Eyes of the Enemy: The BlackMyst Trilogy, #1

By Kelly Hess

When a rogue band of the dreaded Sorak attacks his village, twelve-year-old Beynn Firehand escapes into the darkness of BlackMyst Forest to find help. During his quest, Beynn discovers his own powerful magic abilities.

The price of his newfound powers, however, may be higher than he ever imagined.
 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dragon Moon Press
• Release date: Jun 1, 2016
• ISBN: 9781988256016

Kelly Hess

Kelly Hess grew up with a love of reading science fiction and fantasy that inspired him to write his own fantasy trilogy. He lives in Vacaville, California with his wife and son, and continues writing great adventures.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

The giant had survived for millennia. Predating Delvengard history, it stood tall and dark. To underestimate the giant was to misjudge the Devil, for death came to many within its great arms. It had gone by many names over the centuries. The people of Delvengard had come to know the great forest as BlackMyst.

Stretching from the red shores of Western Delvengard to the craggy rocks of Sorak’s East, BlackMyst covered the land like a dark shroud. Millions of darkoak trees, reaching out in all directions, spread an aphotic shadow across nearly half of Delvengard’s territory.

ON THIS NIGHT, somewhere within the murky darkness of BlackMyst, a small bright square lit the gloom with a steady yellow glow. Obscure shadows drifted back and forth across the lighted window, the only indication of life within the slumbering forest. The small, wooden cabin sat lonely within the quiet mist that drifted effortlessly amongst the darkoaks. Normally used by hunters for storage and shelter, the single- room structure stood dark and uncluttered, stark and musty.

A round, weathered table stood centered in the cabin. A tired and twisted lantern cast an eerie glow across the pile of gold coins that lay spilled upon the table. Seated in the table’s only chair, a red-haired man stared at the coins, mesmerized. Across from him, ominously garbed in long dark robes, stood two hooded figures.

We are in agreement then, said one of the figures in a whispering hiss. You will help us to identify the child. Once the boy is in our possession, you will receive the remainder of the gold.

Two thousand, the red-haired man said.

Yes, the figure hissed.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. You understand, I can’t be positive that the boy you seek is even there!

Yes.

And should I find the boy and it happens that he’s not the one you seek?

Then, you shall keep this, for your cooperation. The dark figure gestured to the gold on the table.

Agreed, the man said urgently. He did not wish this meeting to last one second longer than was necessary.

The robed figure leaned over the table, his white eyes flashing in the lantern light. I warn you: Do not think to deceive us. The consequences would be…severe. Do you understand? The red-haired man nodded nervously. The robed figure stood. Good. You will hear from us again.

The two hooded figures turned in place and exited the cabin into the darkness. The red-haired man stood and walked to the window. He watched the two figures disappear into the forest, fading into the blackness. He locked the door and turned, leaning his back against it. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. A shiver ran up his spine.

He looked back at the table where the gold coins lay scattered. There was so much gold, and for doing so little. A smile stretched across his face. He knew exactly the boy they sought.

CHAPTER 1

The Sorak War

The war between the kingdom of Delvengard and the nation of Sorak lasted seven years, the tragic and bloody result of a petty squabble among leaders. In the end, with no clear victor, a fragile peace was established. The repercussions of the war were great. Relations between the bordering nations were rife with distrust, fear, and suspicion, as were relations between their people.

For twelve years, peace had survived.

HIDDEN DEEP INSIDE a meandering ravine, nestled beneath the darkoak trees of BlackMyst, the village of Veiled Gorge was a secret gem, revealed only to those curious and brave enough to follow the meager road that wound deep into the forested gully. Some twenty-five quaint and simple homes stood sheltered within the ravine, hidden beneath the forest’s mighty branches. Tucked away along the eastern border of Delvengard, Veiled Gorge was often forgotten or ignored by the outside world, and this suited the villagers just fine. Originally established as a commune for peace-loving peasants looking to escape the atrocities of the war-torn kingdom, Veiled Gorge remained a safe and secluded community.

The village had evolved over the years from a mishmash of people with a common dream of peaceful living into a colony of talented woodworkers, fabricating fine works of art and furniture from the wood of the surrounding trees. The villagers worked in harmony as a collaborative team to create pieces to be sold or bartered to traveling merchants who frequently visited Veiled Gorge.

The village of Veiled Gorge bustled in anticipation of the night’s events. Only a few hours remained until the beginning of the annual Summer Solstice festival, and almost everyone was in the spirit this year. Villagers scurried from place to place hanging decorations and sweeping leaves from the gnarled dirt roads that tangled throughout the village. Preparations for the event were well ahead of schedule.

A festive atmosphere blanketed the village. The summer heat sweltered despite the dense foliage that shaded the tiny community. The Solstice celebration would officially begin at sundown with a much- anticipated display of fireworks, launched from the only clearing where sky could be seen: the village square. Music and dancing would follow, lasting the entirety of this joyous summer night following the longest day of the year.

