Book Preview - Aidrafiri: Aevala's Own

Chapter One

Puffs of fine silt rose around Edrei’s boots as she strolled along the lonely road leading to the gods only knew where. Where had never mattered. Neither had when, nor how far. The Goddess, Aevala, had pointed in this direction and told her to go.

And she’d gone.

Her Spirit Guide, Gesa, a Bobcat more than three times the size of his landbound kin, padded by her side. Every so often, Gesa’s tufted ears twitched toward a sound in the forest that only he could hear.

Enormous Finegold trees, with their woodsy smell and needle-sharp leaves, towered above the road on both sides. Edrei pulled in a deep breath, catching the quiet murmurs passing between the ancient hardwoods inhabiting the forest. Their thoughts were unhurried and profound, and she tasted them on the tendrils of the soft breeze blowing through their branches. She breathed out her greeting, knowing the same wind that brought their welcome would return bearing her goodwill.

Gesa’s ears perked forward, and he spoke mind-to-mind in the way Guides and their apprentices had communicated throughout millennia. Horses.

Gesa never used more words than necessary to convey his meaning, a trait Edrei found refreshing. Solitude was her chosen way of life, but at times, Aevala sent her among her people to right a wrong only one of her kind could redress. Although she couldn’t hear what Gesa heard, she trusted the Cat’s keen senses and moved to stand among the bushy stalks of grass lining the road. The whispering among the trees continued to tickle her ears. The ancients had little use for most of mankind and, therefore, paid no heed to the approaching riders.

The steady clopping of horses’ hooves sounded on the hard dirt road well before the riders trotted into sight. While she waited for their approach, Edrei closed her eyes and breathed in the delicate, spicy scent of the fragile hookworm flowers whose vines wove an intricate pattern in and among the knee-high grass surrounding her. The tiny leaves and lavender flowers fairly quivered from her presence, and she stretched a comforting finger to soothe them into silence. “Peace, little ones.”

Before long, six horses and their riders rounded a bend. They wore the green and yellow tunics of Duke Brycon’s Duchy, Marblefort Downs. The men would have passed her without notice if the lead rider’s horse hadn’t caught her scent and thrown up its head.

Within a heartbeat, the man’s sword hilt was in his hand, and he’d drawn the weapon partially from its scabbard. Dark eyes stared out of deep sockets as his gaze flashed to her and, judging her no threat, searched for hidden enemies among the trees. Seeing she was alone, he relaxed into his saddle and slid the sword back into its sheath.

Four of the other riders set themselves to watch, two pointing their horses west, one to the east, and one looking back the way they’d come.

A sly grin spread over the face of the final man, a nobleman if the cut of his silk tunic was any indication of rank. He moved his gelding forward two steps.

When he did, Edrei noticed two small arms circling his waist, but what bothered her most was the cruel rope biting into flesh and binding two childlike hands in place. She couldn’t see around his bulk, but it was plain he held a child prisoner behind his back.

The man’s leer slipped just a bit when he realized there wasn’t a trace of fear in Edrei’s calm, cold gaze. He sat taller in the saddle and lifted his chiseled chin. “I’ll take her as well, Grent. There’s not much meat, but she’ll hold my cock between her legs just the same.” He motioned to one of the trailing guards. “Rope her and drag her if she refuses to come.”

Unlike the nobleman, the lad, who couldn’t have had more than twenty turns, blinked rapidly as he recognized the black trews beneath the distinctively patterned brown tunic that had ornate silver and brown armbands sewn around the woman’s upper arm, sure signs that this woman was Aidrafiri, a Priestess whose very existence was doubted by some and feared by men and women in every corner of Anacafria. The young guard swallowed hard and looked to his leader for instructions. The nobleman may have been the nominal leader, but it was the first rider the remaining four looked to for direction.

The lead guard, Grent, stared at Edrei, who turned her attention to him and calmly returned his gaze. When he lowered his eyes and bowed in his saddle, the rest of the guards respectfully turned their mounts to face her and did the same. His wasn’t a low bow, but it was an acknowledgment of her position in his world. He straightened slowly and then addressed the nobleman. “She is Aidrafiri, My Lord.” His matter-of-fact pronouncement implied that anyone but a fool would understand the implications of his words.

