Wyvern

By John H. Carroll

Book 1 of the Wyvern Trilogy

Pelya Jornin rides away from Dralin, never to return. Nightmares travel with her, haunting the lonely roads that threaten to drive her mad. The dangers within her own mind outweigh the perils of traveling alone.

The Blue Wyverns are a mercenary group dedicated to providing safe haven to any woman who arrives at their door. For centuries, they have grown and their power now extends throughout the Kingdom of Eddland and into bordering countries. They protect the roads and merchants of the countries with waypoints and well-trained companies of women soldiers.

It is Pelya’s intention to join the Blue Wyverns. However, things are not as they should be. Rather than being welcomed, Pelya is regarded with suspicion and contempt. The Recruit Program is unwelcoming and in disarray.

Pelya befriends other young women who also look to escape hidden pasts. Rather than admiring her experience and knowledge, they find her to be reckless in her actions. Pelya draws into herself, fearing loneliness even in the midst of company.

Will Pelya’s mind conquer battles that cannot be fought with a sword? Can she escape the eyes that haunt her sleep? Will her new friends discover the secrets of her past? Who will turn out to be a true friend and who has deception in their heart? Intrigue and danger surround Pelya as she learns the history of the Blue Wyverns. Will the beginning of her new life bring about the end?

The Wyvern Trilogy is a swords-and-sorcery fantasy series following the life of Pelya Jornin as she begins her life away from the city of Dralin.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John H. Carroll
• Release date: Apr 9, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301214785

John H. Carroll

John H. Carroll was the youngest of seven children and was born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1970 where he was kept in a dresser drawer with the clean socks. Luckily, he wasn’t kept with the dirty socks or else he might have grown up to become slightly warped.As a child, John spent most of his time wandering through the Mojave Desert in an attempt to avoid people. He would stare at the sky, imagining what it would be like to explore different worlds. One of his favorite memories is watching his dad build the fuselage of Evel Kneivel’s skycycle in their garage. One of his least favorite moments was watching that skycycle fall into the Snake River. (Not his dad’s fault and he has documentation to prove it, so nyah)As a teenager, John spent most of his time driving wherever he could in an attempt to avoid people. He would stare at the road, imagining what it would be like to explore different worlds. He was the captain of the chess team, lettered in golf and band while in high school, and wasn’t beaten up anywhere near as much as one might imagine.As an adult, John spends most of his time staring at a computer screen in an attempt to avoid people. He stares at the monitor for hours, imagining what it would be like to explore different worlds. Occasionally, he looks around to see what’s happening on planet Earth. Quite frankly, it frightens him. He’s just going to do his best to write as many books as he can before aliens disintegrate humanity for being so irritating.Emo bunny minions surround John at most times. He is their imaginary friend and they look to him for guidance. At one point, they took over the world. No one noticed because they left everything exactly as it was. They gave the world back after a week because it was depressing.The Ryallon Series is his most popular endeavor into the field of writing. His Stories for Demented Children have lightened the hearts of many strange children and adults. He writes in the evenings and weekends whenever possible.

Book preview

Map of Nulanea

Map of Eddland

Chapter 1

Year 1389, Fifth Age

Being six days after the events of Pelya

Pelya’s sapphire-blue eyes sparkled in the heavy afternoon sun. She slouched in the saddle, studying the village at the intersection of two insignificant roads that cut through the endless farmlands of Altordan.

Sounds of a few industrious townsfolk and children at play drifted above the maddening buzz of insects that had dominated her hearing since leaving Dralin. A mild breeze alleviated the worst of the fall heat and rustled tomato vines that dominated the landscape.

Altordan was a large country existing primarily to protect and provide for Dralin, its capital. Well-maintained highways spoked outward like a jagged wagon wheel from the city to other countries, but Pelya was avoiding those. They were crowded and she wanted peace and solitude to think.

Honey, her beautiful chestnut warhorse with blonde mane, flicked a tail at biting flies. A disinterested packhorse tethered to Pelya’s saddle nosed a bit of grass that had grown in the middle of the rutted road. It whinnied, probably wanting a true meal.

A family wearing simple clothing and wide-brimmed hats collected ripe tomatoes among the vines in the distance to Pelya’s right. They kept glancing in her direction as though worried she would steal their livelihood.

