The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “I said I would try,” she said, brushing down her dress with both hands.

  “I know you did.” He laughed. “I just didn’t expect that bear of a father of yours to let you out of his sight.” He walked her over to the stream and threw himself down onto the carpet of soft moss, patting the ground beside him.

  She looked down at him for a moment. “That bear, as you call him, is my father. I don’t like it when you talk like that.”

  “Ah, you know I didn’t mean anything by it, lass.” He laughed.

  She sat down on her knees, spreading her dress out in front of her. He hadn’t even complimented her on it yet. Had he even noticed it? So far this wasn’t going the way she’d expected it to. “Tell me about the places you’ve been?” she asked, more to give him something to talk about than from any real interest.

  “Again?” he sighed in mock exasperation. “What do you want to hear about this time? Reylan? The time I went as a caravan guard to Feldane?”

  “Tell me about Celstwin,” she urged, playing with the end of her plait. He’d not noticed her hair either, so far as she could tell. If she were ever to settle with this man he would need some of the edges worn off him. Now where had that thought come from?

  She sat and listened to his talk of the capital, with its marble-clad buildings and soaring spires. Of the merchant fleet that sailed from there, bringing fine wines and spices back from Surama and islands she’s never heard of.

  After a time she moved closer, settling down beside him. He smelled good. Not like the smoke and coal smell of her father. This was more leather and oil and a faint smell of horses. An outside smell.

  They talked as they snacked on the bread and bottle of elderberry wine he’d brought.

  “How did you end up in Carik’s Fort?” she asked. “You make travelling sound much more fun that being cooped up in a fort for years.”

  “It is, more the most part,” he admitted. “There’s a freedom to being on the road, even if you are guarding merchants and travellers. It’s not as dangerous as most would think. Bandits value their own skin more than they do a cartload of wool or turnips. It does have its downsides though.”

  “Winter?” she guessed.

  “Winter’s no fun, no,” he admitted. “Once or twice I’d saved enough up to not have to work, and I managed to hole up for the winter. Other times I wasn’t so lucky. I guess that’s probably how I ended up here. It’s not much of a life but signing on for a three year stint means three warm winters instead of sleeping under a wagon, trying to stay warm.”

  He propped himself up on one arm and moved in, kissing her neck. Erinn froze. It was so fast she hadn’t had time to move, let alone protest. He carried on, taking her silence for encouragement somehow. His weight came down on her, pressing her into the moss even though more than half his weight was on the ground or his other arm. His lips sought and found hers, kissing hungrily and she let out a moan that could have meant anything. His lips were soft for a man, though the stubble scratched at her. Her leg came up, seemingly of its own volition and then his hands were running over her, touching, then pawing.

  “Artor, stop!” she gasped. He didn’t listen but she stiffened as she realised what she’d said. It was the same all over again, even the damned stream was the same!

  “Stop,” she whispered. Then again, louder this time. “Stop!”

  Her knee came up, sharp and hard and he stiffened with a gasp that swiftly became a groan as he rolled off her. She picked herself up, eyes streaming with tears, and ran.

  Branches and thorns clawed at her, scratching and drawing blood even as they ripped at her dress. She was past caring or feeling. She was a wild thing, running on instinct, her mind a mess of shame and hurt. They were right. They’d all been right. She was a tease. She led men on and said no when it started getting serious. Artor had known. He’d told her right. Now Mayden, a grown man! She’d ruined everything again. Even now she could hear the whispers and the laughing following her through the trees.

  The ground dipped unexpectedly and she stumbled, rolling down the steep bank and tumbling into the stream. A rock found her head as she pitched into the water and her vision tilted around her. Ironically it was the water that probably saved her. It was icy cold and the shock of it hitting her face was enough to stop her passing out. She pushed down with one hand, finding the bottom and lifting her face above the surface as she coughed and spat. The blood ran down her face, cutting a path down her nose and dripping into the water. Tiny red clouds bloomed in the stream, born in an instant, and then torn away by the current.

