Demonbane (Book 4) (38 page)

“I don’t know,” Kendril admitted. “It’s just a guess. We have to go some direction, don’t we?” He paused and looked down at the ground. “Assuming Bronwyn is even still alive.”

Simon gave a plaintive whine. He nudged Kendril.

“That’s why I like you,” Kendril said. “You’re always so optimistic.” He climbed to his feet, holding on to Simon. “I might lean on you for a little if that’s okay, boy. Truth is, I’m in a lot of pain.”

The mule began to walk slowly down the road.

Kendril leaned on his back.

Above, the snow began to drift down in slow white flecks.

The coach rolled to a stop on the muddy road, next to a large stone inn. Two passengers disembarked, covering their heads against the driving rain. A wooden sign by the road read
Rella 10 Miles
.

The driver got down off the driving plank as the horses were changed. He pulled up his waterproof poncho against the rain, then stepped over to the door of the coach. He sneezed, muttered a curse, then pulled open the door.

There was a single passenger left inside. A young woman, draped in dark cloak with a hood over her face.

“You going all the way to Rella?” the coachman asked.

The woman nodded.

“Bit of chaos in the city,” the man warned. “There’s been some fighting there. Cults rising or some such. If you wait here there might be a coach coming this way tomorrow, take you south instead.”

The woman turned her head towards the coachman. “That won’t be necessary.”

Even in the shadow of her hood, the coachman could see that her face was strikingly beautiful. Dark hair, honey-amber eyes.

“So…” the coachman glanced back at the horses. “You come from Vorten-way? I heard there’s a big fire in the city. Talk of war in the air.”

The woman was silent. She turned her head away.

“Is it true?” the coachman persisted. “Is Vorten burning?”

“Believe me,” she said quietly, “very soon all of Rothland will be burning.” She turned her face back to him. “Now
drive
.”

Continued in Book 5 of the Chronicles of Zanthora:

Oracle

For thrilling action adventure set in the “sword and planet” setting of the Two Rings, check out these collections of novellas, also by Ben Cassidy:

Daughter of Llathe: A Tale of the Two Rings

Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 1

Tales of the Two Rings: Volume 2

About the Author:

Ben Cassidy lives in Vancouver, WA, with his wife and three children. He pursued graduate studies in history for several years until he decided that reading six scholarly books a week was not challenging enough for him, and so switched to being a stay-at-home dad. He has been writing since he was in third grade, though now he is able to bribe other people to do the illustrating for him. He has the uncanny habit of writing of himself in the third person, and is disturbed by how easily his whole life can be summed up
in four sentences. Or even five.

Connect with Me Online:

Email list for New Releases:
[email protected]

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Note from the Author:

I need your help.

When you publish independently, you have to do everything yourself. I’m not just writing and dreaming up plotlines and characters. I’m editing, formatting, and marketing my books as well. All that takes time, and most of it I’m not very good at.

There is no marketing campaign behind me. No major publishing house. No motivated literary agent watching my back. It’s just me. And in this e-book age, a successful writer needs positive word-of-mouth to succeed.

If you liked what you just read, if you want to see more of the characters and the worlds I am creating, then take five minutes to help me out. Publish a review of my work online. You’d be amazed how important reviews are, and how few readers do it. Click on my facebook link (above) and like my page. Sign up for my update email list, [email protected]. I promise I will only send emails to you when I’m coming out with a new piece of fiction.

And above all, tell a friend that you liked my work. Blog, twitter, tweet, text, facebook, or telegraph other people about me.

And thank you for reading what I have written. If even for a moment you found yourself standing under the twin moons of a distant world, or smelled the stench of gunpowder and crisp tang of blood, then I consider my work well done.

The following is an excerpt from Book Five of the Chronicles of Zanthora:

Oracle

Chapter 1

 “I won’t go back on that ship, not for love nor money,” Marley wheezed. He picked up the small glass of whiskey that lay on the counter and examined it carefully. “It’s cursed I tell you, cursed by the Deceiver himself.”

There was a smattering of chortles and chuckles from across the smoke-filled tavern.

“It’s true!” Marley shouted over his shoulder, to no one in particular. He turned his philosophical gaze back to the amber liquid in his hand. “I heard it, I did. Shrieked every night, a sound that would turn your guts to ice. I heard it right through the deck, as if it was standing aside me in the dark. There’s
something
, something down in the hold of that ship—” He paused long enough to down the shot of whiskey, then smacked the empty glass next to seven others on the wooden surface.

“Get home, you old drunk!” someone called from the back of the dimly-lit tavern.

There were matching shouts and jeers from around the common room.

“You’re all fools!” Marley hurled back towards them. “It’s
out there
, right now, floating in the harbor—” He shuddered and ran a hand through his unkempt white hair. “I ain’t going back on that ship again,” he said, almost in a whisper, “not for a king’s ransom. I won’t…I
can’t
—”

“I’d give you a king’s ransom if you’d just shut your trap for five minutes,” said an old sailor by the fire.

There was a burst of laughter from the assembled folk in the tavern, as well as some scattered applause.

Marley buried his head in his hands, whimpering softly to himself. “I can’t…” he repeated numbly. “I
can’t
—”

“Was it a big, scary beast, grandpa?” someone shouted. “With fangs?”

“Might be my mother-in-law by the sound of it,” a merchant by the window quipped.

“Bartender,” Marley said, his head still in his hands, “leave the bottle.”

The bartender stepped up, holding a bottle of whiskey. He gave Marley a questioning glance. “Ain’t you think you’ve had enough for one night, sailor?”

Marley grimaced. He leaned back on his stool, fishing in his pocket. The movement caused him to sway violently, and he grabbed the edge of the bar to steady himself. He managed to slap down a half sovereign on the counter.