Twelve-year-old Beynn Firehand was feeling anything but festive. The Solstice celebration had only meant more work than usual to be done. Beynn had spent two entire days preparing for the festival, and worse, he wasn’t even planning to attend.

Beynn hated the festival. As a child, he had enjoyed being allowed to stay out late into the night, rejoicing with the other children. But now he was older, almost thirteen! Childhood was finally beginning to ripen into the bounty of adulthood. Playing chase in the streets no longer interested him. And yet, according to his father, he was still too young to partake in the festivities with the older revelers.

And besides, Rani Mosler wasn’t going to the festival, so why should he? Beynn wouldn’t admit to himself that this was the true reason he wasn’t interested in celebrating this year. In fact, lately, the chances of Beynn’s presence anywhere depended directly upon whether or not Rani Mosler was going to be there as well. He would pass on the festival this year. Why would anyone want to stay up all night anyway, especially after being forced to work all day? And tomorrow, there was even more work to look forward to. He was surely expected to get up early and help clean up the mess since most of the grown-ups would be too tired or drunk to do anything resembling work. It just wasn’t fair.

To make matters worse, Beynn was fairly certain that he was coming down with something. His head hurt all the time and his eyes were itchy and watery. The amount of dust kicked up from the roads being swept probably didn’t help anything. Beynn felt miserable.

In the village square, Beynn finished stacking the final piece of wood on the pile that would be used for the night’s bonfire. The direct sunlight in the square made him sweat profusely, and his face hurt from squinting in the light. After a long drink from his canteen, he examined his work. Satisfied with the stack of wood he had created, he set off to find his father. Beynn sighed. His father would almost certainly give him more work to do.

He wandered slowly through the village, intentionally taking the longest route he could think of to get to the smithy, where his father waited. Beynn’s father, Gerran, was speaking to the blacksmith, Reg, about plans for tonight’s celebration. Reg also happened to be Rani’s father, so Beynn always made it a point to be especially polite to the man. It never hurt to be on the good side of a girl’s father, Beynn thought, especially if that girl was as beautiful and sweet as Rani Mosler. Dust floated in the air. Illuminated by the sunlight, it gave the village a foggy impression. Carved Solstice decorations of darkoak wood and berries hung on the doors and windows of the tucked away houses and buildings.

Beynn thought of Rani. She was busy with her own chores in the Kitchen, helping to get things prepared for the festival. He reached into his pocket and felt the folded handkerchief he carried. Inside the handkerchief was a necklace that Beynn had made for Rani; the necklace he had intended to give to her tonight at the Solstice festival.

Over the past spring, on sunny afternoons, Beynn and his best friend Fritz would escape their fathers’ watchful eyes and climb amongst the large rocks that stood piled in the southern end of the gorge. On one occasion, Beynn had reached the top of the highest boulder, an impressive feat for a twelve-year-old boy. Standing proudly upon the pinnacle, he surveyed his surroundings. He saw it immediately. Lying among some other rocks of similar size, but not color, was a shiny blue stone. Beynn left his perch and risked a dangerous leap to the boulder sitting adjacent and slightly lower than where he stood. He retrieved the stone and examined it carefully. It was round and flat, about half the size of his palm. The surface of the rock was smooth and deep blue in color. A small natural hole the size of a pea was worn through the stone near one edge of the circle. Beynn traced around the hole with his finger, a perfect place for the stone to hang from a necklace. He immediately thought of Rani and quickly pocketed the rock for later consideration.

Beynn busied himself the following days by crafting a gift that he would give to Rani during the Solstice festival. He stole a thin piece of black leather rope from a merchant’s wagon and cut it to what he thought was a proper length for a necklace. The blue stone fit perfectly on the rope. It looked beautiful. But having not yet learned to appreciate the beauty of simplicity, Beynn decided that it wasn’t finished yet. He pried a single clear gem from the leather sheath for his dagger and glued it to the center of the stone. Perfect. Wrapping the necklace in one of his handkerchiefs, he carried it with him in his pocket constantly, always imagining Rani’s excitement when he would give it to her on Solstice.

Beynn dismissed his daydream as he finally reached the smithy. He felt the heat of the forge as he entered. He always enjoyed coming here to watch Reg work and perhaps catch an occasional glimpse of Reg’s daughter. As Beynn walked in, Gerran stood with his back to the door and didn’t notice his son enter. Reginald Mosler stood opposite Gerran across a heavy table.

So, Beynn and I will be moving on within the week, his father was saying.

Mr. Mosler looked up at Beynn, Well, good day, Beynn!

Beynn swallowed. Good Solstice, Mr. Mosler, sir, he said, shocked by his father’s words. Why would they be leaving Veiled Gorge?

Ah, Beynn, his father said. Did you get that wood stacked?

Yes, Father.

