In the Shadow of the Nasilene

By Joseph Kainz

Rachel Haversian has always known that the Nasilene were a threat, but they seem to be a distant danger in the isolated village where she works as a healer.

That changes all too soon when for reasons unknown, she’s kidnapped by lackeys of the Nasilene—feudal lords made mighty by their war-magic and their countless servants and slaves—so powerful that their only real rivals are each other.

Fortunately, she’s freed from her captors, but when she wakes up, she’s unsure if her situation has gotten better or worse. She’s injured, and there’s a mysterious young man tending to her wounds.

She learns the young man is named Wilkarian, but that doesn’t solve the mysteries surrounding him, including how or why he rescued her from her captors. While he seems to be an ally, she needs to be careful.

Rachel has only her own intelligence, the skills of her trade, and her courage to help her survive.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu Publishing Services
• Release date: Oct 23, 2015
• ISBN: 9781483439747

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Kainz

Copyright © 2015 Joseph Kainz.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted by any means—whether auditory, graphic, mechanical, or electronic—without written permission of both publisher and author, except in the case of brief excerpts used in critical articles and reviews. Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this work is illegal and is punishable by law.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3975-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4834-3974-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015916753

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Lulu Publishing Services rev. date: 10/16/2015

CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Epilogue

About the Author

For Celeste

PROLOGUE

The woods were dark and ominous, which should have been the least of her worries. Rachel was completely exhausted. She was far from an accomplished rider, and the weeks of travel had resulted in extreme weariness, to say nothing of saddle sores. The manacles binding her to the saddle horn chafed to the point of bleeding regularly, made riding even more difficult, and caused terrible cramps in her upper arms and shoulders. Her food routinely consisted solely of leftovers and her sleep was frequently interrupted by calls of nature she was not allowed to answer. Her bedding did little to protect her from the cold hard ground, and gave only a scant amount of protection from the freezing cold. That same cold constantly attacked her and sapped what little strength she had left; stealing the heat from her inadequate robes while she rode, numbing her when she slipped and fell into the snow, robbing her of sleep as she slept always too far from the fire. Her continual wracking cough was proof of the toll the cold was taking on her. Beyond all that of course was the fear of her captors- who they were, what they had done and what they might do. … fear overshadowed only by a greater fear of the future. She was not certain what awaited her at the end of this journey but she knew enough to be terrified.

Given her situation she should have barely noticed the woods but they penetrated her weariness and even her fear. The darkly-colored trees seemed sheer black against the white snow background and created a seemingly monochromatic environment. The trunks stood close together, looming over the small group and forcing them to take an ever weaving path. There was no foliage or greenery in the middle of winter of course but sunlight seemed reluctant to penetrate even the barren branches that formed the canopy and ominous shadows crisscrossed every path.

The tracks she saw were even more unsettling. Rachel was no stranger to the wilderness and so while she was no tracker she had some basic knowledge of what the tracks of various creatures looked like. These woods held all of the tracks she would expect, but there were others as well. Unshod hoof-prints far from any prairie. Strangely mixed cat and bird prints, both far too large for any creature she had ever seen. Other prints that resembled nothing she’d ever seen before.

There was something else though. Sometimes she felt as if they were being watched. Sometimes her captors would find the woods barren of any creatures to hunt. Sometimes terrible, terrible sounds would echo from far off. Rachel felt as if the forest plotted their doom, and while a tiny part of her looked forward to finally ending this nightmare the rest of her railed against the cruelty of fate.

Her captors felt the strain as well. She had learned to read their moods as a simple survival mechanism. They were of course careful to avoid using their names in front of her. Their journey had taken them far from their Nasilene Lords, and that was dangerous for them. Although she was not quite certain precisely why, Rachel knew her knowledge and skills made her valuable to the Nasilene. Neighbors of her captors’ Lords would think twice before stealing from them as Nasilene feuds tended to escalate extremely fast. For that very reason however, Nasilene Lords very infrequently allowed non-allied troops or mages to cross their realms. A Nasilene was therefore fairly safe in offending another whose realm was distant, and her captors’ names would likely give strong hints as to their homeland. Nor was that the only threat to them. Uwoln villages and small territories dotted the land wherever there were insufficient natural resources to be worth conquering by a Nasilene. Although the inhabitants could not afford to offend neighboring Nasilene these areas attracted certain types of people, some of whom would be delighted to disappear some lackeys of the Nasilene who were far from home.

In the absence of given names Rachel had resorted to nicknames for her captors, although she was careful to use them only in the confines of her own mind. Tow was the youngest, named after the shape of his head. He was very young and this mission was probably his first real job. She suspected that some of the things he had learned about the world, his superiors and himself had been something of a shock. He compensated by losing himself in the group as a whole which meant that he could be quite cruel to her, but he was less consistently so since he oftentimes lacked an audience. His boasts and attitudes had become louder and hollower after their second day in the forest, as if he were trying even harder to compensate for his inadequate experience and skills.

