Breathe (The Destiny Series: Book 1)

by Christine Grey

  Then there was the winter, two seasons past, when the wolves had ventured out of their homes to the north, and one had tried to make off with Meggy and Dafyd’s youngest son, Devon, while he was happily at play on the frozen pond by his home. The wolves were usually content to keep to their part of the island, and they grew fat on a diet of squirrels and rabbits. Their population remained in check as they did not breed every season, as most wolves did, but only every fourth year, seeing as the Alpha female was content with one or two pups, and as life could be cruel, there were no guarantees of even those few seeing adulthood. Dearra still barely suppressed seething rage over the fact that she had been unable to kill the Alpha female. She had tracked her for more than two days, in frigid temperatures. Only Daniel’s influence had kept her from pursuing the she-wolf until either Dearra or the wolf was dead, but this was so much worse than one rogue wolf. She thought of the Breken here, in her home, fighting her friends and family. The golden fire in her eyes burned brightly at the images her imagination conjured. She could not allow those she loved to be harmed. Slowly, she reigned in her temper and brought her breathing under control, until finally, at length, the fire in her eyes cooled to embers.

  Dearra put her hands firmly on the arms of her mother’s chair and pushed herself up. She shook her head briskly as she tried to clear her troubled mind. Brooding in the gloom of a dead women’s sitting room wasn’t going to do her or anyone else any good. It was time for action, not for pity. Squaring her shoulders, she left her sanctuary, and made her way to the one person she knew she could count on for wise counsel and to give her something to do other than feel sorry for herself.

  “Daniel?” Dearra called. She strode into the massive chamber that was the domain of Maj’s weapons master and scanned the room for her friend.

  The weapons room of Maj Castle was smaller in size only to the Great Hall. A long rectangular room, it was unadorned, but still stunning. Rack after rack of every conceivable weapon lined the walls. Swords of every design glimmered and gleamed in the torchlight that lit the room. There were axes, polearms, maces, and clubs, almost too many to count. Along another wall were longbows and crossbows, as well as box after box of finely made arrows and bolts for those weapons. Several large tables filled the center of the room, offering a place to work on weapons, or repair the mostly leather armor that was favored by the people of Maj. Leather offered less protection than heavy chain mail, but more freedom of movement. It was thought that too much armor was likely to make you complacent, relying on the thick hide to save you from attack, rather than your own skill.

  Daniel emerged from behind a rack of swords carrying an old and badly scarred wooden box. The leather hinges on the box looked as though they had not been opened in centuries. The case was long and narrow, and it appeared quite plain and dirty in comparison to the rest of the immaculately clean room and gear. Dearra cocked a quizzical eyebrow as she watched Daniel set it down on one of the tables, with gentle reverence.

  Daniel was not only weapons master of Maj, not only trusted friend and advisor to Hugh, Lord of Maj, but also Dearra’s friend and teacher. Standing at only 5’9”, he was not tall, but he was built like a bull, thick-necked and barrel-chested. A crown of flaming red hair was on his head, which was as unusual as Dearra’s own white blonde. The people of Mirin Tor tended to have brown hair of varying shades. His eyes were green, and a hint of freckles were scattered across the bridge of his nose. Gruff and dangerous when provoked, but never rash, he was not a man to be crossed. His quick mind assessed every situation, and though he tended to choose his course with speed, he also did so with thought and good judgment.

  Dearra tore her gaze from the strange box perched on the table. In truth, she was more than a little curious about the contents of that box. She did not remember ever seeing it before, but she knew that if Daniel wanted her to know what was in it, he would tell her. If he did not wish her to know, well then, she could sooner defeat an army of Breken single handedly, as make him reveal his secrets.

  She spoke quickly, trying to keep her eyes from drifting back to the mysterious box. “Daniel, I came to see if you needed anything, or more truthfully if you had anything I could do. I feel like I’m going to crawl out of my skin!” Dearra shrugged. A blush tinged her cheeks at the admission.

