Myth Chaser: Split Kingdoms, #1

By Cleo Cassidy

In a shattered world haunted by the past Mage Wars, a brave few are all that stand between the unspeakable terrors slithering out of the Scourge and total chaos…

Lel Morgaine is a myth chaser. Her blade of hallowed silver is her steadfast friend, while the talking skull-shaped pendant at her neck keeps her company.

 

But hunting monsters is not all she does. She's also searching for her missing father.

 

When she arrives in Arenthia, where magic is forbidden and ancient traditions rule, she is falsely accused of theft and dragged into the Wild Hunt.

           

She may be trained to kill monsters, but she's ill-equipped to handle this predicament. For once she's in the Hunt, she cannot escape.

 

Lel must journey to the Sword-in-the-Stone, a soul-judging entity that offers a second chance only to the worthy.

 

Along the way, she will face unexpected allies and adversaries, including Prince Collin, who holds the key to her father's location, and Julian, a fellow prisoner with questionable motives.

 

In a kingdom full of secrets and betrayals, will Lel survive the ultimate test at the Sword-in-the-Stone?

 

Myth Chaser is perfect for readers who love hidden mysteries, strong bonds formed on epic quests, and stories told from multiple perspectives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cleo Cassidy
• Release date: Nov 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223914730

Book preview

image-placeholder

Copyright © 2023 by Cleo Cassidy

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations in critical articles or reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

The author used no generative artificial intelligence in the writing of this work. It is explicitly stated by the author that no entity is permitted to use this publication for training AI technologies in generating text. This includes, but is not limited to, technologies that have the ability to produce works that resemble the style or genre of this publication. The author maintains all rights to license uses of this work for generative AI training and/or development of machine learning language models.

For more information, contact: [e-mail]

www.cleocassidy.com

Cover design by 100covers.

Within these pages, you'll find a thrilling story of epic adventure set in a vibrant world where monsters and other creatures roam freely. Though funny and sweet at times, Myth Chaser is a dark fantasy foremost, so sensitive readers should take note of the following elements: addiction/drug use, blood, death, fighting, gore, incarceration, injuries, torture, threats, vivid violence.

If you're ready, prepare to enter the world of Split Kingdoms...

image-placeholder

Contents

1.Lel

2.Lel

3.Julian

4.Lel

5.Collin

6.Lel

7.Collin

8.Lel

9.Lel

10.Collin

11.Lel

12.Lel

13.Julian

14.Collin

15.Lel

16.Lel

17.Collin

18.Lel

19.Julian

20.Collin

21.Lel

22.Collin

23.Lel

24.Lel

25.Collin

26.Lel

27.Lel

28.Lel

29.Collin

30.Lel

31.Collin

32.Lel

33.Lel

34.Julian

35.Collin

36.Lel

37.Lel

38.Lel

39.Collin

40.Lel

The Split Kingdoms Series

The Nine Curses of Queen Mab Complete Series

About the Author

Chapter one

Lel

My back hits the ground, hard. The breath whooshes out of me, and for a moment, my vision goes black. I blink and gasp. Now is not the time to—

A sharp, barbed appendage careens toward my head, and I block it with the flat of my silver blade. I grunt and roll out of the way, but not fast enough. A globular tail whacks me in the stomach.

Tail? The last time I checked, the creature hadn’t grown one yet.

Get up, Lel. The monster is coming.

I push to my feet with a growl. Shut up, Scully.

This one means business, he says, his tone far more delighted than the situation requires.

So do I.

I think it’s gonna win.

The empusa runs toward me on all threes, a snarl contorting the beautiful face, its body rippling with a quick succession of changes. I straighten my stance and clench my fingers around the sword. The creature jumps, claws primed to gouge my face, and I dive to the left, pushing my sword in an upward thrust. I miss the monster’s stomach, but manage a wide cut on its flank.

Look at it drooling! Scully says. And the eyes… It just can’t wait to taste a chunk of your flesh.

Shut. Up.

Here it comes again.

The empusa skitters on its single leg, turning around. I backtrack several steps, moving toward the middle of the clearing. My chest is heaving up and down and my arms are trembling. Sweat drips into my eyes and I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

What are you running away for? Stand still and face the monster.

I’m not runnin’ away. I’m tryin’ to tire it out.

It doesn’t seem to be working. Besides, you can’t outrun an empusa.

A sigh slips past my lips. The empusa darts toward me, its body doubling in size. Scully is right. Fat droplets of drool are dripping from the creature’s fangs. So, so gross.

The monster swipes at me and I drive my sword downward. But before my blade connects with the mostly human limb, the creature’s leg swipes at my ankles and I go down again.

Scully chortles. The empusa is one-legged, and she took both of yours from underneath you. Shameful. What kind of myth chaser are you?

