Greenvale: Tales of Haroon, #2

By Alice Sabo

For as far back as he could remember, Chance had been able to feel wrongness in the world. With that also came the ability to sense rightness, but that didn't mean he could always fix it. And sometimes that knowing got him into a lot of trouble. Until he met Brand.

 

Chance knew as soon as he saw him, that working for Brand was right. It gave him a safe place with people who accepted his odd knack. Until the day the wrongness was so big he blacked out.

 

With monsters and magic invading his simple life, Chance has to learn how to use his inborn abilities to keep safe those he cares about the most.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Sabo
• Release date: Jun 24, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393968740

Alice Sabo

Alice Sabo is the author of over 25 novels in 7 series. Her character-driven stories range across multiple genres including science fiction, post-apocalyptic, high fantasy, mystery and contemporary fantasy. Whether seeking lost cultures in an unforgiving galaxy or fighting the Darkness on the streets of the city, her books have strong world building, multi-layered characters and a satisfying culmination.

Book preview

Chapter 1   

Chance shivered in the pouring rain but couldn’t take his eyes off the old main gate. Something very important was coming. He had an itch in his bones that told him to be here. To stand here and wait for that important thing to arrive. He never knew what an important thing might entail, but he always knew where he needed to be. Sometimes that meant getting away from it. Today it meant being here. And the itch in his bones meant he had to stick around in the downpour until it arrived.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming by the secret back gate which was how most of Brand’s couriers traveled. Chance couldn’t be sure if this important thing involved any of Brand’s people, and if it did, he hoped it wasn’t anything bad. This place was his new home. The couriers were fast becoming his new family. He’d seen a lot of bad things in his young life. He ardently hoped that none of them would follow him here.

Brand’s tower was part of the old curtain wall of the Keep at Crossroads. The new wall was higher and wider, running around the tower like a protective arm. Brand had access to the Keep where he worked for the duke, and had his own back gate for his couriers to quietly come and go as they might.

Whatever this thing was, it was so important that Chance’s skin tingled with urgency. He’d learned early in his life that he had to act on these feelings. Sometimes they saved him a beating. Sometimes they caused one. Despite that, here he stood, cold and wet and looking like he’d been kicked in the head and had escaped while his minder was distracted.

The crinkle of a rain cape warned him of Brand’s approach. The Chief of the Couriers was a wiry, tall man with a solemn countenance that hid a kind heart. The hood of the cape shadowed his face, darkening his intense blue eyes.

What is it? Brand asked.

A sense of pride burned warm in Chance’s chest because Brand believed in him. He didn’t ask him why he was standing here in the courtyard in the cold, autumn rain like a fool. He didn’t curse at him or beat him back to work as a normal employer would. It was late afternoon, a time when Chance should be about his duties in the kitchen. But Brand didn’t ask him why no one was cooking his dinner. He understood Chance’s odd knack for sensing things.

He wanted to give Brand a better explanation but knew the simple truth would serve him best. I’m not sure, but it’s almost here.

Brand took up a stance beside him, and Chance felt the pride overflow, stinging his eyes. He knew the day that Brand had first found him that his life would finally change for the better. He’d been living on the streets, barely surviving. His sensing of rightness and wrongness was about the only thing that kept him out of trouble. Brand took him in without even knowing what he might be able to do. Chance had taken over the kitchen because he’d been raised by a cook. He had never expected to become a part of the special team of couriers.

The clatter of horses sounded over the hiss of the rain. The something had finally come. A flicker of movement was all Chance could see in the failing light and sheets of rain. Then they were in front of him, two of Brand’s men, and something was terribly wrong. The horses were blowing, heads hanging with exhaustion. Winter’s Stash was riding double on his stallion, Cloud Shadows, with his partner, Marten, slumped against his back.

Get Tanner, Brand yelled.

Chance had already turned to run. He knew that was the right thing to do. He ran across the wet stones of the old courtyard as fast as he could, splashing through the puddles and spraying a couple of guards. He dashed into the new forecourt sliding on the muddy paving stones. He didn’t know why they had made such a large courtyard when they had rebuilt the old Keep. A whole army could line up here and leave plenty of room for the cooks and farriers. But Greenvale had been at peace for a very long time, so there wasn’t even an army. And it was a long way to run for help.

