THE GUARDIANS OF LIGHT: BOOK 2
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Epic Fantasy, Novella
Gryphon’s Gate Publishing, September 2017
He’d have to be crazy to follow her.
Wyllea is certain she’s going mad, or at least as certain as an insane person might be. The voice in her head is not her own and it’s been getting stronger as she grows weaker, trapped without provisions behind enemy lines. She needs help… soon, before she loses herself entirely. But the only man she can trust is a thief and rogue.
Tirol just wants to be free and left alone, but he’s been living in a land occupied by The Blacklord’s army, dodging their “recruiters” for months in the wasted lands of the east. Then the mysterious Wyllea walks into his life asking for his help and he finds he can’t refuse her. As much as he wants to avoid any sort of entanglement and simply walk away, he helps her, as crazy as she and her quest might be.
PROLOGUE
The night sang a discordant chorus of battle and Senia danced wildly to the tune.
The armies of The Blacklord had come to St. Antin Abbey. Within that fortress, the monks of Embreth and what remained of the forces of Hallania stood against them. The Blacklord’s men outnumbered the allies by over twenty to one. The allied forces, however, had the strong walls of the abbey to guard them and a fully trained scion to defend them. All told, it was an even fight.
Senia leapt. Her massive sword, Emberthorn, blazed with living fire in her hands. From a distance, she might have seemed like a spark flashing up from the combat on the hills before the abbey. Hundreds of feet up and across, she sailed through the air, lazily flipping herself backward. She landed lightly, elegantly, on the fifty-foot wall of the abbey next to Ahrn.
Her lover used all of his fighting prowess to fling The Blacklord’s magically enhanced, black-clad assassins off the wall. The assassins led the fight, jumping to the top of the walls and trying to clear a path for the hundreds of regular warriors with ropes and ladders waiting below.
A lull of battle around them gave enough time for her to lean in for a short but passionate kiss. She disengaged with a grin.
“How are the defenses?”
“Well enough. Two forces topped the wall in the past hour, but we rebuffed both.”
“Keep up the good work.”
“If you’re heading out again, there’s a Fire Wizard on that hill,” He pointed, “who’s been giving us some trouble.”
Senia saw a stream of fire blowing from the hill in question to the top of the walls not far away.
“I’ll give him some trouble then.” Another grin and she was off, bounding from the wall, arching high over the battle to land on the hilltop.
The wizard, a woman, started at the sudden arrival of Senia before her. That hesitation was enough of an opportunity for Senia to spin in and slice her in twain, eliminating that threat.
For a moment, there was peace around her. The battle raged below her as The Blacklord’s men surged forward around the hill she stood upon, but there were no threats here.
The allies held, but these nightly attacks wore away at the defenses and the hope of those within the abbey. Runners had been sent west to the nations of Fjoria, Scandia, and Nehrista, kingdoms to the west. Help had been promised, but it had yet to arrive. Senia feared without that help, despite her best efforts, The Blacklord’s armies would probably overtake the walls of the abbey sometime before the end of the summer. She was doing her best, but they simply had far too many of the magical assassins and wizards for her to deal with, and more arrived daily.
She sighed and turned to leap back into the fray, but something stopped her.
It was an odd sensation, something she couldn’t name.
She connected to the essence, the presence within her sword. Emberthorn, what is that?
I… it’s been so long I can’t be sure, but… Emberthorn’s usually sure and steady baritone, which spoke within her mind, was hesitant.
But what?
There’s an ability the monks mentioned in your training, one which they didn’t talk much about as they figured it would never be used.
Senia racked her brain to remember, but the memory eluded her. I…
You have the ability to sense other scions, but I… I never thought… And this doesn’t feel quite right either. It’s been a while, but I’m sure I’ve never felt a scion that felt quite so…
Dark.
Yes.
Can you locate them?
I… yes. Actually… they’re headed this way.
Indeed, the sensation, the pull, she felt toward this unknown source was moving, drawing nearer…
A moment later, descending from the night sky, a form landed on the hilltop near her, a tall, looming figure.