  Daniel pretended to take great interest in a crossbow that was not quite straight on its stand. He knew how she felt, and the notice of her blush would only embarrass them both. “I was just on my way back to the Great Hall to speak with Hugh. You may as well come along, or I’ll just have to repeat everything to you again later.”

  Daniel strode from the room a few paces ahead of Dearra. She took a last, questioning look at the grubby, wooden box left sitting silently in the center of the table, and sighing to herself, ignoring that her fingers were itching to lift the lid and peek inside, she followed Daniel from the room.

  Entering the Great Hall at any other time was usually a joyous occasion. Whether for the winter solstice, Harvest Celebration, or just to share the evening meal with family and friends, laughter was a frequent visitor. One could always count on storytelling and friendly banter that would invariably lend itself to competitions and verbal sparring as to who was the best fighter or farmer. As the men were sure to remark, time and time again, it took far more skill to wield a hoe than to wield sword. A sword would have but one death at the end of it, while a man would find a thousand tortures at the end of a hoe if his wife was displeased with his day’s labor.

  The hall was massive. It was large enough to hold everyone at one time, so long as you didn’t mind having a toe stepped on now and again. During the day, light streamed from dozens of towering windows that ran along the sides of the room. Thick, wooden shutters could be closed in a time of need, but were currently thrown back to let the light in. Torches were set into the walls and used to give light in the evening. Long trestle tables and benches filled the room to be used at meal time, or pushed back against the walls for celebrations and dancing. At the far end of the room stood a gigantic fireplace. It was tall enough for Dearra to stand up in, with room to spare. It offered light and heat to the sometimes chilly room. A large chair, Hugh’s chair, stood at the center of the head table. It was where he would preside over the festivities, or simply partake in a meal with the good people of Maj. Today, however, the Great Hall was being used for a completely different purpose, and forty of Maj’s best and bravest warriors stood, sat, or paced around the room.

  Hugh leaned over one of the large tables and hastily finished the letter he had been writing to King Jaymes, warning of the Breken’s approach. Carly, Dearra’s best friend, would leave as soon as one of the skiffs could be made ready to travel with a small group to the mainland. Even though the coming attack was likely only a raid into their land for slaves and goods, the king needed to be informed and prepared in the event aid was needed, or it turned out the Breken were about to launch a larger attack against the mainland.

  Such an attack hadn’t happened in over 300 years, but to be too complacent was to be dead, and the Maj were, after all, the guardians of Mirin Tor. If they fell, who could say what the Breken would try to do with their advantage? Those who fed on power would never let such an opportunity slip by.

  Hugh rolled the parchment and tied it with a leather thong before handing it over to Carly and dismissing her with a curt nod. Wiping ink from his hands, he straightened, and approached his waiting warriors. “I think you all know the seriousness of our situation,” he said, “so I won’t waste words on that score, but we’ve spent a lifetime preparing for this, and many of us have faced this foe before. For those of you who have not, I will only say this: trust in yourselves, and trust in one another. Our advantage is that we are one. The Breken are only out for themselves, and that is their weakness. They will abandon each other without a second glance to save their own necks, and when they are alone, they are vulnerable. Don’t try to fight alone; you won’t win. Daniel, what is your adv
ice? You remember the last time the Breken came here, though you weren’t more than a child yourself.”

  Hugh knew Daniel was well liked and respected, and his words would go a long way to ease some of the stress he could feel radiating off the people around him.

  Daniel stood slowly and turned to face his lord and friend. “Hugh, you know I fight by your side until the end,” he said, “but I fear for our younger warriors who have not been tested in true battle. We should first decide who will meet the Breken and who will go with the children to act as their defense, should things go badly.”

  “I can fight!” Dearra said, leaping to her feet. She was overwhelmed by the sudden fear that she would be cast aside for older, more experienced warriors, while she was left to watch over the children.

  “Sit down, Dearra,” Hugh said gently but firmly. “Everyone here knows your skill and your courage, and they will find hope in the fact that you fight with them, but be still and let Daniel speak.”

