Orphan and Sorcerer Sneak Peak: The Griffin's Egg, #1

By K. A. Thomsen

Orphan Shayana runs away when she overhears her adoptive father planning to sacrifice her to the Dark Lord to bring him back to rule in 

bodily form. In the wild mountainous regions of the north she discovers Arkana's greatest secret - that she is actually the heir to the throne. Shayana must begin to steward newly emerging spiritual gifts in order to take back the tower at Aorn. Set in a fantastical Dark-Ages alternate Europe, it is similar to Mercedes Lackey's Arrows of the Queen series, with echoes of the worlds of Narnia and Middle Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: K. A. Thomsen
• Release date: Sep 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393737537

K. A. Thomsen

K. A. Thomsen is the author of the children's sci-fi series, The Hidden Valley. She has been writing stories since she was 9 years old. She enjoys sunshine, horseback riding and playing guitar.

Book preview

1Chapter 1 - Emissary

It was nearly pitch-black, a moonless night. Shayana knelt down, feeling through the dark tangle of weeds until her fingers grasped the familiar bloom. Arkon had not allowed her to bring a light, not even a measly tallow candle to guide her way. At the sight of its flame, he said, the widdle-wort blossoms would close up, locking the pollen within their tightly-clasped petals. Then the only way to get it would be to pick them apart.

The strange, pungent lilies only bloomed on the darkest of nights, and grew so deep in the sprawling thicket behind the tower, that she was the only one who could find them. None of the guards or servants had spent as many hours wandering the hillsides along the knees of the mountain. Overhead, the leaves of the canopy tossed in a sudden sigh of breeze. A young tree-trunk creaked, and moments later, its elder answered with a deep groan, lamenting the long years of toil under the curse. Of course, the trees were not her only company. There were many nocturnal beasts that inhabited these forests.

As she was reaching for the farthest flower of the bunch, the awareness of a sentient presence came bumping into her consciousness. She heard something scurry over the needle-strewn hummus to her right. Then all was still. Shayana exhaled and resumed her task. Moments later, a twig snapped so sharply behind her that she nearly crushed the bloom. Her hand flew open, releasing the cloth to a gust of wind. Carefully, she craned her neck slowly around to take a peek. When she saw what had made the noise she sighed, burying her head in her hands, cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

Desire, she said as the unicorn stepped closer and nickered an affectionate greeting. She stood up to pat the strong crest and then buried her cold fingers deep in his mane.

I wonder what Arkon will do with the pollen? She murmured to no one in particular. She was certain it was for some dark and magical purpose. Guilt swirled around inside her. This was one task that had always felt wrong. But she knew that what he could do to her far outstripped even the power of her own conscience.

I guess I’ll never know for certain, she sighed. She was never allowed in the upper rooms of the tower, never allowed to peer into his world of magic. The citadel where they lived was set in the foothills of the Shattered Peaks range. Their lone tower was all that remained of a crumbling castle that had once been the home of Aorn’s royal family. Shayana walked a few feet to pick up the cloth she had dropped and then tucked it gently into her purse.

Well, I guess that’s it. Arkon’s waiting. She said, stroking the soft velvety nose. I wouldn’t mind a ride back.

Desire pawed eagerly at the suggestion of a ride. Shayana grabbed hold of a section of mane and vaulted into his back. Powerful muscles rippled beneath his skin, like waves in a butter churn. She could feel the heart to run, held back like a bowstring, waiting for her command.

Alright. Let’s go! She cried, leaning forward and tapping his sides with her heels.

The great haunches lurched forward, launching them at a run. Like an arrow, they sailed as one past tree and branch, over root and stone. Too soon they stood breathless at the edge of the wooded hill, looking down at the tower, with only the moat separating her from home. Shayana deftly slipped one leg over Desire’s mane and jumped down. Then she kissed the soft nose, knowing that as soon as she turned around he would vanish into the mists.

As she listened to the cool click of her boots on the stone bridge, exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her. But she only had to climb the stairs one more time before she could sink into her covers for the night. Arkon was waiting, dark form looming at the top of the stairs as she came in the door.

What took you so long? he asked.

Uh, nothing, it was dark out, she replied.

Did you get it?

Yes. It’s in here, all eight cloths, she said, reaching into the sack.

I’ll take that. He said, lifting the embroidered cotton purse. We wouldn’t want to waste any of the pollen.

No, of course not, Shayana said softly and looked away. Then suddenly she turned, surprising herself. Will I get it back? she asked, but the words died on her lips as she realized he was already gone.

It was her favourite bag; her only bag. It had taken her months to make enough cheese to trade for it in the marketplace. She often used it when she secretly collected herbs on the mountainside and laid them out to dry at Mrs. Myrtle’s place. Leaving them there kept the serving women from pinching them for their various soups and stews, and kept Arkon from taking them to use for his spells and sorcery. As she turned to ascend the stone staircase, she bit her lip and told herself that it didn’t matter.

By the time she got to her room, Nolm Arkon was at his desk, lifting a black silk cover off of its jar. A moth hovered within, wings beating desperately. The motion of the wings would shake the pollen from the cloths. When the insect was finished the job, Arkon would asphyxiate it with distilled spirits, tear off the wings and stab them onto a thorn with the others, to give to Heron for her pantry. These cloths would hopefully be the last. He almost had enough.

The iron gate strained at the weight of the creatures chained within. It’s hinges creaked and groaned against the growing rebellion. Silhouetted black with red glowing embers for eyes, an enormous creature that could have once been a bear pushed it’s bulk up against it, releasing a feral growl. Finally, with a great, earsplitting shriek, the hinges and the lock began to stretch, pulling open at their weakest points. Evil creatures spilled out at the opening, wheeling and screaming with glee.

Shayana woke with a start. Her heart was pounding in her chest; the cotton nightgown she wore was damp. She breathed in, then out. The terrifying dream flitted away into the depths like a shy fish as she chased it, trying to remember. 

Can’t sleep now , she thought, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Frigid blue-white granite met her bare feet.

You’ll catch cold! scolded Galia’s voice shrill in her head. The washerwoman’s biceps were like thighs. Her memory was closely associated with the scent of potato peels and the sound of clanging metal pots.

Shayana slipped on her leather slides and swept through the midnight hall. The torches in their sconces had long since been extinguished for the night. Moonlight shone in from a high window, illuminating her snowy white nightgown. She, phantom of cotton and cornsilk, drifted down the staircase toward