This is the first chapter of my upcoming book, "Wyvern", Book 1 of the Wyvern Trilogy. It is now available at these stores:
Smashwords https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/304813?ref=johnhcarroll
Amazon http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00CAUH6ZA
Kobo http://www.kobobooks.com/ebook/Wyvern/book-ZmcvhCra5UK33KVzcex6zw/page1.html
Apple https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/wyvern/id635556128?mt=11
Pelya’s sapphire-blue eyes sparkled in the heavy afternoon
sun. She slouched in the saddle, studying
the village resting at the intersection of two insignificant roads that cut
through the endless farmlands of Altordan.
Sounds of a few industrious townsfolk and children at play drifted
above the maddening buzz of insects that had dominated her hearing since
leaving Dralin. A mild breeze alleviated
the worst of the fall heat and rustled tomato vines that dominated the
landscape.
Altordan was a large country existing primarily to protect
and provide for Dralin, its capital.
Well-maintained highways spoked outward like a jagged wagon wheel from
the city to other countries, but Pelya was avoiding those. They were crowded and she wanted peace and solitude
to think.
Honey, her beautiful chestnut warhorse with blonde mane,
flicked a tail at biting flies. A
disinterested packhorse tethered to Pelya’s saddle nosed a bit of grass that
had grown in the middle of the rutted road. It whinnied, probably wanting a true meal.
A family wearing simple clothing and wide-brimmed hats
collected ripe tomatoes amongs the vines in the distance to Pelya’s right. They kept glancing in her direction as though
worried she would steal their livelihood.
It wouldn’t be hard if she were so inclined. Pelya adjusted the chain-reinforced leather
sword belt around her waist. She was a
master with the pair of enchanted swords that rested in sheaths at her hips.
She wouldn’t steal from the worried family. Pelya had spent her entire life in the Dralin
City Guard learning that it was important to protect people, not harm them. Her father had raised her along with more
than a thousand Guardmembers she called her aunts and uncles.
She didn’t wear that uniform anymore. Now, a form-fitting black tunic and pants,
both with intricate designs of mystic silver thread, covered her powerful,
six-foot frame. She looked down at the
priceless clothes. Even after days of
dust and mud on the road, they were spotless thanks to enchantments Ebudae had
sewn into the clothing.
A twinge of distress twisted Pelya’s heart. More than anyone, she missed the impudent and
powerful wizardess who had been her best friend. Pelya tugged at her long, jet-black braid
with a gloved hand to knock the feeling away.
It didn’t help, so she gave Honey a gentle nudge with polished boots and
continued toward the village.
Six days had passed since her banishment from Dralin for
killing a chancellor of the High Council.
The events kept looping through her memory. She and others had uncovered a plot to overthrow
the High Council and create a new god. A
battle in the ruins below Dralin had destroyed the god and foiled the plot, but
even that couldn’t save her from banishment.
To make matters worse, Pelya had been having nightmares about the battle
and the yellow-eyed monks who had been possessed by the god.
Pelya rode into the quaint village. A hodgepodge of small businesses, the largest
of which was a two-story inn, surrounded the main intersection. Pelya was grateful for its presence. She had camped under the stars since leaving,
and while her clothes might stay magically clean, her body didn’t.
A burly blacksmith with cropped hair stopped hammering on a
plow. She waved at him and received a
surprise smile and wave of his hammer in return. There was also a tanner’s shop, a woodworker
and a small market she might visit the next day to resupply. The buildings were painted and well
maintained by the hardworking folk.
A group of elderly women wearing bonnets and long, pastel
dresses sat in a shady area under some trees.
They stopped their sewing and stared at Pelya for a moment. She greeted them with a wave as well. They briskly nodded in return before going
back to work. Pelya ignored the way they
huddled together and whispered. It was
what old women did.
Across the intersection from the inn, a soldier came out of
a small building. He was straightening
the chain shirt he had just put on before taking his sword belt from an
apprentice who hadn’t quite reached manhood.
The apprentice was wide-eye and unsure in his steps as he brushed aside
too-long hair while checking his own sword.