“I’m good for it,” he snapped. “Now leave the bottle and Regnuthu take your hide.”

The bartender lifted an eyebrow, then shrugged and put the half-empty bottle next to the old sailor.

Marley took the bottle in a trembling hand, trying to hold it steady long enough to pour into one of the glasses. “It was horrible,” he muttered, half to himself. “Horrible—”

“Like your breath, no doubt,” another jocular soul at a nearby table ventured.

Marley shook his head. Whiskey splashed onto the counter, missing the glass entirely.

“Hey now,” the bartender called from the door to the back room. “You’re going to clean that up, you old salt—”

A firm hand grabbed the bottle, tipped it neatly forward and poured about two fingers worth of whiskey into the glass.

Marley looked up, blinking to focus his gaze.

A man stood beside him, clothed in a black, travel-stained cloak. A hood covered his head and shadowed his face, despite the muggy heat of the common room. He set the bottle back down on the counter next to Marley, then took the stool beside him.

“Tell me about this thing in your ship,” the stranger said. His voice was firm and low.

Presented with an unexpectedly willing audience, Marley felt his tongue go numb. He stammered for a second, struggling to find words through the fog that covered his brain.

The stranger took the glass of whiskey and handed it over to him. “Try this.”

Marley took it gratefully and downed it in one go. The welcome liquid burned all the way down to the pit of his stomach.

Behind them the assembled group in the common room began to lose interest. They turned back to their card games, raucous stories, and drinking.

Marley stared at the stranger beside him. “Why do you want to know?” he slurred, suddenly suspicious.

The other man shrugged. “I’m a sucker for a good ghost story.”

Marley slammed his hand down on the counter, causing some of the glasses to jingle. A few heads turned in his direction. “It ain’t no ghost story,” he insisted through his teeth. “That…creature’s as real as you or me. And like nothing else in Zanthora.”

The stranger eyed him carefully. “You saw it?”

The heads that had turned towards them slowly returned to their own business.

Marley paused. “No,” he admitted. “But I heard it. We all did. It’s down there, in the hold of the ship. The captain won’t let any of the crew down there, none but the passengers—”

The stranger leaned forward. “Passengers?”

Marley nodded. He blinked and grabbed for purchase on the bar again. “They’re the ones that brought the demon on board. We picked them up at Cayman, after I signed on. Friends of the captain, or some sort. They had the cage then, covered over so you couldn’t see inside. We loaded at night and took off at morning tide—”

“How many passengers?”

Marley looked over at the man. He saw the dull glint of a sword hilt underneath his black cloak. “Who are you, anyways?”

A faint smile appeared in the shadow underneath the stranger’s hood. “Name’s Kendril.”

“Marley. You should be careful, Mr. Kendril. A lot of folk around here see a black cloak like that, they figure you’re a Ghostwalker.”

Kendril nodded. “I get that a lot. Now how many passengers are there?”

Marley thought for a moment. “Three. They’re all still on board, far as I know. The crew all got shore leave once we pulled into the harbor. Most couldn’t wait to get off. The
smell
—”

Kendril waited patiently.

Marley rubbed his cheek. “The smell is horrible. Like rotting meat. Every time you go below decks, it’s in your nostrils, clings to your hair and clothes—” He moaned and shook his head again. “I ain’t getting back on that ship, Mr. Kendril—”

“
Focus
,” Kendril said sharply. “What do the passengers look like?”

Marley reached for the bottle again.

Kendril put one hand on the bottle and pushed it out of reach. “The
passengers
, Marley. What do they look like? Anything strange on them? Clothes, jewelry—”

“Jewelry…” Marley murmured, as if a thought was penetrating his alcohol-induced haze. “Yes. A pendant. One of the passengers wears a pendant around his neck. It’s gold, twisted into the shape of a serpent. A serpent with wings—”

“A woman,” Kendril said quickly. “Is there a woman with them? Beautiful, pale skin and black hair? Eyes the color of amber?”

Marley paused for a moment, thinking. “Yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, there is a woman just like that, now that you mention it.”

Kendril’s hand tightened on the bottle.

“Cookie!” came a booming voice from near the inn’s doorway. “You’ve been drinking again, you blighter.”

Marley turned on his stool. The color drained from his face.

Two burly men stood by the door, their jackets and felt hats soaked by the rain that was pounding hard against the door and windows of the taverns. The door swung closed behind them.

Kendril half-turned from the bar.

“I—I ain’t going back to that ship—” Marley whimpered. “Not—not—”

“Come on, cookie,” said one of the men, a tall sailor with a red beard and a white scar down one cheek. He strode forward, one hand on a wooden club looped into his belt. “Let’s get you back to your hammock, now, and you can sleep it off.”

Marley shrank back against the wooden bar. “No, I told you, I won’t—”

“Clear him out!” someone jeered from the back of the room.

The sailor stepped closer. He began to draw the club. “Shore leave’s over, Marl—”

Kendril shot up from his seat and swung the bottle of whiskey forward like a hammer.

It exploded against the red-bearded sailor’s head in a cloud of glass and golden mist.

With a garbled cry the man tripped back and fell onto a table where three other men were sitting.

The table broke, sending beer mugs and cards in all directions. There were several shouts and oaths as the men leapt away from the falling sailor.

Marley fell off his stool in drunken surprise, one hand still clutching the counter.

The second sailor by the door took a step forward. One hand jerked towards a pistol that was tucked into the waistband of his pants.

Kendril was faster. His right hand flashed up with a flintlock pistol.

The second sailor drew his own gun and lifted it.

Kendril’s gun roared.

The bullet punched into the sailor’s chest. He crashed back against the door of the tavern and fell heavily to the ground. A smear of red marked the path of his body.

The common room erupted into a panicked mass of screaming, shouting, and rushing bodies.