Riders of Wind and Fury: The Lodestone Chronicles, #4

By J.B. Wagner

She's trying to get home—to face her undoing…

Idra was not her father's favorite daughter. So, when her sister dies under her watch far from home, she knows it will be her undoing, but she owes it to her family to deliver the news. She's on her way when a man from her past stops her… and redirects her journey.

Riding her horse into the scorching deserts of Ruskin-Fierra, Idra doesn't expect to make it home alive. Nobody survives the Ruskin-Fierra without a guide. So, when a mysterious stranger reluctantly offers her his help, she knows she won't survive without it.

Will Idra's ride through the ferocious winds and sand of the desert be her real undoing? Or will love and forgiveness hold her together?

Riders of Wind and Fury is the fourth book in the invigorating Lodestone Chronicles fantasy series. If you like underdog heroines, battles of good vs evil, and nonstop action, then you'll love this new adventure from J.B. Wagner.

Buy Riders of Wind and Fury to join the ride today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.B. Wagner
• Release date: Nov 17, 2024
• ISBN: 9781738151295

J.B. Wagner

J.B. Wagner lives in rural Saskatchewan with her husband, son, and numerous creatures. Outside of writing she enjoys spending time with her family and animals, devouring entire fantasy series at a time, and finding exciting new ways to unlock worlds of adventure for her readers to enjoy.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Idra, Spearhead and Shield to Princess Menorah of the Flaxen Plains, ran along the top of the palace wall, a stolen spear in her hand. Menorah, her beloved twin sister, was dead, killed almost a year before in an attack on their traveling party. Idra may as well have killed her sister herself for how little she’d done to stop it.

Since the early days of childhood, protecting Menorah had been her purpose in life. Now she’d failed. She still needed to return home to her father and tell him how his other daughter had died and accept the consequences of her failure. A Shield should never live longer than their charge, even if it means giving their souls to the Great Mother in exchange for their charge’s life; they were expected to do so.

Her chestnut braid thumped on her back as she ran. A leather jerkin she had stolen from a guard in the hall beneath was too loose on her but better attire for fighting than the linen shift she had been dressed in before. To her left spanned a massive arena. Rings upon rings of stone were layered to create an amphitheater. Within it the Emperor facilitated competitions of strength—fights to the death between both warriors and beasts.

Citizens sat on the staggered rings of stone to watch the displays of violence. Right now, they screamed in terror and tried to get free as an Ohremoth rose from the arena floor. In her talons were Pilgrim and the limp body of Pilgrim’s husband, Gershom. The man was likely dead or dying; he’d taken a fatal blow from the chimera’s stinger.

The Ohremoth was incredible enough that Idra almost stopped to stare—a legendary beast, made of stone and the shining magical power Ohr, that could fly faster than light and breathe torrents of fire. As the beast pumped her wings, light spread into them, becoming a dazzling network of sparkling veins. With one last snap it disappeared in a crack of thunder.

Idra had to watch it all from the corner of her eye, though. There was no time to stop. Now, when everyone was in a panic about the escaped Ohremoth, she needed to make her escape.

Idra had no idea why she had been helping these people, but she had been. It had gone well until Fei, the mysterious woman who had freed her, took a harpoon to the chest. She did it to save Pilgrim and Gershom, but it left Idra on her own.

She cut her losses. After killing the man who manned the harpoon launcher on the corner of the palace arena, which was also the outer wall of the palace and city, she launched a harpoon into empty air. She stole the man’s leather belt then wrapped it around her hand and in a loop around the harpoon cable, stood on the top of the wall, and squeezed her eyes shut for a moment.

This was the harpoon machine that had killed Fei. If Idra had been there five minutes sooner, the woman would be alive right now. Again, she had failed and somebody had died because of it. No time to dwell on it now. There was somewhere she needed to be, and this was her only chance to escape the clutches of Emperor Paxkell.

This is crazy. I’ll die. But what was death when the fate she fled toward was worse? If she got out of here alive, she had one destination, and ultimately it would be her undoing.

The whinny of a familiar horse caught her attention. She looked down to watch men chasing a dapple-gray mare around the field beneath her. They wanted to catch her, but they couldn’t be blamed that they couldn’t, because the mare was a Flaxen Plains horse, from the best bloodlines in the world. The fastest and strongest horses known to man were raised in the Flaxen Plains herds.

And this one was Idra’s. Idra thanked any god that would hear her, pressed her fingers to her lips, and released an ear-piercing whistle. The horse whinnied in reply, and that was all Idra needed. She stepped off the wall, her grip on the harpoon cable slowing her descent.

She landed with an umph in the grass, rolling to save her body from the impact. Rising, her spear in hand, she whistled again for Sky, without the use of her fingers this time. The mare circled around, dodging her pursuers, and ran toward Idra. The men hadn’t noticed Idra yet, so she ran in a low crouch to meet Sky.