I don’t bother telling him to shut up this time. I’m too busy fending off the crazed attack that follows. The empusa’s claws nick my shoulder and it’s like my entire arm goes up in flames.

It must have drawn blood, for its entire face contorts and the empusa redoubles its efforts of hacking me into pieces. But as the smell of blood reaches my nostrils, I notice the monster’s body rippling.

Huh.

I jump to my feet and move several steps away, the empusa tracking my every move. I press my silver blade into my palm and make a slight cut. The empusa’s whole torso turns human, its previous appendages solidifying into arms.

I don’t know why, but it’s working.

A loud yawn cuts through the complete silence of our surroundings. Really. Everything is silent. No birds are chirping, no critters are rustling in the bushes, no insects are buzzing through the air. The forest creatures are long gone from this monster-infested area. They’re smart like that. Unlike myself, they don’t go out looking for trouble.

I’ve been promised a prime spot for your monster-slaying show. But like all the previous times, there’s far less blood and gore than I expected, Scully says.

I backtrack further into the clearing and the empusa follows, frothing at the mouth. Its eyes are fixed on the tiny specks of blood staining the grass. I squeeze my fist harder, pulling several more droplets out of the superficial wound.

Almost, almost… There. The empusa finishes its final transformation, and I bound forward, my silver blade whirling through the air.

It connects with the creature’s torso and the empusa screams. I pull my blade out of its flesh and drive the tip between the bare breasts. It sinks deeper and deeper, pierces the heart. With an inhuman yell, the creature flings me several feet away.

Thankfully, I keep my grip on the sword. I stand and stare. The creature is writhing on the grass, but not dead, despite the thick stream of blood gushing out of the hole in its chest. In fact, after several more seconds, the monster drags upright.

The look on the empusa’s face promises complete dismemberment and the slowest of deaths. I groan and prop my fists on my hips.

It’s not dying, Scully says.

I have eyes, don’t I?

I thought you said you can only kill an empusa when it gains its true form.

I know. But like the ogre from last week, this one is different.

So why isn’t it working?

I shake my head and run toward the creature, hacking and chopping and avoiding its claws until the empusa finally stills, a mass of grisly flesh and innards on the grassy ground.

I gag and hurry to the nearest tree, bracing my hands against my knees.

Overkill.

I inhale and swallow the bile that’s climbing my throat. Shut up, Scully.

Or perhaps you were trying for a strong finish. Make a production out of it, gain a fat tip and have another bath ordered to our room. You took my earlier critique of your skills and showmanship seriously. He chuckles. Don’t worry. I meant every word.

Why would I show off? There’s no one here, Scully.

image-placeholder

With the rising sun, the air grows warmer. My tunic is sticking to my spine, and I’d like nothing more than to strip out of my jacket, but I’m using both hands to drag the empusa’s head after me.

Ah, home sweet home, Scully says with a sigh as the sleepy border town of Valmoor comes into view.

This isn’t home.

It is for at least one more night. The magistrate will pay you now that you slayed the monster terrorizing his town, so you should have enough for another night at the inn and a hearty meal, too. Though you know what I don’t understand?

Shut up.

As per usual, Scully ignores me. Why are you paying for quarters? Shouldn’t they be free, seeing as you provide exclusive services? None of the other sad sacks of flesh populating this dreary, miserable town rushed out to kill the monster that’s been eating their families.

A grunt is my answer. The severed head snags on a rock and I pull harder, huffing and cursing and batting away the cloud of flies buzzing above the decaying remains.

Scully tuts. Language.

Shut up.

The cobblestoned path serving as the town’s major thoroughfare slips into view and I lengthen my pace, abandoning the dirt road leading into the woods. Scully complains about the dry weather and the climbing heat, but I tune him out.

My steps falter near the town square and I blink at the crowd formed in front of the building housing the courthouse and the town hall. There are a lot of people here, farmers and craft workers and merchants. Now’s the perfect opportunity to ask again if another myth chaser passed through the town not that long ago, a tall man with hair as dark as mine and a tiny golden hoop dangling from one ear. I could, if my heart wouldn’t pound out of my chest and my tongue wouldn’t stick to the roof of my mouth at the thought of addressing so many people at once.

A moment later, I move along, my gaze fixed on the ruddy-cheeked man scowling from afar, his hands gripping the belt beneath his round belly—the magister of Valmoor. The man who’s going to pay me for killing the empusa.

I stop three feet away and roll the severed head toward him. The magister’s lip curls and he stumbles back a step.

It’s done, I say. I wipe my arm over my forehead. I will take my payment now.

Gasps and mumbles sound from the crowd, but I keep my gaze on the man. The red in his cheeks deepens and expands until huge blotches are covering his forehead and neck. His beady eyes narrow.

How dare you? he asks.

I blink. It’s customary to demand payment after monster-slayin’.

Customary? You— The magistrate sputters for a full minute. You wish to be paid on top of everything else?

