Princess of Goldenheart

By Roman Quintanilla

Ten thousand years after the fall of man, the earth is ruled by beast hybrids, the products of twenty-first century genetic engineering. In this beast world, a girl named Athedra is imprisoned by a clan of feline slave traders, and if her suffering were not enough, she is also hunted by beastly lords and their agents. But among those who seek Athedra is one who was born to die for her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Roman Quintanilla
• Release date: Jul 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005976750

Roman Quintanilla

Writer of several books.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Olive eyelids flung suddenly open in the darkness, revealing glistening black orbs without whites – the eyes of a seal. The lindarian lifted the back of his head from the branch against which it had rested through the night. He could still hear echoes of the screaming wind from his dream as he came to.

He looked down to find a rope strapped horizontally across his chest. It was snug, but not painfully tight. There was another strap over his slim belly, and another over his pelvis. There were ropes strapped along the lengths of each of his black-clad legs. Seven could see that all was just as he had left it.

Before he did anything at all, the lindarian closed his eyes and inhaled a long deep breath, through large, flaring nostrils that gaped to receive it. As the wind whistled flatly through the leaves of the towering kapoks, and a distant cricket chirped, the man sucked every bit of air he could into his large, inhumanly-powerful lungs.

As he inhaled the air, he sifted it, examining it, searching for every bit of information which his eyes could not report. He could smell dangers and bounties, presences and memories of presences in the deep dark recesses. He could scent into every hidden cranny in the forest for many miles around.

There had been a feline hunter there, in the darkness, about an hour ago. The creature had circled around the trunk of the tree, but had not climbed all the way up to the branches where Seven had been sleeping. It had been a hungry feline – a female. He could still scent the stomach acids churning in her stomach. It had been a local feline, too – not from the east, like his pursuers.

The lindarian twitched his nose as he inhaled again, examining the chemistry of the air more thoroughly. He could smell her leather toe-boots also, and her bow, her lance, her cedar quiver of ironwood arrows. There was some kind of compound in her hair.

Seven exhaled all the air out of his lungs, emptying himself from the information before drawing breath again, this time examining his immediate surroundings. He could smell the noisy cricket whose song had haunted his dreams, located it. It was thirty two feet behind him, and about forty eight feet down, along the ground, tucked into a small rock formation nestled in tall grass.

The nest of robins a little higher up into the tree was still in place. The mother was no longer there. She had flown not half an hour ago. There were three chicks inside her nest. They were hungry.

He could smell a pack of wolves huddled around a reptilian carcass to the south, southwest. He could smell the body of standing water deep into the bush more than a hundred yards in front of him.

The lindarian could scent within ten miles with perfect clarity, seeing every bit of his environment perfectly without his eyes. He could tell every danger, every source of sustenance.

And he could smell…her.

The human female – the girl. The one with the golden hair and the large, grey eyes – her scent like fresh, clean linen. If he closed his eyes, he could see her face: her elegant nose, her little teeth, her thin, plain lips. He could see her, but had no idea who she was.

Only that she haunted his dreams.

It was possible that he had known her – that he had tried to kill her. He wasn’t sure. There wasn’t much that he remembered from the time before the fall.

Her scent seemed to have faded some while the lindarian had slept, but it was still there; still lingering. It was always there. Seven put his black eyes out onto the horizon to his left, where the sky was not as black as it was everywhere else. It was a dark but lucent blue, and the dim blue light was growing.

Seven reached behind him, grasped the hilt of his katana. The heavy, wooden handle wrapped in a cotton ribbon felt good in his hand. He pulled it up, but only far enough to loosen the heavy blade from the scabbard before he pushed it back into its snug grip. It made a soft, secure sound just behind his ear.

Satisfied, he brought his hands forward again and started loosening the knots on the ropes that had secured him safely to the branches. Calloused, deft fingers pinched and pulled at the fibers of the tight knot, as it unraveled in his hands. When his chest was free, he breathed even more deeply than before.

He switched to the next knot, and while he was working, he cast his gaze past his leg, over the branch’s edge, all the way down to the moist jungle floor far away. It was still too dark to clearly see. There was only blackness there.

When all the lines were loose, Seven rolled them up into tight bundles, put them away into the black folds of his heavy cotton robes, and then he dropped over to his right side, his lean body swinging down just before he caught the branch with his strong hands.

He dropped to the next limb down, and then the next, moving swiftly, fluidly, like a shadow down the long length of the tree trunk. In another few seconds, the lindarian’s black boots touched noiselessly down onto the richly-brown, moist earth.

There was a loud ringing of bird chatter as the dawn began to break. There was the chirping and screaming of a white-faced spider-monkey somewhere to the west. The lindarian dug through the folds of his robes and began to relieve himself into the dirt as he looked around in the growing light. He knew he would not be sleeping here again.

Just to the north, there ran a thin rapid stream, which had helped him to decide last night on where to sleep. He could barely hear its water splashing turbulently over the white rock river bed.

