Mage Bond, page 1
Mage Bond
Eden Winters
Rocky Ridge Books
Warning
This book contains adult language and themes, including graphic descriptions of sexual acts which some may find offensive. It is intended for mature readers only, of legal age to possess such material in their area.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental.
Mage Bond © 2022 by Eden Winters
Editing by Carole Cummings
Cover by Jacqueline Sweet
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, copied, or redistributed electronically or otherwise without the written permission of the author, with the exception as brief quotations whereas in the case of reviews and or marketing.
Rocky Ridge Books
www.RockyRidgeBooks.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven – Three Summers Later
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen – Two Autumns Later
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one
Chapter Twenty-two
Chapter Twenty-three
Chapter Twenty-four
Chapter Twenty-five
Chapter Twenty-six
Chapter Twenty-seven
Chapter Twenty-eight
Chapter Twenty-nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-one
Chapter Thirty-two
Chapter Thirty-three
Chapter Thirty-four
Chapter Thirty-five
Chapter Thirty-six
Chapter Thirty-seven
Chapter Thirty-eight
Chapter Thirty-nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-one
Chapter Forty-two
Chapter Forty-three
Chapter Forty-four
Chapter Forty-five
Chapter Forty-six
About Eden Winters
Also By Eden Winters
Coming Soon
Prologue
Arkenn lay on a rug by the fire, staring in rapt attention at his mother. Outside, the winds howled, and snow piled high by the door. Inside, a fire roared in the hearth, and the scent of drying herbs pervaded the air where they hung from the rafters. The perfect backdrop for his mother’s tale.
“No matter how hard they fought, the two heroes couldn’t defeat the evil Thomoth.” Mum flipped a lock of straw-blonde hair over her shoulder, bared her teeth, and made claws with her fingers from her place on a low stool by the rug. “It was too cunning.”
“What happened?” Arkenn removed his thumb from his mouth to ask. A lifted-brow glare from his grandmother kept him from returning the digit.
“The people fled.”
“And came here?”
Mum nodded. “And came here.” Her voice grew scary again. “But the monster followed them.”
Arkenn gasped. “He’s here?”
“It is in this realm. Rumors say Thomoth is neither man nor woman,” Mum whispered, as though telling a secret.
Matching his mother’s low voice, Arkenn asked, “Where is it?” He glanced around their cottage. Were glowing red eyes hiding in the coals?
“Don’t worry.” Mum mussed his hair, giving him a fond smile. “It’s far away from the Quarshi mountains. You’ve nothing to fear here. Besides, your da, gran, and I will keep you safe.”
“What about the heroes. Did they come too?”
“Of that, I’m not certain, but they vowed to fight the monster again one day—and win.”
“I want to fight To-moff!” Arkenn declared, brandishing the wooden sword carved for him by his father.
“Ah, I believe you would.” Mum swept him into her embrace, nuzzling noses. “Now, off to bed with you.”
“Do the trick!”
“Arkenn, bed.”
“The trick! I want the trick.”
“Okay, just once.” Mum opened her hand. A tiny pink flame danced upon her palm.
Arkenn giggled. “You make fire.”
She fixed him with a stern expression. “It’s to be our secret.”
“Yes, Mum.” Arkenn toddled over to his cot in the far corner of the room. His mother tucked him in, kissed his cheek, then joined Da and Gran in sipping tea by the fire.
The house consisted of two rooms: a common living area, where the family sat together, prepared and took meals, and Arkenn slept. His gran slept in a tiny room off the kitchen area.
Rocks and dried clay made the walls of the thatched house, its pointed roof allowing his parents a private loft for sleeping. His father being the village healer and hunter meant they didn’t have to share their home with livestock at night when cold winds blew down from the mountains. The wolves’ mournful cries echoed on still nights.
“You shouldn’t be filling his head with such stories,” Gran said, in tones Arkenn struggled to hear. “They’ll keep the child up at night from bad dreams.”
“Arkenn’s made of stern stuff.” That was Da. Always jumping to Arkenn and Mum’s defense against his own mother.
“He has a right to know his heritage.” Mum’s soft voice lulled. As Arkenn slipped off to sleep, she added, “Because someday the battle might be his.
“But if so, he won’t be alone. There are always two.”
Chapter One
Corn stalks whipped at Arkenn’s face. Faster! He must run faster! Surely the braying grew closer each moment. Damnation for the villagers releasing the dogs.
A stone caught his foot, sending him crashing to his knees. Must keep going, can’t stop. Sucking in a deep breath, he pushed to his feet. Run. Must run.
On and on, charging through the twilight, leaving the fields for the forest. Branches whipped from all directions, lashing his face, his arms. He chanced a backward glance.
Flickering torches lit the night, carried by an angry mob whose shrill shouts rent the air. Some voices he recognized; others weren’t clear.
His former neighbors… friends.