It wouldn’t be hard if she were so inclined. Pelya adjusted the chain-reinforced leather sword belt around her waist. She was a master with the pair of enchanted swords that rested in sheaths at her hips.

She wouldn’t steal from the worried family. Pelya had spent her entire life in the Dralin City Guard learning that it was important to protect people, not harm them. Her father, along with more than a thousand Guardmembers she called her aunts and uncles, had raised her.

She didn’t wear that uniform anymore. Now, a form-fitting black tunic and dark-blue pants, both with intricate designs of mystic silver thread, covered her powerful, six-foot frame. She looked down at the priceless clothes. Even after days of dust and mud on the road, they were spotless thanks to enchantments Ebudae had sewn into the clothing.

A twinge of distress twisted Pelya’s heart. More than anyone, she missed the impudent and powerful wizardess who had been her best friend. Pelya tugged at her long, jet-black braid with a gloved hand to knock the feeling away. It didn’t help, so she gave Honey a gentle nudge with polished boots and continued toward the village.

Six days had passed since her banishment from Dralin for killing a chancellor of the High Council. The events kept looping through her memory. She and others had uncovered a plot to overthrow the High Council and create a new god. A battle in the ruins below Dralin had destroyed the god and foiled the plot, but even that couldn’t save her from banishment. To make matters worse, Pelya had been having nightmares about the battle and the yellow-eyed monks who had been possessed by the god.

Pelya rode into the quaint village. A hodgepodge of small businesses, the largest of which was a two-story inn, surrounded the main intersection. Pelya was grateful for its presence. She had camped under the stars since leaving, and while her clothes might stay magically clean, her body didn’t.

A burly blacksmith with cropped hair stopped hammering on a plow as Pelya rode past. She waved at him and received a surprise smile and wave of his hammer in return. There was also a tanner’s shop, a woodworker and a small market she might visit the next day to resupply. The well-maintained buildings were colorfully painted.

A group of elderly women wearing bonnets and long, pastel dresses sat in a shady area under thick-trunked trees full of autumn leaves. They stopped their sewing and stared at Pelya for a moment. She greeted them with a wave as well. They briskly nodded in return before going back to work. Pelya ignored the way they huddled together and whispered. It was what old women did.

Across the intersection from the inn, a soldier came out of a small building. He was straightening the chain shirt he had just put on before taking his sword belt from an apprentice who hadn’t quite reached manhood. The apprentice was wide-eye and unsure in his steps as he brushed aside too-long hair while checking his own sword.

Pelya dismounted as she reached the intersection so she would be eye level with the men and not so intimidating.

The soldiers approached with determination. The elder of the two had a great deal of grey in his carroty hair and a hitch in his self-important step. The muscular arm he held up in greeting belied his advanced age. His vibrating, tenor voice carried through the quiet air Hello traveler. I’m Sergeant Pifflin of the Altordan army. What’s your business here?

Just passing through, Sergeant. Pelya hoped he wouldn’t be too friendly. She wasn’t in the mood for conversation. I intend to spend the night at your inn and then be on my way. You’ll get no trouble from me.

See that we don’t! Sergeant Pifflin puffed out his chest. I may not be in my prime, but I can still hold my own. He stepped forward as though to intimidate Pelya. I’ve got the might of Altordan behind me too. Anything happens to me and you’ll have the army to deal with.

Pelya was half a foot taller and could have taken him even when he was in his prime. She had just finished killing a god, so the threat of an army didn’t impress her. Instead of telling the man that, she merely repeated herself. You’ll get no trouble from me.

Ah, well, good then. Sergeant Pifflin hooked his thumbs in his belt. Where do you hail from?

I’ll be at the inn, Sergeant. Pelya led her horse around him and toward the stables.

The man stared after her for a minute before turning to his apprentice and shrugging. The apprentice shrugged back.

As Pelya entered the inn’s stable yard, a chipper young woman in her mid-teens came out of a stall, brushing hay off durable pants and a light shirt. Her voice was as lively as her manner. Hi! I’m Terry. Would you like your horses cared for? She pulled on strands of her ponytail to tighten it in the string that bound it.

Yes, I’ll be spending the night. Do I pay you or the innkeeper?