Before he moved in that direction, Seven sniffed the air for her, catching the female’s slightest scent. He could tell that she was west of him, as usual, but he couldn’t tell exactly how far west, or in what exact direction.

Looking in that direction, he could only see thick jungle. He would have to find a clearer path.

From her waning scent, Seven thought the girl might be in motion, maybe travelling away from him. He couldn’t be sure. He couldn’t lose her, either. Whoever the girl was, she held the answers to all the questions in his head. He would have to move more quickly than before.

When he had finished evacuating, the black-eyed man turned around, facing northward, and began to move that way, descending into a shallow valley, toward the source of moving water.

By the time Seven reached the little stream, the light of day had overcome the darkness. There was a soft, peaceful glow in the green leaves, and a soothing sound of cool, running water.

Seven didn’t see the reptor who lowly crouched near the river bank, hiding in thick brush, but he scented it.

He had no fear of that reptilian thing. He could also tell the creature presented no danger to him. It was an old, decrepit lizard, whose aroma was thick with old age. It smelled like dirt and fungus.

Seven strode past the sneaking reptilian carelessly, and reaching the water’s edge, he knelt down and started to undo his robes. He pulled the thick, black clothes down, exposing his muscular back and huge scars and welts across it, where his ribs had once poked through.

There was a gash with a little bit of meat sticking out of it along his right flank. Seven stretched that arm, feeling the searing pain in that old scar, and then, without any further hesitation, he plunged his face down into the cold, clear water, dipping it all the way inside where he opened up his mouth and drank.

He drank the water deeply, fully, well aware of its chemical content, unafraid of any dangers that it may present, and then, when he’d had his fill, he pulled his head back out all at once. The water flew behind him from his wet, black locks and splashed cold against his naked back. With his eyes closed, Seven pushed his wet hair back, smoothing it over the top of his head as he continued stretching his lean form.

With his eyes still closed, he calmly breathed, inhaling fully, exhaling long and slowly, meditating in the moment as he did usually during the early morning, until suddenly, there was a sound – a low and guttural voice coming from behind him.

Belot, said the reptile, is not afraid.

Seven’s eyebrows furrowed, and he frowned. He scented that the old, slow-moving lizard in noisy armor was right behind him. The thing was holding something wooden in its hands.

Seven turned only his head, and when he did, the reptor’s eyes lit up as he shrunk back.

The metal breast plate he wore caused a racket with his sudden, clumsy movement. His plump, scaled feet slapped noisily in the moist earth as he repositioned his attacking stance. He had to straighten out his armor on his wide, leathery form. The metal shin guards just above his feet didn’t quite fit around his thick calves and looked quite ridiculous – like they were struggling just to hang on.

Seven didn’t have to look at him to see that the creature was generally inept.

At first, the creature said, Belot thought, ‘maybe…maybe it’s dangerous! A human hunter, maybe! Maybe it will kill you, Belot!’ He shook his stick at Seven. But now look how Belot has captured you!

Seven faced the river once again and kept his eyes closed, largely unconcerned.

The reptor waddled clumsily closer to the calm and kneeling Seven, his stick out and ready to attack. Hey, human! he said, Didn’t you hear me? Put your hands up now – I don’t want to struggle with you!

Seven dismissively returned to the business at hand, plunging in his face for another drink.

The fat lizard man couldn’t believe how he was being utterly ignored, and splatted around to Seven’s right hand side, constantly adjusting his combative ensemble just to keep it together. The metal plates made a rattling clamor. He waited impatiently for the man to finish, his slit, green eyes examining the lean, olive figure, seeing the horrid scarring.

Are – are you going to do what Belot says? he innocently asked when Seven pulled his face out of the water again.

Seven would not so much as look at him. He busied himself washing his face and arms and the back of his neck.

Hey! Belot said, becoming impatient. Belot is talking to you! He reached out with his stick, to prod Seven’s right shoulder, but before he could make contact, Seven’s hand reached up, grasped the stick and pulled it hard enough to send the lizard man entirely into the creek.

The reptor yelled in surprise and complaint at once as he splashed down into the water, his thick rear end landing on the rocks below. Aaurgh…! He stood up, the water cascading down his elbows and his many scales. He immediately began struggling to get out, complaining all the while. Why, you little…you son of a…!

Seven opened up his eyes at last, directing his glare at the splashing reptilian before him.

The reptor’s eyes widened when he saw Seven’s large, wholly black irises, his long nose with flaring nostrils. You’re…you’re not... Panicking, he splashed his hands into the water, searching for his weapon. "You are lindarian!"

While the reptor was still reeling from his realization, Seven reached back with his right hand to grip the hilt of his sword. With his left hand, he secured the tip of the scabbard on his lower left and slid the long, curved katana out of its sheath in one swift motion. It made a sharp, resounding shriek.