  Dearra slowly sat on one of the wooden benches behind her, embarrassed, yet again, by the temper that flared within her. A soft flush of pink spread to her cheeks as she murmured her apologies to Daniel.

  When Daniel spoke again, it was not as gently as Hugh, and his frustration with his young student was plain. “Patience, Dearra! Always I have tried to teach you to have patience, and all the while you seek to test mine. I taught you, myself, and I know you are ready, but remember, a true warrior must have skill and sense in equal measure, or she will find herself the bravest fool at her own funeral.”

  Dearra nodded slowly. The pink flush in her cheeks turned to crimson at the rebuke from the weapons master.

  “Lord, I suggest Rordan, Serah, Tiersa, and Eldan go to the ships to prepare the crews. They may be able to sound the alarm that much sooner, and give us a bit more time to get as many to safety as possible.”

  “Agreed,” Hugh said, “though we should send Merry as well. She will not be happy away from Rordan, and he will be safer with his wife there to fight at his back instead of worrying what mischief she is making on shore.”

  Merry couldn’t contain a small giggle over Hugh’s apt assessment, and turned, shyly, into her husband’s loving arms.

  A dozen warriors were chosen to go to the caves with the children and the elderly. Even the aged of Maj remembered their training well, and they would be invaluable, should the Breken find the caves where the children would be hidden.

  The remaining warriors in the room would lead individual groups in the defense of Maj. Their task would be to meet the Breken where they came ashore, keep them engaged in battle, and prevent them from pushing inland. They would attempt to force the Breken back to their ships allowing them to plunder as little as possible. If the loss of Breken troops grew too steep, the enemy would no longer see the gain in additional fighting, and they would leave. They would take with them what spoils they could, and destroy whatever was left as they retreated. The Maj accepted this; fields could be replanted and homes rebuilt as they had been in the past.

  With their plans in place, everyone scattered to make ready. Dearra remained with her father in the now silent hall, and moved to sit beside him. Gently, she reached for his hand in an attempt to offer hope and comfort. She missed her mother. Her quiet strength and calm would have soothed everyone, but now that she was gone, Dearra did what she could to fill her mother’s shoes, and found herself sadly lacking.

  Hugh looked at his daughter’s small and calloused hand, and closed his own, large fingers around hers. “You have been the best of daughters, Dearra.”

  Her father sounded so serious, but Dearra couldn’t contain a burst of laughter.

  “We both know that isn’t true, Father. My temper is forever getting the better of me, I don’t listen as well as I should, and I am not always obedient to you.”

  Hugh laughed. “Well, then, in that, I would guess you are much like any other child. Isn’t that right, Phillip?”

  Startled, Dearra looked up and saw her brother emerge from his hiding place near the hearth.

  “I was just curious, Father,” Phillip said, with no sign of remorse. “I wanted to know what part I would play in the upcoming fight.”

  It wasn’t a question, but a statement. Phillip trotted to his father’s side as Dearra scowled at him.

  “You, my son, have the heart of a warrior like your sister, but unfortunately, not yet the body to match. You will go to the caves with the other children where you will be able to assist in keeping the little ones quiet and out of sight.”

  “The caves!” Phillip almost spat the words in disgust. “With the babies? But Father, I—”

  “The caves, Pip.” Hugh, Lord of Maj, had spoken, and that was the end of it.

  “Come on, Pip,” Dearra said, taking her brother’s hand. “You can come with me to Daniel’s room and help me prepare my weapon.”

  Somewhat appeased by his sister’s offer to visit the private domain of the weapons master, Phillip followed somberly along.

  Hugh flashed a quick wink at his daughter as she led the discouraged Pip from the hall.

  Once out of sight of their father, Phillip’s pout turned to an impish grin. “Why can’t I fight, Dearra? I’m good! You’ve seen me with my mace. I could really help.”

  “Pip, you heard what Father said as plainly as I did. The answer was no. Besides, do you realize how close you would need to get to the enemy to even strike at him? I wager you would wet your pants at the site of a Breken.”

