Bound: Wulfharan Series, #1

By sarah downing

When the ship she is travelling on is caught in a storm, former slave-girl Coiran finds herself being offered up by the crew in sacrifice to the sea god.

Hunted by temple constables and the ship's captain who tried to sacrifice her, Coiran finds sanctuary in the household of former crown prince Elam Kelshall.

Yet her new-found safety is short-lived when someone starts killing off the royal family. Forced to make a pact with the god of violent death, can Coiran use her newly discovered heritage as the last living wulfharan to save her own life and that of the prince who is beginning to win her heart?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sarah Downing
• Release date: Mar 23, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393102298

Book preview

BOUND

Sarah Downing

This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

BOUND

First edition. March 23, 2021.

Copyright © 2021 sarah downing.

ISBN: 978-1393102298

Written by sarah downing.

DEDICATION

To my family and friend

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I need to say a big thank you to the following people:

My family and friends who have read multiple drafts and rewrites over the last eight years. Thank you so much for your support and your patience. Your help was and is very much appreciated.

Sophie Playle of Playle Editorial Service (playle-editorial-services.com) for her brilliant editing work. Any errors left are the result of me making final tweaks to the text.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

There is a glossary of terms in the back of this book. If you would prefer a physical copy to look at whilst you’re reading, it is available for download from my website: https://sarahdowningblog.wordpress.com

If you would like to receive a notification from me when my next book becomes available please sign up to my New Releases email list HERE

BLOT AESILDUR

COIRAN

I clung to the bunk with white-knuckled hands as the Roscaran ship lurched down one wave only to climb, staggering, up the next. All around me, the timbers of the hull groaned in tortured protest as the wind howled around the small vessel and rain hammered against the deck overhead.

My reflection, shaven-headed and gaunt, stared back at me with fear filled amber eyes from the silver mirror affixed to the wall. I looked away. There was something about my reflection, viewed in the half-light of the cabin, that made me uncomfortable. It wasn’t just that my reflection was a disembodied head, an illusion created by the black tunic I wore. I looked like a ghost. I hoped it wasn’t a premonition.

The ship seemed to drop out from beneath me. Nu-wer, I prayed silently as I flung out my arms and braced myself against the walls of the cabin. Cup this ship within the safe harbour of your hands, and bring us safely to shore. I wasn’t sure Nu-wer could help, being a goddess of rivers and floods, but I wasn’t familiar with the Roscaran god of the sea, having never set foot on a ship before now.

Stomach fluttering with fear, I swallowed against the bile that burnt my throat, grateful I had not eaten anything for several days. Not that I had any stomach for food, suffering as I was from seasickness – a condition not helped by the smell of unwashed bodies, damp wool, and the pungent odours from the commode that permeated the cabin.

The cabin door slammed open, startling me. I looked up to see a hulking figure silhouetted in the doorway, a pair of canine-shaped ears stood proud on his head. If I had been afraid before, it was nothing to my terror now. Jakhal, the god of death, had come for me.

A flash of lightning split the sky, briefly alleviating the false twilight created by the storm. Now, I could see the ears and muzzle weren’t real, but part of a mask. The brown leather was water stained, and a tiny patch of sea salt, crusted at the corner of one eyehole, sparkled like a lone tear.

I could feel the weight of the priest’s gaze behind his mask as our eyes met. He smiled, and I looked quickly away, my skin rippling in fear. A slave did not look upon the face of her betters. Now I would be beaten.

I hunched my shoulders waiting for a blow that did not come. Screwing up my courage, I risked a quick glance in the priest’s direction. He was busy shouldering the door shut against the weather.

‘The ship’s wizard says this storm will last for four more days,’ he informed me as he secured the latch at last. He stripped off his sodden black wool binnish as he turned away from the door, his mouth a grim line beneath his mask.