  She crawled to the far bank, not quite trusting herself to stand yet, and huddled on the ground as the water streamed from her dress. “Stupid girl.” The first words she'd spoken since she fled, and the truest to pass her lips.

  She’d led him on. That’s why he’d been all over her, pawing at her, tearing at her clothes. If she hadn’t screamed…

  Her stomach heaved and she gagged, lurching forward onto her hands as knees as she vomited onto the moss. Her stomach lurching over and over until she had to gasp down snatches of breath between each heave. Finally it stopped and she crawled backwards a couple of feet before collapsing onto the moss. His hands, everywhere. The thought filled her with so much shame and bitterness. Except, they hadn’t been had they? He’d kissed her. But then, she’d been kissing back. His hands had just stroked her face and her neck. He’d laid down with her, laid on her a little but he hadn’t pinned her. Lords and Ladies, she hadn’t screamed at all! That had been Artor, not Mayden. What had she done?

  She cried then. Tears of shame. Tears of anger at herself. The trees caught her sobs and threw them back at her, echoes twisting them into a thousand tiny laughs. The sound shook her and she scrubbed the tears from her face with the back of one hand. Sulking in the woods would do her no good.

  She nearly fell twice until she had the presence of mind to use the tree roots in the bank to help her stand. It was so much darker than she remembered it being. How long had she huddled on the bank of the stream? A fallen branch made a useful crutch and she hobbled across the stream, discovering new aches and pains as she went.

  “Mayden?” she called out. Not that the man would ever want to speak to her again. She tried again, louder this time. “Mayden!”

  It took a ridiculously short time for him to find her. They must have been almost on top of each other. She stepped around a large oak, leaning on the trunk with one hand, and there he was.

  “Erinn! Oh hells, Erinn!” He rushed to her, easing her down to the ground so he could get a look at her forehead.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice too scared to project.

  “Shhh, none of that matters.” He pulled her arm around his shoulders, helping her stand. “Let’s get you back to the fort. We can talk when you’re all cleaned up. Bloody Droos, you’re soaked. Here, take my cloak.”

  “What’s that?” she asked, looking past him into the distance.

  He turned and peered into the deepening murk. “I don’t see anything.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “It sounded like…like laughing.”

  Mayden stood silent, listening. Finally he shook his head and gave her a worried look. “I don’t hear anything. Come on, let’s get you home.”

  They moved slowly. Despite her protests that she was fine, he seemed to think she was made of fine glass and stopped every time she made the faintest whimper.

  They were still half a mile from the gates when the horns came. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and yet no particular direction. They both froze as the haunting notes sounded again, discordant and wild. Erinn looked at him, an unasked question sharing her eyes with the fear that was plain to see.

  “I’ve no idea, Erinn,” he said as he looked around. “It’s not from our men, that’s for sure.”

  They moved faster, the sound of the horns urging them on, though their source remained a mystery. The gates were shut fast against the da
rkness and Mayden pounded hard on the tar-smeared wood until the peep slid open. “Harkis, open the damned gates, you fool!” he hissed as the horns sounded again.

  “Be bloody quick about it then,” the man said through the grate. One side of the gates creaked open just wide enough for them to squeeze through, and then slammed shut, the heavy crossbar falling back into place.

  Mayden turned to Harkis as soon as the crossbar fell “What in the hells are those horns?”

  “Caltus’s bloody balls, girl! What happened to you?” The guard looked Erinn up and down and shot a suspicious look at Mayden.

  “It’s a long story,” Mayden muttered and helped Erinn away from the accusing eyes.

  Harlen found them before they were even close to her bunkhouse. He came down the narrow street like an angry bear, roaring his rage and frustration.

  One burn-scarred paw took her from Mayden’s side, pulling her close. “Lords and Ladies, Erinn. What happened?”

  “It’s a long story, Da,” she managed, stealing Mayden’s line. “Let me tell it once I’m cleaned up?”

  He held her at arm’s length, searching her eyes for something for a moment before he gave a non-committal grunt.

