Valley of Embers (The Landkist Saga Book 1) by Steven Kelliher Page A

Hearing this, the mule bucked and rushed forward, snapping the reins and sending the woman crashing to the mud. She regained her feet and ran like something hunted. The black figure gave chase, splitting the distance between them with ungainly leaps that erased all lingering doubts as to its inhumanity.
    Finally, the welcome thunder of hooves followed the slam of the gate reaching its zenith, Creyath and his riders pouring forth and carving the fields like a scythe. Even from this distance, Talmir could see the shimmering haze leaking from the Ember’s armor as he bent over his covered steed.
    The dark figure launched itself skyward in a final pounce, and a flaming shaft took it in the chest and sent it rolling in the turf as the horses circled. Creyath signaled for a rider to retrieve the woman, and he swung her onto the saddle and spun toward the gate. As for the Ember, he dismounted and walked toward the black figure. It was difficult to make Creyath Mit’Ahn appear pale, but this creature surely did.
    The dark thing writhed under the Ember’s boot, but he held it fast, lighting another shaft with the fire in his blood and launching it down to split the earth beyond the monster’s skull with a sharp retort. The Ember signaled to Talmir that the deed was done and remounted. He echoed the Captain’s fears as he glanced worriedly toward the western trees before turning back for the city.
    Even as the last of the riders cleared the looming teeth of the raised portcullis, the shadows beneath the distant branches lengthened and took on a life of their own.
    Talmir heard the men and women under his command issue a collective gasp. He could not say he blamed them. The inky shadows resolved into the figures of men as they arrayed themselves in the space between wood and field. One of their company bore the same striking red eyes as the one Creyath had felled. It raised its hand and seemed to glare a challenge over the great expanse before slicing the air.
    The black tide surged forward. Arrows were nocked and braziers lit.
    Before the panic set its hooks too deep, Talmir exhaled. He had his Embers. He had his soldiers. He had his walls. Creyath joined the Captain, the Ember’s skin warming the space around them.
    “The woman?” Talmir asked without turning.
    “Unharmed but for a few scrapes in the mud.”
    “Good.” He paused. “We’ll have to find her a new cart.”

L inn woke with a startled yelp, her heart throbbing so hard it hurt. She was sweating, and now she was embarrassed as she took in the five pairs of eyes regarding her over the white smoke of a small cookfire.
    “Dream?” Baas Taldis asked.
    “Morning,” she answered without warmth. She stood and stretched immodestly, the Riverman’s eyes roving all the while. Linn was not entirely sure how she felt about him. Baas had always been a quiet sort at the Lake, but the open road seemed to agree with him—or disagree—depending on your perspective.
    Aside from the familiar sights and now-familiar smells of her traveling companions, the ache in her joins returned to Linn her sense of time and place. It was day four of their magnificent, heroic, utterly ridiculous quest. By their looks, she guessed at least half of her companions felt the same. If there was a bright spot, it did not follow any of the three Embers in their company, but rather the fisherman’s son.
    Nathen Swell’s boyish enthusiasm clashed oddly with his impressive forest lore. The same attitude that threatened to drive Larren Holspahr to quiet violence resonated with Linn, Baas and Jenk Ganmeer. Even Kaya Ferrahl shot her glances at him when she was sure none were looking. In truth, Nathen was likely the only member of the group they could all agree on liking, or at least not openly disliking.
    “I, too have had dreams these last nights,” Baas intoned gravely, as if Linn had not summarily ignored him a moment earlier. “I thought the sun would burn them all away, but it has