I watched him from beneath lowered lashes as he wrung out the robe, the muscles of his arms and chest bulging with the motion, before he pulled the robe back on with a grimace. After days of rain, everything was damp, and there was nowhere to hang clothes to dry.

‘We’ll either have to outrun the storm, or the wizard will need to calm it – though I don’t know whether he will have the strength to do so,’ he continued as he rummaged through his bags.

‘Na’heshi?’ I murmured. When he looked up, I offered him the drying cloth he had left on the bunk earlier.

‘Thank you,’ he said, taking the towel from me. He tucked his bags under the bunk, pushed up the mask so he could dry his face, and then replaced the mask once more. He froze as the ship’s timbers gave a particularly loud groan of protest. He stood, head cocked to one side as he listened intently for a moment.

I was suddenly acutely conscious of the fragility of the vessel in which we sat. I gave another shudder of fear and wished fervently that this storm were over. If we made it to land, I was never willingly setting foot on a ship again.

The priest relaxed after a moment and started towelling his hair dry, seemingly unconcerned the ship could sink at any time. He looked up when someone knocked on the cabin door.

The ship’s captain entered without waiting for leave to do so. Gone were the fine silks he had worn when we boarded the vessel. Instead, he wore oiled linen beneath a leather cape. The storm had pulled strands of hair from his dark braid, and water had plastered them against his high forehead. Stubble covered his square jaw, and the once neat beard that framed his mouth needed trimming.

‘Forgive the intrusion, kahnis,’ he said with a bow to my companion. ‘We require your assistance.’

‘A storm is a strange time for a funeral, Captain Salihah.’

The captain shook his head.

‘Indeed, there has been a death, but I did not come to speak about a funeral. My wizard informs me that only a death can calm a storm of this magnitude.’ His jaw clenched in anger. ‘Unfortunately, the dead man was the slave we carried should such a spell be required.’

‘You need a new sacrifice,’ the priest guessed as he folded his arms over his chest.

‘I would more than match what you paid for the girl.’

I shrank away from the captain, not liking the turn the conversation had taken. I had always expected to die young. Drowned in a bog maybe, or killed by an overseer. I had come to accept that fact. I had never once expected to be given in sacrifice to the gods.

I need not have worried, for the priest was already waving his hand, signalling an end to the conversation.

‘Forgive me, Captain Salihah. Her sale is not possible. She is to join the priesthood at Chi’gyn.’

The captain scowled, his lips pursed in an unhappy moue.

‘You drive a hard bargain. Fifty gold siliquae? That is surely double what your temple gave you to spend, including what you would have received in expenses.’

‘I am not haggling,’ the priest explained patiently. He spread his hands apologetically. ‘I am not authorised to sell her.’

‘Your temple need not know,’ the captain hastened to reassure him. ‘People fall overboard all the time during storms. I will pay you a hundred gold siliquae.’

I stared at the captain. Was he mad? I was not worth such an outrageous price. He could buy a dozen slaves in the markets at Thinis for what he was offering for me. He must be desperate.

Of course he is, I realised. Every sailor was needed to work the oars and sails. The captain couldn’t spare even one for sacrifice. Would he even dare? Surely the rest of the crew would revolt if he tried. The ship’s wizard was needed to cast his spells, and no one would think to harm a priest, for the gods jealously guarded those who served them. I could not see the captain offering himself up to save his ship and crew. That left only me. I was a passenger, and a slave. I was disposable.

The priest hesitated as he considered the offer. By the hint of a smile that curled the captain’s lips, I guessed he knew what the priest’s answer would be. Unfortunately, so did I.

He surprised us both when he shook his head.

‘There is no certainty the spell will work.’

‘You would kill us all, for her?’ the captain asked incredulously. ‘She is a slave. She is nothing!’

The priest shrugged. ‘Our fates are in the hands of the gods.’

The captain stepped towards the priest and struck him a blow to the body. The priest doubled over with a grunt of pain. It was only as the captain went to hit him a second time that I saw the bloody, square-bladed knife clenched in his fist.