You’ll pay my pa. He’s the innkeeper. Terry took the reins Pelya handed her and looked at Honey in admiration. She’s a beaut!

Honey nuzzled the girl’s neck.

Her name is Honey. She’s the finest steed you’ll ever meet. Pelya detached her saddlebags and slung them over her left shoulder. They had her most valuable possessions.

I’ll take the best care of them both. Shall I bring in the rest of your bags?

After the horses are cared for. Pelya handed her a silver coin.

Terry took it and then tried to hand it back. You’ll want to pay pa inside. He handles the money.

Pelya shook her head. I’ll pay your pa. That’s for you.

Terry’s jaw dropped. A silver? For me? I can’t. She tried to hand it back, but Pelya was already walking away.

Upon entering the bright common room, Pelya stood for a moment and looked around. The shutters were open on the windows to let fresh air circulate. Straw littered the floor to soak up mud and spills. The stools and table were sturdy wood, likely made by a local artisan. Four old men stopped talking to stare at her from a table near an open window. She nodded at them and they nodded back.

Near the stairs, Terry’s pa sat behind a counter that served as the bar and the hotel desk. He was a stout man with clean clothes and short, tangled hair. He waved Pelya over with a hairy hand. Can I help you?

She went over. How much is a room for one night and meals? I also have two horses to be stabled, one of which is a warhorse. The other is a packhorse.

The innkeeper stood in alarm. A warhorse? He looked toward the door Pelya had come in. Terry . . .

Is fine, Pelya reassured him. Honey likes her. How much? She pulled out her coin purse and undid the strings. She had more coin and gem pouches hidden within her shirt.

The innkeeper looked at the door again before sitting back down. It’ll be three coppers for the room, two for the meals, not including ale . . . he noticed the quality of her clothes, . . . or wine if that’s what you prefer. I’ve got a few bottles, but they’re expensive. Not much call for it out here. The warhorse is another three coppers and the packhorse two, so . . . He did the math in his head. Ten copper pieces, or one silver.

It was much less than Pelya, used to city prices, had imagined. No wonder Terry had been so surprised by the tip. Pelya fished out two silver, hardly lightning the pouch at all. She pushed them forward on the counter. I’ll want a bath as well. Keep the extra.

The innkeeper picked up the coins with an expression of surprise on his face. Thank you. That’s more than generous.

Pelya considered for a moment. I should let you know that I also gave Terry a silver piece. I don’t want you thinking she came by it dishonestly.

Surprise became astonishment. For a girl?

Pelya leaned forward intimidatingly. Her voice gained an edge. Yes. For a girl. Where’s my room and where can I get the bath?

The innkeeper shrank back. Your room is the last one on the right. It’s the quietest. I’ll send someone when we have the bath ready for you. He composed himself. Will you take meals down here or in your room?

I’ll take dinner in my room and breakfast down here. Pelya moved to the stairs.

He called after her as she climbed. Did you want to use one of our locks? It’ll be no charge for you.

I have my own. A moment later, Pelya reached the second floor and headed down the narrow hallway. There were six plain doors on each side and a second stairway at the opposite end with a rope blocking it, likely for servants.

Pelya entered her room and set the saddlebags on the lone table. The bed had a straw mattress and clean sheets with a pillow and a crocheted blanket. A nightstand had a candle, a pitcher of water and a bowl for washing up. Two chairs were the only other things in the room.

Pelya went to the window and opened the shutters. There were a few houses lining the street behind the inn and a group of young children playing. She wondered what it would have been like to be raised in a village like this.

She sat at the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the wall until there was a knock at the door a while later. Pelya groaned from stiff muscles as she stood and went to open it.

Terry stood there with Pelya’s bags. I have two more trips, but it won’t take me long at all. Oh, and your bath is ready.

Thank you. Pelya took the bags. I let your father know that I gave you a silver, so don’t hide it from him. She closed the door, leaving Terry to stare wide-eyed. Pelya’s hunch had been correct. She opened the door again and saw Terry slipping under the rope of the service entrance. Where is my bath? Pelya asked.

Terry unhooked the rope. It’s down here in the back. I can take you.

One moment. Pelya retrieved her lock from her saddlebags. She closed the door and hooked the lock on the latch made for that purpose.

