Marked Harvest: The Shadowed War, #1

By Catrina Roush

They are being hunted for their magic with no clear escape.

Nikko Sorren considers himself an ordinary thief. Except he was born with a magic that helps him steal. He's avoided suspicion easily for years. Until a young mage finds him, wanting to steal Nikko's magic for himself.

On the run, alone, Nikko meets others trying to escape the country. None can do it alone. None are sure it can be done at all.

They must face the fate they didn't choose. Faced with deadly consequences, Nikko and his new friends make desperate choices.

Survival means keeping their souls.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Catrina Roush
• Release date: Feb 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737921806

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Month: Parst Day:

The room was dark, even though the sun shone brightly outside. Dirty drapes hung over dirty windows. He would need to clean those next. He’d started cleaning the mugs and other dishes at mid-morning. It was going on noon now.

As Nikko set aside a clean mug, there was a crash in a nearby room. He heard cursing and moaning and things being knocked over. Nikko started cleaning another mug, it was the last one. Shuffling feet headed towards the kitchen. Nikko didn't look up as a man with gray hair and thin features stumbled through the door. He held a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand.

The only feature Nikko shared with his father, Nick, was his brown eyes. Otherwise, he looked a lot like his mother. Black hair, thin nose and slender features.

The man grimaced as he entered the room and looked at Nikko.

I'm leaving for Korsa in the morning. Nikko said after a few moments.

You just got back a few days ago. The man made his way to the table in the center of the kitchen, grabbing a shot glass along the way. He sat down where a sandwich sat for him.

I know, I was there. His father groaned in annoyance. And I was there when one of the Master of Merchants secretaries said you haven't paid taxes. Nikko heard teeth grinding. I gave you money for them.

I needed the money somewhere else. Nick said as he poured himself a shot. Nikko set the clean mug aside and looked at his father who avoided his stare by pouring whiskey down his throat and promptly pouring another drink.

I'll be gone for at least a week. Nikko said.

What are you stealing this time? Nick growled as he poured another drink. Nikko regretted telling his father the truth about his livelihood. He’d never lied to his father and he hadn’t wanted to start. Nikko tried to find honest work when he was nineteen, but no one wanted to hire him. Now he was twenty-six. Some said it was because the position was already filled. He knew this to be a lie, he’d asked around after. Others admitted they didn’t want to hire a half breed. His father used be a merchant which is how he met Nikko’s mother and they fell in love. Nikko didn’t understand why anyone would want to stay in Hydar. He wanted to leave.

Now he kept many things from his father and it made things easier for both of them.

Does it matter? Nikko grabbed a nearby bucket and placed it under the spout in the sink.

Why can't you find honest work for once?

What? Work for the Sterrin Brothers. Their fights get people hurt or killed, and they fight all the time. Or maybe I should ask Mr. Varson for a job. Didn't he try to shoe his housekeeper last week? Nikko turned to his father, eyebrow raised. His father glared back as he sipped his drink, the sandwich untouched.

There are jobs in Korsa.

I’m headed to do a job. Remember?

Get a different one. Nick said.

None of them will keep this place going and me alive. Nikko pumped the faucet until the bucket was a little over half full. He heard the whiskey bottle clink against the glass.

I don't need help. His father shouted.

"Wrong again Nick." Nikko said as he lifted the bucket out of the sink.

Don't talk back boy. Nick said. He looked at the whiskey bottle and ran a hand through his gray hair.

I talk back to you all the time. Nikko replied and received another glare from his father.

His father wasn’t always a drunk. Nikko’s mother died thirteen years ago and a part of his father with her. His father was never a heavy man, but he looked capable. Now he looked frail, breakable. His clothes hung off of him. His hair was stringy and greasy. The tavern looked the same. Nikko couldn’t keep up with its decline.

Nikko picked up the bucket and a clean rag before heading for the door.

Don't go to Korsa. Nick ran a finger around the rim of the glass. You're making too much of a name for yourself.

Nobody knows my name or what I look like.

That you know about. And what about the person you work for? He knows.

It's in his interest to say nothing.

Yes, but he works with others. It's not in their interest to keep quiet. Nikko sighed. He’d been through this argument with his father countless times. He turned to leave the room. I'll stop drinking.