  He put an arm around her and started towards the bunkhouse, making sure she was still moving before he turned back to Mayden. Harlen’s fist lashed out so fast Mayden didn’t even have time to flinch and he was lifted off his feet as the smith clenched his fist tight around his shirt. “If I find you’ve harmed one single hair,” he said, the threat hanging heavy from each syllable as the soldier’s feet dangled helplessly.

  Erinn tugged at his arm. “It wasn’t him, Da. Stop it. Put him down!”

  The horns sounded again, low and mournful, and the sound rolled through the fort like a wave. Harlen lowered Mayden to the ground as he looked first to the walls and then up at the rising moon. Trumpets were calling out on the walls and the sound of running feet and jangling armour filled the night. In seconds the evening had gone from still to frantic and Harlen was wide eyed despite his calm, serious voice as he looked to his daughter.

  “The fae,” he said. “Get to the forge, Erin. Get some iron around you,” he said, his voice little louder than the wind that had picked up and was tossing leaves along the street.

  “What’s going on? Where are those horns coming from?” Mayden asked.

  “It’s the fae,” Harlen said again, face grim.

  Mayden looked at him like he was an idiot. “The fae? What, fairies?”

  Erinn wheeled on him in shock. “You don’t know? They didn’t tell you?”

  “Get to the forge, Erinn,” Harlen repeated. “I’ve got to find that idiot commander.”

  “I’ll take her,” Mayden told him, the threats forgotten in the face of the huge smith’s urgency. “Sarenson will probably be in the officer’s mess at this hour. Head for the barracks. Anyone can take you from there.”

  Harlen gave the man a look, and then a curt nod of approval before he turned and ran towards the stone wall of the fort.

  “Let’s go,” Mayden said, reaching to pull her arm about his shoulders again.

  They did not speak. The fort was alive with the shouts of men rushing to their posts and the slamming of doors. The wind grew stronger still, whipping loose leaves at them and tugging at Erinn’s tattered dress.

  “Where are you going?” Erinn cried, looking about her in dismay. “The forge is the other way!”

  “I wasn’t thinking,” Mayden admitted. “Let’s get you to the bunkhouse. You can get cleaned up there and get out of this wind at least.”

  A horn sang out so close it drove both their hands to their ears. Erinn matched Mayden’s look of shock and confusion as they both searched for the source of the noise, and then the night turned to horrors. Between one breath and the next the leaves that flew so close to them transformed, seeming almost to shimmer in the light of the moon as they became tiny winged creatures that hurtled through the streets. They both stared in wonder at the creatures passing them on all sides. A scream of incredible agony carried to Erinn’s ears, and then the spell was broken.

  The swarm of fae’reeth tore through the fort like a vengeful storm, tiny knives clutched in their hands as they spun and wove around those fool enough to be out in the night. Erinn ran, half-dragging Mayden along with her as he stared, mouth agape, at the creatures. The bunkhouse was just ahead of them, door swinging in the wind whipped up by wings beyond counting.

  A group of soldiers staggered around the corner ahead of them, flailing at the creatures spinning around them in a blade-filled whirlwind of wings and flitting purple bodies. Blood already oozed from a thousand tiny cuts and, as the other two staggered onward, the third was suddenly lifted into the air. Small hands buried in his hair or clutched at his clothing as he twisted and screamed. The cuts and slashes increased, matching the tempo of his cries until his throat was opened and the blood fountained as he fell, crashing to the dirt.

  Mayden grabbed her, stirred from inaction by the scene. He sprinted to the side of the bunkhouse, pushing down on her shoulders and urging her into the air gap under the hut, where it rested on thick timber beams. Designed to keep the base of the shelters from rotting, the space was narrow, barely a foot high, but it was enough.

  Erinn clambered under quickly, in a motion halfway between a crawl and a slither. She moved as fast as she dared whilst trying to be quiet. Her life might depend on her silence. She shifted back, making room for Mayden. Instead, a girl was shoved under the hut, shaking and making muffled squeals as she strove to hold in the screams that sought to escape. Erinn wormed closer to her, inching forward on her belly until she could whisper soothing noises into the girl’s ear.