She didn’t think anyone would try to steal her things, but to be on the safe side, she cast a simple alarm ward on the door. It was something Ebudae had taught her. A few loose strands of braided hair gusted around Pelya’s face as the magical breeze of casting swirled. It wasn’t a strong spell, or the breeze would have been fiercer. Terry’s jaw hung open when Pelya turned to her. What’s wrong, Terry?

You’re a wizard? I thought since you wear swords . . .

Pelya moved past her and headed down the stairs. I’m not a wizard, but knowing the occasional spell is convenient. No more questions now. At the bottom of the stairs, she stepped aside to let the girl take the lead again.

Terry stopped and opened her mouth to ask another question, but Pelya’s warning glance was enough to shut it.

After a long bath, Pelya retired to her room. When dinner came, she ate without tasting. She locked the door from the inside after finishing and putting the wooden tray of empty dishes on the floor of the hall.

Pelya sat on the bed, brought her knees up and broke down into quiet tears. The young woman was beginning to feel the burden of being alone. She missed her father. She missed Ebudae. She missed the Guard and all her aunts and uncles.

She was supposed to be heading off to a life of adventure. She would get to meet new people and go exploring. It should be fun, but depression seemed to darken her mind a little more each day.

Pelya longed for the sounds and smells of the chaotic city. There was always danger in Dralin. Staying alive was a vague proposition on the best of days. She missed the adventures with Ebudae into the ruins underneath the city.

Now she was out in the world farther than she had ever been before, resting in a quiet little inn. There was no danger. Anyone with a silver piece was rich. At times in her travels, there wouldn’t be a building or a person in sight. She could stand on a rock and stare for miles in every direction. It was unnerving.

Pelya dozed off a few times in between fits of crying. It was terrible to be alone.

She was not handling it well.

***

Pelya saw fear in the milky-yellow eyes of the god. He wore a brown robe spattered with iridescent gold. His arms reached out for her.

Then it switched to a different face mutated by anger with eyes of yellow fire. The robes were violent red. Its arms flailed as though scolding her.

A woman’s face rotated into view. Her robes were a riot of colors that pained the senses. She had no eyes and her hands were clasped to her chest in despair and confusion.

A thousand monks surrounded Pelya. Their yellow eyes blinked in unison.

Pelya sat upright in a cold sweat. She threw aside the covers and scanned the room. To her relief, there were no monks, nor a Crazed God.

The floor was cool under her feet as she moved to the window. In the east, a touch of morning light lined the horizon with the promise of another clear, warm day. At one of the houses, the silhouette of a woman yawned and stretched on the front step in anticipation of the day.

Pelya sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands for a moment, trying to find the willpower to make it through another day. Eventually, she gathered her bags and heading downstairs.

The morning innkeeper, a young man who was probably the innkeeper’s son, served her porridge for breakfast. He didn’t notice her glum manner as she ate quickly and slipped out of the empty common room.

Terry was sleeping in the stables next to Honey’s stall. She jumped up, startled when Pelya dropped the saddlebags noisily. Huh? Oh! I was hoping to catch you before you left. Terry wiped the sleep from her eyes. I wanted you to know that I took the best care of both horses. I bathed them and had the blacksmith come and check their shoes.

"That is exceptional service. Thank you. Can I trust you with these saddlebags while I get the rest of my things?"

Let me get them for you! Then I’ll get your tack and gear on the horses. You sit and take it easy. Have you had breakfast?

Yes.

Terry waited, expecting more of an answer. . . . Oh. Can I enter your room or is the lock still there?

You can enter. There is no lock and I’ve removed the ward. Pelya greeted Honey, who snorted and bumped her cheek over the gate of the stall.

I’ll be done in a bit then. Terry ran off.

Pelya went out to the empty yard. She decided to stretch and exercise.

It didn’t take Terry long to bring down the bags and pull the horses out of their stalls.

After stretching, Pelya felt limber, so she drew her main sword. As with almost any weapon purchased in the City of Dralin, it had magic. This was partially because there were so many mages and their apprentices to enchant them, and partially because a person needed one to be effective in battle against the wizards that populated the city. The sword was made of light steel and darted through the air like a hummingbird while she practiced with it.