The priest caught the captain’s knife-hand by the wrist and twisted the blade from his grasp. ‘Get out!’ he hissed softly, shoving the captain towards the cabin door. ‘If I see you again before we reach our destination, I will report you to the temple authorities.’

The captain paled as he realised what he had done. Turning on his heel, he fled the cabin.

‘Hold this.’ The priest passed me the knife before stripping off his binnish with shaking hands. ‘Shit!’ he murmured softly as he examined the freely bleeding wound. ‘There’s a leather healer’s kit in my bags, would you fetch it for me, please?’

I scrambled beneath the bunk for his saddlebags as he sat. Hands trembling, I fumbled to undo the straps. I could not believe the captain had tried to kill him. A shaving mirror and folding razor went sliding across the cabin floor as I pulled the healer’s kit free of the bag and handed it to him.

‘Should I get the wizard, kahnis?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘Stay away from him and the captain both,’ the priest ordered. He lifted a small copper bowl and a roll of linen bandage from the bag.

After pouring vinegar into the bowl, he soaked the linen in it. The acerbic scent was overpowering in the small space. ‘They mean you harm whilst this storm is raging.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘The captain more so, for you saw him stab me.’

Swearing and cursing as he worked, the priest packed the vinegar-soaked linen into the wound and wrapped a clean bandage around his abdomen. Finished, he packed his supplies back into the healer’s kit.

‘The crew is scared,’ he continued. ‘They should be. That idiot captain is navigating using the stars, rather than following the coast like most traders.’

Moving stiffly, he crouched to put the healer’s kit away and pulled out a clean tunic.

‘Don’t get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with stellar-navigation. The Whyrians have been using it for centuries. Yet, even they follow the coast when sailing in the Strait. The storms in these waters are too fierce and too unpredictable. It is far safer to put into a port or cove and wait out a storm than to try to sail through it.’ Pulling on the tunic, he rose. ‘Unfortunately, at the moment we are at least a day from land in any direction.’

I shuddered at the thought of all that water around us. When the priest seated himself on the bunk once more, I offered him back the blade. He shook his head, surprising me again.

‘Keep the knife,’ he told me and shifted to rest his back against the bulkhead. ‘You may need it. If you must fight, aim for the throat, or here.’ He touched my chest lightly, just beneath the centre of my ribs. ‘Drive the blade upwards; you want to take out the heart and lungs.’

I trembled at his words, certain the priest expected to die of his wound before we made landfall. ‘Get some sleep,’ he ordered when I stifled a yawn. ‘Nothing more will happen tonight.’

I tucked the knife down beside the straw tick that covered the bunk, the handle angled upward so I could grab it quickly should I need to. Wedging myself into the rear corner of the bunk, I closed my eyes without a word of protest, though I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep. Even if sleep were possible on such a wildly pitching ship, my thoughts were scampering like terrified mice.

The clang of the ship’s bell roused me mid-morning; we had survived another night. Sitting up, I rubbed at the crick in my neck, surprised I had managed to sleep after all.

‘Morning.’

The priest had his healer’s kit on the bunk beside him and was busy unwrapping his bloodstained bandages. My breath hitched in my chest as I caught sight of the wound. The flesh around it was a swollen, angry red, and when he removed the dressing he had packed into it, it was covered in pus.

I watched as he added herbs to the vinegar, to help with the infection, before packing in a fresh dressing. Seeing my worried look, he forced a laugh.

‘Don’t look so grim,’ he told me as he wrapped the wound once more. ‘It’s not nearly as bad as it looks.’

I didn’t believe him. Even if I had not seen the pus, his eyes were fever bright behind his mask. I had seen similar wounds often enough in the slave markets to know that if he could not get the infection under control, he would be dead within days. If he died before the storm abated, there would be no one to stop the captain sacrificing me to the sea god.