“Hello, Senia.” His deep, resonant bass carried easily on the whispered breeze of the night. She didn’t recognize the voice, nor what she could make out of him. He was quite tall, though his body was well proportioned so he did not seem ‘lanky’ as some taller men did . He was actually very well built, with thick, rolling muscles under his black shirt that accentuated his broad shoulders and wide chest. The fabric of his sleeves pulled tight over great, round biceps and forearms. Moonlight caught his features: sharp nose, heavy brow, rigid lines, strong jaw, framed by thick and full dark hair. He wore a smile that sent a chill down her spine. There was something about him that drew her, caught her and held her, yet another force equally as strong that scared her, shook her.
“Do I know you?” she said, wary. Though still there was a tingling within her that she somehow knew or should trust this man.
“You will, soon enough.”
“Who are you?” she breathed.
“You can call me Davar.” Several strides of his long legs brought him to within a sword’s length distance. He looked her over, appraising. The gaze from those cold eyes enveloped her, powerful and dominating.
“What are you?” Senia asked.
“I’ve been sent to fetch you, bring you back… into the fold.”
“Are there other scions?”
A pause. “Yes. Come with me and I’ll show you.”
No, don’t.
I know he’s lying, but how do I know? Why do I feel so sure I should trust this man and yet still somehow know he’s lying?
I don’t know.
“Perhaps,” she said diplomatically. “At the moment however, I have a war to fight. Care to join me?”
He sighed, heaving round shoulders, eyes dark, piercing. “I didn’t really think the ruse would work. If you can feel me the way I can feel you, then you already know—” He stopped himself short, as if coming too close to a flame. His next words were a mere breath, whispered. “Amazing. Such a shame.”
With lightning speed, he reached back over his shoulder and drew a long dark blade that drank in the light around it and lunged at her.
She raised Emberthorn, blocking the strike, knocking it to the side. Yet the man’s strength and speed were incredible. She had barely kept him from skewering her. Even now, in the blink of an eye before his next move, his blade hovered dangerously close to her side. She had only just managed to move it out of the way. The resistance against Emberthorn was immense. If this man wasn’t a scion, he was certainly something she had never faced before.
He took a step back. His eyes ranged over her, measuring her.
She also stepped away, readying Emberthorn.
His blade was shorter, the length of a long broadsword, what some of the mercenaries called a hand-and-a-half sword or bastard sword. He held it easily in his left hand. She had the advantage when it came to blade length, but she had a sneaking suspicion he had the advantage when it came to knowing his opponent. He knew her, somehow, but she knew nothing of him or his capabilities.
You have no idea who this is? Why he’s attacking me? She asked Emberthorn.
No, I’m just as confused as you. He is a scion… I think, but…
Not.
I’ve never felt anything like him before.
Great.
He came in again, though it was clear within these first few strikes that he was testing her and the range of her weapon. He backed off again.
“Why are you doing this? Who are you?” she asked.
“I do what I must.”
She had no idea what that meant. Her confusion was becoming a growing thread of fear. She did not like the power she sensed in this man.
He attacked in earnest.
His blade, swallowing light and dimming the area around them, was barely visible against the night, even more so for the speed with which he wielded it.
For a moment, she was on the defensive blocking his attacks. He was good, terrifyingly so. He was pushing her back, step by step. Since she’d bonded with Emberthorn no other man had ever felt a true threat, too slow, too weak, but Davar was… something else entirely.
She leapt, flipping back and away. In the air, she spotted a copse of trees behind her on the hilltop. A long branch reached out from one tree, and she landed on it, balancing easily.
“I warn you—” Her fear grew, and she needed time to collect herself, but the rest of her words were cut off as he came flying at her in a leap of his own. Then they were both on the branch, engaged again, blades trimming the trees around them.
Davar knelt suddenly, shearing easily through the branch they stood on. Senia had been on the outer end and it fell from under her. She strengthened her legs and landed on her feet, but he was jumping down, blade slicing through the night. She blocked, but he feinted, moving his blade around hers, catching her on her left arm, cutting a shallow gash. The shock of someone actually landing a blow on her rang through Senia and Emberthorn.
