by CF WELBURN
He tried to recall that distant encounter, but struggled. He had been tired and scared; he had eaten berries so desperately foraged; he’d just buried his sister; he’d just poisoned Mascal and his men; he’d hit his head on a rock. Was the burn on his back just that? A burn? He’d seen trees struck by lightning. Seen the scorched grass.
The thought unnerved him and made the skies feel wider, emptier.
He thought back all the way to Eisalhelm and the Thunder-Blade. Had it been the Edalian in him that had chanced to pick the flower, where no Taliskan had ever thought to? A flower that had poisoned him. Given him a rash that resembled lightning; that had paralysed him, made him look dead; that had caused the vessels in his eyes to burst and startle the enemy that held him on the altar? It was feasible. Certainly, more so than the alternative.
Seri had seen signs in his bearing of Mascal’s axe, but it was just a spoil he had taken from his victim, no magic in that. His nine-toed limp just another in a long line of injuries.
But what then of the trials and the fate of his doomed disciples? Were there explanations for those, too?
Perhaps it had been the inherent farmer in him that had sown the seeds on the Shadow Fields with a deftness the others had not; the drifting wraiths little more than wisps of cloud on the brisk open fields. They had smoked mela that night, he recalled. It had been strong. And they had never truly discussed what happened. The injuries they received were scratches easily explained by their stumbling.
He had survived the perilous trip to Skarvor where many hardier men hadn’t. But he’d had Grinchell and Blin watching his back, believing in him.
Gillad’s horn had only worked for him, but had anyone else tried? Had no one thought to check the funnel and find the rock wedged inside?
And the visions on the Swan Road were even more ambiguous.
He’d seen his own death, and yet here he was. It had been a trick.
Ortho had seen a great stair, but if he’d just run towards the enemy instead of away from them, he might have found the quiet life he had wished for. But that was that. Decisions. Consequences.
Grinchell had been on Oben’s list from the beginning; it was no surprise they had fought. Rak and Blin continued to outrun their fates. Perhaps even the Black Swan had not seen all ends. And not all things ended as they should: love was unrequited, debts were unpaid; heroes died, villains got old and fat. Where the fuck had Gladbrook scurried off to? Kyrion had died, so that Oben may live. Mara was dead, but peace had come from it… Death and rebirth. Like burning crops to make the soil fertile.
Oben's musings unnerved him, made him feel less protected, more inconsequential. Had it all been fate or merely coincidence? Had the Taliskans wanted to believe so greatly, that they had seen signs where there were none? Convincing themselves in their desire to conquer the south. Pushing him on the path, nudging him, helping him become the one they had waited so long to find.
By truth or trickery, Gulmorgon had said, but he had only been trying to save his own neck. Running from one enemy to another… And Gulmorgon was not as safe as she might think. Perhaps even now Seri and Seringil sat in Eisalhelm debating such things, planning their next move… He shook himself and rode on.
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Whether Ishral was real or not, she continued to haunt him. When he camped he looked for her, both longing and dreading to see her.
He was disappointed when nothing happened. He was her Conduit, was he not? He’d forsaken the Trinity for her! This was his land now, as much as hers. They must share it. Alone. Together!
But he was also relieved when she did not appear, and began to remember he was more than just the Conduit. He was a farmer. He would cultivate the frozen ground of Threlwich and hope for the best.
He, farmer, father, husband, brother.
He, avenger, betrayer, liberator, Conduit.
He filled his pipe with mela, checked his axe, and rode on.
Author’s note
This book emerged during an uncertain and turbulent time. It kept me sane in moments of insanity. I climbed the mountain with Oben; I fell down it a few times, too. It was intended to be a standalone book, but I guess I’m just not that good at killing all the characters that deserve it (and guilty of killing plenty that didn’t). Either way, there’s more of this tale to be told, and Blin is up next!
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Please leave a review if you liked it; please leave a review if you hated it. Please leave a review if you just want me to shut up about leaving reviews. They make a massive difference to all us indie authors and will spur me on to write the next book even faster!
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Peace and axes!
CF Welburn.
Acknowledgments
In the real world, there are many people to thank. Friends and family in Spain with whom I shared wine and song; friends and family in England from whom I have been isolated; and friends of the internet who write things at the most ridiculous hours of the day.