‘We should make landfall sometime today,’ the priest reassured me. The captain is surely not foolish enough to try to outrun this storm all the way to the port in Calistis.’

The fear that constricted my chest eased a little. Once we made land, he would be able to seek the aid of a healer temple; as proficient as his herb-craft seemed to be, he needed a healer mage. I just had to avoid the captain until then.

With nothing to do in the cabin, we dozed on and off, the priest sleeping for longer and longer stretches as the day wore on.

The crash of the cabin door thrown open startled me awake. I froze with fear as a half-dozen brawny sailors rushed into the cabin. Four of their number pinned the priest to the bunk. The other two advanced on me.

I grabbed the knife as one of the sailors yanked me to my feet.

Following the priest’s advice, I slashed the blade across the sailor’s throat, wincing when hot blood sprayed across my face and pattered against the bulkhead beside me. The sailor slumped to the floor, dead. His companion recoiled from me with a surprised oath. They had not expected me to be armed.

‘Out of the way!’ I recognised the jahesta, the man in charge of the ship’s rowers, as he stepped into the cabin pushing his dark curly hair back from his eyes. ‘I’ve got her.’

‘Le-leave her alone,’ the priest ordered through chattering teeth as he struggled and failed to free himself. I could hear the shortness of his breathing, see the sheen of sweat on his skin. He would be dead by moonrise, if not before. The sailors knew it too, for they ignored him.

I settled my grip on the knife as the jahesta advanced. He grabbed my knife hand when I tried to stab him, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of the underside of my wrist. I dropped the knife with a cry of pain; he kicked it out of reach beneath the bunk and backhanded me across the face. I fell to my knees, my ears ringing and spots dancing before my eyes. After jerking me to my feet, the jahesta swept me up over his shoulder and carried me out into the night.

Cold rain pummelled my back as the jahesta carried me across the pitching deck. At last, he set me down before the captain, who stood in front of the bipedal mast. A man I took to be the wizard stood at his side. Lean and wiry, he reminded me of a half-drowned vulture, with his baldhead and feathered cloak.

‘This had better work,’ the captain warned the wizard, his hair whipping in the wind as lightning split the sky. ‘I crossed the priest to get her. Fail me, and I will hand you over to the constables at Thinis when we return home.’ Leaving me to the wizard, he stalked back towards the tiller.

The jahesta held me steady and the wizard started to chant, the soft, sibilant words somehow carrying above the howling wind. He swayed in time to his chanting, waving his hands before him in ritualistic gestures. I tried to pull my gaze away from the wizard, and couldn’t. The jahesta released me when I began to sway as well.

Suddenly, the wizard reached out to tap me sharply on the forehead between the eyes. His power struck me with the force of a hammer, stealing my breath and stilling my heart in my chest as it washed through me, driving my souls before it.

Disconnected from my body, I watched helplessly as the wizard led me to the starboard rail and wrapped his off-arm tight about me, pinning my arms to my sides. Drawing a blunt-tipped, gold-bladed knife from the folds of his cloak, he laid the edge against my neck, tight beneath my jaw.

The ship jerked, timbers shrieking as the wizard drew the blade across my throat. I heard the sailors cry out in fear. The wizard released me, letting my body tumble over the rail.

I hit the water with a solid slap. The shock of the frigid water jolted my consciousness back into my body. I gasped for breath, shocked to discover I could still do so, and inhaled saltwater. The brine burnt in my wound and lungs and stung my sinuses as the storm dragged me down, tumbling me like a rag doll.

The sea slammed me against a rock and I screamed, inhaling more water. Red-hot pain flared over my back and hips as razor-sharp coral sliced into my flesh. Lungs aching with the need for air, I kicked off from the rock, ignoring the pain of the coral slicing deep into the callused soles of my feet.

Breaking the surface, I sucked in huge gulps of salty air between wracking coughs, my body ridding itself of the water I’d inhaled.