Pelya dismounted as she reached the intersection so she
would be eye level with the men and not so intimidating.
The soldiers approached with determination. The elder of the two had a great deal of grey
in his carroty hair and a hitch in his self-important step. The muscular arm he held up in greeting
belied his advanced age. His vibrating,
tenor voice carried through the quiet air “Hello traveler. I’m Sergeant Pifflin of the Altordan
army. What’s your business here?”
“Just passing through, Sergeant.” Pelya hoped he wouldn’t be too friendly. “I intend to spend the night at your inn and
then be on my way. You’ll get no trouble
from me.”
“See that we don’t!”
Sergeant Pifflin puffed out his chest.
“I may not be in my prime, but I can still hold my own.” He stepped forward as though to intimidate
Pelya. “I’ve got the might of Altordan behind
me too. Something happens to me and you’ll
have the army to deal with.”
Pelya was half a foot taller and could have taken him even
when he was in his prime. She had just
finished killing a god, so the threat of an army didn’t impress her. Instead of telling the man that, she merely repeated
herself. “You’ll get no trouble from
me.”
“Ah, well, good then.”
Sergeant Pifflin hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Where do you hail from?”
“I’ll be at the inn, Sergeant.” Pelya led her horse around him and toward the
stables.
The man stared after her for a minute before turning to his
apprentice and shrugging. The apprentice
shrugged back.
As Pelya entered the inn’s stable yard, a chipper young
woman in her mid-teens came out of a stall, brushing hay off durable pants and
a light shirt. Her voice was as lively
as her manner. “Hi! I’m Terry.
Would you like your horses cared for?”
She pulled strands of her ponytail to tighten it in the string that
bound it.
“Yes, I’ll be spending the night. Do I pay you or the innkeeper?”
“You’ll pay my pa. He’s the innkeeper.” Terry took the reins Pelya handed her and
looked at Honey in admiration. “She’s a
beaut!”
Honey nuzzled the girl’s neck.
“Her name is Honey.
She’s the finest steed you’ll ever meet.” Pelya detached her saddlebags and slung them
over her left shoulder. They had her
most valuable possessions.
“I’ll take the best care of them both. Shall I bring in the rest of your bags?”
Terry asked.
“After the horses are cared for.” Pelya handed her a silver coin.
Terry took it and then tried to hand it back. “You’ll want to pay pa inside. He handles all the money.”
Pelya shook her head.
“I’ll pay your pa. That’s for
you.”
Terry’s jaw dropped.
“A silver? For me? I can’t.”
She tried to hand it back, but Pelya was already walking away.
Upon entering the bright common room, Pelya stood for a
moment and looked around. The shutters
were open on the windows to let fresh air circulate. Straw littered the floor to soak up mud and
spills. The stools and table were sturdy
wood, likely made by a local artisan. Four
old men stopped talking to stare at her from a table near an open window. She nodded at them and they nodded back.
Near the stairs, Terry’s pa sat behind a counter that served
as the bar and the hotel desk. He was a stout
man with clean clothes and short, tangled hair.
He waved Pelya over with a hairy hand.
“Can I help you?”
She went over. “How much is a room for one night and meals? I also have two horses to be stabled, one of
which is a warhorse. The other is a
packhorse.”
The innkeeper stood in alarm. “A warhorse?”
He looked toward the door Pelya had come in. “Terry . . .”
“Is fine,” Pelya reassured him. “Honey likes her. How much?”
She pulled out her coin purse and undid the strings. She had more coin and gem pouches hidden within
her shirt.
The innkeeper looked at the door again before sitting back
down. “It’ll be three coppers for the
room, two for the meals, not including ale . . .” he noticed the quality of her
clothes, “. . . or wine if that’s what you prefer. I’ve got a few bottles, but they’re
expensive. Not much call for it out here. The warhorse is another three coppers and the
packhorse two, so . . .” He did the math
in his head. “Ten copper pieces, or one
silver.”