You know who you are.
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Thanks to my wife, Jessica for not punching me in the face. Thanks to Otis, my son for being the best thing in my universe! Thanks to the late and great Mick Penney for believing in me and making words fun! You’re a legend, and I might not be here writing this, if it hadn’t been for you. You’re missed. Thanks to Ben Jager for his artwork and majestic beard. Thanks to my editor, Mike Myers who made me laugh and cry (sometimes simultaneously). And thanks to the support and friendships I’ve made online through Facebook groups that champion the thriving indie fantasy scene, especially Indie Fantasy Addicts and Fantasy/Sci-Fi Focus. Thanks to fellow scribes Lee Conley, Jamie Edmundson, Catrin Russell, David Green, Paul Mouchet (and many, many more) for fighting the good fight. A special shout-out to my fabulous ARC team, who get through more books than I do coffee.
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And finally, thank you! Writers would be nothing without readers! I hope that you’ve enjoyed the journey!
About the Author
Craig Farndale Welburn was born in the year of Star Wars, in the birth town of Charles Darwin.
He caught the fantasy bug as a child at the top of a faraway tree, in a hole in the ground and through a snowy wardrobe.
He left Shropshire to study literature, travel the lands and seek his fortune. (He’s still seeking…)
He currently lives in Madrid with his wife Jessica and son Otis.
Also by:
The Linguist (2015)
Toybox (2017)
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The Ashen Levels:
Fledgling (2018)
Journeyman (2018)
Adept (2018)
Hero (2018)
Paragon (2018)
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I Shall Return with Winter (2021)
Glossary
EDALE:
Oben Granger (Farmer, Vigilante, Conduit)
Kyrion (Oben’s brother / Blanbury Captain)
Brintok (father – deceased)
Tarla (mother – deceased)
Mara (sister – deceased)
Peli (brother in law – deceased)
Delia (Oben’s wife)
Bayron (Oben’s son)
Ma Rallier (old woman, tavern - deceased)
Old Gurney (old drunk - deceased)
Justice (Oben’s horse)
Fara (Rak’s lover)
Yori (Rak’s son)
Lester Gladbrook (Lord of Edale)
Golmin (High Priest)
Dober (Prime Jade Knight)
Omnic (Blanbury priest’s assistant)
Lar (Blanbury guard)
The Sower (southern deity of birth)
The Tender (southern deity of life)
The Harvester (southern deity of death)
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SKALIGAR:
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Ixna:
Gulmorgon
(Ixna clan chief)
Griz (Gulmorgon’s advisor)
Kavark (Gulmorgon’s seer)
Denrin (Griz’s replacement)
Arnor (combat trainer)
Gadziel (Gulmorgon’s bodyguard)
Lief (Gulmorgon’s warrior)
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Kazra:
Grinchell (Kazra clan chief / disciple)
Brigal (Grinchell’s crony)
Mako (Grinchell’s sailor)
Tre (Grinchell’s cousin)
Fife (Grinchell’s one eared, lacky)
Jank (Grinchell’s drinking buddy)
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Tanda:
Kai (Tanda clan chief)
Blin (prisoner / disciple)
Ifor (Kai’s henchman)
Varg (Ifor’s muscle)
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Ferra:
Mascal (Ferra clan chief)
Pol (crow food)
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Bael:
Rak (prisoner / disciple)
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Deyma:
Ortho (prisoner / disciple)
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Unknown:
Gad (prisoner)
Bartol (prisoner)
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The Baneful Eight:
Keleb (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Joren (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Fenra (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Lorr (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Niflin (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Ulg (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Reji (Ixna, member of the Quest)
Magfor (Ixna, member of the Quest)
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Gillad (long-dead legend)
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TALISKAR:
Seri (Bria / Seer)
Seringil (Bearn / Pseudo-seer)
Sylth (Seri and Seringil’s son)
Hagar (unhygienic tanner)
Lorf (contesting warrior at the Shriving)
Ishral (Taliskan Goddess)
Ethra (the Black Swan)
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CLANS:
Ixna
Tanda
Kazra
Ferra
Deyma
Tiandol
Ezra
Pelmi
Veru
Danvi