A new wave slammed me into the rock once more. This time I clung to it desperately, despite the sharp edges that cut my hands. The sea plucked at me, dragging at my borrowed tunic and trousers as it sought to sweep me off the rocks so it could dash me to pieces on them.

My teeth chattered with cold. Already I was losing feeling in my fingers. I could not remain in the frigid water for long. I would freeze to death, if I didn’t bleed out first.

Lightning split the sky, revealing the ship shattered on nearby rocks. Bodies floated in the water amongst splintered planks and fouled ropes. Sailors clung to the wreckage shouting to their fellows, too worried about their own survival to notice me. Not that they would be looking. As far as the crew were concerned, I had been dead when the wizard tipped me into the sea.

I smiled at the thought of Captain Salihah’s body floating amongst the wreckage, soon to become food for the fish and other sea creatures that fed on the dead. I hoped the wizard was dead alongside him. My only regret was that the Jakhal priest was keeping them company. I did not doubt for a moment that the priest was dead, and that his god had sunk the ship in vengeance.

The sea no longer felt as cold as it had, though it was still icy compared to the almost scalding blood that trickled down my neck.

Didn’t reefs and rocks only occur close to land? Tearing my gaze from the wreckage of the ship, I looked around me and saw the welcome golden glow of firelight gleaming in the near distance. I estimated the coast to be no more than a league away. The crew of the Ameri had been so intent on sacrificing me they had not realised how close they were to safety.

Could I swim that far? Did I have a choice? It would be churlish not to even try; after all, the priest had bought my freedom with his own life. Better to die trying to reach safety than to give in and remain here to die a certain death.

I forced my stiff fingers open. Pushing away from the rock, I timed the movement so the receding waves would carry me away from the wreckage, silently thanking the slave who had taught me how to swim as I did so.

My joints felt frozen, stiff, as I started my first stroke. My movement was jerky. I floundered, swallowing salt water whilst struggling to synchronise the movements of my arms and legs to move me smoothly through the water.

Too late, I realised I had made a deadly mistake. Cold and blood loss had affected my ability to swim. Suddenly, I was certain I would drown before I could make it to land; I wanted to turn back, return to the safety of my rock, and await rescue. Yet, when I looked, the sea had already carried me further than I thought. I wasn’t sure I could swim back to the rocks either, since I would be fighting against wind and current.

I hung in the water, racked with indecision. Should I go forward, or back? Nothing but death waited for me on those rocks; even if I were rescued, the crew of the Ameri would kill me. The golden glow of the fire at least offered the hope of freedom. If I failed, well, death was the only real freedom a slave could expect.

Decision made, I gritted my teeth, and started swimming as best I could towards the light once more. Cold and exhaustion added weight to my limbs. More than once, I sunk beneath the waves. Each time, it took a little more effort to struggle free of the sea’s embrace, to break through the foaming waves once more into the chill air above.

Come on, it’s just a little further, I cajoled myself, driving myself to make one more kick, one more stroke when I didn’t think I had the strength to move any more.

Slowly, the cold slipped into my mind, numbing my thoughts, until I could not remember why I was in the water or how I got there. The only thing I did know was that I had to reach that light.

The sound of the surf was suddenly loud in my ears. I had been hearing it for a while, I realised, but had mistaken it for the sound of the blood pounding through my veins.

My feet touched bottom. With one hand pressed to the wound on my throat, I staggered out of the sea. The hungry waves dragging at my body reluctant to give me up. Finally free of the pull of the water, I dropped to my knees in the sand, trembling with cold and exhaustion.

I swayed where I knelt, listening to the angry hissing of the waves as they stretched themselves over the sand in an effort to reach me. Now and then, a wave would reach high enough to lick at my toes before running back to the ocean with a self-satisfied sigh. I needed to get further up the beach. The thought of moving brought tears to my eyes, yet somehow I found the strength to crawl.