It was much less than Pelya, used to city prices, had
imagined. No wonder Terry had been so
surprised by the tip. Pelya fished out
two silver, hardly lightning the pouch at all.
She pushed them forward on the counter.
“I’ll want a bath as well. Keep
the extra.”
The innkeeper picked up the coins with an expression of
surprise on his face. “Thank you. That’s more than generous.”
Pelya considered for a moment. “I should let you know that I also gave Terry
a silver piece. I don’t want you
thinking she came by it dishonestly.”
Surprise became astonishment. “For a girl?”
Pelya leaned forward intimidatingly. Her voice gained an edge. “Yes.
For a girl. Where’s my room and
where can I get the bath?”
The innkeeper shrank back.
“Your room is the last one on the right.
It’s the quietest. I’ll send
someone when we have the bath ready for you.”
He composed himself. “Will you
take meals down here or in your room?”
“I’ll take dinner in my room and breakfast down here.” Pelya moved to the stairs.
He called after her as she climbed. “Did you want to use one of our locks? It’ll be no charge for you.”
“I have my own.” A
moment later, Pelya reached the second floor and headed down the narrow
hallway. There were six plain doors on
each side and a second stairway at the other end with a rope blocking it,
likely for servants.
Pelya entered her room and set the saddlebags on the lone
table. The bed had a straw mattress and
clean sheets with a crocheted blanket and a pillow. A nightstand had a candle, a pitcher of water
and a bowl for washing up. Two chairs
were the only other things in the room.
Pelya went to the window and opened the shutters. There were a few houses lining the street
behind the inn and a group of young children playing. She wondered what it would have been like to
be raised in a village like this.
She sat at the edge of the bed and stared blankly at the
wall until there was a knock at the door sometime later. Pelya groaned from stiff muscles as she stood
and went to open it.
Terry stood there with Pelya’s bags. “I have two more trips, but it won’t take me
long at all. Oh, and your bath is
ready.”
“Thank you.” Pelya
took the bags. “I let your father know
that I gave you a silver, so don’t hide it from him.” She closed the door, leaving Terry to stare
wide-eyed. Pelya’s hunch had been
correct. She opened the door again and
saw Terry slipping under the rope of the service entrance. “Where is my bath?” Pelya asked.
Terry unhooked the rope.
“It’s down here in the back. I
can take you.”
“One moment.” Pelya
retrieved her lock from her saddlebags.
She closed the door and hooked the lock on the latch made for that
purpose.
She didn’t think anyone would try to steal her things, but
to be on the safe side, she cast a simple alarm ward on the door. It was something Ebudae had taught her. A few loose strands of braided hair gusted
around Pelya’s face as the magical breeze of casting swirled. It wasn’t a strong spell, or the breeze would
have been fiercer. Terry’s jaw hung open
when Pelya turned to her. “What’s wrong,
Terry?”
“You’re a wizard? I
thought since you wear swords . . .”
Pelya moved past her and headed down the stairs. “I’m not a wizard, but knowing the occasional
spell is convenient. No more questions
now.” At the bottom of the stairs, she
stepped aside to let the girl take the lead again.
Terry stopped and opened her mouth to ask another question,
but Pelya’s warning glance was enough to shut it.
After a long bath, Pelya retired to her room. When dinner came, she ate without tasting. She locked the door from the inside after
finishing and putting the wooden tray of empty dishes on the floor of the hall.
Pelya sat on the bed, brought her knees up and broke down
into quiet tears. The young woman was
beginning to feel the burden of being alone.
She missed her father. She missed
Ebudae. She missed the Guard and all her
aunts and uncles.
Pelya longed for the sounds and smells of the chaotic
city. There was always danger in
Dralin. Staying alive was a vague
proposition on the best of days. She missed
the adventures with Ebudae into the ruins underneath the city.
Now she was out in the world farther than she had ever been
before, resting in a quiet little inn.
There was no danger. Anyone with
a silver piece was rich. At times in her
travels, there wouldn’t be a building or a person in sight. She could stand on a rock and stare for miles
in every direction. It was unnerving.
