afternoon.”

  She looked up at the darkening sky and then at the first hints of the full moon rising over the trees. “Oh no!” she whispered. “That stupid, stupid man. I told him to leave them!”

  “What?” He was at her side in two steps. “What is it?”

  “Your fool father. I told him he needed to be inside the walls before sunset.”

  “You know how he is, Hannah,” Devin smiled. “He'll not settle down until the animals are sorted.”

  “You don't understand, Devin. He has to be inside. Something is coming. Something terrible.” She rounded on him and grasped his upper arms firmly. “You have to get him. Run. Steal a horse if need be, but get him!” Her eyes were wild and her hands gripped him hard enough to hurt as she shook him slightly. He felt a sense of dread wash over him and, without another word, he turned and sprinted for the inn.

  The stables were untended at this time of night and Devin slowed his pace, so as not to spook the horses. He didn't bother with saddle or tack, but brought out Bessie, Kainen's serviceable mare that they'd both ridden for years. She wasn't the fastest horse, by any means, but she knew his scent and wouldn't object to carrying him bareback.

  He grabbed a handful of her mane and threw himself upwards, trying not to pull too hard and pressing down on her neck for leverage. Scrambling onto her back, he urged her onwards and set off for the gates at a dead run.

  The gates of the palisade had yet to swing closed, despite the rapid approach of nightfall, and troops and villagers were still passing between them. Devin pressed himself low over Bessie's back and urged her on, ignoring the indignant cries of those who threw themselves out of his way. Something in Hannah's voice had sparked a fear in him. It was a nameless, shapeless fear, but it burned hungrily within him as he charged out through the gates and into the darkness.

  ***

  Khorin darted out of the cottage as he heard the goats cry out, and stopped as he turned the corner of the cottage and saw the figure near the barn.

  “You there!” he shouted. “Hey! What are you doing?” The man was short, probably a boy from the village up to no good. He strode forward and then stumbled to a halt as the clouds parted, and the moonlight spilled across the barn and played over the thing's horns and goat-like hooves. Its eyes shone a deep orange in the reflected light and a grin split its face. “A manling, a manling!” it cried, and ran at him.

  Khorin turned and fled. Like a young child running from a noise in the woods, he ran with no thought of falling, just with all the speed he could muster. And then there were three of them. Peeling out of the darkness, they ran in from both sides. He turned desperately but the closest crashed into him, and they tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms, legs and hooves.

  It was faster to rise than he was and, as he pulled himself up to his knees, they crowded around him, laughing and mocking. One pulled a set of pipes from its belt and played a tune, as it began to dance.

  “A manling, we have found tonight, as our Lady spills her light!” they sang, as they skipped around him.

  Khorin made to stand, but a hoof caught him in the back, knocking him to his hands and knees, as the breath crashed out of him.

  “A steed! A steed!” one of the things cried. “Shall we see if it's for riding?” Khorin felt a weight strike his back as the creature leapt astride him. It grasped his hair in one rough hand as it gripped him tight with its furred legs.

  He bucked, desperately trying to force the thing from his back, but it just held on tighter.

  “It needs to be broken!” cried one.

  “You have a wild steed.” The other laughed, and ripped a stretch of bramble from the ground at its feet. It passed it up to the creature on his back and laughed again. “Ride him. Ride him. Break him for the hunt.” it urged.

  “Bear me steed. Onwards to the hunt!” the creature sitting on him cried, as it whipped the brambles down at his rump and legs. The thorns tore at his trousers and ripped the skin from his bare back. He shot his hand forward to balance, lurching from the pain.

  “That's it, little donkey,” it shouted, in glee. “On. Onwards!”

  Khorin collapsed onto the grass and rolled to one side, throwing the hateful thing from his back. He scrambled to his feet and lurched towards the village, “Help me!” he yelled.

  “Your steed has fled,” said one.

  “Poorly trained,” noted another.

  “Bad donkey, you come back here!”