The nobleman’s jowls quivered, and anger burned in his eyes. That a mere guardsman would disobey his orders was unheard of in his provincial little world. His words dripped with contempt as he gestured toward Edrei with fingers whose flesh mounded around his many rings as though so many strings wrapped about ten distended sausages. “A witch woman? A thing out of children’s fairytales?” He turned to the hapless guard waiting behind him. “Use your rope to bind her or find your neck stretched by the blasted thing.”

Edrei had seen enough. She glanced down at Gesa, who sat patiently by her side.

The big Cat blinked his understanding and remained seated when she stepped out onto the road.

When she drew near, the four guards moved their horses back a few paces, not willing to risk the wrath of an Aidrafiri unless given a direct order by someone actually in charge.

Grent moved his horse so it stood between Edrei and the nobleman Duke Brycon had assigned him to protect. “We mean you no harm, lady….” He paused and then placed his hand on his chest, “…forgive me. I don’t know your name. I am lead guard Grent, sworn to Duke Brycon of Marblefort Downs.” He swept his hand toward the nobleman. “And this is—”

The nobleman had had enough. He pushed past Grent, lifted his booted foot from the stirrup, and brought it down onto Edrei’s head. Or rather, down onto where her head had been a half-breath prior.

Edrei moved with the grace of a striking adder. She grabbed the boot with one hand, locked his shin into her body with her forearm, and gracefully twirled just far enough to snap the man’s leg at the knee.

He cried out once before falling into an unconscious heap across his horse’s neck.

Wrapping her fist in his hair, she pulled him face first from the saddle, flinging him onto his ample stomach with a thud.

The child rode him to the ground as though sitting the back of a bucking beast.

At her swift counterattack, Grent leapt from his saddle and drew his sword, ready to defend the nobleman’s life yet unwilling to engage if Edrei stopped short of a killing blow.

When the remaining guards unsheathed their weapons and rode forward, Grent held up a restraining hand. These men came from peasant stock, and dread of the Aidrafiri witches ran deep among the lower classes. The Priestesses were revered and feared in the same breath, and to a man, a thin sheen of sweat glistened on their brows, betraying their fear of her kind.

Edrei pulled her belt knife, and Grent stiffened, his grip tightening as he tried to read her intentions. Amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes, and she lifted her hand in a gesture of peace. “I mean to free the child’s hands, Guardsman Grent. Aidrafiri only take a life when fools leave no alternative.”

The man’s grip relaxed, and he straightened out of his defensive crouch. He glanced back at the other guards, turned his back to them, and said low enough that only she would hear, “The Marquis is surely a fool, My Lady. And…” He indicated the child with a lifted chin, “…taking this child didn’t sit well with me…well, with any of us for that matter. But we hoped to get her to Duke Brycon, as only he has the authority to go against this filthy lech’s orders.” His lips curled in disgust as he glared down at the nobleman and sheathed his sword. Pulling a knife from a thigh scabbard, he rolled the Marquis onto his side and cut the ropes binding the child.

Without hesitation, the girl jumped to her feet, climbed into the saddle vacated by the Marquis, and kicked the gelding back the way they’d come.

Grent let out a growling sigh as he watched the horse disappear around the bend. He indicated the Marquis with a lift of his elbow, “His Grace, the Duke won’t care if this one comes back with a few bruises and a broken bone, but he’ll have my head if that horse disappears without a trace.”

Quietly brushing the dust from her trews, Edrei glanced up at Grent. “I believe my path and the child’s will cross again fairly soon. I’ll arrange for the horse to be returned to your master.”

Grent bowed to her, lower and with more respect than on the previous occasion. “Thank you, My Lady…” he smiled slightly, “…forgive me, but I still don’t know your name.”

With smile lines around her eyes radiating calm, good humor, she nodded and resumed her walk down the dusty road.