What are you talkin’ about? I ask, bracing my hands on my hips. For once, Scully is silent, for which I’m extremely grateful. His often-provocative commentary is the last thing this situation needs.

How dare you? the man asks again.

It’s getting hot and I’m sweaty, tired, hungry. I just want my handful of coins and then I’ll be on my way. I say nothing, because I hate repeating myself. I just stare at the magistrate.

After a minute, his indignant expression disappears, turning into flaring nostrils and pursed lips. The golden statue of the Moon God disappeared from church last night, he says.

What has that to do with my coins?

You stole it.

I growl and step forward, fingers gripping the hilt of my silver sword. I wasn’t even here last night. I was in the woods, huntin’ the empusa—

You’re the only stranger who spent the night in our town this past week. And then the statue of our god disappeared. Coincidence? I think not.

Wasn’t last night the only when the creature hasn’t snatched one of your people and ate him? That’s ‘cause I was trackin’ it down. I stole nothin’, old man.

The magistrate’s eyes flash. We’re gods-fearing people. Only a heathen myth chaser could do such a thing.

I inhale and spit on the ground, narrowly missing the man’s boots. Arenthians have no honor.

Tell me where you stashed the statue and I’ll go easy on you.

I bark out a laugh and shake my head. I’m leavin’.

Big hands curl around my arms, squeezing. I don’t think so, little girl.

I raise my head and meet a burly man’s gaze from over my shoulder. Let go, I say, trying to squirm out of his hold.

The magistrate’s lips curl and his eyes glint. You’re the Mercy Division’s trouble now. Thank you, officer.

The man holding me grunts and glances away, hollering at two others nearby to come and help him. Now that I’m looking closer, I can see that they’re wearing some type of uniform, the white of their cloaks almost glowing in the sunlight.

What Mercy Division? I ask. Wait, it doesn’t matter. Let me go. I told you, I stole nothin’.

The two other men approach and start divesting me of weapons. One pulls my silver sword from the scabbard and turns it this way and that, a whistle blowing through his pursed lips. The other pats my pockets and removes the satchel thrown across my shoulders.

Hey! Give those back. I’m a myth chaser, you thick-skulled, ear-corked—

The man holding the satchel opens it, peers inside, pulls out one of the tiny bottles containing my various potions.

I do not recommend you open that, Scully says, speaking for the first time in a matter of minutes. No, wait. Please do. I want to see what happens.

The man who abandoned my sword in favor of robbing me of the bandolier of knives slung across my chest pauses. His eyes widen at Scully.

Wait, I say, but it’s too late.

His fingers close over the silver pendant in the form of a skull. He tugs and the chain digs into my skin before it loosens.

I sigh. It’s no use.

The man frowns at the necklace. It dissipates in the next moment.

Ha! Scully says from back around my neck.

The man blinks and removes Scully again. The skull-shaped pendant grins up at him before reappearing in the previous position.

Listen, I say, squirming in the hold. You could do that ‘til tomorrow and it wouldn’t matter. I’ve been tellin’ you, it doesn’t go away. It always returns around my neck. And trust me, I’ve been tryin’ to get rid of it. It’s a pest.

Oh-ho! Scully says. Then, a second later, Why, thank you.

The man shares a look with the one holding me, then shrugs. He takes away my sword and my knives and my bag and steps back. The other one approaches and the one at my back wrestles my arms forward.

Thick cuffs are placed around my wrists, their weight dragging my limbs down. I’m pushed forward then, through the throng of sneering, smirking people.

Listen, I’m no thief. Hold on—

I dig my heels into the ground, but my boots find no purchase. A cart comes into view, thick bars covering the top of the wooden platform. I redouble my efforts in getting away, obscenities flying from my lips.

I’m a myth chaser, you idiots—

My words end with a grunt as my body thuds on the floor of the cart. With a grin, the Mercy Division officer snaps the bars closed.

Chapter two

Lel

You’re in the Wild Hunt now.

From my spot near the bars forming the door, I glance over and meet the older man’s dark eyes. My knees press into my chest and I link my hands above them, elbows tucked tight. I’m squeezed into the cart with seven other prisoners, all of them larger than me, and taking up what little space there is.

The man who spoke has a craggy face and lanky hair that brushes his shoulders. The one beside him has gaunt cheeks and mean eyes. He’s also cowering away from me, pressing into his neighbor, who is giving me wary glances.

I roll my neck from side to side and breathe out. The sun is sitting directly overhead now, and here inside the cart, the early summer day turns unbearably hot.

We’ve left the town of Valmoor far behind, and we’re currently trudging down a wider road with tall trees on either side. The shade they provide doesn’t reach the cart. It’s like the driver intentionally chooses to ride smack in the middle of the road at all times.

What’s the Wild Hunt? I ask, keeping my eyes on the shadowed parts between the trees. Monsters hate the light.

