The dark legend, p.1
The Dark Legend, page 1
The Dark Legend
A SAPPHIC FANTASY-THRILLER MASHUP
SHADOWS OVER ALFAR
BOOK ONE
PHOEBE RAVENCRAFT
Copyright © 2023 Phoebe Ravencraft
All rights reserved.
Based on State of Grace by John R. Phythyon, Jr. © 2011
Used with permission.
Cover: Vila Design
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-one
Twenty-two
Twenty-three
Twenty-four
Twenty-five
Twenty-six
Twenty-seven
Twenty-eight
Twenty-nine
Thirty
Thirty-one
Thirty-two
Thirty-three
Thirty-four
Thirty-five
Thirty-six
Thirty-seven
Thirty-eight
Thirty-nine
Forty
Forty-one
Forty-two
Forty-three
Forty-four
Forty-five
Forty-six
Forty-seven
Reader Letter
About the Author
Acknowledgments
For Kat —
my true love, my best friend, my treasure
One
Wildwood Forest, Near Drasilia, Alfar
Sara Wensley-James’s heart thudded in her chest in time with the horse’s frantic gallop. She struggled to see through the dense foliage of the forest. Between the heat and the putrid scent of rotting branches and leaves, the air was thick and pungent and stifling.
And her fear had her hyperventilating, unable to draw a deep breath.
Somewhere off in the trees, she could hear the pursuit. It was difficult to guess how many of them there were – all she could perceive was the thunder of their mounts. But she’d seen at least five of them follow her into the woods. She’d hoped to lose them in the darkness and the obstacles, but thus far, they had proven relentless.
Sara cursed herself for being careless. She’d known Silverleaf’s servant, Lightwater, was suspicious of her. He’d been following her around the compound like a puppy from the moment she’d arrived. But she thought she’d given him the slip. She’d thought after retiring for the night, that he would be asleep. She should have known better.
She chanced a look behind her and saw at least three riders covered in white robes – the color of death in Elfin culture. It was the Sons of Frey. Silverleaf’s Shendali roots had proven stronger than his alleged loyalty to the Coalition Government or his supposed abhorrence of sectarian violence.
But whatever the ambassador’s true allegiance, Sara knew one thing for certain: If the Sons of Frey were wearing death robes, they had no intention of capturing her. Their orders were to hunt and kill.
Trying to control the hammering of her heart, she spurred the stolen horse, urging him to weave his way faster through the decaying trees in the hope of eluding her pursuers. The great, black stallion whinnied in protest, but he responded to her commands. His hooves pounded the dry earth, picking their way through the detritus of fallen branches and dead groundcover, dodging trees.
As she looked back again, one of the riders stood up in his stirrups and aimed a bow at her. She put herself low in the saddle and hoped the arrow would whistle over her.
The shot never came, though. Instead, she heard a cry of pain and a thump. When she had another glance behind, she saw her would-be killer had been unseated by a low-hanging branch. An idea popped into her head. She pulled on the reins to slow her mount.
Within seconds, the other two riders closed the distance. One drew an arrow and started fitting it to a bow. The other crouched low and urged more speed from his horse. As he got closer, he put his hand forward to try to grab her reins.
With a quick kick of her spurs, she pulled away. Then she reached out for a tree. Without thought, she summoned her Shadow powers and slapped the trunk as she went by, releasing Schatten from her hands. Instantly, the already-dying tree rotted both up and down. After only a second, the weight of its branches was too great. It snapped in half and crashed down on her pursuers just as they were passing. One was crushed; the archer was knocked off his horse to an uncertain fate.
“Ha!” Sara said aloud, pleased with the results of her trickery.
But then, an arrow shot past her face, narrowly missing her. She turned her head and saw five more riders, all preparing to launch arrows at her.
“Oh, hell,” she said, evoking her best friend’s favorite curse.
She pulled sharply on the reins and moved her mount away, coaxing him to his best speed. Behind her came a chorus of twangs. Sara laid low and wished she could melt into the horse’s back. She heard a series of thunks as the missiles struck trees instead of her.
“Come on, boy!” she shouted to the horse, begging him to get her to safety.
He danced between one dying tree and another as Sara searched for some place to hide, some way to escape. The putrescent forest offered nothing, though. Blackened tree after rotting bush gave no shelter to an Urlish Shadow trying to report to her controller.
An arrow hit a tree to her right – and this one came from in front of her. Sara pulled on the reins, bringing the poor, tired horse to a halt. Sure enough, three more riders were up ahead and closing in.