You won't. Nikko laughed sadly. His father's grip tightened on the whiskey bottle as he glared at the table.

Stay! His father slammed his fist on the table. The force of the command took Nikko aback. Why did his father want him to stay so badly all of a sudden? His father no longer wanted him around since his mother passed.

I leave in the morning. He couldn’t look his father in the eye this time. As the door closed behind him, he heard the glass shatter against a wall, followed by a muttered curse.

For the rest of the day, Nick refused to speak to his son. Instead, he glared at Nikko wherever he went. Nikko cooked and served food for patrons that night and as he walked back to the kitchen, his father watched him. Nikko began to think he would burst into flame from all the heated stares. He even patted his clothes at one point before shaking his head at such nonsense.

I see the brats back in town...

It’s clean...

Good for something...

Drunk bastard should...

Nikko was used to hearing such talk scattered among the conversations. This was the only tavern in town and many people wanted to drink down the sweat of the day. Mirta was a farming town that gave most of its crops to the city. The farmers were only left enough to keep themselves alive. The town wasn’t run down. The Council did keep farm towns maintained. Still, farmers needed a drink to forget their labors were mostly meant to support other families. And what money they did make would have to be spent in the city for supplies they couldn’t get in town. Everything revolved around the cities.

If people left or died with no family to take their place, they were quickly replaced. The replacements usually knew nothing about farming but they learned quickly if they wanted to survive.

If there were another tavern in town, though, people would have gone there. Their family had never been accepted here and after his mother's death and his father becoming a drunk, things didn't improve. His mother, Greta, wasn't from Hydar. No one, except his father, knew where she was from. Nikko didn't even know and only asked once.

Outsiders couldn’t be trusted, right? Otherwise, the Council of Three and the Mage Council wouldn't have border restrictions, right? At least that’s what people whispered when they saw him. What they’d whispered when Greta was alive.

And believed to be justified after her death.

* * *

Nikko walked out of town as the sun was brightening the sky. His father didn’t speak to him the rest of the day before, and he retired early. Nikko still felt the heat from those brown eyes. His father didn't like Nikko’s line of work, but he never got that angry about it. Or that adamant about him staying before.

Why don't you want me to go? I think I should have asked him that? Nikko noticed that he’d stopped walking. He could still turn around. He could ask his father why he wanted Nikko to stay. Wanting him to stay was odd and gave Nikko pause.

Nikko continued with a sad shake of his head.

He couldn't stay. He didn't belong here, and he'd known that since he was a child. The other children were always playing tricks on Nikko or saying cruel things they heard their parents say about the Sorren family. What made it worse was that Nikko didn't understand why they would do such things, but it made him want to avoid them. There’d been a time when he enjoyed running the tavern with his parents. It made him feel safe, wanted. That vanished with his mother’s death. His father started yelling at him to go away, to leave him alone.

After one of those bouts of anger, Nikko ran away, crying. He continued until he arrived at Korsa. The capital was only a half a day away from his hometown. He’d never been to the city and wondered what it was like. He’d been lost for days. He eventually tried to steal his first coin to buy food. He’d learned how to avoid attention at home so that should help him here. Right? Only he’d done it wrong and the owner of the coin grabbed his wrist and put a knife to his throat.

Nikko blinked away in panic. Blink is what Nikko called the magic ability he’d been born with.

That was when he met Warren.

The ability made him a Marked and Marked were shunned if they were lucky. If not, they were turned into the mages. Nikko heard rumors about mages stealing a Marked’s power for themselves which would explain why a Marked was never seen again if caught.

He still didn’t know how, but Warren found him. Nikko thought he would die but instead Warren offered him food and a choice. Either Nikko worked for him or end up another nameless body in the gutter. The choice was simple.

Then Nikko met Xan. Warren trained them together. They even on couple of jobs together before Xan left. Nikko refused to work with anyone else after that.

Nikko turned back towards the path to Korsa. You don't yell at someone to go away for years only to then tell them to stay. It made little sense. There was no way his father wanted him to stay.