  “I would not!” shouted Pip, but Dearra noticed the tremble that ran through her brother’s frame when she spoke the word Breken.

  They entered the weapons room, and Dearra removed the sword from her side to begin honing the fine blade.

  Daniel came in a moment later, saw Pip eyeing the wooden box he had left on the table, and quickly scooped it up and deposited it behind a screen in the corner of the room. Daniel knew that his strange behavior only served to elevate Pip’s curiosity, but he ignored the little boy and made his way back to the whet stone to begin work on his own weapon.

  Dearra silently passed her blade to her brother, allowing him to begin the meticulous ritual of removing any burrs in the keen edge. It was good practice for him, though Dearra knew she would spend twice as much time later, correcting everything he had “fixed” for her.

  It was so quiet in the room that her mind had time to wander, and as usual, it took a path quite different from the one she would have wished. She would have preferred to be planning strategy and weapons tactics in her mind while Daniel and Pip worked in silence. Instead, her mind turned unexpectedly to the memory of a giggle—a giggle and the sight of Merry shyly turning her head into her husband’s shoulder as his arm came protectively up around her. Merry was only two years older than Dearra, and had been joined with Rordan for a year already. She was a fine fighter, though not quite as dedicated as Dearra was. Merry preferred to have a home and family, enjoying needle point as much as sword play. From all the evidence, kisses were far superior to strategic planning, as far as Merry was concerned.

  Why should it be, Dearra wondered, that she never seemed interested in any of the men she knew? She was quite fond of many of the boys and men she practiced with daily, and she had noticed the appreciative glances sent her way as the coltish lines of youth gave way to the curves of womanhood, but as far as she was concerned, their attention to her was never more than flattering, and she looked at them as just brothers in arms.

  And the curves! Oh, what a nuisance they had been. How long had she worked and struggled to relearn the balance of her own sword as her body betrayed her with what seemed like daily and constant changes? If only her mother still lived.

  A small sigh escaped her lips.

  Daniel looked up from his task at the sound of Dearra’s sigh, but seeing she was lost in thought, he returned to his chore and said nothing.

  Dearra’s mother, Alanna, had truly been the shining star of Maj. Forever patient and kind, she was lov
ed by all. She had blue eyes that Dearra had inherited, though Alanna’s had lacked the glorious golden ring around the edge. Her hair was long and wavy like Dearra’s as well, though it was the much more common, soft brown of the people of this area. She had died shortly after Dearra’s seventh birthday. Phillip’s birth had not gone well. Though every prayer had been offered and every treatment tried, Alanna had slipped quietly away from her family. Holding her new son in her arms, she had smiled at Dearra, then turned to her husband to gaze into his eyes for the last time, and spoke only a single word, filled with all the love she had felt for him: “Forever.” Her lids had drifted shut, and she was gone. It was the only time Dearra had seen her father really cry.

  Pip’s voice broke into her memories as he trilled, “Tell us a story, Daniel.”

  “Keep your mind on your work, Phillip,” Daniel said.

  “Aw, come on, Daniel. You tell the best stories, and it makes the time pass quicker. Working the blade may be necessary, but it’s so boring!”

  The gruff weapons master was not immune to Pip’s subtle charm. The little boy had an impish face and the looks of his mother, which pretty much guaranteed him his way in most things.

  “Well, then, what will it be, Pip? I swear, you’ve heard them all so many times, you should be telling me the stories.”

  “Tell me the one about Cyrus!”

  “Oh, Phillip! Not again!” groaned Dearra, though it was with a gleam in her eye that told Daniel she was more interested than she let on.

  “The Legend of Cyrus it is. It’s funny you should pick that particular story today, Pip. I…” Daniel’s voice trailed off as he stared toward the screen in the corner of the room.

  “Daniel?” Pip asked.

  “Nothing, nothing.” He sighed, and began to speak.

  Chapter 3

  Daniel’s voice was no more than a whisper as he began, forcing Dearra and Pip to lean forward to hear. This was, of course, precisely the effect he wanted.