She couldn’t go right. That way led to the large clearing between here and Drasilia. She could only go left – effectively back the way she’d come. Before she had a moment to consider the risks of that plan, though, she spied more Sons of Frey approaching from that direction. She was trapped.
They had been flushing her. Lightwater had dispatched an entire platoon of Sons of Frey, and they pursued from three directions to move her to the edge of the forest. Now, they intended to force her out into the open. With no trees for cover, their arrows were much more likely to find their target.
“Damn,” she cursed.
There was nothing for it. She had to take the route they gave her. With luck, she could get a good enough head start she could outrun them to Drasilia.
She pulled on the reins and spurred the big, black horse into action again. Gritting her teeth, she charged for the edge of the forest. As it approached, her heart raced. She’d been scared during the chase through the dead woods, but she’d had her wits and her skill to help her. Now, she had nothing but whatever speed her stolen mount had left.
“You can do it, boy,” she whispered to him.
She held her breath as they emerged from the trees and broke out across open ground. The full moon lit up the lifeless, dry earth, as though she were under a spotlight. Sara dug her spurs into the beast’s sides to let him know it was time for his best. He protested again but picked up his pace to a full gallop.
In the far distance, she could see see the Alfari capital rising up from the desolation. Built from the largest drasil tree in the country, it shone majestically with magical light, seemingly unafflicted from the blight destroying the rest of Alfar and Jifan – an oasis in the middle of Hell.
It was a long way off, and she worried the giant, black horse didn’t have enough energy to make it. She stole another glance behind and spotted no one. Surely, the Sons of Frey should have reached the edge of the forest by now. Where were they?
Sara looked left and right to see if a new group of pursuers had taken up the chase, but there was nothing. After a moment, she allowed the horse to slow, hoping to conserve his energy. She looked back again. No riders emerged from the trees.
It couldn’t be this easy. They had flushed her out. They were not about to just let her go free now.
Sara stood up in the stirrups and searched every direction of the wasteland for some trap or incoming attack. She was about to relax, think she had maybe gotten away, when she spotted the new threat. In the sky, backlit by the moon, a lone man barrelled towards her on a flying carpet. He was crouched low, his cloak snapping in the wind like a flag. She didn’t need to make out his features to know who it was.
“Oh, hell,” she said. “Ravager.”
Ravager – the Phrygian Shadow consorting with Silverleaf and also apparently the Shendali terrorists pursuing her. Raw panic exploded in her heart and threatened to consume her mind. Twenty of the Sons of Frey would have been a preferrable opponent.
“Go!” she shouted at the horse and dug her spurs in savagely.
He took off at a bolt, but it was no use. Ravager closed the distance quickly. His magic carpet had greater speed than an exhausted stallion.
Sara risked a look back and saw the vicious smile in his eyes despite the darkness. His hand was upraised, and she knew what was coming next. A black ball of Schatten – the dark, destructive energy from The Rift – formed on his hand, and he hurled it at her.
“If you want to live, you better run like hell,” Sara said.
The horse got the message and raced for his life, as though he perceived the wrongness of Ravager’s missile and knew he didn’t want to be near it.
The ball of Schatten bounced along the ground in pursuit of them. Despite the beast’s terror, Sara spurred him to go faster.
Miraculously, they outran the dark death pursuing them. It just couldn’t keep up.
But Ravager wasn’t done. He came down low, so he was hugging the ground and pulled alongside them.
“Greeteenks, Meez Wensley-James,” he said in his thick, Phrygian accent. His blue eyes mocked her, as did his cruel smile. “Thees charade has come to an end.”
Sara reached for a dagger to hurl at him, but she never got a chance. Ravager launched another of his dark missiles, and this time he was too close to miss. The ball of death struck her mount in his neck. It opened a savage maw and began ravening the poor beast. He screamed and stumbled as blood flew from his neck. Sara was thrown forward.
She landed roughly on the hard ground. Pain shot through her shoulder as she tumbled forward. She rolled for twenty feet before finally coming to a halt. When she stopped, she was certain she’d broken her collarbone, and she had skin missing in several places. She tried to stand but couldn’t do it. She wondered if she’d broken a leg or maybe her back as well.
Her horse was dead, but Ravager’s monstrous thing continued tearing his flesh apart. Above her, Ravager circled around on his flying carpet, making his way back towards her. She was about to meet a similar fate.
She reflected that this was a stupid way to die. In the quarter-century she’d been a Shadow, she’d escaped certain death several times. Her own powers were usually more than sufficient to get her out of a sticky situation.
But now, she’d been a little too careless, and a Shadow with an horrific power the likes of which she’d never seen was about to end her illustrious career. So much for making it to Shadow One.