Shaky was the second-youngest, and the nicest to her. Rachel wondered if he knew that what they were doing was wrong but was too much of a coward to do anything but obey orders. He occasionally slipped her some decent food or let her answer a call of nature, likely in order to assuage his conscience. The forest had intensified his already nervous disposition and he had become increasingly jumpy and unsettled. Already this had gotten him a blow or two for nervous verbal outbreaks.

Those blows had been administered by Brute, one of the more veteran captors. Brute’s nickname was deserved in every way. He was huge, stupid, and very strong. His behavior during her acquisition had shown that he enjoyed beating people, and his attitude towards her was one of casual cruelty. Although he didn’t go out of his way to abuse her, he was far from kind when forced to interact with her. His time in the forest had made him even quieter and more irritable, and he had been starting more and more minor fights with his fellow captors.

Most of those had been with Brawl, an ugly pug of a man who obviously enjoyed fist-fights and had indulged himself frequently. The evidence was all over his face: in his battered and broken nose, his myriad scars and overall pummeled features. His enormous fists and generally aggressive attitude suggested that his opponents’ faces likely looked worse. Brawl was a giant ball of testosterone, turning every activity into a contest and every disagreement into a fight. Of late he boasted less readily and punched his comrades with less provocation than usual.

In a similar fashion Dandy’s needling of his compatriots had gotten worse. While he had always enjoyed insulting everything from their hygiene to their taste in clothing the forest seemed to bring out the worst in him. Previously he had confined himself to unfavorably comparing his companions’ to his own carefully groomed and refined person using complex words and phrases that eluded their understanding. Now he continued to insult them until they comprehended him. At least that distracted him from drawn-out and overly verbose comments about Rachel’s skills and past, comments which used elegance of language to deliver crude insinuations.

Another who had reacted to the forest by becoming more quiet was Scar, so-named for the small scar that ran across his forehead. His interactions with the other captors indicated he was considered one of the less important members of the group, and he tried to compensate with idle chit-chat. Although his interactions with or around Rachel were generally minimal, she was fairly certain he had started speaking much less after some time in the woods.

Blade had never spoken much, and he was respected or feared too much by the other captors to end up in fights. The time he spent carefully cleaning and sharpening his knives had increased considerably though since they had entered the woods. His treatment of her had also worsened. While he had always been cruel, she could now expect to be kicked or knocked to the ground every time he passed near. She believed that only his respect for Leader’s opinion saved her from worse.

Leader was in many ways the cruelest. He delighted in humiliating her, and never hesitated to beat or hurt her. At the same time he never let himself forget that he had been told to acquire her for a purpose, and he took whatever measures were necessary to ensure she arrived in shape to fulfill that purpose. Thankfully that had seemed to protect her from permanent grievous injury and certain other horrors. Still, Leader’s delight in her pain seemed to have increased in the forest. There were other changes though. She noticed a new watchfulness in him, and he was much quicker to scream at his men.

Not that he ever screamed at the three trackers. Rachel didn’t have good reads on them since they generally rode ahead to scout for the group. Coyote was their leader, and the reason Leader left them to their own devices. Even with minimal contact Rachel could sense the cold, quiet lethality in the man. Coyote was dangerous. His second, Crow, was also dangerous in his own way, but far more ordinary. Rachel was glad his duties kept him away from her. When he looked at her his eyes spoke of cruelties she was glad to be spared. The final tracker, Hound, had earned that name by being nondescript. He seemed to quietly follow orders without ever distinguishing himself in any way, although Rachel had noticed he seemed to be the best cook in the group. Barring herself of course, but they wisely didn’t let her cook for them.

The short and long of it though was that in her scant available moments of lucid contemplation Rachel wasn’t certain what she should be more afraid of: the future she was being forced towards or her immediate surroundings. Her captors were evil, and their past and present actions gave her good reason to fear them. Her acquisition however, had also shown that they were competent and dangerous men, and so their reactions to the forest suggested that the fear it awakened in her might be well-deserved.

The first sign was subtle. Rachel barely noticed when Crow reported it to Leader. If Leader hadn’t jerked his horse’s reins so hard that it let out a whinny of protest she would have missed it, but Leader was obviously agitated. His gesticulations became wild as he spoke with Crow. When he turned to give orders to his men his words were made unintelligible with distance but there was no misreading his tone or volume. He was upset and concerned. His orders became clear as the group shifted into a more organized formation. Rachel recognized its similarity to the way the group had ridden in hostile territory. They were concerned something might happen. Rachel vowed to pay more attention despite her fatigue. Although her chances of escape were minimal, and her chances of survival if she did escape even lower she owed it to herself to try if an opportunity presented itself. She maintained her habitual slump in her saddle while pricking up her ears and casting careful side-glances at intervals.