She drew her secondary sword and did a cursory examination. It was shorter than her main, but much more deadly. The blade was the width of two fingers at the crossbar. Its sharpened edges tapered gradually to the point. The metal glistened in the dawn light, showing no runes even though it held powerful magic. The blade didn’t look like steel, silver or any other metal she had seen, it was softer somehow. Pelya stepped back and hefted it. It weighed next to nothing and the braided hilt fit nicely in her hand.

Pelya rolled her shoulders and spun the blades. She moved her legs and began the drills that would keep her sharp and ready for battle. Each thrust and parry was precise. Normally, she exercised every morning to stay limber. The last few days had been an exception and she could feel it in the tightness of her muscles.

When Pelya stopped, Terry cautiously came forward. She had been watching for a while. Your horses are ready. Honey is eager to go.

Pelya saw the warhorse stomping energetically. She would have to give her a run to work off the extra energy.

I’ve never seen anyone move like you do. Terry fidgeted with a horse brush in her hands. Who are you?

I’m no one. Pelya sheathed the swords and went to Honey. She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted effortlessly. Looking around, Pelya saw that they were alone, so she leaned over and slipped Terry two more silver pieces. "I haven’t told your father about these. If you ever leave, go anywhere but Dralin."

Pelya retrieved the lead of the packhorse. As she left the stables and inn behind, she realized she had never learned the name of the village.

Chapter 2

Pelya ran through the barracks halls, away from the possessed Guardmembers chasing her. Suddenly, more blocked her way.

Their yellow eyes blinked as one.

She dashed through a door to her left and pushed it closed with her back. Pelya scanned the office she had entered.

Commander Duuth stood behind a desk in the center. He cackled madly and pointed. You shall be whipped. Then he spun, showing another face. The face was angry, but it was still Duuth. Whipped!

Pelya screamed.

Even though it was pitiful in reality, the sound of the wail coming from her throat woke Pelya. She scrambled out of her bedroll and looked around frantically.

There were no yellow-eyed Guardmembers. Duuth was nowhere to be seen.

The tree she had camped under rustled its leaves in the late morning breeze. Tall grasses waved rhythmically and obscured the surroundings, but there was no one near. Pelya’s packhorse whinnied at her in the hopes of fresh water from the nearby stream.

Pelya wiped sleep out of her eyes and shook her head. She had camped well after midnight without a fire. After the nightmare, she regretted sleeping at all. Her muscles were cramped, so she stretched. It would be smart to do her drills, but she just didn’t want to. She wasn’t hungry either.

The packhorse whinnied again. Pelya spent time caring for the horses before heading back to the road.

The remainder of the day passed with the endless drone of insects as she contemplated how badly she missed everyone back home.

She looked up a few times. At some point, she should stop feeling sorry for herself. She was alive, she had a small fortune in her belongings and the potential for a bright future. Between nightmares, exhaustion, being in a foreign environment, and loneliness, depression continued to choke her heart.

The next night, the combined light of Ryallon’s moons, Siahray and Piohray, cast a lavender glow over Pelya’s fitful sleep.

Eventually, she woke up, stoked the fire and stared at it until morning. If not for the health of the horses, she would have continued her journey through the night.

The next few days of travel faded into each other. On the rare occasions she did sleep, there were always nightmares waiting for her. The yellow eyes of the monks she had fought in the ruins now possessed everyone in her dreams. The entire population of Dralin stared at her with yellow eyes.

Blink.

Pelya shook herself awake and shifted in her saddle. Honey ambled forward under the hot sun. Pelya’s thoughts sank into oblivion as she forced her eyes to stay open.

***

Pelya rode toward Ebudae. The young wizardess was sitting on her bed cutting stripes into her bare arms with a knife, a habit Pelya hated.

"You need to stop that Ebudae. Please stop."

Ebudae looked up and blinked yellow eyes. Her mouth cracked open and an ear-piercing shriek came out.

Honey whinnied as she reared and struck out with hooves. The action threw Pelya to the ground with a thud, knocking the air from her lungs.

Another shriek shattered the sky. Pelya saw a large shape silhouetted by the dim, blue-green light of Siahray. Wings flapped violently above the striking form of Honey.

Pelya couldn’t breathe and her back was in agony from the fall. She rolled over onto her stomach and tried to get to her feet.