The reptor closed his eyes tightly. The slit he had for a mouth stretched out, so that he looked like he was smiling, even though he wasn’t. He was petrified.

Seven thrust his sword forward mercilessly…and straight into the water.

The reptilian almost felt the blade slide into him. He squealed as he almost made a contribution to the river down below.

When Seven pulled the sword back out again, it was carrying a fish that it had skewered. He pulled the flopping fish off the tip of his blade and in one swift slice beheaded it. He skinned the fish just as skillfully and gutted it, spilling the guts onto a flat white rock beside him.

The reptor peeked one eye open – a grey, green stone with a black slit down the middle. His head tilted as he watched the lindarian work.

Seven dipped the two pink flanks that he’d prepared into the water now, washing them before he brought one of them back up to his mouth and bit into it. The other one, he tossed to the wading lizard man.

It slapped the reptor in his chest, making a loud clang against the breastplate, and then fell down into the water before Belot clumsily snatched it up again. His thick claw-hands fumbled with the meat until he held it firmly.

He looked up at the man in black, his eyes large with confusion. Water was steadily dripping from the hard, scaled fins that poked out of his leathery face.

Seven ate the fish, chewing the cold meat, bones and all, his black eyes on the reptilian. Soon, he’d downed the whole plank, swallowing hard before he stabbed the blade into the water again, and then a third time when he pulled out two more fishes and prepared them as well, beheading them and gutting them skillfully.

You’re not… the reptilian stammered, his thick shanks maneuvering in the water, you’re not going to kill Belot? He smiled now, relieved, showing sparse, brown, pointed incisors. He even let out a tiny grunting laugh to celebrate his great fortune. His tiny nostrils pushed and pulled air as he began to get up, splashing about, careful not to drop the breakfast in his claws.

He finally climbed out of the creek with all his metal armor clamoring and came to stand near Seven. Thank you, lindarian, he said, for sparing Belot. I see that you are good for Belot.

He sat down near the lindarian on the ground, on his haunches, his thick tail sticking out of the metallic rear of his cuirass. Gratefully, he started eating his own portion, the whole time never taking his eyes off the black-eyed man.

The two ate quietly, the lizard-man watching the lindarian; the lindarian looking up and down the riverbank as he chewed.

When Seven finished, he got up and pulled his inner black robe over his form, still wet though it was. He didn’t mind. It would help to cool him on his travels. He started straightening it out.

You don’t talk much, do you? said the reptor with his mouth full.

Seven didn’t so much as look at the reptor as he continued dressing. He pulled on the larger, outer cloak now and then began to tie his sash.

That’s all right, said the thick, old reptilian, Belot doesn’t like to talk much, either.

Seven wasn’t interested in conversation. He was working to relocate the scabbard on his side.

Fine, the lizard admitted. Belot a talker. What can Belot say? He pointed at the lindarian with a jiggling piece of fish, the pink and purple little tendons jiggling just beneath his leathery palm. You, you lindarians. Belot knows all about your people. You know? Belot knew one of you when he was just a little toad. Lived alone in the earth. In Underton, you know. The underground city. You know that place?

The young lindarian was finished dressing. And having had his breakfast, he would soon be returning to his path.

Belot gave another rumbling chuckle, the pale tan flesh beneath his chin jiggling loosely. Toughest old bag Belot ever met! They say it’s the lungs, you know? Is it? Is that what makes your kind strong?

Seven plunged his sword into the water and shook it inside, rinsing it. He pulled it out and wiped it clean and then he lay it down to dry as he began to dig around inside his black folds. Moving in businesslike manner, the lindarian pulled out a long tan skin, uncapped the wooden cork and turned its bottom up, unloading the cool, clean water into his guts.

While the lizard told a story of his youth, Seven knelt at the water’s edge again and plunged the skin canteen into the running torrent. He filled it up halfway and capped it, then shook it vigorously before pouring the contents back out into the stream.

The creature hadn’t paused his rambling.

He plunged the canteen into the water again and waited for it to fill completely, forgetting all about the old reptor behind him and his chattering. When the container was finally filled up, Seven replaced the cap and began to turn around again.

Ah ha! said the old serpent, pointing Seven’s own sword at his face. Belot caught you off guard, didn’t he? The leather-faced creature’s smile was pure elation. And Belot thought lindarians were so sharp! Belot was told it’s impossible to best one of you!

While the lizard man gave his celebratory monologue, Seven smirked and calmly tucked the canteen back into its place.

An old, pink tongue coated with white fish membrane slid between the thin slit the lizard had for a mouth as the trickster planned. Now you listen to me, human… he instructed. He looked nervously to his right and left. You listen, and Belot will tell you what we’re going to do next. The tongue again, sliding between leathery lips in the opposite direction.

As he turned the blade in his hands, the morning light reflected from it, shining into his eyes, and now the non-man started to examine it. There was an emblem at the hilt: a golden heart upon a silver disk.