Shadows of Wychering

By Michael Wigington

The forest always seems darker...when people are missing.
Rumors of dark magic and demons abound in Wychering Wood. A small group is sent to investigate the dark forest. Nothing goes as planned. Can a budding mage save the man she loves in time? Or will Wychering Wood claim more victims? Shadows of Wychering – a fantasy novella set in the Corvarix Age. Magic thrives, kings rule, and Wychering Wood is claiming lives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Wigington
• Release date: Dec 10, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370901937

Michael Wigington

I live in Texas amongst the pine trees and am married to a wonderful woman and between us we have four kids and two grandchildren. I gets get inspiration from great authors like J.R.R. Tolkien, Robert Jordan and Bernard Cornwell. I love classic lit and especially fantasy and mythology genres. Nothing is more rewarding than reading a page-turning novel packed with adventure where characters become your best friends and heroes, and you hate to leave them when you reach the last page. C.S. Lewis said, "You can make anything by writing." and I love that! What worlds and lands can you imagine?

Book preview

Shadows of Wychering

A novella

by

Michael Wigington

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2017 Michael Wigington

All rights reserved.

DEDICATION

To my love, Skyfire, you are the best.

To the Brohirrim, who make life fun.

The Mission

The Ride

Wychering

Into the Wychering Wood

Out of the Wood

The Town Master

The Captain of the Guard

Facing the Archon

Dreams

Waiting

News

Back into Wychering

The Door

Found Them

The Decision

King Fedoric

About the Author

The Mission

The scroll bearing the seal of Margrave Pendry, Archon of the Order of Coelum, lay on her bed. The instructions were clear. Accompany the Furst Guards and Jame Dunrick to Wychering.

The morning sun lit the room through open lead-paned windows as curtains billowed, and birds sang in nearby gardens. Lilac floated on the air, a clean scent that always brought a sense of calm. But, at this moment, it did little for Ameline Harsent. She stared into the electrum mirror at her mother’s reflection.

A frown and furrowed brow brought creases across her mother’s placid face.

What is it, Mother? I have to hurry.

Her mother peered at her with penetrating hazel eyes. Ameline hated that look. She set the hairpins down and turned to face her mother.

Erwenna Harsent’s dark hair, up in a tight ball on top of her head, gave her such an odd look that Ameline had to force away a grin.

Sir Morgan Lasair, we expect him any minute. He expects to see you.

What? Mother, no. I have been instructed to leave with Jame and the Furst Guards when they arrive. I have no time for Morgan Lasair. Ameline frowned.

They can wait in the main hall, while you entertain Sir Morgan and that is the end of it. Get out of your riding clothes and into proper attire.

Mother, wait, I—but Margrave, the scroll.

No buts, you will do as you are told. Her mother turned and walked towards the door.

Erwenna, Ameline called out hoping to irritate her mother but received a dismissive wave instead.

Be quick, do not keep him waiting, her mother called back as she left the room.

Why am I forced to entertain Morgan Lasair? The door closed with a clunk. Ameline pulled the rest of the pins from her auburn hair and let it cascade down her shoulders.

The low thunder of hoof-beats sounded through her open window. She peered out to see Jame Dunrick, a mounted archer, and five of the Furst Guards riding up. Jame, in his black cloak, and brown jerkin, his long dark hair visible even with the hood up, dismounted. He was a fine man and her best friend. He glanced up at her window, smiled and waved.

Glancing down at the small table beside the bed, her eyes fell on the pendant Jame had given her years ago, they had promised each other forever. Jame was not noble born and custom demanded she marry a noble. Ameline detested customs. In a small act of defiance, she slipped the pendant over her head, tucked it inside her dress and left the room.

Her mother met her in the hall, accompanied by her little sister, Cerella.

He is here, in your father’s study. She gave Ameline an approving look as she adjusted the silk at the cuffs of her pale blue dress.

Cerella snickered, her brown braided hair forever in her hands. You look like a fancied cow.

Erwenna glared at Cerella. She does not, now hush before I send you to muck the stables.

Ameline stuck her tongue out at her sister. Why must I do this? I am not a throw-piece, Mother.

I dare say I agree, you have been given your choice of suitors. Her mother arched an eyebrow. I was not afforded such at your age. Alas, you have run them all off. I do not like the ways any more than you do, but it is the way of things. He has only come to call. Your father nor I will promise you. That is your choice, but you must choose among the nobles.

Ameline sighed, Alright, I shall speak with him but only for a moment.

Be your sweet, charming self, my dear, her mother cooed. And perhaps you may just find he is a likable fellow.

Or you can give him a lip-clap, Cerella jeered.