This was wrong, so very wrong. She staggered away, swiping Emberthorn in front of her to back him off, but he leapt over the blade, striking down on her again. Senia, stunned by this move, failed to block, managing only to flinch to the side. His blade scored again, a light strike on her cheek, then a deeper cut across her upper chest and the bicep of her right arm.
Emberthorn’s instincts took over, controlling her body, and she lashed out. But Davar’s dark blade stopped the attack meant to shear him in two across his upper torso. It almost seemed as if it had been easy for him to block her heavier blade.
They stood there for a moment, close, her blade on his as she strained to end him. He simply smiled at her as he held Emberthorn at bay.
“They told me you would be harder than this.” He didn’t laugh, but there was mirth in his eyes. He was moving again, ducking under her blade, forcing it past him, then striking quickly at her thigh. Another hit, this one deep, the pain searing into her. Emberthorn’s blazing spirit filled her with strength, keeping her upright, barely.
She was truly scared now, and a terror-born rage was burning within her. The flames licking along Emberthorn’s blade turned a blazing blue as she retaliated. She attacked furiously, a blur of azure in the night. Davar was forced back, blocking and evading.
She used her reach advantage to keep him at bay, striking quickly yet keeping herself out of range. Finally, he leapt back, flinging himself to the far side of the hilltop. She hurled herself after him. She had the advantage, and she wouldn’t give it away, nor would her fury allow him to escape, not now.
She descended upon him, Emberthorn slashing down, blue flames streaming in the dark. He blocked the blow, but the force of it sent him to one knee. He rolled away, coming to his feet with a quick and easy grace.
By all the gods! Was this what it was like to fight against her?
No, most people who fight you go down much easier. Emberthorn chimed in.
Ah.
She charged in.
He was set and ready, the expression on his chiseled features grim, dark.
She set upon him with all the skill and precision that her bond with Emberthorn and the past months of training allowed her. He backed up steadily now, blocking her blows, though she did score a hit to his forearm and another across his ribs.
She knew she had him, his blade was slowing. He had to be tiring. She lunged—
But he wasn’t there.
It had been a lure, but she saw it far too late. He evaded the lunge, stepping to the side. He’d been backed up against a large tree and her blade slid easily through the thick trunk. She would have been able to withdraw it easily, given the heartbeat it would take to do so, but he didn’t give her the time.
His blade came down onto her wrists. She saw the attack coming and barely had time to release Emberthorn and withdraw her hands… but that was a mistake she couldn’t afford.
She’d been bonded with Emberthorn long enough that she retained much of her powers when not in contact with him, but she was still slower, if only a fraction. That was all he needed.
Even in the time it took her to say “Embertho—” to call the sword back to her hands, he spun and struck the flat of his blade hard against the side of her head.
She went down, vision blurring, the soft long grasses cushioning her little as she crashed to the ground.
“Ember…” She tried once again, but he struck her hard on the back of her head and her world spun into darkness.
Chapter 1
Wyllea was sure she was going mad.
She’d seen her entire company slaughtered and was the only survivor. She’d been stranded behind enemy lines for nearly two months. She’d had one scant meal in the past three days and though she’d been able to find fresh water often enough, she was sure she would soon die from lack of food. And before she died, her mind would play tricks on her as it was now.
I’m not your mind playing tricks. I’m real.
She was sure that’s what all the voices in crazy people’s heads said. The trouble was she’d actually started responding to the voice. It had been getting stronger and stronger, harder to resist, over these past weeks as she’d tried to survive in a dark and barren land.
You’re real? Not some figment of my imagination?
As real as the bow in your hand.
That’s going a little far don’t you think?
No, because I AM the bow in your hand.
You are the bow? I’m talking to a bow, a weapon. I’m talking to a bow inside my own head.
Yup, she was going crazy.
The other odd thing about the voice was… it wasn’t any voice she recognized. She would have thought if she were creating some fantasy “self” to talk to in her head it would respond in her own voice or maybe that of her mother or someone she had known, but this voice she couldn’t place. It was a woman’s voice, strong and sure, low and resonant. She’d never heard any voice like it.