I crawled as far as I could, collapsing at last into oblivion amongst the bladderwrack and wireweed that marked the high tide line.

ELAM

I stood before the temple of Lélan, barefoot and stripped to the waist despite the icy rain that fell from the dark clouds overhead. It was the festival of Blot Aesildur, and as I had in previous years, I was to take the part of the Summer Stag. The duration and the severity of the coming winter rested on the outcome of this race.

Rain and sweat had plastered my dark hair to my head and ran in tickling rivulets down my chest and back. Water dripped from my nose and eyelashes, and I found myself wondering if it were possible to drown in a rainstorm.

The rain at least offered some respite from the heat thrown off by the two large bonfires that burnt nearby, the flames hissing and sizzling in the rain. I swiped at the rivulets running down my chest, my fingers brushing over the scarified tattoos carved over my heart.

I had more tattoos carved into my forearms and across my upper back. They had been my mentor Rodar’s idea. The former brecca had suggested them as an outlet for my grief after he had seen me in the Proving Grounds on the anniversary of my fiancée’s death. I had gone there looking for a fight, hoping to drown the memory of her final scream in the ringing of steel against steel.

Drunk, and mad with grief, I had been no match for my fellow herjer. By the time someone had thought to fetch the brecca, I had already injured half a dozen men. Rodar had waved off the men trying to get close enough to disarm me and, unarmed, advanced on me alone. I had charged him, screaming, only to find myself lying in the dirt at his feet, my own sword levelled at my throat.

‘Anger. Rage. Grief. They will get you killed in battle,’ he had informed me calmly. ‘And the dead can avenge no one.’ After helping me to my feet, he had taken me back to his chamber in the commanders’ quarters and shown me how a smaller pain can ease a greater one.

It was now eight years since Bocea had been killed, and I had yet to avenge her death. One day I would find those responsible. Meanwhile, I wore my convictions where others could see them. The tattoos were a reminder to myself, and a reprimand to those whose inaction had led to her death.

The harsh cry of a raven issuing from a human throat brought me back to the present. Four rafharan circled me, smudging me with incense, their ebony raven masks gleaming in the firelight. The scent of the incense, a mixture of cedar and juniper used by the priests in preparing the bodies of the dead, stung my nose. I bit back a sneeze as one of Lélan’s priestesses came forward to crown me with the antlers of the Summer Stag.

My consciousness shifted as the crown settled onto my brow. Rational thought fled, leaving only the primitive instinct of fight or flight behind. I came up onto the balls of my feet, aching to be moving away from the light and the noise of the Temple District, but the magic of the ritual held me in place.

One of the priestesses lifted a hunting horn to her lips and blew three sharp notes, signalling the beginning of the ritual. The rafharan who had surrounded me leapt clear and the magic holding me broke. I was moving instantly, racing for the safety of the darkness within Temple Park.

The earth was cool beneath my feet, and the long grass soughed against my trouser legs as I ran. The air was sharp with frost, and scented with the spice of turning leaves and the tang of salt carried in off the sea.

I baulked at the far end of the park, where the bright lights of the city shattered the darkness. Turning right, I hugged the safety of the deep shadows beneath the trees that bordered the park, before another road halted my progress once more.

I circled as a second horn blast shivered the air. I heard the Hounds of Winter lift their voices in triumph when they located my trail. I could make out their dark shapes against the glow of the bonfires as they started across the park behind me.

Fear drove me forward at last. Hunched and shivering, I ran into the lamp-lit street with its rain-slick cobblestones and high stone courtyard walls covered with withered vines that offered no hope of concealment.

As I ran, my body fell into the rhythm I had trained it to, my breathing matching the slap of my feet on the cobbled streets. Slowly, words began to fit themselves to the rhythm. Elam Kelshall – Elam Kelshall – Elam Kelshall.

I felt the spell that bound me strain beneath the weight of the