This side of the palace hosted a green pasture, grazed short. It was easy to run across but left her exposed. The men yelled—they must have seen her. She didn’t even bother to curse. It wasn’t a surprise. It had been only a matter of time before they spotted her and she had to deal with them.

None of them had bows, but she was confident in Sky’s ability to get her away from them. She suspected the only reason the horse wasn’t miles away already was a sense of loyalty to any rider of hers that remained in the palace.

When she and Sky met, neither of them hesitated. Idra grabbed a fistful of mane and swung onto the mare’s back. She hung off the horse’s side, Sky acting as a shield while they turned and galloped away from the palace. Then she steered the mare from her hanging position until she’d put space between herself and the men. Once she was out of spear range, she sat up on Sky’s back. Leaning forward, she patted the mare’s neck.

I didn’t think I’d see you again, Sky let alone have you save my life.

The horse snorted and tossed her mane. Idra steered her west, back toward Bavi, where she had tried to save Gershom and had been captured for her troubles. Princess Esmeray, King Domnir’s insane sorceress of a wife, had a vendetta against Gershom and his wife and anyone who helped them. It was Esmeray who had captured them and sent them to Emperor Paxkell, of the Malakkipax Empire. Beyond Bavi were the Emerald Hills, where Idra had met Pilgrim for the first time, where Menorah had met Pilgrim for the first time.

And beyond the Emerald Hills was home—the Flaxen Plains. Domain of the High Chieftain, her father. The first person and the last person she wanted to speak with right now. Granted, the list of people she wanted to speak with was short. She wasn’t one to enjoy conversation.

When there were no signs of the Emperor’s men behind her, she allowed Sky to slow a bit, and they angled toward the highway. She could see it from the field they rode through. It was congested with the wagons and rolling homes of merchants and travelers—a good place to get lost for a while, at least until the first toll booth.

Sky rode through the crowd. They kept to the right, flowing with the stream of traffic that was leaving the city of Mala, capital of the Empire. Idra moved toward the center of the road and watched the approaching wagons. Seeing that an unsuspecting driver had left his cloak hanging on the edge of one, she snatched it with the butt of her spear.

She wrapped the cloak around herself, concealing her stolen leather jerkin and chestnut hair. It was long—the man must have been tall—perfect to hang down Sky’s tail and help conceal the mare’s identity.

Once they crossed over the River Trexte and into Bavi, they would be safe. King Domnir ran a safe kingdom. Or he had; Idra wasn’t sure if that would continue. His wife, Princess Esmeray, seemed on a rampage. Idra would avoid the city and the palace altogether. The intrigue she’d experienced there, even just in the short time she lived within their walls, was more than she wanted in a lifetime.

What she longed for was the endless plains of rippling grass and wildflowers. Overwhelming blue skies with clouds that raced overheard, sometimes low enough that she thought she could touch them. Home. She wanted to be home. It was all she had wanted from the moment she’d left.

And from the moment Menorah died, returning was all Idra had dreaded. There was no question in her mind, though, that return she must. News had to be taken to her father. Sky had to be returned to the family herds so Menorah would have a horse to ride into the afterlife. Right now, her soul was likely lost and wandering through the Great Mother’s vast domain.

When Idra died, she would go to the Pit, cursed for her failures, but she could do this for her sister still... while she still had a name and a horse. The scents of Sky and of riding were a heady delight she’d relish until the time her father took them away: Horse sweat and hair. Dust from the road crushed under hooves and feet. The faint smell of salt as a southern wind blew in from the sea. Even the way leather smelled when the sun warmed it.

The highway ascended, up from the slight valley that Mala was nestled in, toward a finger of forest that came down from the north and intersected her path to the River Trexte. She wanted to avoid the forest if possible. There were stories told by her people, from a time when they rode the winds beyond the Flaxen Plains and across all Chalcedonai. Stories of monsters that hunted in the mountains. Stories of beautiful nymphs that bonded with the trees; their appetites were fatal to foreigners.

Everyone on the road behind her started to yell. There were shouts for people to move aside for a legion of soldiers. Idra ducked her head and moved Sky behind a wagon where they wouldn’t see her. The traffic cleared the road, and a legion of mounted soldiers thundered past.

Idra chewed on her bottom lip and looked about. She didn’t want to be paranoid, but if they were riding ahead to block the road, it was time for her to find a different path. Seeing one that split off from the road, she calmly directed Sky to take it. Then she slowed, because further up the road, ahead of her, the forest began—the very forest she wanted to avoid. Its shadows stretched across the grassy hill, like fingers reaching for her. She shuddered, thinking of the enchanting dryads that would sing you in only to kill you and feed you as fertilizer to the roots of their trees.

It was said their roots could absorb the wisdom of the souls sacrificed to them. She had no idea if that was this forest, but she had reason to be suspicious. The last time she had passed under a forest, men made of shadow had attacked her party, and her sister had died.

Sucking in a deep breath, she leaned forward. Go, Sky, as fast as you can. We may have to go through, but there’s no reason we must go slow.