Wyllea, you are not going crazy! You must listen to me. I can help get us out of this mess!
Sure.
I can, if you’d just let me in.
Let you in? Aren’t you already in? You’ve been bugging me for weeks now. I’d say that’s pretty well in, don’t you think?
No, I’m not. I’m in your head, yes, but that’s not the same. Besides, it’s taken me years of being by your side and then these past few weeks of your mind and body being so weak and strained that your natural defenses are down for me to speak to you this clearly. You need to let me in all the way, believe in me, who I am, what I can do. You need to bond with me.
Bond with you?
Really? This was where her crazy was taking her? Bonding to a voice in her head. She’d never been one for marriage, having spent her life as a mercenary. She’d had her fair share of men, some of whom she might have even considered laying aside her bow and settling down with if they’d ever wanted such things. But she’d never considered being with a woman, let alone bonding with one. Especially if that woman was herself. That was just… crazy. Well, that explained it then.
Wyllea, please listen to me. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I think it may be. I’ve never been able to speak to anyone like this before, not since my Guardian died and all of his line with him. I think perhaps…
Shut up, bow.
My name is Eaglewing.
Really? That’s the name I’ve come up with for the voice in my head?
No, that’s the name that was given to the bow in your hand. You’ve seen the images traced on it, the eagle in flight. That’s me.
That’s very logical of you, Eaglewing. In fact, I’m sure I’ve seen all those tracings. And perhaps with this bow being all I have left in the world I’ve seen them far too much lately, which is why I’ve associated the voice in my head to my bow. Yes, that makes sense.
Now you’re the one talking crazy.
I’m pretty sure we’re both crazy, actually.
Wyllea, please!
Shhh! Did you hear that?
What? Oh, yes. Sorry, you were distracting me. It sounds like… a hammer… hitting an anvil.
How would you know?
I’ve been around.
I’m not quite sure what that means. Now shut up, Eaglewing, and let me see what’s going on.
Fine, but I’ll be back. I’m not giving up on this.
I’m sure. Now, now shut up!
Wyllea was in a barren land and hadn’t seen a village in weeks. The Blacklord’s men had pillaged and plundered these lands over a year ago. Crops reaped early to feed tens of thousands of men had had no one to replant them as the people here had also been taken. All that remained were fallow fields, black earth, and scavengers. Wyllea had kept herself close to water, knowing that much of survival, following a small river north and west toward Maalkin’s Rise. She’d heard there were still those resisting The Blacklord in Hallania, north of the mountains, and hoped to join with them if she could slip past the front lines. On a clear day, she could see the mountains jutting up, gray and stark, to the north and west. She was fairly certain she was now in the land which had once been Vohria, but that still meant hundreds of miles to go to reach Hallania.
She was unsure she’d make it that far. She knew little of hunting. True, her aim with a bow was second to none; there simply wasn’t any game to shoot. Three weeks ago she’d found a small refugee camp that had shared some food, but those were the last people she’d seen. With no easy food and no people to help her, she was going to die out here, alone. If there was a forge ahead, as the noise she’d heard suggested, that meant people and possibly help.
She’d been in a hillier land these last few days and there was a hill in front of her blocking her from seeing the true source of the noise. She crept up the hillside to peer over the top.
In the next valley was a small village. It sat on an east-west road, well paved and wide, which cut through the hills. There was a bridge over the river as well. She could see why The Blacklord’s armies might keep this little village intact as a rest stop for messengers heading back to The Blacklord’s realm or new recruits being sent to the front.
The sound she’d heard emanated from a squat building on the south side of the road with thick black smoke billowing from its chimney. A smithy would be another reason to keep the town intact. Not only was it a rest stop, but a place to fix weapons and armor, shoe horses, or make whatever other metalwork the army might need.
This brought up a very simple question for Wyllea, yet one very hard to answer: Should she go down to the village or avoid it?
Every fiber of her being said to avoid it. Every fiber that is, except her stomach.