  They ran after him, catching up with him easily, but making no effort to stop him. Instead, they cavorted around him, shrieking “Run manling, run and hide!” and screeching with laughter. As he passed the cottage, they were on him again. He flew sprawling to the dirt as the hoof caught him high on the shoulder, driving his face into the ground and jarring his head so badly, he thought his teeth must break. Another kick followed, hard to the ribs, and he curled up reflexively, only to have another find the small of his back. A moan of agony broke from him that took the rest of his breath and he squeezed his eyes tight against the pain.

  He forced them open again when he heard the thudding of hooves and, through his tears, saw a horse approaching. The creatures turned to watch it and he took his chance, forcing himself to his knees.

  He was about to run, when he recognised the rider. “Devin!” he shouted, weakly. “Devin, run! Don't stop, just run!” He gasped out the last word, as a hand caught his hair and jerked his head back, the claw-like nails scraping at his scalp.

  “This steed is no good. Too old to train.” Laughter rang out and then he felt the knife at his throat. “Run!” he roared, but his shout was cut off as the blade hissed through his skin. He fell to the ground, gurgling, his hands clutching at his throat as he fought to keep in the jet of blood that arced through his fingers. A distant, small part of him took comfort from the thud of the hoof beats growing distant, and then all was pain and darkness, and the wild laughter.

  Devin wheeled the horse as fast as he dared in the dark, and pushed it into a gallop towards the village. His body shook and his mind reeled as he made it through the gates. He let the horse slow and then stop, sliding numb from her back. He could hear shouts and screams in the distance, but he stumbled, as if half-asleep or drunk, towards the inn. He blundered into the stable, vaguely aware that Bessie had followed him, and then it was all too much. He fell to his knees and then lay on the straw-covered ground, as shock and grief took him with huge wracking sobs. He stayed there, wrapped in shock and grief, as long-buried memories climbed to the surface and images of creatures with burning amber eyes filled his mind.

  ***

  Rhenkin walked the walls, his eyes drifting back over the village and the
camp the new wall had enclosed. The torches had been lit and the evening air was heavy with the smell of burning pitch. The palisade had been erected at a blistering rate, but even so, the defences looked a lot more robust from the outside than they did from within the village. Work on the walkway had only just started, and Rhenkin had only a few hundred feet of wall on which to pace. It was enough to be seen though, and that was what mattered. One of the first things he'd learned about being in command was that you needed to be visible.

  He passed the sentry, who was leaning against the freshly cut wood with an air of utter boredom, as he stared into the darkness beyond the wall.

  “Keep those eyes open, Son,” he said softly, fighting a smile as the young man pulled himself upright.

  The night was still and everything was quiet, despite the earlier business with the church bells. For all the chaos it had caused, Rhenkin had been glad of it. It had proven to be a good practice run and everyone from the outlying farms seemed to have made it into the village.

  He was five feet past the guardsman, when the figure threw itself out of the darkness and bounded up the vertical palisade. It traversed the wall in two easy bounds. He barely had time to catch a glimpse of golden eyes before it was gone, down into the camp and headed for the village. The sentry fell at his feet, blood gushing from his neck, his sword still sheathed.

  Rhenkin threw himself at the ladder. The ground was clear between this stretch of the new wall and the village, and the figure was covering the distance in a shockingly fast time. He sprinted after it and charged into the streets themselves. They were largely deserted, so he had no problems picking his enemy out in the shadows. He ripped his weapons from their sheaths as he ran and screamed out, “Intruder in the camp!”

  He barrelled around a corner and saw the man had crashed into a group of three soldiers. One lay on the ground already, with blood staining his chest black in the dim light. The others circled the man warily, their swords held low as they looked for an opening. As Rhenkin closed the gap, he saw the man dart between the soldiers, with a speed that defied belief. His eyes widened in shock as he drew closer and got his first real look at the attacker as it slashed once, twice, with its knives and was gone. The guardsmen grabbed at the vicious gashes as the blood ran. Giving them no more than a cursory glance, Rhenkin ran onwards after the nightmarish creature.