Guards glared at him as he ran past them to the Temple of Bhanur. He took the steps two at a time. The Hands of Bhanur were the greatest healers in the Kingdom, and Crossroads was lucky to have a Temple right in the Keep. He burst into the foyer spattering rain and mud on the pristine floor. The attendant lurched to his feet and hurried toward him.

Take a breath, lad, the Hand said. Behind him, three blue-robed apprentices poked their heads out of the doorway that led into the temple.

Chance bent over, gasping for breath. Marten’s hurt. Brand wants Tanner.

Two of the apprentices peeled off at his words, rushing to carry the message to the head of the temple. Healers understood that time was often the enemy.

Hurry, Chance barked. He wasn’t sure if he should stand here to hasten them along or run back to help Brand. His heart tightened at the thought of anything happening to Marten. All of Brand’s men were good to him, but Marten had been especially kind when he’d first arrived as a frightened street rat.

A young Hand bolted into the foyer, tossing a rain cape over his shoulders. Great-Hand Tanner is right behind me. I’m to go with you now.

Good. Chance headed back out into the rain hearing the Hand on his heels. It always surprised him when people acted on his word. He was barely off the streets, not yet a man and odd looking on top of it all, but as one of Brand’s people, he commanded respect. He’d come such a long way in so short a time.

There were guards waiting at the foot of the temple stairs. Anything we should know? one asked.

Don’t know yet, Chance reported. Marten’s hurt. He knew that the comings and goings of the couriers had to do with more than simply delivering letters. It wasn’t actually a secret, but Brand kept his business to himself, so Chance did, too. I’m sure he’ll send word, he added as he hurried past. Half of them had chased after him at some time for his petty thieving and begging on the street. He hoped they didn’t recognized him with new clothes and a little more meat on his bones, even though his carrot-orange hair and mismatched eyes were kind of hard to forget.

The kitchen was dark and cold when they ran in. The Hand hurried past him into the foyer and up the winding stairs to the sleeping rooms. The tower had been officers’ quarters at some point. There were plenty of sleeping rooms up there. On the first floor there was a big kitchen, offices and work rooms and a large central foyer with hallways leading off like compass points.

Today Chance could feel the weight and chill of all that old stone around him. He knew something was very wrong, but it wasn’t something he could fix. It was up to the Hands, and the kindness of their god. If Bhanur wanted Marten to live, the Hands would be able to save him. Chance wondered if Bhanur ever heard the prayers of people without any magic. An uneasy ache of loss flooded him, but that was just a heart feeling. He knew that he needed to set those emotions aside. He couldn’t do anything for Marten, but he could fix some of the general wrongness. The first thing was to take care of the horses.

Winter’s Stash was from the Gray Plains and a stickler for taking care of his gorgeous stallion, Cloud Shadows. Marten had a mare that was a rare pink roan, Dawn’s Light. She was just as stunning. They were the fabled Long Striders, the most prized horses in all of Haroon. Dawn’s Light was rumored to have been a gift from the king. That made her doubly special. Chance figured that Marten had earned the gift through an adventure in the King’s name. Marten and Stash were strong, brave and definitely more than just couriers. He had no doubt that they had been sent off on all sorts of special missions over the years.

The rain felt even colder when he dashed back out to the side yard. His clothes were soaked through, clinging and chafing in every crook and cranny. He found the horses waiting patiently at the stable door. That in itself was an unmistakable sign that something terrible had happened. None of Brand’s men would leave valuable animals like these to get chilled after they had run so far.

Chance pushed open the heavy door letting the Long Striders go into the barn. They each went to their usual stalls. He unsaddled them and wiped the road mud off their legs. Cloud Shadows shook all over sending a spray of water everywhere. Chance wiped the dirty water off his face with a sour chuckle. I’m just as wet as you are. The horse nickered back his commiserations.

He made sure that they each had food and fresh water. They probably needed more attention than that, but he was too concerned about what was going on in the tower. He hurried back to the kitchen. After poking up the fire, he started a big pot of stew with some leftovers, so it would cook quickly. Then he started a pot of broth in case Marten needed something lighter. His stomach was churning the whole time with the feeling that the real danger hadn’t quite arrived yet.