Now his enemies. He’d done nothing wrong.
But be born.
Pressing one hand against the pain in his side, he grasped tree limbs with his other to haul himself higher. The incline wouldn’t slow the dogs.
Much.
The mountain. Arkenn must reach the mountain. The superstitious villagers would never follow him there. The full moon lit his path, a well-used animal trail. A bit of white caught his attention. Bones.
Those weren’t animal bones. One of his kind not fast enough?
He didn’t want to turn and fight. Without complete focus, his will might go awry. Never use your powers for evil, he heard in his mother’s voice.
His steps slowed. Tired, so tired. One more hill. And another. He fell to his hands and knees, unable to summon the strength to rise. The braying deafened him.
The Lady his neighbors prayed to wouldn’t heed his calls for help. His mere existence offended her.
Now he must die.
Alone.
Something hard slammed into his chest. Breath! He couldn’t draw breath!
Another hit. Then another. Ow! He put a hand to his face. Blood trickled between his fingers. Stoning. They planned to stone him to death. Taunts and cackles surrounded him as dark shapes bearing torches wended through the trees.
The flames flickered, sending sparks and smoke into the night.
“Time to die, mage,” one man spat, hefting a sizable rock.
What to do? What to do? Arkenn promised his parents never to use magic to harm another. He must run, use his power to seal a cave mouth if he reached the mountain.
Peering between the circle of villagers showed no escape routes.
Heart hammering out a frantic beat, he screamed, “What have I done? I’ve lived in the village since I was a child. I hunt. I helped my gran. I’m no mage. You know I’m not!” Where were his friends? Neighbors who cared? Anyone to help him.
Gran. They’d killed Gran. The truth wrenched his insides, pain released on a moan. Gran. Dear sweet Gran, who’d never hurt anyone. Arkenn didn’t need to see a bloodied corpse to know they’d killed her.
What had she done? What had they seen? She kept her powers so well hidden, though with age, maybe she’d become less cautious.
Someone snarled, “Of course you’re a mage. From a family of mages. We should never have allowed your like into our village. We should’ve had you killed alongside your parents.” How had they found out? Arkenn and Gran were always so careful. The villagers had only suspected his parents—enough to have them dragged to E’Skaara for execution.
Mage. The worst accusation imaginable. No meeting of the village council. No presenting of evidence.
Just death.
Think, Arkenn, think! There had to be spells to save him, but his parents hadn’t invoked magic to protect themselves. Nor had Gran, or she’d still be alive.
“My father was a healer!” Arkenn pointed to a farmer. “He saved your mate when she would have died in childbirth.” He aimed his gaze at another. “And you would have lost your son if my father hadn’t cared for him after he fell from a horse.” One by one, he fixed his righteous anger on his accusers. Everyone here had benefitted from his father’s healing touch, though at the time, they never realized he used more than herblore to help them. “All of you owe my family something.”
“We owe nothing. You’ve likely been influencing us all along,” said a widowed mother who’d received many a meal from Gran’s generosity.
“′The Lady does not permit mages to live,’” a former neighbor quoted.
“Since when have you been religious? I’ll bet that’s the only saying you know.” There wasn’t even a church in the village. Never had been.
One of the village elders approached. “Which is why our village suffers from poor crops. All except for your fields.”
“And you burned them to the ground. They could have fed the entire village this winter.” Two plots of corn, beans, and squash, all nearly ripe for the picking. Wasted. For their arrogance.
“We will not eat tainted food.”
Because of their pride, they and their children would starve this winter. Magic didn’t make Gran’s crops flourish, but time and attention. The fools.
High in the hills, the chill breeze brought a shiver to Arkenn’s overheated flesh. Or had more than the cold caused the shiver?
The elder raised his voice, the flickering torchlight lending his face a sinister air. Around the circle, dogs whined, restrained by their owners. “Archers, come forth.”
The slither and click of at least six bows nocking sounded thunderous in the sudden silence. Four men and two women stepped forward, little older than Arkenn, with grim determination on their faces and no recognition in their eyes. He’d played with them as children. One young woman’s parents had approached Gran about a match with Arkenn.
Now they could so easily kill him.
He peered left and right, but none spoke in his defense. They were all in accord.
Because of mage blood, he must die.
Heart lodged in his throat, Arkenn raised his hands in supplication.
Fire engulfed the trees.
Pain. Throbbing agony. The horrible scent of burned flesh. Coughing wracked his body, but thick smoke made breathing nearly impossible. Arkenn raised his head, blinking open gritty eyes.
Carnage. Twisted, blackened tree trunks, grass nothing but a sooty mass on the ground. All around…
The horror hit suddenly. Charred bodies. Those were charred bodies of people he’d known! The elder, the miller, the archers he’d once known well. One still held the remnants of a bow. He’d killed them. Killed them all.
Lost control. What had he done?