Honey reared up and struck out again. A thud and squeak sounded at the impact. Honey stepped back a few paces, careful not to land on Pelya. The fearful whinnying and stomping of the packhorse tied to Honey’s saddle hampered the war steed from full battle.

An intricate tattoo covering the left half of Pelya’s torso grew hot. She was able to breathe again and the pain began receding as it worked healing magic. At the age of eleven, she and Ebudae had saved a baby dragon. Its mother, Hezzena, had given them dragon marks as a reward. The magic of the mark prevented Pelya from remembering it when it wasn’t active though.

She jumped to her feet and drew her sword.

The creature hurtled into Pelya’s chest, driving her back to the ground. The blow of a rough wing knocked the sword out of her hand as the heavy beast landed and scratched at her gut with a claw. Its heated breath smelled of rotted carrion.

Honey whinnied in rage as she tried to reach the monster.

Pelya’s clothes protected her belly from the claws. However, they didn’t protect her face as the creature’s jagged teeth pierced her chin and cheek with a gruesome crunching sound.

Pelya screamed in agony and terror. Unconsciousness threatened to take over, but she fought it off with a warrior’s instincts.

One of the claws wrapped around Pelya’s left thigh. The monster’s wings beat as it began lifting her in the air.

In desperation, Pelya managed to draw her secondary sword and slash upward as it came out of the sheath. The blade struck true, gutting the wretched creature.

The monster released Pelya’s face to screech in mortal suffering. Its blood and bowels sprayed over Pelya’s chest.

Pelya’s head hit the ground hard, but the wounded creature grabbed her leg again and dragged her, refusing to give in to its injury.

Spots filled Pelya’s vision and her stomach churned from the stench and anguish. With extraordinary effort, she slashed at the creature’s talon, slicing it completely off.

The monster crashed to the ground and flopped around toward Pelya.

Pelya scrambled to her feet and vomited instead of attacking. Bile stung the wound in her face. It took everything she had not to think about the way her jaw was hanging loosely or the slick feeling of blood spreading everywhere.

The dragon mark burned down to her bones as it tried to repair the damage done.

Honey whinnied and stomped in anger, frustrated by the burden of the panicked packhorse struggling at its tether.

The light of the moon revealed that the monster was a defbat bigger than Honey. Webbed wings spread out in a nightmarish vision. Beady red eyes stared at Pelya from an oversized head. With another ear-splitting shriek, it lurched forward.

Pelya also lunged, swinging her sword overhead with all her might.

The supernaturally sharp sword won, cleaving the monster’s ugly head in half.

The defbat’s forward momentum slammed Pelya back to the ground with a thud.

Pelya frantically shoved at it until she was free. Its blood mixed with hers and she couldn’t tell which was which. She scrambled to her feet and ran screaming until she stumbled into a cornfield at the side of the road and fell to the ground, looking up at the uncaring moon.

Her face didn’t fit. She held blood-covered hands over it, but didn’t want to touch the wound.

The burning tattoo became unbearable as it stole energy from her bones, energy she would have to replace with excessive food and sleep.

Pelya’s jaw painfully shifted back into place with a ghastly crunching sound, causing her to scream in horrified anguish and dig her heels into the ground. That pain receded quickly though. It took minutes for the rest of her bones, muscles and skin to move into place and knit together. Throughout the terrible process, Pelya screamed and writhed on the ground.

Finally, the torture stopped.

Pelya curled up in the cornfield and sobbed uncontrollably at the horror she had suffered.

Honey arrived a few minutes later, trailing the agitated packhorse behind. She nuzzled Pelya to get up.

Pelya crawled to her feet and threw her arms around Honey’s neck.

Finally, the tears and panic subsided enough for her to pick up her secondary sword and sheath it. Pelya entire body shook as she wiped a sleeve across her tender, but whole, face to wipe away tears and snot. She trudged back to where the defbat was and retrieved her primary sword. The entire time, she watched the lifeless form to make certain it didn’t move.

Honey followed and watched just as nervously.

When Pelya remounted, she buried her face in Honey’s mane and gave the warhorse its head. They rode hard through the terrible night until exhausted.

It was much later when they finally reached a stream. Pelya flopped into it and frantically scrubbed the creature’s blood off. She made camp soon after and collapsed to the ground.