Sky lunged forward and ascended the hill in seconds. At the top of the hill a figure appeared in Idra’s peripheral vision. She leaned further forward to speed Sky on. The horse was slowing down, though.

The man spoke. Hold on there.

She yelled to Sky to keep going, but the mare dropped her back end and slid to a stop. Idra barely kept herself from flying over the horse’s neck, and then she had to hook the saddle with her ankle to stay on when Sky spun and cantered over to the man. Humiliation burned in her blood, but the discipline instilled in her by her father stayed her hand from wrenching on the reins and laying into her horse.

Sky was her partner, allowed to develop her own opinions about where they went and how they got there. Idra didn’t have to like it, though. It occurred to her that the man Sky was approaching could be a friend to the horse, but that didn’t make him a friend to Idra. She shifted her grip on the spear, ready to defend herself. Her horse pranced into the man’s makeshift camp, pricking her ears and snorting at his gray mule. Idra regarded the mule and the wagon it pulled with contempt.

She regarded the man himself with suspicion. Not because he was unknown to her, but because she’d met him before and he’d had nothing helpful to say to her. In fact, as a child, she’d spent a great deal of time with him. When she was nearing womanhood and her time to walk through the great herds of the Flaxen Plains had come, he’d been there.

He’d been walking through the herds, despite very obviously not being one of the Plains Riders. No horse shied from him; he could lay a hand on any horse he chose. He’d laid his hands on Sky and then told Idra that Sky was to be hers.

Idra told him he had no authority to make such a claim, yet when she’d hesitated to step forward and greet the horse, Sky had walked directly to Idra and blown in the girl’s face. This was a mare’s proper greeting, for when a horse smelled another’s breath, they never forgot it. Idra had returned the greeting, and they’d been inseparable since.

The man had told her other things, but they’d been about the future or confusing stories of the past she’d never heard before in the telling of the Plains legends. They’d been enough, though, for her to avoid worshipping the Great Mother like her sisters and parents did.

Prophet was his name. And a fitting name, because he liked to make claims about the future that she wasn’t sure would ever come true. Though one already had come true, and she wasn’t sure who she was more angry at: herself for not stopping it despite knowing about it or him for telling her in the first place.

He had wild hair, memories of brown peeking through the gray streaks. His beard was long and just as wild as his hair. He was tall, looking average only beside his gargantuan mule companion. It was his eyes that always captured and held Idra’s attention. They were startling blue, like the blossoms that bloomed once a year on the Flaxen Plains, so delicate they could barely hold onto the flower for more than a couple of hours.

Those eyes reminded her of Pilgrim, the woman who tried to save her sister. The woman she gave Sky to for a season. His eyes, though, demanded her focus. When she made eye contact, she froze. She even trembled, knowing that if she broke it without his leave, peril would follow.

His smile and demeanor were kind. He stroked Sky’s neck with such gentleness. He wouldn’t harm either of them. Rather, the intensity of his gaze was meant to warn Idra of the dangerous world beyond, the hazards that lay outside his presence. Yet she had spiritual inkling that there was nothing outside his presence, because his eyes were terrifying in the truth they told. The truth was, those eyes presided over all.

What are you doing here? she asked, and knew it sounded rude, but etiquette and diplomacy were not her skill set; they were Menorah’s. Or had been, anyway.

I go where I am needed.

She pulled back from him, the seat of the saddle cutting into the back of her thighs. You aren’t needed here. Not if he was going to spout off more prophecies.

Sky started nibbling at the man’s mustache and he chuckled, whispering something to the mare. Sky told me otherwise, he replied.

That made Idra grumpy. Sky was her horse; why did he get to converse with her and come to conclusions? She didn’t have time for it, besides.

I have to go, she said, and tried to coax Sky back toward the shadowy forest.

"You do indeed, but not that way," he said.

Why not?

Because you are needed elsewhere.

By whom?

Me, for one.

Sky snorted and stamped her foot. He produced an apple from somewhere and offered it to the mare. She curled up her lip and bit into it, shaking her head in the air as the apple’s tart juice trickled down her chin.

The reins creaked as Idra clenched her hands.

Sky, for another, he said, and Idra heard blood pounding in her ears.

I am needed at home.

I agree, and you will get home, but not if you go that way. He nodded toward the forest with a pointed look. She could have sworn his blue eyes twinkled at her. Was he teasing her? Did he think this was funny? Despite knowing he always spoke truth, and even though Sky was enamored with him, Idra gritted her teeth and tipped her head, like a ram presenting its horns.

What makes you think I’m going to do as you say?

Oh, I don’t expect you to do as I say at all. I know you, Idra. You are very set in your ways, and I can’t blame you. You’ve had one purpose since you were old enough to walk, and that was to protect your sister and bring honor to your clan. I can’t imagine how difficult it must be for you to imagine a path outside of that.

She bit her cheek and tasted blood. The more anger she felt at Prophet’s words, the more violently she trembled. Her hands shook until she feared she would drop her spear.

So why give me instructions if you know I will stubbornly disobey?

As a courtesy.

"Which way should