With great effort, he hoisted himself upright. Singed fabric hung from his aching body. Grasping a scorched sapling, he climbed to his feet. His shoulder shrieked in protest.
Death all around. Was this why mages were despised? But if they were so destructive, why hadn’t his parents brought down fire on their killers?
The village. Arkenn had to get back to the village. Slowly, slowly, he hobbled downhill, pausing to catch his breath whenever the wind blew untainted air in his direction.
He’d killed. Many people. Neighbors. Friends. Hot tears burned his eyes. Murderer. Worse than mage. Was he less of a murderer because he’d acted in self-defense? The sun’s first rays peeked over the mountains.
At last, his energy waned. Arkenn collapsed onto a rise he’d often used as an overlook, staring down on the villagers unnoticed. Then, he’d usually been with those he called friends. Friends who’d been fully prepared to fill him with arrows.
Friends now lying dead because of Arkenn.
He touched his shoulder and winced. If not properly treated, the burn would fester, but he’d not yet learned how to heal his own injuries. Dozens of bruises and scrapes added to his pain.
Doors opened down below, children racing from their homes. At least he hadn’t harmed the innocent young ones. Directly. But what would they do without their parents? For a moment, old anger flared brightly. Why not deprive them of their parents? Their parents had certainly deprived him of his own.
No. He wouldn’t wish the agony of such loss on anyone. What would happen to the children now? Could he go down there, pretend nothing happened?
Unwise. Better to get away. Leave this very morn without so much as a change of clothes—clothes he no longer owned. Smoldering rubble remained of the only home he’d ever known and all his and Gran’s possessions. Somewhere among those smoking timbers lay the remains of his grandmother. He’d not been here at the time, but he knew. Could he have saved her if he’d come home sooner from his hunt?
Or would he have joined her in the ash?
He couldn’t stay here. Had nothing to stay for.
Goodbye, Gran. Goodbye, Mum. Goodbye, Da.
An older lady followed some of the children outside. And another, leading two goats. They were joined by an elderly man and two girls a few seasons younger than Arkenn.
Someone remained to take care of the children.
Out in the fields, only black stalks remained of Arkenn’s and Gran’s crops. His grandmother hadn’t allowed meddling where any might see, only with the kitchen garden, hidden from prying eyes by a fence.
In the end, precaution hadn’t mattered. Jealous neighbors saw success as magery instead of careful cultivation, timing, and good soil.
Arkenn focused all his energy on the villagers’ unproductive plots of withered beans and barren cornstalks. Under his will, twisted brown vines rose from the ground, green and strong. In a few sevendays, the village would enjoy its best harvest ever.
May his efforts be enough.
Chapter Two
While the Seabird’s crew went about their business, Petran fished in the river shallows, several stones’ throws from the harbor. Out of sight of the ships. Yes, their “business“ involved actions unsanctioned by the local constable, and no, his father wouldn’t allow him to tag along.
Gold, jewels, brandy, trade goods they sold in back alleys. Booming cannons, the clash of steel… Adventure.
Seen through a porthole from his safe little cabin.
He brandished his fishing pole like a sword. Take that! Eighteen summers had passed since his birth. Many of the crew came on board younger still.
Yet his father’s You won’t be a pirate. Yer mum would come back from the dead and take me with her rang in his ears every time he asked.
“I’m tired of hiding below decks like a child!” he shouted at the trees. He’d finally grown reasonable, if sparse, whiskers on his chin. Even the trees weren’t listening.
All manner of folk sailed upon the Seabird, from every point of the world, from palest blonds to those with jet black hair, some fair, some dark. The kind of adventurer or outcast who never settled in one place.
Now, with a price on their heads, they couldn’t.
Petran’s father wanted more for his only son than a life spent running from the law, or so he’d promised Petran’s dying mum.
Petran ran one hand through his hair, or tried to. His hair long ago formed the thick, matted locks worn by many a pirate, hanging down past his shoulders, the light brown highlighted by golden sun streaks. While not allowed to earn the name “pirate,” he certainly looked the part, his muscles lean, skin darkened from working on the deck of the Seabird.
Pirate. A title he’d never hold. No, while his father and the rest of the crew raided, whored, or took on supplies, he’d harvest freshwater fish or stay aboard the ship to avoid notice. The freshwater fish did make a nice change to a steady diet of sea creatures. Could he hope they’d bring chickens aboard today? How he’d love fresh eggs. Or meat. Actual meat. With gravy. And thick bread slathered in butter.
He’d caught enough fish for a meal already, but the sun felt so good on his shoulders, with a slight breeze coming over the river, keeping the day from being too hot.
Walk down the riverbank. Why? He was perfectly content standing here. No, you want to explore. A feeling, not actual words, enticed him to set down his fishing gear, putting his feet to wandering down the bank.
He tried walking in the opposite direction yet found himself turned around. What the… Well, no harm going for a stroll on such a fine day.