Honey stood watch.

***

Eight more days passed on the road, each blurring into the next. After the incident with the defbat, Pelya had slept for two days, only waking to devour all her supplies as her body recovered. After that, she camped each night for the health of the horses while she sat staring at the stars, too tired to start a campfire. Each time she nodded off, the nightmares would come and she would jump to her feet before sinking too deep.

Pelya’s hair matted around her face as time passed. She hadn’t taken the time to wash or braid it for more days than she remembered. There was no reason to do so. Her enchanted clothes remained clean, but she felt dirty. With the exception of one stop to buy food, Pelya skirted villages and their inns because she didn’t want to talk to anyone. There were occasional streams to wash in, but she passed them. Bathing felt like too much work.

***

She lifted her head from exhausted thoughts of her father, Ebudae and life in Dralin.

Light misty rain tapping the ground was the only sound besides the plodding of her horses. Even the bugs had gone into hiding. The sky was grey with dreary low clouds over the endless flatlands. The sun had peeked through once that morning as though checking on her. It disappeared quickly, finding misery it could not bear to watch.

Pelya wrapped her oilslick cloak tightly against the cold drizzle and looked at the road behind. Shrouded silhouettes of three sinister men on horseback stalked her, biding their time. Travelers had been rare on the country roads. She noticed these three shortly after breaking camp a couple of hours ago.

Who they were, or why they were on the road remained a mystery. Pelya undid the tie-downs on her swords and loosened them in their scabbards, believing the men wouldn’t wait much longer to pounce on a lone traveler. Fighting on horseback was not her best skill though, even with a warhorse as fine as Honey. Pelya wasn’t willing to risk the steed against a threat she could handle herself.

A few minutes later, she saw a small campsite in a semi-circular copse of trees and bushes in off the road. The firepit was empty and muddy and the sitting logs looked lonely for company. Pelya rode in, dismounted and quickly tethered Honey and the packhorse to a tree behind the camp area.

As she held onto Honey’s reins, dread caused her stomach to rise into her throat. This kind of fear was a stranger to her. If the men chose to fight, it would be to the death. Pelya had no squad to back her up. Ebudae wouldn’t be there to cast spells.

Pelya had never felt so alone.

She set aside her emotions and used the horses to shield herself from the sight of the approaching highwaymen. With a gesture and a word, she cast a precise spell taught to her by Ebudae. Casting wind swirled around her, lifting the edge of her cloak, even though it didn’t move the tiny drops of drizzle so much as an inch. Pelya’s mind became sharp and secure from mystical entrapment, though it didn’t ease the fear that threatened to bubble to the surface.

Next, she cast a small ward against hostile spells. It wasn’t her favorite, but took little energy. Lastly, she cast a spell that hardened her skin without hindering movement, protecting her better than any chain shirt, even though the enchantments in her clothing would turn aside most weapons.

Even though the spells were efficient, Pelya was too tired and hungry to be casting them. A wave of supernatural exhaustion drained her strength and dulled her mind.

She mentally kicked herself as she suddenly remembered that she had countless runeballs to help in situations like this. They were secure in one of the saddlebags though and it would take too much time to retrieve the right ones. The fact that she hadn’t pulled them out before reaching the camp was a mental error that could become fatal.

Hoof beats entered the camp and stopped. Pelya moved away from her horses and warily walked along the perimeter of the camp, studying the men.

Unshaven and travel-worn, the brigands slouched in their saddles and stared back at their prey with hard, eager eyes. Mud and dirt stained their ragged cloaks. Underneath were leather jackets and pants that would provide some protection should they have to battle instead of sneaking up on their victims as they likely preferred.

They dismounted as one and loosened their swords in their scabbards. One man, the smallest of the three, quickly gathered all the reins and looped them over a low-hanging branch at the edge of the road. He had a scraggly black beard and a scar across his forehead. His tongue constantly flicked along cracked lips as he squinted in her direction.

Pelya’s breath puffed out noticeably in front of her. Her heart pounded faster than she ever remembered and it vied for attention with the ragged sound of her breathing. Pelya realized she had reached the middle of the clearing and was in a battle ready stance, waiting for something to happen.

The other two studied Pelya as they slunk into flanking positions. The one on the left was the leader.