Pelya dozed off a few times in between fits of crying. It was terrible to be alone.
She was not handling it well.
***
Pelya saw fear in the
milky-yellow eyes of the god. He wore a
brown robe spattered with iridescent gold.
His arms reached out for her.
Then it switched to a
different face mutated by anger with eyes of yellow fire. The robes were violent red. Its arms flailed as though scolding her.
A woman’s face rotated
into view. Her robes were a riot of
colors that pained the senses. She had
no eyes and her hands were clasped to her chest in despair and confusion.
A thousand monks
surrounded Pelya. Their yellow eyes
blinked in unison.
Pelya sat upright in a cold sweat. She threw aside the covers and scanned the
room. To her relief, there were no
monks, nor a Crazed God.
The floor was cool under her feet as she moved to the window. In the east, a touch of morning light lined
the horizon with the promise of another clear, warm day. At one of the houses, the silhouette of a
woman yawned and stretched on the front step in anticipation of the day.
Pelya sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands for a
moment, trying to find the willpower to make it through another day. Eventually, she gathered her bags and heading
downstairs.
The morning innkeeper, a young man who was probably the
innkeeper’s son, served her porridge for breakfast. He didn’t notice her glum manner as she ate
quickly and slipped out of the empty common room.
Terry was sleeping in the stables next to Honey’s
stall. She jumped up, startled when
Pelya dropped the saddlebags noisily. “Huh? Oh! I
was hoping to catch you before you left.”
Terry wiped the sleep from her eyes.
“I wanted you to know that I took the best care of both horses. I bathed them and had the blacksmith come and
check their shoes.”
“That is
exceptional service. Thank you. Can I trust you with these saddlebags while I
get the rest of my things?”
“Let me get them for you!
Then I’ll get your tack and gear on the horses. You sit and take it easy. Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes.”
Terry waited, expecting more of an answer. “. . . Oh.
Can I enter your room or is the lock still there?”
“You can enter. There
is no lock and I’ve removed the wards.”
Pelya greeted Honey, who snorted and bumped her cheek over the gate of
the stall.
“I’ll be done in a bit then.” Terry ran off.
Pelya went out to the stable yard. It was empty.
She decided to stretch and exercise.
It didn’t take Terry long to bring down the bags and pull
the horses out of their stalls.
After stretching, Pelya felt limber, so she drew her main
sword. As with almost any weapon
purchased in the City of Dralin, it had magic.
This was partially because there were so many mages and their
apprentices to enchant them and partially because a person needed one to be
effective in battle against the wizards that populated the city. The sword was made of light steel and darted
through the air like a hummingbird while she practiced with it.
She drew her secondary sword and did a cursory
examination. It was shorter than her
main, but much more deadly. The blade
was the width of two fingers at the crossbar.
Its sharpened edges tapered gradually to the point. The metal glistened in the dawn light,
showing no runes even though it held powerful magic. The blade didn’t look like steel, silver or
any other metal she had seen, it was softer somehow. Pelya stepped back and hefted it. It was very light and the braided hilt fit
nicely in her hand.
Pelya rolled her shoulders and spun the blades. She moved her legs and began the drills that
would keep her sharp and ready for battle.
Each thrust and parry was precise.
Normally, she exercised every morning to stay limber. The last few days had been an exception and she
could feel it in the tightness of her muscles.
When Pelya stopped, Terry cautiously came forward. She had been watching for a while. “Your horses are ready. Honey is eager to go.”
Pelya saw the warhorse stomping energetically. She would have to give her a run to work off
some of the extra energy.
“I’ve never seen anyone move like you do.” Terry fidgeted with a horse brush in her
hands. “Who are you?”
“I’m no one.” Pelya
sheathed the swords and went to Honey.
She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted effortlessly. Looking around, Pelya saw that they were
alone, so she leaned over and slipped Terry two more silver pieces. “I haven’t told your father about these. If you ever leave, go anywhere but Dralin.”
Pelya retrieved the lead of the packhorse. As she left the stables and inn behind, she
realized she had never learned the name of the village.