A shiver ran down his spine. What could he be hiding? Did it have to do with his mother? Nikko knew nothing of his mother before she married his father. He didn't know if she had siblings or if her parents were alive or even where she’d been born. His father seemed to think someone knew about him as a thief but no one in Hydar knew anything about him. How would anyone outside Hydar know anything. No, don’t be stupid, father is just paranoid. Drunk. But Nikko couldn’t stop a cold feeling from taking root under his skin.

Nikko tried to shake the icy feeling away and kept walking. No one knew he was the Korsan Thief outside of the man who employed him, he was sure of it. Warren was someone who would come after Nikko if he failed to do a job. He was a real person with a real means of harming people. He wouldn’t let his father’s drunken delusions scare him.

He wouldn’t.

Nikko picked up his pace and didn’t slow down until Mirta could no longer be seen.

Nikko glanced back as he saw Korsa come into view. A headache formed behind his right eye.

The cold roots dug deeper into his body.

Chapter Two

Month: Parst Day 6

A painting? Nikko asked to confirm what it was he was going to steal.

Yes. Said Nikko’s employer, Warren.

What does it look like? Warren slid a piece of paper across the table. Nikko looked at it and nodded as he committed the image to memory.

I want this done soon.

How soon?

Three days at the most.

Are you crazy! That gives no time to gather information. To plan.

Warren raised an eyebrow. "You’ll figure it out.

You don’t know that. Nikko sat back in his chair, shaking his head in frustration.

You’ve been through worse. Warren said.

Almost died. Nikko replied.

But you didn’t. Warren said dryly as he scanned a letter he just opened.

Rate change. Nikko said. Warren looked up from the letter. The risk is higher so should the pay out.

Warren thought for a second. Fine. Warren held out his hand and Nikko took it.

Where is it? Nikko asked.

The Brochelli Manor in the High Residential District.

Brochelli? Nikko’s eyes narrowed.

Yes.

Why the short timeline?

Employer’s request and because there is a fancy dance happening in three days. Perfect time to steal something. Warren huffed. Don’t do anything stupid, Nikko. Just get the painting.

They won’t be there anyway. Nikko muttered.

And don’t wait for him. Warren said. Nikko clenched his fist and pursed his lips, but nodded.

* * *

#

The next day Nikko researched the Brochelli Manor and the routines of its inhabitants. Architects in Hydar were excellent at keeping blueprints of what they built. Nikko found out who built the Brochelli Manor and broke into their offices and made a copy of the blueprints. The next day he watched the manor, fuming. This is too short a time frame. What is the rush for this painting? Warren never did this before. He didn’t want jobs done sloppy and this rush job wasn’t going to be neat. It also made him think of his father and how he didn’t want Nikko to take this job. Were they connected?

Nikko shook his head. Focus. There’s a job to do.

The party was tomorrow night, and there was a lot to learn before then.

* * *

Nikko did his best to prepare. He even spoke with the servants of neighbors, pretending to be looking for work. They’d told him about those who worked in the Brochelli Manor since they were looking for a couple new workers. That is what he built his plan around. It was simple, which he preferred, and would hopefully avoid the servants who would gather downstairs once the Lord and Lady left for the night.

Nikko knew that there were always hitches in plans, no matter how well thought out or how much time spent making them. Usually, they were small things like entering the wrong room or forgetting his own lock picks, which only happened once. That was embarrassing. He could work with those problems. It's the jobs with big hitches that made things truly difficult.

Hiding on a balcony because the lord of the house couldn't resist assaulting his wife's maid was a big hitch indeed. They were supposed to be leaving now. This was supposed to be a simple job. Get in, steal a painting, get out. Nikko reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet. It was a mixture of coriander seeds and willow bark. He took some of it when he felt a headache coming on.

Nikko watched as husband and wife argued in somewhat hushed tones. He couldn't make out words through the closed window though. They quieted as the girl entered the room. The girl’s pretty red hair framed her face. She was thin, so thin that Nikko thought she was made of paper.

The wife extended her hands towards the girl. He tensed. He knew something was about to happen, but he never expected the wife to pull off one ribbon decorating her dress and bind the girl’s hands. The woman was fast. Nikko was shocked as much as the girl.