Wren had been right. They should have quit the service and spent the rest of their days in idle relaxation. By following her ambition, Sara’s career was about to end like almost every other Shadow’s – in death.
But she couldn’t let the mission fail. Just because she was dead didn’t mean she couldn’t stop them. And she wanted to say goodbye to Wren.
Ravager roared towards her, his hand raised to fling another of his deadly balls of Schatten. She only had a few seconds left.
He grinned maniacally as he closed in. His free hand massaged his crotch. Sara fought off disgust and focused on Wren. Then, she put her hand to the earth and sent her final words to wherever in the world Wren was.
With the information away, Sara smiled. Ravager had failed. She’d gotten a message to her superiors. Urland would benefit from her work.
And more importantly, she’d gotten to say goodbye.
Ravager let fly with her doom. It took only two bounces to reach her. She screamed as it tore the flesh from her body.
Two
Wren Xavier’s Apartment, Capita, Urland
Wren sat bolt upright in bed. She was covered in a cold, clammy sweat. Despite the darkness, she could clearly see the face of Sara Wensley-James. Shivering with dread, Wren felt more than saw the message her best friend had sent her:
Silverleaf. Love you.
Silverleaf? What did that mean? Wren didn’t even know where Sara was at the moment. She only knew she was out of the country on assignment. So why would Sara reach out to Wren? What was she trying to say?
Emotion surged through the three-word message. She could sense Sara’s feelings as though she could taste them on her tongue – fear, sadness, affection.
She had no idea who or what Silverleaf was, but the meaning of “Love you” made even less sense. Wren and Sara had been friends for over twenty years. They had been recruited into Shadow Service at the same time. Wren had been only fifteen; Sara was two years older. They hit it off immediately. Both of them shared a sardonic sense of humor, and they could read in the other woman a kindred soul.
But they had never been lovers. Sara was straight. She hadn’t dated much, but when she had, it was always men. Wren was deeply attracted to her, but she had never tried to cross the line from simple friendship into something more.
So why would Sara say, “Love you”? Did she mean it as a friend? Or had she been harboring feelings most of their lives that she had never shared?
Wren didn’t know. But the message filled her with a sense of dread. Sara was in trouble somehow, and she had reached out to Wren.
Unable to sleep and terrified that her closest friend was in danger, Wren shot from underneath the covers and went to get dressed. If Sara Wensley-James was contacting her while on a mission, it was of critical importance.
Shadow Service World Headquarters,
Capita, Urland
Wren strode into HQ with purpose. She had dressed in black leggings and tunic, and the early spring chill had forced her to wear a cloak as well. She approached the duty officer and put down her hood.
“Evening, Shadow Seven,” the duty officer said, calling her by her service codename. “What brings you here at this hour?”
Wren glanced at the clock on the wall. It read three a.m. She was exhausted, but wide-awake.
“I need to speak to the Chief,” she said. “I received an urgent message from Shadow Five.”
The young man became serious at once. Wren was a high-ranking agent, and he knew that if she told him something was important it was.
“Of course, Shadow Seven,” he said. “He’s not here. I’ll have to send a messenger.”
“I understand,” she replied.
She knew Bartleby wouldn’t be in at this hour. He might have been head of Shadow Service, but even he had to sleep.
“Would you like me to assign you a rack while you wait?” the man at the desk said.
Wren wanted one. She desperately desired to lie down, close her eyes, and let oblivion take her for a few hours. But she knew that if she went back to bed she would only stare at the ceiling in the darkness.
“No, thank you,” she answered. “I can’t sleep anyway. I’ll be down in the gym.”
“Very good, Shadow Seven. As soon as Control arrives, I’ll have someone send for you.”
“Thanks,” Wren said.
She moved past him and headed for the stairs that would lead her down into the bowels of the building.
Wren attacked the dummy with gusto. Made of thickly woven wood and metal, it was built to withstand considerable punishment. It could be dismembered, but that required a sharp blade and a lot of strength. She wasn’t interested in hacking it to pieces, though. She just wanted to expend her fear.
She chopped at its neck with her sword, then whirled the blade and thrust into its belly. The whizzing of her weapon and the soft crunch of the wood at she hit it brought her a perverse sense of satisfaction. Sweat had broken out on her brow, and her whole body was warm from the exertion. Despite the worry running rampant through her head, Wren felt good.
Something was wrong, though. She knew it. Why would Sara reach out to her? More importantly, why would she say, “I love you?” Those were the sorts of things you told people at the end – the sorts of things to make your final peace.
Cold horror burbled through Wren’s stomach. She didn’t know what she would do if Sara was dead. She didn’t have many friends, and Shadow Service was the only family she had.