Chapter 2   

A rush of cold wind heralded the next visitor. The back door slammed shut as Guide Ludwyn stomped into the kitchen with a scowl that warned anyone with eyes to stay out of his way. What’s this I hear about Marten?

Chance forced down his fears of the powerful man. He was uneasy around any of the Dwyner’s Guides with their exceptional magical abilities, but Ludwyn was doubly fierce. He was tall and broad with a voice like thunder. Chance picked up the teapot that he’d just filled, mutely offering it. He’s hurt, I think. Brand sent me for Tanner.

We’ll need something stronger than tea, boy, Ludwyn grumbled as he marched through to the foyer.

Chance started to go for the ale, but stopped. Maybe Ludwyn meant even stronger than that. He didn’t think it was his place to take out the special stock. Those bottles were only handled by Brand. Thinking about it, he couldn’t find a right or wrong to it, so it must not be what he should be doing. Preparing food had a bit more rightness to it, so he got back to doing that. He finished setting out a quick meal for whoever might need it. Cooking was something that he knew he was good at, and today it was what was needed.

With the arrival of Guide Ludwyn, that put two gods into the mix. Chance wasn’t sure how Dwyner and Bhanur got along, or if they would notice that their followers were working on the same thing. The ways of the gods were a mystery to him. As a kid, he’d wanted to be Gifted. To have one of the great gods of magic choose him to work his will in Haroon. Every kid had that hope. Very few were ever Chosen. All Chance had was an odd little knack of sensing rightness and wrongness. It was less than useless most of the time and had gotten him into a lot of trouble over the years.

Stash shuffled into the kitchen, pale with exhaustion. Even the clan tattoos on his face looked washed out. He’d changed out of his rain-soaked leathers into a thick robe. His long hair, free of its customary braid, left stripes of damp down his back. Head hanging, he stared at the table as if he wasn’t sure what he was seeing. Chance pushed him into a chair and slid a bowl of stew in front of him. When the steam curled up into Stash’s face, he grabbed a spoon and started wolfing it down. Chance buttered thick slabs of bread, handing them over as each one was devoured.

Ah, lad, that is just what I needed, Stash said as he dabbed the last bite of his fourth slice of bread in the last smear of gravy.

More?

No. I’ll be sick if I eat another thing.

Chance knew that wasn’t true. He’d seen Stash put away a lot more in one sitting. He looked a little more alert, but he was still drawn. I put the horses in the barn.

I saw, and I thank you, lad. Stash said. I promised Cloud a warm mash on the last stretch. He gave all he could. I need to take them something nice. But he leaned back in the chair wearily.

What happened? Chance asked softly. He wanted the words to fade away if he shouldn’t be asking. Sometimes he wasn’t as sure of his place in Brand’s tower. But Stash didn’t seem to mind.

Some kind of poison, I think. The Hands are doing what they can, but it’s bad. He couldn’t stay on Dawn’s Light without help, that’s why we doubled up.

Who would poison him? Chance asked. Marten was such a good man, he couldn’t imagine who would want to hurt him.

But Stash wasn’t listening. I swear we both ate and drank the same stuff. His eyes held the haunted look of someone anticipating the worst, and knowing he should have been able to stop it.

Spiders can make you sick or snakes? Chance offered. Maybe it was an accident. He’d ridden through the web of a nasty spider. But even as he thought it, he knew it wasn’t true.

I suppose, lad. Stash stared into his empty bowl, deep in thought.

Chance moved around the kitchen searching for rightness. He touched the pots and bowls, took a step toward the stairs to the cold room, but none of that was right. It was a large kitchen that once served a tower full of soldiers. He hardly used a quarter of the storage and work space to feed Brand and his couriers. The big iron stove was older than he was. The hearth had hooks and brackets for spits and kettles. He didn’t need any of that today.

The room had finally started to warm up. At one time in his life, warmth and safety had been his prime considerations. Now he ran his own kitchen in the Keep at Crossroads. The people who had forced him out on the street wouldn’t believe his luck. He knew in