Chapter One
Caerith Castle
Kingdom of Scotara
Home of the King
The storm had prowled the castle walls all night. Wind pressed at the shutters, whispering down the chimneys, carrying the scent of rain and something older, earth, ash, the faint tang of iron.
The Hunter waited in the war room, knees stiff from the cold and age, eyes fixed on the flicker of torches that refused to burn steadily. Water dripped from his cloak silently as though fearful of making a sound and disturbing the man who lingered in the shadows, not saying a word since the Hunter’s arrival, but keeping intent eyes on him. So intense that it felt like his gaze was stabbing him in the back.
When the door finally opened, the hunter straightened, tall and proud, but the man in the shadows didn’t move.
King Dravic entered without a word. His regal bearing and taut expression cautioned a grim mood. He was displeased and any sensible man would avoid him, but the Hunter had no choice. He’d been summoned and no one in the Kingdom of Scotara would dare deny the king when summoned.
He crossed to the table where maps lay strewn, ink on the older ones smudged like old blood. He studied them for a long moment, the silence stretching thin. The only sound was the storm’s restless breath pressing against the shutters.
Without looking up, he said, firmly, “You fail me, Hunter. Why?”
The Hunter kept his head high. “We have searched relentlessly, my king. No one knows such a woman, though they have heard of her… a tale, a myth or so they claim.”
“Or they hide her,” the king said, lifting his head, his eyes locking on the Hunter. “Keep her extraordinary abilities for themselves.”
Hunters were known for their remarkable skills, their ruthlessness, and their allegiance to the king. Drums often announced their arrival, causing people to run, hide, or escape. But there was no escaping the Hunters. They always got their prey. Even the bravest men locked their doors at the sound of distant drums. They were feared by all and feared none… except the king.
He had an iron, unyielding presence about him that demanded obedience and the skill and strength to see it done. He had led his warriors into many battles, the sight of him alone charging at his enemy with a beastly roar, was enough to cause his enemies to flee.
“A healer who can battle death itself is probably nothing more than many have claimed, a myth, a tale to entertain,” the Hunter said.
The king glared at him. “Unless she hails from Driochmor.”
The Hunter gripped the stone talisman that hung from a leather strip around his neck and spoke in almost a whisper as if fearful of the words. “The forbidden land where dark magic dwells.”
“How else would the healer be able to vanquish death itself if not by magic,” the king contended.
The Hunter shook his head. “The healer couldn’t possibly be from the forbidden land. None leave that area and those who foolishly enter it are never seen again. To have such exceptional healing skills, the healer must hail from one of the villages in Leighfeld, home of the healers.”
“Have you scoured all of Leighfeld?”
“Aye, my king.”
“I have never known Hunters to fail at a given task. Your kind have served me well and those before me.”
The Hunter’s voice held steady. “And we will continue to do so, my king. Failure is not an option for a Hunter. We always get our prey.”
“And yet… the healer has not been found.”
A log in the hearth cracked, scattering sparks across the stone floor.
“My men gather healers of note now,” the Hunter said. “Those who might work wonders. As you ordered, they will be brought here to Caerith, to you. Hunters hunt and capture, kill, if necessary, but drawing truth from the unwilling is best left to one with your… persuasion. Among them, I am certain, one will confess what the others hide.”
The king studied him for a long moment. “And persuade them I will. When can I expect their arrival?”
“Hunters already swarm on the villages, so a day at most for the first ones captured to arrive.”
The king gave a brief nod. “I look forward to their arrival. Tell me, Cadmus, have you had any trouble with the regional chieftains? Some fail to remember the regions they rule belong to me, not them.”
“A reminder of that usually has them cooperating when necessary.”