Her increased alertness paid off relatively quickly, as she noticed when Coyote returned to the group early and led Leader slightly aside. They seemed very interested in a certain tree. She shot a quick sideways look at the tree in question as she rode past. Although the angle wasn’t good her keen eyes caught sight of some kind of carving scratched into the wood. It seemed odd, especially given how agitated Leader seemed to be by it.

That night Coyote and Crow rode into the camp quite late. Rachel held her breath as she lay on the cold ground, tuning in to the correct conversation and letting her catch the tail end of Coyote’s report to Leader:

. . . by the time I tracked him down I was ready to kill him for not reporting in to me regularly. Turns out something had beat me to it. He was torn to pieces. Sign says it was some kind of huge animal, but the tracks and the bite marks are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Also, whatever killed him didn’t feed on him, so the tracks may have been faked. It could be that. . .

Rachel’s lungs gave out then, and the sound of her own breathing masked the rest of the conversation as the two walked slightly away from the group. Still she could tell Coyote and Leader were arguing about something. She couldn’t tell who won, but the next day Coyote and Crow rode out as usual. Crow simply never came back.

Her captors were obviously rattled that night, but despite that and the slight snowstorm that blew up the next morning Coyote rode out ahead of the group as usual. The snowstorm was a nightmare for Rachel. The amount of snow was minimal, but it stuck to the bare skin of her face and formed a thin layer there. With her hands bound she couldn’t wipe it free so she would rub her face against the top of her robes at intervals, which only sufficed to send snow down her clothes and soak the area around her neck. The wind was really not blowing that hard, but it howled through the trees nonetheless, and sufficed to whip through Rachel’s robes like they weren’t there, and swirl the snow around to the point where visibility was significantly lowered.

The lowered visibility forced the group to ride in a tighter formation in order to stay in sight of each other. In turn, that meant that when the forest finally made good on its ominous feel Rachel was close enough to see the aftermath at the same time as her captors. Her head was down in a futile attempt to protect herself from the storm and so her first warning was Leader’s sudden vehement swearing. She looked up and felt a flurry of emotions. No animal could have done that. There was someone else in the woods with them, and whoever it was obviously did not like her captors. That should have given her hope, but she wasn’t certain she could take any from the sight in front of her. Coyote’s body was hanging from a tree in front of her. It was facing towards her, and the terrified look in the corpse’s eyes did not match the man who had once commanded respect even from Leader. However, the crude wooden stake impaling him to the tree suggested that fear was justified, as did the fact that his body hung at least three feet off the ground. Who could and would do such a thing?

Rachel’s rapid musings were interrupted by a scream from behind. She turned her head to look. Shaky had probably been the one who had screamed, although the amount of blood pouring out of his chest wound and his complete stillness as he lay on the ground suggested he would not do so again. Tow lay next to him, and the neat red slit where his throat had once been suggested he had not had time to scream.

Scar whirled his horse and charged out into the snowstorm after something Rachel couldn’t make out. She quickly lost sight of him, and of Brawl as he followed. There was a sound of swearing and yelling, a sound like an axe burying itself into rotten wood and then more yelling. Suddenly a horse screamed, and there was silence, quickly broken by Leader.

Quickly now. Form up around me and let’s ride out of here. Whatever or whoever they are, they’re only attacking when someone is separated from the group and vulnerable. If we stay together we’ll be fine.

As the group closed in on him, Leader pulled Blade aside. Although he spoke softly Rachel could still make out his words. Stay close to the prisoner. If we have to cut and run you need to make certain she doesn’t survive to tell anyone about us, got it? The look Blade shot her before nodding was one of intense pleasure. Rachel’s shivers intensified.

The group rode for an undeterminable while. Rachel had no way of knowing how long a period had passed but she noticed when the men around her started to relax. Obviously they felt they had escaped the ambush, and they started to look around less and spent more time brushing snow off themselves or rearranging clothing to keep out the wind.

That was probably why none of them actually saw Dandy die. One minute he was on his horse to Rachel’s left, the next he was gone. Brute, who was also on that side, noticed first. With a roar he pulled his axe out and chopped downwards. Rachel finally saw one of her captor’s opponents. Immediately she realized why it had seemed like a ghost. The man was dressed all in white, even to the point of having something white wrapped across his face so that only a small section of flesh around his eyes showed. It was also evident that he had the grace and skill necessary to have stalked her captors. The ease with which he evaded Brute’s blow and riposted his knife into Brute’s throat showed that clearly.