  The footsteps pounding on the floorboards above their heads were soon replaced by screams, the sound somehow all the more awful for being muffled. A drip landed on one cheek and Erinn reached to wipe it away. It wasn’t water. She shifted back in shock as her fingers found the thicker texture of it. As the blood began to drip down between the gaps in the floor Erinn bit down on the back of her hand to keep her screams from joining the chorus above. Pressed close beside her the other girl’s body shook with silent sobs.

  The sounds of battle reached under the hut for them. Swords clashing and yelled orders mingling with the sounds of panicked screams. Blue flashes of light flickered at the edges of her vision and twice deafening crashes sounded but Mayden never joined them. They huddled, too terrified to let each other cry or make a sound louder than a breathy whisper as, all around them, the fort reeled under the onslaught.

  Chapter Nine

  Erinn lay in the darkness, listening. The shouting and screams had finished hours ago. They’d been followed by laughter and strains of a strange music but even that had gone now, cut short by harsh words in a language she couldn’t understand. Now she just listened to the silence, trying hard not to accept what that meant as she watched the darkness under the bunkhouse slowly turn into the dim light of dawn.

  Survivors of the attack that had any real numbers would have been out searching for others by now. Sarenson’s soldiers would have been making their own noise if they’d lived. The silence fit. Carik’s Fort was empty. It was an oversized tomb.

  She was struck with the need to know. To put the fears to rest one way or another. Almost everyone in the world she knew and loved was in Carik’s Fort. She couldn’t just sit in the darkness and hide. They might be wounded. They might need help.

  And yet she didn’t move, she couldn’t. She lay in the mud cursing herself silently for a coward as hot tears ran down her nose and dripped onto her hands.

  Tears turned to frustration and that, in turn, was shouldered aside by hot anger. She wormed her way forward. If the fae were still out there they were welcome to her craven soul.

  “Don’t go out there!” The words were hissed in a voice just edging past a whisper but the desperation and the fear spoke more clearly in their own, far louder, voice.

  Erinn lo
oked back at the girl, just visible in the dim light from the edge of the bunkhouse. “It’s been quiet for hours. We can’t stay under here forever.”

  The girl reached for her and clutched at her dress. “What if those things are still out there?”

  “Then they’re still out there.” Erinn shrugged, surprising herself with her sudden calm, but then a person can only maintain anger or terror for so long. “Look…” She broke off. “I was going to say something then, but I’ve just realised I don’t even know your name.”

  “Kel,” the girl whispered, still holding the fold of fabric in her fist.

  “Look, Kel,” Erinn began again. “If those things are still out there they’ll come for us sooner or later. If I’m going to die I want it to be with the sun on my face not hiding here in the dirt.”

  She took Kel’s wrist and pulled her dress gently from the girl’s grasp. Kel didn’t resist but watched her with huge eyes. The ground was damp as she wormed her way to the edge of the bunkhouse. Not wet, but a dampness that was easily confused with simply being cold. It seeped into her dress and leeched away at the warmth she’d worked so hard to hold on to as she’d clung to Kel in the night.

  The edge of the bunkhouse scraped at her back as she pulled herself out into the light but she didn’t let it slow her. The village was silent. She turned, still in her crouch, and recoiled as she saw the first body only a few feet from her. It was torn and broken, covered in blood and hundreds of slashes. The glimpse before she turned her face away was enough. The uniform and the dark hair. She didn’t need to look closer to know it was Mayden.

  Her scrapes on her back stung as she pressed against the side of the bunkhouse. She would allow herself this one moment, with Kel still under the floor of the building, when she could be human. After this she would be iron, hard and unfeeling.

  A single sob broke from her lips, muffled as she clapped her hands over her mouth. She sniffed and rubbed her eyes with her sleeve before edging her way to the corner of the hut and peering around it.