The man guffaws and elbows his lanky neighbor. What’s the Wild Hunt? You never heard of it? Where have you lived until now, under a rock?

Kruin.

I lick my dry lips and glance at the bucket in the middle of the cart. Water sloshes over the sides every time the wagon lurches.

What?

My gaze swivels to the man. My eyebrows arch. That’s where I was before comin’ to Arenthia. Kruin.

The grooves on his forehead deepen. That’s like… far.

I nod. Past Isobeth.

I don’t mention the detour in Phiddelya before I entered the fourth kingdom of our continent. Arenthians aren’t fond of Phiddelyans. From what I’ve gathered, there’s an old feud going on between them, something to do with a dead king and a betrayal.

Tell me ‘bout the Wild Hunt, I say to the chatty man. I’ll need every bit of knowledge if I’m to get out of this latest tiff.

The man’s chest puffs out before he speaks. The Mercy Division does it every year, sometimes late in the spring, sometimes early in the summer, like now. It’s a procession that starts all the way up in northern Harsh Reach and goes through all the seven provinces—

Procession. The man next to me scoffs. It’s a glorified witch hunt.

My eyebrows furrow, but before I voice my question, the craggy-faced man continues.

Each year, the Hunt rounds up the worst of each community and hauls them off to Kingswell-am-Voll, where the Sword-in-the-Stone will judge their souls.

I’m innocent, I’m tellin’ you, my neighbor says.

Judge their souls? I ask. So, the Mercy Division doesn’t just enforce the law? Because that’s the impression I got.

Aye. The Sword-in-the-Stone will decide who is worthy of another chance.

Did ya hear me? I’m innocent! My neighbor squirms in his spot. The cuffs around his wrists clink.

This is my second trip in as many decades, the craggy-faced man says.

Ha! the one with the mean eyes says. You got caught twice?

I’m silent for a minute. And what happens to the unworthy?

A laugh echoes out of the man. Well, they don’t walk away from the Stone, that’s for sure.

Hmm. And why is that guy’s cloak purple-striped? I ask, flicking my chin in that direction.

My fellow prisoner peeks over his shoulder, frowns. That’s a Marshal. The ones who take us are the officers. But the Marshals are part of the Commander’s inner circle.

Yeah, they always gather up in that fancy tent of his. Having their choice of food, no doubt, while they serve us nothing but slop. The mean-eyed man turns his head and spits over the side of the cart. I guess I should be grateful he didn’t do it on the wooden floor we all share.

My eyes travel beyond the front of our cage, and I see the never-ending line of carts identical to ours vanishing into the distance. I can smell the sweat of the horses as the guards and officers mounted on either side keep a watchful eye. Behind us, there are two more fully occupied carts, and then the uninterrupted row of empty ones brings up the rear. I guess they’re for the rest of the prisoners we’ll pick up along the way.

So, there’s a tent, I say. That means we make camp?

The craggy-faced man nods. At sunset every day.

Hmm. I blink at the shadows between the trees again. There’s a sparkle of running water peeking through from time to time. The road must follow a stream or a brook. I can’t tell which is which, not from this distance and with the sun almost blinding me. And no one tries to make off?

The man with the mean eyes chuckles. He’s warming up to me, his wariness almost entirely gone.

These are Soul Cuffs, he says, stretching his arms. They tether you to the Hunt.

Yeah, I wondered why they’d bother to place them around our wrists and leave them unchained.

Scully chooses that moment to groan, loudly. Hey, do you mind? I’m trying to get a lick of sleep here and you’re all yammering away. Cut it out.

The men’s eyes fall to my chest, widening in unison. If I weren’t so damn hot and miserable, I might have laughed.

Wh-what’s that? the craggy-faced man asks.

Scully, I say with a shrug.

Magic is forbidden in Arenthia, the one beside me says.

My eyebrows arch at that. So, magic is forbidden, yet they have these cuffs and this stone-sword that can judge a person’s soul. Huh.

Where did you get it from?

Is that why you’re in the Hunt? And they let you keep it? Mean Eyes asks.

Ghost-huntin’, no, and yes, ‘cause they had to.

What?

I almost roll my eyes. I got Scully from ghost-huntin’. No, that isn’t why I’m here. And yes, they let me keep it.

Ghost-hunting? the craggy-faced man asks, his eyes narrowing.

I nod. I’m a myth chaser.

Someone toward the front of the cart guffaws. You’re no myth chaser.

My lips curl at the corners. No?

What myth chaser would get pulled into the Hunt?

That wipes off my smile. I can’t say he’s wrong. No sane person would have dared to falsely accuse my father. The great Colya Amay would have made the magistrate himself confess to stealing the statue. My gaze moves to the left, plunges into the man riding near that side of the road.

Hey, Marshal, I yell, curling my fingers around