Leader charged at the man in white, his sword held at chest level. The man dropped into a crouch as if preparing to dodge, his knife held at the ready in an obviously inadequate answer to Leader’s weapon. Something seemed to spook Leader’s horse, but then Rachel had other concerns as Blade drew a knife in each hand and urged his horse closer to her with murder in his eyes.

Rachel tried to nudge her horse aside, but it was accustomed to ignoring her. Her hands were still bound to the saddle horn so she pulled her right foot out of the stirrup and threw all her energy into a kick aimed at Blade. Although it felt as if she were wrenching her leg nearly off she managed to get it high enough to hit Blade in the chest and knock him from his horse. She felt a moment of hope but then he stood and advanced on her once more. She kicked at him again but he dodged and sank one of his knives into her leg. She screamed and struggled to dismount so as to put the horse between him and her, but her right leg wouldn’t respond. Desperately she threw herself sideways, falling off the left side of the horse until she reached the length of her chains and was pulled up short. That stymied him for a moment but he began to come around the horse and she couldn’t scramble to her feet with the use of only one leg. Blade stabbed her in the torso and she screamed again. Her strength failed and she slumped, held partially upright only by her chains. He went to finish the job, but was distracted by something Rachel’s narrowing field of vision hadn’t let her see previously.

He turned, suddenly engaging another man dressed in white like the first. There must have been several of them because he looked very similar to the one Leader killed. The new man in white and Blade were facing off, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Blade glanced in her direction and grinned. Blade stabbed at her and the man in white suddenly reached out, catching the knife-blade through his left palm and stabbing Blade with the knife in his other hand. Rachel wasn’t certain she believed her eyes. In fact she wasn’t certain her eyes were working properly. The pain was growing distant now. Everything was going. She dreamily watched Blade fall backwards into the snow before she herself fell into blackness.

CHAPTER 1

The first thing Rachel felt when she woke up was surprise. She felt pain, so she must still be alive. She was surprised to be alive. Not unhappy, but surprised. Her surprise continued when she realized she didn’t feel fear. That was odd. She had felt fear for so long now. Why would she no longer be afraid? She tried to take stock of her situation. She remembered being stabbed and Blade falling. And then? White everywhere. Snow. Snow and movement and constant agony. Tracks? Then what?

Suddenly Rachel realized she was warm, and being warm was clearly the best feeling ever. She could barely remember what it was like to be warm. She reveled in the sensation for an eternity, thinking about nothing else. Nothing else mattered besides being warm…until she realized she was also laying on something soft.

Alright, so she had made a mistake before. Clearly lying in and on something clean and soft was the best sensation ever. Clean. She felt clean. She rubbed her hand against her face, ignoring the pain the action caused in her midriff. She was definitely clean. Well, maybe not completely clean. Her undergarments were still in place and just as dirty but at least that indicated no one had taken liberties with her person. So she was not clean, but cleaner, and she smelled soap. Soap was good.

She smelled something else too, and she began to consider opening her eyes to find out what it was. She didn’t feel afraid, she was warm, she was lying on something soft and she was clean. Those seemed like good signs. She really didn’t want to open her eyes and disappoint herself, but she’d have to eventually, and that other smell was intriguing. She cautiously opened her eyes a slit staring upwards. A roof! A real, honest roof! Made of wood too. That was a good sign. The Nasilene preferred to make their keeps out of stone. There was something else: light flickering on the roof. Concentrating, she realized it was from a fire. Turning her head just a bit she could see it. She was lying near a fireplace with a small yet healthy fire burning in it.

An object in front of the fireplace caught her eye, and she turned her head a bit more to make it out clearly. It was a crude wooden bowl filled with some kind of meat stew and an equally crude wooden spoon. Clearly the source of the intriguing smell. Her stomach suddenly growled, and Rachel carefully reached out and took a spoonful before wolfing it down. She identified it as venison, and quickly devoured half the stew, in the meantime correcting herself once again. She had rushed to conclusions. Clearly, eating fresh meat was the best thing ever.

Finally she was full. Carefully she took a long drink of water from a pitcher next to the bowl, then tucked her arm back under the covers and closed her eyes again. She felt wonderful. Maybe she was dead after all and this was the afterlife. All this just didn’t make much sense otherwise, but she resolved to enjoy it anyway. She drifted off to sleep hoping that this wonderful little dream would still be here when she woke up.

She woke up again to the same wonderful reality, and finished off the rest of the venison before falling back into a contented sleep. She was awakened some time later by an urgent need to use a chamber pot. Carefully trying to get up she found a wooden staff lying next to her. While not a crutch it obviously had been carefully sanded down, and Rachel found it of great use in rising and hobbling to the corner where she found a box that was obviously intended for the purpose she had in mind.

Her injuries made her activity difficult, but Rachel was so pleased to be able to do something on her own schedule that she barely noticed. As she hobbled back to her bedroll she tried to take