The girl tried to pull away, but the woman held fast. There was enough ribbon left to lead the girl on a leash. She turned to her husband, who then quickly strode forward to take it. He kissed his wife as he yanked the girl closer. The woman ran her hand along the girl's arm as she glided past. Once she was gone the man dragged a now screaming girl to the bed. He threw her onto it and was instantly on top of her, ripping her gown to shreds.

Nikko felt his blood begin to boil. It was a well-known secret that this so-called man didn't ask a woman before bedding her. It was also a well-known secret that he liked to get rough, very rough.

Nikko clenched his dagger until his knuckles turned white and his fingernails dug deep into his palms.

Several months back, the body of a girl was found, naked and strangled. The guards never identified her with so little to go on. But Nikko knew her. Her name was Matilda and she’d been a servant for Lord Brochelli for two months before her death. Nikko asked around, disguised as a guard. No one wanted to say anything, but all the looks pointed at her employer. Nikko wanted to kill the man, but Warren stopped him by locking Nikko and himself in a room. It took Nikko a day to calm down enough for Warren to let him out of the room. They would come up with something, Warren promised, to make the man pay for killing Matilda.

Matilda worked for Warren for years at The Pit, a fighting arena in the Lower District. Anyone who knew Warren knew he was fond of the girl. Warren helped her get the maid job. She’d also been one of the few people Nikko trusted in this city. She even helped Nikko with planning some of his jobs. He didn’t ask, but he’d hoped this job was part of a plan to hurt Lord Simon.

Nikko looked up. The man caressed the girl’s body and whispered in her ear. He was taking his time, pulling out a knife and running it up and down her leg.

Nikko’s blood boiled. He blinked.

Chapter Three

Month: Parst Day: 9

Melandra blinked back tears that threated to break her.

I know what you are. He whispered close to her ear before running his tongue on the edge of her it.

I do not know what you are talking about. Panic welled in Melandra’s throat as Lord Simon rubbed a knife up and down her thigh. She wasn’t afraid of the knife. She was terrified of what he knew. He just told her that he’d read letters she’d written to her birth mother and that he knew what she was. How’d he get those letters? Why’d she let her guard down? She knew better than to think anywhere or anyone was safe.

She prayed he was bluffing about knowing what she was. That information could mean her death if he didn’t kill her tonight.

Let go of the ribbon. A low voice said, and Lord Simon stilled but didn’t let go of Melandra’s binds. Let go or lose your manhood. The voice said even quieter than before. He let go. Untie it. Seconds later, Melandra was free. She scrabbled across the bed, practically falling off it in her haste to get away. Her first thought was to run, but she stopped herself.

She turned around. She wanted to know who’d stopped Lord Simon. The man looked to be around her age, but it was hard to tell in the low light of the room. His hair was hidden under a cap, and he work dark clothes. His eyes...his eyes burned with life. The rest of his demeanor was cold and measured as he held a blade to Lord Simon’s throat.

She shook her head as she wrapped her tattered clothes around herself. Why was this person here? What did he want? Did it matter? His presence meant her life. For the moment at least.

I hope he kills you Melandra said before running from the room. Finally tears fell, the man was a monster. She didn’t look at the stranger again as she fled. She didn’t want to see his reaction to her words.

She told herself over the past months of living with Lord Simon and his wife Penelope that the rumors about him were just that, rumors. She regretted choosing to believe they were false. It dropped her guard and now he knew she was a Marked. Knew who her real mother was and that she was adopted by the Sontak family from a mage family. She needed to leave Korsa before he told people she was Marked.

She was shocked at her words, but she didn’t regret them. if Lord Simon was killed then she wouldn’t have mush to worry about. Unless he told his wife. Melandra wasn’t going to rely on the chance that he was killed or that he told Penelope nothing. Leaving was the better choice. It held the least amount of ifs and it got her away from the drudgery of social gatherings, polite talk, and gossip.

Once in her room she dressed quickly and started to pack her belongings. She froze. Where would she go? Her family wanted nothing to do with her and her few true friends were out of town.

This was her chance. She’d always wished to escape her family and find her own way. She’d read all the fairy tales. They warned readers that when a wish came true there were always consequences. She wondered what consequences she would suffer for having her wish come true.