Good. Now I’d like for you to run over to the Kitchen and help Francine set up. She’s got her hands full today. She could use your help.

Yes, Father, Beynn said, somewhat less than enthusiastically. He turned to leave and was halfway out the door when his father said, And, Beynn? Beynn stopped. Be sure to tell Francine that you’re free the rest of the day to help in whatever way she requires.

Yes, sir. Beynn moped and stepped out the door.

It wasn’t fair! He’d be working the entire rest of the day! Brooding, Beynn stomped along the dusty streets toward the Kitchen. He hadn’t gone far, when he heard someone calling out his name, Beynn! Wait a moment. It was Sam Conley, who was hurrying out from the octagonal- shaped meeting chamber with a large book in his hand. Mr. Conley was one of the Village Council members. He was a serious man, but always friendly, and Beynn liked him. He was only slightly taller than Beynn, and that was only because his curly red hair added an inch or two to his height.

Beynn stopped, Good Solstice, Mr. Conley.

Eh? Mr. Conley brushed the hair from his forehead. Oh! Oh yes, Good Solstice. I wonder, Beynn, if you might do me a favor.

I’m sorry, Mr. Conley, but I’m supposed to be helping Francine in the Kitchen.

Oh this won’t take long, Mr. Conley held up the book he carried, I just need this returned to Mrs. Avery. I’ve kept it far too long. He held out the book to Beynn. I do appreciate it, Beynn.

Beynn took the book from Mr. Conley. The Averys lived just around the corner. It would only take a couple of minutes. Mr. Conley must be very busy, Beynn thought, being a member of the Village Council.

Sure, Mr. Conley. Beynn smiled. He continued on, book in hand.

Sam Conley watched as Beynn walked away. Once the boy was out of sight, Sam hurried back into the Chamber where his secret visitors waited. With luck, this would all be over soon.

CHAPTER 2

BEYNN FIREHAND WAS twelve years old. This was significant only in the fact that it had also been twelve years since the end of the Sorak War. As his father had told and retold him a hundred times, Beynn’s mother had died giving birth to him on the very day that fighting finally ended between the Kingdom of Delvengard and the Sorak. This fact had always brought a sense of sadness and more than a bit of guilt to Beynn.

His father, Gerran, had been a soldier in the King’s Army and had fought in the war against the Sorak. He met and fell in love with Serraif, Beynn’s mother, in a village along the front line of battle. As his father described her, Serraif was both beautiful and kind. She had passed her sleek dark hair and blue eyes on to Beynn, a contrast to his father’s blond locks and green eyes. Beynn had the best of both worlds, his father would say. Tall and strong like his father, with the good looks of his mother. Although his father would often reassure him that his mother would have willingly died a thousand times over if it were that he could live, Beynn still felt some responsibility for her death.

Growing up in Veiled Gorge had given Beynn a happy and peaceful childhood. The other villagers had always treated Beynn and his father like family. Gerran helped around the village doing odd jobs and was well liked by all. He was an honest, yet quiet man, who did his best to instill in Beynn the values that he held important: honesty, hard work and good manners. But most of all, he taught Beynn the importance of respecting others.

His father had once told him, I fought the Sorak in the War for nearly five years. I killed many, and I saw a lot of good and brave men die upon Sorak blades. But I learned a thing or two about the Sorak during the war. I learned that they are a strong, honorable people. And despite our differences, they have my respect.

His father’s attitude toward the Sorak was not a common one in Veiled Gorge. The war had been bloody and brutal, and even after so many years, the horror and tragedy remained fresh in the minds of most people in Delvengard. A great deal of animosity and old hatred still thrived in the hearts of many.

Beynn had only once ever actually seen a Sorak. It was during the past autumn, not long after his twelfth birthday. A group of hunters had returned to the village with two Sorak they had stumbled across and captured in the forest. They had been spying on the village, the hunters claimed. What they could possibly have been spying on in Veiled Gorge was a mystery to Beynn, but the Sorak were bound and dragged to the village square. Everyone in the village had come to see what would be done with the Sorak spies. Shouts came from the crowd to hang them and run them through! and soon the gathered villagers resembled a bloodthirsty mob. Beynn had to admit that the Sorak scared him. Having Sorak right there in his village was definitely unsettling.

Beynn had watched nervously from the edge of the square. As scary as the Sorak were, he had been more frightened to watch his village become an angry horde bent on killing those two. The comfort and peaceful security he had always felt living in the village dissolved away revealing the savage hatred that his neighbors were capable of. Beynn looked at the Sorak standing upon the platform in the center of the village square with their arms tied. He was taken by how similar they looked to humans. The only difference that he could see was their closely shaven heads and their solid white eyes; no pupils, no color whatsoever. Beynn found this chilling.

Todd Lichten, one of the hunters who had captured the Sorak, jumped up onto the platform. He carried two cloth sacks and proceeded to pull them over the