Viator (The Viator Chronicles Book 1)

Copyright

Copyright © 2015 by Jane Ralston-Brooks

All rights reserved. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

Published by Purple Thistle Publishing

Cover art and design by Trevor Smith

www.janeralstonbrooks.com

www.purplethistlepublishing.com

Acknowledgments

My thanks to my husband Roger, who pushed me on and believed in my dreams; to Kathleen Shaputis, whose cheerful encouragement at the Olympia Writers’ Group was a great inspiration; to my daughter Claire Frank for her hours of creative, editorial and objective loving help; to my editor Mimi, the Grammar Chick; to Trevor Smith for the amazing cover art and design; to Rebecca Durkin, who has seen me through this whole process; to friends and family for their encouragement; and to my parents, who continue to gift me with dreams.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.

Edgar Allan Poe - The Raven

Prologue

Late afternoon sunlight shimmered through the birch trees and evergreens, and a dense undergrowth of ferns crowded the trail. Sean quickened his pace. He’d been following for hours through ever more treacherous territory, and he still hadn’t found his charge.
Where was that man?
A chill breeze from the north rustled through the leaves, and he heard the gurgle of water ahead. Scanning the small stream that cut across his path, he wiped the perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand and searched the far bank. When he saw the telltale tracks and loosened stones, he leapt over the stream and scrambled up the far slope. Broken branches marked the path, and he followed these signs as he ran through the forest.

The path curved around a tall boulder, and Sean was unable to see ahead. He slowed his pace and slipped a knife from its sheath on his belt. He jogged around the turn and found the right edge of the path sheared off, exposing a high precipice. A short distance beyond the cliff the narrow path widened again and wound down to the forest in the valley below, where it forded a river far ahead. Along that path he could see the figure of a man, and he knew he had found his charge. He breathed a sigh of relief, tucked his knife away, and edged along the bluff until the path widened again. Then he ran full speed, knowing he was on target.

Brown mud stained Sean’s black pants and jacket from the hours of the long chase. No one had ever run from him for so long. Why this time? Didn’t the man realize Sean was there to help?

The sun had set and a waxing moon glowed in the sky by the time Sean had reached the valley floor. He shivered from a sudden cold breeze. The hair rose on the back of his neck as he caught the scent of carrion reek, and he slowed and loosened his sword. The man must be close by, but the stench was alarming.

“Where are you?” Sean called.

“Here. I’m here,” a man answered from the direction of the river.

“Wait for me … stay where you are. I can help you.”

Sean took off as fast as he could, racing along the path. The trail grew wet and slippery as it sloped downhill toward the water. He slid in the mud but caught himself before he tumbled.

The path was paved with slick stones leading to the bank of the river, and Sean took the wet steps more carefully. Bushes and reeds grew thick, blocking the river from view. When he reached the water’s edge, he saw the rocky beach open out. The river widened in this spot, becoming shallower, allowing for large stones to make a ford across to the opposite shore. But he sensed this roaring river was a border of some kind—once across, it might not be so easy to return. He looked across and groaned. The man he needed to help was on the other side.

Sean stepped close to the water’s edge and called out, “Come back.”

The man was already heading into the forest on the opposite shore, but he stopped and turned. He hesitated, and Sean could see doubt and confusion in the man’s eyes.

“Come back,” Sean shouted again.

The man looked directly at Sean and took a few steps toward him. He rubbed his hands over his face and through his blond hair.

“I can’t. Help me,” he called.

Sean frowned and took another step closer to the river, calling again, “Come here.”

The man shook his head and pleaded, “Help me.”

Sean sheathed his sword and stepped out onto the nearest stone in the river. His foot slipped into the icy, rushing water. He tried again, and this time his footing held. He crossed the river from rock to rock slowly, and with great care he finally reached the opposite shore and scrambled up the slippery bank. The moon was high, and the birch trees on this side of the river were dense. Sean stood and looked around.

“Where are you?”

“Here.”

The answer came from just to the left. Sean turned to go that direction when the air grew icy and foul. He almost gagged from the stench, but he walked into the darkness of the forest.

The shape of a man rose from the ground in front of Sean—an enormous black shadow, cold, dark, and cruel, but so much more—a mortifer. Sean drew his sword.

“What have you done with the man?” Sean demanded.

The shadow laughed, a high hollow sound that was eerie in the night air. “Nothing—he is ours.”

The bushes rustled behind him and Sean whirled with his sword, striking another mortifer as it crept up from the forest. The sword pierced its side, and it fell, rolling in agony. The first mortifer leapt and slammed Sean across his back with its staff throwing him forward. Sean’s sword fell but he caught himself, stumbling forward a few steps.

He whirled around. It was hard to see well in the darkness under the trees, but his night vision was keen, and he knew he could handle one or two mortifers, even as tired as he was.

The first mortifer stood nearby—what was it waiting for? It knew Sean didn’t have his sword.

A blast of icy wind blew through the forest again, and the rotten stench grew overwhelming. Sean gagged, and then he scrambled for his sword.

A blow from a staff struck him hard across the back again just as he grasped his blade, and he fell to the ground but with his sword still in hand. He leapt up.

A horde of mortifers stood before him, the flaming ice of their eyes froze him, and he groaned. How many were there? They were countless. They loomed over him, growing taller, and wavered in the breeze like wispy phantoms. But they were all too real. How had they known he was here?

Where was his charge? Sean cried, “What have you done with him?”

Again the shadow mocked Sean with its hollow laughter. It pointed to the right, and under the shadows of the dense trees Sean saw the man he was supposed to help—he was standing, waiting. Watching. Sean’s eyes widened. He knew he had been betrayed. This was a trap.

He had to warn the others of this danger, but a mortifer drew a long sword from its scabbard and attacked. Sean dodged that blow and countered with a swing that severed the shadow’s sword arm. It screamed its rage, and the others, some armed with tall staffs and some with swords, leapt forward. He dodged one but another struck him. They attacked him with sword, staff and knife. He destroyed one mortifer after another, but there were always more. He stumbled, and they descended on him, battering him with their staffs, but he rose up again, finding more strength. He swung his own sword to hit one of the shadows in the chest, destroying it. A sword struck him in the shoulder. He was weary, and he was in agony, and still he tried to fight them off. He felt another gash to his back. He was struck in the chest, in the arms, on his back over and over, and he sank to his knees. His clothes were wet with sticky blood.

The mortifers scoffed at him. “You are ours now, viator.”

For a moment there was silence in the dark forest.

A crow cawed as it flew overhead, and Sean looked up.

He struggled to stand and swung his sword at another mortifer, striking and felling it, its blackness oozing out over the wet forest floor. Another shadow stepped forward and pierced Sean once more with a long knife blade to his chest. He fell to the ground, his face in the dirt, the taste of blood in his mouth.

The crow landed on the ground nearby, and Sean whispered, “Betrayed.”

The crow cawed again and flew away.

Chapter 1

Erin sipped her champagne and studied the dagger. The copper handle was decorated with intricate swirling designs that were smooth and polished, while the edge of the blade glittered like fire in the lamplight. It rested in an ebony case on a cushion of green silk inside the glass display cabinet. It seemed familiar, from long ago, and she puzzled about where she may have seen it before. She could almost feel it fitting comfortably in her hand.