Her day started off normal and dull. She’d gone shopping with Lady Penelope to get the lady ready for a ball tonight. Melandra even suffered through an afternoon tea with one of the lady’s friends.

Now.

Now. She ran and fast.

A book fell to the floor as she finished packing. She glanced at it and stopped. The book was titled Creators of Hope. Lord Simon gave it to her that afternoon since she’d needed something new to read. It was a history of the Council of Three and how it founded Hydar. She’d read it a couple of years ago and found a couple of sections that resembled fairy tales. ‘You can’t trust one sided stories, my dear.’ One of her tutors once told her. ‘People want to look good.’ And she knew mages valued secrets and their reputations. She kicked the book away.

She should have known when he gave it to her that something wasn’t right. He’d acted strange and rubbed her arm in a way that sent shivers through her body. She grabbed her bag and ran from the manor. She didn’t see anyone as she fled. The servants would all be in the kitchen, enjoying a quiet night without the masters.

It was night which meant she couldn’t leave the city yet. Melandra guessed that was fine, she didn’t know where to go.

She wandered around the Residential District for an hour before she came upon an inn. She needed somewhere to stay, and she carried some money to pay for a roof over her head and a decent bed. She entered the building and paid for a room.

The owner offered her a meal, but she couldn’t eat. Everything from the last hour made her stomach flip. She went to the room and dropped her things next to the bed. She crawled under the covers, lay on her side, and pulled her knees to her chest. She didn’t fall asleep right away. Worried someone would come barging into her room and drag her away.

Being Marked was against the law. If Lord Simon told anyone, they would hunt her down.

How did he get those letters? Melandra wondered for the hundredth time. There was no way unless someone gave them to him and she doubted her birth mother would have done such a thing. The woman was a recluse and valued privacy. Melandra hid the letters she received in a hollow stone behind her bed. How could anyone have found them? her father wouldn’t have done such a thing. He didn’t want anyone to know he had a Marked child and neither did her mother. Her mother almost fainted when she found out. She then panicked about anyone finding out. So much so that her father gave her a sleeping draught to get her to calm down.

Melandra could still hear her mother’s panicked screams.

Now I need to calm down. need to keep my mind clear. Melandra began to hum a lullaby one of her maids used to sing to her when she was scared or couldn’t fall asleep. She couldn’t remember the words, but she never forgot the tune. She closed her eyes and began to hum. Slowly, her mind began to settle, and her muscles relax. As her mind cleared, she knew that she would have to tell her birth mother what happened but that was a problem for another day. She also figured out where she could go to hide and from there, she would figure out her next steps. For now, she would rest and focus on staying alive.

Finally, the sweet escape of sleep blanketed her.

Chapter Four

Month: Parst Day: 9

Darren winced as he watched his friend take another punch to the stomach. There was bound to be a broken rib or two. Darren knew that Ben could take a hit, but he was taking several of them tonight. It was all Darren could do to not look away. Ben ducked the next swing and struck his opponent in the chest with his palm. The other man staggered back with the wind knocked out of him. Ben rushed after him, swinging for his jaw. Darren could hear the crack over the cheers and shouts of the crowd.

The other man went down, unconscious. Darren let out a breath, glad the fight was over. Ben made his way slowly out of the pit and over to a black-haired man. His name was Warren, and he owned the place. Darren wondered how the man wasn’t arrested years ago. He was a foreigner who ran an illegal fighting pit. No one stared at him or made comments about him being a half breed. The man gained the kind of fear and respect that no one dared make such remarks. Or do anything against him. The man stood there untouched night after night. Ben should have arrested him but instead he made extra money fighting here. So did other guards.

Warren handed Ben some money and shook his hand. Darren saw them talking until another person walked up to Warren and whispered in his ear. Darren noticed a young man standing just behind Warren. His hair was also black, but that is the only thing the two had in common.