To the stables. Her mother pointed and gave Cerella a small smack.

Cerella’s shoulders slumped, Mother.

You were warned. Now off.

The door opened with a slight groan as she eased into the study. Shelves cluttered with books lined each wall. A small desk, with quill, ink and her father’s pipe, sat near a window with pulled back curtains. Sir Morgan Lasair sat in her father’s high-backed chair, a leather-bound tome in his hands. His face darkened from the sun, his hair, light brown with some curls. Dark eyes that held a certain gleam, as if he knew something that the rest of the world did not. An impressive man, though dressed simple. Plain browns and tans while the rest of the nobles pomped in brights and florals, though he was anything but simple, somewhat of a legend for his efforts at Karamere, known as cunning and calculating, traits she did not mind in a man. Jame lacked that, straightforward as a bull.

Word games and riddles pleased her the most but Jame would rather shoot straight and drink.

Lasair was a Mage Senior in the Order of Coelum and officially considered a Mage, whereas she was not.

It was not that she disliked Morgan, but she felt pushed. Still, he came calling and she must attend him.

Ameline inclined her head. Sir Morgan, how nice of you to call.

Morgan looked up, smiled and stood, setting the book down.

Lady Ameline, he said with a bow.

To what do I owe the pleasure, Sir?

The pleasure is mine, Lady, but I did expect you in your riding clothes.

Confusion must have played so plain across her face, for he smiled and even chuckled.

You have a secret, Sir Morgan?

No. He gave her a quizzical look.

Why did you expect me in my riding clothes? What game is Mother playing at?

We ride with the Furst Guard. Jame and the others await in the main hall. I am given lead.

Ameline fidgeted with the lace on her cuff.

I thought—I thought Margrave had recommended to the King that I finally be allowed to go out in the field. I have been told nothing, except to await Jame and the Furst.

Ah, good Margrave. Yes, he sent the letter as is required of the Archon to do, but no, Lady, it was I that asked for you.

What game are you playing at Sir Morgan?

Then thanks are in order. And I do thank you, Sir—

Call me Morgan, I insist. He gave her a quick smile, a flash, and then his face took on a hard look. Margrave is a good man, but his tendencies lean toward politics and books. He crossed his arms and gazed out the window. I believe that doing, going out in the field and putting your abilities to practical use makes a better teacher than books and classrooms. His voice held passion and energy.

So, you did not come to call on me? Despite how she felt, disappointment cut into the edges of her consciousness.

Call on you? He turned and faced her. I must say, you are beautiful. None would dare deny. But no, I am not here to call on you.

Her heart sank a little. She should have felt relief but instead—well it was confusing.

My mother said...I should go change then. Morgan, if you will excuse me.

Of course, Lady. He nodded. But first we need to discuss the mission.

Yes, please. Ameline tugged at her sleeve.

You are beautiful. Jame had never said that to her, though he had hinted a few times.

It is regrettable that Margrave saw fit to leave out the details. It is no secret. We ride to Wychering, people are missing. The rumors say Dredspel raiders are taking slaves.

Dredspel, a small city in the kingdom of Aastri, on the border of Havenfurst. They had raided before the treaty, now to violate that, could mean another war.

Dredspel? Slavery? That is a high crime, Sir. But the treaty with Aastri, have we not sent an envoy to speak to King Vax?

He was beside her with a deft move and took her hand into his.

We shall speak as we ride. It is going to be a long day. But after the mission, he looked at her, his dark eyes hinting, I should very much like to call on you.

That would please me, Morgan. She let go of his hands, gave him a nod, turned and walked out.

Heat flushed to her face and she was glad he could not see. What had she just said? Guilt floated up as she remembered the pendant around her neck.

The Ride

Her mother met them outside. And what of my daughter’s safety, Sir Morgan? Erwenna Harsent asked as Ameline mounted her mare. A fine horse she called Etty.

Mother? I am old enough to hold my own. I do not need anyone to look out for my safety. I am in the Order after all and it is my duty.

And one you are all too happy to oblige, she gave Ameline a guarded look.

I will be fine. Ameline glanced towards Morgan, May we go?

Yes, and Lady Harsent, you have my assurance. Morgan gave a gracious bow.

They passed through the east gate kicking up dust as the horses cantered along and hit the small trail that wound its way around Hawkryng Lake and down towards the river. The mountain range from which the lake and river drew their names loomed in the distance, its peaks mist-covered and mysterious. Tall firs lined the far shoreline closest to the mountains, evergreen hinted on the northeast wind.

Morgan Lasair rode up beside her. "Let us ride together, I will take lead. We will