Warren was heavy and hairy. He looked like a bear and the temper of one too. The other was thin and lithe. Even from this distance the man’s eyes told of a shadowed past. Darren wondered if Ben could beat the other man in a fight. Darren wasn’t sure his friend would win that battle. The young man wouldn’t take his eyes off of Warren. Darren recognized the young man, but he wasn't sure from where. Warren walked away, shaking Ben’s hand again, and walked over to the youth. Darren noticed another young man watching, except he was watching the young man waiting to speak to Warren. His hair was a stringy, greasy brown. He looked to be foaming at the mouth as he watched.

Ben made his way over to Darren, but he was focused on the greasy man.

Darren watched Warren go over to the dark-haired youth. The conversation looked tense as the slim man handed something to Warren. The dirty youth leaned forward.

What has you so captivated? Ben asked, startling Darren.

Hmm? Oh, nothing important. Ben looked over as the other conversation ended.

Do you know the kid talking to Warren? Ben asked. He never noticed the other man watching everything.

Probably not. Darren said as he turned to Ben. You look awful, even for you.

When do I ever look good?

Fair point.

I should knock you out. Maybe when you wake up, you'll say something nice for once. Ben mock punched Darren's shoulder and Darren pretended it hurt.

Ha! I'll say something nice when you stop letting people bruise your face. Darren hated these fights. He only came because of Ben. His friend usually needed tending after a fight.

Don't start, Dare. Ben said as Darren lifted Ben’s shirt to look at the already forming bruises. Darren felt Ben’s ribs to make sure nothing was broken. Ben winced. Darren didn’t feel anything. He took a cloth from his pocket and began to wipe blood off of Ben’s face and neck.

Wasn't going to. Can we leave now? Ben could only grin.

All right. Let’s find ale...and food.

First, we need to get you cleaned up. Ben looked at Darren as pitifully as he could manage with a split lip. Fine, food first.

Yes. Ben pretended not to notice Darren roll his eyes. The cool night air felt good against his bruised skin. He breathed deeply as a fresh breeze floated by. Well, fresh by Lower District standards. He walked slowly down the street.

It was late but this part of the city was always alive at night. Music and laughter burst from some buildings, and people still crowded the streets heading somewhere. As they passed one alley way, they saw a man and a woman. Their grunts of pleasure followed them down the street.

Soon they arrived at what looked like a small, rundown general shop that’d been abandoned for years except for the lights inside. It was down an alley near the end of the street they were on. There was a crooked and rotting sign above the door that said The Careless Hornet. The interior, however, was clean and polished. There were lamp sconces all around and a carved chandelier lit with mage light. The tables were made of oak and painted with intricate designs. Light music drifted among the conversations. The place was already filling up.

They made their way to one of the few empty tables. It depicted the goddess Prithixi and her maidens dancing in a spring wood. Darren smiled to himself as he looked at the table. He’d helped build and paint the tables in the bar.

Hello boys, what do you want tonight? A young woman asked as she scribbled something on a chalk tablet.

House special for both of us. I'll have an ale and my friend will have a red wine. Ben answered.

The woman looked up after writing something down. Gods Ben, you couldn't clean up first? She looked over at Darren, raising her eyebrows.

I tried Mar. Darren said to his hands. Ben leaned back in his chair and folded his arms with a huff.

You know the rules, Ben. Go clean up or go find dinner elsewhere. You can use the back room. Ben growled as he got to his feet. Once he was gone Mar turned to Darren. Did he win?

Yes. This one was certainly a challenge for him. Darren described the whole fight. Mar smiled.

When she’d met Darren six years ago, he refused to speak to her. Mar thought he was dumb, but Ben explained that Darren just didn't like talking to people he didn't know very well. Mar huffed in disdain before walking away,

Don't judge his silence. Darren still didn't look at her much, but she’d gotten him to contribute to short conversations.

A few minutes later Ben returned. "Is this better majesty?"

You're lucky I saw you before father, he would have skinned you. Mar walked away, indicating that it was better. Soon they were eating.

They sat in silence as they ate, enjoying a full stomach and soft music. Most people didn't know The Careless Hornet existed. The owner, Perry, didn't allow trouble. The man’s hair was white, but that was the only thing that suggested his age. He was a tall, well-muscled man. There was a large scar on his left forearm and a tattoo on his other arm. His nose showed signs of being broken on more than one occasion. While there were some laugh lines around his mouth, he